principles, turns inwards for its own entertainment, and is
employed in settling those ideas, which run into confusion, and in
recollecting those which are stealing away; practices by which wisdom
may be kept, but not gained. The merchant, who was at first busy in
acquiring money, ceases to grow richer, from the time when he makes it
his business only to count it.

Those who have families, or employments, are engaged in business of
little difficulty, but of great importance, requiring rather assiduity
of practice than subtilty of speculation, occupying the attention with
images too bulky for refinement, and too obvious for research. The right
is already known: what remains is only to follow it. Daily business adds
no more to wisdom, than daily lesson to the learning of the teacher. But
of how few lives does not stated duty claim the greater part!

Far the greater part of human minds never endeavour their own
improvement. Opinions, once received from instruction, or settled by
whatever accident, are seldom recalled to examination; having been once
supposed to be right, they are never discovered to be erroneous, for no
application is made of any thing that time may present, either to shake
or to confirm them. From this acquiescence in preconceptions none are
wholly free; between fear of uncertainty, and dislike of labour, every
one rests while he might yet go forward; and they that were wise at
thirty-three, are very little wiser at forty-five.

Of this speculation you are, perhaps, tired, and would rather hear of
Sophy. I hope, before this comes, that her head will be easier, and your
head less filled with fears and troubles, which you know are to be
indulged only to prevent evil, not to increase it.

Your uneasiness about Sophy is, probably, unnecessary, and, at worst,
your own children are healthful, and your affairs prosperous. Unmingled
good cannot be expected; but, as we may lawfully gather all the good
within our reach, we may be allowed to lament after that which we lose.
I hope your losses are at an end, and that, as far as the condition of
our present existence permits, your remaining life will be happy. I am,
&c.

XXXIII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Lichfield, March 25, 1776.

DEAR MADAM,--This letter will not, I hope, reach you many days before
me; in a distress which can be so little relieved, nothing remains for a
friend, but to come and partake it.

Poor, dear, sweet little boy! When I read the letter thi