HtaiMrtM 
 
 ' OSCAR H. GREGORY. 
 
 S°- 6a & 
 
 " QiiEe legeris memento." 
 
 Gfarnell IntttBrHitg Sabratg 
 
 JJtfjaca, Keui Ijorfe 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 HENRY W. SAGE 
 
 1891 
 
PS 3089.T O 3 n 8M8 U tl52 y ^ 
 
 . Musinas of an j nva | jd 
 
 3 1924 022 200 962 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022200962 
 
MUSINGS 
 
 AN INVALID 
 
 i bu>«, i -?.c v->q | ' flrccleir > c 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 PUBLISHED BY JOHN S. TAYLOR, 
 
 No. 143 NASSAU STREET. 
 M.D.CCO.LII. 
 
A ^72- i ^% 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by 
 
 JOHN 8. TAYLOR, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the Distriot Court for the Southern District 
 of New York. 
 
 EDWARD O. JENKINS, 
 PBIHTEri, 
 
 No. 114 Nassau Slraet. 
 
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 The writer of this little book, while expressing 
 his thanks for the kind reception it has met with, 
 must plead guilty to some little disingenuousness, 
 in assuming a part that does not belong to him. 
 Had he really been the poor, miserable dog of an 
 Invalid that he personates, he never would have 
 presumed to inflict his sentiments upon the Public. 
 On the contrary, he is so fortunate in this regard, 
 (and he speaks, he trusts, with becoming gratitude,) 
 that the Bowl of an Acorn would hold all the 
 medicine, be it in the shape of Pill, Potion, or 
 Powder, that has darkened the doors of his 
 Stomach for the last five years. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Preliminary Gruntings, .... 
 
 9 
 
 What Wordlings we are, 
 
 16 
 
 More Growling— Election Experiences, 
 
 20 
 
 Whims and Murmurs, .... 
 
 27 
 
 Follies and Failures of Enthusiasts, 
 
 30 
 
 A Small Tribute to a Great Artist, 
 
 35 
 
 Triumphs of Quackery, .... 
 
 40 
 
 Art-Union Gems, . 
 
 45 
 
 Doleful Dumps, .... 
 
 47 
 
 The Unsavory Philosopher, 
 
 49 
 
 More Gruntings — The Learned Pig, 
 
 53 
 
 Self-Inspection — Value of Faith, 
 
 56 
 
 Snappings and Snarlings, 
 
 62 
 
 Horrors of Sleeplessness, 
 
 66 
 
 A glorious Nap at last — Good Resolutions, 
 
 71 
 
 Bores and Nuisances, .... 
 
 76 
 
 Windy Day — The un-Wig-ged Great Man, 
 
 82 
 
 Ludicrous Scene in Church, 
 
 86 
 
 Inequalities and Mysteries of Life, 
 
 87 
 
 The Student's Lament, .... 
 
 96 
 
 Sinning and Suffering — A wicked, wicked World, 
 
 103 
 
 The Epicure, ..... 
 
 111 
 
 The Irritable Man, .... 
 
 118 
 
 Equinoctial Frolics, .... 
 
 123 
 
VI CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 
 PAOE 
 
 America, 200 years hence ; a Fancy Sketch, . . 125 
 
 Fascinations of Cousins, 
 
 
 . 137 
 
 A Confirmed Grumbler, 
 
 
 
 139 
 
 Mistakes of Preachers, . 
 
 
 
 148 
 
 Conversation with a Skeptic, . 
 
 
 
 152 
 
 Miser's Deathbed, 
 
 
 
 169 
 
 A True Philosopher, 
 
 
 
 179 
 
 Growlings — Lamentations — Remonstrances, 
 
 
 188 
 
 Delights of Ignorance — Tumultuous Peelings, 
 
 
 200 
 
 Triumphs of Goodness, . 
 
 
 208 
 
 More Outpourings of the Skeptic, 
 
 
 
 213 
 
 Glance at the Five Points, 
 
 
 
 223 
 
 An Unlucky Dog, 
 
 
 
 228 
 
 A Night at the Theatre, 
 
 
 
 232 
 
 The Paragon of Politeness, 
 
 
 
 236 
 
 A fascinating Swindler, . 
 
 
 
 241 
 
 The Martyr to Business, 
 
 
 
 247 
 
 Frightful Exhibitions of Temper, 
 
 
 
 253 
 
 The Glutton, . 
 
 
 
 258 
 
 An Amiable Enthusiast, 
 
 
 
 261 
 
 Last Hours of a Drunkard, 
 
 
 
 269 
 
 Valedictory Musings, 
 
 
 
 274 
 
MUTTERINGS 
 
 MUSINGS OF AN INVALID, 
 
 Oh dear, another miserable, worthless day before 
 me. How long is this loathsome farce to last? 
 How long am I doomed to drag this contemptible 
 carcass about "the earth? How many more weary 
 months must I linger here, an eye-sore to my friends, 
 a nuisance to myself? When, oh when, will the 
 blessed day of release come, that I may go down 
 quietly to my grave, and be resolved into >my 
 kindred dust ? "Why, why was I ever permitted to 
 see day-light? What right had my unthinking 
 parents to inflict upon society such a wretch as I 
 am ? Yes, 'twere far better for all concerned, that 
 I were out of the way — the sooner the better — let 
 me go then— box me up — pack me off — send me 
 home — home, to my mother earth — without parade 
 too — with as few vain words as possible — let me 
 drop off, unheeded as a falling leaf; But some hale 
 and hearty looking friend will enter presently, 
 1* 
 
10 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 picking his teeth, perhaps, after a substantial break- 
 fast, and tell me that I am wrong, quite wrong, in 
 feeling and talking thus — that it is ungrateful, sin- 
 ful — that it is mere chicken-hearted whining — an 
 unmanly shrinking from the wholesome trials, the 
 needful discipline of life. Sir, I am not convinced — 
 nor do I like the dictatorial tone of your remarks. 
 Grumble I will — it is the sick man's privilege. I 
 wish to know why I am tormented thus ? What 
 vile offence must my poor soul have committed in 
 some pre-existent state, that it has thus been con- 
 demned to ignominious imprisonment in such a 
 pitiful humbug of a body as this — look at me— 
 what a lantern-jawed, guinea- visaged, hollow-eyed 
 scarecrow have I become — a mere bag of sorry 
 bones. Why, if I were cast ashore on a Cannibal 
 island to-morrow, no respectable native would con- 
 descend to eat me. Were I in a den of lions, I 
 should feel perfectly safe, without faith ; they would 
 scorn to lay their royal paws on such a paltry mor- 
 sel. See that infernal, rascally, impertinent, truth- 
 telling looking-glass; with what a quiet malice it 
 confirms my statements — vile reminder of my 
 wretchedness, let me dash it into ten thousand 
 atoms — yes, let me hurl it at the head of that ob- 
 streperous wretch who is even now crying sand 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. .11 
 
 under my windows — what a ragged, rugged looking 
 dog he is — what a. solid-legged, broad-backed, im- 
 pudent scoundrel — such a pair, of lungs, too. Now 
 is it not too bad, that I should be penned up here, 
 like a bit of wax- work in a museum, and that this 
 noisy, unprincipled vagabond should be as free as 
 air ? Curse my unlucky stars ! 
 
 Patience, patience, patience, my dear boy, think 
 of poor old Job, and his patriarchal sufferings- 
 studded with boils, tormented by a vixen of a. wife, 
 teased and insulted by hypocritical visitors— what 
 are your experiences, compared with his ? think of 
 that, and so possess thy soul, and gulp down thy 
 pills in patience. 
 
 Pills, forsooth! have I not been gulping them 
 down continually, for the last quarter of a eentury ? 
 hundreds of thousands of them, of all sorts, sizes and 
 denominations? Blue, Life, Health, Dinner, Assa-; 
 foetida, Paradise Pills? I verily believe that I 
 have tossed down more of these balls; into my 
 stomach, than there were votes polled at the last 
 federal election — yes more than there were ever 
 confetti thrown, at the gayest Carnival of Eome. I 
 have no doubt that at this moment they are sticking 
 about in the coats of my st6mach, thicker than 
 capers on a leg of mutton — pills, say you? ay, and 
 
12 MUTTEBINGS AND 
 
 powders too — have I not swallowed powders enough 
 to make a first-class sand-bank ? Have I not swilled 
 down saline and bitter draughts, enough to float 
 the navy of Europe? name to me, if you can, a 
 cough drop that I have not tried ; a cough candy 
 that I have not sucked — or any gum, paste, root, 
 syrup, tincture, that has not crossed the threshold 
 of my stomach — Wintergreen, Camomile, Valerian, 
 Hoarhound, Liverwort, Sarsaparilla, have I not 
 sued to them all in vain? Have I not bowed down 
 and worshipped at the shrines, first of Allopathy, 
 then of Homoeopathy, and finally, of Hydropathy ? 
 Have I not all summer long been soaking in wet 
 sheets, and tossing down multitudinous tumblers of 
 Croton? Have I not crouched down in sitz baths 
 of all temperatures ? what part of my poor carcass 
 has not been a target for the contents of douche- 
 pipes of all calibers ? and has it not turned out a 
 sovereign, a stupendous humbug? Water-cure, 
 forsooth ! "Why the first great water experiment of 
 all, the Deluge itself, did not effect a cure ; for who 
 does not feel it, in his very bones, to be true, that 
 the world is just as full of scamps, and quacks, and 
 sots, and ruffians, as it was before the Flood? 
 "Well, well, well — let me compose myself — let me 
 see if a cup of tea, and the morning paper cannot, 
 
MUSINGS OP AN INVALID. 13 
 
 between them, bring me down to a more rational, 
 Christian frame of mind. Heavens ! what a mon- 
 ster sheet — it is really a job to fold it — why six 
 irritable fellow-citizens might read abreast here, 
 without any excuse for growling or hustling. If it 
 keeps growing at this rate, the Times will soon be a 
 mere chicken alongside of it ; and as to those poor 
 little starvelings that they call Journals in France, 
 and Austria, and Italy, they sink into absolute 
 nothingness. What says the editor ? " We present 
 to our readers," &c, "unwieldy as it may seem, we 
 assure them that it is quite too small to be a faithful 
 mirror of the world's doings, or an adequate ex- 
 ponent of the wants of our vast, momently growing, 
 and ever dearly beloved Gotham" — you say truth, 
 no doubt, most amiable of pen-wielders — the world's 
 doings, indeed — no trifle, they, in our day — how 
 vast, how manifold! Has there ever before been 
 such a stir and bustle in this planet of ours ? Can 
 it be, that our brethren in the other orbs of space 
 are so full of business? if so, what an active, enter- 
 prising universe it must be. How proud we ought 
 to be to belong to it ! Why, here there is scarce a 
 corner left for the meditative man — the philosopher 
 can scarce find a quiet day, or quiet night, wherein 
 to pursue his speculations ; as for the poor poet, the 
 
14 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 jig is clearly up with him ; he may as well hang his 
 harp upon the willows forthwith, or take it to the 
 nearest pawnbroker's shop — he must no longer 
 
 " Murmur near the running brooks 
 A music sweeter than their own ;" — 
 
 both brook and poet are looked upon by the com- 
 munity with a jealous eye — the former must no 
 longer be permitted to prattle and loiter amongst 
 groves and meads, but must "be cut short in its 
 course, and pressed into the service of Mammon — as 
 to the latter, let him take refuge instanter in peddling 
 or book-keeping, if he would dodge the operation of 
 the vagrant act — public opinion will not be trifled 
 with — and public opinion hath voted " calm contem- 
 plation and poetic ease" to be intolerable nuisances, 
 as much so, as intramural burying, or bone-boiling. 
 Drop your books, then, my young friend — suspend 
 your rambles — leave the lily on its stem, the Shak- 
 peare on its shelf, and come and join the great con- 
 gregation of Workers — come, help us plough and 
 plant and sow and reap and dig and build and chop 
 and spin and grind — fear not, there is work enough 
 and to spare, for the whole of us — yes, for the whole 
 nine hundred millions — see what herculean labors 
 we are already engaged in, and have out out for our 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 15 
 
 children and childrens' children — tapping lakes, cut- 
 ting across isthmuses, scooping out harbors, putting 
 rivers in trim for business, drilling holes through 
 mountains, ransacking the bowels of the earth for 
 gold and silver, undermining whole States for fuel, 
 chasing whales from ocean to ocean, sending forth 
 our packs of steam-hounds to scour the earth by sea 
 and land, plucking out the heart of its mystery from 
 either pole, holding wire-talks with the antipodes, 
 turning the great globe itself into a huge whispering 
 gallery — surely these are laudable, and most appro- 
 priate tasks for human wits and nerves — most true — 
 but, meanwhile, are there no other departments of 
 thought and action? Is theology to go by the 
 boards ? are metaphysics to be forgotten ? are the 
 higher mathematics to be abandoned to the angels ? 
 May we no longer chop logic as well as wood? are 
 the flowers of rhetoric to wither on their stalks ? Is 
 jurisprudence to be deprived of her fair proportions ? 
 Is science only to be valued, as she may minister to 
 our comfort ? Is Art herself to forget all that is 
 lofty and holy in her calling, and to become a mere 
 turnspit in the service of Appetite ? Heaven forbid 
 — and yet, while we all cheerfully admit, in theory, 
 the supremacy of things spiritual, are we not de- 
 voting the great mass of our time, thought, and 
 
16 MDTTEEINGS AND 
 
 means to things material ? turning our back upon 
 the substance, while chasing the teazing, deceiving, 
 and tormenting shadow? But I forget myself — 
 what business has a poor cripple, like me, to indulge 
 in these vain speculations ? Has not the doctor ex- 
 pressly tabooed all such entertainments — ay, all 
 approach to anything like argument, or even medi- 
 tation ? My great occupation, he says, ought to be, 
 to keep this infernal blood of mine from mounting 
 up and boiling in my brain-pan, and to resort to 
 every possible contrivance for coaxing and forcing 
 it down towards my heels — delightful employment ! 
 Hurrah, then for the hair gloves and the flesh-brush, 
 after which, a cheerful, graceful turn or two with 
 the dumb-bells. 
 
 Better to day — I find it a relief to record my sen- 
 sations, and to give my thoughts and whims an oc- 
 casional airing — yes, I am worth full ten such poor 
 devils as I was yesterday, and almost begin to think 
 I may yet live to be called venerable. How would 
 a course of sparring lessons suit me ? Bough sport 
 for an invalid — no, I have hardly physical capital 
 enough for that line of business — and yet there is 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 17 
 
 something very fascinating about it — so dignified, so 
 heroic, too ! I have a SDeaking kind of admiration 
 for prize-fighters — I took, I fear, an inexcusable de- 
 gree of interest in the great Hyer and Sullivan en- 
 counter — perhaps we sickly, feeble fellows are too 
 apt to look with a sort of idolatry at these magnifi- 
 cent specimens of muscular development, and are 
 not sufficiently alive to their moral and intellectual 
 short-comings — true, and yet it is a " glorious thing 
 to have a giant's strength" — ay," a delightful thing 
 to be able to trot along comfortably, with a barrel 
 of flour under each arm ; or, in a moment of right- 
 eous indignation, rapidly and scientifically, to lay 
 low a score or two of insolent hackmen. This is 
 certainly a great deal more than Dr. Channing could 
 have done, at any period of his career— he was a 
 champion of a. different stamp — in the matter -of 
 physical force, he was not worth a pinch of snuff — 
 a small boy could have floored him with ease — but 
 oh, what a Titan with his pen — I was just reading 
 a fine passage in his remarks on Fenelon. How 
 many writers are there on the globe at this moment, 
 who can construct so exquisite a sentence as this ? 
 " Has the reader never known a season, when, in 
 the fullest flow of thought and feeling, in the uni- 
 versal action of the soul, an inward calm, profound 
 
18 . - HUTTERINGS ^lND 
 
 as midnight silence, yet bright as the still summer 
 noon, full of j oy, but unbroken by one throb of tumult- 
 uous passion, has been breathed through his spirit, 
 and given him a glimpse and presage of the serenity 
 of a happier world ?" How many individuals, too, 
 are there in this quarter of the globe, who could 
 venture to reply in the affirmative to the question 
 therein asked? a very small upper chamber of a 
 very small mansion would probably hold them all. 
 Do we even comprehend the meaning of this spirit- 
 ual peace, these heaven-anticipating visions? we, 
 who live in this " great center of commercial inter- 
 ests," as we proudly call it, this bustling, crowded, 
 Grand Cafe 1 of a town — we bury the Doctor's books, 
 to be sure — we give them an honorable place in our 
 libraries. But do we read them with decided relish ? 
 "Would we, on the whole, consider it a privilege to 
 have an hour's talk, per diem, with the author ? Do 
 we sympathize with him in these lofty views of his ? 
 Would we care to* accompany him in these heaven- 
 ward flights ? I think I hear an overwhelming ma- 
 jority reply, promptly and honestly, no, no, no — we 
 are in no hurry for these celestial entertainments — 
 give us a snug perch, close alongside of dear old 
 mother earth — we would not be super-spiritual yet 
 a while — we are for hugging, and making much of 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 19 
 
 the good things about us. We decidedly prefer 
 getting together over our pipes and punch-bowls, 
 and discussing crops, trade, and politics — if con- 
 science will, now and then, ask impertinent ques- 
 tions, or if fancy will paint disagreeable pictures of 
 the life to come, why, then we smoke all the more 
 furiously, and drink the more deeply. Miserable 
 deluded creatures, that say thus, if not always with 
 their lips, at least in their lives — and yet we inva- 
 lids" are quite as bad in our way, quite as great earth- 
 worms — are we not foreyer chattering about our 
 groans and pains ? Do we not gloat over and make 
 as much of our pills and our purges, our tonics and 
 our gruels, as our brethren, the epicures, do of their 
 fricandeaux and their foie-gras, their wines and their 
 salads? But surely there is some shadow of an 
 excuse, in our case. Nature herself seems to have 
 condemned us to be mere animals — ay, wilfully to 
 have closed the gates upon us, were we ever so 
 much disposed to enter any of the broad avenues of 
 business, philanthropy, or study. If I, for instance, 
 were to continue even these idle pen-ramblings for 
 an hour longer, or were to read half a dozen more 
 pages of the Eeview of Fenelon, what would be my 
 reward ? Why, all sorts of uncomfortable feelings. 
 Feet like icebergs, head like a furnace, great dim- 
 
20 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 culty of breathing, yes, all sorts of shakings, shiver- 
 ings, shudderings, and nasty inexplicable sensations. 
 I should have to resort fortwith to a scalding foot- 
 bath, turn down a gallon or two of hot catnip tea, 
 byway of stomach-soother, and probably have to lie 
 all night, sandwiched in between two huge mustard 
 plasters. Now, would it pay ? Is knowledge worth 
 having at such a price? as it is, I shall turn in with 
 fear and trembling — fally expecting that broken, 
 troubled, unrefreshing sleep that ever awaits the In- 
 valid. 
 
 A vile, vile day — sick as a dog — cold as a frog — 
 cross as a bear — hoarse as a crow — were my bite 
 within gunshot of my bark, I could sOon make my 
 teeth meet in this mahogany table — yes, I could 
 nip off the heads of ten-penny nails, as if they were 
 so many sprigs of celery, or spears of asparagus. 
 But alas, few and inefficient aie my grinders — calo- 
 mel, and such like pleasing preparations, have con- 
 signed two thirds of them to an early grave — and 
 as to getting a new porcelain outfit, would it pay ? 
 Is it at all likely, that I should ever get a fair, satis- 
 factory day's work out of them? Could I get a 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 21 
 
 new stomach -with them, it -would be an object, per- 
 haps — what a queer world we live in — how many 
 hundreds and thousands are there of my fellow 
 beings, endowed with magnificent sets of masti- 
 cators, and with stomachs longing for employment, 
 who, nevertheless can only procure a meal of vic- 
 tuals by begging or stealing it ; while I, and many 
 unfortunates like me, are surrounded by dainties, 
 yet have no apparatus worthy of the name, either 
 for laying hold of them, dissolving them, or ex- 
 tracting any comfort or benefit from them. Say, 
 why is this? Tell us, ye ready readers of life's 
 riddles, why are the gifts of nature and of for- 
 tune distributed in this capricious, this abominable 
 manner? What have I done, that I should be 
 cursed with this miserable constitution ? My pa- 
 rents have both been uniformly hale and hearty. I 
 have committed no excesses, either in the way of 
 pleasure or of study, that can acoount for my suffer- 
 ings. No, I have been a sorry, rickety concern 
 from the start — as an infant, my kickings were fee- 
 ble, my squallings tame and short-lived ; as a boy, 
 I had no strength for running, or kite-flying, or 
 even marbles. I don't believe, I ever took a meal 
 in all my life, before or since weaning, with real, 
 mnaffected relish — I ask again, why is this ? Ex- 
 
22 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 plain to me, ye, who decipher so promptly the 
 handwriting of the Creator in all the minutiae of life, 
 explain, if you please, the cui bono of this particu- 
 lar arrangement. I cannot see it I Ah sir, you 
 have no faith — faith — faith — had you a cheerful 
 and abiding faith, you would put a better face on 
 matters, and would not be whining and grumbling 
 thus — alas, too true, too true, and yet how easy is 
 it for you, in this pert, flippant way to prescribe this 
 sovereign remedy. I should like to see -a little 
 more of it in your own conduct and conversation ; 
 you are quite too sleek and rosy, most of you, for 
 genuine disciples — let me be patient, however, I 
 shall soon be on the other side of the great gulf- 
 then will this painful problem be solved — ay, and 
 the ten thousand other mysteries of life, that now 
 so tease, and vex, and puzzle the will, " and make 
 sick the souls of us poor fools of nature." 
 
 Confound those -kittens — there they are, again, 
 dancing the polka round my cream-jug — pretty lit- 
 tle villains — hide your diminished heads, ye Tagli- 
 onis, and Ceritos, ye Ellslers, and Fitz Jameses — 
 what are all your saltations, and circumgyrations, 
 and attitudinizings, compared with the motions of 
 these youngsters, these miniature, tame tigresses — 
 what treacherous looking eyes, though — yes, they 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 23 
 
 look as if they had a vivid recollection of the apos- 
 tasy, and were anxious to commence hostilities 
 forthwith, with the whole family of man. Can it 
 be, that the tradition hath been thus faithfully 
 handed down from one generation of cats to anoth- 
 er? You would like, no doubt, you young scamps, 
 to be in the woods at this moment, there combin- 
 ing and confederating with your kinsmen, for the 
 purpose of eating us all up, and having the planet 
 to yourselves — yes, you would like to be sucking 
 my breath, and scratching out my -eyes, this blessed 
 minute — off with you, sc — t' sc — t. 
 
 This is Election Day, and we are all urged by 
 our brethren of the press, in leaders of unusual 
 fervor, to rush early to the polls, and deposit our 
 votes ; it seems that the country is more than ever 
 in danger, this fine frosty morning. I can't help it, 
 for one, I shall not budge an inch. What, wilfully 
 run away from the discharge of this imperative 
 duty ? blindly waive the exercise of this sovereign 
 right? throw away this choicest flower of your 
 prerogative? Most assuredly — not, however, for 
 any such pitiful reason, as that I am profoundly 
 ignorant of the characters, even of the names of 
 nearly all the gentlemen on each list of candidates ; 
 because, cripple though I be, it was clearly my 
 
24 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 duty to get full and clear information on these im- 
 portant points. I shall stay away, simply because I 
 have not strength and nerve sufficient fairly to meet 
 those annoyances which I am sure to encounter, if I 
 go. I have quite too vivid a recollection, I assure 
 you, of the scrape I got into, whilst exercising the 
 elective franchise, last season. What did I gain by 
 that experiment? "Was I not detained, hustled, 
 bruised ? Were not my corns trod on ? Did I not 
 part company for ever with the larboard skirt of my 
 coat ? Was not my hat cut off in the flower of its 
 youth? And did I not overhear myself called, 
 several times, a cursed old Federalist? And was 
 not one of these very traducers, a servant whom I 
 had turned off a few days before, for stealing my 
 wine ? And did not his vote destroy all the efficacy 
 of mine ? And did I not the next morning find, as 
 usual, that I had been voting with a hopeless 
 minority? And do you presume to ask me to 
 make the same fool of myself to-day ? I shall do no 
 such thing, I assure you. Ay, but the union of these 
 States — the blessed union itself, my dear sir, is in 
 danger. I am sorry to hear it, gentlemen, but 
 really if it be in such a rickety condition, that its 
 salvation depends upon the votes of a few invalids, 
 why, the sooner it goes by the board, the better. 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 25 
 
 But I don't believe a word of it. I have no more 
 doubt that, whichever of the two sets of candidates 
 be chosen this day, the great, permanent, substantial 
 interests of the union will be duly watched and 
 protected, than I have that the boats will go up the 
 river to-morrow, or the cars leave for Boston. At 
 the same time, I am equally convinced that, in the 
 present excited state of the public mind, there will 
 be, in all human probability, as there was last year, a 
 most disgusting scuffle at the Polls, which, as a sick 
 man, I would fain dodge — so leave me, if you 
 please, to the' peaceful enjoyment of my morning 
 gown and slippers. 
 
 Disunion, forsooth ! pray, where are these mighty 
 men, these political Samsons, who threaten to bring 
 down this glorious fabric about our ears? who 
 would fain demolish this, the most solid, magnifi- 
 cent structure that legislators ever erected for the 
 admiration and imitation of mankind ? Well, gen- 
 tlemen, how are you going to work? Where do 
 you propose to begin? What vulnerable point 
 have you selected for this impious assault ? What 
 spell have you found potent enough to dissolve \ 
 these myriad relations which bind us together, with 
 all their dependent duties, interests, memories, 
 affections? relations which are multiplying every 
 2 
 
26 MUTTEfclNGS AND 
 
 moment, by inter-marriage, by emigration, by all 
 sorts of enterprises, public and private, religious 
 and secular? Are we not literally tied together 
 by ten thousand bands of iron ? And who are you, 
 that would thus madly pull us apart, in spite of 
 Nature and Art themselves ? in spite of Steam and 
 Lightning, who are even now, in fulfilment of their 
 great mission, drawing us closer and closer con- 
 tinually, as brethen and as sisters, and are con- 
 verting this huge and ever growing republic into 
 one great and loving family ? Are we not at this 
 moment, through their influences, far more compact 
 and solid as a nation, far nearer together for all 
 purposes of pleasures, or of business, for all inter- 
 change of visits or of ideas, than we were when the 
 old thirteen first joined their hands, and pledged 
 their faith around the blessed tree of liberty ? And 
 now that the thirteen are on the eve of becoming 
 three times thirteen, do you propose to break up 
 this beautiful association, to destroy this harmonious 
 movement, and to throw us all back into confusion 
 and chaos? Thank heaven, the idea is as mon- 
 strous and absurd, as it is unfilial and villanous. 
 Dissolve this union, truly ! as well might a six- 
 months-old babe undertake, with his tender little 
 fingers, to pull a huge cotton mill to pieces — as well 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 27 
 
 might a parcel of truant boys, in a crazy sail-boat, 
 undertake to run down ah o6ean steamer, as this 
 miserable gang of malcontents to wreck our glori. 
 ous ship of state. 
 
 Oh dear, what a strange, absurd, ungovernable 
 humor I am in this morning. I seem to have no 
 control over myself whatever I can hardly keep 
 from making all sorts of animal noises, from cutting 
 all sorts of silly capers — I feel like breaking all the 
 panes of glass in the country — like smashing all 
 the crockery and furniture of the land to atoms — 
 yes, I would like to begin, this minute, throwing 
 double sommersets, and keep at it, heels over head, 
 head over heels, even till the crack of doom. What 
 crazy whims will continually enter this poor brain 
 of mine, in spite of myself. I was, even now, in 
 imagination, going down in a- diving bell, down, 
 down, down to the bottom of the sea, and for no 
 other purpose than to pop a counterfeit hundred 
 pound note into the hands of an astonished sea- 
 nymph ; and presently, I was going up in a great 
 balloon, in company with chattering apes and 
 grinning wild-cats — yes, up, up, up to the blessed 
 
28 MUTTEHINGS AN~D 
 
 moon itself, and with no other or more laudable 
 object in view, than to take the venerable man 
 thereof by the nose. Pray, is it not enough that 
 my broken slumbers should be invaded by such 
 abominable fancies, but they must beard me thus 
 in broad daylight? Am I not a poor, unlucky 
 dog? At this rate, reason will soon leave me in 
 disgust, and forever — ay, and conscience will not 
 much longer condescend to hold her court in such 
 a miserable concern as I am. What sort of a life 
 is this I lead ? What dignity, or value, or moral 
 meaning hath it? A moment ago, I was for 
 indulging in all kinds of antics — making a perfect 
 ninny and harlequin of myself; directly, I shall be 
 as dull, and dumb, and helpless as a mummy ; or 
 at best, fidgetting over the fire, or growling over 
 my gruel — yes, I begin to feel the reaction already 
 — oh, how grim I look, — had I been chewing ashes 
 for the last six months, and washing them down 
 with ink, I could not have a more lugubrious 
 visage. What a time for some fool of a friend to 
 secure my portrait — what an inspiring subject, too, 
 for the artist. Unless he flattered me most villan- 
 ously, his work would be a perfect emetic to the 
 beholder. Oh, why am I thus afflicted? thus 
 incapacitated for all that is , useful, respectable, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 29 
 
 ■ heroic in life ? Why was I not endowed with facul- 
 ties of mind and body, that would have enabled 
 me to command an army, or compile a code, or 
 " the applause of listening senates to command," or 
 to plead the cause of the oppressed, or to preach 
 God's word to my brethren ? "Why, in place of all 
 this, am I condemned to wretchedness and useless- 
 ness ? a mere cumberer of the ground ? tied down 
 and enslaved to this wretched, dilapidated frame. 
 What sort of a partnership is this, where the poor 
 soul is quite defrauded of all share in the management 
 of the concern ? I am for dissolving it forthwith. 
 I long to say farewell to this rebellious stomach, 
 these crazy lungs, these inefficient legs, these dull 
 eyes, this unserviceable brain — -let me go then, and 
 have a new outfit in the way of faculties — some new 
 machinery, here or elsewhere, whereby I may be- 
 come useful to others, and a comfort to myself — 
 yes, I am willing to be the humblest angel that 
 ever flew upon a heavenly errand, or helped swell 
 the celestial choir — anything, anything that may 
 please heaven, so I be speedily emancipated from 
 this vile vassalage. 
 
30 MLTTERINGS ANE 
 
 What a dose I have been taking! not of the 
 
 usual kind, however. • has been in to see 
 
 me, and has almost talked me to death — for two 
 long mortal hours has he been rattling away, with 
 his usual ardor and fluency, about what ? Why, no 
 less a theme than the uses and capabilities of India 
 rubber. You would have really supposed, from his 
 tone and manner, that there was nothing left under 
 the canopy of heaven, but this great gum — that all 
 the trees and shrubs of earth had given jplace to the 
 syringe tree, and that the whole human race were, 
 or ought to be, hard at work, securing the precious 
 sap. As to inserting a word edgewise, either in the 
 way of approbation or of remonstrance, it was quite 
 out of the question. Now, is it not too bad ? What 
 right has a man to monopolize the conversation 
 thus ? What right has he thus to unburthen him- 
 self of his thoughts, however weighty they may be, 
 without the slightest reference to the taste, or habits, 
 or character, of the person whom he is addressing? 
 Why, what in the name of old Nicholas and all his 
 imps, do /care about India rubber? What's caout- 
 chouc to me, or I to caoutchouc, that he should bore 
 me thus ? To make the matter worse, I was feeling 
 tolerably comfortable this morning, and had .abso- 
 lutely forgotten my poor, sorry self, in the divine 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 31 
 
 pages of Milton — and to be disturbed in this unrea- 
 sonable, unseasonable manner, to be literally hauled 
 down from the seventh heaven of invention, to the 
 low and grovelling things of earth. I am out of all 
 patience. I quarrel not with the gum, it is a good 
 thing in its way — by no means the least of the gifts 
 of the great Giver — let- us use it, then, gratefully 
 and intelligently, let us make the most of it in the 
 way of coats, covers, bags, bottles, and knapsacks. 
 If, possibly, there be some latent nutritive principle 
 residing in it, let us have it out— if, under Provi- 
 dence, India rubber be destined to supplant buck- 
 wheat, in the shape of cakes for breakfast, why all 
 the better — but do not, in the name of all that is 
 reasonable, do not postpone to it, or to any thing 
 that was merely given for food, or raiment, or shelter, 
 matters of infinitely more dignity and importance 
 It is really sad to see a man of talent, and energy. 
 and integrity, so far astray — to see him thus ab 
 sorbed, heart and soul, in things perishing, and wil 
 fully turning his back upon things essential. If we 
 must be enthusiasts, do let it be in some great cause 
 — so noble a passion ought to be reserved for grand 
 occasions — be enthusiastic, if you will, about your 
 faith, or about great general truths and principles in 
 science, art, government, but do not throw away all 
 
32 MUTTERING S AND 
 
 your zeal on such comparative trifles as the maxi- 
 mum speed of a steamer, or the maximum product 
 of an acre. In this short, frail life of ours, can we 
 be too particular as to the choice of our pursuits, 
 the character of our ends and our means ? can we 
 be too careful as to what pleasures we seek, what 
 books we read, what company we keep ? But an 
 enthusiast is quite too apt to seek the society of those 
 who reflect his own opinions ; of those who, in their 
 folly, or in their cunning, are the mere echoes of all 
 his sentiments. Thus petted, and flattered, and be- 
 guiled, will he not necessarily become conceited, 
 opinionative, full of himself and his schemes, jealous 
 of all opposition, if not positively overbearing and 
 tyrannical ? If his cause were the loftiest on earth, 
 surely these are not the qualities to add to its lustre, 
 or to ensure its success, on the contrary, are not such 
 men invariably, in the end, betrayed to their ruin, 
 either by their own blind passions, or by the arts of 
 crafty men, whose tools they have become ? Still, 
 they may have the consolation of perishing in a 
 noble cause, but when a man's enthusiasm is forever 
 expended upon trifles, and he is, moreover, per- 
 petually shifting the objects of that enthusiasm, then 
 ■ there is neither diginity nor comfort to sustain him 
 in the hour of trouble. If his schemes succeed, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 33 
 
 there is no true glory in them — if they fail, as they 
 are almost sure to fail, in his inconstant, impatient 
 hands, they leave him without any claim on the ad- 
 miration or sympathy of others. As to the kind 
 offices of friends, what right has he to expect them ? 
 has he not ever preferred, to true friends, the com- 
 pany of flatterers and underlings ? Nay, fortunate 
 will he be, if he escape the sneers and taunts of the 
 very scoundrels who have used him for their own 
 selfish ends. Is it not then, I ask again, a sorry 
 sight, to behold a man of ability, and of good in- 
 tentions, thus wandering from the right path ; thus 
 mistaking the true objects of life-; thus wasting his 
 energies upon a series of visionary projects ; letting 
 go this wild, mad-cap scheme, only to take hold of 
 the next that comes along ; dismounting from one 
 hobby, only to jump up on another, and so to keep 
 it up, to the end of the chapter, dashing and hurry- 
 ing along, with all the speed and fury of a Gilpin, 
 but, alas, without the good luck of a Gilpin at the 
 close — yes, to see him, at last, thrown ingloriously 
 to the ground, and, if escaping without broken neck 
 or limbs, at best sadly bruised and wounded, in 
 body and spirit, harassed, mortified, soured, ending 
 his days, it may be, in gloom and bitterness of soul ? 
 But are we, who behold and comment upon this sad 
 2* 
 
34 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 spectacle, a whit better ourselves ? Are we not all 
 a poor miserable set of bunglers and blunderers? 
 Pray, bow many of us are there who are on the right 
 track ? How many are there on this round earth, 
 this very moment, who can lay claim to any re- 
 spectable amount of wisdom or of goodness? Are 
 we not all blindly mistaking, or wilfully forsaking 
 the true road to happiness ; if we know the right, 
 do we not still the wrong pursue? Do we not 
 meanly surrender to every little paltry temptation 
 that springs up in our path ? Who so amiable and 
 exemplary, that he is not at times disgusted with 
 himself? For my own poor part, when I think of 
 what I ought to be, and of what I am, I am tempt- 
 ed to curse the very hour of my birth. In what 
 corner of the universe dare I hold up my head? 
 Had I not better have been a bird or bee, or the 
 humblest flower that blows, or the meanest pebble 
 on the seashore, than the miserable, guilty creature 
 that I am ? But enough of this — -let me once more 
 run away from my worthless self, if I can, and take 
 refuge in the thoughts of this divine master of his 
 art, this reverend prince of poets. 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 35 
 
 Better, better, better, to-day — I hardly know 
 myself — head cool, brain clear, stomach in the line 
 of its duty — why, I positively feel like dancing, 
 leaping, whistling — I could give nine hearty cheers 
 — I absolutely read a passage just now in Kent's 
 Commentaries with ease, with relish ; I think I might 
 venture on Fearne himself; will it last, though? is 
 it not a mere temporary and treacherous relief? 
 Blue pill, the cause? let me give it due credit 
 therefor — but then the infernal debit side of the 
 account remains to be seen — I shall pay for it, no 
 doubt, with most usurious interest — meanwhile, let 
 me enjoy my freedom — let me taste this blessed, 
 balmy air. 
 
 I have had the happiness of seeing again, to-day, 
 that noble work of art, the Course of Empire. Oh, 
 is it not a magnificent performance ? what grandeur 
 of design — what beautiful and elaborate execu- 
 tion — what affluence of ideas — and those ideas il- 
 lustrated in so faithful and "masterly a manner — -no 
 running away from the grand theme — no, it is 
 fairly grappled with, and with a giant's strength — 
 into what a world of details has the artist gone, and 
 in what a thorough, exhausting way has he han- 
 dled them — the whole forms, indeed, a glorious 
 epic on canvass. In such hands, the pencil seems 
 
86 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 more impressive and eloquent in its teachings even 
 than the pen. Gould Wordsworth himself have 
 taught us this great lesson with equal power and 
 beauty ? There is, indeed, great similarity of genius 
 in the two artists — the same loftiness and purity of 
 thought — the same finished and elaborate splendor 
 of style — the same intense love of, and diligent fol- 
 . lowing after, Nature. How different again, were 
 they in their destinies — the poet was permitted 
 to wander and meditate in his loved woods, even 
 to a good old patriarchal age — the painter was 
 suddenly summoned from his labors in the very 
 bloom and vigor of his powers; when his brain 
 was more than ever fertile in images of beauty, and 
 his hand more than ever prompt to give them life 
 and lustre. Oh, can it be, that these rare faculties 
 of his are forever hushed in death?. No, no — our 
 hearts protest, most fervently protest, against the 
 horrid thought. Surely they exist, even now, and are 
 actively employed in some higher sphere — exert- 
 ed under more genial influences ; emancipated from 
 the paltry cares that so distract the artist's career 
 on earth ; united to some far more exquisite organi- 
 zation; surrounded by far higher standards of 
 grandeur, and beauty, and goodness; expatiating 
 in scenery far more magnificent ; yes, drinking in 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 37 
 
 with an hundred-fold more joy, reproducing with 
 an hundred-fold more power, lights and shades, and 
 forms and hues, which it entereth not into the 
 hearts of us poor residents of earth to conceive. Is 
 it not better to believe this, than to believe that 
 such precious gifts are rusting in the earth, unused? 
 Is then the great soul of Shakspeare still a prisoner 
 beneath that solemn chancel ? condemned, for how 
 long we know not, to the silence, and darkness, and 
 nothingness of that dreary vaul t ? or is it at large, 
 playing some lofty part, doing some glorious duty, 
 in some nobler region of the universe? The idea 
 of annihilation cannot be tolerated — but this indefi- 
 nite suspension of our faculties, this waiting in our 
 graves, thousanvls of years, perhaps, for some vague- 
 ly defined and ever-rececling day of judgment — is it 
 a pleasant, an inapiring thought ? And those of us 
 who were without graves, who were burned to 
 ashes, or ground to powder, or devoured by beasts, 
 or swallowed up in ocean, where are they slum- 
 bering? What has become of these millions on 
 millions of souls that were made since the world 
 began ? Are they all in a state of unconsciousness ? 
 And are they to> be joined by millions on millions 
 more of sleepers, century after century, even to 
 the dawning of this great day of reckoning ? "Why 
 
38 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 this indefinite postponement of the rewards of the 
 virtuous, and of the punishments of the wicked? 
 Why this monstrous waste of faculties, that might 
 have been put to noble uses elsewhere ? But if this 
 be the Scripture doctrine, how worse than idle are 
 all these inquiries. Submit then in silence ; ask no 
 more vain questions, that cannot be answered on 
 this side the grave — Revelation hath not conde- 
 scended to answer them; Reason is overwhelmed 
 in the attempt to solve them — these are themes to 
 be approached but seldom, even by the mightiest 
 minds — and then with honest purpose and reverent 
 demeanor. What right then have such fellows as I, 
 whose wits, such as they are, are all enfeebled and 
 entangled by disease, to meddle with these matters, 
 and to puzzle ourselves with thoughts beyond the 
 reaches of our souls ? Let me then run away in time, 
 else death or lunacy will surely overtake me — far 
 better for me to be chopping wood this minute, or 
 drawing water, or even crying clams along the high- 
 way, than to be indulging in these vain specula- 
 tions. Am I not already paying for this abuse of 
 my freedom ? My head swims, my blood is stag- 
 nant — let me rush out into the street, and walk as 
 if eighteen hundred bailiffs were after me — yes, doc- 
 tor, I will-— you're right — the animal nature must 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 39 
 
 be developed— the legs must do double duty, and 
 the brain must retire on half-pay. Boating, riding, 
 billiards, shuffleboard, quoits, tenpins, be these the 
 great, the predominant employments of my days-^- 
 chequers, cribbage, backgammon, be these the so- 
 lace of my nights — chess is quite too intellectual. 
 As for mathematics or metaphysics, farewell, for- 
 ever, to them — a long farewell to Locke; and Bacon, 
 and Shakspeare, and Milton, and Coleridge. I may 
 occasionally dip into Pendennis or Pickwick, with 
 safety ; but, as a permanency, had better confine my- 
 self to almanacs and advertisements — a pretty line of 
 life truly — a pretty descent from the scholar's ideal. 
 It is as if a man were wilfully to abandon his Fifth 
 Avenue palace, and go down and take lodgings at 
 the Five Points. Yes, my dear doctor, you merely 
 ask me to throw the ear of corn away, and hug the 
 husk to my bosom — to let the kernels go, and fasten 
 my teeth in the shells. Be it so — be it so — if the 
 ass enjoyed his thistles, why may I not make a com- 
 fortable meal of chesnut-burs ? Curse — but no, 
 no — let me be resigned, not rebellious — let me still 
 cherish the hope of brighter days to come. 
 
