NATIVE MELANCHOLY.

There is such a thing. Jacques, without the "sundry contemplation"
of his travels, or any "simples" to "compound" his melancholy form,
would have ever been wrapped in a "most humorous sadness." It was
innate. This melancholy may lay its votaries open to any other
cause of despair, but having mostly some touch of philosophy (if it
be not absolutely morbid), it is not unlikely to preserve them from
any extremity. It is not acute, but chronic.

It may be said in its favour that it tends to make men indifferent
to their own fortunes. But then the sorrow of the world presses
more deeply upon them. With large open hearts, the untowardness of
things present, the miseries of the past, the mischief, stupidity,
and error which reign in the world, at times almost crush your
melancholy men. Still, out of their sadness may come their
strength, or, at least, the best direction of it. Nothing, perhaps,
is lost; not even sin--much less sorrow.

Ellesmere. I am glad you have ended as you have: for, previously,
you seemed to make too much of getting rid of all distress of mind.
I always liked that passage in "Philip van Artevelde," where Father
John says,

"He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend.
Eternity mourns that."

You have a better memory than I have: how does it go on?