The Works of Samuel Johnson, LL.D. in Nine Volumes, Volume 03: The Rambler, Volume IIJohnson, Samuel
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The Works of Samuel Johnson, LL.D. in Nine Volumes, Volume 03: The Rambler, Volume II
Johnson, Samuel
English essays -- 18th century
Misery and shame are nearly allied. It was not without many struggles
that I prevailed on myself to confess my uneasiness to Euphemia, the
only friend who had never pained me with comfort or with pity. I at last
laid my calamities before her, rather to ease my heart, than receive
assistance. "We must distinguish," said she, "my Victoria, those evils
which are imposed by Providence, from those to which we ourselves give
the power of hurting us. Of your calamity, a small part is the
infliction of Heaven, the rest is little more than the corrosion of idle
discontent. You have lost that which may indeed sometimes contribute to
happiness, but to which happiness is by no means inseparably annexed.
You have lost what the greater number of the human race never have
possessed; what those on whom it is bestowed for the most part possess
in vain; and what you, while it was yours, knew not how to use: you have
only lost early what the laws of nature forbid you to keep long, and
have lost it while your mind is yet flexible, and while you have time to
substitute more valuable and more durable excellencies. Consider
yourself, my Victoria, as a being born to know, to reason, and to act;
rise at once from your dream of melancholy to wisdom and to piety; you
will find that there are other charms than those of beauty, and other
joys than the praise of fools."
I am, Sir, &c.
VICTORIA.
No. 134. SATURDAY, JUNE 29, 1751.
_Quis scit an adjiciant hodiernae crastina summae
Tempora Dii superi?_ HOR. Lib. iv. Ode vii. 16.
Who knows if Heav'n, with ever-bounteous pow'r,
Shall add to-morrow to the present hour? FRANCIS.
I sat yesterday morning employed in deliberating on which, among the
various subjects that occurred to my imagination, I should bestow the
paper of to-day. After a short effort of meditation by which nothing was
determined, I grew every moment more irresolute, my ideas wandered from
the first intention, and I rather wished to think, than thought upon any
settled subject; till at last I was awakened from this dream of study by
a summons from the press; the time was now come for which I had been
thus negligently purposing to provide, and, however dubious or sluggish,
I was now necessitated to write.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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