40 MUTTEBINGS AND 
 
 What a lovely morning — "so cool, so calm, so 
 bright, the bridal of the earth and sky" — yet I con- 
 fess I am looking at it through yellow spectacles — 
 as I feel, there is "no glory in the grass, no "splen- 
 dor in the flower." How can it be otherwise ? Is 
 not my stomach again in a state of rebellion ? Do 
 not my legs refuse to honor my drafts ? I might 
 as well carry a pumpkin about upon these shoulders, 
 as this poor, miserable, unserviceable noddle — oh, 
 how the thatch is tumbling from this thin roof of 
 mine — my hairs are leaving me, faster than ever 
 rats abandoned sinking ship. If paying away dol- 
 lars to quacks could have effected it, I ought now 
 to be putting Absalom to the blush, with my 
 thick, golden clusters ; but no, gentlemen, in spite 
 of your long classic names, your flaming manifes- 
 toes, and your gayly-colored and nose-inviting pre- 
 parations, the tonsure is hourly increasing in cir- 
 cumference — not all the oil in all the bears of either 
 pole can mend the matter— my pate will very soon 
 become as smooth and shining as yon ostrich egg — 
 it is so written in the book of fate : I am strongly 
 inclined, moreover, to the opinion, that a furiously 
 small proportion of the heads that fall in your way, 
 reap any benefit from your costly mixtures — be- 
 tween ourselves, is not the whole thing a gigantic 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 41 
 
 humbug ? And yet, your patients seem to be in- 
 creasing continually — your deluded victims are 
 scattered all over the union, even to the remotest 
 bounds of Oregon. You grow rich, you build 
 splendid houses, you drive showy equipages, you 
 lead the fashion, you lay down the law, not only 
 in your own department, but in all the walks of 
 life. You would, no doubt, feel indignant, to be 
 compared, either as men of intellect, or as benefac^ 
 tors of your race, to Hale, or Holt, or Mansfield, or 
 Marshall, or Kent, or Story. Well, let us not be- 
 grudge you this prosperity of yours ; it is of our own 
 making — we love to be humbugged. Who is 
 there, that doth not bow the knee to some quacke- 
 ry, or other ? One man has a mania for pill-taking, 
 he could no more go to sleep without his pills, than 
 he could without his night-cap, or without saying 
 his prayers ; another is crazy about some con- 
 founded mineral spring or other; he is for ever 
 preaching about it, and deluging his inner man 
 with it, to the constant amazement and final over- 
 throw of his stomach. Who does not like to dwell 
 upon his ailments and discomforts ? And let a 
 man propose to remove the one, or add to the num- 
 ber of the other, be he impudent charlatan, or bona 
 fide professor, is he not ever sure of a prompt hear- 
 
42 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 ing ? Ears, hearts, purses, are they not all forth- 
 with opened unto him ? Doth he offer to replenish 
 and rejuvenate your locks, mend your complexion, 
 give your teeth a new lease of life, extirpate your 
 corns ? Ah, welcome, brother ; sit down, sit down, 
 let us talk the matter over — another enters, and 
 with all the calm wisdom of a Fenelon, ventures to 
 commend to your attention the Colonization Cause, 
 or broaches the delicate subject of Home or of 
 Foreign Missions. How restless, how fidgety— how 
 precious your time has suddenly become — you 
 either wilfully feign a pre-engagemeht, or bluntly 
 refuse to give a solitary penny to any such visiona- 
 ry enterprises. You are willing to give ten dollars 
 for a single concert ticket, but refuse half the 
 amount to the aged indigent females, or colored half 
 orphans of the county — you propose to give a thou- 
 sand dollar ball in the course of the season, but 
 have not the remotest idea of adding five to the 
 salary of that hard-working clergyman, who is 
 compelled to sustain himself, wife, and baker's 
 dozen of children upon paltry two hundred. Oh, 
 what a precious set most of us are — so spiritually 
 minded, too — why, the slightest suspicion of a 
 sprinkling will frighten us away from the sanctu- 
 ary, and vet we will face a tempest' that the most 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. ^,43 
 
 profane smuggler would hardly venture abroad in, 
 to hear the warblings of a Sontag, or see the twirl- 
 ings of an Ellsler. Is this mere talk, or the naked 
 truth ? So intellectual, too — will any man deny, 
 that, even in this glorious nineteenth century, there 
 are far more hundreds and thousands who relish 
 cock-fights and prize-fights, than there are units 
 and tens who enjoy the sermons of a Chalmers, or 
 the opinions .of a Marshall? I speak not as a cen- 
 sor — alas, I am not a whit better than my neigh- 
 bors ; disabled, shut out as I am from their ordi- 
 nary amusements and dissipations, am I not, in my 
 small way, quite as selfish and sensual ? Am I not 
 querulous, peevish, egotistical ?f For ever dwelling 
 on my troubles, scolding about my medicines, bor- 
 ing my friends to death with the whole history of my 
 feelings 1} Pah — what a paltry life is this — morally 
 and intellectually considered, it is not worth the 
 quarter part of a pinch of the meanest snuff. As a 
 rational being, I am losing ground daily — my stand- 
 ard of excellence is becoming lower and lower — ambi' 
 tion all oozing away — -all high aspirations going, if 
 not gone for ever ; I caught myself, even now, vin- 
 dicating the course of Faustus, and wishing I had 
 the same bargain offered me — I was making the 
 most disgraceful compromises with conscience — was 
 
44 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 selling out my entire spiritual birthright for a few 
 short years of indulgence, even of health ; for 
 shame, man, for shame — struggle with these vile 
 thoughts, these beastly suggestions of the tempter. 
 Oh, for a hearty, generous, substantial, downright 
 fit of sickness — a fair fight with the enemy — an aut 
 Caesar aut nihil business of it, so might I get hand- 
 somely out of the woods, and be a man again, or 
 else receive my mittimus forthwith.. Out upon 
 these villanous, treacherous, nervous disorders — 
 these unmanly combatants that will not show them- 
 selves — these bush-fighters — these reptiles, that steal 
 upon you with all the malignity of a copperhead, 
 and, ere you are aware of it, infuse their vile venom 
 into both soul and body — of what use, pray, are 
 doctors and their doses against such rascally antag- 
 onists as these? No, no, the only possible relief 
 from these infernal sensations is in exercise, con- 
 stant and violent motion — nothing else ; so let me 
 up and away — walk, run, hop, leap, skip, jump, 
 ■dance, wrestle, scuffle, tumble around like mad — 
 never mind the immortal part, let it repose, for the 
 present, in swinish slumber ; send the muscles to 
 school, and give the brain holiday — oh, let me 
 solemnly resolve to dedicate the next six months to 
 climbing ropes, and pulling weights, and cutting 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 45 
 
 pigeon-wings, and to a thorough course of ground 
 and lofty tumbling ; had I not better turn clown in 
 the ring, and spend half my, time walking about on 
 my hands ? Yes, even that were better than to sit 
 here, moping, and groaning, and nursing these hor- 
 rible feelings, these cruel- enemies of my peace. /-'" 
 
 I ought to be grateful for a rare privilege that I 
 have enjoyed this morning — that of seeing two ex- 
 quisite pictures — Cole's Dream of Arcadia, and Du- 
 rand's Thanatopsis. The first is a composition full of 
 beautiful details — replete with all that is sweet, and 
 touching, and soothing in rural life — here are noble 
 spreading trees, and far reaching vistas — in the dis- 
 tance, gray hills and towers with time-stained walls 
 — nearer, on the right, a gushing, sparkling water- 
 fall—in front, the same stream, placidly winding 
 through the valley — mothers with their children are 
 wandering along its banks — boys are gathering lilies 
 on its margin — a little farther on, it is spanned by a 
 graceful bridge, over which a maiden and her lover are 
 galloping — under the trees are scattered groups of old 
 men and women, young men and maidens — some are 
 spinning, some dancing and making music, some 
 
46 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 returning from the chase — others are chatting, or 
 quietly basking in the sweet sunshine — on the 
 brow of a neighboring hill stands a classic temple, its 
 image partially reflected in the stream that skirts its 
 base—before it, priests are offering sacrifices, the 
 smoke from which is gently curling up into the 
 calm, bright sky — oh, what a charming scene, so 
 happily composed, and clad in such robes of splen- 
 dor — what a cordial to the nerves is it, to behold a 
 picture like this. Blessed he, who can dream such 
 dreams, and can thus portray them for the delight 
 and edification of his brethren I How different the 
 Thanatopsis — less brilliant, less crowded with im- 
 agery, but equally fine in its way — a calm, solemn, 
 comprehensive picture — far more subdued in its 
 style than the other, but far grander in its subject, 
 and appealing far more powerfully to our hearts. 
 How admirably does it illustrate and enforce the 
 thoughts of the poem which suggested it — "Earth, 
 and her waters, and the depths of air," are here in- 
 deed teaching the great lesson which the poet assigns 
 them, in his matchless verse — here are the same hills 
 
 Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun — the vales 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between — 
 The venerable woods — rivers that move 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
 That make the meadows green. 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID, 47 
 
 Here too are the familiar images of Death — the 
 church, and churchyard, the narrow house, the 
 funeral rites, all announce his presence, while his 
 past triumphs are disclosed by broken statues, and 
 prostrate columns, half buried in earth — over the 
 scene the setting sun is shedding a gentle, mellow 
 light, diffused through, the " soft vapory air" — the 
 effect of the whole is most tranquillizing and delight- 
 ful. I say again, happy they who can see such 
 things, and can describe them thus, with pen and 
 pencil, for the gratification and instruction of their 
 fellow -men: — "Blessings be on them, and eternal 
 praise" — their laurels well become their brows — true 
 benefactors are they ; far more deserving of the name 
 than the man who merely multiplies the blades of 
 grass upon earth's scrface — what doth he, but hum- 
 bly minister to our bodily wants, while they sustain, 
 and comfort, and elevate our hearts. 
 
 Another bright morning — -would that I were 
 bright; but no, I'm as dull as a penny that has been 
 in circulation half a century — I am disgusted with 
 myself and life, and all that belongs to it — I am tired 
 to death of this eternal round of little paltry nothings 
 
48 MUTTERINGS AKD 
 
 tliat go to make up my existence — tired of paying 
 tribute to this vile body — it is a sufficiently humili- 
 ating service that we have to render, even in good 
 health. What with the calls of nature and the re- 
 quirements of decency, we have an abundantly busy 
 time of it — what a frightfully large portion of our 
 lives is necessarily consumed in eating, drinking, 
 sleeping — in washing, dressing, shaving — tying and 
 untying — buttoning and unbuttoning! — what an 
 infernal amount of brushing, rubbing, scouring, 
 combing, paring, trimming, must be performed by 
 every mother's son of us, be he wise or foolish, 
 hearty or sickly — why, at least half the gift of life 
 is swallowed up in these miserable minutiae. But to 
 have to lavish these, and ten thousand other little 
 delicate attentions, on such a contemptible, ungrate- 
 ful carcass as /am tied to — is it not too bad? Yes, 
 I am sick unto death of standing under shower- 
 baths ; of irritating this old hide with plasters and 
 hair-gloves ; of dancing attendance on cathartics ; 
 of gagging over bowls, while waiting the good 
 pleasure of emetics — out upon it — what vile, intol- 
 erable slavery it is — oh dear, this is the thousandth 
 time to-day, I believe, that I have blown this ras- 
 cally old nose of mine — ought I be to very grateful 
 for such a small-beer, small -potato existence as this ? 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 49 
 
 How much more of it, pray, is there in reserve ? 
 How many more dreary days and dismal nights, be- 
 fore I get my discharge ? I can. hardly keep, at 
 times, from cursing myself and all creation : when I 
 think how abominably I have been defrauded of 
 everything worth having in life, I could almost 
 shake my rebel fist at the great Throne of Grace 
 itself- Fie, fie, fie ! shame on you, man. Is this 
 the language or the conduct of a Christian, or of a 
 respectable heathen ? Would Socrates have talked 
 or acted in this disgraceful manner ? not he ; nor 
 Aristides, nor Phocion, nor Philopoemen — true, true, 
 true ! I am wrong, all wrong — let me then, be pa- 
 tient and submissive — let me take the portion as- 
 signed me, without grumbling, without wry faces — 
 let me try to recognize the hand of a Father in all 
 these dispensations: And now, to bed, to bed ; and 
 oh, let me hope and pray, that to morrow's sun will 
 find me, if not a healthier, at least a wiser and a bet- 
 ter man ! 
 
 A CALL from to day — by no means a plea- 
 sant one — confound the fellow, he looked more shab- 
 bily and smelt' more villanously than ever — 'twas 
 
50 MUTTEKINGS AND 
 
 enough to knock down ten regiments of Life Guards 
 — what a rascally way of committing an assault and 
 battery ; the law ought to protect us from such 
 scamps. Have I an appetite so often, too, that I 
 can afford to have it taken away in this infamous 
 style ? pah ! never, never shall the filthy wretch 
 darken my doors again. But am I not too hard 
 upon him ? Is he not, with all his nastiness, one of 
 the most talented, amiable, exemplary of men ? In- 
 deed, he is. I ask his pardon — nay, I confess, that 
 though I was forced to hold my nose during the 
 whole visit, I was right glad to keep my ears wide 
 open, for he talked both wittily and wisely. The 
 more the pity, that he should be cursed with such 
 an infirmity. There seems to be no help for it — all 
 the remonstrances of his friends, all the mortifica- 
 tions that he is constantly subjected to, make no 
 impression upon him — he is determined literally to 
 fulfill the injunction of Scripture, " he which is filthy 
 let him be filthy still" — he will be, most unquestiona- 
 bly, so long as that vile breath remains in that un- 
 washed body of his — the only bath he will ever 
 take, will be owing to a tumble into some dock, or 
 the capsizing of a boat, or, possibly, the misdirected 
 efforts of some hose company. His wardrobe, too, 
 will, no doubt, retain the same spotted aspect, the 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 51 
 
 same dilapidated condition, even to the closing 
 scene. "What sort of lodging must the man live 
 in — few piggeries, in the union, probably, as unsa- 
 vory. Can he wonder that people dodge him, 
 cut him, slam their doors in his face ? Is it at all 
 strange, that boys stop their sports to point at him ? 
 that babies squall, and horses take fright, when he 
 heaves in sight ? that dogs bark at him ? that tem- 
 perance tracts are slipped into his hand ? that om- 
 nibus-drivers hesitate about receiving him? that 
 barbers are in no hurry to shave him ? that discreet 
 sextons will not show him to a pew ? that landlords 
 say, " we are full," when he presents himself at the 
 counter? a pretty fellow, he, for a pall-bearer, or 
 groomsman, or manager at a ball, or aid to a Grand 
 Marshal. Ought he to expect any reasonable wo- 
 man to accept his addresses ? to acknowledge Mm 
 as a lover, compared with whom, the farthest-gone 
 cheese is as fragrant as the rose of Sharon ? No, no ! 
 Love is blind, but then the nose has its claims, and 
 cannot put up with such a standing insult as this — 
 and if he were married, I doubt whether it would 
 alter him in this particular — the habit is quite too 
 confirmed — if he did not positively disgrace himself 
 upon his wedding.day, still, long, long before the 
 
52 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 waning of the honey moon, he would relapse into 
 the same unshaven, unshorn, unsavory condition as 
 ever. Poor man : it seems hard, perhaps, that be- 
 cause of a mere physical infirmity, he should be so 
 shabbily treated by a community, which is quite too 
 apt to greet with open arms every well-dressed 
 scoundrel that comes along— yet, is it so unjust? 
 Ought there to be any compromise with nastiness? 
 Filth — the enemy, not only of comfort and comeli- 
 ness, but of good order and sound morals — what can 
 we expect from a community that will not keep 
 their streets clean? what, but eternal tumults and 
 breaches of the peace ? Would you look for sound 
 constitutional law from a dirty Senate ? or sound law 
 of any kind from a bench of ragged judges; or sound 
 theology from a convocation of unshaven divines? 
 Nay, who would ixike the wisdom of Diogenes, if com- 
 pelled to take his dirt along with it? who would listen 
 to the divine Plato himself, if forced to hold a bottle of 
 salts to his nose, or to burn pastiles all the time he 
 was talking? no— Beauty, Dignity, Morality, Piety, 
 all alike protest against such intolerable beastliness. 
 
 What can expect, then, but wide "berths, cold 
 
 shoulders, angry looks/from his poor brethren in 
 the flesh? So long as that worthy soul of his keeps 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 53 
 
 possession of her present musty, rascally habitation, 
 she need not look forward to any recognition of her 
 claims upon our admiration or regard. 
 
 Oh Lord— I begin the day, as usuab with a. 
 grunt — not the comfortable grunt, alas, which the 
 hog gives, while discussing his plenteous meal of 
 swill — oh, no, no — far different are my demonstra- 
 tions — no such good luck as that for me. Ought 
 I to blush when I say that I often envy my four- 
 footed brother his many privileges ? his sound sleep, 
 for instance— his Unfailing appetite; his princely 
 digestion, his freedom from care, his exemption 
 from all the servile : labors of the toilet — no boots 
 pinch his toes— no hat chafes his brow — no coat cuts 
 him to .the quick — his life is short, to be sure — his 
 death violent ; his exit is a noisy and undignified 
 one, I admit — but then it is soon over — and after 
 death, there is the consoling thought that he eon' 
 fers pleasure on the man that eats him — while I 
 enjoy nothing here, nor shall be enjoyed after I am 
 gone. Oh dear — pretty language this, is it not, for 
 a rational and accountable being— a pretty proposi- 
 tion truly— to exchange' radiant,* all-glorious man- 
 
54 MUTTBRINGS AND 
 
 hood, for vile, abominable pighood ! And yet, is 
 there not, after all, full as much of the porcine as 
 of the seraphic about poor human nature? Are 
 not even the best of us quite willing t6 defer the 
 pure joys of heavejn to the latest possible moment ? 
 Do we not all hang on, with frightful tenacity of 
 grip, to the pleasures of flesh and sense ? Yes, the 
 great English moralist himself was but too happy 
 to descend from his sublime moral' stilts, to drop 
 down from his lofty rhetorical flights, and literally 
 transform himself into a swine, not only in the 
 quantity that he ate, and the voracity with which 
 he pounced upon the viands, but in the actual vocal 
 accompaniments of his over -relished meals. What 
 right, then, have we ordinary mortals to take airs 
 upon ourselves, and to disclaim all relationship 
 with our poor four-legged neighbors, and co-tenants 
 of earth ? Are not they, as well as we, a part of 
 the blessed work of creation, and were they not 
 pronounced good ? And are we so very much bet- 
 ter ? No, I say again, that for one, I am more dis- 
 posed to envy than to crow over these brethren of 
 the land, and sea, and sky. So far from insulting 
 them, I am for cultivating amicable relations with 
 the whole concern, even with mosquitoes-^even 
 they must have some latent good qualities, or they 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 55 
 
 would not have entered into the creation-plan. Be- 
 sides, how comparatively dull and empty would the 
 world have been without these fellow-occupants. 
 Who has not seen horses that he could almost hug, 
 and dogs that he could almost die for, such noble 
 traits have they revealed — nor let the pig go un- 
 honored — he too, has done wonders in his day. 
 Who does not f emember with pleasure the exploits 
 of the iamous learned swine, who a few years since 
 made the tour of our beloved Union ? what a fa- 
 mous crop of laurels he gathered for himself, and of 
 dollars for his owner — it was delightful to see him, 
 sitting cozily on his haunches, and taking a social 
 game of whist — often securing the odd trick, too, by 
 a happy display of memory and judgment. I won- 
 der what ever became of that interesting porker — 
 was there not a dark rumor that he fell, in the dead 
 of night, before the treacherous blade of a Cincin- 
 nati butcher? and yet I can hardly believe that 
 such a wretch as he must have been, ever trod the 
 soil of Ohio — yes, it was even so — and at the very 
 time when the dear quadruped was about to com- 
 mence a course of German literature — out upon this 
 vile, money-loving age and land. Had this pre- 
 cious pig been a native of Italy, how different had 
 been his career — he would have gone down to his 
 
56 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 grave full of years and honors — his pen would have 
 been lined with mother-of-pear], and hung round 
 with masterpieces: — poets would have sung his 
 praises — statues of bronze and marble would have 
 been raised in his honor, in every piazza of every 
 city through the land. Nay, might not -St. Antho- 
 ny himself, bless his dear old soul, have descended 
 in propria persona, arid have carried off bodily to 
 heaven this miracle of swinehood, this admirable 
 Orichton of his race ? 
 
 Another good-for-nothing day — but I will not 
 grumble— besides, if I had good health, most likely 
 I should abuse the privilege. Had my constitution 
 been other than it is, might I not at this very mo- 
 ment have been a gambler, drunkard, rake, or an 
 impudent quack, or vile pettifogger, or pot-house 
 politician, or some other such nuisance to society? 
 or, if innocent, still a poor drudge, and hack, a slave 
 to care, immersed in unprofitable pursuits, absorbed 
 in vain speculations ? I am far better off, perhaps, 
 as I am — if disqualified for much that is useful and 
 honorable, if deprived of knowledge, power, fame, 
 still, spared a world of toils; out of the reach of a 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 5,7 
 
 host of temptations. My prospects in the world to. 
 come, too, are they not all the brighter, perhaps, 
 for this arrangement ? It may be so. . And yet, 
 who would' wish to sneak into heaven in this, pitiful 
 kind of way ? What sort of goodness is that which 
 never tastes the air— r which sees no service— which 
 never, perhaps, has had a solitary fair, up-and-down 
 fight with the adversary? pretty poor, flimsy stuff, 
 I should say — -and small and cheap ought to be its 
 rewards — no. burden in the cross, no lustre in the 
 crown — who wants such paltry laurels ? No, give 
 me a prize worth %hting for— give me , health, 
 strength, vigor of mind, ay, all the endowments' of 
 a man, with all his perils and responsibilities. Thus 
 armed, let me go forth and struggle with Beelzebub, 
 as best I may — if I conquer, then bind my brows 
 with victorious wreaths. If I fall, I fall through my 
 own folly and wickedness, and let me pay the. bitter 
 penalty — let me suffer, in shame and silence, th§ 
 punishment that I have fairly earned. But am J 
 not deceiving myself? .Even as it is, am I so, very 
 sure of heaven- — are my prospects in the next world 
 so very cheering ? Have I even that; negative good- 
 ness of which I speak? Can I lay claim even to 
 that poor pennyworth of laurels which is in store 
 for it? Nay, am I not as vile a sinner in my way, 
 3* 
 
58 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 as the halest and heartiest villain on earth is in his f 
 Yes — yes — Death is not more busy with hie darts, 
 than Satan with his temptations. Who can escape 
 them — be he sick or well, rich or poor, feeble-wit- 
 ted or giant in mind? And have I not basely 
 yielded to mine? Am I not a poor, miserable 
 culprit, full of rebellious, envious, blasphemous 
 thoughts ? Why, did I not, but even now, in the 
 bitterness of my heart, curse an inoffensive brother 
 that passed by my window, and for no better rea- 
 son than because he looked plump, and rosy, and 
 vigorous, and swung his arms about with a happy, 
 self-satisfied air ? Am I not, too, continually envy- 
 ing the rich man his riches, the scholar his acquire- 
 ments, the married man his family ? Am I not at 
 this very moment, murmuring at my lot, compelled 
 as I am by sickness to this vile, dreary bachelor ex- 
 istence. Why may I not discharge the great primal 
 duty of man, that of begetting offspring ? Is it not 
 all that the Scriptures condescend to tell us about 
 men, for the first twenty centuries of their exist- 
 ence, that they begat sons and daughters ? Ana 
 why am I deprived of the duties and pleasures of 
 marriage, why thus shut out from my proper place 
 in society ? And so I fret, and grumble, and curse 
 my hard fate, and question the ways of Providence. 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 59 
 
 And is such a fellow fit for heaven ? A pretty figure, 
 truly, should /cut amongst the cherubim and sera- 
 phim — great pleasure should I take, indeed, in their 
 sweet hymns and fervent hallelujah's ! My feelings 
 are far more like those of wicked Macbeth, 
 
 "I 'gin to be aweary of the sun, 
 And wish the estate of the worjd were all undone." 
 
 Fie, for shame, where is my faith — faith, the 
 only comfort for poor, erring mortals, the only stay 
 for falling sinners — faith in the paternal govern- 
 ment of God. But, oh ! how hard it is to get such 
 faith. The idea seems almost monstrous, that I, a 
 feeble, imbecile nobody, occupying a mere pin-point, 
 as it were, of space, living but a poor hour or two 
 of time, should claim such near and dear relation- 
 ship with Him who is eternal, omniscient, omni- 
 present, -omnipotent. Alas, these very attributes 
 that we so flippantly ascribe to the Creator, so far 
 from ministering to our comfort, only crush and 
 overwhelm our minds. The idea, again, that by 
 means of some vile sickness, or paltry casualty, we 
 are summoned forthwith into the presence of such 
 a Being as this, is it reasonable ? On the contrary, 
 must not millions and millions of years elapse, with 
 their corresponding development of my moral and 
 
60 MUTTBBINGS AND 
 
 intellectual nature, before a creature, such as I, could 
 endure for a moment to be be confronted with, the 
 ineffable glory of the Infinite God? Do not all the 
 laws of Order, Und of Progress, and of Harmony, 
 forbid a notion so monstrous ? Still leave me not 
 desolate, let me have some Father in heaven, though 
 he be not the very' God of the universe — let me 
 have some Throne of Grace, at whose feet to lay my 
 petitions-:— some dread tribunal, to which to render 
 my aocount — my poor soul must repose somewhere. 
 I would not be an outcast from heaven — I seek not 
 to be absolved from my allegiance — sinner that I 
 am, I would not escape my just punishment. Such 
 a poor, helpless wretch as I am, must lean upon some 
 higher power, even were it the most cruel of tyran- 
 nies — some future state or other 1 ask for, even were 
 it one of torment, anything, anything but annihila- 
 tion. The thought that I am the mere child of 
 chance, and as such, entitled to a dreary indepen- 
 dence, ending in oblivion, is too horrible to be borne ; 
 heart and soul rebel against it ; all the phenomena of 
 life give it the lie. Men sometimes affect to believe 
 it, but no, they do not. Were it the real creed of 
 the world, it would become one huge den of drunk- 
 ards, thieves, and murderers, ere this new moon 
 were old. No, no, no, idolaters we may be, and 
 
MU&USTGS CtF AN INVALID. £1 
 
 have been from trxe beginning, but not atheists,. not 
 materialists. . We. have done all manner of silly, 
 wicked, and abominable things in our worship, we 
 admit ; we have boWed down before dogs, and cats, 
 and crocodiles ; we have bent the knee to all man- 
 ner of vile grav en images ; we have kissed the feet 
 of wicked popes ; we have poisoned our creeds with 
 all manner of false doctrines and metaphysical sub- 
 tleties, and have shed the blood of those who would 
 not subscribe to them ;,wei have had recourse to con- 
 fiscations, slaughters, burnings; we have done all 
 sorts of horrible, horrible things, in the name of 
 religion, but would it not have been a thousand-fold 
 more horrible, had there been no religion at all in 
 the world, had men never longed after or even 
 thought of a life beyond the grave ? Could there 
 ever have beeU any education, or laws, or manners, 
 or any society whatever, without the religious prin- 
 ciple ? No, we should not have even riseu to the 
 dignity of savages, but would have been positive 
 beasts. The earth might still, perhaps, have per- 
 formed her circuit in the heavens — might still have 
 been visited by the fair .light of day — but what a 
 rugged, howling wilderness she would have been, 
 instead of the dear, glorious, venerable planet that 
 she is. And is it not frightful to think of a great 
 
62 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 orb, rolling through space, full of life and verdure, 
 and yet without a single intelligent, responsible 
 being upon its surface ? To suppose such a thing, 
 is to reflect upon the wisdom of the Great Designer. 
 What a brilliant theatre, without actors or audience ; 
 a school, without teacher or scholars ; a vast cathedral 
 where no service is ever performed, no voice of 
 prayer, no song of praise ever heard ; even such a 
 worthless, meaningless thing would this green earth 
 of ours have been without faith. 
 
 Oh, what a rascally, abominable frame of mind 
 I seem to be in this morning. Why, why is it ? 
 everything about me is bright and cheerful; the 
 sun is out in all his glory ; the birds are singing, 
 bees humming, brooks cha'ttering; the butterflies 
 are all on the wing, the wind is playing with the 
 leaves, and the flowers are nodding their pretty 
 heads to each other in friendly recognition; the 
 children are frolicking with the dogs ; the kittens 
 are cutting up their capers ; the old nags are kicking 
 up their interesting heels in the meadow ; yes, every- 
 thing around seems cozy and pleasant, and alto- 
 gether delightful. Why, in old Mck's name, then, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 63 
 
 am I so miserably cross and peevish? Why do I 
 feel (for I certainly do) like sneering, and snarling, 
 and snapping, and damning eyes, and pulling noses ? 
 I could pour forth a perfect volley of oaths and 
 objurgations this very minute — on the very slightest 
 provocation, I could call my best friend a puppy, 
 fool, scoundrel — it -would be the easiest thing in the 
 world for me, now, to throw these breakfast things, 
 books, and chairs, out of the window, and myself 
 after them. Bah ! what a savage. I should like to 
 cut the throats of ten thousand sheep — I should 
 relish the job amazingly — I could see a hundred 
 pirates all strung up in a row, and laugh at them — 
 hurrah for a second edition of the Massacre of the 
 Innocents — I'd give a couple of guineas on the spot, 
 to see it. I would not raise a finger now, no, not I, 
 to save the whole earth, and all which it inherit, 
 from going to the dogs within this hour. Oh, that 
 the centrifugal force were withdrawn, forthwith, 
 from this abominable planet, and that the whole 
 concern would go to destruction, post-haste — ay, be 
 driven with headlong rush, and dash, and crash, 
 right against the sun's flinty ribs, and so be shivered 
 into ten million million atoms — yes, all of us, men, 
 women, children, beasts, fishes, fowls, domes, spires, 
 towers, towns, mountains, groves, meadows, vine- 
 
64 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 yards, olive-yards, orphards, all,, all, all. Ok, deary, 
 what wicked, what silly fancies are these whims of 
 a sick man — oh, no, I am.no such truculent wretch 
 at heart — 'tis, these nerves that are to blame for this, 
 these good for nothing, unstrung nerves of mine. 
 And is it any wonder,? , Did I get a wink, a solitary 
 wink of blessed sleep, all through the livelong 
 night ? ho, ;not one. There I lay, tossing, and tum- 
 bling, and groaning— imploring heaven to grant me 
 even the least little paltry cat-nap— in vain, 'twas not 
 to be had — and, pray, why was I thus refused, thus 
 defrauded of life's choicest iblessing? What had I 
 done, to be thus tormented ? Had I been an usurper 
 and a murderer, like Macbeth, there would have 
 been some meaning in the thing— had I even had 
 the "raging tooth," which kept that respectable 
 man, Iago, awake, I might have been reconciled to 
 it — but to feel neither the sting of remorse nor of 
 downright physical pain, and yet to be condemned 
 to this horrible sleeplessness, is it not too bad ? Oh, 
 brethren, sisters, friends, is it any wonder that I feel 
 this morning like a child of wrath — that I feel like 
 calling names, and throwing stones, and smashing 
 crockery 2 Two or three more such nights, and I 
 shall positively go mad. As it is, reason can hardly 
 hold the reins — can hardly preserve order and de- 
 
MUSINGS. OF AN INVALID. 65 
 
 cency in this rascally microcosm of mine — out upon 
 it — away with it. "Would that I were dead and 
 turned to dust — yes, dust. I should like, now, to 
 be blown into the eyes, and invade the nostrils, of 
 some crusty old bachelor, 'twould do my poor ghost 
 good to hear him rail and blaspheme. I will no 
 longer be served thus — if there be any virtue in 
 alcohol, or laudanum, or ether, or chloroform, I'll 
 have it out — I'll have one good, long, sound, sweet 
 sleep, if I daei for it. Welcome, dear drugs, kind 
 friends and comforters, welcome! But stop, stop, 
 rash man, beware, are they friends? Oh, no, no, no ; 
 meddle not with them, be not beguiled by them, 
 there is no true friendship in them, they are dan-, 
 gerous allies at best, servants that easily become 
 masters, and when masters, grinding, crushing 
 tyrants. Take care, sell not thy free-born soul to 
 such intolerable slavery as this — pretty business^ 
 truly, for the lord of creation to become rum's 
 thrall, opium's bond-slave — better lie awake through 
 all eternity, than come to this — far, far better never 
 to have been born — the meanest weed that rots, the 
 vilest reptile that crawls, is a king in comparison — 
 no, no, have nothing to do with these fair-faced 
 traitors, these fascinating devil's mixtures — and, 
 now, out, out into the air — sit here no longer, fret- 
 
66 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 ting and grunting — run, jump, straddle old Methu- 
 saleh, and gallop away like ten thousand Quixotes, 
 or go into the orchard, and don't come out till you 
 have climbed every blessed pippin-bearer in it — any- 
 thing, anything to set this vile blood in circulation 
 — away with you ! 
 
 The same miserable tale to tell to-day — no sleep, 
 just such another wretched, tumultuous, villanous 
 night of it. I certainly did nothing, so far as I 
 know, to earn it — I did not insult my stomach by 
 over-eating or over-drinking — I took moderate ex- 
 ercise — I avoided all disagreeable topics of conver- 
 sation, or of thought — I read no exciting or brain - 
 tasking books — I heard no painful news — I retired 
 at a seasonable hour — I said my prayers — I closed 
 my eyes — I lay quiet and hopeful in my bed ; but 
 no, 'twas all of no use — wide, wide awake — I turned 
 over — I whistled — I counted, first very slow, then 
 faster, then as fast as I could rattle — in vain — then I 
 thought of Sancho Panza, then of the Fat Boy, then 
 I repeated Wordsworth's sleep sonnet — pah, what 
 a miserable failure that was — then I went through 
 a variety of solemn and elaborate mesmeric mani- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 67 
 
 pulations — horrible humbug — I was wider awake 
 
 than ever— then I tried to imagine myself at ■ 's 
 
 church, listening to one of his prosiest sermons — 
 they certainly have done wonders, in their day, in 
 that way — yes, they have been prescribed by skill- 
 ful physicians, and with great benefit to the patient, 
 in cases where "poppy and mandragora, and all the 
 drowsy syrups of the world" have failed — why did 
 I not have one at my bedside ? What a comfort it 
 might have been to me — then I thought of long 
 bills and dreary answers in, chancery, of treasury 
 statistics, assessment rolls, old directories and re- 
 ceipt books, annuity tables, and tables of logarithms, 
 and of every other dismal, leaden document under 
 Heaven ; but all, all in vain — then my temper be- 
 gan to leave me — I muttered, I swore, I ground my 
 teeth, I kicked the bed clothes right and left, I 
 dashed my feet through the footboard, I pounded 
 my pillow with my fists, I sprang out of bed in my 
 wrath, I paced the room in utter despair, I tore my 
 hair, I rushed to the window, I almost jumped out, 
 I shook my fist at the silver moon and the bright 
 stars, I went to my razor-case— took out my razor 
 — brandished the glittering blade before my throat — 
 with a cold shudder, returned it to its place — 
 plunged once more into bed, half sobbing, hall 
 
68 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 cursing— then I .prayed God to relieve me, once 
 and for ever, of this horrible load of consciousness— 
 gradually I became calm again- — still wide, wide 
 awake — oh, how every sound smote upon my ear, 
 even the murmuring of the wind, and the whisper- 
 ing of the leaves, and the rippling of the river, 
 things that should lull and soothe, only teased and 
 distressed me — then the infernal ticking of the 
 clock, and the barking of the dogs, and th& rats 
 squealing and capering overhead— yes, every chirp 
 of every cricket j every nibble of every marauding 
 mouse, seemed to conspire against my peace — so. I 
 lay, poor vigil-keeping wretch, till dawn; then the 
 insolent cocks began to crow — confound them, they 
 had had their pleasant naps on their snug roosts, 
 and were as bright as buttons — presently fhe im- 
 pertinent birds began to sing — no wonder — what 
 a snug cozy time they had had of it, all night, 1 
 sound as roaches, in their soft wo.olly nests — a mer- 
 ry morning, and a happy day for them; but for me, 
 poor miserable devil, what sort of a morning have 
 I had, and what sort of a day do I. look forward. to? 
 And do you wonder that I growl ? How can you ex- 
 pect me to be rational or; placable?— a philosopher 
 or a Christian? Instead of reproving, give me 
 credit for not making a perfect Nero of myself— if 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 69 
 
 yoni but knew -with what difficulty I refrain, this 
 very' minute, from hurling.this boot-jack, at yonder 
 mirror — yes, at your own head, you'd pity my 
 hard case, instead of indulging in these ill-timed 
 remonstrances. Tell me to be thankful, forsooth, 
 for such an infernal existence as this? Poh — poh — 
 what judge so cruel as to sentence a criminal to it 
 — Blackwell's Island is a treat to it — Sing Sing an 
 Elysium — oh dear— oh Lord-r-faith, faith— rpatience, 
 patiGnce^oh, let me repeat, let me dwell, upon, let 
 me take to heart these precious words — let me think, 
 too, of the sufferings of others — think of the thou- 
 sands of poor: wretches around me, the offspring of 
 ignorance and shame, who are born, live, and die 
 in the midst of filth and rags and oaths and crimes 
 — is not my lot, hard as it is, a princely one com- 
 pared with theirs? Think, too f of those noble fel- 
 lows, not many, to be sure, but still, thank Heaven^ 
 a few, in all ages that the sun has ever shone 
 upon, who have cheerfully given up Time, .Proper- 
 ty, Health, Life itself, to their country, or their 
 faith— and shall I then make all this noise and ado 
 about the loss of a little sleep? ;. Shall I fall to curs- 
 ing, because of a few uncomfortable sensations in 
 this poor brain and these paltry nerves of mine? 
 True, true— but then these, gallant brethren of ours 
 
70 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 had a glorious cause to sustain them — they had 
 something worth fighting and dying for — a noble 
 struggle, and well-earned victory, and a radiant 
 crown, were theirs ; to be a martyr to one's faith is one 
 thing — to be a martyr to the gout is another — but to 
 be the victim of such a shabby, contemptible disease 
 as mine, that dares not show itself, but goes sneaking 
 about my system like a thief, for ever dodging 
 the doctors, is there any glory or honor about that ? 
 I can almost imagine it a privilege, to give up the 
 ghost, in a handsome, dignified way, on the field of 
 battle, fighting for one's country — but to slip and 
 fall upon the pavement and so be run over .and 
 crushed beneath the wheels of some vile swill cart, 
 what is there grand or consoling in such a fate ? 
 Pah — what a savory similitude — what a sweet flow- 
 er of rhetoric is this — enough, enough — a truce to 
 these idle fancies, these desultory mutterings — bet- 
 ter be listening to the singing of that tea-kettle — 
 yes, the crackling of thorns under a pot is perfect 
 melody and wisdom, compared to the vile thoughts 
 that keep continually rising to my lips — silence 
 then — silence — hold your peace, man — read your 
 paper, take your tea, and hope for better luck to- 
 night. 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 71 
 
 Oh, how much better to-day — thank the Lordl 
 I feel like another man. Sleep, that so capriciously- 
 deserted me, came back with as little reason ; yes, 
 balmy, refreshing, renovating sleep. I hardly know 
 myself this morning — everything looks cheerful and 
 hopeful — the face of nature, the countenances of 
 my brethren seem full of smiles and kindness — ah, 
 what lovely, what fragrant flowers — delicious — with 
 what decided, emphatic relish did I plunge my nose 
 into that great blushing rose — oh, let me be grate-, 
 ful for such a treat : yesterday I would not have 
 looked at it— everything was dull and dismal then 
 — nothing in nature or art could have interested 
 me — I would not have raised my eyes to have 
 beheld the sublimest peaks of Switzerland, no, nor 
 the orchards of the Hesperides themselves, in full 
 bloom, nor Eaphael's sybils, nor Guido's dainty 
 Aurora, nor the fair front of the Pantheon, nor the 
 sublime dome of St. Peter's ; now, I could gaze and 
 gaze, hour after hour, upon their glorious, their 
 ravishing beauty. Ah, what volume is that which 
 stares me so reproachfully in the face ? yes — yes, 
 4th Kent, the Law of Eeal Property — not to-day, 
 not to-day, dear Chancellor, I have not pluck enough 
 for that — reason is too much of an invalid yet for so 
 long and dreary a journey — let fancy have the floor 
 
72 MUTTEflltfGS AND 
 
 to-day — yes, 'twill be some time, I fear, ere my 
 poor understanding will venture on such barren 
 wastes as Littleton, and Coke, and Hargrave, and 
 Fearne, and Butler, and Preston ; or even upon the 
 comparatively "celestial, flowery lands" of Black- 
 stone and Kent ; no, I will not bother my poor 
 brain to-day, nor to-morrow either, with Kemainders 
 and Devises, Uses and Trusts, Fines and Becoveries, 
 and the rest of your metaphysical mysteries. Be- 
 sides, what's the use of my stowing away all this 
 learned lumber in my attic ? Am I not a resident 
 of the great Empire State ? And has not our 
 Sovereign Legislature, with one fell blow of its 
 broom, consigned all these fine-spun cobwebs to king- 
 dom come ? And will they not soon be brushed aside 
 wherever they exist? Why waste my time, then, 
 in trying to unravel them ? I might as well spend 
 the day in carving baskets out of cherry stones — as 
 well turn cloistered monk at once, and waste my life 
 in making calvaries, and painting prayer-books, and 
 moulding saints in wax. What, when there is so 
 much really entertaining and useful and necessary 
 knowledge to be picked up all around me, shall I 
 turn my brain into an old curiosity shop ? no, the 
 sooner these legal subtleties go by the board, the 
 better ; let them slumber in the dust, alongside of 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 7S 
 
 Alchymy, and Astrology, and Heraldry, and Con- 
 troversial Theology; better be lying nnder the 
 trees, and -watching the gambols of the squirrels, 
 and listening to singing birds, and purling brooks, 
 than to sit puzzling over such dreary mysteries. 
 I would not give a single Act of As You Like It, 
 for all the theological controversies that were ever 
 heard or written ; no, no, noj Elia for my money to- 
 day, or Anastasius, oT the Inconstant, or the School 
 for Scandal ; something sparkling, brilliant, pi- 
 quant; something that will refresh the brain, and 
 set the wits in sprightly motion. A speech from 
 Choate now — ah, wouldn't it be delightful? One 
 of his foaming, glittering, bubbling, dazzling, rain- 
 bow-hued speeches ; light, frothy, pungent, full of 
 fixed air and exhilaration. I do not ask for the 
 deep tones, the weighty thoughts, the majestic 
 wisdom of a Webster. I could not appreciate or 
 enjoy them to-day, but the other would suit me to 
 a charm ; alas, no such treat is in store; for these 
 poor ears. Well, I may at least regate my eyes 
 and nose again with this exquisite bouquet — bless- 
 ings on the kind hand that brought this charming 
 company together— but one sight, on earth more 
 charming — a cluster of young, and innocent, and 
 bright-eyed girls — oh dear, what right has such a 
 4* 
 
i* MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 scamp as I to enjoy this privilege? Who can 
 doubt, who dare deny the goodness of his God, 
 after seeing such a beautiful sight as this ? Who 
 dare grumble at the workings of his providence ? 
 Oh, how kindly, how munificently has he dealt 
 with us ; suppose he had cut us off from all these 
 things ; suppose he had not planted a single flower 
 on the face of the earth ; suppose, after building the 
 mountains, laying out the plains, and denning the 
 bounds of ocean, that he had made man alone, 
 leaving out all other animals ; that he had given 
 him one or at most two sorts of plain fare to keep 
 him alive, and had stopped there, and pronounced 
 it good. Even then, would we have had any good 
 excuse for murmuring and rebellion? But when 
 he has thrown in all these ten thousand little deli- 
 cate attentions and acts of kindness, has lavished 
 all these exquisite gifts upon us, when he has 
 treated, and does treat us, every day, as fond 
 parents treat their children at Christmas, oh, how 
 can we be the ungrateful sinners that we are? 
 Suppose again, that this atmosphere had merely 
 ministered to our necessities, and not to our sense 
 of beauty ; what would have become of this fine 
 show of gorgeous clouds — this endless succession of 
 brilliant sunrises and golden sunsets ; where would 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 75 
 
 the rainbows have been, and the auroras, and 
 the 'beautiful effects of moonlight ? We might have 
 been cut off, too, with sand and stones, a few rocks, 
 and possibly a little iron hid. away beneath them — 
 why, why throw in the gold, and the silver, and 
 the rich-veined marbles, and the diamonds, rubies, 
 sapphires, emeralds, pearls, and all manner of 
 precious, lovely things? Why were we not con- 
 fined to one kind of grain, or one sort of berry, 
 instead of this prodigal display of luscious fruits, 
 and tender roots, and savory herbs ? How dare I 
 scold, and regret, and repine at my lot, when I 
 . think' of all these luxuries and delicacies and 
 beauties innumerable — when I think of the glowing 
 cheek of the peach, the fragrance of the rose, the 
 stately plumes of the ostrich, the sweet song of the 
 nightingale— when I think of prattling brooks, and 
 sparkling waterfalls, and gently gliding rivers, and 
 the dancing waves of ocean ? Nay, I have but to 
 look at the delicate, glancing gold-fish in yonder 
 vase, to know and to feel, not merely the power and 
 wisdom, but the unspeakable goodness of my Creator. 
 Why then so ungrateful ? why so prone to hard 
 thoughts, and harsh words, and angry passions ? Oh, 
 let me try to repent and reform. Down, down upon 
 thy knees, raise thy hands to heaven and swear, 
 
76 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 solemnly swear, that another sun shall not rise and 
 find thee the same that thou art now-; be more 
 patient, and submissive, and forgiving, and self- 
 forgetful and mindful of others — imitate this hea- 
 venly bounty — spare not of thy counsel to the 
 ignorant, of thy purse to the needy, of thy sympa- 
 thy to the sorrowing — sit not- here sighing, and 
 chiding, and hugging thy complaints, and cursing 
 thy unlucky stars; but go forth and relieve the 
 distresses of thy neighbor — try that remedy — the 
 great Physician himself hath prescribed it — up 
 then and away — change the whole current of thy 
 thoughts, the whole tenor of thy life. Do so, man, 
 now, now, or hide thy head in shame for ever. 
 
