Race of the Hare, tho' possest of much superior Swiftness. A Man's Time, when well husbanded, is like a cultivated Field, of which a few Acres produce more of what is useful to Life, than extensive Provinces, even of the richest Soil, when over-run with Weeds and Brambles.
But all Prospect of Success in Life, or even of tolerable Subsistence, must fail, where a reasonable FRUGALITY is wanting. The Heap, instead of encreasing, diminishes daily, and leaves its Possessor so much more unhappy, that not having been able to confine his Expences to a larger Revenue, he will still less be able to live contentedly on a smaller. The Souls of Men, according to Plato[1], inflam'd with impure Appetites, and losing the Body, which alone afforded Means of Satisfaction, hover about the Earth, and haunt the Places, where their Bodies are reposited; possest with a longing Desire to recover the lost Organs of Sensation So may we see worthless Prodigals, having consum'd their Fortunes in wild Debauches, thrusting themselves into every plentiful Table, and every Party of Pleasure, hated even by the vicious, and despis'd even by Fools.
The
