To wish our friends Health and Happiness, has always been considered as the most appropriate mode of summing up, in a brief and emphatic. form, our most ardent desires for their welfare; and these two blessings continue to be linked together in the minds and mouths of men, as though indeed there existed between them an inseparable bond of connexion. That Health and Happiness are, however, to be found apart, is a truth that I have long since discovered; and to demonstrate which, would, I flatter myself, be to impart a benefit to mankind.

It has frequently occurred to me, that, amongst all the good and wise things that have been thought, said, and written, on the evils of Pain and Sickness, I have never heard of one pen being employed in celebrating their pleasures. It may seem, indeed, at first sight, rather paradoxical to speak of the Pleasures of Pain, or the Joys of Sickness; but if we give the subject a fuller consideration, we shall perhaps find it not so absurd; and should I succeed in persuading half a dozen readers to be of my opinion, I shall feel I have equalled the triumphs of the most successful professors of the god-like art of healing. The utmost boast of their science is to expel for a short season these pertinacious visit ants--my greater glory will be to induce mankind to receive them with open arms. A little enthusiasm is always permitted, and indeed is almost essential to the broacher of any new dogma; and I confess myself so warm an advocate in the present cause, that I would not for the world forego the Pleasures of Sickness-nor would I exchange the dear little fit of rheumatism with which I am occasionally indulged, or the slight tendency to fever, and delightful degree of debility, which a hot season inevitably gives me, for all the vulgar and monotonous enjoyments of health. I do not indeed pre

GRAY.

tend to profess a partiality for the severer pangs of our suffering natureextremes are evils in all things—and I readily surrender the violent tortures of acute bodily suffering, without any vain attempt to apply ineffectual lenitives-certain that, in such a case, my prescriptions, and those of the wisest and wig-iest doctors of the fraternity, would be pretty much on a par. But with these exceptions, I stand boldly forth as the champion of all the lesser trials to which the mortal frame is liable, confident that, if properly regarded, they would be converted into blessings, and universally acknowledged as such. At any rate, it is surely wiser to hug as a friend the inevitable guest against whom we cannot bar the door, however we may consider him as an enemy. It is wonderful how long men will go on in the beaten track of thought, without catching a glimpse of the true view in which some things may be seen. Hence, because (in spite of a certain sect of philosophers) pain has justly been considered an evil, every shade and degree of it is considered in the same light, and dreaded accordingly,-not perceiving that these phenomena in our physical system produce the same effect as the irregularities in the beautiful works of the creation-the mountains-vallies-woods-plains-winds

rain - tempests and calms - all which, like the alternations of health in the human frame, produce endless variety, and occasion such delightful play of light and shade. I thank Heaven, that I have always been accustomed to the vicissitudes of health and sickness, and the experience of each has taught me the value of both. But as the joys of health do not stand so much in need of elucidation, I shall restrict myself to the exposition of the Pleasures of Sickness, which most require an interpreter, the language in which she speaks being least easiln understood, and the blessings in hey

gift consequently more often overlooked.

This method, indeed, of pointing out to less quick perceptions the goods they unconsciously enjoy, is not wholly new. We have long had adventurous explorers in the rarefied atmosphere of the passions, and in various other lines new and curious fields of discovery have been opened to us. Thus, we have the Pleasures of Imaginationthe Pleasures of Hope-the Pleasures of Memory—the Pleasures of Old Age -and very many other pleasures, too tedious to enumerate. I have no doubt, that there are many excellent persons who never dreamed of the existence of such pleasures, and who would have contrived to live and die without any suspicion of them, were it not for the kind assistance of the strange beings called poets, who have a knack of finding odd enjoyments in things that are the very antipodes to the real and substantial delights of roast beef and a bottle of port. But, in spite of the natural apathy of these plain prosaic persons, such is the docility of the human mind, that these beautiful developments of the finer feelings, clothed in sweet and simple language, are rendered familiar to minds the furthest removed from sentiment; and such is the force of truth, that, though destitute of the embellishments of poetry, I should by no means feel surprised, if this article, which I am now writing for the most fashionable of all fashionable Magazines, were to bring the Pleasures of Sickness decidedly into vogue. Many a fair reader will, I am confident, concur in my sentiments, which accord so well with their delicacy and refinement of feeling; nor should I be wholly astonished, if this work penetrating into the anti-sentimental regions of the city, and encountering the eye of some worthy fur-gown'd alderman, he should be persuaded to feel the approach of the next fit of gout with a certain degree of satisfaction.

