I hope you drink the Pyrmont waters every morning.  The health of the mind depends so much upon the health of the body, that the latter deserves the utmost attention, independently of the senses.  God send you a very great share of both!  Adieu.

LETTER CCXLIII

London, April 27, 1759

My dear friend:  I have received your two letters of the 10th and 13th, by the last mail; and I will begin my answer to them, by observing to you that a wise man, without being a Stoic, considers, in all misfortunes that befall him, their best as well as their worst side; and everything has a better and a worse side.  I have strictly observed that rule for many years, and have found by experience that some comfort is to be extracted, under most moral ills, by considering them in every light, instead of dwelling, as people are too apt to do, upon the gloomy side of the object.  Thank God, the disappointment that you so pathetically groan under, is not a calamity which admits of no consolation.  Let us simplify it, and see what it amounts to.  You are pleased with the expectation of coming here next month, to see those who would have been pleased with seeing you.  That, from very natural causes, cannot be, and you must pass this summer at Hamburg, and next winter in England, instead of passing this summer in England, and next winter at Hamburg.  Now, estimating things fairly, is not the change rather to your advantage?  Is not the summer more eligible, both for health and pleasure, than the winter, in that northern frozen zone?  And will not the winter in England supply you with more pleasures than the summer, in an empty capital, could have done?  So far then it appears, that you are rather a gainer by your misfortune.

The tour too, which you propose making to Lubeck, Altena, etc., will both amuse and inform you; for, at your age, one cannot see too many different places and people; since at the age you are now of, I take it for granted that you will not see them superficially, as you did when you first went abroad.

This whole matter then, summed up, amounts to no more than this—­that you will be here next winter, instead of this summer.  Do not think that all I have said is the consolation only of an old philosophical fellow, almost insensible of pleasure or pain, offered to a young fellow who has quick sensations of both.  No, it is the rational philosophy taught me by experience and knowledge of the world, and which I have practiced above thirty years.

I always made the best of the best, and never made bad worse by fretting; this enabled me to go through the various scenes of life in which I have been an actor, with more pleasure and less pain than most people.  You will say, perhaps, one cannot change one’s nature; and that if a person is born of a very sensible, gloomy temper, and apt to see things in the worst light, they cannot help it, nor new-make themselves.  I will admit it, to a certain degree; and but to a certain degree; for though we cannot totally change our nature, we may in a great measure correct it, by reflection and philosophy; and some philosophy is a very necessary companion in this world, where, even to the most fortunate, the chances are greatly against happiness.