
Friday, November 3, 1792
W. Wood Wilkins
I have, this moment, received my friend’s letter. I suppose I ought
to have gone to the packet. It may not be usual to leave letters at the
houses of those to whom they were directed. If you purpose to maintain
a regular corrspondnce, you shall never have reason to charge me with
indolence or negligence.
But thou art sick, it seems, and very formally apologizest for telling
me so, but with how little reason? Whatever affliction, whether of
mind or person, happens to you, it is of importance to me to know it,
because there is no one, whether connected with you by the tie of
blood or friendship, who is more deeply interested in your welfare. My
hopes are transferred from myself to my friends, and as there is
nothing in the contemplation of my own destiny that can afford me
satisfaction, I naturally seek for consolation in surveying the pros-
perity of those whom I love. The rays of ambition are extinct to me,
but the darkness of my fate is somewhat illuminated by the reflection
of them from another.
Unless you speak of your own affairs, of what will you speak? No
topic can be so interesting to yourself, none more acceptable to me.
Your friend is not a subject of entertaining disquisition. You are
embarked on a sea where the breezes of prosperity are continually
playing, and where nothing salutes the eye but verdant isles and woody
shores, peaceful valleys and aspiring summits, but my vessel is
entangled amidst lurking rocks and boiling eddies.
Let thyself and thy affairs, therefore, be the subject of thy conver-
sation, for the happiness of my friend cannot be presented to my
view in too great a variety of attitudes. I can never be weary of
surveying it. The precept by which you revived me is by no means
applicable to the intercourse of friends, for what are the purposes of
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friendship but the alleviation of sorrow and the increase of happiness
by participating them with another? And if we are never suffered to
speak of ourselves, how will those purposes be effected?
Had you followed our advice in staying till the next day, you would
probably [have] avoided this disaster. There are few persons, I
believe, whose health would not be affected by a nocturnal expedition of
that kind.
I did not imagine that a momentary disorder would damp your
gayety and involve your prospects in the clouds of melancholy. How
fearful does my friend seem of appearing arrogant and dictatorial,
and how unnecessary are those apprehensions! Have you not a
right to dictate? I am well convinced that my conduct [in foregoing
the practice of law] meets with your strongest disapprobation. I am
convinced that it deserves to be treated with severity. If I condemn
myself, why should I expect not to be condemned by you? Advice is
only irksome and unacceptable when it implies the existence of faults
which we do not acknowledge.
I look forward with pleasure to the time when my friend will step
forth on the theater of the world, and yet my satisfaction is much
less than it would have been at an earlier age, when the purpose of
your labors would have appeared not so much the acquisition of
wealth as the attainment of glory. Our intellectual ore is apparently
of no value but as it is capable of being transmuted into gold, and
learning and eloquence are desirable only as the means of more
expeditiously filling our coffers. In England the profession of the law
is indeed the road to glory, and genius and application may derive new
vigor from the contemplation of a double object, wealth and reputation.
O my friend! how peculiarly disastrous—hold! It is not my
province to complain. I want not that animating example nor thy
friendly admonitions to incite me. There are other motives far more
powerful, and which if any motives could be effectual, would quickly
manifest their prevalence. What would I do were [I] at liberty to
act? "I am a man, am in full possession of faculties and organs,
organs and faculties to the possible perfection of which there are no
limits. Glory is my idol. The road to her temple passes through the
field of law, and eloquence is the guide which conducts the pilgrim to
it. No one idolizes knowledge more than I. No one is so thoroughly
persuaded of the practicability of reaching its highest summits. I
will hie as soon as possible to Europe and persist, to my dying day, in
pursuit of legal and literary reputation." These would be my reflec-
tions should I once more awaken from my slumbers, but that will
never be.
were I not fearful, from the information which accompanied the

delivery of your letter, that I shall be too late for the stage. Believe
me, my dearest William,
Unalterably yours,
C.B. Brown