 Ah me, after all the fine talk, the brave words of 
 yesterday, I find myself the same miserable sinner 
 to-day. How easy is it to make confessions ; but 
 to set in earnest about the work of reformation, that 
 task seems to be quite beyond me. I can pour forth 
 legions of regrets, myriads of; promises, but not a 
 solitary finger do I lift, or seem likely to lift, in the 
 blessed cause of amendment. Out upon such horri- 
 ble infatuation. Awake, man, awake. Have you 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 77 
 
 no heart left? no strength of purpose, no energy of 
 will? Why, why thus given over to this inertness, 
 listlessness, despondency? Is it mere bodily sick- 
 ness that affects you thus? or is it a sickly fastidious- 
 ness, or a fear of opinion, or shameful sloth, or 
 downright depravity, or a mixture of them all? 
 The cause, alas, I hardly know ; but the effect, the 
 miserable effect, I both know and feel. I feel too, 
 that if I do not make some desperate effort to es- 
 cape, and that right suddenly, I shall never be released 
 from this vile thraldom. Well then, begin — begin 
 this blessed day — now that your nerves are some- 
 what restored, your health improved, your wits 
 clarified, go at the glorious work forthwith ; ay, but 
 there stands Satan, grinning and leering at me, and 
 urging me by all that is unholy to take the -other 
 track — he would have me spend this quiet sunshiny 
 day in some unprofitable, abominable manner; he 
 would have me exhaust my poor pennyworth of 
 health and strength over the bottle, or the card-table, 
 or something equally vile and ruinous. Out upon the 
 crafty, cursed fiend ! Why do I not turn upon him, 
 then, like a good Christian, and with a withering re- 
 buke, send him packing to the hell from whence he 
 came? Why sit thus silent and motionless, like 
 the poor fascinated bird, at the mercy of the serpent ? 
 
78 MDTTERINGS AND 
 
 Have I no arm or voice to raise in my defence? 
 Away, vile tempter, foul enemy of my peace, away, 
 away ! Ah dear — what have we here ? a letter from 
 
 ; yes, another of those infamous scrawls of 
 
 his. Hang me if I can make anything out of it— 
 not one word in fifty can I even guess at — confound 
 the man, what right has he to try my temper, and 
 trifle with my time in this way ? it is unbecoming, 
 insulting. What would he say if I were to pay him 
 a visit in my shirt sleeves ? I see no difference — 
 one is as great a sin against good breeding as the 
 other — no, not one word can I decipher ; nor do I 
 believe the man breathes that can puzzle it out — 
 Champollion himself would have bowed himself out 
 of such a task — yes, he would have sooner ventured 
 on a score of obelisks, and with far better prospects 
 of success. What sort of reply can I make to such 
 a production? Here goes — "Sir, your, I cannot 
 call it, favor of a date which I am unable to deci- 
 pher, has been received. After bending over it for 
 three mortal hours, I find that I have an aching 
 head, lame shoulders, and an impaired temper for 
 my pains. In profound ignorance of its contents, I 
 consign it to the flames — anything viva voce I will 
 listen to cheerfully — your misused friend P. S. For- 
 tunately I have youT address, for the old boy him- 
 
MUSINGS OP AN INVALID. 79 
 
 self never could have made it out." There, if he is 
 disposed to quarrel about the matter, he's welcome 
 to : I consider him the aggressor, not myself. Plague 
 take it, I have no doubt the thing was well worth 
 reading — the man tallcs admirably — he's as clear as 
 a bell, fluent as a mill-race — his ideas are beautifully 
 developed, charmingly arranged. It is a positive 
 treat to listen to him — the more the pity, that he 
 should make such frightful work of it on paper. He 
 would be a bold boy, who would venture to present 
 such a terrible exhibition in the way of pot-hooks 
 and hangers to his master. Whew I what a sound, 
 searching, satisfactory, thoroughly-earned thrashing 
 would be his portion. Suppose this precious piece 
 of penmanship had been a will ; now, what a time 
 of it the legatees and lawyers would have had among 
 them — what a waste of words, ink, time, money, 
 temper ; blood, perhaps, would have grown out of 
 it. Where would our liberties have been, this day, 
 had the signers of the immortal Declaration sub- 
 scribed their names in this villanous fashion ? How 
 beautifully appropriate, too, would such a hand have 
 looked in Washington's Farewell Address, or his 
 Army Accounts; How it would have set off the 
 Fairy Queen, or the Paradise Lost. Would the di- 
 vine author have received even the ten paltry 
 
80 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 pounds he did, for such a looking MS. ? no, not as 
 many pennies — no amount of genius can atone for 
 such atrocities. Had the all-glorious Shakspeare 
 himself only condescended to have written a decent 
 hand, how many of those furious, windy controver- 
 sies between pig-headed commentators would have 
 been spared us, that now so annoy and disgust the 
 student— yes, what a world of annoyances, great and 
 small, have these scrawlers been at the bottom of — 
 one loses one's patience to think of it. 
 To add to the vexations of the day, J have had a 
 
 call from that terrible old bore and humbug, . 
 
 He is very anxious, it seems, about the salvation of 
 my soul — he is shaking in his shoes, he says, on my 
 account — and so forth and so forth. Now any in- 
 telligent, bona fide regard for my spiritual well-be- 
 ing, manifested in a becoming manner, and at the 
 right time, I certainly ought to receive with respect 
 — but as to the cant and stuff of this j impertinent old 
 hunks, it is quite intolerable. Among other inte- 
 resting statements, he said, that he himself had once 
 been the chief of sinners. Hang such impudent pre- 
 sumption — chief of sinners, forsooth ! the idea that 
 such an obscure nobody as he, with scarce a salt-spoon- 
 ful of brains in his miserable noddle, should dare call 
 himself the Generalissimo of the Grand Army of 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 81 
 
 sinners — is it not monstrous ? it were a good deal 
 
 for Kichard the Third himself to say, or Henry the 
 
 Eighth, or Caszar Borgia, or Nero — but for such an 
 
 ineffably small light as to pervert language 
 
 in this way, it is too ridiculous — back, man, baek — 
 
 slink back to your true place in the ranks — meanest 
 
 of sinners, when you were a sinner — smallest of saints, 
 
 if you are a saint — but I doubt you. You are quite' 
 
 too fond of your money-bags, for a good Christian — 
 
 you had better be looking out for number one — see to 
 
 your own pin-point of a soul, and let mine take care of 
 
 itself — impertinent old fool — how could the servant 
 
 have let him in — it has completely spoiled my day 
 
 and my temper — oh, how cross and bitter I feel — 
 
 'twould take precious little to put me in a frenzy — 
 
 yes, the merest trifle on earth would make me blow 
 
 out in a way that wicked old Kidd himself would 
 
 blush to hear, were he by. Ah, I had better go to 
 
 bed — that's the safest place for me — and if to sleep, 
 
 why all the better — and if I never wake up, better 
 
 still. Pray, what is such a life as mine worth ? If 
 
 I should hang on a few years longer, what would it 
 
 all amount to ? I should wear out a few more boots, 
 
 to be sure — read a few more newspapers — take down 
 
 a barrel or two more of pills, probably — that would 
 
 be pretty much the substance of it. Heigh-ho ! If I 
 4* 
 
82 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 could only be sure now, of a nice comfortable nap, 
 a quarter of a century long — such as Rip Yan Win- 
 kle had, and then wake up at the end of it, as fresh 
 and bright as he was shabby and rusty — would not 
 it be charming ? Well, well, no wishing and grumb- 
 ling will mend the matter — and so to bed, to bed, 
 to bed. 
 
 Oh, what a blustering day ; the wind is howl- 
 ing like a pack of hungry wolves ; what a clat- 
 ter, what a bustle everything is in; confound 
 the windows, how they rattle ; those poor young 
 trees over the way have as much as they can do to 
 keep their heels from being tripped up. Ah ! over 
 goes a poor little youngster of a maple, cut oft, 
 slender thing, in the very babyhood of its days. 
 Well, it's all right ; no doubt, 'twas so ordered, so 
 written, with other and weightier matters, in the 
 book of destiny ; so we go ; it's tough little neigh- 
 bor, there, will very likely fight out the gale, and 
 a great many gales ; yes, will be standing there a 
 century hence ; possibly my own, surely some of 
 my neighbors', great great great grandchildren, will 
 be frolicking round it some fine morning in the year 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 83 
 
 1950." Where shall we be then ? ugh ! I shiver to 
 think of it. Our poor carcasses, we know, long, 
 long before that day, will have become cold victuals 
 for hungry worms ; our poor bones will have quietly 
 settled down into powder ; but the undying part ; 
 the soul, the .conscience, the affections ; where will 
 they be ? ah ! dear, dear, dear, the wisest and best of 
 us know but precious little about the matter. Eeason, 
 with all her airs and pretensions, her owl-like looks, 
 and solemn head-shakes, her plausible conjectures 
 and dashing theories, has mighty little to say in the 
 way of satisfaction or comfort — Revelation, blessed 
 thing that it is, is nevertheless amazingly sparing in 
 its statements about the future life — a few vague 
 facts are told us, a few dark hints thrown out, no- 
 thing further, no details — the when, and where, and 
 how — not a word, not a word on these points — and 
 yet these are questions which it seems the most 
 natural thing in the world to ask ; children are ask- 
 ing them continually ; tell me, tell me, where shall 
 Ibe, when this poor breath has taken leave of this 
 miserable body ? Alas, that good book, that dear 
 venerable quarto yonder, with all its glorious mes- 
 sages, its glad tidings of great joy, will not con- 
 descend to answer me ; well, well 'tis wisely so de- 
 creed ; why then bother my poor head about the 
 
84 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 matter 2 I shall soon find out — why tease and harass 
 my enfeebled wits with these terrible riddles ? no, 
 no, my poor brain is in quite too unseaworthy a 
 condition to venture out on these speculative voy- 
 ages. Gracious, how the wind keeps it up ; how 
 the dust flies ; the clouds are hurrying and tumbling 
 along the sky, as if old Nicholas himself were after 
 them. Ah, there goes a magnificent cluster ; were I 
 one of those old Flemish artists, now, I would be 
 stopping those fellows, and painting their interest- 
 ing portraits. Wouldn't they look superbly, crown- 
 ing one of Kuysdael's rich wooded landscapes, or 
 Vandervelde's sparkling, spirited sea pieces ? They 
 would certainly look far more appropriate in their 
 pictures than they do here, sailing over this huge 
 mass of bricks and mortar. Away they go, and 
 their shadows after them, scudding over the house- 
 tops ; there was a blast for you ; from the convul- 
 sive movements of my fellow-citizens in the streets, 
 I should say that it was pretty tough navigating 
 against this wind ; to keep one's legs, even, seems 
 positively to be an enterprise of great pith and mo- 
 ment. Ah, what dignified personage is that, speed- 
 ing along before the blast ? he is evidently going a 
 trifle faster than he thinks consistent with his com- 
 manding appearance and lofty social position ; he 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 85 
 
 looks a general, or bishop, or judge, at the least ; 
 but rude Boreas is no respecter of persons, and is 
 certainly taking most unwarrantable liberties with 
 the skirts of his coat ; our friend would certainly 
 show to more advantage now in the desk, or on the 
 bench, than he does at this particular juncture; 
 holloa, there goes his hat, and, by Jupiter, his wig 
 after it ; this is too bad ; what is the poor man to 
 do ? it will clearly not be the thing for a person of 
 his majesty of mien and manner to run, or even 
 shout after the fugitives ; is there no warm-hearted 
 Irishman about, or stray policeman ? it seems not ; 
 our friend gazes for a moment with a bewildered 
 air, then beats a hasty retreat into a neighboring 
 house ; how that jade of a servant girl is laughing 
 as she opens the door ; who can blame her ? Ah, I 
 should like to hear his apologies and explanations 
 to the family ; a rich scene, no doubt. Meanwhile, 
 a young ragged scoundrel has pounced upon both 
 hat and wig ; he will, at least, make an effort to re- 
 turn them to their owner ; not he, in faith ; off he 
 goes, like Jehu, with the spoils ; holloa, there ; stop 
 thief; the young scamp ; he'll, no doubt, be sport- 
 ing that magnificent beaver this very night, in some 
 low cock-pit or other ; very likely it will be knock- 
 ed over his eyes by some brother ragamuffin, while 
 
86 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 cursing and fighting about the ownership of some 
 rascally stump of a segar ; "to what base uses may we 
 come, Horatio;" it makes me sad to think of it ; yet 
 what a very funny, absurd affair it was ; Heraclitus 
 nimself would have grinned, had he witnessed it. 
 How could he have helped it ; is it not an essentially, 
 supremely ridiculous spectacle, to behold the hab- 
 itual wearer of a wig suddenly deprived thereof, be 
 it by an unmannerly puff of wind, or by the mis- 
 chievous hand of childhood ? Can any moral worth 
 on the part of him who is thus unceremoniously laid 
 bare, or any intellectual preeminence, or any lofti- 
 ness of station, prevent our having a good, hearty, 
 glorious laugh at his expense ? no, assuredly not ; 
 now and then, a thing will turn up, so intrinsically 
 ludicrous, that, seasonable or unseasonable, right or 
 wrong, there is no running away from it ; laugh we 
 must, or give up the ghost. "Who could control 
 
 himself, for instance, when found that sow 
 
 in his pew, on that famous Sunday morning ? How 
 the old creature ever got there was always a mys- 
 tery ; it was supposed that the heat of the weather 
 had entrapped the Sexton into an unlucky nap, 
 during which the veteran street-walker had pro- 
 bably straggled in, and so blundered up the middle 
 aisle, coming to anchor in the aforesaid pew. Who, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 87 
 
 that was present, can ever forget . the scene that 
 occurred when' the discovery was made? such 
 poking, and pulling, and kicking, and squealing, 
 and grunting, ending, after much delay, in the forci- 
 ble expulsion of the intruder ; it was altogether too 
 much for the nerves of the congregation ; after many 
 laudable efforts to hold in, it was found of no use, 
 nature would have her way, a hearty laugh arose 
 from all present, effectually driving away all im- 
 pressiveness and solemnity from the sanctuary ; the 
 clergyman himself could not resist the contagion ; 
 the sacred desk fairly shook with peals of uncon- 
 trollable laughter ; seeing the turn that things had 
 taken, like a sensible man, he immediately dismissed 
 us, stating, as he did, with some difficulty, that after 
 what had transpired, it was ^quite out of the ques- 
 tion to get through the services of the morning in 
 the right spirit ; oh, Lord ! it makes me snicker to 
 think of it, even now. Well, well, well, let's laugh, 
 while we can ; heaven knows there's enough to cry 
 about, in this strange world of ours. What a world, 
 what a frightful, complicated mass it is, of all sorts 
 of mysteries ; nay, the experience of a single day, 
 to a man of any reflection or sensibility, what a ter- 
 rible jumble it seems of conflicting thoughts, feel- 
 ings, occurrences. What does it all mean ? Who 
 
88 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 can unravel this tangled skein ? Who can explain 
 the morale, or the rationale of all these strange phe- 
 nomena, in ourselves, and in things about us ? An 
 hour ago, it was high tragedy with me, and now 'tis 
 broad farce ; then, there was a meaning, a dignity, 
 a solemnity in life and all that belongs to it ; then 
 I felt like a rational, accountable being, with glorious 
 faculties to be developed, with high aims for me to 
 accomplish, and a lofty destiny in store ; now, every- 
 thing seems a mere harlequinade ; I'd as lief be the 
 clown in the ring as the king on his throne ; as lief 
 be that bawling, begrimed charcoal vender in the 
 street yonder, as the great champion of the consti- 
 tution himself. Why this absurd transition, this piti- 
 ful inconsistency ? Why am I, one moment, full of 
 faith and hope, disposed to look upon the bright 
 side of men and things, cheerful, resigned to what- 
 ever may happen, ay, ready to meet the hardest 
 blows of fortune, with the calm submissiveness, the 
 placid smile of a martyr, and the very next mimite, 
 perhaps, cursed with abominable thoughts, silly 
 fancies, vile appetites, tumultuous passions ? Why, 
 why is this frightful war for ever going on within 
 us ? A little while ago, I felt like an intellectual 
 being, eager to learn, delighted to grapple with any 
 difficulties in art or science ; ready to climb the diz- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 89 
 
 ziest heights of mathematics, or to explore the 
 dreariest labyrinths of law ; now, I shrink back from 
 the simplest sum in the arithmetic. Out upon such 
 ridiculous incongruities, such vile weaknesses I And 
 then, again, what frightful inequalities, what strange 
 anomalies, what horrible casualties, do we see per- 
 petually occurring in the world without us ; how in- 
 explicable, how overwhelming at times ! Yonder 
 goes a man rolling in wealth and luxury ; he was 
 born to it ; he will doubtless die, surrounded by it. 
 When he departs, they will put him in a sumptuous 
 coffin, shining like a mirror, and as richly lined as 
 was ever lady's boudoir; they will give him a stately 
 funeral, and solemn funeral rites ;» and so they will 
 send him to his long home, with a grand flourish of 
 drums and trumpets ; fulsome obituaries will be 
 served up in his honor, and in due time, a gaudy 
 monument will rise over his remains, in some 
 fashionable rural cemetery. The poor fellow that 
 ran against him just now, and whom he cursed 
 so, what a different time he has had of it in this 
 world, and is likely to have ; that moving mass 
 of rags began to draw breath in some dark den 
 of shame and infamy ; a penniless, friendless vaga- 
 bond from the beginning, thus far he has been 
 kicked and cuffed along the highway of life, and he 
 
90 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 looks as if he expected to be kicked and cuffed up 
 to the closing scene ; the terminus of his sad pil- 
 grimage, most probably, a prison or the gallows ; no 
 funeral ceremonies will be thrown away upon his 
 poor carcass, no tear be shed over it, no grave re- 
 ceive it ; no, 'twill be chopped up in some pro- 
 fane dissecting room, most likely, for the edifi- 
 cation of a set of noisy students, who will crack 
 their vile jokes, and puff their filthy tobacco smoke 
 over it, in mockery — oh, can it be, that these two 
 men are the children of the same Heavenly Parent, 
 alike creatures of his care, alike heirs of immortali- 
 ty, alike responsible at his bar ? Why, why then 
 permit such territele, such cruel disparities of condi- 
 tion at the very outset of their career ? Why con- 
 tinue them thus pertinaciously to the close ? Why, 
 again, these frightful inequalities as to endowments ? 
 There goes a man across the street, with a bundle 
 on his head — it is his calling — he is equal to no 
 other — his head is only fit to balance bundles on — 
 education can do nothing for him — he has been 
 tried and found wanting — there is nothing there to 
 educate — you could no more educate that man into 
 a respectable merchant or competent lawyer, than 
 you could by culture convert a squash into a cluster 
 of delicious ' grapes — yes, and the very next person 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 91 
 
 that you see there, following at his heels, but who 
 knows him not? Who knows not that capacious 
 brow, those eyes that flash glorious fire, that tongue 
 which sends forth its winged words, whose burning 
 eloquence sets the hearts of a whole nation in a 
 blaze ? Why, oh why, is our Father in heaven so 
 prodigal of his good gifts to the one, and so cruelly 
 sparing of them to the other ? Why, again, put one 
 immortal soul in a poor, paltry, contemptible body, 
 with scarce a sound organ in it, a perpetual source 
 of disquiet and pain to its owner, yes, a continual 
 stumbling-block in his path, while another is en- 
 dowed with a glorious set of nerves and muscles, a 
 magnificent pair of lungs, and all other appurte- 
 nances that can minister to its wants and delights ? 
 Oh, is it fair ? Why does one man prosper in all 
 his undertakings, everything he touches turning to 
 gold, his very blunders even having a happy issue, 
 while his neighbor, equally amiable, more intelli- 
 gent, perhaps, is for ever in hot water, cheated by 
 crafty villains, worried out of his life by hard- 
 hearted, creditors, and dying at last a poor desolate 
 bankrupt ? Why is one fair island blessed with all 
 that a land can be blessed with ; made the seat of 
 wealth, power, art, science, civilization, while its 
 neighboring sister, equally lovely by nature, is yet 
 
92 MUTTERWGS AND 
 
 Cursed with every evil under the sun ? — is become 
 the Head Quarters of Wretchedness, Famine, 
 Death? Why permit these things? Why, too, 
 permit so much innocent suffering in the world? 
 Why should all these poor wives and children un- 
 dergo sorrow, poverty, ignominy, for the misdeeds 
 of husbands and fathers? Why' allow one man's 
 drunkenness, or incompetence, to send hundreds of 
 souls to their account, without a moment's warning ? 
 Why allow the insane ambition of another to bring 
 thousands and thousands to an untimely end upon 
 the battle-field? Why, too, all these dire accidents— 
 these famines, floods, pestilences, shipwrecks, earth- 
 quakes, conflagrations ? What do they mean ? 
 What lesson do they teach ? Who can decipher 
 them ? Oh dear, what child cannot ask these ques- 
 tions ? What sage can answer them satisfactorily ? 
 Who is not tempted at times, when pondering over 
 these terrible mysteries, to become desperate, and 
 unbelieving, and reckless ? One is almost dis- 
 posed to ask, can it be, that God is actually watch- 
 ing over this world of ours ? Hath he not aban- 
 doned the charge to underlings ; to a set of ne 
 glectful angels, who are either slumbering on their 
 posts, or have deserted them? Why then worry 
 my. head about the matter? Why not let things 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 93 
 
 take their course ? Of what consequenoe is it, the 
 life I lead, or the death I die ? Why care to pre- 
 serve Law and Order in this little world within, 
 when I see everything at sixes and sevens in the 
 great world without ? Why care " to be wise ? 
 What does wisdom bring its owner, but a clouded 
 brow, and sunken cheeks, and hairs white before 
 their time? No, let's laugh and be jolly — let's 
 drink, dance, fool, fiddle away our lives, and let 
 . Eeason and 1 'Conscience go hang. A precious con- 
 clusion to come to, to be sure — and yet, who does 
 not at times give way* to such rascally feelings? 
 Or rather, who does struggle with them as he ought ? 
 Are not the lives of most men a virtual endorse- 
 ment of these horrible notions? Oh, away with 
 them, irrational, sinful, perilous that they are — ■ 
 there is, there is a meaning, a deep hidden wisdom 
 in these arrangements of Providence, though our 
 poor feeble wits cannot fathom it— there is a key to 
 these dread puzzles — an answer to these soul vex- 
 ing riddles — not here — the blessed life to come will 
 answer all these questions — oh, without that faith, 
 that hope, existence were a miserable, 'dreary farce 
 indeed — meanwhile, are we, because thus ignorant 
 and in the dark, to break out into rebellion ? To 
 throw Eeason and Conscience overboard, and let 
 
94 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 the vile crew of appetites and passions take com- 
 mand of the ship? Oh, no, no, poor children that 
 we are, we must obey, not question the orders of 
 our Parent — scholars, we are to learn the lessons 
 which the Great Teacher sets us, not set up a course 
 for ourselves— a pretty idea, truly, that we babies, 
 in this infant school of our existence, should array 
 our little silly notions in opposition to the plans of 
 the great Governor of the Universe — better submit, 
 without useless noise or scuffling, to the discipline 
 prescribed — how absurd, too, to be kicking and 
 pounding, in this petulant way, against the door 
 which the Master hath closed and barred against us 
 — we cannot enter — we are wasting breath and tem- 
 per, neglecting our tasks, and earning a hearty whip- 
 ping for our pains. Alas, alas ! the most puzzling 
 and painful part of the problem of life still keeps " 
 staring us in the face. Oh, why, why is it, that 
 with such clear convictions of duty, with Reason, 
 Conscience, Interest, all uniting to point out the 
 right path, we will obstinately stick to the wrong 
 one ? Why is it so much more natural, easy, con- 
 genial to our feelings, to be wicked than to be good ? — 
 to be earthly, sensual, devilish, than to be pure, 
 and spiritual, and heavenly minded? Why is it, 
 that for one bona tide, handsome victory over the 
 
MUSINGS OP AN INVALID. 95 
 
 evil one, we must plead guilty to a hundred dis- 
 graceful, ignominious defeats ? Is it not so ? There 
 may be a lucky handful, with whom it is otherwise, 
 but are not an overwhelming- majority of us just 
 such infatuated beings ? Have we not been so from 
 the start ? Only think of the frightful accumula- 
 tion of evil thoughts, words, actions, that has been 
 going on, from the .creation till now ; contrast it 
 with that meager heap of offerings to virtue— Olym- 
 pus to a mole-hill. "Why was it so decreed ? Why 
 was it not rendered more easy, more agreeable to 
 our propensities, to do right? Why has Satan been 
 allowed such authority, such fatal influence over 
 our hearts? Why is he permitted to run away 
 with so much of the wit, beauty, energy, talent of 
 the world? Why were not these gifts consecrated 
 to the cause of goodness? We do not ask to be 
 mere puppets, propelled, willing or unwilling, along 
 the path to Heaven ; that would render life a 
 stupid, vapid affair, indeed — the dullest of all dull 
 panoramas — but why compel us to fight against 
 such terrible odds ? But how unwise, how wicked 
 it is to dwell, on these questions — such are the de- 
 crees of Infinite Wisdom, and we must submit. — 
 Why murmur then? Why indulge a vain spirit of 
 curiosity, that may not be gratified ? We cannot 
 
96 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 render the devil a more acceptable service, than by 
 lingering and 'grumbling over these matters — bet- 
 ter take to our weapons forthwith — else we, are sure- 
 ly lost. .Besides, terrible as the chances against us 
 seem, numerous as the victims are that are falling 
 around us, the day is nevertheless ours, if we will 
 it so to be — if we go into the conflict, with all our 
 hearts and souls, and strengths-. — no more vain 
 words then — no more idle questions, but go forth 
 and meet the adversary, hopefully, manfully, and a 
 noble victory, a radiant crown of glory, shall be 
 yours. 
 
 Whaj a lovely mornings— but I am in no mood to 
 appreciate it — I am quite too miserable and good- 
 for-nothing to relish this sweet sunshine, this balmy 
 breeze — I seem to be without any vigor, either of 
 mind or body — my poor wits are of no use to me at 
 all — wayward fancies have taken possession of my 
 brain, and Reason has not strength enough to drive 
 away the intruders — as to study, that is quite out of 
 the question — I cannot pursue a solitary train of 
 thought, faithfully, to any rational result — no pro- 
 gress whatever am I making, in ' any branch of 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 97! 
 
 knowledge — ah dear ! I look up at that library yon- 
 der, and my heart sickens within me — I may not en- 
 ter, I may not explore that storehouse of learning, that 
 treasury of wisdom — did not the doctor, this very 
 morning, in language the most emphatic, and with 
 a hearty thump of his fist upon my table, forbid it ? 
 Well, well, be it so — I must be satisfied to be an 
 ignoramus, a nobody — and yet, it is pretty hard to 
 have to turn one's back for ever on such a goodly 
 company — there are some choice spirits upon those 
 old shelves — there's Goethe and Schiller and Dante 
 and Boccacio and Cervantes and Moliere. Dear old 
 Homer's there too, and Virgil and Horace and Cice- 
 ro and Demosthenes and the glorious tragedians. 
 What troops of English and American friends, too — 
 wits, poets, essaysits, dramatists, historians. Philoso- 
 phers, too, and statesmen, and jurists, and divines 
 of all denominations — and may I never again have 
 the privilege of an hour's interview with any of 
 these worthies ? never again set at the feet of these 
 great teachers, and drink in their words of wisdom ? 
 Is life worth having, on such conditions ? What, 
 must I abstain henceforth from tasting this pure 
 nourishing mental food, and nibble away at newspa- 
 pers, and such small talk as I can pick up in streets 
 and parlors ? or, at best, snatch a hasty innutricious 
 5 
 
98 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 meal at churches or lecture-rooms, or mass-meetings," 
 or theatres? How can a soul grow and thrive on 
 such sorry fare ? But why grumble ? I am fit for 
 nothing better— the doctor's right — I have no busi- 
 ness here, amongst these bards and sages and ora- 
 tors — this poor brain is quite unequal to such ex- 
 citements. If I persist in them, I shall become a 
 hopeless cripple, perhaps lose my poor wits alto- 
 gether. Away, then; away — why linger here another 
 moment? I ought now to be out, scowering the 
 streets, tumbling over boxes, bales, hogsheads, pric- 
 ing rum and sugar and cotton, discussing Bank 
 Stocks and Government Loans, and ship news, and 
 rates of Exchange, and such matters — that's what 
 my brethren are all about — they are astonished that 
 I should want to be locked up here amongst these 
 books. They'd as lief be sent to Sing Sing, as be 
 compelled to pass two consecutive days in this little 
 Sanctum of mine — they may be right ; and yet, to 
 me, it is the most fascinating spot on earth, even now, 
 when I can no longer enjoy or profit by its treasures. 
 But away, away — don't sit here, inviting wretched- 
 ness and imbecility — any exercise, any employment, 
 I care not what, sooner than such a miserable state 
 of things as this — better be opening oysters, or sell- 
 ing cabbage, or accumulating soap-fat, all day long 
 
MUSINGS OP AN INVALID. 99 
 
 — anything, anything that will work a revolution 
 in this outer man of mine. Oh, shall I ever know 
 what it is to have a pair of rosy cheeks, and a strong 
 arm, and a good stomach ? What is wit or learning 
 worth without them ? Who would not rather be a 
 garbage-gatherer, in high health, than a neuralgic 
 archbishop ? Oh dear — health, health, health — the 
 great blessing of blessings, the foundation of all that is 
 delightful, useful, glorious in life ; why, why am I thus 
 defrauded of it ? Can it be, that these very books, 
 that I have so idolized, that I now leave with such 
 regret, are at the bottom of all my sufferings ? not 
 so — I will not be so ungrateful as to tax them with 
 these rascally feelings. They certainly have aggra- 
 vated them, though. They certainly have_ cheated 
 me out of much wholesome exercise, and sound 
 sleep — have made me hurry down many a meal 
 most villanously. Have they not given this beau- 
 tiful curve to my shoulders, too ? Have they not 
 driven these eyes of mine to spectacles, before their 
 time ? Confound them, they are greatly to blame 
 in this matter. Now that I look at them again, they 
 have not half the lustre and the dignity they had — 
 all is not gold that glitters — there is a great deal of 
 rubbish, trash, humbug, mixed up with that wisdom 
 and beauty — how much real, substantial merit, when 
 
100 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 you come to analyze it, is there upon these shelves ? 
 How much of it is mere covers and fly-leaves, and 
 title-pages, and blank pages, and errata, and indexes, 
 and tables of contents ? How much is fulsome dedi- 
 cations, and needless prefaces, and superfluous notes, 
 and vain repetitions ? — oh, how it keeps dwindling 
 and dwindling away — the really solid, weighty, pre- 
 cious thoughts do not occupy a hundredth part oi 
 that showy assemblage — yon bulky Encyclopaedia, 
 for instance, how much exploded learning it con- 
 tains : Law and Gospel in its day, but now proved 
 to be unsound, almost worthless ; what folly it 
 would be, to plough through all that rubbish ; that 
 dainty collection of British Poets there, fifty vol- 
 umes strong; are there no conceits, puerilities, plagi- 
 arisms, is there nothing false, indecent, blasphemous, 
 under those sumptuous bindings? Sift them fairly, 
 thoroughly, and what a frightfully scanty residuum 
 of genuine wit and sound sentiment is left — those 
 goodly rows of law-books, too, — is it all wisdom and 
 Equity, and Truth, that is reposing under those 
 stout buff covers ? 
 
 Is it presumptuous, irreverent to say that a very 
 large portion of their contents is mere quibbling, 
 and hair-splitting, and word-torturing, and cobweb 
 weaving? That ponderous work upon the Logos, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 101 
 
 there — in four plump quartos — isiiAfltfall solid gold? 
 " a gem- of purest ray serene," or not ? Is it a privi- 
 lege, a luxury to read it ? Has it done the slighest 
 good in its day and generation, or is it likely to in 
 those that are to follow ? Is it a monument of wis- 
 dom, or of folly ? If of wisdom, what a blind, 
 stupid, unappreciating community has it fallen 
 upon ; were it brought to the hammer this night, 
 not all the persuasive eloquence of a Keese could 
 raise a bid for it,, unless some stray pastry-cook 
 happened to be present.. That Shakspeare, there, 
 in twenty substantial octavos — how much of that 
 vast space does the divine bard himself o'ccupy ? not 
 a tenth — the rest is crowded with wordy, windy 
 commentators — what business have they there, 
 smothering the poet alive in this abominable man- 
 ner ? For one single note that sheds any comfort- 
 able light upon, the text, there are a hundred that 
 are mere exhibitions of spleen, or vanity, or arro- 
 gance. Who wants to wade through such trash ? 
 one's time would be far more profitably spent in 
 fishing or shooting. But if it were all fine goldj df 
 every page of every one of those books were worth 
 reading, what folly to be bending over them for- 
 ever — why surrender one's freedom, even to such 
 masters ? • Far, far better, to be sure, than an igno- 
 
102 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 minious slavery to Bum, or Cards ; still, is it not a 
 perversion of one's faculties, a wretched investment 
 of one's time ? an abuse, sure to recoil at last upon 
 the head of the transgressor — oh, let me be warned 
 then in time — let me fly from these fatal fascina-. 
 tions — let me go forth and read the great volume 
 which the Lord himself hath written. "Why waste 
 all my precious hours on these erring, imperfect 
 transcripts ? Why be contented to pick up all my 
 knowledge at second hand? Who so silly as to 
 linger over a picture of Niagara, when the glorious 
 original is at hand ? Would he not be a, ninny, who 
 would keep kissing the miniature of his mistress, 
 when the sweet lips themselves were by, and smil- 
 ing upon him ? And am I not just such a fool, to 
 stay here, poring over these musty books, when I 
 can see for myself all these fine, and wonderful, and 
 mysterious things in nature, and the heart of man ? 
 Let them go, then ; were my picture gallery all 
 Claudes, and Salvators, and Coles, I would not be 
 a prisoner in it ; give me the veritable blue sky, and 
 the dancing brooks outside; yes, better abandon for 
 ever the society, even of Hamlet and Prospero, even 
 of Rosalind and Imogen, if it is to cut me off from 
 all other — from all intercourse with the wise men, 
 and charming women, and dear children about me. 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 103 
 
 What a wretched morning I have had of it 
 
 thank my own miserable folly therefor. Satan, 
 indefatigable angler for souls, ever on the qui vive 
 for victims, appeared before me,, some two hours 
 ago, with a magnificent mint-julep in his claws, got 
 up by one of the most clever and fascinating of his 
 imps, confound him — and I, like a greedy pike, 
 devoured it — sucked it to the dregs ; of course I 
 have felt horribly ever since ; oh, what inexcusable 
 weakness, what infernal infatuation ! What, did I 
 then, for the sake of a little momentary gratifica- 
 tion, thus deliberately insult my stomach, oppress 
 my brain, turn myself, for the time, into a perfect 
 numskull ? Yes, even so — oh fool, fool, fool — so we 
 go — the same old story, from Adam down — tempta- 
 tion, yielding, misery, ruin — frightful words — on 
 what page of human history are they not to be 
 found? And yet, was I not far more sorely 
 tempted than Adam was? Did any apple ever 
 grow in Eden, one half so seductive as that 
 delicious, that rascally julep? no, no; so fragrant, 
 too, so picturesque, so alluring to eyes, nose, palate 
 - — is it strange that I was captivated by it, this 
 warm summer's day ? that pyramid of ice, with its 
 rose-colored summit, looking for all the world like 
 an iceberg lighted up by the setting sun — that 
 
104 MtJTTEEINGS AND 
 
 charming combination below, of strawberry, and 
 pineapple, and mint, and sugar, and old mellow 
 peach, and venerable cognac — plague take it, who 
 would have believed that such a marvellous specimen 
 of art was of the devil's own handiwork, a snare laid 
 for souls, a smiling traitor ? Ah- dear, when will a 
 wholesome beverage be half so inviting ? why are 
 we so cruelly tempted? Even now, in the midst of 
 my sufferings, silly wretch that I am, my fancy will 
 keep dwelling on the charms of that insidious 
 poison; nay, I fear, that were the very same 
 temptation presented to me to-morrow, I might be 
 mad enough to fall disgracefully before it. Shame, 
 shame, shame ! How can I ever expect to fight my 
 way to the gates of heaven, if I have no more 
 strength of will than this ? Alas, I shall never see 
 those blessed gates ; I am not hero enough to carry 
 the day ; I am too fond of comfort and self-indul- 
 gence ; I love to have my nerves tickled, my appe- 
 tites humored ; I have no relish for briers, and 
 rocks, and tempests ; I deserve no crown — no laurels 
 for these brows — that shabby nightcap becomes 
 them better ; well, well, the great majority of my 
 brethren are quite as bad, as sensual, as selfish ; 
 there's a mean kind of consolation in the thought, 
 is there not ? If I am going to destruction, I go in 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 105 
 
 a crowd — there can be no doubt of that ; experience 
 and Scripture both confirm it ; the latter is fright- 
 fully explicit upon this point — yes, very little of 
 the music and joy of heaven will be made and 
 shared- by us poor residents of earth ; to whatever 
 extent the inhabitants of other planets may be par- 
 takers therein, this vile one of ours will be very 
 slenderly represented there ; ah unpalatable, dis- 
 couraging statement, truly, but there it is, and we 
 have got to make the best of it. And do not our 
 own guilty, perverse hearts echo back its truth? 
 What right have we to future happiness, living and 
 acting as we do? Frightfully mysterious as the 
 arrangement seems, who dare question the right- 
 eousness of it ? No, whatever my destiny may be, 
 let me at least have the decency not to mutter and 
 grumble over it ; what claims have I, pray, on my 
 Creator ? What good am I doing, that I should be 
 spared, even here, much less, rewarded hereafter? 
 What business have I in heaven ? a fellow like me, 
 who has no control over his propensities, but who 
 tumbles, most disgracefully, as I did this very 
 morning, into the very first temptation that lies in 
 his path. No, "the economy of heaven is dark," 
 but who dare say it is unjust ? who dare deny that 
 the great mass of men are vile sinners ? — that evil 
 5* 
 
1'06 MUTTEKINGS AND 
 
 thoughts, words, actions, outnumber the good, even 
 as the pebbles of earth outnumber its diamonds ? It 
 is awful to think of the amount of open, unblushing 
 villany that is going on continually in the world ; 
 but when we add to it the hundred-fold greater 
 sum of secret crimes and vices — when we think of 
 the multitude of private drunkards, and gluttons, 
 and gamblers, and libertines there are — and liars 
 and slanderers, and scandal-mongers — when we 
 think of the manifold hidden villanies of trade 
 — of the countless falsehoods daily told at coun- 
 ters, false marks, false entries, false manifests — 
 of the abominable tricks, quackeries, rascalities that 
 degrade professional life — when we think of the 
 frightful accumulation of slang, and trash, and filth, 
 and profanity, and bestiality that is for ever going 
 on in all sorts of dark holes and corners — and, 
 saddest of all, when we think of the innumerable 
 meannesses, and pitiful jealousies, and unjust sus- 
 picions, and sour looks, and harsh words, that are 
 perpetually marring the comfort of firesides, and poi- 
 soning the peace of families ; oh is it not enough to 
 make us hide our heads in shame for ever? What 
 a terrible tale every hour has to tell to the record- 
 ing angel, and has told from the beginning ; a few 
 good deeds, and kind words, and devout aspirations, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 107 
 
 here and there ; but, oh, what an overwhelming 
 preponderance of the bad — a pretty set, indeed, to 
 go to heaven — precious company- for angels ; no, 
 no, not for us the pure and holy joys of paradise; 
 if we are ever to partake of them, it can only be 
 after ages of penance and purification — of weeping 
 and sackcloth— how can it be otherwise? How 
 can we evade the solemn requirements of justice? 
 
 " It is the eternal law, that were sin is, 
 Sorrow and shame must answer it." 
 
