Yours.

Letter 60.

June 13th [1654].

You have satisfied me very much with this last long letter, and made some amends for the short one I received before.  I am convinced, too, happiness is much such a kind of thing as you describe, or rather such a nothing.  For there is no one thing can properly be called so, but every one is left to create it to themselves in something which they either have or would have; and so far it’s well enough.  But I do not like that one’s happiness should depend upon a persuasion that this is happiness, because nobody knows how long they shall continue in a belief built upon no grounds, only to bring it to what you say, and to make it absolutely of the same nature with faith.  We must conclude that nobody can either create or continue such a belief in themselves; but where it is there is happiness.  And for my part at this present, I verily believe I could find it in the long walk at Dublin.

You say nothing of your father’s sickness, therefore I hope he is well again; for though I have a quarrel to him, it does not extend so far as to wish him ill.  But he made no good return for the counsel I gave you, to say that there might come a time when my kindness might fail.  Do not believe him, I charge you, unless you doubt yourself that you may give me occasion to change; and when he tells you so again, engage what you please upon’t, and put it upon my account.  I shall go out of town this week, and so cannot possibly get a picture drawn for you till I come up again, which will be within these six weeks, but not to make any stay at all.  I should be glad to find you here then.  I would have had one drawn since I came, and consulted my glass every morning when to begin; and to speak freely to you that are my friend, I could never find my face in a condition to admit on’t, and when I was not satisfied with it myself, I had no reason to hope that anybody else should.  But I am afraid, as you say, that time will not mend it, and therefore you shall have it as it is as soon as Mr. Cooper will vouchsafe to take the pains to draw it for you.

I am in great trouble to think how I shall write out of Suffolk to you, or receive yours.  However, do not fail to write, though they lie awhile.  I shall have them at last, and they will not be the less welcome; and, though you should miss of some of mine, let it not trouble you; but if it be by my fault, I’ll give you leave to demand satisfaction for it when you come.  Jane kisses your hands, and says she will be ready in all places to do you service; but I’ll prevent her, now you have put me into a jealous humour.  I’ll keep her in chains before she shall quit scores with me.  Do not believe, sir, I beseech you, that the young heirs are for you; content yourself with your old mistress.  You are not so handsome as Will Spencer, nor I have not so much courage nor wealth as his mistress, nor she has not so much as her aunt says by all the money.  I shall not have called her his mistress now they have been married almost this fortnight.