The fire of Prometheiis is burning more
or less in every one of us. No one who
reflects can ignore the solemn dignity of life.
*'Man," said Sir Thomas Browne in one of his
wonderful essays, ''is a noble animal, splendid
in ashes, and pompous in the grave.'^

It is indeed a glorious privilege to be a
man. No doubt in one sense we are a mere
combination of chemical ingredients, and a
. man's daily labour has been estimated at the
^ equivalent of 4 lbs. of coal. As Huxley
humorously described us, we may be said to be
made up of Ammoniae carbonatis, Sodae phos-
phatis, Caloris 98.4^, Vacui perfectissimi,
Patientiae, Aquae distillatae quant, suflf.
Many writers no doubt describe him in
most contemptuous terms. The shortness of
life is a favourite theme both of poets and
philosophers.
Like the dew on the mountain^
Like the foam on the river,

Like the bubble on the fountain
Thou art gone, and for ever.'

The Bible compares life to a dream, a sleep,

» Scott.
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ni



THE MIND 59



a shadow, a vapour, to water spilt on the
ground, to a tale that is told. Life, moreover,
is described as not only short but contemptible.
Buddha raised pessimism to the rank of a
dogma. All life seemed to him sorrow.