 That we can get round it, that we can sneak into 
 heaven, as it were, by means of a miserable death- 
 bed repentance, what folly, what mockery to sup- 
 pose it. No, the penalty must be paid, and to 
 the full. After all, how profoundly indifferent 
 and reckless most of us seem to be about the 
 matter. So long as we have the use and enjoy- 
 ment of these dearly beloved senses of ours, we 
 are quite willing to postpone spiritual pleasures 
 indefinitely ; and as to spiritual sufferings, why they 
 are generally dismissed with a laugh or a sneer. 
 To be sure, a relative or friend will die, now and 
 then, and we may be scared into a little thoughtful- 
 ness and self-examination, but it is soon over, and 
 away we go again to the old appetites and employ- 
 
108 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 ments; as tyrant Kichard. with his drums and 
 trumpets, drowned the voices of an outraged wife 
 and mother, so do we seek relief in the din of busi- 
 ness, and the whirl of pleasure, from the remon- 
 strances of reason and conscience. When these bodies 
 turn against us, when they are no longer faithful 
 servants, but ha've become positive encumbrances 
 and nuisances to ourselves and all about us, then, 
 indeed, it is high time to be alarmed, and to mani- 
 fest some little interest in the world of spirits ; when, 
 at last, the summons to quit comes, "that fell arrest 
 without all bail," when the paws of the monster are 
 upon us, when there is no escape, but go we must, 
 then the dread truth flashes upon us in all its hor- 
 rors — then the judgment to come has a stern, earnest, 
 terrible reality about it, from which we shrink back 
 in despair. Oh, what a miserable set of cowards, 
 then ; how we cling to life ; what remedy so loath- 
 some, that we will not submit to it ? what quack so 
 vile, that we will not hearken unto him, if we can 
 but have a few weeks, days, hours' respite from this 
 horrible consummation? anything but this — languor, 
 pain, squalor, ignominy, mouldy bread and filthy 
 water in a dungeon ; anything under heaven, so we 
 keep this side the grave ; but we whine, and plead, 
 and struggle in vain ; too late, too late — the day of 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 109 
 
 reckoning is at hand, the dismal account is about to 
 be unfolded, item after item, even from the begin- 
 ning — what a black and hideous catalogue — even the 
 good man's record hath enough in it to blush and 
 tremble over ; even that is quite full enough of blots 
 and stains and shortcomings — -but this vile scrawl, 
 this tissue of abominations, this, foul mass of folly, 
 vanity and vice ; oh, what a dreary perspective is 
 here ; how the wasted, murdered hours rise up in 
 judgment against us ; no wonder that we shudder, 
 and shrink - back in dismay from the coming retri- 
 bution; yes, this hell, which we once cracked so 
 many jokes about, this figure of speech, with which 
 we embroidered our conversations so prettily, is a 
 frightful reality, after' all ; its horrors are at hand, 
 the unspeakable horrors of remorse ; there will be no 
 escape from them, no bowl to fly to, no friendly drug 
 to steep the senses in forgetfulness, no quenching of 
 the faculties, then ; they will exist with tenfold life 
 and vigor, and all, alas, turned into so many furies 
 to torment us; pricking and stinging us, as the 
 loathsome past passes before us, in all its terrible 
 details ; each day, each hour's guilt confronting and 
 confounding us. "What saith the dread record? 
 On such a day, in a fit of savage, causeless wrath, 
 I felled a poor old faithful servant to the earth. On 
 3 
 
110 'MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 such a day, my best friend and benefactor was vilely 
 slandered, and I, mean coward, stood silent by ; lie 
 died, soon after, a broken-hearted man. On such a 
 day, I poured forth torrents of cruel, biting sar- 
 casms, that sent my poor mother weeping to her 
 bed — planting thorns in her pillow, whom I should 
 have died to serve. On such. a day, when I should 
 have spoken, I uttered not a word, no, though a 
 few kind tones and smiles might have saved that 
 mother's heart from breaking. On such a day — but 
 oh, God, spare us, spare us the remembrance of these 
 horrible things ! Can any bigot conjure up a hell 
 more terrible than the gnawing memory of deeds 
 like these? Well may you shudder, guilty, trem- 
 bling sinner, at the prospect of such tortures close 
 at hand ; no evading them, now ; what, think you, 
 that a few vain confessions, tears, and prayers will 
 pay this frightful debt that has been thus long accu- 
 mulating? no, no, no. And how long are these 
 torments to last ? How long is the poor soul to be 
 thus left to prey upon itself, ere kind mercy inter- 
 pose ? Alas, is it possible that, knowing and feeling 
 these things to be so, I can still go on, day after day, 
 piling error upon error,, transgression upon trans- 
 gression? Even so, just such miserable, infatuated 
 creatures mo3t of us seem to be. 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 1 1 1 
 
 But are these things so ? Are men thus wicked, 
 deathbeds thus terrible ? Is retribution a thing so 
 frightful? Are we all such vile wretches? Is 
 trade, then, a mere pack of lies and frauds ? Are 
 professional men a mere gang of swindlers and pick- 
 pockets ? Is there no high standard of honor and 
 morality in public life ? Are families so wretched ? 
 Are there no happy firesides, no loving hearts, no 
 generous impulses in human nature ? God forbid, 
 that any man should be found, to utter a thing so 
 absurd and monstrous — there are, there o/re good 
 men to be found all about us, in the highways and 
 in the by-ways of life — and pure and lovely women, 
 angels before their time, who go about doing good, 
 feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, comforting 
 the distressed. " Blessings be on them and eternal 
 praise" therefor. But oh, are there not more, far more 
 unfledged devils around us, certainly amongst the 
 men?— fellows who do their master's bidding here 
 most faithfully, and who will be amongst his trusti- 
 est agents hereafter. Yes, busy, crafty, cursed fiends 
 in hell. I can't help thinking so, though I shall, no 
 doubt, be called a cynic, and a misanthrope, for ex- 
 pressing such an opinion. Ah, here comes my 
 
 hearty, jovial friend . I wonder what he , 
 
 thinks about these things — he certainly does not 
 
112 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 look as if he troubled himself much about such 
 "speculations — what a bluff, ruddy visaged fellow he 
 is, {o be sure — here he comes, puffing away, as usual, 
 at a fragrant Principe — let's see what he has to say 
 upon the subject. But I know what he'll say — he'll 
 only laugh in my face, and call me a blue-skin — he 
 evidently considers such sentiments as mine so much 
 old fashioned Calvinistic cant and humbug ; or, at 
 best, a sick man's whims — the Voice of Dyspepsia, 
 not of Truth. He thinks this world a very com- 
 fortable, respectable one, and its occupants, on the 
 whole, a pretty decent set of fellows — as to Death, he 
 only dreads it as a means of withdrawing him too 
 soon from the banquet of life — so long as he can get a 
 full meal of this world's pleasures and excitements, he 
 has no notion of worrying himself about the next — 
 well, it is not strange. He certainly has everything 
 that can make this life agreeable — a palace to live in, 
 a bright, cheerful family, every comfort, every lux- 
 ury — high health, too, an unrivalled digestive and 
 locomotive apparatus, and a gay, devil-may-care 
 temper. He is, moreover, a large holder of Govern- 
 ment and State Securities, which command high 
 premiums — he has his Bonds and Mortgages too, as 
 solid and substantial as the round globe itself — 
 nothing can shake them, save a second deluge, oi 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 113 
 
 the great final fire — no wonder that lie has a good 
 opinion of a world which treats him in this hand- 
 some, liberal manner. He would be quite resigned 
 to stay here a century or two longer, on the same 
 tern^s — oh that I could only give him this rickety 
 constitution of mine for the next twelve months, and 
 get his glorious one in exchange — a precious bar- 
 gain for him, to be sure — would he still chatter away 
 so agreeably, still wear that pleasant expression, 
 think you ? And yet such an experiment might be 
 the very best thing in the world, for both of us — 
 might teach us many lessons well worth learning. 
 Yes, we are both wrong — my views of life are quite 
 too bitter and gloomy, his altogether too reckless 
 and superficial. If I need the cheering, genial in- 
 fluence of health, he is quite as much in need of the 
 wholesome discipline of sickness — his conscience is 
 getting quite too drowsy — his inner man wants stir- 
 ring up — he ought to be scared out of this gay Epi- 
 curian mode of living — he has no right to take the 
 world so easy, when there is so much wretchedness 
 and ignorance around him — he has no business to 
 squander away his time and money as he does, on 
 fleeting pleasures — what a world of good he might 
 be doing, this very minute — there are, no doubt, now, 
 poor wretches absolutely starving for want of work, 
 
114 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 within a stone's throw of that costly house of his — 
 if he knew it, he would relieve them, I am sure, 
 amiable, kind-hearted man as he is — but why does 
 he not know it? why is he not hunting up these 
 poor, suffering brethren of his, instead of lounging 
 along the streets in this pleasant, nonchalant way ? 
 what has he been about all the morning ? Playing 
 billiards, perhaps — or sauntering through some pic- 
 ture gallery — or lolling at home upon a luxurious 
 sofa, reading some piquant novel — he will go home 
 soon to a sumptuous dinner — in the evening, he will 
 be found at some agreeable rendezvous or other, 
 where, there will be pretty faces, and lovely flowers, 
 and soft music — all that can gratify and soothe the 
 senses — that's the way he spends his life — it is made 
 up of a constant succession of such scenes. Even his 
 very Faith seems to be a mere minister to his love of 
 ease and splendor — what a dainty pew he worships 
 in — what brilliant stained windows surround him — 
 what an exquisitely fretted roof above him — what a 
 faultless choir sings praises for him — what a charm- 
 ing sermon he has to listen to — as stately and beau- 
 tiful as the temple itself — as cold and polished, too, 
 as its exquisite marble pillars — what a choice and 
 charmingly dressed company of fellow- worshipers is 
 here— a terrible hardship, to be sure, to have to 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 115 
 
 spend a couple of hours a week in a scene so luxuri- 
 ous and elegant. What would those dear old pious 
 paupers, the Apostles, have said to it ? what sort of 
 a reception would they meet with, were they sud- 
 denly to make their appearance in -these spacious 
 aisles? they might stand all day, I reckon, with 
 those plain, sunburnt faces, and those coarse, travel- 
 stained garments of theirs, before a solitary pew 
 door would be opened unto them. Oh, what a 
 perversion, what a mockery of Eeligion — is there 
 any heart, soul, meaning in these solemn rites, to the 
 great mass of the gay people here assembled ? no, 
 no — they might quite as well be sitting in state in 
 their opera-boxes, or airing themselves in their 
 sumptuous carriages — and are these hVes of vanity 
 and empty show and self-indulgence to pass un- 
 questioned, unrebuked ? is there to be no chastise- 
 ment for this abominable misuse of the gifts of the 
 Great Giver? What, am I to turn life into a 
 mere entertainment, run away from all its duties, 
 devote myself exclusively to the gratification of 
 my appetites and fancies, and shall I not be 
 called to a most strict and bitter account for it 
 hereafter? Isn't it high time, then, for — — — to be 
 alarmed about himself? Wouldn't a good fit of 
 sickness be the most blessed thing, perhaps, that 
 
118 MUTTERINQS AND 
 
 could happen to him? Might not a year of bodily 
 languor and suffering be the means of bringing 
 about the eternal well-being of his soul? "But 
 how is it," he asks me in reply, "how is it, if this? 
 sick bed teaches such impressive lessons as you de- 
 scribe, that you have not profited more by them ? 
 Precious little good does it seem to have done you, 
 in the way of mending your temper and character — 
 for aught I see, you are quite as worldly, selfish, and 
 sensual, as the gayest, heartiest buck in town." Too 
 true — too 'true — yes, we are both of us sadly astray 
 — both miserable invalids, so far as spiritual health 
 is concerned — pitiful paupers in all that constitutes 
 true riches — worthless, worthless indeed, such lives 
 as ours — what is there noble, or even respectable, 
 about them? So far as all heroic enterprises are 
 concerned, all conquests in science or art, all labors 
 of love to others, we might as well never have been 
 
 born — shame on us both ! how dare remain, 
 
 another moment, the gay, reckless, chattering pleas- 
 ure seeker that he is? And I, how dare I persist in 
 this fretful, peevish egotism of mine? In a world 
 like this, too, where there are so many glorious 
 things to be done — so many victories over evil to 
 be won, in our own hearts, and those of our breth- 
 ren — so many mourners to be comforted, poor re- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 11T 
 
 lieved, vicious re-claimed, ignorant instructed — >so 
 many truths to be explored, so many precious 
 secrets to be won and wrung from Nature. How 
 outrageous, tben, in me, to sit here, whining over 
 my paltry aches and annoyances — how unpardona- 
 ble in. ■ to spend his time, as he does, upon 
 
 his appetites — why, to hear him talk, you would 
 think that he cared a hundred-fold more about the 
 curing of his meats, and the treatment of his wines, 
 than about the very Constitution he lives under, or 
 the Eeligion of his Fathers. Oh, let us awake, forth- 
 with, from this infernal apathy, this abominable 
 sensuality — let's try to be of some use in the world 
 ■ — why not commit ourselves, at once, to some noble 
 enterprise or other? — there are enough of them, 
 Heaven knows, all around us, that are crying aloud 
 for friends and helpers. To the rescue, then, like 
 good men and true — let's go at it, at once, tooth 
 and nail, heart and soul — then we shall be leading 
 lives worth having, and worth perpetuating — then 
 we shall wear lasting smiles upon our faces, and se- 
 cure abiding comforts in our hearts. Ah, me, shall 
 I never taste the luxury of doing good ? Shall I 
 never know the blessing of a quiet conscience? 
 How long am I to continue this unprofitable, self- 
 tormenting course ? How long am I thus wilfully 
 
118 MUTTEKINGS AND 
 
 to» defraud myself of all peace of mind here, and of 
 all hope of a happy, glorious career in the world to 
 come ? In the name of all that is dear and sacred, 
 then, awake, awake, awake! 
 
 called to see me to-day — rather a tumultu- 
 ous visit, as usual — confound him, he seems to get 
 more and more passionate and irritable every day — 
 I have a" sufficiently bad temper of my own, but I 
 am a perfect lamb alongside of him. The first 
 part of the call was pleasant enough, too — we seemed 
 to be chatting along very cozily and agreeably, 
 when I, somehow or other, inadvertently let slip a 
 remark on the subject of Puseyism, by no means in 
 accordance with his High Church notions. He 
 took fire forthwith — his face was in a blaze — his 
 arms flew about as if there had been a dozen wind- 
 mills present— he bespattered me with all sorts of 
 abominable epithets and personalities, in a style as 
 outrageous as it was uncalled for. Like a fool, in- 
 stead of submitting silently and patiently to this 
 shower of abuse, I got mad in return, and replied in 
 the same strain, and so, before we knew it, there we 
 were,- like a couple of belligerent tom-cats, spitting 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 119 
 
 and sputtering and growling, our backs up, eyes 
 glaring, and very whiskers trembling with wrath 
 — luckily a huge table was between us, else we 
 should have undoubtedly resorted to the ultima ratio 
 of fisticuffs — as it was, we kept up for a good half hour 
 a pyrotechnic display that would have done credit to 
 Vesuvius himself — till, finally, the absurdity of the 
 scene seemed to strike us, all at once, and a hearty 
 fit of laughter restored us to our senses — he apolo- 
 gized, I explained, we shook hands — then we had 
 another hearty laugh, and parted, at last, 'as good 
 friends as ever. Ah dear, what a pity that a man so 
 well meaning and kind hearted as he is at bottom, 
 should yet be so utterly without self-government — 
 one would suppose that the infinity of scrapes and 
 annoyances that this peppery temper of his is for 
 ever getting him into, would teach him wisdom — 
 what a dance it has led him, to be sure — how many 
 black eyes it has cost him — how many streams of 
 claret has it set flowing from that fine Eoman nose 
 of his — how many nights at watch-houses, commit- 
 ments for contempt, actions for assault and battery, 
 challenges, expulsions from theatres and concert 
 rooms, in fact, all sorts of disagreeable experiences, 
 have been occasioned by this sad infirmity. Why, 
 it was only the other night, that he was turned out 
 
120 MDTTEEINGS AND 
 
 of the theatre, for picking a quarrel with his neigh- 
 bor — some fancied insult or other set him in a 
 frenzy, as usual — from words they got to blows — a 
 disgraceful row ensued, to the great annoyance of 
 both audience and actors — it ended, of course, in 
 the forcible ejection of both parties — to add to 
 
 's mortification, it was the very night of 
 
 Macready's farewell benefit, and the play, Lear — 
 and , moreover, is a most enthusiastic ad- 
 mirer of the great Artist, and had paid a very heavy 
 premium for his seat — and so, just for foolishly giv- 
 ing way to his feelings, he not only lost his place, 
 had his clothes torn, and his face embellished, but 
 likewise missed the finest dramatic treat of the sea- 
 son, probably of the century — and yet, all this bit- 
 ter experience seems to be completely thrown away 
 upon him — no doubt he will have just such another 
 fury-fit to morrow, as he favored me with this 
 morning — no matter how trivial the cause may be — 
 • off he goes, like a rocket, at the very slightest prov- 
 ocation — he will actually get mad because an omni- 
 bus refuses to stop for him, or at being caught in a 
 'shower, or if he's too late for a ferry-boat — his ne- 
 gotiations with hack-drivers invariably result in a 
 breach of the peace — he generally comes off second 
 best, too, on such occasions, being by no means ro- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 121 
 
 bust, and having quite misty notions of the science 
 of self-defence. Poor fellow 1 how many sad yet 
 funny exhibitions he has made of himself — how he 
 will curse a pair of tight boots — how furious a cup 
 of cold coffee makes him. Are the dice missing, 
 when he wants to play backgammon ? He forth- 
 with becomes a "tiger in his fierce deportment." 
 Is he hacking away at a tough goose? Oh, how 
 wrathy he gets — it is as much as he can do to keep 
 from throwing it, dish and all, right out of the win- 
 dow — he has actually precipitated a dictionary into 
 the street, for not containing the_word that he was 
 looking for. Does the Minister utter a sentiment 
 from the desk, which is unpalatable to him — up 
 he gets, snatches his hat, kicks open the pew door, 
 and bounces out of Church, in a huff — nay, he has 
 even come within an inch of having a most dis- 
 graceful scuffle with a brother pall-bearer, over the 
 grave of a friend. What a pity that he should be 
 afflicted thus — that he should carry this devil about 
 with him wherever he goes, to torment himself and 
 everybody else. Will he ever change? Will he 
 ever become a peaceful, placable, reasonable being? 
 I fear not — the thing is too deeply rooted in him to 
 be eradicated — it will go with him to his grave — 
 Reason may preach, Religion may plead, and may 
 
122 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 perhaps gain an occasional victory over it — but as to 
 permanently cooling down that hot, boiling blood of 
 his, is it reasonable to expect it? Yes, 'tis that con- 
 founded ardent temperament, those frightfully excita- 
 ble nerves, that are to blame, not he — -the man bears 
 no malice in his heart — he would not wilfully maim 
 a mosquito. Death, death alone can put out these 
 fires that rage so within him ; Heaven grant that it 
 be not a violent one — it would be far from strange, 
 though, if his brains were knocked out by a club 
 some of these days, or his breath driven out of him 
 by a bullet. Ah well,. I hope he will have a pleas- 
 a.nter time of it in the next world — that that rest- 
 less spirit of his will be lodged in far more quiet 
 and agreeable quarters — that the elements will be 
 mixed up in him far differently — the idea of his 
 keeping up such a turbulent, volcanic career 
 through all eternity, is too frightful to dwell upon. 
 May the Lord, in his mercy, so order it, and may 
 , amid the genial scenes and glorious em- 
 ployments of his new existence, speedily forget his 
 .tumultuous life on earth, or at most, only recall it 
 as some wild and troubled dream. 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 123 
 
 His Most Gracious Majesty, the Sun, does us the 
 honor of crossing the line to-day, and the elements 
 are, of course, turning out for the usual semi-annual 
 frolic — wind, rain, hail, snow, they are all out in 
 full feather, far a three days' celebration ; old Nep- 
 tune is on hand, too, in grand costume, in honor of 
 the occasion, and is doubtless, at this moment, giv- 
 ing his friends a magnificent entertainment all along 
 the coast, from Saco even to Tobasco — high times 
 to-day amongst those roaring, rodicking wav^s tf 
 his — whew, how the wind howls — what a flapping 
 of awnings, and fluttering of umbrellas, and creaking 
 of signs, and rattling of windows, and slamming of 
 doors, is going on all over town J it is enough to 
 drive a poor nervous man frantic. It is absurd to 
 expect any quiet thoughts or pleasant fancies with 
 all this plaguey racket and riot going on out-doors. 
 What a day for poor Jack — but for his grog and 
 pig-tail, he would never get through with it— he 
 takes more comfort in them, such weather as this, 
 I reckon, than he does in the good book itself. 
 "Well, he must be a flinty-hearted fellow, who 
 begrudges them to him now. Ah, those friends of 
 ours, who put to sea two days ago in such high 
 glee, how they must be catching it ; what a search- 
 ing and overhauling their stomachs are having this 
 
124 IfUTTERINGS AND 
 
 blessed minute ; they are not now discussing the 
 classic plains of Italy, the fascinations of Paris, the 
 sublimity of the Alps — oh, no, there is no part of 
 Jersey so fiat and mean, that they would not gladly 
 set foot on it, if they could — no village in Arkansas 
 so rude and unsightly, but they would cheerfully 
 spend the balance of their days in it, so they might 
 only get out of that infernal, tossing, plunging, 
 kicking steamer — patience, friends, patience — if you 
 will see all these fine things on the other side, the 
 mouldy side of this great cheese of ours, you must 
 pay the regular toll ; Neptune will not be defrauded 
 of his time-honored tribute, so make your peace 
 with him, and with your stomachs, as speedily as 
 possible ; think of Noah's voyage — think of those 
 forty dreary days and dirty nights that he was 
 drifting about, in that clumsy old ark of his ; here 
 you are, in a magnificent ship, surrounded by every 
 comfort and luxury, and in ten short days you are 
 almost within hearing of the venerable bells of 
 Westminster. What would St. Paul have said to 
 these arrangements, or Columbus, or our Pilgrim 
 Fathers? These mirrored saloons, that superb 
 pantry are very much like the accommodations on 
 board the Mayflower, are they not? Stop grunt- 
 ing, then, for shame, and making those horrible 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 125 
 
 faces. Ah dear, this is no weather for me to venture 
 abroad in — what is there in the paper, I wonder — 
 hem — EaiLEoad to the Pacific — a colossal under- 
 taking, truly — the editor waxes warm and eloquent 
 on the subject — it must and shall be built, he says : 
 if he don't live to take a ride on it, his boys and 
 girls will ; the country must have it — the commerce 
 of the Union cries aloud for it — the Union itself 
 will be stronger, an hundred-fold stronger, when 
 this magnificent work is done ; the great father of 
 roads, he calls it, worthy of the great father of 
 waters, from which it sallies forth to greet the 
 broad Pacific — and so on, in this strain, for a couple 
 of columns. Somewhat grandiloquent, to be sure, 
 still there is a hearty, earnest enthusiam about it, 
 which is quite charming ; who can help using large 
 words, when talking about such amazingly large 
 things ? Who can help being taken off his feet at 
 times, when he thinks of the wonderful things in 
 store for this dear land of ours ?— when he thinks 
 of the magnificent picture which the valley of the 
 Mississippi will present, a century or two hence. 
 Fancy yourself taking an aerial journey over it in the 
 summer of 2050 ; such an excursion may be quite 
 practicable, long ere that time, in a comfortable air- 
 craft of one's own, too, with, a few choice com- 
 5 
 
126 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 panions, going fast or slow, sinking or soaring, ad 
 libitum, and alighting at one's pleasure, be it on 
 sunny hill-side, or in heart of stately city — dropping 
 to earth as easily and gracefully as ever bird lit on 
 bough. Oh, what a panorama — how our senses are 
 filled, and our hearts stirred within us, as scene after 
 scene of beauty and grandeur rises around in never 
 tiring succession. What fields of golden grain ! were 
 there ever such before on the face of the earth? 
 What vineyards, and orchards, and gardens ! Such 
 noble forests, too, and groups of smiling hills ; such 
 majestic rivers, crowded with life, their banks lined 
 with gay villas, and shining villages, and thriving 
 towns. As we rise and rise above it, how the fair scene 
 expands: still the same beautiful objects greet us; the 
 same charming combination of all that is bountiful in 
 nature and kindly in culture. ; there is no decay, no 
 desolation, no, not one dark spot to be seen ; all is 
 peace, and plenty, and prosperity. Still we keep 
 rising, and now we can no longer hear the hum of the 
 busy hive beneath us, or the pleasant sound of the 
 church-bells ; but what a grand and glorious map is 
 spread out around us ; we are looking down on happy 
 homes, and well-tilled fields, and cheerful workers, 
 and frolicking children, and comfortable flocks and 
 herds; no grim castles, no dismal convents, no huge 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 121 
 
 .unsightly barracks deface the picture ; but there are 
 churches, and school-houses, and colleges innumera- 
 ble, scattered all over this glorious valley ; tall fac- 
 tories, and stately warehouses full of corn, wine, 
 and oil ; depots, that look like towns, filled, too, 
 with the products of all climes ; there are thousands 
 and tens of thousands of swift steamers, for ever run- 
 ning on the errands of this great multitude ; trains 
 of cars, whizzing along continually ; telegraphs 
 without number, speeding over the wires, inces- 
 santly, their magic messages from north to south, 
 from ocean to ocean. Still we soar and soar, and 
 now the great Mississippi seems a mere thread of 
 silver, and those tall trees upon its borders the 
 tiniest of shrubs, and that vast city that crowns its 
 banks', why, it looks as if you might stow it away 
 in a toy-box. That little fairy spot on the opposite 
 shore is the far-famed cemetery — Auburn is vene- 
 rable, Greenwood is charming, but this far exceeds 
 them both in beauty — where else, on earth, will you 
 find such trees, and fountains, and winding walks, 
 and exquisitely carved . monuments ? But let us 
 descend, and visit this mighty metropolis at our feet 
 — ah, how it grows and grows upon us and rivets 
 the gaze as we approach — hark, faint murmuring 
 eounds begin to rise from it — down, down we go, and 
 
128 MUTTEKINGS AND 
 
 at last the spacious squares, and gay streets, and 
 crowded quays, are clearly revealed to us — what a 
 profusion of towers, and spires, and swelling domes 
 is here — -what a princely group of buildings is that 
 directly under us — let us alight in their midst, yes, 
 at the base of yon colossal statue. Ah, is that the 
 world-renowned statue of Washington ? the same ; 
 what a magnificent work of art ; as far before all 
 others of the kind, as the man it commemorates was 
 above all other men ; there are hundreds of others, 
 in bronze and marble, in this vast and happy valley, 
 but this, this is the great work, the pride of the 
 nation, the crowning ornament of the Federal me- 
 tropolis. That grand pile opposite is the Capitol ; 
 there is but one other dome on the round globe that 
 can compare with that which crowns its stately 
 rotunda ; what splendors within, too ; what wealth 
 of precious marbles, and statues, and bas-reliefs, and 
 frescoes ! Here the senators and representatives of 
 sixty states meet and deliberate in harmony ; here 
 the legislation of more than a hundred millions of 
 people is conducted with a despatch and decorum 
 and wisdom, before unknown in the history of 
 nations. That beautiful building on the right, with 
 the life-like statue of Franklin before it, is the Na- 
 tional library, and alongside of it, in that little gem 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 129 
 
 of a temple, the Supreme Court hold their sessions. 
 Noble, venerable body ! is there anything more dear 
 and sacred to the heart of every American, than this 
 serene, spotless, majestic tribunal? Those superb 
 structures on our left, and behind us, are dedicated 
 to the different departments — there was nothing in 
 tbe Eoman Forum half so fine or spacious — and, 
 pray, what is that colossal edifice in the distance, 
 with its forest of columns and noble cupola? that is 
 the Federal Post Office — what a pile, and yet they 
 talk of enlarging it ; it is not equal, they say, to the 
 wants of the nation ; and you would believe them, 
 too, were you to see the buge mountain of letters, 
 and papers, and pamphlets, and documents, that 
 daily passes through it ; the mail-bags would load a 
 seventy -four, that will be sent away from that build- 
 ing before sunset ; nor is it strange ; think of the 
 tremendous accumulation of news necessarily manu- 
 factured and consumed eacb day, by a nation of a 
 hundred millions of freemen, a nation in which 
 every mother's son and daughter of us, over six, 
 can read and write, which transacts more business 
 in four and twenty hours, than the whole globe did, 
 in as many years, in the times of the Caesars. Hard 
 by, in yonder circular edifice, is its great co-worker 
 m the cause of commerce and civilization — what, 
 6* 
 
130 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 that immense building with the glittering dome, and 
 the wings radiating from it in every direction ? the 
 same— there you will find the great errand-bearer of 
 the nations, the revolutionizer of the earth. It is 
 just entering upon the third century of its career, 
 and what wonders has it worked? why the famous 
 labors of Hercules were mere child's play compared 
 with its miraculous exploits. National Telegraph 
 Office — brief, but magical words — household words 
 to «s, but what would the men of Plymouth have 
 said to them ? what would the Pater Patriae himself 
 have said? With all his prophetic wisdom, with 
 all his visions of the future power and glory of his 
 country, did it ever enter into his heart to conceive 
 of a consummation such as this? But let us enter 
 its spacious rotunda — what a busy scene is here, 
 what a throng, what a hum — so is it always, night 
 and day, day and night — not a moment passes when 
 the sound of footsteps may not be heard upon these 
 pavements — the winged words are for ever flying to 
 and fro — messages of all kinds coming and going 
 continually, from all the corners of the continent — 
 from Bangor to Oregon, from Baffin's Bay to Pata- 
 gonia. Do you wish to secure a passage for a friend 
 in the next Hong Kong steamer ? pass under that 
 arched entrance to the left, state your wants, and 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 181 
 
 the lightning steed shall be harnessed up forthwith, 
 and the whole thing will have been arranged by 
 your San Francisco correspondent, before you get 
 back to your counting house — or do you wish to 
 know the state of the lumber market at Machias ? 
 or what hides are worth to-day at Montevideo ? or 
 how United States sixes of 2100 left off at the 
 second board at Valparaiso? or whether the Mine- 
 sota and Winnipeg Eailroad company have de- 
 clared their usual dividend to-day? or do you 
 wish to crack a joke, or send . a conundrum over 
 the wires, to a friend at Acapulco ? the operators 
 are all ready for you^ gentlemen — you have but 
 to pay a trifle, and all your questions shall be 
 answered, your whims gratified — 'twill not be so 
 easy to-morrow, however, for our President has a 
 special Message to send to Congress — a long and 
 interesting one, too — its subject, the proposed Un- 
 ion of the two Eepublics. Yes, after years of dis- 
 cussion and agitation, the proposition has, at last, 
 been formally made to us by our South American 
 brethren — and to-morrow are the documents to be 
 laid before the nation — long before to-morrow's sun 
 has set, will those documents have been read and 
 canvassed in all the cities of the Union. Ah dear 
 — they certainly managed these things very differ- 
 
182 MTJTTERINGS AND 
 
 ently in the days of the Amphictyonic Council, or 
 of the Helvetic Confederation, or of the old Conti- 
 nental Congress, God bless them. But let us es- 
 cape from this bustling, exciting spot. Ah, what 
 handsome marble house is that, with the lawn before 
 it, and the fountain ? how beautiful it is, and how 
 modest and unpretending, withal. "lis the White 
 House. "What, the Chief Magistrate of the mighti- 
 est nation on earth provided with no ampler ac- 
 commodations than these? Even so — and thank 
 Heaven that it is so. What better evidence would 
 you have of the purity and stability of our Govern- 
 ment, than this simple fact, that its Executive, the 
 man who holds an office, by all odds, the most hon- 
 orable, powerful, and influential upon the face of 
 the Earth, lives in a house not one whit bigger or 
 costlier than old Eough and Ready himself occu- 
 pied, more than two centuries ago ? Our popula- 
 tion has increased ten-fold since then — our wealth, 
 an hundred-fold. What mighty works have we 
 done, meanwhile — what vast and magnificent tem- 
 ples have we reared to Eaith, to Justice, to Com- 
 merce — what costly palaces have we dedicated to 
 Education, to Charity, to Art — what splendid Halls 
 of Legislation, in every one of the blessed sixty 
 States — could you see them all grouped together in 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 133 
 
 some stately park, and lit up by the setting sun, it 
 would be a spectacle indeed — and the great Alma 
 Mater of them all, yon majestic capitol, is it not the 
 noblest fabric ever raised by wit of man ? and yet, 
 with all this pomp and splendor around it, the 
 same- modesty, simplicity, economy preside over thn 
 Executive Mansion, as in the days of Washington 
 and Jay. Oh, may it be so ever — and for centuries 
 to come, may its occupants be as wise and worthy 
 as he who now presides over it with such quiet, 
 dignity and courtesy ! But what fine equestria.n 
 figure is that, in the square opposite ? Why, who 
 should it be, but glorious old Zack himself, the ever 
 memorable hero of Biiena Vista — a spirited group, 
 is it not ? The good people here are very proud of 
 it — there is but one name more dear to us all than 
 his — those admirable bas-reliefs on the pedestals tell 
 the story of his desperate fights — but we may not 
 linger over them. Ah, here is the far-famed Federal 
 Square, so celebrated for its fountains and arcades 
 and brilliant shops — that superb building on the 
 corner is the National Theatre, one of the largest 
 and handsomest in the world — what say the bills ? 
 "As you Like It," and the " Agreeable Surprise," are 
 the pieces for to-night— what a powerful cast — that 
 fascinating Miss Johnson plays Eosalind, too — 'twill 
 
134 MUTTERIKGS AND 
 
 be a great treat, most assuredly — there's fame for 
 you. What would Shakspeare have said, had this 
 been revealed to him ? When this divine play was 
 written, Jamestown and Plymouth were a wilder- 
 ness — the Bermudas, the fabled haunt of Devils — the 
 great Eiver of the Nations, unknown to civilized 
 man. Would not, think you, the poet's eyes sparkle, 
 and his cheeks glow with pleasure, could he be here 
 to-night, in this beautiful temple, filled, as it will be, 
 with his worshipers — could he hear once more the 
 sweet notes of his bewitching Kosalind, in all their 
 native grace and tenderness? But 'twould take us 
 a twelvemonth to explore all the wonders and 
 pleasant things of this great Metropolis — ours is 
 literally a flying visit, and we must resume our 
 aeronautic journey forthwith. Up then and away — 
 away, over the beautiful rolling prairies, no more, 
 thank God, the haunts of wild beasts and savages, 
 but the homes of happy Christian men — ah, what an 
 interminable succession of corn-fields, and gardens, 
 and hamlets, and towns ! On, on we go, and the 
 limpid Michigan is in sight, and the great and pros- 
 perous city of Chicago — there's a charming panora- 
 ma for you — what grand, massive quays — what 
 crowds of merchandise — what a congregation of 
 steamers, brigs, barges, sloops, yachts, sail-boats, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 135 
 
 coming and going, loading and unloading, gliding 
 and dancing about in all directions ! Yon busy spot 
 is the basin of the famous Grand Canal that binds 
 together all these glorious lakes and rivers — what 
 princely docks 1 and warehouses ! Would not the 
 Venetians, in the palmiest days of their republic, 
 have stared in amazement at such a picture of com- 
 merce as this,? — and not a mere picture of com- 
 merce either, thank Heaven. No, we are not look- 
 ing down upon a mere nest of traffickers and money- 
 seekers — bear witness, that magnificent Cathedral,, 
 that stately University, that noble Gallery of Art, 
 worthy of fair Florence herself. But we must leave 
 them, and make our way across the fertile fields of 
 Michigan, the happy home of the farmer — what a 
 sea of golden grain is beneath us — what goodly 
 rows of fruit trees, and scattered groups of oaks and 
 elms — what multitudes of cattle, and sheep, and 
 horses — the reapers are abroad, gathering in the 
 precious spoils — -all pleasant sounds and sights of 
 rural life are here, to greet us — peaceful, beautiful 
 landscapes. Again the scene changes, and we are 
 flying over the sparkling waters of Erie. Such a 
 fleet of vessels — as we advance, city after city rises 
 up, and disappears, as if by magic — its harbor full 
 of life ; its streets thronged with people. Ah, what 
 
136 XLTFEKINGS AND 
 
 huge, complicated mass of building is that on the 
 right? Oh yes, 'tis the famous terminus of the 
 great Erie Rail-road — indeed, five great Eail-roads 
 come together here — there is no busier spot than 
 that, in the great Empire State — thousands of pas- 
 sengers and hundreds of thousands of tons of mer- 
 chandise pass through it every day — the men of 
 Tyre, and Carthage, and Venice, nay, of London, had 
 no conception of such a day's work — and to think, 
 that it is but little more than two centuries ago 
 that this region was a howling wilderness. But we 
 will not pause to muse and wonder, for the Niagara 
 is at hand, and we shall soon hear the voice of the 
 mighty cataract. Hark to its deep, solemn music. 
 Ah, 'tis the same glorious scene as ever — there are 
 slight changes in the picture, to be sure — there is a 
 handsome town here, and grand hotels, and a crowd 
 of pilgrims, from all the quarters of the globe — but 
 all else, as when it came fresh from the hand of God 
 — the same frowning rocks, and wooded islands, 
 and dancing rapids, and emerald sheet half hid in 
 foam, and boiling whirlpools, and beautiful rainbows. 
 But here let us take leave of our aerial conveyance, 
 and return to our own century — this is no place for 
 idle words and flights of fancy — let us wander about, 
 in modest silence, as becomes true worshipers, in this 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 137 
 
 great Temple of nature — we want no vain prattlers 
 here. Disturb not these solemn services, but listen, 
 with due reverence, to the melodious teachings of 
 the great cataract. Hark to the majestic anthem 
 which is here ceaselessly rising to God's glory, in 
 his own magnificent Cathedral — through the dim 
 ages past hath it sounded, through the long ages to 
 come will it keep sounding forth his glorious 
 praises — no place, this, for the frivolous, or sordid, 
 or sensual man ; but to the poet, the student, the 
 moralist, 'tis holy, haunted ground. Oh, may it 
 remain so through all coming time! May the rash, 
 innovating hand of man never be raised against it ! 
 Here, at least, may the fierce, restless spirit of Pro- 
 gress be checked and abashed. Hither may thought- 
 ful pilgrims come, in all generations, to gaze, and 
 listen, and wonder, and worship, and give thanks 
 to the great Creator and Father of All. 
 
 The same tumultuous weather, to day; I have 
 been a prisoner, of course — tedious, tedious, tedious, 
 ■ — but it would have been tenfold more tedious, had 
 not that sprightly, sparkling little coz of mine come 
 to the rescue — yes, in the most amiable, winning 
 
138 MUTTEBINGS AND 
 
 way in the world, did she abandon her books and 
 her music, to play battledore and backgammon 
 with me — sweet thing — may Heaven send her a 
 kind and worthy husband— rhow can I scold and 
 scowl at her, as I dp ? Why, I actually threw 
 double sixes three times running, and she nev.er 
 even frowned — had it been her luck, I should no 
 doubt have behaved abominably — oh Lord ! — I 
 wonder what would become of us, between this 
 and next New Years, were the women all sud- 
 denly withdrawn from earth, and consigned to 
 Heaven, in a lump — nay, would not the planet, 
 before the end of a week, become the vilest of pig- 
 pens? Would not its occupants be turned into 
 abominable slovens, blackguards, ruffians, thieves, 
 murderers? Who can doubt it? Even were we 
 permitted to live out our days, who would take 
 life on such terms? What, a world where there 
 are no mothers, wives, sisters? No, no, the sooner 
 such a planet went to the dogs, the better — it 
 wouldn't be worth saving — dreariest, forlornest 
 part of the universe, it could not be knocked out 
 of it too soon — the very angels would turn their 
 heads away, as they flew by it. Ah dear me ! I 
 think I ani entitled to a kiss, after that last speech. 
 My neighbor has just dropped in to see 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 139 
 
 me; the same grumbling, croaking old soul as ever; 
 with everything under Heaven to make him happy, 
 he will nevertheless persist in being miserable — 
 he seems to take a perverse pleasure in looking on 
 the dark side of everybody, and everything; he is 
 eternally predicting all kinds of rascalities and 
 calamities- — we are, even now, he says, on the eve 
 of a tremendous explosion, in the political and 
 financial world — nothing can pi event it — come it 
 must, and ruin with it — no, not a solitary ray of 
 hope can he see gilding the future — all is black, 
 black, black. Hang the old raven ! — why the deuce 
 didn't he stay at home? What right have such 
 fellows as he to inflict themselves- upoii their neigh- 
 bors? Haven't I blue devils enough of my own 
 to annoy me, but he must set his vile crew of imps 
 on me ? Besides, there's some shadow of an excuse 
 for my grunting, with my wretched nerves, and 
 rickety constitution — but he, the old rhinoceros, 
 he ought to be ashamed of himself — why, if he 
 were to sleep out all night, in this gale, it wouldn't 
 hurt him — he'd be as well as ever in the morning, 
 and as impatient for his breakfast — such a break- 
 fast, too — the very bears would blush to see him 
 at it— he grumble, forsooth — a man, who never had 
 a sick hour in his whole life — a man, who carries 
 
140 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 about' town such, a magnificent stomach as he does 
 — why, if it were put up at auction this day, what 
 a scramble there would be for it among the epi- 
 cures — were ostriches the bidders, there would still 
 be a rush for it — for shame, man — take a lesson 
 from it; faithful, hard working, unmurmuring 
 drudge that it is, what a rebuke does it read its 
 peevish, fretful owner — but why remonstrate ? 'Tis 
 of no use — he'll never alter — he's been quite too 
 long in the croaking business, to give it up now — 
 for more than half a century has he been pouring 
 forth his doleful prophecies — to be sure, each day's 
 experience gives them the lie — but what of that ? 
 "What is experience worth, or reason, or remon- 
 strance, when a man has once got a perverse habit 
 fairly fastened upon him?" What folly then to ex- 
 pect any revolution in the inner man of this con- 
 firmed old grunter — croak, croak, croak he will, to 
 the very last verse of the chapter — he even went 
 so far as to say, just now, that he did not believe 
 there would be a single mill in motion, or bank in 
 operation, this time next year — that the Union will 
 be dissolved long before then, and that we shall have 
 a frightful civil war upon our hands in consequence 
 — oh, of course, of course — he might as well have 
 added, that this equinoctial storm will not leave a 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 141 
 
 single tree standing, this side of. the Alleghanies, 
 and that it will be the death of every vessel on our 
 seaboard — one remark is just about as sensible as 
 the other. Pshaw! one gets quite out of patience 
 with such people ; what monstrous perversion, 
 what base ingratitude to the Giver of all these 
 countless blessings that we enjoy ; why, here is a 
 man, who has been living on the very fat of the 
 land, ever since he was weaned, and yet, as regu- 
 larly as the seasons come round, you find him scold- 
 ing about short crops and predicting starvation ; a 
 man, who has had every comfort and luxury that 
 money could buy, ever since he began to creep, 
 and yet eternally grunting about poverty and 
 bankruptcy — and so it will be, till death stops that 
 muttering mouth of his ; oh, how abominable — 
 when he ought to have been giving thanks, and 
 singing hymns of gratitude, and sharing his good 
 things with his brethren, and going about to re- 
 lieve the distresses of his poor neighbors; what 
 excuse can there be, what escape from punishment 
 can there be, for such an outrageous abuse of the 
 gift of life, as this? But who am I, to sit in the 
 seat of judgment? Am I a whit better, myself? 
 No, no — alas, I have quite too much of the same 
 rascally disposition — the same propensity to look 
 
142 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 upon the black side of life, to see nothing but 
 \Louds and storms in the future, to quarrel with 
 the laws of Nature, to call in question the arrange- 
 ments of Providence. And oh, how little a thing 
 it takes to annoy me — how trifling a matter will 
 upset this querulous temper of mine ; did I not get 
 angry this very morning, at the sight of a few 
 straggling gray hairs in my whiskers ? Did I not 
 rail and pluck at them, in a savage, vindictive 
 spirit ? Did I not curse a faithful old coat too, and 
 the man that made it, for simply parting company 
 with a button ? Oh, is there any mishap in life so 
 trifling and insignificant, that a man of a snarling, 
 captious temper cannot turn it into an engine of 
 torture, and himself into a perfect vessel of wrath, 
 because of it? What folly; why not take things 
 coolly ? Why quarrel with the flight of time, the 
 decrees of destiny ? And yet I do ; I am angry, 
 this very moment, with the whole rising genera- 
 tion ; I am not willing to be supplanted, to be 
 driven off the stage of life — though my entertain- 
 ment has been a meager one, compared with that 
 of many of my brethren, still I am unwilling to 
 leave it, and I frown and grumble because the 
 great Giver of the feast so wills it. I am not satis- 
 fied to bow myself out quietly, and with a good 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 14a 
 
 grace, but seem determined to wait till 1 am col- 
 lared, and forced out — what a contumacious, vil- 
 lanous spirit ! I am mad, too, at my own ignorance 
 and imbecility — my terribly limited powers of en- 
 joyment, and endurance ; I am mad at seeing, every 
 day, ten thousand things that I cannot compre- 
 hend — how many studies I have to abandon, pleas- 
 ures to forego — yes, I am vexed, and almost furi- 
 ous, when I think of the niggardly allowance I 
 have to put up with, in the way of years, and 
 nerves, and wits, and knowledge. Why is it so ? 
 Why has not our Maker endowed us more gener- 
 ously ? Why has he not condescended to let us 
 into more of the secrets of his government, the pro- 
 cesses of his works ? I am tired of being the in- 
 significant ignoramus and nobody that I am — why, 
 if I were to die to-morrow, I should not be half so 
 much missed from this big town, as a seed from a 
 fig ; can it be, that the earth itself is of no more 
 account in the great Universe ? So the confound- 
 ed astronomers tell us ! Hang their discoveries, 
 say I — what a bitter pill to our pride — what a re- 
 buke to our paltry squabbles for place and power. 
 Oh, if I would only take the rebuke in the right 
 spiritt-^if I would.only learn from it a lesson of true 
 humility and obedience ; but no, I only get all the ' 
 
144 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 more mad' and outrageous, when I think of these 
 things ; I can't bear the idea of cutting such a sorry 
 figure in the great theatre of creation — I am angry 
 at being the diminutive, ephemeral earth-worm 
 that I am ; why was I condemned to live in this 
 paltry, fourth-rate, provincial planet ? Why wasn't 
 my lot cast in Jupiter ? Life would have been 
 worth having, then ; threescore years and ten 
 would have amounted to something, there — and as 
 it is, how is the value of my poor earthly pittance 
 impaired by this shabby constitution of mine. Why 
 am I thus parsimoniously dealt with ? Why can't 
 
 I, like , study my sixteen hours a day, year 
 
 after year, with impunity ? Why can't I toss off 
 my two bottles per diem, as ■ has done, with- 
 out a solitary headache, for the last score of years ? 
 
