Would we then wish to dry up this source of infelicity and be happy in the enjoyment of our present lot, without which we can never, with tranquillity, look forward to the future, let us consider that in the state in which we are placed by the hand of Providence, though our wishes may be many, our real wants are but few—that happiness or misery do not depend on the trifling contingencies of sublunary affairs—that the ways of Providence are impervious to mortal eyes, so that we can neither foresee nor prevent whatever portion of good or evil may be in store for us—and that a rational use of whatever means of happiness we may have received, is not only to prolong them, but to heighten the enjoyment and prepare us for what may further be added to our happiness, or what pain may in future be inflicted. To act in this manner is to deserve the rank in which we are placed, whether as men or philosophers—by which all unjust murmurings will be effectually removed, and the cause of our greatest share of infelicity will be done away. _Literary Society, December 2, 1779_. III. Sunt quibus datur sapientia, sed modus sapere carent. Verba cum frondes sunt, ubi superabundant fructus raro invenimus. _Cicero in Appiam_. The faculty of interchanging our thoughts with one another, or what we express by the word _conversation_, has always been represented by moral writers as one of the noblest privileges of reason, and which more particularly sets mankind above the brute part of the creation. Though nothing gains so much upon the affections as this _extempore eloquence_, which we have constantly occasion for, and are obliged to practice every day, we very rarely meet with any who excel in it. The conversation of most people is disagreeable—not so much for want of wit and learning, as of good breeding and discretion. If we resolve to please, we must never speak to gratify any particular vanity or passion of our own; but always with a design either to divert or inform the company. He who aims only at one of these, is always easy in his discourse. He is never out of humor at being interrupted, because he considers that those who hear him are the best judges whether what he was saying could either divert or inform them. A modest person seldom fails to gain the good will of those he converses with, because no one envys a man who does not appear to be pleased with himself. But should we be disposed to talk of ourselves, what can we say? It would be as imprudent to discover our faults, as ridiculous to enumerate our supposed virtues. Our private and domestic affairs are no less improper to be introduced in conversation. What does it concern the company how many horses we keep?—how many courses we dine of?—or whether our servant is a fool or a knave? One may equally affront the company he is in, either by engrossing all the talk, or preserving a contemptuous silence.