is 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.

I am not old enough, nor tenacious enough, to pretend not to understand
the main purport of your last letter; and to show you that I do, you may
draw upon me for two hundred pounds, which, I hope, will more than clear
you.

Good-night: 'aquam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem': Be neither
transported nor depressed by the accidents of life.

LETTER CCXLIV

BLACKHEATH, May 16, 1759

MY DEAR FRIEND: Your secretary's last letter of the 4th, wh