按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
never could determine what it was； and there the most unfortunate
of men； whose purpose it has been to enjoy life's pleasures； but
to avoid a manful struggle with its toil and sorrow。 The
remainder； if any； may connect themselves with whatever rank of
the procession they shall find best adapted to their tastes and
consciences。 The worst possible fate would be to remain behind；
shivering in the solitude of time； while all the world is on the
move towards eternity。 Our attempt to classify society is now
complete。 The result may be anything but perfect； yet betterto
give it the very lowest praisethan the antique rule of the
herald's office； or the modern one of the tax…gatherer； whereby
the accidents and superficial attributes with which the real
nature of individuals has least to do； are acted upon as the
deepest characteristics of mankind。 Our task is done！ Now let the
grand procession move！
Yet pause a while！ We had forgotten the Chief Marshal。
Hark！ That world…wide swell of solemn music； with the clang of a
mighty bell breaking forth through its regulated uproar；
announces his approach。 He comes； a severe； sedate； immovable；
dark rider； waving his truncheon of universal sway； as he passes
along the lengthened line； on the pale horse of the Revelation。
It is Death！ Who else could assume the guidance of a procession
that comprehends all humanity？ And if some； among these many
millions； should deem themselves classed amiss； yet let them take
to their hearts the comfortable truth that Death levels us all
into one great brotherhood； and that another state of being will
surely rectify the wrong of this。 Then breathe thy wail upon the
earth's wailing wind； thou band of melancholy music； made up of
every sigh that the human heart； unsatisfied； has uttered！ There
is yet triumph in thy tones。 And now we move！ Beggars in their
rags； and Kings trailing the regal purple in the dust； the
Warrior's gleaming helmet； the Priest in his sable robe； the
hoary Grandsire； who has run life's circle and come back to
childhood； the ruddy School…boy with his golden curls； frisking
along the march； the Artisan's stuff jacket； the Noble's
star…decorated coat；the whole presenting a motley spectacle；
yet with a dusky grandeur brooding over it。 Onward； onward； into
that dimness where the lights of Time which have blazed along the
procession； are flickering in their sockets！ And whither！ We know
not； and Death； hitherto our leader； deserts us by the wayside；
as the tramp of our innumerable footsteps echoes beyond his
sphere。 He knows not； more than we； our destined goal。 But God；
who made us； knows； and will not leave us on our toilsome and
doubtful march； either to wander in infinite uncertainty； or
perish by the way！