University of Virginia Library

TO WILLIAM BRADFORD, JR.[1]

My Dear B.,—You moralize so prettily, that if I
were to judge from some parts of your letter of October

13, I should take you for an old philosopher that
had experienced the emptiness of earthly happiness;
and I am very glad that you have so early seen
through the romantic paintings with which the world
is sometimes set off by the sprightly imaginations of
the ingenious. You have happily supplied, by reading
and observation, the want of experiment; and
therefore I hope you are sufficiently guarded against
the allurements and vanities that beset us on our first
entrance on the theatre of life. Yet, however nice
and cautious we may be in detecting the follies of
mankind, and framing our economy according to the
precepts of Wisdom and Religion, I fancy there will
commonly remain with us some latent expectation of
obtaining more than ordinary happiness and prosperity
till we feel the convincing argument of actual
disappointment. Though I will not determine whether
we shall be much the worse for it if we do not allow
it to intercept our views towards a future state, because
strong desires and great hopes instigate us
to arduous enterprizes, fortitude, and perseverance.
Nevertheless, a watchful eye must be kept on ourselves,
lest while we are building ideal monuments of
renown and bliss here, we neglect to have our names
enrolled in the annals of Heaven. These thoughts
come into my mind because I am writing to you, and
thinking of you. As to myself, I am too dull and infirm
now to look out for any extraordinary things in
this world, for I think my sensations for many months
past have intimated to me not to expect a long or
healthy life; though it may be better with me after
some time, [but] I hardly dare expect it, and therefore
have little spirit and alacrity to set about anything
that is difficult in acquiring and useless in
possessing after one has exchanged time for eternity.
But you have health, youth, fire, and genius, to bear
you along through the high track of public life. and
so may be more interested and delighted in improving
on hints that respect the temporal though momentous
concerns of man.

I think you made a judicious choice of History and
the science of morals for your winter's study. They
seem to be of the most universal benefit to men of
sense and taste in every post, and must certainly be
of great use to youth in settling the principles and
refining the judgment, as well as in enlarging knowledge
and correcting the imagination. I doubt not
but you design to season them with a little divinity
now and then, which, like the philosopher's stone, in
the hands of a good man, will turn them and every
lawful acquirement into the nature of itself, and make
them more precious than fine gold.

As you seem to require that I should be open and
unreserved, (which is indeed the only proof of true
friendship,) I will venture to give you a word of
advice, though it be more to convince you of my affection
for you than from any apprehension of your
needing it. Pray do not suffer those impertinent fops
that abound in every city to divert you from your
business and philosophical amusements. You may
please them more by admitting them to the enjoyment
of your company, but you will make them

respect and admire you more by showing your indignation
at their follies, and by keeping them at a becoming
distance. I am luckily out of the way of such
troubles, but I know you are surrounded with them;
for they breed in towns and populous places as naturally
as flies do in the shambles, because there they
get food enough for their vanity and impertinence.

I have undertaken to instruct my brothers and
sisters in some of the first rudiments of literature;
but it does not take up so much of my time but I
shall always have leisure to receive and answer your
letters, which are very grateful to me, I assure you;
and for reading any performances you may be kind
enough to send me, whether of Mr. Freneau[2] or anybody
else. I think myself happy in your correspondence,
and desire you will continue to write as often
as you can, as you see I intend to do by the early and
long answer I send you. You are the only valuable
friend I have settled in so public a place, and I must
rely on you for an account of all literary transactions
in your part of the world.

I am not sorry to hear of Livingston's[3] getting a

degree. I heartily wish him well, though many would
think I had but little reason to do so; and if he
would be sensible of his opportunities and encouragements,
I think he might still recover. Lucky (?) and
his company, after their feeble yet wicked assault
upon Mr. Erwin, in my opinion, will disgrace the
catalogue of names; but they are below contempt,
and I spend no more words about them.

And now, my friend, I must take my leave of you,
but with such hopes that it will not be long before I
receive another epistle from you, as make me more
cheerfully conclude and subscribe myself