ON CONTENTMENT.

The world has been often, and properly enough, compared to a theatre, in

which men step forth to public view, and act their several parts. These

parts are allotted by the Governor of the Universe, who best knows the

characters to which we are suited; and it is our greatest wisdom to

acquiesce in them, and to endeavour to sustain them with propriety,

whilst we are upon the stage of this life.---Happiness is distributed

with a more impartial hand than we generally imagine. It consists not in

the possession of riches and honours, in outward shew and splendor: it

is something internal. It is seated in the mind, and if we seek it

elsewhere, we shall seek it in vain. The contented peasant in his humble

cot is happy with a sufficiency, whilst the greatest Lord in the

Universe, in the midst of all his wealth and grandeur, is often a prey

to anxiety and discontent. Does not the poor beggar, with all his

apparent want, frequently enjoy more real happiness than the rich miser

in the midst of his abundance? The latter is continually tormented with

the fear of losing his superfluous treasures: eager of adding to his

store, he even denies himself common necessaries, and leads a miserable

life; whilst the former, unmindful of future wants, is heard to sing

over his scanty meal. Contentment is a most valuable blessing. It is the

sovereign medicine of afflictions. By bearing them with patience and

resignation, we in a great measure lessen their weight, and are better

prepared to withstand any future adverse stroke of fortune. But instead

of alleviating, we only add to our troubles by repining. Often do we

wantonly contrive to be our own tormentors, by looking with an envious

ill-natured eye, upon the condition of others, or by contemplating only

the dark side of our own. Often, too often, do we reject our own

happiness, by neglecting every substantial blessing that is within our

reach; and court misery, by creating imaginary wants to ourselves, and

hunting after some fugitive enjoyment, which, like a shadow always flies

from us in proportion to the swiftness with which it is pursued.

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The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Forming an Interesting Collection of Original and Select Literary Productions in Prose and Verse · 第 354 / 844 题