IX. When he has obtained a place, his cares do not lessen, the object only of his anxiety being changed, and his attention is but translated from the means of procuring his rise, to the study of how he shall keep possession of what he has acquired. He finds himself placed on a ladder, which he cannot ascend without much fatigue, nor remain where he is situated without uneasiness, and where the dread of falling headlong terrifies him from descending. He finds the necessity of holding a tight rein on his depraved appetites increased, and is obliged to ride his vicious inclinations with a stronger curb. He is solicited by avarice, instigated by gluttony, and burns with incontinence; but still obeys, although it is with reluctance, that passion which has the despotic rule of him. He would wish to crush by an unjust sentence, the man who has offended him; but fears lest the injured person should appeal to the king, or a superior tribunal. He loves indolence; but if he relaxes in his application, all is lost. He trembles at the thought of a change of administration, as the idea fills him with an apprehension of being left deserted in the street; and never reads a news-paper, without being terrified at seeing an account of the death of his patron. Can a man lead a more miserable life? X. It is a known thing, that the covetous man is one of the devil’s martyrs; or he may be compared to an Anchorite, who, by his abstinence and retirement, acquires merits, which may intitle him to a place in hell. His heart, divided between the desires of keeping and acquiring, experiences a continual fever, mixed with a mortal cold, as he burns for other people’s property, and trembles with the apprehension of losing his own. He is hungry, but does not eat; he is thirsty, and does not drink; he is always needy, and his mind knows no repose. He is never free from alarms. A rat does not move in the silence of the night, without the noise filling him with apprehensions, that a thief is breaking into his house. No strong wind can blow, that in his imagination, does not threaten the wreck of one of his trading ships. He is continually meditating new hiding-places for his treasure, which he frequently visits, doubtful of finding the money in the hiding-place, but always sure of finding his heart in the money. He views it with anxious concern, and sometimes will not venture to touch it, lest it should crumble to ashes between his fingers. Thus, fat in possessions, and a martyr to fears, his days pass away, till, as it happened in the case of king Agag, the fatal hour of punishment arrives (_pinguissimus et tremens_). Can a man’s life be more unhappy?