Thomas Beddoes to Maria Thompson, [?1800/1801] (2)
I feel my dear, ____ what discouragements you have to thwart you; and am very far from presuming that if I were in the same situation, I could bear up under them. It all depends very much upon the power of the mind, to force itself from the present scene, and fix itself on prospects at some distance. A girl whose spirits are broken in early life, has suffered one of the greatest of misfortunes. Cheerfulness and beauty set one another off: But gaiety is the charm more to be depended on for giving pleasure to those continually about you; and with regard to yourself there cannot be a question. And I believe gaiety once lost, is one of the most difficult of all things to recover. I have often witnessed the conversion of gaiety into gloom: I do not know that I ever saw the return of the former in all its original freshness and glow. How far it is possible for you to save yourself from this mental palsy, I can scarcely judge; but those who fall into it can hardly be retrieved by the most prosperous circumstances. The sure way of avoiding it, is to prevent the imagination from resting on the particulars of an odious situation. You have, I believe, as cheerful a mind as almost any of our French prisoners; you have not the prospect of a longer captivity; and you know that they have successfully relieved themselves from the horrors of their situation by the most simple of all expedients. By a knife and a bit of ivory, and often by a few straws and threads of silk, they were able to set damp, darkness, filth, short allowance, and I know not what besides, at defiance. Without doubt, had they made these nuisances the frequent subject of their thoughts and conversation, they would have been wretched in confinement, and moped or mad for life. Whether I could follow it or not, is another question; but the rule I should wish to observe in disagreeable circumstances, would be to forbid my senses to dwell upon them; and above all things, not to make them the subject of meditation, condolence, or complaint. I think I could prove to you that in the situation in which many women whom I have known, have found themselves within these few years, the resources you can command would have appeared capable of conferring the highest happiness.
I had a good deal more to say, but I will first request you my dear, to tell me under your own hand, whether these thoughts give you any feeling like having drank a cordial; or whether they seem as comfortless and unrefreshing as advice usually does.
Published: Stock, pp. 284–85