to ambition, and afterwards how that ambition may be quelled and totally extinguished by grief; and also that grief itself, how violent soever it appears, may subside at the emotions of revenge.—­This last and worst passion alone finds nothing capable of overcoming it, while the object remains in being.  It is true, that we frequently in the hurry of resentment, threaten, and sometimes act every thing in our power, against the person who has offended us, yet on his submission and appearing sorry for what he has done, we not only forgive, but also forget all has past, and no longer bear him the least ill will; but then, this passion, by which we have been actuated, is not properly revenge, but anger, of which I have already sufficiently spoke, and, I flatter myself, proved how wide the difference is between these two emotions.

Natura had no sooner taken it into his head to revenge himself in the manner above related, on his transgressing brother, than he resumed great part of his former chearfulness, conversed again in the world as he had been accustomed; nor, though he perceived his interest with the minister fall off ever since he had been divorced from his neice, and easily foresaw, that he would, from his friend, become in time his greatest enemy, yet it gave him little or no concern, so wholly were his thoughts and desires taken up with accomplishing what he had resolved.

He was, however, for some time deliberating within himself to whom he should direct his addresses on this score; the general acquaintance he had in the world, brought many ladies into his mind, who seemed suitable matches for him; but then, as they were of equal birth and fortunes with himself, he reflected, that a long formal courtship would be expected, and he was now grown too indolent to take that trouble, as he was not excited by inclination to any of them, and had determined to enter a third time into the bonds of matrimony, meerly through the hope of depriving his brother of the estate.

Besides, the accidents which had lately happened to him, had very much altered his way of thinking, and though he had shaken off great part of the chagrin they had occasioned, yet there still remained a certain languor and inactivity of mind, which destroyed all the relish he formerly had of the noisy pleasures of life:—­he began now to despise that farce of grandeur he once testified so high a value for, and to look on things as they really deserved;—­he found his interest with those at the helm of public affairs, was very much sunk, and he was so far from taking any steps to retrieve it, that he seldom went even to pay that court to them, which his station demanded from him;—­he grew so weary of the post which he had, with the utmost eagerness, sought after, and thought himself happy in enjoying, that he never rested till he had disposed of it, which he did for a much less consideration than it was really worth, meerly because he would be in a state of perfect independency, and at full liberty to speak and act, according to the dictates of his conscience, or his inclination.