ave the terrors of death, under the invigorating influence
of an extravagant imagination. Cure them of their enthusiasm, and they
are no longer heroes. We must, therefore, decide in education, what
species of characters we would produce, before we can determine what
degree, or what habits of imagination, are desirable.

"Je suis le Dieu de la danse!"[76] exclaimed Vestris; and probably
Alexander the Great did not feel more pride in his Apotheosis. Had any
cynical philosopher undertaken to cure Vestris of his vanity, it would
not have been a charitable action. Vestris might, perhaps, by force of
reasoning, have been brought to acknowledge that a dancing-master was
not a divinity, but this conviction would not have increased his
felicity; on the contrary, he would have become wretched in proportion
as he became rational. The felicity of enthusiasts depends upon their
being absolutely incapable of reasoning, or of listening to reason
upon certain subjects; provided they are resolute in repeating their
own train of thoughts without comparing them with that of others, they
may defy the malice of wisdom, and in happy ignorance may enjoy
perpetual delirium.

Parents, who value the happiness of their children, will consider
exactly what chance there is of their enjoying unmolested any partial
enthusiasm; they will consider, that by early excitations, it is very
easy to raise any species of ambition in the minds of their pupils.
The various species of enthusiasm necessary to make a poet, a painter,
an orator, or a military hero, may be inspired, without doubt, by
education. How far these are connected with happiness, is another
question. Whatever be the object which he pursues, we must, as much as
possible, ensure our pupil's success. Those who have been excited to
exertion by enthusiasm, if they do not obtain the reward or admiration
which they had been taught to expect, sink into helpless despondency.
Whether their object has been great or small, if it has been their
favourite object, and they fail of its attainment, their mortification
and subsequent languor are unavoidable. The wisest of monarchs
exclaimed, that all was vanity and vexation of spirit; he did not,
perhaps, feel more weary of the world than the poor juggler felt, who,
after educating his hands to the astonishing dexterity of throwing up
into the air, and catching as they fell, six eggs successively,
without breaking them, received from the emperor, before whom