.
We say that the world is made of sea and land as though they were equal, but we know that there is more sea in the western than in the eastern hemisphere.
We say that the firmament is full of stars as though it were equally full, but we know that there are more stars under the northern than under the southern pole.
We say the elements of man are misery and happiness as though he had an equal proportion of both.
We call the days of a man vicissitudinary as though he had as many good days as ill, night and day equal, good and ill fortune in the same measure.
But it is far from that. He drinks misery and he tastes happiness. He mows misery and he gleans happiness. He journeys in misery, he does but walk in happiness.
Man’s misery is positive and dogmatical, his happiness is but disputable and problematical.
All men call misery misery but happiness changes the name by the taste of man.
Now this sickness of mine declares itself by spots to be a malignant and pestilential disease. There is comfort in knowing that the physicians can now see more clearly what to do. There is also discomfort in knowing that the malignancy may be so great that all that they can do shall do nothing.
That an enemy declares himself, when he is able to subsist and to pursue and to achieve his ends, is no great comfort.
In internal conspiracies against the state voluntary confessions do more good than those extracted by torture.
In infections, when nature herself confesses by symptoms, they minister comfort. But when the symptoms are brought on by cordials it is but a confession upon the rack.
We come to know the malice of the man who confesses yet we do not know whether there is still as much malice in his heart as before his confession. We are sure of his treason but not of his repentance, sure of him but not of his accomplices.
It is a faint comfort to know the worst when the worst is remedyless. And even less of a comfort to be so ill and not to know that that is the worst.
A woman is comforted with the birth of her son, her body is eased of a burden. But if she could prophetically read his history, how ill a man, perchance how ill a son he would prove, she should receive a greater burden into her mind.
Scarce any happiness does not have in it so much of the nature of false and base money with more alloy than silver or gold.
Is it not so even in the exercise of virtues?
I must be poor and want before I can exercise the virtue of gratitude.
I must be miserable and in torment before I can exercise the virtue of patience.
How deep do we dig and for how coarse gold? And what other touchstone have we of our gold but comparison, whether we be as happy as others or as ourselves at other times?
O poor step towards being well when these spots do only tell us that we are worse than we were sure of before.
