If there be among my readers any person so discontented with his lot that he would be glad to exchange conditions with another, I think, had he been acquainted with Mr. Arthur Megrim, he would have desired an exchange with him above all other persons in the world; for Mr. Megrim possessed all those requisites which are thought to ensure happiness to a human being. He was young, rich, and independent; of a good family (he boasted the chivalrous blood of the Megrims); of a sound body, and serene temper; and with no appetite for those excesses which ruin the reputation, while they debase the minds and destroy the peace of youth. His years, as I have mentioned already, were twenty-five or six; his revenues were far above his wants, and enabled him to support his town-house, which was the most elegant one in the village, where he lived remote from the care and trouble of his plantations; and as for independence, _that_ was manifestly complete, he being a bachelor, and the sole surviver of his family, excepting only his sister, Miss Ann Megrim, who managed his household, and thus took from his mind the only care that could otherwise have disturbed it. What then in the whole world had Mr. Megrim to trouble him? Nothing on earth--and for that reason, to speak paradoxically, he was more troubled than any one else on earth. Labour, pain, and care--the evils which men are so apt to censure Providence for entailing upon the race--I have had experience enough to know, are essential to the true enjoyment of life, serving, like salt, pepper, mustard, and other condiments and spices, which are, by themselves, ungrateful to the palate, to give a relish to the dish that is insipid and cloying without them. Who enjoys health--who is so sensible of the rapture of being well, as he who has just been relieved from sickness? Who can appreciate the delightful luxury of repose so well as the labourer released from his daily toil? Who, in fine, tastes of the bliss of happiness like him who is introduced to it after a probation of suffering? The surest way to cure a boy of a love of cakes and comfils, is to put him apprentice to a confectioner. The truth is, that the sweets of life, enjoyed by themselves, are just as disgusting as the bitters, and can only be properly relished when alternated or mingled with the latter. But as this is philosophy, and the reader will skip it, I will pursue the subject no further, but jump at once from the principle to the practical illustration, as seen in my history while a resident in the body of Mr. Arthur Megrim.