"Youth, if indeed it be the best of life, is a very wretched thing. Yet even this poor benefit is so soon over, that when by many signs man is led to perceive the decline of his existence, he has scarcely experienced its perfection, or fully realised its peculiar strength, which, once diminished, the best part of life is gone with every race of mortals. Thus, in all her works, Nature turns and points towards death: for old age reigns universally. Every part of the world hastens untiringly; with diligence and wonderful celerity, towards death. The world itself alone seems exempt from decay; for although in autumn and winter it appears as it were sick and aged, nevertheless in the spring it ever rejuvenates. But just as mortals in the first part of each day regain some portion of their youth, yet grow old as the day progresses, and are at length extinguished in sleep; so although in the beginning of the year the world becomes young again, none the less it perpetually ages. The time will come when this world, and Nature herself, shall die. And as at the present day there remains no trace nor record of many very great kingdoms and empires, so in the whole world there shall not he left a vestige of the infinite changes and catastrophes of created things. A naked silence and an utter calm shall fill the vast space. Thus, this wonderful and fearful mystery of universal existence shall be unloosed, and shall melt away before it be made manifest or be comprehended."[1] [Footnote 1: This is a poetical not philosophical conclusion. Speaking philosophically, existence, which has had no beginning, will have no ending.] _DIALOGUE BETWEEN TIMANDRO AND ELEANDRO._ _Timandro_. I am very anxious to have some conversation with you. It is about the matter and tendency of your writings and words, which seem to me most blamable. _Meandro_. So long as you find no fault with my actions, I confess I do not much care; because words and writings are of little consequence. _Tim_. There is nothing in your actions, as far as I can see, for which I need blame you. I am aware that you benefit no one because you cannot do so, and I observe that you injure no one because you are unwilling to do so. But I consider your speech and writings very reprehensible, and I do not agree with you that they are of little importance. Our life may almost be said to consist of nothing else. For the present we will disregard the words, and simply consider the writings. In the first place, the incessant vituperation and continuous satire that you bestow on the human race are out of fashion. _Mean_. My brain also is out of fashion. It is quite natural for a child to resemble its father. _Tim_. Then you must not be surprised if your books, like everything contrary to the custom of the day, are ill received. _Mean_. That is a small misfortune. They were not written for the purpose of begging a little bread at the doors of the rich.