has married Mrs. Gerherd, and I admire their courage. She will have
eight hundred pounds a year, 'tis true, after her mother's death; but
how they will live till then I cannot imagine. I shall be even with you
for your short letter. I'll swear they will not allow me time for
anything, and to show how absolutely I am governed I need but tell you
that I am every night in the Park and at New Spring Gardens, where,
though I come with a mask, I cannot escape being known, nor my
conversion being admired. Are you not in some fear what will become on
me? These are dangerous courses. I do not find, though, that they have
altered me yet. I am much the same person at heart I was in being

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,