Bright visions of Epicurean enjoyment, and intellectual intoxication, where are you?-I fell asleep last night, thinking still of M.'s partystill debating in my mind, whether, when the affairs of Turkey came on the tapis, I should give the benefit of my co-operation to this or that side whether I should give my sanction to driving the bigotted Mussulman out of Europe, or raise my voice against the overwhelming ambition of the Autocrat of all the Russias-whether to be most solid or brilliant in argument, to dazzle as a meteor, or instruct like a sage when, alas! next morning I awoke with direful pangs of toothache, and the latitudinal proportions of my visage so deplorably increased, that though it would have been more in character to have worn a dismal length of face on the occasion, such an external of woe was out of the question. After having spent some hours in an agony of pain, aggravated by the horrors of indecision, whether to send for Mr Cartwright, (who is said to have so fascinating a method of extracting your grinders, that he renders it positively pleasant to the patient,) the paroxysm abated; but left me in such a state of languor, that it became obvious I could not think of leaving my room. The hour for dressing was just at hand, but I no longer felt even the smallest wish to quit my chamber. Here was a change! How shall we philosophize the matter? All that figured in my fancy yesterday is to-day positively odious to me-the pleasures of the palate, now, even in thought, produce a shiver of horror through my whole frame, to which my sensitive jaws fully respond. My view of the whole thing was entirely changed-the company, the conversation; every thing wore another aspect. I saw nothing in such meetings but din and discomfort to the entire sacrifice of individual enjoyment-I felt fatigued at the bare idea of supporting a whole evening in such an artificial state of existenceI sickened at the contemplation of the emptiness, vanity, and vexation of spirit which attend such pleasures, and so entirely had a day's illness assimilated my ideas to my condition, that I would not now exchange my present position for the most conspicuous place in the most brilliant saloon in the metropolis. Here then I experienced the

sedative effects on the mind, which I have ascribed to Sickness-and the sober hue of truth in which it presented the pleasures which I had so intemperately coloured, gave me ample field for moralizing; and this increasing the sense of my own sagacity, added not a little to the charms of this season of reflection,

It is in the abodes of poverty and want that Sickness wears another aspect. There, I grant, my theory would avail nothing, where it is indeed the severest of all calamities; but even there, the evil is not in illness itself, but in the want of those alleviations which render it only another modification of comfort to those who can command them. Hunger is an evil, it will be readily granted, when we lack the means to assuage it-but would any one willingly part with the sensation altogether, and with it, the pleasure of gratifying it? It would be a speculation worthy of our philo sophers, to calculate, in case of our being deprived of this salutary and punctual remembrancer, how many persons would fall victims to forgetfulness of eating-and what proportion the number would bear to those daily sacrificed at the shrine of voracity. Amongst the Pleasures of Sickness, let us not forget the charm of beholding the sympathies of our friends so powerfully awakened—of calling forth all those kindly feelings and minor attentions which frequently slumber in the period of health-but fall most kindly on the spirit which is softened and subdued by illness. What de light can equal the pleasure of being occasionally the object of these tendernesses-so dear are they to me, and to all who know the delight of being beloved, that I would not exchange them for all the unsocial blessings of unchanging health. It would be a seri ous loss to me indeed, if I did not sometimes hear my little sister's voice at my door in an accent of tender inquiry how I was, and how I had slept-if I did not receive from her some sprigs of the earliest sweet-briar in her garden-and still more so, if my mother ceased to come in frequently during the morning on tip-toe, with a face full of kind solicitude and without giving me the fatigue of many questions, ascertaining that I had all my comforts about me. I firmly believe that the blessings of ease are

cheaply bought at the expense of con siderable pain. The mere absence of pain in the human frame is one of those blessings, which is the most ungratefully enjoyed-and of which it requires the frequent recurrence of its opposite to enliven our sense, and to give us that delightful consciousness that all is right and harmonious within and about us; and this is never felt in its full luxury, but when it immediately succeeds a state of bodily suffering. We then feel our earth a heaven- and our hearts run over with thankfulness for that which the day before we enjoyed without acknowledgment.

What can be more heavenly than the state of mind which belongs to convalescence! the recent relief from pain-the rapture we feel on the return of ease! what soft delicious feelings-what exaltations in our thoughts -what warmth in our imaginations what gratitude, what enthusiasm in our devotions! what benevolence towards all around us! Let the sceptie in these matters only watch the progress of the convalescent invalid, beginning with the moment when he first leaves the fevered bed to which he has been sometime confined. With what exquisite delight is this simple change attended-and what inexpressible relief is bestowed by the new posture! By and by he makes an excursion to the further end of his chamber, and at length reaches the window which has been the object of his wistful gaze for some days past. What a sight does he behold! Perhaps when he fell ill, Winter was still lingering in the lap of May, and a few leaves and buds, pushed forth before the rest, stood shivering and looking comfortlessly at one another, in the absence of the Sun; (like strangers meeting in a drawing-room, in the awkward interval before the host and hostess have appeared)-but whilst he has lost sight of them, Nature's secret artificers have been in full operation. All is radiant, and green, and beautiful. His eyes are ravished with the sight of the foliage, the flowers-the lawn-the stream;-the sensations he experiences are almost overpowering; whilst every breath of the fresh air seems to bring new health to his inmost soul. By degrees he is strong enough to walk abroad: oh, what pen could ever define correctly the various

