University of Virginia Library

LETTER LXI.
WORTHY to HARRINGTON.

I thank you for your letters,
but I wish you had something better for the
subject of them—the sad repetition of your
feelings and sorrows, pains me exceedingly—

I promise to be with you soon—perhaps
before you can receive this letter.

WHATEVER concerns my friend, most
sensibly affects me—You, Harrington, are
the friend of my heart, and nothing has so
much grieved me as the story of your misfortunes.

IT is a maxim well received, and seems
to be admitted an article in the moral creed
of mankind, “that the enjoyments of life
do not compensate the miseries.” Since,
then, we are born to suffer, and pain must
attend us in all the stages of our journey,
let us philosophically welcome our companion.
The most eligible plan we can adopt,
is to be contented in the condition that Providence

hath assigned us. Let us trust that
our burden will not be heavier than we can
bear—When we adopt this plan, and are
sensible we have this trust, our lesson is complete—we
have learned all—we are arrived
to the perfection of sublunary happiness.

DO not think I am preaching to you a
mere fermon of morality—let me impress
your mind with the folly of repining, and the
blessing of a contented mind.

LET me intreat you not to puzzle your
brain with vain speculations—if you are
disposed to argue, do not put foolish cases
that never existed—take the light of facts,
and reason from them.

WHEN we are surrounded with the miseries of
life—the baseness of false friends—the malice

of enemies—when we are inveloped in those
anxious fears, the result of too much sensibility,
human nature feels a degree of oppression,
which, without a manly exertion of
reason and this practical philosophy, would be
intolerable. I have heard you mention St.
Evremond, as a philosopher of this kind.
Arm yourself with his prudence and fortitude—he,
though in exile—though reduced
almost to penury, and labouring under the
disadvantages of a bad constitution, lived to
be a very old man; he established a course
of rational pleasures—for when the mind is
employed, we regret the loss of time—we
become avaricious of life.

WHEN misfortunes come upon us without
these consolations, it is hard, I acknowledge,

to buffet the storm—it is then human
frailty is most apparent—there is nothing
left to hope—Reason is taken from the
helm of life—and Nature—helpless, debilitated
Nature—lost to herself, and every social
duty, splits upon the rocks of despair and
suicide. We have seen several examples of
this—By exploring, and therefore shunning
the causes, let us avoid the catastrophe.

THE pensive and melancholy will muse
over the ordinary accidents of life, and swell
them, by the power of imagination, to the
heaviest calamities. Hence we find a treacherous
friend will sensibly affect some men,
and a capricious mistress will destroy a real
lover: Hence people in misfortune frequently
construe the slightest inattention into neglect

and insult, and deem their best friends
false and ungrateful. The sting of ingratitude
deeply pierces the heart of sensibility.

THE passions and affections which govern
mankind are very inconsistent. Men,
confined to the humble walks of life, sigh
for the enjoyment of wealth and power,
which, when obtained, become loath some—
The mind unaccustomed to such an easy situation,
is discontented, and longs to be employed
in those things in which it was formerly
exercised.

THE greatest rulers and potentates become
unhappy—they wish for the charms of solitude
and retirement, which, when attained,
become more irksome than their former condition
—Charles the Fifth, of Spain, resolved

to taste the pleasures of a recluse life, by abdicating
the throne—he soon found his
imagination had deceived him, and repented
of the step he had taken. This lazy life,
when compared to the business and grandeur
of a court, became tasteless and insipid.—
“The day,” says a historian, “he resigned his
crown to his son, was the very day in which
he repented making him such a present.”

IT is a great art to learn to be happy in
the state in which we are placed—I advise
you to mingle in the concerns of your acquaintances—be
cheerful and undisturbed,
nor give yourself up to those gloomy ideas,
which tend only to make you more wretched
—If such obtrude themselves, avoid being
alone—I had rather be a dupe to my imagination

than sacrifice an hour's easiness to my
sensibility or understanding. Determine to
be happy, and you will be so—

God be with you!