Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1913-08-14
THE LOVE OF FAME.

THE LOVE OF FAME.
Among the variety of principles by
which mankind are actuated, there is
one which | scarcely know whether
to consider as springing from gran
deur and nobility of mind or from a
refined species of vanity and self-love.
1t is that singular, although universal,
desire of living in the memory of
posterity; of occupying a share of the
worlds attention when we shall long
since have ceased to be susceptible
either of its praise or crnsure. Most
of the passions of the mind are bound
ed by the grave. Sometimes, indeed,
an anxious hope or trembling fear
will venture beyond the clouds and
darkness that rest upon our mortal
horizon and cxpatiate in boundlrss
futurity; but it is only this active
love of fame which steadily contcm-
plates its frnition in the applause and
gratitude Of future ages. Indignant
at the narrow limits which circum-
scribe our existence, ambition is for
ever struggling to soar beyond them;
to triumph over space and time, and
to bear name, at least, above the
inevitable oblivion in which every
thing else that concerns us is involv-
ed. 1t is this, my friend. which
prompts the patriot to his most he
role achievements, which inspires the
sublimcst strains of the poet, and
brcathes ethereal fire into the sculptor.
For this the monarch rears the
lofty column, the laurcled conqueror
claims the triumphal arch, while the
obscure individual who moved in an
humber sphere asks but a plain and
simple stone to mark his grave, and
bear to the next generation this i'm
portant truth, that he was born, died
and was buried. 1t was this passion
which once erected the vast Numid-
ian piles whose ruins we have so often
regarded with wonder, as the shades
of evcning-ft emblems of oblivion
gradually stole over and enveloped
them in darkness. 1t was this which
gave being to those sublime monu-
ments of Saracen magnifcence which
nod in moldering desolation, as the
blast sweeps over the deserted plains.
How futile are all our efforts to evade
the obliterating hand of time! As |
traversed the dreary wastes of Egypt,
on my journey to Grand Cairo, !
stopped my camel for while and
contemplated in awful admiration the
stupendous pyramids. An appalling
silence prevailed around-such as
reigns in the wilderness when the
tempest is hushed, and the beasts of
prey have retired to their dens.
The myriads that had once been
employed in these lofty mementos of
human vanity, whose busy hum once
enlivened the solitude of the desert,
had all been swept from the earth by
the irresistible arm of death-all were
mingled with their native dust-all
were forgotten! Even the mighty
names which these sepulchres were
designed to perpetuate had long since
faded from remembrance; history
and tradition afforded but vague con-
lectures, and the pyramids impaired
a humiliating lesson to the candidate
for immortality. Alas! alas! said
| to myself, how mutable are the
foundations on which our proudest
hopes of future fame are reposed! He
who imagines that he has secured to
himself the need of deathless renown
INDUCES in deluding visions which
only bespeak the vanity of the dream
cr. The storied obelisk, the trium-
phal arch, the swelling dome shall
crumble into dust, while the names
they would preserve from oblivion
shall often pass away before their
own duration is accomplished
Washington Irving,