Thus we are brought round to the same position—­that the attempt to monopolize Heaven’s best gifts to man, must be a very small affair—­ that the individual best consults his own attainments in knowledge, after the sublimest sense of the term, by consulting the progress of his neighbors and the race; just as the single drop in the Mississippi sees its best hope of speedily reaching the ocean, in whatever gives onward impulse to the whole current.

The thought receives force from the consideration, that here emphatically is that knowledge, which he who increaseth beyond the average increase, increaseth sorrow.  A saying of so much currency must have some foundation in reality.  And yet is not knowledge commended to us as one of the richest sources of enjoyment?

      “Happy the mortal, who has traced effects
       To their first cause.”

Where is the reconciling link between these seeming contradictions?

Now eminence in any of the received sciences, or branches of literature, has rich capabilities of affording happiness.  To penetrate the depths of mathematics, chemistry, or astronomy—­to revel in the stores of ancient lore;—­all such pursuits generally become more delightfully attractive, the further one advances; or, after the ancient indefinite use of terms, knowledge might be taken for the just proportionate training of all the faculties, in distinction from the teaching, which impresses so many items of truth.  And such education preeminently fits one to pass time happily.

The maxim in question then applies emphatically to the forethought, which anticipates the dawn of ideas.* [Or, more generally, we might define, an accurate perception of the difference between what is and what ought to be—­between reality and ideal perfection.  Perhaps we might say, insight into logical futurity.] And although, as above said, none do greatly anticipate beyond the general sense of the age, yet some may too much for their own comfort.

This thought Schiller finely sets forth in his Cassandra.  At the hour of her sister’s nuptials, while the rest give loose to merriment at the festival, the prophetess wanders forth alone, complaining, that her insight into futurity debars her from participation in the common joy.

    “To all its arms doth mirth unfold,
          And every heart foregoes its cares,
     And hope is busy in the old;
          The bridal robe my sister wears,
     And I alone, alone am weeping;
          The sweet delusion mocks not me;
     Around these walls destruction sweeping,
          More near and near I see.

     A torch before my vision glows,
          But not in Hymen’s hand it shines;
     A flame that to the welkin goes,
          But not from holy offering shrines: 
     Glad hands the banquet are preparing,
          And near and near the halls of state,
     I hear the god that comes unsparing,
          I hear the steps of fate.