I thank you for your letters,
but I wi&longs;h you had &longs;omething better for the
&longs;ubject of them—the &longs;ad repetition of your
feelings and &longs;orrows, pains me exceedingly—

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I promi&longs;e to be with you &longs;oon—perhaps
before you can receive this letter.

WHATEVER concerns my friend, mo&longs;t
&longs;en&longs;ibly affects me—You, Harrington, are
the friend of my heart, and nothing has &longs;o
much grieved me as the &longs;tory of your misfortunes.

IT is a maxim well received, and &longs;eems
to be admitted an article in the moral creed
of mankind, “that the enjoyments of life
do not compen&longs;ate the mi&longs;eries.” Since,
then, we are born to &longs;uffer, and pain mu&longs;t
attend us in all the &longs;tages of our journey,
let us philo&longs;ophically welcome our companion.
The mo&longs;t eligible plan we can adopt,
is to be contented in the condition that

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Providence hath a&longs;&longs;igned us. Let us tru&longs;t that
our burden will not be heavier than we can
bear—When we adopt this plan, and are
&longs;en&longs;ible we have this tru&longs;t, our le&longs;&longs;on is complete—
we have learned all—we are arrived
to the perfection of &longs;ublunary happine&longs;s.

DO not think I am preaching to you a
mere fermon of morality—let me impre&longs;s
your mind with the folly of repining, and the
ble&longs;&longs;ing of a contented mind.

LET me intreat you not to puzzle your
brain with vain &longs;peculations—if you are
di&longs;po&longs;ed to argue, do not put fooli&longs;h ca&longs;es
that never exi&longs;ted—take the light of facts,
and rea&longs;on from them.

WHEN we are &longs;urrounded with the mi&longs;eries of
life—the ba&longs;ene&longs;s of fal&longs;e friends—the malice

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of enemies—when we are inveloped in tho&longs;e
anxious fears, the re&longs;ult of too much sensibility,
human nature feels a degree of oppression,
which, without a manly exertion of
rea&longs;on and this practical philo&longs;ophy, would be
intolerable. I have heard you mention St.
Evremond, as a philo&longs;opher of this kind.
Arm your&longs;elf with his prudence and fortitude—
he, though in exile—though reduced
almo&longs;t to penury, and labouring under the
di&longs;advantages of a bad con&longs;titution, lived to
be a very old man; he e&longs;tabli&longs;hed a cour&longs;e
of rational plea&longs;ures—for when the mind is
employed, we regret the lo&longs;s of time—we
become avaricious of life.

WHEN misfortunes come upon us without
the&longs;e con&longs;olations, it is hard, I

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acknowledge, to buffet the &longs;torm—it is then human
frailty is mo&longs;t apparent—there is nothing
left to hope—Rea&longs;on is taken from the
helm of life—and Nature—helple&longs;s, debilitated
Nature—lo&longs;t to her&longs;elf, and every social
duty, &longs;plits upon the rocks of de&longs;pair and
&longs;uicide. We have &longs;een &longs;everal examples of
this—By exploring, and therefore &longs;hunning
the cau&longs;es, let us avoid the cata&longs;trophe.

THE pen&longs;ive and melancholy will mu&longs;e
over the ordinary accidents of life, and &longs;well
them, by the power of imagination, to the
heavie&longs;t calamities. Hence we find a treacherous
friend will &longs;en&longs;ibly affect &longs;ome men,
and a capricious mi&longs;tre&longs;s will de&longs;troy a real
lover: Hence people in misfortune frequently
con&longs;true the &longs;lighte&longs;t inattention into

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neglect and in&longs;ult, and deem their be&longs;t friends
fal&longs;e and ungrateful. The &longs;ting of ingratitude
deeply pierces the heart of &longs;en&longs;ibility.

THE pa&longs;&longs;ions and affections which govern
mankind are very incon&longs;i&longs;tent. Men,
confined to the humble walks of life, &longs;igh
for the enjoyment of wealth and power,
which, when obtained, become loath &longs;ome—
The mind unaccu&longs;tomed to &longs;uch an ea&longs;y situation,
is di&longs;contented, and longs to be employed
in tho&longs;e things in which it was formerly
exerci&longs;ed.

THE greate&longs;t rulers and potentates become
unhappy—they wi&longs;h for the charms of solitude
and retirement, which, when attained,
become more irk&longs;ome than their former condition—
Charles the Fifth, of Spain, re&longs;olved

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to ta&longs;te the plea&longs;ures of a reclu&longs;e life, by abdicating
the throne—he &longs;oon found his
imagination had deceived him, and repented
of the &longs;tep he had taken. This lazy life,
when compared to the bu&longs;ine&longs;s and grandeur
of a court, became ta&longs;tele&longs;s and in&longs;ipid.—
“The day,” &longs;ays a hi&longs;torian, “he re&longs;igned his
crown to his &longs;on, was the very day in which
he repented making him &longs;uch a pre&longs;ent.”

IT is a great art to learn to be happy in
the &longs;tate in which we are placed—I advi&longs;e
you to mingle in the concerns of your acquaintances—
be cheerful and undi&longs;turbed,
nor give your&longs;elf up to tho&longs;e gloomy ideas,
which tend only to make you more wretched—
If &longs;uch obtrude them&longs;elves, avoid being
alone—I had rather be a dupe to my

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imagination than &longs;acrifice an hour's ea&longs;ine&longs;s to my
&longs;en&longs;ibility or under&longs;tanding. Determine to
be happy, and you will be &longs;o—

God be with you!