ideas of my
own mind upon the objects we meet with, so agreeably, that with his
company in the fields, I at once enjoy the country, and a landscape
of it. He is now altering the course of canals and rivulets, in
which he has an eye to his neighbour's satisfaction, as well as his
own. He often makes me presents by turning the water into my
grounds, and sends me fish by their own streams. To avoid my
thanks, he makes Nature the instrument of his bounty, and does all
good offices so much with the air of a companion, that his
frankness hides his own condescension, as well as my gratitude.
Leave the world to itself, and come see us.

"Your affectionate Cousin,
"FRANCIS BICKERSTAFF."

No. 170. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, May 9_, to _Thursday, May 11, 1710_.

Fortuna saevo laeta negotio et
Ludum insolentem ludere pertinax
Transmutat incertos honores,
Nunc mihi, nunc alii, benigna.
HOR., 3 Od. xxix. 49.

* * * * *

_From my own Apartment, May 10._

Having this morning spent some time in reading on the subject of the
vicissitude of human life, I laid aside my book, and began to ruminate
on the discourse which raised in me those reflections. I believed it a
very good office to the world, to sit down and show others the road in
which I am experienced by my wanderings and errors. This is Seneca's way
of thinking, and he had half convinced me, how dangerous it is to our
true happiness and tranquillity to fix our minds upon anything which is
in the power of Fortune. It is excusable only in animals who have not
the use of reason, to be catched by hooks and baits. Wealth, glory, and
power, which the ordinary people look up at with admiration, the learned
and wise know to be only so many snares laid to enslave them. There is
nothing further to be sought for with earnestness, than what will clothe
and feed us. If we pamper ourselves in our diet, or give our
imaginations a loose in our desires, the body will no longer obey the
mind. Let us think no further than to defend ourselves against hunger,
thirst, and cold. We are to remember, that everything else is
despicable, and not worth our care. To want little is true grandeur, and
very few things are great to a great