 Why can't / throw about the fifty-sixes as 
 
 does, and climb ropes, and run races, instead of be- 
 ing the puny, feeble wretch I am ? Why, to hold 
 a mere umbrella over my head, for five minutes, 
 nearly tires me to death ; a single glass of wine 
 will raise the very old Harry within me ; and if I 
 read more than a half hour at a time, I must pay 
 for it with throbbing brain, and icy feet. Is this 
 fair ? Haven't I some right to grumble ? And yet, 
 if I had all these things, I should not be satisfied or 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 145 
 
 grateful ; if I had, to-day, all the learning of Aristotle, 
 the strength of Hercules, the eyes of Argus, the 
 speed of Atalanta, I should still find something to 
 fret and mutter about — 'tis my cursed, rebellious, 
 abominable nature. 
 
 But enough of this egotism — ah, how the wind 
 keeps howling — go ahead, old Boreas, have the 
 frolic out — topple down the chimneys, blow down 
 the trees, sweep off the bridges, knock in the ribs 
 of the poor old ships, drown the sailors, bury the 
 merchandise in the yesty waves, keep it up, cele- 
 brate your Trois Jours in grand style, while you 
 are about it — what care I? Am I not snugly 
 housed, and seated by my comfortable fireside ? I've 
 no brothers on the deep— no wines, or silks, or spices, 
 tossing about upon the billows. I can enjoy this wild 
 music and dancing of the elements; at least, can be 
 cool and philosophical on the subject ; but they, 
 the poor bereaved and plundered ones, what say 
 they to this vile mischief-making tempest? Do 
 they see the finger of God in it, or the wild, wicked 
 pranks of Satan ? Patience, friends, patience ; keep 
 your tempers, rebel not, blaspheme not ; these are 
 not the howlings of malignant fiends, no, nor the 
 manifestations of God's anger; the injuries they 
 inflict, grievous though they be, and hard to bear, 
 
146 MUTTERINGS ASTD 
 
 yet what are they, compared with the benefits they 
 yield us ? ■ Could we get along at all without them? 
 Would the air be fit to breathe, the world to live 
 in ? What a dry, drooping, dreary planet it would 
 be, to be sure. Instead of grumbling, then, ought' 
 we not to welcome this glorious gale ? Is it not 
 out upon a right royal and , beneficent errand ? a 
 messenger of love, not wrath ? a purifier, invigora- 
 tor, breathing new life into all the veins and alleys 
 of the earth? preserving the wondrous frame of 
 things about us, in all its strength and freshness ? 
 Ought we not to greet all the phenomena of nature, 
 all the dispensations of Providence, in the same 
 spirit ? The few casual mischiefs that they cause, 
 are they to be named for a second, with the 
 innumerable, ceaseless blessings that they bring? 
 Any other view of the matter is heathenish and 
 savage. Oh, 'tis these cursed propensities, these 
 vile passions of ours, that are for ever blinding our 
 eyes to the truth. Ambition, pride, avarice, 
 sensuality, these are the false lights that are for ever 
 leading us astray ; how can we expect to see our 
 way clearly, to read aright life's lessons, while we 
 keep such company ? Out upon them! why can't 
 I turn my back upon them at once, and for ever, 
 and seek straightway the blessed society of the 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 147 
 
 Virtues? Faith, Hope, Charity — they are the true 
 friends — the only companions, guides, interpreters, 
 for life's puzzling, perilous journey. Alas! I know 
 them not. I have read about them, to be sure, in 
 the good book — have heard about them in sermons 
 — have seen them in pictures — gazed admiringly 
 upon their sculptured charms, as they grace the 
 monuments of popes and saints ; but the things 
 themselves, the blessed originals, I feel that they 
 are strangers to this wayward, perverse heart of 
 mine. How can I expect to be happy, then? to 
 have peace within, or sunshine without? Happy 
 indeed! — oh, no, no — all is disorder, tumult, rebel- 
 lion within me. What right have I to expect any- 
 thing else, filled as I am with false views, harsh 
 judgments, blind prejudices, tormenting doubts, 
 sinful desires ? — precious materials for happiness, 
 these. Is it any wonder that I grumble ? that I 
 find fault with (rod's doings? that I am constantly 
 growling at myself, and picking bones with niy 
 brethren ? Why will I consent to remain in such 
 a state ? why do I not rise up at once, and thrust 
 out these vile tenants, that are breeding perpetual 
 warfare and wretchedness in my heart? Away 
 with you, foul, rebel crew of appetites and pas 
 sions — torment me no longer — away — away ! 
 
148 MUTTERING9 AND 
 
 The blessed sun is out again, at last. "We have 
 had a beautiful, tranquil Sabbath day — went to 
 church this morning. Well, has it done me any 
 good ? am I any wiser or better for it? not a whit- 
 no, I am not an inch nearer the kingdom of heaven 
 than before — my own fault, no doubt; I didn't go 
 in the right spirit ; I didn't go as a poor, erring sin- 
 ner should go, to ask pardon for my offences, and to 
 return thanks for undeserved benefits — oh, no, I 
 went for exercise, for change of scene, to hear the 
 music, to have my fancy tickled, my wits brighten- 
 ed. I was disappointed, most thoroughly cheated ; 
 the atmosphere was oppressive, the music poor, the 
 sermon heavy as lead — I had much better have 
 staid at home, reading Jeremy Taylor — still, I was 
 served right ; I had no business to go, from such 
 motives. And yet, was it altogether my fault ? — I 
 think not — I think the minister himself was quite 
 as much to blame — at least, he seemed to me to be 
 thinking of himself far more than of his Maker — 
 to be more anxious about parading his elocution 
 than about exhibiting the truth. Could a man, 
 really in earnest about the salvation of his own 
 soul, and of those of his flock, have read the hymns 
 in that pompous, theatrical style ? could he have 
 put up such a petition to the throne of Grace, so 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 149 
 
 stuffed with polysyllables and expletives? What 
 was the use of that long string of attributes, drawled 
 out in that affected way ? why go into all those his- 
 torical details? what business had they in a prayer? 
 why that painfully elaborated climax, towards the 
 close ? why that awful dropping of the voice at the 
 word Amen ? Why, too, spend a good half hour, 
 piling up this vain mass of words, wearying us all 
 out in body and mind, when a few brief, earnest, 
 fervent sentences would have been infinitely more 
 edifying to the hearers, more acceptable to God? 
 And above all, how could a pastor, worthy of the 
 name, presume to put such sorry feed as that upon 
 his sheep, in the way of sermon ? Meager, misera- 
 ble trash ; all noise, wind, gesture ; baldest of com- 
 mon-place ; not a solitary new idea ; not one fresh, 
 fragrant flower of fancy, from beginning to end ; a 
 mere showy humbug throughout ; and yet, strange 
 to say, this man is popular; he has a handsome, 
 well-filled church, and a substantial salary. But is 
 it so strange, after all? perhaps not; for though thus 
 deficient in learning, genius, and anything like true 
 eloquence, yet has he not a fine person, graceful 
 attitudes, a musical voice? is not his linen always 
 spotless ? hasn't he always a pleasant word for the 
 women ? doesn't he handle the babies admirably, at 
 
150 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 all 6hristenings ? doesn't he form a noble figure-head 
 for a wedding ? Was St. Paul himself at all com- 
 parable to him in any of these particulars ? and are 
 not these gifts quite as acceptable, in this degenerate 
 age, as fervor, piety, self-devotion, thoughts that 
 breathe, and words that burn ? I can't help think- 
 ing, that if the glorious Apostle were alive to day, 
 and were willing to accept a call from this congre- 
 gation, he wouldn't have the opportunity — three- 
 quarters of them would be for retaining the present 
 incumbent; the other would only make' them un- 
 comfortable ; would be quite too personal ; would 
 be saying all manner of unpalatable, irritating 
 things. He never would consent to having a pro- 
 fane drunkard for an organist ; he couldn't sit still 
 in his pulpit, while a notorious, shameless harlot 
 was officiating in the choir as first soprano — oh, no, 
 he would be breeding a perfect tumult in the church, 
 within a week ; as it is, things go on smoothly — ■ 
 
 minds his own business, and lets the music 
 
 committee mind theirs ; he sticks to his text, never 
 ventures on unwelcome reforms, never handles for- 
 bidden topics, and see what a quiet, snug, cozy 
 flock he has of it. Oh, what vile mockery, what 
 heartless, soulless rites are these — and in how many 
 churches are these mummeries practised, Sabbath 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 151 
 
 after Sabbath, in the blessed name of Christianity. 
 Are these things so, or am I a vile slanderer? 
 How many real, devoted Christians were there pre- 
 sent this very morning ? a poor baker's dozen or so, 
 at most ; the rest of us were a mere set of worldlings- 
 vacant, sleepy-looking old people, and restless, flip- 
 pant young ones — how listless, how indifferent! 
 Had the preacher been enlarging on the properties 
 of contingent remainders, instead of hammering 
 away, as he did, upon the necessity of justification 
 by faith, we couldn't have looked one whit more 
 uninterested or stupid. Had the scene suddenly 
 been changed to the opera, and had Ellsler come 
 bounding on the stage, we'd have all been wide 
 awake in a twinkling, I warrant you — what a 
 stretching forth of necks, what a levelling of opera- 
 glasses; or had Burton come rolling -in, with his 
 funny face, and his broad jokes, we should have 
 been, instanter, bright as buttons. Oh, what abomi- 
 nable perversion, what an insult to the great founder 
 of our faith, to put his name to such hollow, worth- 
 less services as these ! Do we not need another Paul, 
 indeed, to stir up these stagnant waters, to alarm 
 these slumbering consciences, to create a thorough 
 revolution and reform in the church ? Oh, dear ! 
 how delighted we all were to be let out, and to fall 
 
1S2 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 Lack upon the old track — the belles to pick up their 
 beaux, and the elders to talk cotton and politics. 
 
 I met at the door; 1 asked him what he 
 
 thought of the discourse ; the reply was in his usual 
 quaint, queer style ; " Ah," said he, " if they only 
 keep on preaching in this way, the grass will soon 
 be knee-deep in the streets of heaven." This re- 
 mark seeming to shock a sensitive old lady behind 
 us, it only encouraged him to add, that all prudent 
 capitalists would make their investments in the 
 other place — -he is fond of such irreverent, absurd 
 speeches — anything for a joke. On the way home, 
 
 stumbled on — ; he looked as cold, sour, bitter, 
 
 as ever — he'd not been to church, not he — catch 
 him wasting his time in that way — he don't believe 
 in any such nonsense — but what does he believe in ? 
 poor unhappy skeptic, he has no faith in himself or 
 his neighbor, or his Maker, in the past or the future. 
 History he considers little better than a string of 
 lies — revelation an arrant forgery — prophecy a 
 clumsy contrivance of the priests — so with the vir- 
 tues, patriotism, philanthropy, piety, what are they 
 to him, but hollow, unmeaning sounds? He seems, 
 indeed, studiously to reverse the poet's beautiful 
 maxim — to be eternally spying the soul of evil in 
 things good. I asked him if there was any news. 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 153 
 
 " No, nothing special, I believe. The papers seem 
 to be full of the usual stuff — silly editorials, lying 
 obituaries, rascally money articles, the usual amount 
 of swindling, robbery, murder, fools getting mar- 
 ried, and so on — the same miserable old story as 
 ever." After he had gone on in this strain for some 
 time, I asked him if he had read that volume of 
 Channing, which I lent him the other day. His 
 lip began to curl — " Yes, I have looked over it ; 
 pretty writing, very pretty writing; the man cer- 
 tainly knew how to weave sentences, but " 
 
 "But what?" "But I have no faith whatever in 
 such views, myself; I consider them altogether one- 
 sided and superficial ; no man who knew the world, 
 and what sorry stuff it is made of, could have held 
 them. He did not know the world, how should 
 he ? he only saw the bright side of things ; sur- 
 rounded by every comfort and luxury, idolized by 
 his friends, watched and tended like a royal baby, 
 hemmed in continually by all the proprieties and 
 elegancies of life, kept in a glass-case, as it were, 
 like a bit of porcelain, what did he know of the 
 common crockery around him ? what did he know 
 of the villanies and brutalities of the world ? Did 
 he ever explore that den of wickedness and wretch- 
 edness — St. Giles's ? Did he ever witness the horri- 
 ble spectacle which the Five Points present ? If 
 7* 
 
154 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 he had, we should have been spared much of this 
 fine talk about the dignity of human nature, the 
 ineffable value of every human soul — fudge." 
 "You think him wrong, then?" "I do,, most 
 certainly — I consider him a mere enthusiast and 
 dreamer." " You are no believer, then, in the 
 perfectibility of the race ?" " Not I — at any rate, 
 not on this earth — I don't believe the world is 
 one whit wiser or better than it was before the 
 Flood. Men may be tamed down a little — they 
 may not cut each other's throats quite so freely — 
 may not plunder each other quite so openly — there 
 may be more intelligence among them- — a greater 
 show of right and justice — but what does it all 
 amount to? Is not the devil served just as faith- 
 fully as ever ? the nature of those services is some- 
 what changed, that's all — what the men of old times 
 did in a bold, manly way, with their swords, we do 
 in a quiet, sneaking one, with our pens — they took 
 lives, we murder characters — they robbed, with 
 violence, on the highway, we prefer the peaceable 
 employments of picking pockets and forging signa- 
 tares, Is Satan any loser by the operation, think 
 you? not he- — on the contrary, he is a decided 
 gainer, by the very ease and secrecy with which 
 our rascalities are committed." " Oh, these are 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. ^155 
 
 cheerful, encouraging views of yours, certainly — 
 delightful ones, too, to impart to children — but do 
 you really think so ? Do you really think that this 
 poor planet of ours has made no progress whatever, 
 in the long flight of ages ? Have we not gained 
 somewhat, in the way of manners and morals, upon 
 the men of Sodom and Gomorrah ? Is our worship 
 quite as blind and cruel as that paid to Baal, and to 
 Moloch ? Hfe civilization, then, done nothing for 
 the race? Christianity nothing ?" " Precious little 
 that I can see — they may have modified the out- 
 side of things somewhat — but is not the same 
 cursed canker gnawing at the heart of man, as 
 ever ? There is less unblushing, disgusting brutality 
 on the earth, I grant you, but are not our imagina- 
 tions and desires just as foul and abominable as 
 ever ? We do not pass our children through the 
 fire to Moloch, but are we not ever ready to sacri- 
 fice ourselves, children, health, character, every- 
 thing, to accursed Mammon ? As for civilization, 
 has it not multiplied the vices of men far more than 
 it has strengthened their virtues? Christianity, 
 say you? why, the nominal Christians on the globe 
 are less than a quarter of the race ; and as for the 
 real, genuine disciples of Jesus, the smallest island 
 in the Pacific would accommodate them all. Oh 
 
156 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 no — men have done far more to corrupt Christian- 
 ity than Christianity has to purify men." " I don't 
 agree with you — men certainly have abused and 
 perverted it, most vilely — what gift of God have 
 they not ? but with all these abuses and perver- 
 sions, still is it not, has it not been, is it not des- 
 tined to be through the ages to come, the greatest 
 blessing -that has ever descended from Heaven? 
 The evils that have sprung from it, what are they, 
 alongside of the benefits it has conferred? How 
 many lives has it redeemed from sin— how many 
 hearts has it sustained in the midst of trial and 
 temptation — how many death-beds has it cheered — 
 what a stimulus it has been to human wits ! How 
 many glorious works, in all' the departments of 
 Science and Art, has it not given rise to ! How 
 many noble enterprises, of all kinds, has it origi- 
 nated and fostered, and is fostering, all over the 
 globe ! Eeally, it seems to me neither grateful nor 
 decent, for a man living in this enlightened age, 
 and in this happy land of ours, to speak thus slight- 
 ingly, if not slanderously, of Christianity, as you 
 do. Had you been a poor citizen of Rome, in the 
 days of the Caesars, had you been a witness of the 
 horrible atrocities constantly perpetrated there, 
 there might have been some excuse for your 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. lfi.7 
 
 gloomy, skeptical notions — but in this age of peace 
 and prosperity and light, they seem to me quite 
 outrageous." "Poh — poh — this is mere talk for 
 effect. I say again, I don't see this peace, and light, 
 and progress that you speak of — at least, nothing 
 that will bear inspection and analysis. I repeat it 
 — I don't believe there has been any radical change 
 in the hearts and lives of men, from the beginning. 
 I have no doubt that we are, at bottom, quite as 
 great rogues and ruffians as they were when the 
 keel of the ark was laid — to be sure, the school- 
 master has been abroad, very extensively so, since 
 then — there is more enlightened self-interest in the 
 world — we are beginning to find out the folly of 
 fighting eternally — or rather, we quarrel more with 
 Nature, less with our fellows— we are not such 
 blood-thirsty savages, perhaps, as we were — but 
 still the spirit of fight and selfishness and rebellion 
 rages within us — the objects of our passions may 
 have changed somewhat, but the passions them- 
 selves, are they not alive in our hearts, in all their 
 fury and venom? What folly, then, to represent 
 it otherwise — to assume that we are so much better 
 than our forefathers — to put on this jubilant, saucy, 
 self-righteous tone, so fashionable in this preten- 
 tious nineteenth century of ours, and in this coun- 
 
IS 8 MUTTERINGS AJSD 
 
 try of loud talkers — the idea that there is any 
 substantial difference between the Americans of 
 to-day, and the Greeks and Eomans of two thou- 
 sand years ago — humbug — humbug — humbug." 
 "I differ from you — I think we do present a much 
 more respectable appearance; that we are much 
 more acceptable objects in the sight of our Maker, 
 so far as decency and sound morals are concerned, 
 than the men of old — you yourself admit, too, that 
 we have gained wonderfully upon them, in the 
 way of knowledge — that we know far more about 
 the earth we inhabit — about the heavens above us 
 -=-that we have made precious discoveries, in all 
 the kingdoms of Nature, that they dreamt not of." 
 "I am not so sure of that — at any rate, the facts 
 will not justify our bragging in the way we do — ■ 
 just look at the matter a moment — here we have 
 had possession of the planet, heaven only knows 
 how many thousand years, and how much have we 
 really found out about it? How much of the mere 
 crust of it have we faithfully explored, and subju- 
 gated to our purposes ? How much of it still be- 
 longs to the beasts ? How much is in the exclusive 
 possession of the elements ? We are fond of boast- 
 ing of our victories over these last, but when they 
 really arise in their might, what a wretched fight 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 159 
 
 we make of it ! A pretty figure truly does the great 
 lord of creation cut, when the tropics send forth 
 their hurricanes, and the poles their squadrons of 
 frowning icebergs. They, too, the venturesome fel- 
 lows, who have tried to find out the secrets of these 
 polar regions, what have they gained by the exper- 
 iment? Where are they? Shall we ever know 
 what has become of them ? With all our wit, skill, 
 science, will we ever be able to find them, or even 
 bring their poor frozen bodies home, for Christian 
 burial ? Pretty fellows we, to crow about our ex- 
 ploits — why, we haven't yet had wit and energy 
 enough to cut the two Americas apart — we still 
 keep sending our ships thousands and thousands of 
 superfluous miles, wasting alike lives, time, and 
 money — it seems as if we wouldn't take the broad- 
 est hints that Nature herself gives us." " But, my 
 friend, be reasonable — these things require time — 
 don't forget that our Continent only hove in sight 
 four centuries ago." " True, and is not that fact 
 itself a perfect gatire on the enterprise of man ? — a 
 very spirited, industrious set, to be sure, who have 
 been so many ages finding out the limits of their 
 place of residence ! Ah ! had we been the energetic, 
 excellent set of creatures that you try to make us 
 out,, the world might have been worth living in. 
 
160 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 But no — then as now, men have ever preferred 
 fighting and frolicking and destroying, to working 
 and studying and doing good — who does not prefer 
 lolling over a novel, or lingering over the wine-cup, 
 to digging into a dry book of mathematics, or going 
 about hunting up objects of charity ! Ah ! when we 
 ihink of the knowledge, prosperity, happiness, there 
 would have been on the earth, had men really been 
 wise, temperate, diligent, from the start, and then 
 look at things as they are, we'll not be in a hurry, I 
 imagine, to crow or bluster." " True — but has not 
 a great change come over the world, of late ? If we 
 have been, hitherto, little better than a set of worth- 
 less ignoramuses, as you seem to think, are not the 
 prospects ahead very different ? Has not a new era 
 dawned upon society ? I think so. I think the 
 astounding discoveries of the day, in physical 
 science, are the precursors of wonderful revolutions, 
 not only in the face of Nature, but in the character 
 of man. Is there not, already, a restless energy, an 
 insatiable spirit of curiosity abroad, that will not be 
 quieted ? a deternxi nation to explore, and sift things 
 to the bottom ? Is there not an amount of intel- 
 lectual capital employed, in all sorts of great enter- 
 prises, without all parallel in the experience of the 
 past? It really seems as if the earth were at last 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 161 
 
 to be thoroughly overhauled — the wilderness to be 
 invaded, in right earnest — the wild beasts to be 
 ferreted out of their dens — savage life to be put an 
 end to — the hidden treasures, the dormant mineral 
 wealth, the latent water-power of the planet, all to 
 be brought to light, and pressed into the service of 
 man. A grand new crusade seems to have com- 
 menced, to which the famous ones of old were mere 
 trifles — what were they, after all, but so many su- 
 perstitious, sanguinary expeditions ; and for what ? 
 to recover a small patch and corner of the earth 
 from the clutches of infidels. Now, we mean to re- 
 deem the whole length and breadth of it from 
 rugged, savage Nature, and to win it over to the 
 blessed dominion of civilization and Christianity — 
 nor is our victory to be won by mere fire and sword 
 — oh no — no such vulgar weapons for us. Steam 
 and Lightning — they are the instruments that are to 
 work these wonders — to bring about this glorious 
 revolution — to bring the nations together — to cre- 
 ate a grand interchange of interests, ideas, senti- 
 ments, all over the globe — to give us all, at last, a 
 common language and a common faith — yes, to 
 turn the whole race into one grand, peaceful, lov- 
 ing, thriving family. But of course you laugh at 
 all this, and consider it so much sentimental twad- 
 
162 MUTTEKINGS AND 
 
 die." "I certainly cannot agree with yon, nor do 
 I see any snch magnificent prospects ahead. That 
 we are going to have pretty bustling times on the 
 planet, for the next fifty years or so, seems clear 
 enough — there will be a great increase of steamers 
 and locomotives, no doubt— a great many thousand 
 miles of telegraphic wires put up — a heavy agricul- 
 tural, manufacturing, and commercial business done 
 —an enormous amount of travel — a frightful multi- 
 plication of bags, barrels, bales, boxes, circulating 
 in all directions. But how this is to revolutionize 
 human character, I can't see, far the life of me. 
 Men will be wider awake than ever, I suppose — 
 will drive sharper bargains — will have more facts 
 at their fingers' ends, and probably a good many 
 more lies at the ends of their tongues. As to the 
 dawning of a new era, I certainly do think that 
 phrase better adapted to a Fourth of July Oration, 
 than to the conversation of sensible men. Nor do 
 I believe the day will ever come, when there will 
 not be a pretty large assortment of wild beasts on 
 the earth, and a fair sprinkling of savages — -they 
 may have to change their quarters from time to 
 time — but while Commerce and Civilization are 
 making one place too hot to hold them, Decay and 
 Desolation will ever be on hand, to furnish them 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 163 
 
 with another. As to men being in any great 
 hurry to become a band of brothers, I really can't 
 see any violent symptoms of it, just yet — -or that 
 the English language is going to supplant all other 
 languages— or that all other religions are going to 
 be swallowed up in Christianity. Such vast pre- 
 dictions seem to me little better than the absurdities 
 of Millerism." ' ' Ah well, we don't agree upon these 
 matters, that's very evident— I think you wrong, 
 both in depreciating the past, as you do, and in 
 supposing that the future is to be a mere repetition 
 of it. I think, as I said before, that a magnificent 
 drama has already begun in the moral and physical 
 world, and that America is to play the leading part 
 in it — that the developments which another cen- 
 tury or, two will bring about, will be altogether un- 
 paralleled in human history. What a spectacle 
 will the Pacific and its shores and islands present, 
 by that time — what myriads of beautiful steamers 
 will be ploughing its waters — what stately cities will 
 line its coasts — how will its now quiet, desolate 
 gulfs and harbors be filled with life — what an inter- 
 change of men, and merchandise, and knowledge — 
 yes, we shall carry Science, Art, Religion, to the 
 remotest wilds of Asia — we shall put new life in 
 her old veins — make a new Continent of her — root 
 
164 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 out her miserable superstitions and despotisms, and 
 give her in their place the priceless blessings of 
 Liberty, and Education, and Christianity. And is 
 there nothing grand, or inspiring in such a pros- 
 pect as this ? Does not one's heart swell within him, 
 when — " "Hold on — hold on, if you please. Do 
 you mean to say that all these miracles are to be 
 worked, within a century or two ? and yet, to do 
 you justice, you are quite modest, compared with 
 many of the orators and editors of the day — to hear 
 them rattle on, you would suppose that before an- 
 other ten years, all Siberia would be cut up by 
 railroads and telegraphs, and overrun by a penny 
 press. I must take the liberty of differing from 
 these gentlemen. I can't help thinking that the 
 nineteenth century, at least, will be gathered to its 
 fathers, before the cultivation of the Anglo-Saxon 
 language and literature will be considered a neces- 
 sary part of the education of the young men of 
 Tobolsk, or eke of Irkutsk ; nor do I believe that 
 there will ever be a very furious rush for the 
 Waverley Novels in Kamschatka. It is a. mighty 
 easy matter to talk about these things, but when 
 we come to try the experiment, when we try to ex- 
 tirpate the laws, customs, languages, religions, that 
 have been planted for so many ages among these 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 165 
 
 hundreds of millions of Asiatics, we shall find it a 
 tolerably tedious, painful, doubtful process, I should 
 say- — -and should it succeed, should the consumma- 
 tion ever be reached, and Asia arrive at the pinna- 
 cle of (what we call) civilization, say, a thousand 
 years hence, what will have happened in the mean- 
 while? will not poor, old, worn-out Europe have 
 gone by the board ? have relapsed into barbarism 
 and decay? Will not London and Paris, by that 
 time, have become as miserable ruins as Balbec and 
 Palmyra now are ? Shall we not be losing as much 
 on one side of the planet, as we are gaining on the 
 other? I have no more doubt of it than I have 
 that the planet itself, by this time next year, will 
 have got round to the same part of the heavens 
 through which it is now whizzing. But I have no 
 time to discuss further with you the possibilities of 
 the future — -the realities of the present are waiting 
 for me, in the shape of dinner. And so I must bid 
 you good morning." A strange genius. "We might 
 have talked till sunset, without agreeing — and yet, 
 I am quite too prone to indulge in the same gloomy, 
 doubting views of life, myself — can they be the 
 true ones ? Oh no, no. What better evidence of 
 that, than the very influence they exert upon the 
 temper and conduct? how souring, depressing, 
 
1C6 MUTTBBINGS AND 
 
 paralyzing ! If we persist in cherishing them, we 
 are sure to become misanthropists, and, probably, 
 unprofitable idlers — perhaps, alas, before we know 
 it, poor miserable drunkards. It is very easy 
 to give way to them. There is a sneaking kind 
 of comfort in dwelling on the worthlessness and 
 monotony of existence — in reading the future by 
 the past — in seeing the same eternal dreary round, 
 alike in the experience of life and in the move- 
 ments of the stars ; in talking about the littleness 
 of man, and of earth — it is easy to say that this 
 planet of ours is of no more consequence in the 
 great creation, than a solitary grape in a vineyard ; 
 it amuses the fancy, to dwell upon such images — ■ 
 but is there any real truth or soundness in these 
 notions ? Do they who express them, believe 
 them in their very hearts ? Are they not at war 
 with all our best affections, our loftiest aspirations? 
 Had men really cherished them, would they have 
 ever done the little good they have in the world ? 
 No, it would long since have become a mere sty 
 for hogs. How absurd and impious, too, to sup- 
 pose that Grod should have lavished so much power 
 and wisdom and goodness, in behalf of a set of 
 beings, who, frail, ignorant, sinful that they are, 
 have yet reached the highest point to which they 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 167 
 
 ever can go ; to suppose that this earth is to wit- 
 ness no grander exhibitions, moral or intellectual, 
 than it has already witnessed ! Has then the planet 
 
 r 
 
 seen its best days? Are all the great truths of 
 science found out ? Has art reached its highest 
 point ? Have the long ages to come no new devel- 
 opments of any kind in store? Are all future 
 human performances on this great stage to be, at 
 the best, mere wearisome repetitions of the past ? If 
 so, indeed, then the curtain cannot drop too soon ; 
 let the old orb go, it cannot be reduced to cinders 
 too quickly; and yet, it seems hard to destroy a 
 world that has already produced its Washington, 
 its Shakspeare, its Eaphael — one can't help feeling 
 that there are glorious things to come out of it 
 yet — one can't help looking forward to magnificent 
 results, from all these mighty movements in educa- 
 tion and colonization, from these World's Fairs, 
 and Conventions of all kinds, Religious, Political, 
 Commercial, Literary, Scientific, Artistic, that are 
 being held continually, both here and in Europe. 
 Was there ever anything like it before ? When 
 ever before has there been so much brain-work in 
 the world ? — such an array of cultivated minds all 
 acting at once ? And how easy to bring them to- 
 gether for consultation ; how easy to get up a gran* 
 
168 MUTTEBINGS AND 
 
 family gathering of the learned from all the corners 
 of the land— lightning runs for them, steam fetches 
 them ; before we know it, almost, there are a thou- 
 sand D. D.'s or M. D.'s at our doors. Is it reality, 
 or is it magic ? And is there nothing to come out 
 of all this interchange of ideas, this collision of 
 wits ? No golden fruit to be gathered ? No grand 
 problems, social, moral, scientific, to be solved, for 
 the benefit and improvement of the race ? What 
 folly to suppose it ; what folly to take a discourag- 
 ing, disheartening view of the future, when all is 
 really so bright, and full of promise 1 How much 
 better to have faith, faith' in human nature, in the 
 progress of the race, in the amendment and purifi- 
 cation of the world we live in, no less than in the 
 blessed world to come. Out upon this infernal 
 skepticism — faith alone is fruitful— alone leads to 
 good works — the other is barren, dreary, deso- 
 late, it benumbs our energies, contracts our hearts, 
 is sure to make us cynics, may, before it has done 
 with us, turn us into very sots. Yes, better far to 
 gulp down all the legends of Eome, to swallow every 
 suspicious miracle of the smallest saint in the Cal- 
 endar, than to give way to this horrible spirit of 
 unbelief. And yet, how many around us seem to 
 take a- perverse pleasure in proclaiming their skep- 
 ticism to the world, nay, declare aloud, that they 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 169 
 
 can see no God in Heaven, no immortality in the 
 soul. Poor wretches 1 indeed, if they are in earnest, 
 what can life be worth to them f What dignity, 
 what meaning can it have? Its dark side, its be- 
 reavements, casualties, sufferings, what are they to 
 them, but so many dismal scenes of some crushing 
 merciless tragedy — and, at its best and brightest, 
 with health and wealth, and everything to gratify 
 the senses, still, what signifies it to men like these? — 
 " a tale told by an idiot," a poor, vapid, pointless, 
 tedious farce. 
 
 And so that old hunks is out of the way 
 
 at last — they buried the old miser yesterday — well, 
 let him go, we are delighted to get rid of him ; 
 meaner wretch was never put under ground. He 
 died hard, they say — not at all strange, that — what 
 debt did he ever pay, with a good grace ? Of course 
 he would keep nature out of her dues as long as he 
 could — for the same reason, the old scamp would 
 never allow any flesh upon those sorry bones of his 
 -r-he wished to cheat the worms out of their custom- 
 ary meal — 'twas his way — he kept it up to the 
 last — his very last words • were an injunction that 
 
170' MUTTERJNGS AND 
 
 there should be no funeral. 1 He was wise — who, 
 under heaven, save hireings, would have gone to 
 it ? The bare idea of acting as pall-bearer to such 
 a wretch is loathsome ; mourning carriages for such 
 a brute as he was? Why, he positively hadn't 
 friends enough to fill a sulky — prayers, and sighs, 
 and tears over his grave, indeed — precious croco- 
 diles, who would let fall a drop for him — his very 
 heirs couldn't squeeze out brine enough to take a 
 mosquito off its feet; will the Very grass conde- 
 scend to grow over such a carcass? Will any 
 daisy or violet, think you, be found in its neigh- 
 borhood? No, no — thorns, thistles, briers, nettles, 
 they are the only proper embroidery for such a 
 resting place as his. But am I not too severe upon 
 him? Was there nothing good about the man? 
 Nay, was there ever a wretch so vile and abject, 
 that some few tributary tears could not be spared 
 at his departure, some brief petition be put up in 
 behalf of his poor, sinful soul ? What, not even 
 his wife? Wife, say you? Poor thing, he sent 
 her to her long home, years and years ago; yes, 
 teazed the very soul out of her, by his cursed 
 meanness and neglect — the scoundrel — tears for him, 
 indeed — not a drop — not a drop. Let no dog dare 
 whine for him, even ; there is no danger of that, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 171 
 
 though, they knew him too. well — -catch them 
 folio wing such a fellow as he was; they took to 
 their heels at the very sight of him. The brute 
 has left nearly a million of dollars, they say, but no 
 will ; no, he couldn't bring himself to that—the 
 mere thought of formally abandoning possession 
 of his pile,; even to his children, was altogether in- 
 tolerable to him. Well, the law will do them jus- 
 tice ; poor fellows, they might have hanged j: drown- 
 ed or starved, or ever he would have given them a 
 stiver, while living; and now, this sudden ava- 
 lanche of riches comes rushing and tumbling in 
 upon them, and will, no doubt, be the ruin of them. 
 Oh, how they must honor the memory of such a 
 father 1 what an unspeakable treasure must a lock 
 of his hair be to them, at this moment ! what a 
 pearl of great price, his autograph ! that veteran 
 hat, too, those venerable boots, in which he took 
 his last airing, oh, what fond, precious memories 
 come clustering round them, as they meet the gaze 
 of these devoted sons ; I think I see them, now, 
 scolding and scuffling for the possession of these 
 priceless mementoes. Pahl pah! pah! But why 
 so savage and bitter upon the poor wretch? Is it 
 Christianlike, is it decent, now that he has gone 
 to his dread account ? What an account — dreary, 
 
172 MUTTERINGS ANP 
 
 dreary record — not a bright spot in it — not one ray 
 of sunshine — one long, dismal catalogue of petty 
 meannesses and villanies — threescore years was he 
 upon the earth, and in all that period, not one 
 penny of his money, not one moment of his time, 
 not one thought of his heart did he bestow upon 
 any noble or deserving enterprise; not a soli- 
 tary tear of widow or of orphan did he dry ; not 
 one poor beggar's heart did he ever make glad; no, 
 he lived and died for dollars, dollars, dollars. To 
 see them multiply, and rise in glittering heaps 
 around him, that was his delight, his alpha and 
 omega, his be-all and his end-all. Dollars were at 
 once wife, children, friends ; the gods of his idola- 
 try ; with them, what cared he for kicks, or cuffs, or 
 contumelies? without them, what was honor, fame, 
 glory ? Poor, deluded man ; what magnificent things 
 he might have done with his money ; what oppor- 
 tunities he had of scattering blessings and comforts 
 around him ; what precious seed he might have 
 sown, that would have yielded glorious fruit here- 
 after ; what noble charities he might have founded ; 
 how his name might have been blessed, in the long 
 generations to come after him ; nay, had he even 
 repented on his dea.th-bed, had he apologized to the 
 world for his past life, by his benefactions to coloni- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 11 3 
 
 zation, or temperance, or any other noble cause, he 
 might have been forgiven, and his memory respect- 
 ed; but he would not — he even sneered at and 
 laughed to scorn all such enterprises, and lo, the 
 result: he dies despised, without friend or mourner; 
 dies like a dog in a ditch; his very children -will 
 hardly remember where his grave is, a twelvemonth 
 hence. Well, is it not all fair ? is it not of his own 
 seeking? the man who lived such a life, deserved to 
 die just such a death. What a career, to be. sure ; 
 how abject, how contemptible ; how utterly devoid, 
 too, of all those decencies, refinements, amenities, 
 that make existence palatable ! What cared he for 
 company or amusements, the beauties of nature, the 
 delights of- art ? the very stars over his head, what 
 were they to him, but so many doubloons, which 
 he was mad that he could not clutch ? What were 
 books, or pictures, or music to him? He would as 
 lief have seen a two-headed calf, as the glorious 
 transfiguration itself — he'd have begrudged either 
 sight the outlay of a copper. What to him the 
 divine poetry of Shakspeare, the bewitching stories 
 of Scott? one leaf of his filthy cash-book was 
 dearer to him than them all — no, he would not have 
 exchanged the smallest, raggedest bank-note, for all 
 the Last Suppers and Auroras o* Morghen. Tha 
 
174 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 good book itself, what was it to such a close-fisted 
 wretch as this ? — did I not absolutely hear him, on 
 one occasion, in a commissioner's office, cursing it 
 and consigning it to eternal flames, because, for- 
 sooth, it had been the innocent means of flinging 
 him, as he expressed it, out of a few shillings in the 
 way of affidavits ? — the old scamp. The only enter- 
 tainment he was ever known to partake of, was an 
 occasional game of chequers — there was something, 
 no doubt, in the low, tricky dexterity which this 
 game calls out, -that harmonized admirably with that 
 sordid, over-reaching nature of his. What a life — 
 what a soul to go through the world with ! "Where 
 is it now ? What is to become of it ? Some bitter 
 punishment there must needs be in store for it — such 
 deliberate, systematic, horrible perversion of the 
 gift of existence cannot be passed over. But when 
 will that punishment begin ? How long is it to last ? 
 Is there any probation beyond the grave? or do we 
 go straight from hence to retribution ? Fearfully 
 interesting questions these — who can answer them ? 
 —who can give us any comfortable light upon the 
 matter? Can it be, that the character we form 
 here is to cling; to us through all eternity? Is 
 then this vile, sordid wretch, who was a perfect dis- 
 grace and nuisance to the world he lived in, to go 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. .175 
 
 on continually augmenting his vileness and ras- 
 cality ? Is he, in every new world that he may be 
 sent to, in every successive sphere of action, to keep 
 up the same loathsome practices, to continue the 
 same eye-sore and abomination to the universe, and 
 to keep on in this way for ever, and ever, and ever ? 
 — 'tis too horrible a doctrine to believe — or is he to 
 be a sufferer only, shut up for ever in some dismal 
 place of torment, there to he, cursing and howling, 
 howling and cursing, world without end ? But can 
 God be so cruel as that? Gan any amount of 
 earthly guilt earn eternal tortures ? Is it not wiser 
 to suppose, that to every human soul, be it never 
 so depraved and wretched, sooner or later,- comes the 
 glorious period of regeneration; that the meanest 
 of earth's misers, the most beastly of its debauchees, 
 the blackest of its murderers, has yet some little 
 speck of white in him, some latent principle of good, 
 that will finally be developed, will triumph in the 
 end ? Fiery trials there must be, long and bitter 
 sufferings, before this blessed revolution in his 
 nature comes to pass, but come it will. A new 
 career will be opened to him, at last ; his faculties, 
 purified and exalted, will all be employed in the 
 service of heaven. Is this mere idle prattle ? Why, 
 may not this very wretch, whom thev hid in the 
 
11T6 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 earth yesterday, whom no man loved, who dis- 
 figured every scene that he frequented, to get rid 
 of whom seemed a positive blessing to his brethren, 
 why may not even he, in God's infinite wisdom and 
 goodness, yet be destined to become a glorious 
 angel? Are there not, even now, bright seraphs 
 round the throne, who once were just as abject, 
 groveling earth-worms, degraded, desperate sin- 
 ners? Through what bitter .discipline, through 
 what terrible punishments, through what varieties 
 of untried being, through what new scenes and 
 change's they have passed, in the long flight of ages, 
 ere they have reached this grand consummation, 
 who, alas, can tell? — yet, who does not hope to 
 know, to see these dread mysteries expounded, to 
 see more and more of the workings of God's gov- 
 ernment, to go on, hereafter, constantly gaining a 
 more and more enlightened admiration of, constant- 
 ly rendering a more and more- intelligent obedience 
 to, the laws of the Great Father and Judge of all ? 
 "Why cannot I cherish and cling fast to this faith, 
 this hope ? what is life worth without them ? This 
 poor sinner, then, whom they consigned to the earth 
 so ignominiously, surely there is yet some bright 
 destiny in store fpr him — he is not to play this vile 
 part for ever ; to be a perpetual instrument of mis- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. Ill 
 
 chief ; nor is he to howl for ever in some dark and 
 dismal hell — else far, far better that that poor soul 
 of his should rot and perish with its perishing body. 
 And yet that thought is the most horrible of all — 
 annihilation? oh, no, no — it may not, cannot be; 
 nature rebels against it ; common sense belies it — 
 what, are the monuments we raise to men, to last 
 for ages, and the men themselves, after a few short 
 years of troubled life, to sink down into utter 
 nothingness? Is the example of Washington a 
 treasure that cannot perish, his memory to stand 
 while stands the world, while he himself has be- 
 come no more than a sorry handfull of worthless 
 dust ? Beautiful, rational doctrine ! Is a breath of 
 tainted air, or a stray bullet, or a falling brick, or 
 some other agency as trivial, to consign to eternal 
 slumber the mighty intellect of a Bacon, to drop 
 the curtain for ever upon the glorious career of a 
 Howard? Monstrous credulity, that can believe 
 this — yet how many profess to believe it — speak to 
 these same men, of Enoch walking with God, of 
 Elijah borne to heaven by the whirlwind, or of the 
 resurrection, and they will laugh in your face, and 
 call them so many clumsy tales, contrived by priests 
 — yet are they ready to swallow a doctrine like this, 
 which, were it true, would turn life into the most 
 8* 
 
178 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 paltry and wretched of mummeries, its best affec- 
 tions, its highest aspirations, into mere themes of 
 mockery and contempt. Yes, if these things be so, 
 indeed, what a bitter mockery are our tears, and 
 funeral rites, and monuments, and the flowers 
 that deck the graves of those we love. Did, then, 
 he who was lately taken, in the glorious morning 
 of life, who had just buckled on his armor for 
 the fight, to whom nature had been so bounteous, 
 for whom education had done so much, did he all at 
 once perish and wither away, and become of no more 
 value than a noisome weed ? Is this the end of all 
 those gifts and acquirements ?— this the reply to all 
 our hopes and prayers? "Who dare talk about God's 
 "Wisdom and Goodness, then ? He is a savage, 
 merciless tyrant, if this be so. Those dear babes, 
 too, who were snatched away from us, sweet buds 
 of love and promise, have they then utterly perish- 
 ed ? Is there to be no blossoming for them, in some 
 brighter world ? Are they of less account than the 
 toys they played with, and which we treasure as 
 memorials of them ? "What absurd weakness, then, 
 to weep over them, to dwell upon their little wi- 
 ning ways and pretty words, to call in the artist's 
 skill to revive their lovely faces. But why dwell 
 longer on the matter? Who will so insult his 
 
SlUSINGS QF AN INVALID. 11T9 
 
 heart and Ms understanding, as to entertain, for a 
 moment, a doctrine so degrading, so crushing as 
 this? 
 
