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as yet unwrought elements of content--and that, even now, in the present
darkness and madness of all thought on the great question of the social
condition, it is not impossible that man, the individual, under certain
unusual and highly fortuitous conditions, may be happy.
With opinions such as these my young friend, too, was fully imbued, and
thus it is worthy of observation that the uninterrupted enjoyment which
distinguished his life was, in great measure, the result of preconcert.
It is indeed evident that with less of the instinctive philosophy which,
now and then, stands so well in the stead of experience, Mr. Ellison
would have found himself precipitated, by the very extraordinary success
of his life, into the common vortex of unhappiness which yawns for those
of pre-eminent endowments. But it is by no means my object to pen an
essay on happiness. The ideas of my friend may be summed up in a few
words. He admitted but four elementary principles, or more strictly,
conditions of bliss. That which he considered chief was (strange to
say!) the simple and purely physical one of free exercise in the open
air. "The health," he said, "attainable by other means is scarcely worth
the name." He instanced the ecstasies of the fox-hunter, and pointed to
the tillers of the earth, the only people who, as a class, can be fairly
considered happier than others. His second condition was the love of
woman. His third, and most difficult of realization, was the contempt
of ambition. His fourth was an object of unceasing pursuit; and he held
that, other things being equal, the extent of attainable happiness was
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