But I return from this digression to the immediate precincts of my Paradise of Sickness-my ample, high, wide, deep, soft, well-stuffed and cheerfully-covered arm-chair, in which I am at the present moment entrenched-my table of writing materials by my side, my feet negligently supported by a footstool, my frame pervaded by a delicate languor, the

light of heaven partially admitted to an interview, through the medium of a green gauze curtain, and every thing around me in harmony with the interesting state of my health. And this brings me at once to what I regard as one of the first sources of the Pleasures of Sickness-namely, the leisure for thought which it so bountifully bestows on those who perhaps rarely, if ever, enjoy a pause from the incessant whirl of business, or the bustle of dissipation. I speak not to those unfortunates who know not the value of thought-who perhaps, indeed, are in the predicament of a young lady, who once ingenuously owned to me, that "she never did think, for she did not know how to set about it." To such persons, the heaven-born maiden Meditation would be a most unwelcome visitant; and an obligation" to think," would doubtless be willingly exchanged for hard labour of any description. To such persons, Sickness must be indeed an appalling spectre, bringing in her hand the demon of ennui, a sight sufficient to terrify the stoutest heart in that busy class, who, in their days of health, had never caught a glimpse of such a monster. There are many men, who, though fully sensible of the advantages and delights of leisure, yet have not the force of mind to procure it for themselves-who are the daily prey of trifling circumstances and petty avocations, which they permit to fasten on their minds as duties of serious obligation. They want courage to say to the world, and its sea of troubles, "Thus far shalt thou come, and no farther;" and few can shut out its encroachments from their own closets so entirely, but that it will rush in, and mar even their closest retirement. But to all those who gratefully receive the boon of elegant leisure, Sickness will be welcome as a confirmer of that blessing; for when do we enjoy it so perfectly, as when that tyrannical world, and its clamorous calls upon our time and thoughts, are at once banished from our presence, without the effort of choice, and our existence, our cares, our occupation, drawn into the narrow compass of our own chambers. It is then that we feel truly alone-it is then that our house is indeed our castle. Enjoying the dignity of calamity, (for in this light is such a condition erroneously regarded,) I take the benefit of the immunity which it

gives from all the common cares and vexations of life, and lay myself out for every kind of delicate felicity and recumbent leisure. How few, how very few, in this busy world of ours, have time to commune with their own hearts, and to be still! What discoveries does not such a state enable them to make! How many a man has run through a long career, without scraping the smallest intimacy with that important personage-himself! —when perhaps a salutary fit of sickness having brought about the first introduction to this unknown, he suddenly finds that he has all his life overlooked a very fine fellow, close within his reach, who may prove, if followed up diligently, the pleasantest, and certainly the most useful acquaintance he has ever made. Or it may possibly happen, that he may discover that he has long been hand and glove with a mauvais sujet, whose deceits he never detected, and of whom he knows as little, as one usually does of one's nextdoor neighbour in London. Although it will not be in his power to cut this very unpleasant connexion, he may do better by accomplishing the improve⚫ment and reformation of his inseparable companion; and he will, in the progress of this work, be thoroughly convinced of the truth of the observation of the Roman satirist, that the useful science called γνώθι σεαυτὸν dee scended immediately from Heaven.

Another consequence of Sickness, is the calm which it gives to the soul. The effect of Sickness on the heart and the passions, is like that produced on the eyes by a pair of green spectacles, which bestow on every object a softened tint, freed from the dazzling colours thrown around them, by the full blaze of unchecked and buoyant spirits which belong to health. Or, to use another simile, Sickness presents objects to our senses under the same appearance that they assume when reflected in that beautiful sort of mirror, which, while it accurately delineates their form, diminishes their apparent magnitude, and, depriving them of all their glare, displays the true light and shade in which they are viewed to the best advantage. Just so does Sickness throw human life and its concernments into that softened distance, and that reduced size, which ought in reality to belong to them; but in which we never view them, whilst our pas

sions, intoxicated with giddy health, are busied in heightening their colours, and distorting their proportions. It is in the power of every reflecting reader to prove the truth of these remarks, by considering how the same object will change its face, when viewed through these two different mediums of health and sickness. Only yester day I was walking in the Park, in rude health and spirits, to increase a good appetite for an indifferent repast, when I met my friend M., who bespoke me for his dinner-party next day. No one gives better entertainments, or with a better grace of hospitality, or more skilfully selects the elements of an agreeable party, than M.; and if they do not blend happily together, the fault is certainly not his. I accepted the invitation with alacrity, and took an additional turn in the Mall, to indulge the agreeable speculations arising out of the circumstance. My fancy was at once on the wing; and in her fantastic kaleidoscope, I perceived all the pleasures of to-morrow, the brilliant circle,-the polite refinement, and the lively conversation, which conspire to adorn a wellbred London drawing-room. Besides, I was myself considered as no bad diner-out; and the whispers of vanity added an inexpressible agitation to my spirits, as I anticipated the succés which I should enjoy, and on which I could subsist in solitude and privacy for a month to come. Nor did my imagination disdain the lower delights of the senses; and a confused image danced before my mind, of good sense and good cheer, sparkling wit and bright champaigne,-ease, elegance, instruction, amusement, admirationand produced that charming flutter of expectation, which naturally belongs to so important an event, as going out to dinner. It is, indeed, an incident which most agreeably ruffles the quiet stream of time, which bears along, in a swift but noiseless current, the life of a solitary student, whose sedentary employments, though they give it rapidity, take nothing from its sameness. A convivial party, like a stone thrown suddenly into the stream, stirs the surface without muddying the waters; and next day, the whirlpool caused by the event gently subsiding, it runs tranquilly on again, keeping the even tenor of its way. But, alas! how vain are the imaginations of man!