No. 186. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 28, 1751.
_Pone me, pigris ubi nulla campis
Arbor aestica recreatur aura--
Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
Dulce loquentem_. HOR. Lib. i. Ode xxii. 17.
Place me where never summer breeze
Unbinds the glebe, or warms the trees;
Where ever lowering clouds appear,
And angry Jove deforms th' inclement year:
Love and the nymph shall charm my toils,
The nymph, who sweetly speaks and sweetly smiles. FRANCIS.
Of the happiness and misery of our present state, part arises from our
sensations, and part from our opinions; part is distributed by nature,
and part is in a great measure apportioned by ourselves. Positive
pleasure we cannot always obtain, and positive pain we often cannot
remove. No man can give to his own plantations the fragrance of the
Indian groves; nor will any precepts of philosophy enable him to
withdraw his attention from wounds or diseases. But the negative
infelicity which proceeds, not from the pressure of sufferings, but the
absence of enjoyments, will always yield to the remedies of reason.
One of the great arts of escaping superfluous uneasiness, is to free our
minds from the habit of comparing our condition with that of others on
whom the blessings of life are more bountifully bestowed, or with
imaginary states of delight and security, perhaps unattainable by
mortals.
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