He is sick: we must watch over him, and participate of his pains. His
fortune is shipwrecked: ours must be laid under contribution. He loses a
child, a parent, or a partner: we must mourn the loss as if it were our
own.
Heart. And what more sublime delight, than to mingle tears with one whom
the hand of Heaven hath smitten! to watch over the bed of sickness, and
to beguile its tedious and its painful moments! to share our bread with
one to whom misfortune has left none! This world abounds indeed with
misery: to lighten its burthen, we must divide it with one another. But
let us now try the virtue of your mathematical balance, and as you have
put into one scale the burthens of friendship, let me put its comforts
into the other. When languishing then under disease, how grateful is the
solace of our friends! how are we penetrated with their assiduities and
attentions! how much are we supported by their encouragements and kind
offices! When Heaven has taken from us some object of our love, how
sweet is it to have a bosom whereon to recline our heads, and into which
we may pour the torrent of our tears! Grief, with such a comfort, is
almost a luxury! In a life where we are perpetually exposed to want and
accident, yours is a wonderful proposition, to insulate ourselves,
to retire from all aid, and to wrap ourselves in the mantle of
self-sufficiency! For assuredly nobody will care for him, who cares for
nobody.
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