 I hate just read a letter from my deaf old friend 
 . How like him it is ! full of pleasant, amiable 
 
 things — -just like his face, all smiles and sunshine ; 
 such a hand too, and for a man of fourscore — fair, 
 round, clear, as the heart of the writer ; every t 
 crossed — not an i defrauded of its dot ; no para- 
 lysis, there — no marks of hot haste, or of ill temper, 
 in that signature ; and then such charming senti- 
 ments — so gracious, and candid, and sensible. And 
 he talks in the same way — always cheerful — always 
 a kind word for a friend — always ready to do jus- 
 tice to both sides of a question, with a decided pre- 
 ference for the bright side — as fair a listener, too, as 
 he is talker — never disposed to take more than his 
 lawful share of the conversation ; to be sure, we 
 are always delighted to have him run away with 
 the whole of it — we are certain to get something 
 worth carrying home, in the way of anecdote or 
 sentiment, when he has the floor. Oh, what a 
 treat it is to meet such a character — yes, it is really 
 
180 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 charming, in this age of bigots, and ultraists, and 
 hobby-striders, to come across a man so wise and 
 calm and tolerant and amiable — a man who can be 
 judge, as well as advocate — who can bear bis op- 
 ponent with patience and courtesy to the end — 
 who is not mad with every one whom he cannot 
 convert to his own views — who is willing to surren- 
 der his opinions to superior arguments — who is not 
 too proud to take advice — who can put his experi- 
 ence to a good use — who can remember the mortifi- 
 cations and defeats, as well as the triumphs of the 
 past — who can look men and things full in the face 
 — take a tranquil, philosophical survey of all the 
 bearings of a question — a man, who, while alive to 
 every generous impulse, and ready to do justice to 
 everything truly meritorious, yet, will not be taken 
 off his feet by every wild mad-cap scheme that turns 
 up, will not surrender his heart and purse to every 
 smooth-faced, smooth-spoken scoundrel that sees fit 
 to echo his opinions — a man, who, while he hates 
 slavery, still loves his country — who can see the 
 difference between the orderly, judicious movements 
 of colonizationists, and the outrageous, fatal schemes 
 of abolitionists — who, while he has a horror of in- 
 temperance, does not therefore see a nest of devils 
 lurking in every glass of generous wine that comes 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 181 
 
 along, nor will hesitate to take his one, two, or three 
 of them, occasionally, with his dinner. Why should 
 he ? "What did the Lord send good wine for, but 
 to warm just such noble old hearts as his ? Bless 
 him — would there were more like him — the world 
 would be far better worth living in. Why can't I 
 take things as coolly ? Why can't I keep my tem- 
 per as he does? What a vein of humor he has, 
 too — what a store of anecdotes — all pleasant ones — 
 nothing malicious about them — pretty pungent, too, 
 some of them, but a wholesome bitter — nothing low 
 or venomous in them— how he loves to go back to 
 the old revolutionary times — the days of the Patres 
 Conscripti. He could talk all day with you about 
 Franklin and Adams and Jefferson and" Jay and 
 Sherman and the rest of them ; his proudest recol- 
 lection, though, is having been patted on the head, 
 when he was a youngster, by the great Pater Patriae 
 himself — he has felt better for it, he says, ever since 
 — the thought of it has kept him out of many a 
 scrape — no doubt of it — surely, there must have 
 been magic in such a benediction — indeed, there 
 are few greater treats than to hear him on these 
 themes, «when he gets once fairly warmed up — -how 
 his eye lights up — how he brings out those fine 
 deep notes of his — the effect is truly dramatic — the 
 
182 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 figures seem ready to start from the canvass — no 
 professed story-teller on the quay of Naples could 
 be more animated. Wouldn't Matthews have re- 
 lished him? — how much he would have got out of 
 him, too — Shakspeare would have given him a post 
 of honor, in some play or other, had he been a 
 neighbor. But hasn't he done it, already ? To be 
 sure he has — old Gonzalo, in the Tempest — yes, the 
 very man, the same chatty, cheerful, philosophical 
 
 old gentleman, to a hair — had been in that 
 
 gale, he'd have behaved just as the honest Counsel- 
 lor did, keeping up his good humor to the last — 
 looking out for the best — comforting those about 
 him — yes, prattling away in the same half-playful, 
 half-serious steam, so long as he could keep his 
 head above water. Bless his old soul ! — the idea of 
 his ever being cursed, by God or man, is too mon- 
 strous — the idea of his being consigned to a place 
 of torment — he in hell ? • A pretty figure he'd cut 
 there, to be sure. Falstaff would not look more 
 out of place, in a pulpit — Hamlet, on an omnibus- 
 box ; the sweet Ophelia herself, on a treadmill — oh 
 no — besides, Satan knows his own interests too well 
 for that ; such a spirit would work a dangerous 
 revolution in his dominions — it would be making 
 the realms of wo altogether too cheerful and 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 183 
 
 agreeable, if suck customers were admitted — no — 
 far different quarters will be assigned him, in spirit 
 land. And is be, indeed, so excellent a man? 
 Does bis character justify sucb enthusiasm ? Isn't 
 this amiability, after all, tbe result of temperament, 
 ratber than of self-government ? Besides, basn't 
 be bad things pretty much his own way, all his 
 life ? Hasn't his voyage been a smooth and delight- 
 ful one, from the very start ? No, no, no — far from 
 it — he has had his full share of squalls and storms 
 — his full allowance of losses and bereavements — 
 grievous and bitter ones, too — no man, indeed, has 
 had more to test his temper, and thoroughly search 
 his heart — and how triumphantly has he come out 
 of bis trials — how nobly has he borne bis losses ! It 
 is not many years since he had to part with his wife 
 — such a wife as she was — no loveber woman ever 
 brightened a home — he knew her — he appreciated 
 her. Brutus was not prouder of bis Portia — what 
 a happy time they had together— but she shortened 
 her life, good woman — yes, she overworked her- 
 self — wore herself out long before her time — it was 
 her way— she could not rest easy, while there was 
 anybody about her uncomfortable — night and day, 
 day and night, she was eternally contriving and 
 toiling, for the gratification of her family, and the 
 
184 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 families of her children. But she is gone, and if 
 there is any one part of paradise brighter and 
 sweeter than the rest, she is there — here was a 
 blow for a man to stagger under. And then his 
 children — are they not nearly all dead? Fine, 
 promising sons, and lovely daughters, has he not 
 consigned them, one after another, to the grave? 
 How he loved them^how they loved and hon- 
 ored himl It was delightful to see such inter- 
 course — so frank, so cordial. What a fireside 
 it made, to be sure. Ah, his was a home. How 
 many places are there, that we call homes, that are 
 utterly without claim to that dear title ; whose in- 
 mates might as well be in so many different planets, 
 so far as any union of souls is concerned; who, 
 when they meet at meals, are as stiff and formal 
 and silent as so many strangers at a table d'hote ; 
 whose parlors are cheerless, joyless, funless — chillier 
 »than so many ice-houses, dismaller than so many 
 vaults. Who are these mute, anxious-looking, self- 
 absorbed creatures, scattered about in them ? Call 
 you this a gathering of loving kindred ? — say rather, 
 a group of animated grave-stones — a precious family 
 circle, truly. How many homes, too, are there far 
 worse than tMs — to which the very caves of her- 
 mits, the very dens of robbers are comparatively 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. ,165 
 
 cheerful, desirable places — in which naught is ever 
 seen but scowls and scornful looks and angry ges- 
 tures ; nothing ever heard but taunts and sneers and 
 curses — there is no lack of them in this huge town 
 of ours ; even in its best and fairest quarters, are 
 they not to be found? — and in the others, are there 
 not whole streets full of them ? Horrible holes ! — 
 as we go by them we prick up our ears involunta- 
 rily; we are almost disappointed at not hearing 
 pistol shots and shrieks and cries of murder — what 
 volleys of oaths, what torrents of filth are perpetu- 
 ally circulating through- vast neighborhoods of this 
 description ! Oh, when one thinks of such evil 
 haunts as these, and then of such a serene, sun- 
 shiny, charming home as once had, is it not 
 
 enough to overwhelm one ? What can these fright- 
 ful contrasts mean — these mysterious arrangements 
 of Providence ? But that dear home was soon broken 
 up — Death came and stole away its jewels ; credit- > 
 ors came, too, and besieged it and laid it waste. 
 He was a rich man once — what a house he kept, 
 then ; how like a prince he lived ; what charming 
 people he gathered Tound him. It's all over now — 
 poor man, his means are of the slenderest ; he has 
 barely saved enough from the wreck to enable him 
 to scratch along for the few remaining years of his 
 
186 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 pilgrimage ; and yet how bright he keeps, and ami- 
 able; — he has always a kind greeting ready, a pleas- 
 ant joke to spare; no millionaire in town wears half 
 so contented a face ; it does you good to look at it ; 
 such sensibility, such intelligence, such a smile, 
 too — not the unmeaning smile of your mere day- 
 dreamer, your man of abstractions, who is so ab- 
 sorbed in his own schemes and visions, that he can 
 find no time or thought for the joys or sorrows of 
 those about him; still less, is it the vacant grin 
 which bespeaks a stupid, stagnant nature, through 
 whose'brain the blood scarce flows, whose heart has 
 not substance enough to it for any passion to take 
 hold of — oh no — but an honest, cordial, delightful 
 expression, which captivates you at once; which 
 tells you, most distinctly, that its owner is happy 
 himself, and does all he can to make others so — and 
 so he does, and always has— has he not, indeed, 
 acquitted himself most handsomely, alike as a gen- 
 tleman, a philosopher, and a Christian? To be 
 sure, he has made no distinct profession of Eeli- 
 gion; he seems to be mightily indifferent about 
 sects and creeds and ceremonies — too much so, per- 
 haps. I heard him say, indeed, once, that he did 
 not care the toss of a copper whether his faith had 
 thirty-nine articles in it or thirty-nine hundred, and 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 187 
 
 that it did not make a straw's difference to Mm, 
 whether the minister officiated in a surplice or a 
 roundabout, so long as his heajt was in the matter — 
 he has a frank, incautious way of expressing him- 
 self on these subjects, -which of course exposes him 
 to misrepresentation^ How many precisians are 
 there, who would have rolled up their' eyes in pious 
 horror at this very speech, who, so far as the essen- 
 tials of goodness are concerned, are not even worthy 
 to black his boots I For, though thus negligent 
 about the mere forms of Christianity, has he not, 
 all his life long, been faithfully practising its vir- 
 tues ? Has he not been conferring benefits, forgiv- 
 ing injuries, bridling his tongue, subduing his appe- 
 tites, drying ten thousand tears for every one that 
 he has caused to flow ? Who dare say^ then, that 
 he is not a good Christian ? Poor man, did I' call 
 him just now ? — what a mistake — he poor, indeed, 
 who has life's two most precious treasures — a good 
 temper, an approving conscience. Oh what charm- 
 ing property to hold, and to cling fast to, and to 
 carry out of the world with us ! what a sure pass- 
 port, too, for the great journey ahead l—thus equip- 
 ped, thus accredited, who shall molest us, who shall 
 not give us a courteous reception ? In what part of 
 creation may not my dear friend feel safe ? Where 
 
188 MUTTEKINGS AJTO 
 
 not hold up his head in modest confidence ? Well, 
 he'll soon have to leave us — soon be among the 
 angels ; and yet I don't see why he shouldn't stay 
 with us some ten or .fifteen years longer. I hope 
 ■so; I can't bear to think of losing sight of his cheer- 
 ful face, of getting no more of his pleasant hand- 
 writing. And why may I not hope to meet him 
 hereafter, and hear him, in some brighter world, 
 talk over his earthly experience in the same agree- 
 able strain in which he chats about old times here? 
 I do hope so ; to meet him and all other dear friends 
 and kindred, ay, all the choice spirits that have 
 ever been upon the earth ; without such hope, what 
 an intolerable burthen life would become — mean- 
 while, I am for making the most of the old gentle- 
 man, here below ; I am for keeping him to the very 
 last moment ; I want to have a good many pleasant 
 dishes of chat with him, after the old sort ; I want 
 to get a good many more of his charming, heart- 
 cheering epistles. 
 
 Heigh ho — what a poor devil I seem to be this 
 fine morning ! And I had begun to think that I 
 was getting better and heartier ; but no, 'tis the 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 189 
 
 same old story over again. Well, I deserve it ; I 
 have disobeyed the doctor's injunctions ; have been 
 using my head and neglecting my heels, and I have 
 got to pay for it ; yes, this is pay-day. Doesn't this 
 hot, throbbing brain tell me so, plain enough ? these 
 dim, heavy eyes, these relaxed muscles about my 
 mouth, this dry skin ? Oh, how restless and nerv- 
 ous I feel 1 — so irritable, too ; couldn't I fire off a 
 volley of oaths, now, that would put the profanest 
 postilion in France to the blush, that would make 
 the most voluble vetturino in Italy whistle in his 
 amazement? "What disagreeable things and' per- 
 sons keep coming into my mind continually! I 
 was even now having a half dozen visionary bouts at 
 fisticuffs all at once, with as many rascally acquaint- 
 ances. Didn't I see them afterwards, too, all group- 
 ed on the boiler-deck of a Mississippi steamboat, 
 the captain drunk, the engineer asleep, the boat 
 driving along at a furious rate— crack, crack, crack 
 went the boilers, and these same fellows were all 
 blown into the air, and down they came again with 
 a splash into the water ; poor, scalded, mangled, 
 slaughtered wretches ; surely, my heart bled for 
 them ? not a bit of it, not a bit of it ; I was tickled, 
 positively tickled at the sight ; I all but gave three 
 cheers ; had Beelzebub himself been by, I could 
 
190 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 have shaken hands and exchanged congratulations 
 with him on the occasion. For shame, man, for 
 shame ! how can I give way to these diabolical feel- 
 ings ? — and there is that blessed Bible, too, all this 
 time, lying on my table ; how dare I look it in the 
 face ? And is this the frame of mind for a Chris- 
 tian to be m ? this the course of conduct prescribed 
 in the Sermon on the Mount? I'll read a chapter ; 
 it may do me some good, perhaps ; may bring me 
 back to reason. Ah, I have opened on the very 
 sermon itself — "And seeing the multitudes, he 
 went up into a mountain ; and when he was set, his 
 disciples came unto him. And he opened his mouth, 
 
 and taught them, saying, Blessed are the" but 
 
 no, no, no ; let me not insult these divine beati- 
 tudes ; let me not profane them with my lips, feel- 
 ing, as I do, my heart to be all full of gall and bit- 
 ness. Oh no ; railings and cursings are far more in 
 keeping with my temper — 
 
 " Lay on, Macduff, 
 And damned be he who first cries hold, enough." 
 
 that's the way I feel — that I can comprehend and 
 sympathize with— yes, I can relish the tremendous 
 emphasis which the frenzied, desperate Macbeth 
 lays on that word, damned. But those sublime 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 191 
 
 benedictions, alas, I feel them not — I understand 
 them not — Lear cursing his daughters, Timon hurl- 
 ing his. imprecations upon Athens, Othello sum- 
 moning black vengeance from her hollow cell, these 
 things I can enjoy, can dwell upon them with 
 savage pleasure — wasn't I repeating the last' of 
 those passages to myself,, this very minute, with 
 wicked glee ? 
 
 " Yield up, Love, thy crown and hearted throne 
 To tyrannous hate — swell, bosom, with thy fraught, 
 For 'tis of aspics' tongues — " 
 
 Ugh, how fine that last line is — I think I hear the 
 hissing of ten thousand hellish snakes in it. Fie, 
 fie, fie, why will I cherish these angry passions ? 
 let me be patient. It is hard, though, that I should 
 be treated in this Way — that I cannot be allowed to 
 take a little mental food occasionally — that I may 
 not, once in a while, treat the immortal part of me, 
 without my body's kicking up this infernal row and 
 uproar about it,, reminding me perpetually of the 
 vile bondage to which I am subjected. Don't tell 
 me that life is worth having on such terms as these 
 — so far from its being a boon, I call it a downright 
 dose. Confound it ! I am cheated both ways — I am 
 defrauded alike of the rational enjoyments of the 
 
192 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 man, and of the sensual gratifications, the high 
 health of the beast. I wish, oftentimes, in the bit- 
 terness of my heart, that I had been a quadruped — 
 why wasn't I a Polar bear, for instance ? I should 
 have got far more out of life — what strength, what 
 an appetite, yes, what glorious endowments of wind, 
 limb, and stomach, would have been my portion — 
 I could have run my hundred miles a day, and 
 swam my fifty — what hearty hugs, what stirring 
 fights I should have had — what magnificent meals 
 of fish, and seals, and young whales in their season, 
 with every now and then a brace or two of Green- 
 land babies, by way of change — what long cozy 
 naps, too, free from nightmares, all through the 
 winter — what charming summer excursions on the 
 ice — wouldn't it have been delightful? — such a 
 pleasant circle of enjoyments, such an unfailing 
 round of excitements. Oh, would hot such a career 
 as this have been quite as satisfactory to myself, as 
 acceptable to the Creator, as the tame, paltry, good- 
 for-nothing kind of life that I am now leading? 
 Ah, well — submit — submit — submit — this sneering 
 and grumbling will not mend the matter ; 'tis so 
 written ; 'tis decreed that I must go through the 
 world, a poor cripple, an ignoramus, a nobody — I 
 must descend, a very numskull, to my grave — the 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 193 
 
 golden gates of knowledge are barred against me — ■ 
 the avenues of ambition, business, philanthropy, I 
 may not explore them — the flowery paths of plea- 
 sure, they, too, are not for me ; they are reserved for 
 stronger heads and nerves than mine. Well, most 
 people would say, perhaps, or at least their actions 
 say for them, that this last is, after all, the only loss 
 worth grumbling about — the idea of fretting over 
 the want of learning, reputation, fame, and such like 
 windy humbugs, why how silly — why shouldn't 1 
 get along without them, as well as nine hundred and 
 ninety-nine thousandths of my brethren ? how un- 
 reasonable — they don't take on so — no, indeed — they 
 are perfectly satisfied with the arrangement — what 
 care they, forsooth, whether or not their brains be 
 lined with knowledge, so long as their stomachs are 
 stuffed with good cheer, their purses with hard dol- 
 lars ? What care they for the " all hail hereafter," 
 so long as the ignorant present is a comfortable, 
 jolly one ? — that's their view of the matter — so they 
 talk, and so they live, and eat, and" drink, and sleep, 
 and die, and crumble into dust, and their tombstones 
 crumble after them, and it is as if they had never 
 been. Their names may occasionally linger on the 
 earth awhile, after their owners are gone, i. e., in 
 directories, account books, legal advertisements, and 
 
194 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 such, like precious documents — or on old door-plates 
 or umbrella handles — their faces may survive awhile 
 in atrocious portraits — but these mementoes are 
 soon iicked out of the way, and it is all over with 
 them- — so far as posterity are concerned, such fel- 
 lows are of no more account than the very flies 
 that bit them, the very -hogs that they devoured, 
 when living. " "Well," says one of them, perhaps, 
 in reply, " well, be it so, what care we ? posterity be 
 hanged — are the learned, and powerful, and famous 
 of the earth any better off, in the long run ? are 
 they any happieT in their day and generation? 
 This fame, that you keep talking about, is pretty 
 poor pay, after all — a pretty shabby return for all 
 the sleepless nights, and anxious days, and aching 
 brains it costs — what difference is "it going to make 
 to a poor fellow, whether posterity gets wind of 
 him, or no ? whether a frail cross of wood is stuck 
 up over his last resting place, or a huge pile of 
 marble, carved all over with extravagant allegories 
 and pompous lies in Latin ? My next door neighbor 
 is a famous man — no doubt he will be remembered, 
 and his books be read with pleasure, a thousand 
 years hence, while I shall be forgotten the very 
 moment that my debts are paid and my estate set- 
 tled — but what folly to worry and get mad about 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 195 
 
 it — meanwhile, am I not having tenfold more fun 
 and pleasure than he ever dreamt of,- for all his 
 noddlefull of knowledge ? Let him bend over his 
 musty books, then, for all mc-^-let him scribble 
 away, for the benefit of an ungrateful posterity. 
 Give me a jolly time of it with my contemporaries — 
 secure me that, and posterity and ancestry both be 
 hanged, for aught I care." "Well, the man's honest — 
 he avows, openly, what the great mass of us do, in 
 our actions — and yet, what sentiments ! — how flip- 
 pant, how reckless, how utterly unsound ! — what, do 
 you mean, then, deliberately to say, that the plea- 
 sures of the senses, the short-lived enjoyments that 
 the bottle, and the harlot, and the dice-box can give 
 a man, are the only part of life worth having ? and 
 do you dismiss, with a sneer of contempt, the pure, 
 deep, inexhaustible delights of the student ? You 
 epicures and profligates, then, are the only fellows 
 that are on the right track, that are getting anything 
 for your money, and the scholar is wrong, altogether 
 wrong in the matter? Yes, a poor, self-deceiving, 
 self-defrauding visionary and shadow-chaser — you 
 hardly know whether to pity, or to laugh at, his 
 absurd infatuation. , Oh, out upon such unblushing 
 impudence, such rascally views of life as these ! we 
 are not to be fooled by them any longer — you may 
 
196 MCTTERINGS AND 
 
 iry, indeed, to make them pass current with us;, 
 you may dress them up in all the wit of a Congreve 
 or a Sheridan ; you may enshrine them inverse more 
 musical than that of Horace or of Herrick ; you may 
 wed them to strains more delicious than ever haunt- 
 ed the brain of a Eossini ; you may get ruby lips . 
 to plead for them, and sparkling eyes to smile upon 
 them, yet we will not be deceived— fascinated, per- 
 haps, we may be, ensnared for a season, but our 
 eyes will be opened at last, to their native hideous- 
 ness — no, we are not going to surrender our free- 
 dom always, to sell ourselves to ruin and despair for 
 such abominable follies as these. Silence, then, ye 
 profane sensualists ! we will listen no longer to your 
 miserable sophistries — and as for your flippant 
 sneers and pity, the scholar flings them back in 
 scorn — it enters not into your shallow hearts to 
 conceive of the depth, the fervor, the intensity of 
 his pleasures — there is some excuse for his excesses, 
 Something honorable in his servitude^-ydwrs is an 
 ignominious, beastly slavery. Pretty fellows, to 
 talk about infatuation— it is a' mighty easy and con- 
 venient thing, too, for you epicures to cry down 
 faine, and the love of it, and to say that it is of no 
 value to a man after death — but what do you know 
 about the matter? — for aught you know, the soul 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 197 
 
 of Shakspeare may be musing, this very moment, 
 in pleasant vein, on the mighty power which his 
 works are exerting on human hearts, and which 
 every hour is extending and deepening — for aught 
 you know, his plays are already performed, (ay, and 
 altogether finer ones than he wrote on earth) in half 
 the planets of the universe — such audiences, too, as 
 he has had — Homer has heard them, and Virgil, and 
 Dante, and Tasso, all his glorious brother bards of 
 olden times — for aught you can say to the contrary 
 all these gifted, blessed spirits may, even now, 
 be holding sweet converse together. Of course, you 
 will sneer at all this, and reply, fudge ! humbug ! 
 silly dreams ! — be it so ; I believe in such dreams my- 
 self — I believe they do a man "good, keep him out 
 of mischief, keep alive a holy enthusiasm in his 
 heart, inspire him with a lofty ambition, put a new 
 meaning and beauty into all the scenes of earth, all 
 the phenomena of life — your sensual, skeptical no- 
 tions are fatal to all that is good, venerable, lovely. 
 Precious fellows, you, to sneer at musty books; as 
 you call them— why, what would have become of 
 the world without them ? — a world without any his- 
 tory or poetry in it? — a pretty place to be sure. But 
 why waste one's breath, arguing such a point? ybu 
 are not in earnest, in' avov'ng such abominable sen» 
 
198 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 timents — you know well enough, that if they were 
 faithfully carried out, men would, ere the next genera- 
 tion had fairly got its growth, become so many filthy 
 swine, this beautiful earth a vile pen — oh, no, 'tis 
 mere reckless, desperate talk — " wild, whirling " 
 words with which you would fain drown the voice 
 of conscience. If you would but listen to that voice, 
 would act up to your real convictions in the matter, 
 if you had the courage to throw your bottles to the 
 dogs, and to take to your books, forthwith, and in 
 right earnest, what a glorious revolution we should 
 have of it, what a delightful world we should have 
 to live in. But when have men ever had that 
 courage ? Have not flesh and sense had it pretty 
 much their own way always ? Has not appetite 
 carried the day against reason from the very start? 
 Did not Noah himself, whom God took so much 
 pains to save — did not even he, ere the earth was 
 fairly dry, most shamefully forget himself, most in- 
 gloriously fall before the fascinations of the wine 
 cup ? Have not his descendants, from that day to 
 this, hailed with frantic delight everything that had 
 intoxication in it, everything that could help them 
 run away from their consciences and their duties ? 
 Did they not greet with wild enthusiasm the fatal, 
 accursed tobacco, enemy of the race? — did it not 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 499 
 
 take like wildfire, circulating with" incredible swift- 
 ness all over the planet, while the . poor, innocent 
 potato, man's true friend and nourisher, was over- 
 looked or despised, and only after long years of 
 struggle, found its true- place,- and was duly recog- 
 nized amongst the choice gifts' of heaven? And 
 have we not always been just such fools in our 
 selections? always hugging the poisons to our 
 bosoms, and turning our backs upon the wholesome 
 pleasures of life? evermore crucifying our bene- 
 factors, throwing stones at those who have come to 
 us with words of wisdom and of warning, while 
 we have been prompt to greet with acclamations, to 
 load with honors, any wretch that would cater to 
 our appetites, that would enlarge the circle of our 
 indulgences ? And would you wilfully foster and de- 
 velop these sensual, devilish propensities of our 
 nature ? Would you consummate matters by taking 
 away our books and oar meditations ? Are we not 
 sufficiently bestial already ? With all the counter- 
 acting, elevating influences of religion, and science, 
 and art, and sentiment, are not the great majority 
 of us, now, little better than so many cattle, roam- 
 ing about with our heads to the ground, with no 
 eyes save for the garbage under our noses ? But 
 enough of this — this may be a true picture of human 
 
200 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 nature — it certainly is a sufficiently gloomy, per- 
 haps bitter one. Oh, Lord, I ought not to be sitting 
 here, giving way to such meditations— poor medi- 
 cine, truly, for aching heads and teasing nerves — 
 far better to be up and stirring — well, well, well, 
 well, well, here comes my gruel — let's have it — if it 
 does me no good, it will at least stop for a while 
 this fretting, grumbling mouth of mine. 
 
 Another paltry, paltry day — no pleasure or pro- 
 fit have I got out of it — no, not a single agreeable 
 sensation, not a new idea, not a solitary glimpse of 
 any truth worth knowing, not a moment's pleasant 
 chat with a friend, have I had, but a peevish, soli- 
 tary, contemptible time of it. Well, 'tis no novelty, 
 I have had a great many such rascally days in my 
 allowance — why, heaven only knows — I certainly 
 have not earned them — I have committed no ex- 
 cesses, mental or bodily, that I know of — my parents 
 are not to blame in the matter, either — their consti- 
 tutions are, and ever have been, excellent — still less 
 can I- lay these cursed sensations to my grand- 
 parents, for four haler, healthier, worthier people, 
 never went through their threescore years and ten, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 201 
 
 God bless them — no, I am in, neither by descent 
 nor purchase, as the lawyers have it — a queer title, 
 to be sure — well, nobody will dispute it. Ah, dear 
 me, what a humbug of a life — I have been turning 
 over some fifty books, at least, this morning, from the 
 Holy Bible down to Kicklebungs on the Rhine, 
 and not one of them can I get interested in — even 
 
 's frothy, windy editorials are too deep for 
 
 me — what a precious condition my immortal soul 
 is getting into — what an ignorant imbecile I am fast 
 becoming — were I to die to-morrow, what a shabby 
 figure I should cut in the next world — what could 
 I tell them about the place I came from? — a stupid 
 traveller, indeed — my company wouldn't pay at all 
 ■ — they wouldn't be civil to me — the very angels 
 would give me the cold wing — I should make as 
 sorry an exhibition of myself as my countrymen 
 too often do abroad, when over-persuaded by their 
 better halves, in the evening of life, to take a peep 
 at the antique portions of the planet. Some fine 
 summer day, at some Swiss or Rhenish table d'hote, 
 one of these worthy men finds himself suddenly 
 confronted with an intelligent foreigner, who, ad- 
 dressing him very politely in French or German, 
 begs him to favor him with some few explanations 
 on certain difficult, abstruse points, connected with 
 
202 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 that beautiful but complicated structure, the Consti- 
 tution of the United' States. What a situation for 
 our friend; he is just about as competent to the 
 task as a youthful negro, kicking up his heels, in 
 natufalibus, in the streets of Congo or Loango, 
 would be competent to furnish an elaborate de- 
 scription of the steam engine — poor fellow, what 
 should he know about the matter ? has he not been 
 toiling like a galley-slave all his days; working, 
 working, working, night and day, day and night, 
 up to his very eyelids, in soap, or lard, or rum, or 
 sugar ? his only approach to anything like literature, 
 being a hasty perusal of the morning papers? what, 
 the old Harry, does he know about the scenery, his- 
 tory, government of his country ? why, to give any 
 clear answers to the questions proposed, even in his 
 vernacular, would be a terrible undertaking for him ; 
 but as to airing his views on these points, in any 
 other language, the bare idea of the thing would 
 make any acquaintance of his whistle. Unfortunate 
 man ! how gladly would he exchange the sublime 
 scenery around him, for a snug berth in Simms' 
 hole ; how willingly he would make for the anti- 
 podes, cheerfully taking all risks of central heat, en 
 route ;— how he stammers, blushes, stutters, mutters, 
 and, finally, with a convulsive pantomimic move- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 203 
 
 ment, refers the stranger to his wife, who, somehow 
 or other, contrives to get him out of the scrape' in 
 what she, doubtless, considers good French. Just 
 such a shabby, sheepish, pitiful figure should I cut 
 in the other world — what information worth having, 
 could I give them about this earth of ours? — what 
 know I of its scenery, antiquities, history, laws, man- 
 ners, usages ? of its trees, flowers, fruits, rocks, mine- 
 rals, water-courses, birds, beasts, fishes? why, the 
 humblest science in the circle, the meanest art on the 
 list, what sort of an examination could I stand 
 upon it ? Yes,- 1 shall go out of the world, with 
 no more adequate, intelligent notion of its con- 
 tents, than a traveller would have of the con- 
 tents of St. Peters, or of the Louvre, from a 
 single, hurried, teazing, bewildering visit. Well — 
 so it is — most true, and most infernally morti- 
 fying. But suppose it had been otherwise — sup- 
 pose I had had Methusaleh's lease of life, and a 
 glorious constitution into the bargain — suppose I 
 had studied faithfully, all that time, making due 
 allowances for all bodily requirements, and had 
 kept my health and faculties sound, through it all 
 — should I not still have died, a comparative igno- 
 ramus ? Should I not still have been a mere peb- 
 ble-gatherer, on the great sea-shore of Truth? Nay, 
 
204 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 had I exhausted all the learning that Earth had to 
 offer, in each department, still what a mere mite 
 would it all amount to, in the great sum of truth 
 stored up in this vast Universe — why grumble 
 then, about my ignorance? why not take a philo- 
 sophical view of the matter, and be resigned? 
 "What a strange arrangement, by the way, it seems 
 in our poor eyes, that all these long lives should 
 have come off, at a period when the world was 
 least interesting. Now, a man might manage to 
 find employment for his ten centuries, but how un- 
 der heaven Methusaleh got through with them, is 
 a puzzler, indeed. Travelling, say you ? why, what 
 was there to see, but the face of Nature? fine 
 mountain scenery, to be sure, grand sea views, 
 charming pastoral landscapes — but one soon gets 
 tired of mere Nature. Art must come in, after all, 
 to make the thing really interesting. Where were 
 their cities? Small, scanty, unentertaining ones, 
 doubtless — their roads, narrow, rough, tedious. 
 How did they get along without steamboats and 
 railroads, and telegraphs ? no penny press, then — 
 no cheap publications — no theatres, operas, ballets 
 ■ — no world's fairs and crystal palaces — little or 
 nothing in the way of manufactures, commerce in 
 its cradle, navigation of the most timid, creeping 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 205 
 
 kind — why, what was " there on earth to live for ? 
 That, one would have said, would have been the 
 time, of all others, to have put men on the short 
 allowance of threescore and ten — now, when the 
 world is so crowded with objects of interest of all 
 sorts, we might easily use up fivefold that amount, 
 with pleasure and advantage. Is it slanderous to 
 suggest that these dear old " earliest inhabitants" 
 of the planet must have been far less witty, bril- 
 liant, and intellectual than their short-lived descend- 
 ants ? exemplary as many of them were, were they 
 not somewhat stupid withal ? It is melancholy to 
 think how much of their time must hare been 
 spent in dozing, how much in whittling, hew much 
 in mere twiddling of their thumbs— and oh, how 
 did they manage for Tobacco ? the idea of ten cen- 
 turies of earth, and no pipe to smoke, is too painful 
 to dwell upon. But what stuff is this I am talk- 
 ing ? whither is my whimsical, profane fancy lead- 
 ing me ? Well, it took me away from myself, any 
 how — yes, I had positively forgotten, for a moment, 
 what a poor, rickety wretch I was. But the reac- 
 tion is at hand — oh, it is returning with a ven- 
 geance — that's right— throb, throb, throb away, hot, 
 rascally head — why not split open at once, and have 
 the job over — my feet, all this while, are as numb 
 
206 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 and dead as a bailiff's conscience. Come, don't sit 
 here any longer — up, fly about, set your old carcass 
 in motion. What shall I do, where shall I go ? ah, 
 a thought strikes me — yes, I will rush straightway 
 into the streets, and pull the very first nose that I 
 encounter — no matter who may be its wearer — be 
 he saint, savage, or sage, kinsman or stranger, citi- 
 zen or alien — well, what then? why, of course, 
 there will be a huge surprise — there will be objur- 
 gations, cursings, and collarings, a fight — I shall 
 be thrashed, no doubt, heartily, gloriously thrashed, 
 most righteously, too. Well, while it will not fail 
 to amuse and edify the neighbors and bystanders, 
 why might it not also be of service to me ? a service- 
 able counter-irritant ? it will soon bring this vile 
 blood to the surface, I warrant me. Why not be 
 peppered and bruised in that way, as well as be 
 locked up between two rascally mustard plasters ? 
 'tis only a shorter cut to the desired result. Yes, I 
 verily believe that a pair of black eyes would be the 
 very best thing in the world for me — to be sure, 
 there is nothing cheerful or dignified about them — 
 but what of that ? anything, anything for relief — 
 but suppose I should happen to stumble on Hyer 
 — he'd soon make an end of me — one blow of his 
 ponderous fist would send me whirling into king- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 207 
 
 cb.u come, in a twinkling — that would be a pleas- 
 ant, creditable departure from this busy scene, 
 wouldn't it ? no, no, no — I had much better make 
 for bed — but I can't sleep — I shall only kick, and 
 toss, and scold, and make a fool of myself — oh, that 
 I could sleep — oh, for a long, long sleep, sweeter 
 than the prattle of Eosalind, deeper than the wis- 
 dom of Solomon — no, I may not have it — no such 
 boon for me — that infernal scoundrel that went by 
 just now, that grinning swindler, whose conscience 
 ought to be kicking and pricking him continually, 
 ~h£ll sleep to night as sound as a roach, and I shall 
 not close my eyes. I have a great mind to get 
 drunk — no, I won't — that would a poor business, a 
 wretched business. I should be a frightful loser 
 by any such transaction — for every hour of "feverish 
 slumber, should I not have to pay at least four of 
 cursed torment? My neighbor is more fortu- 
 nate — he can turn his stomach into a demijohn, 
 every night, with impunity — mine is a very differ- 
 ent affair, a perfect sensitive plant, and be hanged 
 to it — would I were well rid of it, and of all the 
 rest of this confounded take-in of a body of mine — 
 my soul is tired of such shabby lodgings — let her 
 go, then ; and as for this old nuisance of a body, 
 away with it — toss it into the sea, chuck it into 
 
208 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 Vesuvius, sell it to the doctors, or hand it over to 
 the "worms — who cares ? Heigh-ho 1 what a life — 
 what a life — what a life ! 
 
