LETTERS. TO MRS. H. LINCOLN.1 Weymouth, 5 October, 1761. MY DEAR FRIEND, DOES OES not my friend think me a stupid girl, when she has kindly offered to correspond with me, that I should be so senseless as not to accept the offer? Senseless and stupid I would confess myself, and that to the greatest degree, if I did not foresee the many advantages I shall receive from corresponding with a lady of your known prudence and understanding. I gratefully accept your offer; although I may be charged with vanity in pretending to entertain you with my scrawls; yet I know your generosity is such, 1 For this letter I have to acknowledge myself indebted to the kindness of Miss E. S. Quincy, a grand-niece of the lady to whom it was addressed. After the death of Dr. Lincoln she was married to Ebenezer Storer, Esq., of Boston, and died only a few years ago. that, like a kind parent, you will bury in oblivion all my imperfections. I do not aim at entertaining. I write merely for the instruction and edification which I shall receive, provided you honor me with your correspondence. Your letter I received, and, believe me, it has not been through forgetfulness, that I have not before this time returned you my sincere thanks for the kind assurance you then gave me of continued friendship. You have, I hope, pardoned my suspicions; they arose from love. What persons in their right senses would calmly, and without repining or even inquiring into the cause, submit to lose their greatest temporal good and happiness? for thus the divine, Dr. Young, looks upon a true friend, when he says, "A friend is worth all hazards we can run. A world in purchase for a friend is gain.” Who, that has once been favored with your friendship, can be satisfied with the least diminution of it? Not those who value it according to its worth. You have, like king Ahasuerus, held forth, though not a golden sceptre, yet one more valuable, the sceptre of friendship, if I may so call it. Like Esther, I would draw nigh and touch it. Will you proceed and say, "What wilt thou?" and "What is thy request? it shall be even given thee to the half of my heart." Why, no. I think I will not have so dangerous a present, lest your good man should find it out and challenge me; but, if you please, I'll have a place in one corner of it, a place well guarded and fortified, or still I shall fear being jostled out by him. Now do not deny my request on purpose to make me feel the weight of your observation," that we are often disappointed when we set our minds upon that which is to yield us great happiness." I know it too well already. Daily experience teaches me that truth. And now let me ask you, my friend, whether you do not think, that many of our disappointments and much of our unhappiness arise from our forming false notions of things and persons. We strangely impose upon ourselves; we create a fairy land of happiness. Fancy is fruitful and promises fair, but, like the dog in the fable, we catch at a shadow, and when we find the disappointment we are vexed, not with ourselves, who are really the impostors, but with the poor, innocent thing or person of whom we have formed such strange ideas. When this is the case, I believe we always find, that we have enjoyed more pleasure in the anticipation than in the real enjoyment of our wishes. Dr. Young says, "Our wishes give us not our wishes." Some disappointments are, indeed, more grievous than others. Since they are our lot, let us bear them with patience. That person, that cannot bear a disappointment, must not live in a world so changeable as this, and 't is wise it should be so; for, were we to enjoy a continual prosperity, we should be too firmly attached to the world ever to think of quitting it, and there would be room to fear, that we should be so far intoxicated with prosperity as to swim smoothly from joy to joy, along life's short current, wholly unmindful of the vast ocean, Eternity. If I did not know that it would be adding to the length of my letter, I might make some excuse for it; but that and another reason will hinder me. You bid me tell one of my sparks (I think that was the word) to bring me to see you. Why! I believe you think they are as plenty as herrings, when, alas! there is as great a scarcity of them as there is of justice, honesty, prudence, and many other virtues. I've no pretensions to one. Wealth, wealth is the only thing that is looked after now. "T is said Plato thought, if Virtue would appear to the world, all mankind would be enamoured with her, but now interest governs the world and men neglect the golden mean. But, to be sober, I should really rejoice to come and see you, but if I wait till I get a (what did you call 'em?) I fear you 'll be blind with age. I can say, in the length of this epistle, I 've made the golden rule mine. Pray, my friend, do not let it be long before you write to your ever affectionate P. S. My regards to your good man. A. S. I've no acquaintance with him, but, if you love him, I do, and should be glad to see him. |