THE CORRESPONDENTS.

I know too well the melancholy reason of your present silence, and do not presume to interrupt it, or desire you to write till perfectly convenient; but the consideration of this day's beginning a New Year, induces me to send you my best wishes (not my compliments) on that occasion.

I am just returned from church, and there, with the most ardent sincerity, I petitioned that your valuable life might be prolonged beyond the common date of humanity; that your sensibility might never more be wounded by the loss of a friend; that you might enjoy uninterrupted health and every species of happiness.

I have no suitable return for your most kind wish. The second article includes every thing; and is the best condolance I have received; for on these occasions little to the purpose can be said.

As to the rest, when I enjoy health I am thankful; but there are not many species of happiness that I can enjoy. People in advanced life, as their connexions dissolve, grow indifferent, and find their attachment to the world decrease daily: the few pleasures they can relish may generally be safely afforded them. Your correspondence is numbered among the few that I regard: you will continue it to me, and accept my sincere acknowledgments.

It is not probable that I shall ever decline a correspondence that does me so much honour; especially whilst I continue to observe your indulgent command, of writing “the very first thoughts that occur when I take up a pen.”

I have been amusing myself these two hours with a piece of embroidery. This easy occupation engages the fingers without confining the thoughts; so, after a variety of ideas had ran through my mind, I began on a sudden to review my past life.

I contemplated the chequered scene with strict attention; and concluded at length, that the white hours were infinitely more than the dark in number; and that, far from repining, I had abundant cause of thankfulness to that good Providence whose bounty had exceeded my desert. Casting my eyes round, finding myself in a very comfortable retreat,—independent of the world,— enjoying tolerable health,—a few friends still spared to me;—O Memory, thought I, what but thy annihilation is wanting to my happiness!