 Still in the grumbling vein — still mourning 
 over the loss of my studies, and my pleasures — my 
 moral delinquencies and short-comings, somehow 
 or other, don't seem to worry me so much. I take 
 thern quite coolly. I can hanker after the dainties 
 of the epicure, the laurels of the scholar — I can get 
 mad, because I may not extort the applauses, sway 
 the hearts of my brethren, and, all this while, the 
 great, the glorious, the only object in life worth 
 living for, is within my grasp, and I do not even 
 lift a finger towards securing it — true, I may not 
 be vigorous, or rich, or powerful, or renowned — 
 but oh, may I not be, if I will, kind, and forbear- 
 ing, and forgiving, and charitable ? I cannot take 
 towns, or conquer languages, but I can subjugate 
 this vile temper, can overthrow these villanous 
 passions of mine. Yes, I have but to say the word, 
 and I can win victories, and wear crowns, to which 
 all the triumphs of Napoleon, all the diadems of 
 Europe, are lustreless and valueless. But I will not 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 209 
 
 — it looks as if I never would — and so I shall go 
 to my grave, not merely an invalid, and an igno- 
 ramus, but a poor, miserable sinner besides — fool, 
 fool that I am. And yet, is your mere goodness 
 worth having, after all? What signifies a kind 
 heart, unaccompanied by any vigor of body or 
 mind? praiseworthy intentions, with neither health, 
 wealth, nor talent, to aid and abet them, and bring 
 them to any practical account? who wants to be 
 an amiable nobody ? an exemplary cipher? to have 
 a character so intrinsically feeble and insignificant, 
 that it is of no manner of consequence to the world, 
 whether it be in repair or in decay, in cloud or in 
 sunshine. Such a spectacle, is it not almost as me 1 - 
 ancholy as to behold brilliant talents enlisted in the 
 service of vice ? nay, far more so ; for there is always 
 some hope of reclaiming the one, but what under 
 Heaven can ever be made out of the other ?— a good- 
 natured imbecile, forsooth. If that's the part I have 
 got to play all my life, I'd rather leave the stage at 
 once; to be a poor, silly cripple, indeed; not worth 
 the crutches that hold me up ; too feeble to defend 
 myself; too stupid to contribute one solitary item to 
 the comfort or happiness of those about me ; a mere 
 cumberer of the earth; can it be that I am fast get- 
 ting into that condition ? if so, let me die, die, die, 
 
210 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 forthwith and have done with it. I ask again, what 
 is mere kindliness of disposition worth, unless it be 
 allied with quick wits, sound nerves, untiring ener- 
 gies ? then I can do something with it ; can bring it 
 to market ; can make it serviceable to my brethren 
 and myself — on such terms, the game of life is worth 
 playing ; the voyage worth pursuing ; otherwise I 
 am for making for the very first port. But is this 
 a sound view of the matter ? Is it not, rather, the 
 language of an impatient, rebellious spirit? Be- 
 sides, can there be any goodness, without intelli- 
 gence ? — how unreasonable, how absurd to talk in 
 this style ; mere goodness, forsooth ? why, what does 
 the very idea imply, but quick perceptions, warm 
 passions, a hard struggle, a glorious victory? 
 What has imbecility to do with it ? — 'tis an abuse 
 of language to associate them — and as to poverty 
 and sickness, do you mean to gay that they take 
 from the dignity and value of virtue ? — charming 
 doctrine, to be sure. What, the very things of all 
 others, that most show off its lustre, its divine 
 beauty and preciousness ? No, no ; 'tis mere false 
 pride, and sickly ambition that make me feel and 
 talk thus. This is not the language of the beati- 
 tudes ; this is not the Christian's view of life ; these 
 obscure, passive virtues, that I neglect, nay, shrink 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 211 
 
 from, why they are the very ones that Christianity 
 most exalts, most insists upon ; 'tis they that form the 
 crowning glory of the character of its Founder; sneer 
 not at them, then, as only fit for cell and cloister, 
 and the chamber of the sick ; as if more truly heroic 
 deeds and words were not daily done and uttered, 
 in these same sick chambers, than battle-fields have 
 ever witnessed. Ah ! yes ; to be devout and patient 
 and unmurmuring and forbearing and unselfish ; to 
 stifle ' one's resentments, to withold words of com- 
 plaint and reproach, to be ever ready with words 
 of love and kindness, these are the real virtues after 
 all — worth more, far more, than the active, showy 
 ones that figure and bustle about camps and courts — • 
 these you are sure of; the others are always more 
 or .less mixed up with selfishness and ambition; 
 these are pure, sincere, precious; 'tis these that 
 make woman lovely; these that God and holy 
 angels delight to look upon; and oh, the reward 
 that they bring with them — such inward peace, 
 such sweet serenity of mind ; shall I ever know it, 
 feel it ? — what are the applauses of the mob, along- 
 side such a treasure as this ? "Who would be ass 
 enough to exchange a quiet, unreproving con- 
 science, for all the plate that has been presented, 
 all the resolutions that have been voted, all the 
 
212 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 medals and banners and titles and pensions tliat 
 have been decreed, all the blasts that have been 
 blown on Fame's trumpet, from the Deluge down ? 
 And if I will, I may practise these virtues, may 
 enjoy these rewards — who may not ? — what corner 
 of earth so obscure that they may not be found 
 there ? Who so poor, so lowly, so sickly, so igno- 
 rant, that he can escape these duties, can be de- 
 prived of these privileges? And that I should 
 wish to turn my back upon them ; should wish to 
 sneak out of life, before my time ; should be for 
 throwing up my part, in a pet, because it does not 
 suit my notions, when I might make so mueh of it if 
 I chose ; should wilfully forego such glorious oppor- 
 tunities of being and doing good, and of setting a 
 good example to those about me. Oh, am I not a 
 fool, fool, fool? — out upon such accursed infatua- 
 tion ! I shall pay for it most bitterly, most right- 
 eously, hereafter; my eyes will be opened, then. 
 I shall find, to my cost, how utterly I have miscon- 
 strued, how abominably I have perverted God's 
 gift of life ; wake up, man, wake up ; a truce to this 
 indecent grumbling, this disgraceful listlessness ; 
 come, stir your stumps ; don't fret over the past, 
 but make the most of what remains; turn it to 
 some account, put it to some worthy use ; waste no 
 more breath in words, but up and act, act, act ! 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 213 
 
 Stumbled upon again, to-day; he was in 
 
 the same bitter, railing vein, as when I saw him 
 last ; worse, if anything ; what set him going more 
 particularly, was the recent State Election, and its 
 disgusting result, as he called it — " I have no pa- 
 tience," said he, " with the people ; how could they 
 make such perfect asses of themselves ? — the idea 
 of making that bag of wind, that noisy, shallow 
 demagogue, Muggins, Governor, and of passing by 
 that glorious old trump of a statesman and patriot, 
 Scroggins; it is too bad; but isn't it always so? 
 Isn't every popular election a monument of pop- 
 ular folly? Won't it be, so long as this infernal 
 humbug of universal suffrage prevails ? And s^ch a 
 bench of Judges as they have put in — a precious set 
 of fellows, to be sure. Who are they ? Who knows 
 them? Youngsters, adventurers — not a white 
 "head among them ; the idea of thrusting aside age> 
 learning," wisdom, in favor of a mere parcel of poli- 
 ticians — isn't it atrocious ? What right have they 
 to mix up Justice with Politics in this style ? 
 What business have the expounders of the Law to 
 go about mounting the stump, turning slang- 
 whangers, bespattering each other with all the filthy 
 epithets that are engendered in pot-houses ? We 
 shall catch it, we shall catch it, depend upon it, for 
 
214 MUTTERLNGS AND 
 
 tempting Providence in this way ; we may blunder 
 along for a while, but the day of retribution will 
 come ; the whirlwind will be reaped at last ; and a 
 terrible tornado it will be, too; we are dashing 
 along, it seems to me even now, at a frightful rate 
 on the Eoad to Euin, ruin ruin" — (I couldn't agree 
 with him, either as to the Election or as to the pros- 
 pect ahead ; on the contrary, I see much to admire 
 in the successful Muggins, both as man and magis- 
 trate ; and as to the newly elected Judges, he must 
 be strangely ignorant, or furiously partisan, who 
 does not recognize much that is respectable alike 
 in worth and learning among them ; but, I held my 
 peace, and so he rattled on) — "But it's all of a 
 piece ; our political follies are no greater than our 
 social ; we seem to delight in making ninnies of 
 ourselves in every way ; there never was such a crop 
 of humbugs in the world, as now — Socialism, Mes- 
 merism, Millerisin Mormonism, Bloomerism — not 
 a week without some vile quackery or other ; every 
 lying charlatan that comes along, with sound lungs 
 and a face of brass to back him, is sure of us — is 
 sure of his thousands of victims, and their dollars — 
 we seem determined to turn our backs upon calm 
 wisdom and good sense, in all the departments ot 
 life — we are crazy after novelties, mysteries, mon- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 215 
 
 strosities of all kinds, and have no relish, either for 
 the patient investigation, or modest, simple exhibi- 
 tion of Truth — our tastes are all perverted, too ; we 
 have no real, bona fide love of the beautiful in Na- 
 ture or in Art ; rattling over the face of the earth 
 as we do in our railroad cars, we scarce condescend 
 to raise our eyes from our newspapers to behold the 
 most exquisite scenery — nay, most of us would take 
 far more pleasure in seeing a train of those same 
 cars go dashing by, and in listening to the screams 
 of the locomotive, than they would in watching the 
 flight of the eagle, or in hearing the music of the 
 nightingale ; as to any quiet, deliberate, rational 
 enjoyment of anything, be it a dinner, or a book, or 
 a picture, or a waterfall, it seems quite out of date ; 
 we go for bustle, hurry, rush, gross animal excite- 
 ments ; we have no time to linger over the pure, 
 tranquil beauty that shines through the works of 
 Raphael, but the gaudy, extravagant pictures of 
 "Young France," with their false sentiment and 
 their perpetual appeals to the appetites, these we 
 understand — these we buy up with eagerness — ■ 
 you'll find them in every barber's shop and bar- 
 room in the land. So with books, — who cares, 
 now-adays, for the elaborate beauty of Pope, the 
 .quiet sentiment of Goldsmith? why a man who 
 would venture to quote them, would be voted a 
 
216 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 bore, a slow coach, a perfect antediluvian ; no girl 
 would have him ; far, far safer for him, in a matri- 
 monial point of view, to let off a sky-rocket from 
 Carlyle or Emerson, or pour forth a misty strain 
 from the divinely incomprehensible Tennyson — 
 anything, anything but good strong sense, conveyed 
 in clear, flowing diction. That's quite out of fash- 
 ion. Abominable perversion, to be sure ; 'tis like 
 preferring a piece of sparkling, sputtering fireworks 
 to a lovely golden sunset — but so it is ; noise, fury, 
 glare, mystery, are the order of the day. Who ever 
 thinks, now-a-days, of reading a good, old-fashioned, 
 hearty, natural, sound English novel, like Tom 
 Jones or Joseph Andrews ? We have no stomachs 
 for any such wholesome fare as that — but the sus- 
 picious, high seasoned dishes served up by a Sue, or 
 a Dumas, we can all bolt them down with most 
 frightful avidity. What millions and millions of 
 those filthy, fiery French novels are continually cir- 
 culating through the country ; every book-stall, 
 steamboat, rail car, is filled with them — they are 
 driving all the sound, generous literature of our 
 forefathers off the course. Scott himself will soon 
 go by the board, at this rate. What precious men- 
 tal food for the rising generation ; it is really horri- 
 ble to think of the effect that must be produced by 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 21 1 
 
 all this poisonous trash. Is it not the same in mu- 
 sic, too ? We have no patience now for the classic 
 compositions of Handel or Haydn — we can hardly 
 sit still under Mozart. Oh no, Verdi and his kettle 
 drums, for our money ; an opera, to be palatable 
 now-a-days, must have at least half a dozen murders 
 and incests, and such like stimulants in it ; the or- 
 chestra can't be too strong, or fast, or furious; 
 excitement, excitement, that's what we want — a 
 perpetual stretching of the nerves, an eternal keep- 
 ing up of the steam ; anything like a slow move- 
 ment is intolerable to us, be it in a steamboat or a 
 fiddle-bow ; no matter where we may be, no matter 
 what the scenery may be around us — Jersey Flats 
 or Vale of Tempe, 'tis all one — nothing less than a 
 two-forty nag, or mile-a-minute locomotive, will 
 serve our turn. The ocean itself, we only think of 
 it as a race-course for steamers; hurry, hurry hurry, 
 that's the motto of. the age; one can hardly find 
 time now-a-days to chew his food, or pick his teeth, 
 or pronounce his words. It is as much as a man's 
 character is worth to be seen walking deliberately, 
 or looking in at a shop window?— he is forthwith 
 pronounced an idler, a vagabond, one who is shirk- 
 ing his duties to society; he himself feels guilty, 
 feels as if the police had their eyes upon him; Pah ! 
 10 
 
218 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 it's disgusting to think of the tumultuous, the absurd 
 lives that most of us are leading ; what are they but 
 one eternal race 'with time, one perpetual chase 
 after news and business — our brains in a constant 
 whirl — our whole faculties given up to the mere 
 outside, material interests and excitements around 
 us. There is no dignity, or tranquillity, or depth, 
 or heart in them. Yes, we are fast becoming as 
 fussy, and fidgety, and noisy, and • superficial, and 
 conceited a set of fellows as ever made a planet un- 
 comfortable. Brag and crow as much as we will, 
 we are not half so sensible, we don't enjoy life half 
 so much, as our forefathers did — and yet we talk of 
 them as if they were mere babies alongside of us ; 
 as if our century were worth all its predecessors put 
 together — humbug, humbug! I shall of course be 
 called a fool and slanderer for saying so, and yet I 
 do say, that I don't believe there is one whit more 
 genuine worth, wit, wisdom, on earth, to-day, than 
 there was in the age of Pericles. The Athenians 
 certainly did behave very abominably, when they 
 gave Aristides his walking ticket ; but did we men 
 of the Empire city behave much better, during the 
 late election ? Did we show any more good sense 
 in the choice of our rulers, or good temper in our 
 conduct at the polls ? I very much doubt whether 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 219 
 
 any exercise of the elective franchise at Eome or 
 Athens was ever productive of one half the amount 
 of lying and bribery, of bloody noses and cracked 
 crowns, that disgraced our metropolis the other day. 
 No — men are just the same miserable old sixpences, 
 the world is just the same shabby old concern now as 
 it ever was ; where are all these boasjted improve- 
 ments ? I can't see them ; I can't discover a single 
 corner of the earth in a really happy, healthy con- 
 dition. Look at Europe — what a scene of uproar, 
 confusion, panic, wretchedness — what frightful un- 
 certainty as to the future ; that some terrible colli- 
 sion is to come off soon, who can doubt ? And even 
 if Liberty should carry the day, can she keep it? 
 No, they are not fit for Liberty, not capable of self- 
 government, not a nation of them all. Is there 
 anything in Asia that looks like Progress ? Has 
 mind marched a single inch forward, in Af- 
 rica, since creation morning? How many of the 
 islands of the earth are the abodes of peaceful, lov- 
 ing Christian men ? let a new one heave in sight 
 to-morrow, and what a scrabbling and squabbling 
 there will be about it among the nations — will 
 they not all be ready, eager to cut each other's 
 throats for the sake of its few paltry acres? Our 
 South American brethren, are they dwelling to- 
 
220 MUTTERINGS AJSTD 
 
 gether in unity, or has it been a perfect Kilken- 
 ny cat business with them from the beginning? 
 Our own apparent prosperity, is it of the right sort? 
 Will it last ? Are there no breakers ahead ? Who 
 does not see that it will take all our eyes, and wits, 
 and forbearance to keep this union of ours from 
 splitting to pieces ? What ground is there then for 
 this bragging and self-glorifying, that We hear So 
 much of? We have far more reason to be ashamed 
 of ourselves, and to be filled with apprehensions. 
 Ah, the more one thinks of what life really is, 
 thinks of the frightful preponderance there is, and 
 ever has been in the world, of ignorance, folly, 
 wickedness, over their opposites, the more sickened 
 and disgusted one becomes with it all- — pah ! what a 
 set. what a set — such a planet is a perfect disgrace 
 to the system — only look at it a minute— take this 
 very town of ours, which we are all so fond of 
 crowing about — of the millions of transactions of 
 all kinds which are going on in it, this very hour, 
 how many are really creditable to the parties con- 
 cerned ? Of the thousands of dinners that are be- 
 ing cooked, how many are in the hands of artists, 
 how many are entrusted to abominable bunglers ? 
 Is it not frightful to think of the awful quantity of 
 greasy soup, sour bread, rancid butter, bullet-like 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 221 
 
 peas, waxy potatoes, tough fowls, over-roasted joints, 
 that will this day be hurried down the throats of 
 our fellow-citizens ? Of the individuals, too, who 
 are about to disintegrate those same -fowls and 
 joints, how many will be cool, clear-headed carvers, 
 how many will be furious hackers, manglers, spat- 
 terers ? Of the servants in waiting, how many will 
 be light-footed, wide awake, respectful ; how many 
 noisy, clumsy, dish-breaking whelps ? Of the hun- 
 dreds of pianos that are being thumped upon, how 
 many are sources of pleasure, how many are posi- 
 tive nuisances to the neighborhood ? Of the hun- 
 dreds of doctors who are circulating about the 
 streets in their gigs, how many are benefiting their 
 patients, how many the undertakers ? Of the advo- 
 cates who are blazing away in our courts, how 
 many are doing justice to their clients, or edifying 
 their hearers ? Is it not disgusting to think of the 
 amount of cloudy logic, stale rhetoric, indecent per- 
 sonalities, brow-beating of witnesses, humbugging 
 of juries, teazing of judges, that every day disgraces 
 our halls of justice? But why go into detail? 
 Take any walk of life you please, from the sacred 
 desk down to the bench of the boot-black, and will 
 you not find it the Same ? How little, little that 
 will bear analysis — be it in matters of duty or of 
 
222 • MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 pleasure, of business or amusement, still, still the 
 same. Why, take the mere games of chess, or 
 whist, or billiards, that will be played about town, 
 before another sun rises, for every ten that will be 
 respectable exhibitions of skill or judgment, will 
 there not be full a hundred that will be disgraceful 
 failures, that would fairly turn the stomach of a Hoyle 
 or Phillidor, if compelled to look on ?" Here we 
 parted company— otherwise, no doubt, he would 
 have gone on in the same strain till now, pouring 
 forth his invectives, bespattering everybody and 
 everything that came in his way — seeing nothing 
 in heaven above or earth beneath that was pleasant, 
 or bright, or encouraging — so it seems to be with 
 him always — one perpetual volley of scorn and sar- 
 casm — and yet is there not some truth, some force, 
 mixed up with all this extravagance ? Certainly 
 there is — there is something quaint and picturesque, 
 too, in his mode of expressing himself. If he is 
 always unjust and severe, 'tis but fair to admit that 
 he is often sprightly and entertaining in his re- 
 marks. But is this the spirit in which to handle 
 such themes ? this vein of mingled vanity and bit- 
 terness ? Would a man who really grieved over 
 the follies and errors of his brethren, have let off 
 such a tirade as this ? It sounds far more bke the 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 223 
 
 talk of one who loves to hear the sound of his own 
 voice, who tries to say strong things, who is amus- 
 ing his fancy, and sharpening his wit at the expense 
 of those about him— ^far more like the language of 
 a fastidious, impatient, selfish nature, than of true 
 charity, true zeal for the welfare of one's fellows. 
 Why make this elaborate parade of human weak- 
 nesses? why dwell with, such suspicious gusto on 
 the details of' all this filth that surrounds you ? 
 Would a genuine reformer talk in this style ? No, 
 indeed — he would be far more disposed to forbear- 
 ance, far more disposed to weep than to sneer. He 
 a reformer, forsooth — oh no — he is quite too fond 
 of his comfort for that — quite too warmly attached 
 to his pipe and his pot, to embark upon any such 
 rugged, uninviting enterprise as that — he can sit at 
 his ease in his chair, and rail at the crowd as it 
 passes, but as to getting up, and doing good, and 
 helping mend matters, not he, indeed— it is alto- 
 gether pleasanter to fire off one's witticisms at the 
 world's vices and follies, before an applauding 
 audience, isn't it, than quietly, patiently, faithfully 
 to exert one's self towards removing them — but 
 which is the more respectable, decent, manly course ? 
 Come, man, get up, then — abandon this inglorious 
 «ase, lay aside that dainty meerschaum, let it go for 
 
224 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 a few days, just by way of experiment — never mind 
 opening that bottle — let the wine alone- 5 — neither 
 you nor the wine will be any the worse for it a 
 week hence. Cultivate the acquaintance of the 
 Croton for a day or two — 'twill be a pleasant nov- 
 elty for the stomach. Come, let's go take a walk — 
 'twill do us good — not in the gay, handsome parts 
 of the town, though — let's go see how the poor folks 
 live — come. Ahl where are we? strange streets, 
 these — not very clean ones, either. What an at- 
 mosphere — very different from that of the Fifth 
 Avenue or Union Place, isn't it ? Never mind — 
 don't turn back — don't let your nose run away at 
 the first assault — 'twill be a good lesson for it, such 
 a stench as this — we shall relish all the more, too, 
 the pure air and sweet roses at home — come ahead. 
 Ah, worse and worse — a suspicious-looking neigh- 
 borhood this— don't be alarmed, though — -there are 
 our friends with the stars — we are safe enough ; to 
 be sure, it might be advisable to take off those 
 dainty lemon-colored gloves of yours — they might. 
 provoke an unpleasant strain of remark in these 
 parts. Now come on — ah, viler and viler — what a 
 hole — what crumbling, dilapidated houses, what 
 ragged, abandoned-looking inmates. "Whew ! what 
 a steam is rising from these abominable streets. 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 225 
 
 Surely this must be the Five Points — what else 
 should it be, but that famous pit of iniquity, the 
 sink of the earth, the headquarters of filth and ras- 
 cality and wretchedness. Ah, you're for getting off, 
 I see, as fast as possible — you have no notion of risk- 
 ing your precious limbs and pockets in such a den as 
 this ; it isn't strange; we are amongst a set of horrible 
 wretches, to be sure. What, you shrink from them ; 
 you are unwilling- to speak to, even to look at these 
 poor devils? for shame, man! you, who are so fond 
 of railing at the vices and miseries of the world, are 
 yet afraid to look them fairly in the face, are 
 for beating an inglorious retreat, the moment 
 that you are confronted with the disgusting reality 
 — stop, man, stop — now that we are here, let's look 
 into this matter — let's see with our own eyes what 
 this terrible place is made of — terrible, indeed — 
 heavens, what a crew ! — what a nest of thieves, 
 drunkards, strumpets, vagabonds of all colors and 
 sizes — see that group of half-naked, dirty brats — 
 poor things, what a place for them — what a school — 
 precious lessons are they learning— no prayers, no 
 hymns, do they ever hear, nothing but cursings and 
 railings and foul, beastly words — such faces as one 
 sees here — leering, loathsome wretches, there is no- 
 thing in Hogarth half so sickening, so appalling — no 
 10* 
 
226 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 wonder one shudders, and is for hurrying away from 
 them. And yet, we ought to be here, we ought to 
 come, and realize, and take to heart these sad, dis- 
 mal scenes — yes, man, you, to whom God has given 
 so many good things, on whom he has so freely be- 
 stowed health, and means, and leisure, where could 
 you better expend them, than here? What an 
 opening, what a field of labor for the philanthropist 
 is this. Wouldn't it be glorious now to revolution- 
 ize this spot, to replace these vile haunts with come- 
 ly dwellings, to let in the pure breath of heaven 
 amongst these pestilent streets and alleys, to help 
 restore to order and decency these poor souls and 
 bodies of these degraded brethren and sisters of 
 ours ? Come, let's try the experiment — what nobler 
 enterprise could be devised for human wits ? Come, 
 throw aside your luxuries, for a while — your fine 
 books and pictures, and dainties — let me, too, for- 
 get my paltry aches, and idle grumblings, and let 
 us go forth, and -see what we can do in this matter 
 — 'twill come hard at first, to be sure — 'twill be a 
 terribly repulsive, discouraging undertaking, but 
 who knows how it may end ? is it so visionary a 
 thing, after all? Why, even this hole is not so 
 black as it appears — even here, we may stumble upon 
 an occasional pleasant smile, an ingenuous expres- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 22V 
 
 sion — may meet with good impulses, that only re- 
 quire a kindly culture, to ripen into positive worth 
 — quick wits, that, properly trained, might be made 
 the means of usefulness and honor — yes, even in 
 this vile dunghill, there may be pearls worth hunt- 
 ing up — let's set about it, then — let's spend a month 
 that way, if it be only for the novelty of the thing — • 
 we shall feel all the better for it, I dare say — shall 
 discover a new meaning, a new relish in life — there 
 will be less sneering and snarling in our conversa- 
 tion, I warrant you — less fretfulness and fastidious- 
 ness in our tempers — you smile, and seem to won- 
 der whether I'm awake, or dreaming — lam awake, 
 I'm in earnest — come, let's devote the rest of our' 
 lives to these employments — we shall be rewarded, 
 most handsomely rewarded, for it — we shall be re- 
 spected, respectable men ; people will be proud to 
 take off their hats to us — glad to grasp us by the 
 hand — good men shall sing our praises — poets shall 
 pen our epitaphs — sculptors shall send us down, with 
 all the honors, to posterity. Oh, it must be de- 
 lightful to have conscience on one's side, quietly 
 endorsing all one's transactions — delightful to feel 
 for one's self, and not merely take it on hearsay, 
 that pleasure and duty may jog cozily along to- 
 gether on the same road ; that's the only receipt, 
 
228 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 after all, for a quiet life, for a peaceful exit — then 
 "we shall have the approving smiles of the angels, 
 shall be received as welcome guests, as worthy 
 citizens of heaven . 
 
 And so my dear old friend ■ has gone to 
 
 his long home, at last — "after life's fitful fever, he 
 sleeps well." It was indeed a fitful fever, with 
 him — unluckiest of all unlucky wights. And yet, 
 fortune did not inflict her heaviest, most stunning 
 blows upon Tiim — she neither robbed him of health, 
 or means, or friends, or reputation — but she seemed 
 to take pleasure in annoying him in ten thousand 
 little paltry ways — teazing, badgering, and worry- 
 ing him out of all comfort and patience. Indeed, I 
 don't know that I ever saw him comfortable for 
 five consecutive minutes — sometb^jng or other was 
 for ever fretting and distressing him — his boots, 
 were always pinching him, or his hat was chafing 
 his forehead, or his coat was cutting him to the 
 quick, or he had a tickling in his throat, or a bleed- 
 ing at the nose, or a spark in his eyes, or a singing 
 in his ears, or some infernal thing, or other, that 
 kept continually reminding him what a poor mis- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 229 
 
 erable mortal lie was — so was it at all times and in 
 all places^-at home, he had no comfort — his wife 
 was always sick, or his servants were drunk — his 
 chimney was all smoke and no blaze — his bell-pull 
 was broken — his beef was cold — his wine was warm 
 — everything seemed to go wrong — at church, he 
 could not enjoy Divine Worship — his pew was 
 always the first to be pounced upon by intrusive 
 strangers — confound them, what right have people 
 to trespass on one's property, in this way ? I should 
 as soon think of jumping into a man's carriage, un- 
 asked — he was right in getting vexed about it. The 
 same on Change — 'twas his luck, invariably, to be 
 a bull when he ought to have been a bear, a bear 
 when he ought to have been a bull. Did a new 
 set of counterfeit notes make its appearance in the 
 community? He, of course, was sure to be 
 amongst the first and heaviest recipients — the same 
 in his purchases— if he took a bill and receipt, he 
 could never lay his hands upon it, and so was con- 
 tinually squabbling with insolent tradesmen. The 
 only lottery ticket he ever bought, that drew any- 
 thing, happened to be the very one that he was in- 
 duced to part with, to a friend — his luck, his luck 
 — poor fellow, he seemed to be eternally called up- 
 on to do jury duty, to be served with a perpetual 
 
230 MUTTERINGS AJSTD 
 
 succession of subpoenas — he was always in hot 
 water about his taxes and his militia fines— not a 
 moment's peace or quiet could he get out of life — 
 his very watch seemed to conspire against him, and 
 to love to stop, at the very time when he most de- 
 pended upon its going — how many times, in conse- 
 quence, has he been left behind by steamboats — 
 how many trains of cars have given him the slip, 
 to his unqualified disgust, and the equally unquali- 
 fied delight of a set of jeering porters and loafers — 
 he was for ever running against fresh paint, getting 
 spattered by omnibuses, tripped up by dogs or ap- 
 ple-parings, having umbrellas poked in his eyes — 
 more than once, has he been, most innocently too, 
 involved in a street fight, and his poor head has 
 taken a shower of blows intended for other noddles 
 — so fared he always — if he went to the theatre, 
 there was sure to be an apology for the very per- 
 former whom he had set his heart upon seeing. Oh 
 Lord — I shall never forget that night he was col- 
 lared and carried out of the stage box, at the old 
 Park, from his most unfortunate resemblance, as it 
 turned out afterwards, to a notorious counterfeiter 
 of the day — collared just as he was comfortably set- 
 tling himself in a most eligible seat, for which he 
 had paid some four hundred per cent, premium, that 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 2'31 
 
 very morning ; and no wonder — 'twas a great occa- 
 sion — no less than Fanny Kemble's first appearance 
 in America. Who that witnessed, can ever forget 
 that glorious, delicious personation of Juliet ? Is 
 
 it strange, that could never allude to that 
 
 affair, without using language, strong even unto 
 blasphemy ? Poor soul, his last sickness, they say, 
 was quite too much in keeping with the whole tenor 
 of his life— it seems that the stupid old fool of a 
 nurse that waited upon him, would persist in mis- 
 taking tonics for cathartics, and cathartics for tonics, 
 till the patient was really cheated and worried out 
 of existence, in the most unseemly, disgraceful 
 manner — and when, at last, the breath was out of 
 his body, even then, it seemed as if Fortune were 
 determined to have one more malicious grin at his 
 expense— for while they were rendering the last sad 
 offices to his remains, the hearse that was convey- 
 ing them to their final resting-place, most per- 
 versely, parted company with one of its wheels — 
 this frightened the horses, who began to cut up a 
 variety of most unseasonable capers, to the great an- 
 noyance of the mourners and friends, and the ill- 
 smothered merriment of the" heartless bystanders. 
 Is it to-be wondered at, that a man thus vexed, 
 and irritated, and pestered, should occasionally have 
 
232 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 lost heart and patience ? " Better far," he would 
 say, "to be fairly knocked down, and trampled 
 upon by Fortune — there would be something re- 
 pectable in that, something dignified, something 
 that might lay claim to the sympathies of one's fel- 
 low-men. But to be made a perfect ass, and a butt 
 of, to be the mere theme of her Ladyship's laughter, 
 'twas more than mortal man could bear." Is it 
 strange, that he should get angry, and fall to curs- 
 ing his unlucky stars — and at times that he should 
 question the ways of Providence, and think it hard 
 that the great Creator, who sees "alike the hero 
 perish, and the sparrow fall," should permit the life 
 of any creature of his thus to be turned into a 
 nuisance and a torment ? "Well, well, well — peace 
 be with thee, old friend. I trust that thou art now 
 having a quiet time of it, art enjoying a sweet, 
 dreamless sleep, and that when thou awakest, thou 
 wilt enter upon a scene of pleasing duties, of tran- 
 quil enjoyments, unvexed by the thousand annoy- 
 ances, unvisited by the " thousand natural .pangs 
 that flesh is heir to." 
 
 My good genius took me to the theatre last 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 233 
 
 night, to see Kichard the Third — ah, what an en- 
 tertainment ! I wouldn't have missed it for a good 
 many bushels of gold dust. Never was the usurper 
 in higher health and spirits — never before have I 
 seen one half the amount of exercise taken in the 
 part — such a knocking together of gloves, such a 
 clatter of boots ! How he did fly about, to be sure. 
 What infernal faces he kept making up — what an 
 outlay of lungs — what a perpetual making of 
 points, from the very first line of the soliloquy, up 
 to the great final fight. Such a fight, too — -there 
 seemed to be no end to it. The tyrant 'seemed de- 
 termined not to give up the ghost, come what 
 would — punch, punch, punch, went Kichmond's 
 blade, through and through him, at least a score of 
 times ; still he kept at it, as brisk as a bee, as full of 
 sound and fury as ever, to the evident surprise and 
 disgust of his antagonist, and to the great edifica- 
 tion of an intensely excited pit — when he was fairly 
 quieted at last, after a world of kicking, and floun- 
 dering, and gasping, then the feelings of the audi- 
 ence were poured forth in such a mingled torrent 
 of yells and cheers, as young and ardent Demo- 
 cratic Eepublicans alone know how to give — 'twas 
 a glorious tribute to genius — one hardly knew 
 which to admire most, the performance itself, or 
 
234 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 this cordial,, beautiful recognition of its merits. If 
 tradition speak truth, how very flat and stupid, in 
 comparison, must Garrick and Henderson have been 
 in this part— how tame and inefficient the versions 
 of Cooke and Kean — my neighbor didn't think so, 
 though— it was clear that this superb piece of act- 
 ing was completely thrown away upon him — but 
 then he was an Englishman — a bilious, bigoted 
 Englishman — confound him, in some of the most 
 thrilling passages, I overheard him muttering to 
 himself, what an infernal humbug-— and when the 
 curtain dropped at the close, he had the audacity to 
 pronounce aloud the words atrocious swindle, and 
 then rushed out of the box, slamming the door vio- 
 lently after him. Ah de.ar, such is the force qf vile, 
 vile prejudice — the conceited old wretch — as if he 
 had ever heard anything half so fine, at Drury 
 Lane, or Covent Garden, either. And yet, to be 
 candid, it must be confessed that the play was not 
 so judiciously cast throughout, as it might have 
 been. For instance, was it altogether the thing, to 
 put those two fat, red-faced women, each weighing 
 her two hundred and fifty pounds, in the parts of 
 Lady Anne and Queen Elizabeth? Was there 
 anything regal or interesting in their appearance 
 or movements? Again, were those two dirty, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 235 
 
 shabbily dressed brats, that spoke so through their 
 noses, and made such frightful havoc with the text, 
 anything like adequate representatives of the lovely 
 young princes? "Was it in keeping with the char- 
 acter of the timid, amiable, philosophizing King 
 Henry, to be so frightfully over the bay as he was ? 
 — so much so, indeed, that he could hardly stand up 
 to be stabbed by the tyrant? "Wasn't it rather cruel, 
 too, in the manager, to thrust that poor fellow, who 
 was evidently laboring with a severe touch of 
 bronchitis, into the arduous part of Buckingham? 
 there were little slips, moreover, in the matters of 
 scenery and costume, that ought not to have been 
 made, in an establishment of such princely re- 
 sources. "What right had Eichard to woo Lady 
 Anne, in St. Mark's Place, Venice? Why did 
 Richmond address those encouraging remarks to 
 his troops, in a pass in the Tyrol ? and, above all, 
 what business had the American flag to wave over 
 the field of Bosworth ? "Why should the usurper 
 have fellows in his pay, who, by all the laws of 
 dress, ought to have been at Salamis, or Marathon? 
 And why did that individual in the cocked hat and 
 drab breeches perform such feats of valor on the 
 Lancasterian side ? Hang him, he was at least four 
 centuries before his time — he ought to have been 
 
236 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 earning those laurels at Saratoga, cc at Bennington. 
 But I am hypercritical, perhaps — after all, these 
 were mere spots upon the sun — -the glorious, the 
 magnificent, the intensely intellectual Bichard 
 atoned for them all, an hundred-fold. It is, indeed, 
 an epoch in one's life, the witnessing such a perform- 
 ance. 'Twas something, doubtless, to have seen a 
 Siddons, or a Kemble, in Macbeth — to have heard 
 the pleasant voice, the merry laugh of Mrs. Jordan, 
 in Bosalind — to have seen the School for Scandal, 
 or Twelfth Night, cast as Lamb describes them— 
 but oh, how they would have all failed and faded 
 into insignificance, before the superb demonstration 
 of last night! Why couldn't Lamb have been 
 present, and Coleridge, and Manning, and Hazlitt, 
 and the rest of them ? Poor fellows, they lived a 
 half a century too soon. Ah well, let me be grate- 
 ful, profoundly, lastingly grateful for this unpre- 
 cedented dramatic treat. 
 
 Of all the polite and amiable men that have 
 made their bows, or waved their beavers, since the 
 
 Flood, my excellent friend certainly bears the 
 
 bell. I speak not of mere skin-deep politeness, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 231 
 
 conventional civility — oh, no ; his is a thorough- 
 going, bona fide, unremitting courtesy — a suavity 
 springing from the heart, and pervading and ani- 
 mating every muscle and bone of his body. Let 
 him that doubts but behold him, as he makes his 
 entree in a drawing-room, and above all, observe 
 him while he is discharging the arduous duties of 
 New Year's day — what a thorough dedication of 
 the whole man is here to the great task before 
 him ; what profusion of compliments does he keep 
 pouring forth — what frequent, earnest, hearty hand- 
 shakings for his intimate friends ; what effective and 
 eloquent bows for the rest. "What deep duckings 
 and divings of the upper portions— what nimbleness 
 and suppleness in the leg department — yes, a sweep 
 of full ninety degrees, in that last conge. Surely 
 this man means something — this is no joke, but a 
 veritable labor of love. At times, indeed, to say 
 truth, my friend's politeness is almost a source of 
 ■annoyance to those about him. I have known him, 
 for instance, under the influence of this feeling, per- 
 form, in the aisle of a church, a series of picturesque 
 and animated evolutions, quite as ill-timed as they 
 were well meant, and which have sadly discomposed 
 the nerves of the more sophisticated occupants of 
 the adjoining pews. At other times it is merely lu- 
 
238 MTJTTERINGS AND 
 
 dicrous. I happened to be with him in the street the 
 other day, when a drove of hogs passed by. Now, 
 is so amiably disposed towards all God's crea- 
 tures, that this feeling, aided and abetted by the 
 courteous practices of near half a century, absolutely 
 impelled him to take off his hat to them. t Soon 
 after this occurrence, a most shabby and worthless- 
 looking terrier made his appearance, and would 
 
 persist in getting in 's way, once or twice 
 
 nearly tripping him up. Any other man, under 
 such circumstances, would have said very promptly, 
 Get out, with a kick probably, and possibly 
 with some disrespectful allusion to the terrier's 
 
 mother. All that could be forced out of was 
 
 a gentle wave of the hand, and " Make room, if you 
 please." I even fancied once that I saw him actu- 
 ally bowing to a roast turkey, just before proceed- 
 ing to carve it — absurd as it appeared, I neverthe- 
 less interpreted it into a sort of apology to the great 
 family of turkeys, for the apparent heartlessness and 
 cruelty of the transaction — in the same spirit he 
 would no doubt ask pardon of a rose-bush for rob- 
 bing it of its flowers ; nay, of a very mosquito, for 
 injuring it while in the very act of biting him — so 
 deep, so abiding is the kindness of this man's heart. 
 Thus has it been with him, they say, from the be- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 239 
 
 ginning ; his nurses are reported to have said that 
 he was the best infant that ever drew breath — that 
 when weaning time came, he manifested a spirit of 
 resignation most creditable to him — that amidst all 
 the terrors of teething, he behaved beautifully. 
 -His school-mistresses and masters all agreed in rep- 
 resenting him as the quietest, most docile pupil they 
 ever had ; that the birch and the ferule, that were 
 plied so continually and so vigorously all around 
 him, never alighted on his innocent little person ; 
 they are said to have added, that they did not be- 
 lieve he had ever murdered a fly, or pelted a frog, 
 in the whole course of his boyish career. And yet 
 there are those who, incapable of comprehending 
 so rare a goodness, have utterly misinterpreted 
 these manifestations of it, and have even gone so 
 far as to insinuate that my old friend is somewhat 
 out of his head, which they most absurdly attri- 
 bute to his having been crossed in "love some years 
 since — others have impudently thrown out the idea, 
 that there have always been a good many vacant 
 apartments in his attic, while a third class do not 
 scruple to avow that they believe him to be a great 
 rogue at bottom ; taking it for granted, that he in- 
 demnifies himself for all this outlay of civility in 
 public, by all kinds of secret meannesses and ras- 
 
240 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 calities. Abominable, atrocious libels these, alike 
 upon his head and heart. He is as intelligent and 
 sensible as he is honest and -warm-hearted ; he is 
 indeed of the excellent of the earth ; God keep him 
 long -upon it ; we can't spare such a delightful old 
 neighbor and peace-maker ; there are quite too few 
 of them in this brawling, wrangling world of ours. 
 Yes, old friend, sero in coelum redeas. And when 
 thou takest thy departure, may I be graciously per- 
 mitted to accompany thee. I would fain be by, 
 when thou presentest thyself for admission at the 
 celestial gate. What a profusion of bows, saluta- 
 tions, and acknowledgments wilt thou bestow on 
 holy Peter. I greatly fear that the heavenly Jani- 
 tor, if he retain any portion of the impulsive tem- 
 perament that he had here below, will lose patience 
 and exclaim, " Come in, friend, come in ; have done 
 with all those flourishes and fine speeches, and 
 enter, enter freely." And then with what a pleas- 
 ant smile wilt thou greet thy old friends and kins- 
 folk ; with what profound respect, with what deep 
 sense of the honor conferred, wilt thou make thy 
 bow of introduction to the old prophets, and patri- 
 archs, and all the other notabilities of the Holy 
 City. But I dare not dwell upon anticipations so 
 delightful, and so must bid thee adieu for awhile, 
 with my humble, but most hearty God bless thee ! 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 241 
 
 I feel decidedly better this bright, beautiful 
 autumnal day— such a day — too good for us poor 
 invalids — we can't enjoy it — how completely is such 
 a treasure thrown away, too, on your men of busi- 
 ness, your politicians, your sensualists — the poets 
 and the painters, they can comprehend it, can ap- 
 preciate it, can reproduce it with their glorious pens 
 and pencils — yes, this day, doth it not live and 
 glow, in all its brilliant beauty, in the matchless 
 pictures of Cole, in the exquisite poems of Bryant ? 
 Alas, the artist's version must soon fade and 
 moulder away, while the poet's will live for ever — 
 will it not be so ? — will not that matchless sonnet 
 to October last so long as earth lasts, and its hours, 
 and its seasons? — surely, surely it will. Let me 
 read it again — if I can't enjoy the original as I 
 would like, let me at least make the most of this 
 beautiful copy — true, I have not health, strength, 
 nerve, capacity enough, to hunt up and explore for 
 myself all these hidden beauties and meanings in 
 nature, but I can relish these charming descriptions ; 
 can avail myself of the labors of this gifted trans- 
 lator, this wise and kindly interpreter ; let me be 
 thankful for such a privilege. 
 
 How lively the street seems, this morning. Ah, 
 
 there goes , smiling, cozy, placid as ever — 
 
 11 
 
242 MUTTEKINGS AND 
 
 he's in no hurry, evidently. Did that man ever run? 
 I doubt it ; I doubt if the smartest shower that ever 
 fell, could force him into a trot ; you can't get rapid 
 motion out of him ; you can't fluster him, either, or 
 discompose those nerves of his, for the life of you ; 
 I don't believe the great day of reckoning itself 
 could throw him into much of a flutter ; and yet, 
 how dare he take things so coolly ? A man, at his 
 time of life, a rational, accountable, sinful man, how 
 dare he manifest such indifference about his spiritual 
 welfare? A man, too, who has such numerous 
 and heavy creditors all over town, what right has 
 he to amble along in this tranquil, pleasant sort of 
 style ? He looks, don't he, as if he was worrying ' 
 himself about his sins, or his debts, either ; as if he 
 cared the toss of a farthing, how matters stood with 
 him, either on the books of his brethren here below, 
 or on those of the recording angel above ? not he ; 
 oh, no, present comfort, present enjoyment, that's 
 his motto ; he means to have an agreeable day of 
 it, come what will; he will, probably, spend the 
 morning cracking jokes, smoking his friends' segars, 
 beating them at billiards ; if his wine be well-iced 
 at dinner, and in good condition, what cares he 
 whether it be paid for or not ? You'll be sure to 
 find him at the opera to-night, in the very best, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVAUD. 243 
 
 snuggest seat in the house ; no man there will enjoy 
 more the pure tenor of Salvi, or the winning ways 
 of Bosio ; to be sure, he'll have no right to be there ; 
 he ought to be living humbly, frugally ; he ought 
 to be hard at work in some honest calling— striving 
 to reduce that mountain of debt, instead of secretly 
 enjoying its extent and elevation, but he won't ; he 
 will, in theory, indeed, .cheerfully recognize the 
 propriety of punctuality and honesty; will even 
 express himself, on these subjects, as neatly and 
 pithily as the Hon. Joseph Surface ever did. But 
 there it ends — the scamp — the scoundrel. And yet, 
 I fear, I am not hah: so angry with him as a truly 
 exemplary man would be ; to say truth, I fear I 
 am, this minute, rather envying him his high 
 health and his good spirits, than grieving over his 
 delinquencies, or feeling any real alarm about his 
 prospects hereafter. Ah, dear, this reminds me oi 
 
 my whimsical neighbor , and of his queer 
 
 views on this same subject of indebtedness. 'Twas 
 only yesterday that I heard him air his feelings on 
 this delicate point. I happened to run against him 
 in the street ; I saw at once that he was in a high 
 state of excitement about something. I could not 
 help asking him what the matter was. "Ah," 
 said he, drawing a long breath, " I ought to be 
 
244 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 ashamed of it, I suppose, but the truth is, I have 
 just been paying a heavy grocer's bill, and it goes 
 to my very soul ; I cannot get over it ; I feel as if 
 I had been making a fool of myself; I might, just 
 as well as not, have kept the man out of his money 
 for another month ; he evidently did not expect it. 
 Confound the fellow 1 I could see by the quiet grin 
 with which he received the money, and counted it 
 over, that he was having a hearty laugh within, at 
 my expense. Yes, I feel quite angry with myself ; I 
 could almost blaspheme about it ; I could kick the 
 fellow with a right good will ; I should like to see 
 a dog flying at him, this moment, or a pugilist 
 damaging his ugly frontispiece. Ah, this is wrong, 
 is downright criminal in me ; I know it — I confess 
 it — still I feel so. And what aggravates the mat- 
 ter, my dear fellow, I was ass enough to pay the 
 man in gold, hard, glittering gold; yes, a whole 
 score of bright, new half-eagles. Oh, how could I 
 have been such a fool ? Why not have waited a 
 while, and then have discharged this cursed obli- 
 gation by means of some old, ragged, filthy bank- 
 note, with the signatures half eaten away. And 
 if there had been a slight cloud of suspicion 
 hanging over the oredit of the institution, why, 
 all the better— then, perhaps I might have felt 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 245 
 
 differently; I might have been comparatively cheer- 
 ful; as it is, I feel small, cheap, wretched." — 
 " But, my dear friend," said I, " tell me — was not 
 the debt a fairly contracted one ? " " Certainly," 
 said he. " "Were not the articles good ? " " Excel- 
 lent." "The prices reasonable?" "They were." 
 " Have you not had, then, a fair substantial pro 
 quo?'' "I have." "Why then begrudge this 
 worthy -man his quid? Why take the matter so to 
 heart ? You have but done your duty ; but obeyed 
 the authoritative voice of conscience ; take comfort 
 then — hold up your head — thump your breast — 
 take a manly stride or two — appeal cheerfully and 
 confidently to the mens conscia recti. How do you 
 feel now?" "Cheap as ever," he replied; "yes, it 
 would be all folly and humbug for me to pretend 
 that it were not so. Had I actually been doing 
 wrong, I should not have felt half so bad. But why 
 is this, my friend ? Am I so much worse than my 
 neighbors? Oh, am I the most depraved of my 
 race, when I confess to you, that if I had squan- 
 dered this very identical amount on a champagne 
 frolic, or had I melted it down into a bracelet for 
 some silly girl, I should have been better satisfied ; 
 or had I given it to the cause of the widow and the 
 orphan, or to some missionary enterprise, I might 
 
246 MUTTEKINGS AND 
 
 at least have derived comfort from the publication 
 of the gift ; as it is, you see how I feel. Yes, scoun- 
 drel that I am, I avow to you, that I take far more 
 pleasure in the indulgence of an appetite or a senti- 
 ment, or in the gratification of a paltry vanity, than 
 I do in the faithful discharge of an humble duty. 
 Is not this a frightful state of things ? What am I 
 to do ? Perhaps the perusal of some sound treatise 
 on the law of debtor and creditor might do me ' 
 good, might compose me, might restore the balance 
 of my mind. Have you such a work ? If so, pray 
 send it to me. Meanwhile, I'll hurry home, and 
 see if a chapter or two from the good book may not 
 be of benefit to me." And off he went ; no doubt 
 he recovered himself long before he got home ; all 
 he wanted was an opportunity of venting his whims. 
 I dare say, he was rattling away, the very next 
 minute, about something widely different, but in 
 the same extravagant style, half jest, half earnest ; 
 a queer genius — queerer never drew on boots. 
 How different a man, to be sure, from the other ; 
 catch him talking, in this way — Oh no, — he would 
 affect to be greatly shocked at such an exhibition 
 of unsound sentiments, of rebellious, reprehensible 
 feelings— enjoying them, sly dog, all the while, in 
 his sleeve, most amazingly. And yet the one, ac- 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 24*7 
 
 cording to his own snowing, is the most punctual of 
 paymasters, while the other never intends to dis- 
 charge a solitary obligation so long as lying and 
 impudence can prevent it ; so long as a solitary new 
 victim remains to be plucked. Beautiful resolution, 
 glorious plan of life ! He'll persist in it, though, 
 most faithfully, and I dare say most successfully, to 
 the last — there is a kind of comfort in being fleeced 
 by such a handsome, well dressed, gentlemanly old 
 fellow — who tells such pleasant stories, too, and 
 bon mots, who sings such a capital song, who makes 
 such an unimpeachable salad ; the idea of confound- 
 ing such an artist as this with the vulgar scoundrels 
 of the day — the idea of banishing such talent to 
 Sing Sing — monstrous! How dare you apply to 
 this thorough-bred, delightful performer in the 
 great social drama, such opprobrious epithets as 
 rascal? swindler? thief? fie — fie — fie! 
 
