But, truly, his forecast was not irrational if he had not neglected
ordinary precautions. In spite of his ailments he felt full, and was
full, of life, when he was cut off. We cannot be sure if lengthened
days would have added much to his work already achieved. There is
hardly a parallel case in literature of the great powers of a whole
life being so concentrated on one supreme and magnificent effort. Yet,
if he had lived to 1804, or as an extreme limit, to 1814, we should
have been all gainers. In the first place, he certainly would have
finished his admirable autobiography. We cannot imagine what he would
have made of it, judging from the fragment which exists. And yet that
fragment is almost a masterpiece. But his fertile mind had other
schemes in prospect; and what such a diligent worker would have done
with a decade or two more of years it is impossible to say, except
that it is certain they would not have been wasted. The extinction of
a real mind is ever an irreparable loss.
As it was, he went to his rest after one of the greatest victories
ever achieved in his own field of humane letters, and lived long
enough to taste the fruits of his toil.
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