But the tyrant, after all, will become exhausted--his strength and power will fail him; he will destroy his own subjects; he will become feeble, and when he has nothing further on which to exercise his power, he will, like many another tyrant before him, sink, and be lost in the ruin he has made.
Again: Would you behold Industry?
Here have its terrible spirits been appointed their tasks.

Observe the energy, the activity, the persevering fury with which they discharge their separate duties.

See how that eldest son of Apollyon, with the appetite of hell, licks into his burning maw every thing that comes in contact with his tongue of fire.
What quickness of execution, and how rapidly they pass from place to place! how they run about in quest of employment! how diligently and effectually they search every nook and corner, lest anything might escape them! Mark the activity with which that strong fellow leaps across, from beam to beam, seizing upon each as he goes.

A different task has been assigned to another: he attacks the rafters of the roof--he fails at first, but, like the constrictor, he first licks over his victim before he destroys it--bravo!--he is at it again--it gives way--he is upon it, and about it; and now his difficulties are over--the red wood glows, splits and crackles, and flies off in angry flakes, in order to become a minister to its active and devouring master.

See! observe! What business--what a coil and turmoil of industry! Every flame at work--no idle hand here--no lazy lounger reposing.