Adieu!
LETTER LIX.
Harrington to Worthy.
Boston.
YOU are egregiously mistaken, argue as you will.—My perceptions are as clear as any one’s—The burden that is at first heavy and inconvenient, galls us as we proceed—it soon becomes intolerable, we sink under its weight, and lie gasping in the publick way long before night.
AS to the world—who strives to please it, will be deservedly rewarded—he will reap his labour for his pains—Let it judge of my conduct. I despise its opinion—Independency of spirit is my motto—I think for myself.
LETTER LX.
Harrington to Worthy.
Boston.
HOW vain is the wish that sighs for the enjoyment of worldly happiness. Our imagination dresses up a phantom to impose on our reason: As Pygmalion loved the work of his own hand—so do we fall in love with the offspring of our brain. But our work illudes our embrace—we find no substance in it—and then fall a-weeping and complain of disappointment. Miserable reasoners are we all.