HAPPINESS.
“Whatever diff’rent paths mankind pursue,
“Oh, Happiness! ’tis thou they keep in view.”
Mrs. Rowe.
Thou art the being that the whole race of mortals are in search of, or more properly, thou art the phantom they seek! how different their pursuit! The king endeavours to find thee in his palace, while surrounded by his courtiers. The courtier thinks he is happy when paying adulation to his prince. The statesman pursues thee, when fulfilling the duties of his station. The citizen seeks thee in his family. The debauchee frequents the brothel, in hopes to find thee. The seducer is happy when betraying to the paths of infamy the unwary female. The votary of religion imagines thou art no where to be found but in the duties it enjoins. The poet seeks thee in his garret. The critic thinks he has thee in possession while venom trickles from his pen. The mariner is aiming at thee while he explores the “trackless path.” The warrior is so fascinated with thee that even rivers of blood cannot impede his progress.
The beautiful Sylvia was grasping at thee, while at her feet were expiring a groupe of lovers, whom she affected to treat with cold disdain; no kind looks, no tender glances were bestowed. She completely acted the coquet. At length she promised her hand to Sigismund; but in the short space of time that was to precede their nuptuals, she manifested the greatest partiality for the libertine Frederick. She afterwards said it was only done to try the firmness of her lover. Her folly appeared obvious when too late. When Sigismund beheld himself slighted after the promise she had made him, he imagined he was odious in her eyes. He chose, therefore, for his partner, one that would not act deceitfully, the blushing Lydia became his bride.
Do these different characters follow after happiness. They do—And are they happy?---Go to the monarch, seated on his throne, with his brows encircled with a crown of gold; to him let the question be put. Should he answer, “I am the only happy mortal,” would it not induce you to laugh in his face, and tell him that you were by far the happiest?
L. B.
New-York, Aug. 24, 1796.