 Another bright, bracing day — Neighbor 
 
 don't seem to be taking much notice of it though. 
 How he is hurrying down town, to be sure ; the same 
 anxious, care-worn countenance as ever. Heaven 
 only knows how many Boards, Meetings, Consulta- 
 
248 MUTTERINGS AJTD 
 
 tions, he'll be at between this and sunset; how 
 much advising, scheming, scolding,- he'll get through 
 with ; talk, talk, talk, what a stream he will pour 
 out ; not a moment's peace for tongue or brain ; not 
 a moment will he even spare, to let that poor ne- 
 glected stomach of his scrape acquaintance with a 
 mouthful of victuals. How does he stand it ? — why, 
 wasn't he in his grave years ago ? Well, there are 
 plenty like him in town. It seems to be the order 
 of things in this community ; 'tis the spirit of the 
 age ; the age of improvement, this ; the wonder- 
 working age of Associations r and Corporations; the. 
 poor old natural man is fast going by the board, 
 fast being swallowed up in the artificial ; the good 
 old-fashioned parts of father, son, husband, lover, 
 are fast going out of the drama ; at any rate, they 
 are no longer the leading Dram. Pers. ; their places 
 have been usurped by Voters, Delegates, Trustees, 
 Directors, Cashiers, Secretaries, and members of all 
 sorts of Societies. Is not this the tendency of 
 things ? Are not men fast degenerating into mere 
 machines, mere wheels, big or little, in the great 
 social clock-work, mere spindles in the great social 
 mill ? And oh, how that mill keeps going, in this 
 vast metropolis of ours ; our whole lives seem to be 
 made up of one incessant stream of Primary Meet- 
 
MUSINGS OF AS INVALID. 249 
 
 ings, Oommittee Meetings, Mass Meetings; one 
 eternal round of all sorts of Conventions; what 
 with Club Rooms, Committee Eooms, Reading 
 Rooms, Lecture Rooms, a poor fellow hardly sees 
 the inside of his own parlor ; the dear old fireside is 
 shamefully neglected and dishonored; our wives 
 and daughters are quite cheated out of their just 
 claims upon our hearts. So we go ; what with our 
 own, and the business of the public, our brains are 
 kept in one eternal whirl — and what do we gain by 
 it? Knowledge, Health, Happiness? not a bit of 
 it ; we manage to pick up a superficial, unsatisfying 
 acquaintance with a host of subjects, but have no 
 clear, deep knowledge of any one. Health, say 
 you? — why, it is getting to be a perfect rarity, to 
 see a downright hearty, robust individual among 
 one's acquaintance ; such a set of sallow, attenuated 
 wretches as we are fast becoming; why, there would 
 hardly be a bid for us amongst the anthropophagi ; 
 pretty soups and steaks should we make for a re- 
 spectable Feejee table. Happiness, say you ? How 
 can there be any happiness where the affections are 
 not exercised ? where a man wilfully alienates him- 
 self from the only legitimate objects of those affec- 
 tions ? makes himself a stranger to his own house- 
 hold? deliberately sacrifices all the precious smiles 
 11* 
 
250 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 and tears and intercourse of home, for what ? a puff 
 in the papers, perhaps, or a hollow vote of thanks, 
 from some board of cunning directors — precious 
 pay, this ; beautiful return for a life of slavish, unna- 
 tural devotion ; and yet, how many are continually 
 enlisting in this hard service ; how many hundreds if 
 not thousands are there, in every large city of the 
 land, of these same victims of the Public ; the flower 
 of whose youth, the strength of whose riper years, 
 the vigor of whose minds, and the bulk of whose 
 fortunes have been sacrificed upon its cruel altars; 
 nay, who have themselves, in the blindness of their 
 idolatry, offered up wife, children, home, friends, 
 faith, everything. It almost makes one wish that 
 there was no such thing as Public Spirit; makes 
 one sigh for the good old patriarchal days, when 
 men used to sit down and chat together at their 
 leisure, under their vines and fig-trees ; when they 
 had time to admire the golden sunsets, and the 
 music of the brooks, and the swaying of the branches, 
 and the bright stars above them ; when they were 
 not eternally dancing attendance on telegraphs, 
 living at the mercy of ocean steamers, sighing after 
 Extra Heralds at the all-glorious Falls themselves, 
 discussing vile politics even on the sacred summit 
 of Mount "Washington — then a man might venture 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 251 
 
 forth alone, at eventide, to muse and meditate upon 
 his Maker, and himself, the fair scenes of Nature, 
 the deep mysteries of life ; be caught at it now, and 
 you are set down at once, either as half-cracked, or 
 else as a disreputable vagabond. It really seems as 
 if men must have had clearer minds and warmer 
 hearts in those days; as if their piety had been more 
 fervent, their love more deep ; as if all the passions 
 which exalt or degrade our nature, had had more 
 freshness, keenness, intensity ; if men worshipped, 
 they worshipped with all their souls ; if they gave 
 thanks, they did it right heartily; if they fell to cut- 
 ting each other's thro'ats, they set about it in down- 
 right earnest. What modern battles begin to ap- 
 proach, in horrible carnage; those recorded in Kings 
 or Chronicles ? On the other hand, what modern 
 poet has put one tenth part of the fervor into his 
 songs, that we find pervading and penetrating the 
 Psalms of David ? Hospitality, too, the word meant 
 something in old times ; in this civilized age, has it 
 not degenerated into a mere interchange of cards 
 and formalities ? our Holidays, too ; are not the life 
 and soul fast oozing out of them ? Thanksgiving, to 
 be sure, still " something smacks, something grows 
 to — it has a kind of taste" — but New Year's Day, is 
 it not fast becoming as cold and stately as a Koyal 
 
252 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 Drawing Boom? How infamously we neglect the 
 Birthday of Washington ; and even our own Na- 
 tional Birthday, how many of us even begrudge it 
 a handsome, cordial celebration. We are quite too 
 busy, to throw away our time on mere sentiment ; 
 yes, altogether too busy to be either patriots or 
 Christians ; too busy for the pleasures of home or 
 the enjoyments of Art ; at Church, we are restless 
 and eager for escape ; at the concert-room, we gape 
 and are fidgety — even Jenny Lind herself can 
 hardly keep us together unto the end of the pro- 
 gramme ; at balls and social gatherings we are mute 
 and solemn as if we were at a funeral ; this infernal 
 Business it is, that takes the color from our cheeks, 
 the lustre from our eyes — that is fast taking all the 
 heart and soul out of social life. Oh, what a pre- 
 cious consolation, to be told in reply, that we have 
 the honor of living in the most civilized, enlight- 
 ened, and wonder-working age that the sun ever 
 shone upon ; that we are better fed and clad and 
 lodged, and are in every way more comfortable 
 than men ever were before ; that even we modest 
 republicans can command ten thousand luxuries 
 which Queens could not, two centuries ago; that 
 we can travel ten times faster, and can send a mes- 
 sage ten thousand times sooner, than King Alfred 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 25: 
 
 himself could have done — suppose we can, wha 
 then? what trifles, after all, are all these thing 
 alongside of good health, good spirits, a cool heac 
 and a heart free from care — we certainly are nc 
 anything like so strong or healthy or hearty o 
 merry as were these same contempories of Enj; 
 land's glorious King, and it would take a prett 
 able lawyer, I think, to show that we are substai 
 tially wiser and better. 
 
 I met my irritable neighbor again in tl 
 
 street, to-day — oh, what a frenzy he was in. " Wh; 
 is the matter, my dear fellow?" I asked. " Wh 
 you are as pale as a ghost — fists clenched, too- 
 what are you muttering?" "The infernal scoui 
 drel ; how I should like to break every bone in thi 
 vile carcass of his." " What scoundrel? whose ca 
 cass? I see nobody — pray, what is the matter 
 who has provoked you thus?" "Hang him, 
 don't know who he is — I never exchanged a woi 
 with him in my life — I don't even know the dog 
 name." " What, and wasting all this wrath upo 
 a stranger ? fie, fie, how can you give way to sue 
 feelings?" "Yes, a stranger; but what of that 
 
254 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 Haven't I met him every day now, for the last five 
 years? Haven't we regularly looked daggers at 
 each other, all that time? Curse his" — "Oh, for 
 shame, man, for shame — is it manly, is it decent, to 
 have no more control over yourself, than this? 
 Besides, why can't you turn your eyes away, when 
 you see the fellow coming?" "I tell you I can't — ■ 
 nor he, either, confound him — there seems to be 
 some infernal fascination about the thing — ther'll be 
 a murder, a murder, I tell you, come out of it yet." 
 " But how absurd, how ungentlemanly." " Oh, 
 you needn't put on that long face — it's mighty easy 
 to preach about these matters. I tell you, I hate 
 the puppy, hate him. Ugh — I couldn't sit in the 
 same room with the scoundrel's portrait, even. 
 Wouldn't I have it down from the walls, wouldn't 
 my heel be through his vile phiz, in a twinkling. 
 I'm glad I don't know the scamp's name — a dis- 
 gusting one, I dare say — the very sound of it would 
 make me sick — the very sight of it, on a hotel 
 register, of the initials of it on a trunk, would 
 throw me into a fever— ugh!" I saw it was of no 
 use to talk to a man, in this condition — so on I 
 went. "What a pity, what a pity, that a poor fel- 
 low should be afflicted in this way — that he should 
 be the slave of such a terrible temper, of such 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 255 
 
 abominable caprices — how silly, how paltry it 
 makes him appear. How many men, now, are 
 there, infinitely inferior to him in all substantial 
 qualities, that yet cut a vastly more respectable 
 figure in the world, simply because they can hold 
 the reins, while he cannot — men, too, who having 
 little or no pepper in their own composition, can 
 make no allowance for the frightful preponderance 
 of it in his — phlegmatic, pharisaical wretches, they 
 will even shake their heads, when they hear speak 
 of him — will point him out in the streets to. their 
 children, as a terrible example — and yet, there is 
 more real worth, more genuine sensibility in him, 
 than in ten thousand such solemn humbugs. Hang 
 them, when would they ever, (as I have known him 
 do, more than once,) get up from their warm beds, 
 to keep a poor drunken brother from freezing to 
 death? catch them, sitting up, night after night, 
 with a sick, friendless stranger. But this man is 
 perpetually doing such things— -yes, this very man, 
 who will fly into such fits of causeless wrath at 
 times, who will rave so absurdly, who will make 
 such a pitiful, and at the same time, ludicrous ex- 
 hibition of himself, I have reason to know, has been 
 playing the good Samaritan, in this way, almost 
 every night for a month past. Such is the native, 
 
256 MUTTERINGS AND' 
 
 radical kindness of his heart. Oh Lord, what 
 strange inconsistencies in character one is seeing 
 continually, in this inexplicable enigma of a world 
 of ours. I dare say, the other man, who was the 
 occasion of this sudden explosion of temper on 
 
 's part, is just such another specimen as 
 
 himself. I have no doubt, that if the two could be 
 fairly brought together, and were to have five min- 
 utes' talk and explanation of matters, it would end 
 in their being firm friends for the rest of their lives 
 — but it is altogether unlikely that any such eclair- 
 cissement will ever occur. It seems fated that most 
 of us should go through the world without under- 
 standing each other — and so, these men, who ought 
 to be playing Damon and Pythias, this very mo- 
 ment, will, in all human probability, keep up this 
 same scowling and growling in the street, so long 
 as their powers of locomotion last. "Well, well — I 
 can sympathize with them — at least, with the weak 
 part of them. I have just such another temper of 
 my own — no doubt /should have got up the same 
 
 head of steam that — was under, this morning 
 
 — at the same short notice too, and with no better 
 reason — nay, did I not, as it was, behave abomina- 
 bly? I did not, to be. sure, make a phenomenon of 
 myself, in public, as he did, but I disgraced myself 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 257 
 
 at home — and all for what ? simply, because my 
 tailor disappointed me. Did I not, shame on me, 
 consign his eyes to the lowest pit? Did I not, 
 mentally, discharge at his head an incalculable 
 amount of stones, glass, crockery, boots, boot-jacks, 
 filth of all sorts ? Did I not wish him all manner 
 of disasters, by flood and field ? a martyr to corns, 
 a victim to pickpockets, a receiver of bad money, 
 left behind by steamboats, his luggage for ever 
 going one way and he the>other, caught in perpetual 
 showers, an eternal sipper of cold coffee and sour 
 clarel ? Yes, every contemptible wish that could 
 enter into the head of a peevish, whimsical, irrita- 
 ble wretch. Such is this beautiful temper of mine, 
 heightened .and embellished, no doubt, by being 
 united to such a lovely, vigorous frame as I have 
 the honor of lugging about the earth. It will 
 never be any better, I fear. I see nothing but 
 fuss, scolding, tumult ahead — weak and wrong as 
 it is, to give way so, still, things don't seem to 
 mend with me — I shall keep it up in this style to the 
 last. I foresee that I shall make a most unseemly, 
 discreditable exodus of it. I shall not give up the 
 ghost, like a good Christian, no, not even like a 
 gentleman — I think I see myself, now, cursing the 
 nurses, blowing up the doctors, railing at my medi- 
 
258 MUTTEKINGS AND 
 
 cines, smashing phials, pounding pillows, doing 
 every thing that is disgraceful, and inappropriate — 
 yes, kicking, scolding, scuffling, to the very last 
 verse of the dreary, dismal chapter — what a finale 
 — heigh-ho — heigh-ho ! 
 
 'Twas my destiny, to-day, to sit opposite that 
 
 horrible old glutton ■ , at dinner. Heavens, 
 
 what an exhibition he made of himself — with what 
 rapidity, energy, inflexibility of purpose, with what 
 awfully destructive results, did he play his part — 
 as to not looking at him, that was quite out of the 
 question. I was completely fascinated, spell-bound 
 by the terrific performance. And to think, that at 
 the end of it all, the old wretch should complain of 
 not having his usual appetite. I thought I should 
 have choked, in the vain attempt to keep my 
 countenance. For more than half a century, now, 
 has this furious trencherman been waging this deso- 
 lating war against the good things of the earth. 
 Vain, indeed, would it be to ask, frightful, indeed, 
 would it be to discover, how many head of cattle, 
 flocks of sheep, droves of turkeys, flights of minor 
 birds, how many shoals of fish, how many tons of 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 259 
 
 bread and cheese, how many pipes of wine and ale, 
 have fallen victims, in this sanguinary, this tre- 
 mendous campaign. And still is the old warrior 
 as eager for the fray as ever — still doth that capa- 
 cious, that insatiate maw cry out with the horse- 
 leech, give, give, give — still do those faithful grind- 
 ers ply their ceaseless task. " So was it, when he 
 was a child. So is it, now he is a man." So will 
 it be, till the great Prince of Gluttons shall pounce 
 upon his victim; when, by the great law of retri- 
 butive justice, " this desolator desolate, this victor 
 overthrown," shall himself become a dish. Ah, if 
 this man were to serve his country with one-half 
 the fidelity and zeal that he doth his stomach, what 
 a model patriot our happy land might boast of— or 
 were he to make kindred sacrifices upon the altar 
 of his faith, what a second Luther we should have 
 amongst us to startle and reform this wicked age. 
 Faith, forsooth ! "the market-place contains the arti- 
 cles of this man's faith; the table is his solemn tem- 
 ple ; the bill of fare his ritual, and he the most 
 single-minded, the most devout of worshippers. 
 And behold the beautiful results of this devotion. 
 Behold that pot-bellied, crimson-visaged, heavy- 
 eyed mass of flesh and blood — all symmetry of form, 
 all expression of face lost, swallowed up in fat; all 
 
260 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 energy of mind, all alacrity of body, all sensibility 
 to the grand or beautiful, quite smothered, buried 
 alive under that bloated, that unwholesome load of 
 flesh ; a conscience, too, that is slumbering, on its 
 post ; a soul, torpid almcst unto death — unsightly, 
 useless cumberer of the earth — neither fit to live, 
 nor to die — ere long to be huddled into an obscure 
 grave, unwept, unhonored, and unsung. Is his a 
 grave to be decked with roses, or to be moistened 
 with the tears of friendship, or of love? Justice 
 forbid. As he soweth, so let him reap ; like a 
 beast hath he elected to live, like a beast, then, let 
 him perish; else what meaning, what value were 
 there in the laurels that clasp the patriot's brow, in 
 the monuments we raise to long-suffering virtue ? 
 Still, this gross epicure, this miserable devotee to 
 flesh and sense, is my brother ; ought I not, then, 
 to sympathize with him, to weep over him, to do 
 all I can to reclaim' him, instead of sneering at or 
 frowning upon him? Heaven only knows the 
 power of the temptations that have thus overcome 
 him — knows .what strange, sad peculiarities of tem- 
 perament he may have inherited. Eebuke him not, 
 then, but aid him to return to the true path — urge 
 him by every possible motive to abandon this la- 
 mentable, this soul-starving, body-stuffing career. 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 261 
 
 True, true — but is the attempt a practicable one ? 
 Is it so easy a thing to break these iron chains of 
 habit ? Pray, how are you to get at that soul, all 
 the avenues to which are thus obstructed, blocked 
 up ? Is it not hopelessly benighted, incarcerated 
 in that vast prison-house of flesh ? What tones of 
 truth or wisdom can penetrate those thick walls of 
 sense ? What, save the liberating hand of death, 
 can ever let in the glorious light of day upon that 
 unhappy captive ? Alas ! if it be so, indeed — 
 meanwhile, let me look to my own life; let me 
 purify my own heart, chastise my own appetites, 
 frown down rebellious and unholy thoughts — let 
 my conscience be ever on the alert, an unsleeping 
 sentinel, ever ready to sound the alarm to virtue ; 
 so may I hope to escape those rocks on which my 
 poor erring brother seems likely to perish. 
 
 Had a call this morning from my friend . 
 
 He was as hearty, cordial, enthusiastic as ever. He 
 had been to hear Jenny Lind last night. How 
 he did go on about her, to be sure! How he 
 did fling the epithets about! "Such a voice — such, 
 a woman ; you must go, my dear fellow — you must 
 
262 MUTTERINGS AJSTD 
 
 not throw away this glorious opportunity." I told 
 him I thought it would be unwise for a sickly, deli- 
 cate man like me to stem such a crowd, to expose 
 myself to any such violent excitements. " Don't 
 be alarmed about that ; I'll see that a good seat is 
 secured for you. Go you must; you never heard 
 such singing. There never was, there never will 
 be anything like it, this side Heaven." And so he 
 went on. He is always in the same gale of excite- 
 ment ; 'twas so when Ole Bull was here. I remem- 
 ber going with him to one or two of his concerts. 
 How completely carried away he was — such ap- 
 plause; never were two hands knocked together 
 with such fervor before. If he had had as many 
 as Briareus, 'twould have been all the same ; the 
 whole fifty pair would have been going together, 
 with the same vehement energy. Gabriel Eavel 
 was another of his weaknesses. He seemed to get 
 perfectly beside himself with laughter and wonder 
 at the jokes and the feats of that prince of fun, that 
 amazing Acrobat. He has at times manifested 
 these feelings to such a degree, that loud cries of 
 order, order, put him out, have been the conse- 
 quence. Poor fellow ! he was utterly unconscious, 
 that while rendering this generous, this overflowing 
 tribute of admiration to genius, he himself had 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 260 
 
 all at once become the prominent performer in the 
 scene. It may readily be imagined how such a 
 man would behave on the Rhigi, or at Chamouni, 
 or Niagara, or any of those great headquarters of 
 the sublime and beautiful in nature. Ah ! 'tis 
 delightful to see such heartiness, such enthusiasm. 
 It must b,e confessed, though, that it is not always 
 expended upon scenes or artists that have such a 
 legitimate claim upon it as the above ; my friend's 
 judgment is by no means so good as his heart ; oh, 
 no ; he has made some terrible mistakes in his day._ 
 His love of novelty, his hankering after new sources 
 of excitement, have played the mischief with him, 
 at times ; he certainly has been severely bitten by 
 some most atrocious humbugs. What a dance 
 mesmerism led him, for instance; how many 
 trashy books has he bought, how many gatherings 
 has he attended, how many vile impostors have 
 had him by the button, in connection with this 
 subject, for the last five years ; all that time has he 
 been on the lookout for amazing developments, as 
 he calls them, for astounding spiritual discoveries ; 
 they have not come along yet — ; they never will come ; 
 he himself begins at last to think so, begins to 
 feel that the whole thing is essentially a swindle — 
 not an -unmitigated swindle, perhaps; no doubt, in 
 
264 MUTTERINGS AJSTD 
 
 all this chasing after wonders, this hunting after mir- 
 acles, some valuable facts have been laid hold of, 
 some few precious grains of truth have been added 
 to the treasury of Knowledge ; still, who is not con- 
 vinced that the whole system, as now paraded 
 before the world, is substantially a humbug, found- 
 ed in fraud, kept up by impudence, nourished by 
 credulity? Hydropathy, too, with what earnest- 
 ness he took hold of that subject, with what zeal 
 did he expend his praises and his pence, in its 
 behalf— what floods of eloquence has he poured out 
 upon it — and what does it amount to ? Has any 
 really new and valuable information been commu- 
 nicated to the world ? the idea that men have been 
 in possession of the element for thousands and 
 thousands of years, using it all the time, too, drink- 
 ing it, diving and dabbling in it, in every conceiv- 
 able way, and yet, till now, have been profoundly 
 ignorant of its true virtues and offices — who's going 
 to believe any such monstrous statement as this ? 
 the idea that water is going to revolutionize all 
 medical science — that the whole Materia Medica is 
 to be swept out of the way, in this summary style, 
 poh ! Why, what did the Lord give us all these 
 herbs, and roots, and earths, and salts, and minerals 
 for ? What are we going to do with them ? Nay, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 265 
 
 what an insult this theory is, to the great Physician 
 himself, who, with his own kind hands, hath mixed 
 our medicines for us, and hath caused them to spring 
 out of the earth, in copious fountains, and in 
 pleasant places, surrounding them with health- 
 ful airs and charming scenery, as if expressly 
 inviting, urging his children to come, and drink, 
 and be cured — why, every mineral spring gives 
 the lie to such atrocious pretensions. him- 
 self begins to take this view of the subject, begins 
 at least to admit that there is a large infusion of 
 quackery in the system — -'tis his way — he is ever 
 ready to recant, on cause shown — ever open to con- 
 viction — 'tis delightful indeed, the amiable, cordial 
 way in which he acknowledges his errors. Oh, 
 how different from most enthusiasts — as a general 
 thing, what a conceited, petulant, overbearing, 
 domineering set they are ; more so than ever, it 
 would seem, in this enlightened age and land of 
 ours — how many are there of these same pestilent 
 fellows, in this very community ; most provoking, 
 most inconsistent of mortals. Bigoted Eadicals, 
 persecuting reformers, tyrannical advocates of lib- 
 erty, men who are for ever prating about truth, 
 progress, principle, freedom of opinion — and yet 
 who are ready to fly into a fever, if you take' the 
 
268 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 liberty of having an opinion of your own — whose 
 whole lives betray the hollowness of their preten- 
 sions — who only want the authority^ to be just as 
 great despots, to be just as ready to chop off the 
 heads of their opponents, as ever Persian Sophi 
 was, or Arabian Caliph — he is no such man — no, 
 indeed — he is as kind-hearted as he is impulsive ; 
 whether you agree with him, or disagree with him, 
 he is the same excellent friend, the same hearty, 
 genial, glorious fellow. Ah dear me--I shall never 
 forget one absurd scrape that this sanguine, go- 
 ahead disposition of his got him into ; 'twas at a 
 time, when balloon ascensions were much more 
 common than they are now. • had long en- 
 tertained the notion, that a little voyage of this 
 kind would be alike agreeable and instructive — he 
 confessed, he had an ardent longing to see how our 
 old Alma Mater of an earth looked, from that posi- 
 tion — in fact, the novelty and excitement of the 
 thing were quite irresistible — so he made his ar- 
 rangements with , the aeronant to be his com- 
 panion in his next air-trip — to keep the affair quiet, 
 no announcement was made in the bills to that effect 
 — unluckily, or rather, most luckily, his friends got 
 wind of the thing, but only a short hour or two be- 
 fore the star ward journey was to come off — they 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 267 
 
 were greatly shocked, of course — the idea of his 
 periling his valuable life, in this visionary way— it 
 must not be — no, ni — to be sure, no man was bet- 
 ter prepared, no man fitter for heaven, so far as 
 mere human merits were concerned — no doubt he 
 would make an .admirable, useful, influential angel, 
 an ornament to the heavenly courts— but he 
 couldn't be spared, yet awhile, he was making al- 
 together too many of his friends happy on earth — 
 there were plenty that might go, if they chose— 
 then, if the parachute were not disposed to do its 
 duty, or if the bag itself should take a notion to 
 burst, they could be resigned to the result — society 
 would probably be a gainer by the transaction. 
 But there was no time for reflections like these — 
 this thing must be prevented — there was not a 
 moment to be lost — where was the man ? Nobody 
 could find him — as to laying violent hands upon 
 him, at the very last moment, that would never do — 
 a man of his ardent temperament, too — the crowd 
 would no doubt side with him, in the matter — it 
 might end in a most disgraceful row. Ah yes — we 
 have it — swear an assault and battery on him — get 
 out a warrant instanter, and let an officer post 
 down to the Garden with it, forthwith— no sooner 
 said than done — away went the man of law — he ar- 
 
268 MUTTEEINGS AND 
 
 rived in the very nick of time. had abso- 
 lutely got one leg over the basket, when the words, 
 I have a warrant for you, struck his astounded ear 
 — it must have been a rich scene, that — what, with 
 the bustling movement and eager inquiries of the 
 crowd, his look of mingled amazement and indigna- 
 tion, the mute wonder of the aeronant, and the 
 beautifully imperturbable deportment of the depu- 
 ty, the earnest remonstrance of the disappointed 
 voyager, his tardy recognition of the supremacy of 
 the law, his final exit under the wing of the offi- 
 cer, amidst the cheers and jeers of the multitude, 
 altogether, the thing must have been intensely dra- 
 matic — no man appreciated more thoroughly than 
 he did the absurdity of the whole transaction, 
 when it was once fairly explained to him, and even 
 now, if any allusion is made to it, he will erow like 
 a cock, for a good half hour. Well, he'll never 
 change, I suppose — he'll keep the pot boiling in the 
 same' lively way, to the close — ever keeping a 
 bright lookout for the novelties of the day, ever 
 ready to go all lengths for any scheme that promi- 
 ses to benefit the condition of his brethren, be it 
 sound, or be it plausible. And when he goes, 
 surely, no spirit will ever have left the earth, more 
 thoroughly alive to the wondsrs and glories in store 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 269 
 
 for it, more thoroughly disposed to render all hap- 
 py about it, in whatever sphere it may be called 
 upon to act. 
 
 So old — • is dead at last — 'after reeling 
 
 and cursing about the earth, for the last five- 
 and-twenty years, he is now quietly under it- 
 yes, he is now put to bed for good— not a tear, 
 not a prayer, not a solitary friend followed him 
 to his miserable grave. Poor, worthless wretch— 
 if from the body of the fair and pure Ophelia, 
 love bade sweet violets spring, oh, what vile net- 
 tles, what unsavory weeds, must needs start forth 
 from thy loathsome and unsightly carcass. Truly, 
 the air seems to be sweeter, the skies brighter, since 
 the removal of this nuisance — there seems to be one 
 monster the less for dogs to bark at, for little chil- 
 dren to be frightened at. And to think, that this 
 poor creature was once a fine, spirited fellow, with 
 a handsome, ingenuous countenance, with good 
 talents, bright prospects, with every inducement 
 under heaven to keep straight, and to make him- 
 self useful and respectable ; and that he should 
 thus wilfully have ^thrown himself away, have 
 
2*70 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 turned himself into a perfect torment to all about 
 him ; have become the theme of alternate mockery 
 and pity to the whole neighborhood ; and at last 
 have wound up his career in this frightful, ignomini- 
 ous manner ; to think, too, how many millions have 
 done the very same thing before him; how many - 
 are doing it now; how many, alas, will do it, even 
 to the very crack of doom I Oh, is it not frightful ? 
 Why does the Lord permit these things? Why 
 does he not rise in his anger, and extirpate, at once 
 and for ever, from the earth, this curse, this enemy 
 of our race ? What other enemy is to be named 
 with it ? What are all the mischiefs that have be- 
 fallen man, through war, famine, pestilence, ship- 
 wreck, murder, through all other causes put to- 
 gether, compared with the daily, universal, crushing 
 conquests of this Arch-Destroyer ?— Nay, what are 
 even its open, notorious victories over human life 
 and happiness, compared with the incalculable 
 amount of secret wretchedness that it is for ever 
 working in the world ? Oh how many, many are 
 there, who, while never positively exposing, dis- 
 gracing, ruining themselves, are yet secretly cher- 
 ishing this viper in their bosoms ; are clouding their 
 faculties, injuring their good looks, souring their 
 tempers, embittering and shortening their days, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 271 
 
 for ever manufacturing troubles at the same time 
 that they are disqualifying themselves to meet the 
 real troubles of life, cheating themselves out of all 
 wholesome pleasures, not making one hundredth 
 part out of the "world that they might, either in the 
 way of duty or of enjoyment. Oh what infatua- 
 tion, what frightful wasting 'of one's powers, and 
 one's privileges ! — yet, what multitudes are continu- 
 ally throwing away their lives thus — it makes one 
 shudder to think of it. Eum, however, was not the 
 immediate instrument of this poor wretch's death, 
 but chloroform ; he resorted to it, of course, for the 
 express purpose of putting himself out of the way, 
 in the easiest and pleasantest manner possible — yes, 
 in this pitiful, cowardly manner did he sneak out 
 of life — perverting Heaven's kind gift to his own 
 vile purposes. The last sentiment that he was 
 heard to give utterance to, and that with a round 
 oath, was one of utter disbelief in a future state. 
 Glorious farewell speech — beautiful leave-taking, to 
 be sure ! — that he was any more sincere than sober, 
 when he made it, is quite unlikely ; it was, more 
 probably, a kind of whistling by way of keeping 
 up his courage — for, perverted as his faculties all 
 were, he surely could not have had the insolence 
 and folly to expect any such snug and comfortable 
 
272 MUTTEKINGS AND 
 
 termination to his career as this. What, man, after 
 spending the better part of your life in the service 
 of Rum ; after breaking all the laws of God and 
 man ; trampling on everything holy and lovely ; 
 outraging the feeLings of your family and friends ; 
 daily brutifying your own nature, — after all this, 
 have you the face to say, that nothing now remains 
 but to lie down, and take a sweet, dreamless, endless 
 sleep ? Have you the impudence to hope, that by 
 means of so cheap and paltry a dodge as chloro- 
 form, forsooth, or prussic acid, you may be able to 
 give the slip, alike to the pangs of Death, and to the 
 terrors of Eetribution ? oh, no, no, no — there is no 
 need of quoting Scripture on the occasion. Common 
 sense and 'common justice rise simultaneously from 
 their seats and protest aloud against any such mon- 
 strous assumption, and insist upon it, that condign 
 punishment must and shall be inflicted upon so vile 
 a sinner as this — the nature and duration of that 
 punishment, it is not for us poor, erring brother 
 mortals to know — but that come it will, who does 
 not feel it in his very bones ? else were life a sorry, 
 dreary farce indeed, and human laws a cruel mock- 
 ery. Yes, ere now, perhaps, has this poor soul 
 commenced its long career of suffering — released, at 
 last from that diseased body, that heat-oppressed 
 
MUSINGS OF AN" INVALID. 273 
 
 brain, hath it not already acquired a vigor and ca- 
 p icity, unknown to Earth ? Is not Conscience 
 already upon its feet, never more to be overthrown 
 or trampled on ? Hath not Memory already se- 
 cured in her grasp every fragment of the past, 
 never more to be wrested from her ? Hath not 
 Reason gained a far loftier throne, from which she 
 can never more be deposed ? And must these en- 
 larged capacities, these sharpened perceptions, be 
 ceaselessly directed upon self? Is there no running 
 away from consciousness, no evasion? no skulking 
 behind sleep, or ether? no refuge in the bowl? 
 What horrible condition of soul is this, when its 
 every faculty is thus turned into a minister of ven- 
 geance against itself — when every recollection is a 
 piercing arrow, every thought a sentence of death, 
 every vision of the imagination is full of armed 
 and angry spectres. What hell more dreadful 
 could bigot invent, or sinner suffer, than this. It 
 might, perhaps, have been with reference to physi- 
 cal torments, that this poor besotted wretch tried 
 so hard to find comfort in the idea of annihilation 
 — but oh, what are physical sufferings, compared 
 with these? and how long are they to last? for 
 ever and ever ? the thought is too horrible — it can- 
 not be — no, deep and bitter as needs must be the 
 12* 
 
274 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 draught which the poor sinner is compelled to take, 
 surely, surely there is a drop of hope lingering at 
 the bottom of the cup. Surely there is a final day 
 of redemption, and of happiness. Meanwhile, God 
 have mercy on his wretched, but justly suffering 
 soul ! 
 
 A few short hours since, and the eighteen hun 
 dred and fiftieth volume of the new series of Time's 
 Earthly Works was finished, and deposited by the 
 Recording Angel in the archives of Heaven. And 
 already is. that most diligent, most truthful of his- 
 torians hard at work upon the next. Oh, what 
 endless, yet what vain and idle speculations are sug- 
 gested to the imagination by this thought ! Who 
 is this heavenly compiler? What associates hath 
 he, in his unceasing labors ? From what point of 
 space doth he survey this restless ball of ours ? 
 On what mysterious leaves, with what magic pen, 
 in what unknown language are his records in- 
 scribed-? Where is the celestial Library, whose al- 
 coves contain these innumerable, these all-revealing 
 histories? And are all the transactions of Earth 
 here faithfully depicted, be they great or small, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 275 
 
 public or private, Christian or Pagan ? Does the 
 same volume that recites the virtues of a "Washing- 
 ton, take note of the humble, unlettered goodness 
 that lies hid 'in some secluded mountain dell, or 
 that praises God in some far-off log-house of the 
 wilderness ? The same historian that lays bare the 
 deep, the Titanic wickedness of a Napoleon, does 
 he also duly mark and brand the petty villanies of 
 every low-browed scoundrel of St. Giles's ? Is the 
 same page, perhaps, whereon are inscribed the 
 sweet hymns and prayers of childhood, stained with 
 the ribald blasphemies of some foul nest of pirates ? 
 Is nothing lost, then ? What, are all the burning 
 words of orators, the passionate outpourings of 
 lovers, the brilliant sallies of wits, the drowsy 
 speeches of legislators, the quibbles of special 
 pleaders, the mocks of wicked, and the groans of 
 dying men, are they all treasured up in these au- 
 thentic histories ? Is it to no purpose, then, that 
 we destroy our ill-considered writings, take back 
 our hasty words, suppress our evil thoughts ? Do 
 they still live, and are they to be published against 
 us ? Horrible, horrible ! When, then, oh when 
 are these mysterious, these terrible details to be 
 disclosed ? Is it to be on some grand day of au- 
 dience and of judgment, before all the assembled 
 
276 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 , souls of the children of men ? or does each one of 
 us, immediately on leaving earth, hear and receive, 
 according to the deeds done in the body ? And 
 oh, what is to be our portion, when confronted with 
 and judged by these not- to-be-questioned records? 
 Where is this heaven, or this hell that awaits us ? 
 In what part of the boundless realms of space ? 
 These 'other planets of our system, too, are they 
 also inhabited by moral and accountable beings, 
 whose daily thoughts, words, and deeds are thus 
 transcribed -for purposes of judgment? Are all 
 these systems of the universe but so many expan- 
 sions of the same great scheme of discipline? or 
 are certain portions of creation set apart as theatres 
 where the great drama of probation is for ever enact- 
 ed, and others selected for the wonderful realities 
 of retribution ? Which of those two sparkling 
 stars, then, is the abode of the just made perfect, 
 and which the eternal residence of the lost ? Or 
 is there no eternal residence for the soul? and 
 are all these worlds so many points at which 
 we commence, or stages through which we pass, in 
 the progress of a journey that knows no end? 
 Ah, dear ! who hath not asked, who is not contin- 
 ually asking these questions ? — so natural, and at 
 the same time so terrible ; so familiar to the mind, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 277 
 
 and yet so utterly inexplicable? Bevelation cer- 
 tainly does not condescend to answer them, save in 
 the merest generalities, and Nature's voice returns 
 but vague and indistinct mutterings ; the hints that 
 Science furnishes, sublime as they may be, yet are 
 they not far more calculated to bewilder, appal, 
 overwhelm us, than to inspire or yield us comfort ? 
 what a withering, blighting sense of insignificance 
 seems to attach to Earth and earthly things. Vir- 
 tue itself loses heart and is afraid lest, in the mys- 
 terious arrangements of God, it should be over- 
 looked — cheated out of its future existence. Vice 
 becomes more hardened and reckless than ever, as~ 
 if it felt sure, through its very littleness, of slipping 
 through the fingers of Almighty Justice. Eeputa- 
 tion hardly rises to the dignity of a bubble, and 
 Fame, alas, the loudest blast of her trumpet sinks 
 into the faintest echo of the feeblest whisper — " the 
 great globe itself, yea, all which it inherit" scarcely 
 seems to be an appreciable quantity in the universe, 
 and no more to be missed, were it suddenly plucked 
 out of creation, than a berry would be from a bush, 
 an apple from a crowded tree. But oh, can this be 
 the true view of ourselves, or of our position in the 
 vast scale of being? — no, no — >we are not such 
 obscure, such insignificant creatures in God's eyes ; 
 
278 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 this dear earth of ours — has not heavenly wisdom 
 contrived it, planted and watered it, filled it with 
 life and beauty, endowed it with light and motion, 
 subjected it to wondrous laws, prescribed for it a 
 glorious pathway in the skies, entrusted it to guar- 
 dian angels, nay, assigned to it this same celestial 
 overseer and historian, whose labors know no 
 pause, whose records cannot err? Surely some great 
 end is contemplated in all these wondrous plans. 
 Can that be so very paltry and worthless an object, 
 on which so much thought and care and kindness 
 have been expended ? Not only do mortified pride 
 and alarmed vanity, but reason and good sense also, 
 remonstrate, protest against this belittling view of 
 man, and his relations to his Maker; this view, 
 which so discourages all that is excellent, and 
 arouses all that is diabolical within us. But oh, 
 how much more potent and triumphant is the voice 
 of Christianity on this subject ! " What, they of no 
 account in his eyes, to whom God has given, not 
 only so many good things, and noble faculties, but 
 so many special messengers also, fraught with glad 
 tidings and solemn warnings and precious prom- 
 ises? — nay, who hath himself come down from 
 Heaven to visit and enlighten and redeem them ?" 
 Happy the man, who can ask this question in good 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 279 
 
 faith — who is not shamming in this matter, who is 
 not merely acquiescing in these truths, but in his 1 
 very heart and soul adopts them, and manfully acts 
 up to them. If these things be so, indeed, what a 
 delightful position he occupies ; if they should turn 
 out to be an illusion, still what a charming, glorious 
 illusion— an illusion that tends alike to cheer the 
 heart and mend the life, to make a man a blessing 
 to those about him, an ornament to his race, who 
 wouldn't cherish it ? But, to look at this matter 
 again, as a poor natural man, is there, after all, in 
 the phenomena whieh Science discloses or suggests, 
 anything to force us to take such frightfully humble 
 ground, and to make 'us out such a contemptible 
 portion of creation ? If mere bulk, indeed, is to be 
 the measure of value, our little planet must certainly 
 cut a pretty sorry figure in the skies, alongside of its 
 unwieldy brethren Jupiter and Saturn, for instance. 
 But may we not have the advantage of them both, 
 in matters of far more consequence ? As in the 
 earth itself, there are favored tracts, alike removed 
 from the heat of the equator and the polar cold, 
 in which alone are to be found the highest mani- 
 festations of beauty; the rarest exhibitions of intel- 
 lect, may it not be the same thing in the system ? 
 may we not have a far more felicitous position in 
 
280 MUTTERINGS AND 
 
 that system, for the development of physical and 
 intellectual excellence, than either the inhabitants 
 of Mars or Venus, or than those of the greater and 
 more distant planets ? may not our little orb, after all, 
 then, be far more precious in the eyes of its Maker 
 than its huge brethren ? may not our little selves, 
 with all our crimes and follies, be far nobler pro- 
 ducts of Divine "Wisdom, than their inhabitants — a 
 race, for aught we know, of clumsy, feeble-witted, 
 malignant giants ? Why not take comfort in that 
 thought, as well as be cowed, down by the oppo- 
 site ? May not conjecture, poor, wandering child 
 of ignorance, be allowed to stray in one direction 
 as well as another ? But, after all, why indulge at 
 all in such vain and unprofitable conjectures? 
 Are they not quite too much, even for the strongest 
 nerves, the clearest heads, the purest hearts ? What 
 right, then, have I, poor, frail, feeble, ignorant 
 sinner that I am, to try to fathom these awful 
 depths, to puzzle my poor brains with these bewil- 
 dering speculations? Better, far better, confine 
 myself to the humble sphere of duty assigned me, 
 to do all I can, in my small way, towards making 
 this earth of ours, or at least the little corner of it 
 in which I am called to act, more worthy of the 
 Great Founder — more comfortable, and beautiful, 
 
MUSINGS OF AN INVALID. 281 
 
 and enlightened, and happy — the home of peace 
 and good will — and to leave it, at last, not in a 
 murmuring, struggling, rebellious -spirit, but calmly 
 and hopefully awaiting the great mysteries of the 
 future. — 
 
 " Hope humbly, then, on trembling pinions soar, 
 Wait the great teacher Death, and God adore."