Joy and Sorrow.
Joy.
Joy paints with its own colours every act and thought. The happy do not feel poverty, for delight is a gold tissued robe, and crowns them with priceless gems. Enjoyment plays the cook to their homely fare, and mingles intoxication with their simple drink. Joy strews the hard couch with roses, and makes labour ease. Sorrow doubles the burthen to the beaten down, plants thorns in the unyielding pillow, mingles gall with water, adds saltness to their bitter bread, clothing them in rags and strewing ashes on their bare heads. To our irremediable distress every small and petty inconvenience comes with added force. We sink beneath the additional feather chance throws on us; The grass-hopper is a burthen.