art, by
ignorance and mismanagement; and she imputes her calamity to Providence
with a vengeance; and so I am defrauded of three hundred pounds, the
greatest part of which I owe to tradesmen, whom I have promised to pay
this very quarter. Pox upon her! I would she were a horned beast, that
the distemper might lay hold on her. The beldame has the impudence too,
after she has brought me into this dilemma, to solicit my assistance
to stock the farm anew! Before God, I have a good mind to send her a
halter, and perhaps I might purchase another for myself, but that I
would not furnish food for laughter to knaves and coxcombs."

Peregrine having perused the billet, and listened to this ejaculation,
replied with great composure, that he was ashamed to see a man of
his years and pretensions to philosophy so ruffled by a trifle. "What
signify all the boasted hardships you have overcome," said he, "and the
shrewd observations you pretend to have made on human nature? Where is
that stoical indifference you affirm you have attained, if such a paltry
disappointment can disturb you in this manner? What is the loss of
three hundred pounds, compared with the misfortunes which I myself have
undergone within these two years? Yet you will take upon you to act the
censor, and inveigh against the impatience and impetuosity of youth, as
if you yourself had gained an absolute conquest over all the passions
of the heart. You were so kind as to insult me another day in my
affliction, by reproaching me with indiscretion and misconduct: suppose
I were now to retort the imputation, and ask how a man of your profound
sagacity could leave your fortune at the discretion of ignorant
peasants? How could you be so blind as not to foresee the necessity of
repairs, together with the danger of bankruptcy, murrain, or thin crop?
Why did you not convert your land into ready money, and, as you have no
connections in life, purchase an annuity, on which you might have lived
at your ease, without any fear of the consequence? Can't you, from the
whole budget of your philosophy, cull one apophthegm to console you for
this trivial mischance?"

"Rot your rapidity!" said the cynic, half-choked with gall; "if the
cancer or the pox were in your throat, I should not be thus tormented
with your tongue; and yet a magpie shall speak infinitely more to the
purpose. Don't you know, Mr. Wiseacre, that my case does not fall within
the province of philosophy? Had I been curtai