

LETTER X. 



WHAT IS happiness! — RECOLLECTIONS AND REGRETS — UNIVERSALITY OP DEATH 

 — WHO AB.E MAD, AND WHO SANE. 



When I endeavour to remember all the happinesses of my 

 life, I find there is scarcely one I had anticipated that I 

 secured in the end. 



Happinesses are like game : when we aim at them too far 

 off, we miss them. 



Most of those which recur to my memory have come 

 unexpectedly. For many people, happiness is a gross, 

 imaginary and compact thing, which they wish to find all in 

 a piece ; it is a diamond as large as a house, which they pass 

 their lives in seeking and pursuing at all hazards. 



They are like a horticulturist of my acquaintance, who 

 dream& of nothing but meeting with a blue rose, a rose which 

 I have Bought after a little myself, and which it is more 

 unreasonable to hope for than the diamond of which I spoke 