emotions of that first return to the delicious enjoyment of pure air and gentle exercise! The turf beneath his feet is softer than he ever felt before, the birds seem to pour forth a sweeter melody to welcome his recovery-how fragrant is every shrub-how beautifully that white lilac intermixes its blossoms with the elegant laburnam which displays its gay and golden fringe in front of that noble purple beech! How luxuriant is all around him!-he cannot take a step without seeing some new delight-and when, from weakness, he is obliged to repose under the spreading ivied oak, he sits lost in ecstasy, listening to every wellknown summer sound which, all in wild harmony, strike upon his delighted ear, and send a thrill to his heart, which moistens his eyes with delicious tears. To the eye of vulgar observation, he presents perhaps, at this moment, in an emaciated appearance, pale cheek and faded eye, only objects of commiseration-but how widely mistaken! while those who can read the soul know, that he is really enjoying one of the highest states of felicity. Compare him with that ruddy son of health, who is walking up and down near him-Which has the highest enjoyment of the present scene? Does he even see the grass, the sky, the trees, the stream? Does he hear the birds with rapture, or feel the influence of the balmy air? Not a jot-not a jot-he is engaged in the simple operation of taking a walk-and his legs kindly performing this office for him, his thoughts perhaps are far distant, and he perceives nothing extraordinary, or at least what he has not seen a thousand times before.

Another little item in the sick man's pleasures is-the doctor; and however pleasant it is to laugh at the doctor all the days of our health, it is no less pleasant to send for him the moment one is sick, like children who enjoy being deceived by conjuring tricks-What a pleasure to see him gravely enter-to talk over the case-the news-politics

scandal-to receive a word of comfort at parting-to feel better when he is gone and to declare there is something in a doctor after all-and to look forward impatiently to his visit tomorrow! Then how important be come all the trivial incidents of life! What an epoch in the invalid's day is dinner! Conceive, reader, the hour ap

proaching which brings him the first meal which he meets with a convalescent appetite. How many times does he look at his watch! still a quarter of an hour wanting - he turns in his chair, and purposes to think out that portion of time; but before five minutes are past the watch is consulted again -he conjectures it must have stopped -No, it still goes-he tries to doze away the interminable period-At length the clock strikes two-delightful sound-He snuffs up the fragrant steam, which seems to visit his nos trils from the busy scene of preparation-a few more minutes elapse-he is amazed at the monstrous want of punctuality, it is not to be borne-he is sure it is half an hour after the time, and his hand seizes the bell-rope somewhat impatiently, when the door flying open with a delightful swing announces the entrée of the roasted chicken to quick time-piping hot -round and plump-of a beautiful autumnal complexion, and duly accompanied by its fragrant and faithful attendant-parsley sauce. Oh ye gods! what a sight! and who shall dare to compare the sensations of the partaker of this feast, with those which pervade the fastidious palate and dull sensibilities of the man in health who sits down to his repast without seeing any thing in it beyond a dinner, who eats at that time because he always does so-and drinks without reflecting on the privileges he is enjoying-In a very different spirit is the above-mentioned rite observed, and the sacrifice of the said chicken to the Goddess Hygeia is far otherwise performed. Even the ruby-nosed alder man-when the haunch or the calepash smoke on the board-sits down to the banquet with inferior gusto.

And this exemplifies also the advantage we derive from Sickness, in the power it gives of circumscribing our wants-and if true happiness consists in having few wants, I know nothing that brings us nearer to that realization of felicity than illness.-In health what fantastic wishes beset us-what crowds of artificial necessities harass our minds and drive out sweet content!-We must have fine houses, and fine clothes -and fine friends, and fine acquaintance our appetites must be stimulated by luxuries-and we must go here and there, and we are miserable if we cannot do this, that, and the

other. And as of all these things but few can be obtained, so we are liable to as many disappointments in the possession of those few, as we suffer from our inability to attain the rest. But to the sick man these weary workings of the spirit come not. His pains and pleasures lie in a small space. To bear the one patiently, and to enjoy the other, is all his business. His helplessness frees him from the duty of activity-his languor takes from him the wish as well as the capacity for pleasure-amusement would weary him-and the world appears to him as a thing in which he has no concern, and he shudders at the idea of its intrusion into his chamber. His armchair is to him a kingdom-the soli tude of his own room universal empire-his wants are few and simple, and his pleasures are comprised in that little circle of agreeable incidents which divide his time; and he possesses the highest degree of happiness, in being able to command all the enjoyment of which he is capable.

Men differ in nothing so much as in what constitutes their happiness. The indolent man's paradise must surely be situated in a sick roombecause there alone he is furnished with that respectable excuse for his inactivity, which he cannot indulge in the season of health, without some compunction of conscience. For myself, without too broadly hinting that I belong to that class of men, I will own, that were I to build a temple to Happiness, it should assume the form of a luxurious arm-chair, well adapted for repose in the hour of gentle sickness. Content, we are told, depends on the frame of mind, rather than our external circumstancesnow I am sensible myself of an essential difference in the state and powers of my mind under the operation of illness. The incapacity to follow worldly business and ordinary occupationand the absence of all those little vexatious nothings which devour the lives of those who live in the world, produce that delightful "recueillement du cœur et de l'esprit," which disposes them best for the heavenly mood of contemplation.-A slight degree of fever too, I am confident, strengthens the energies of the mind, however it may weaken the powers of the body never find my thoughts or so freely, as when,

flow so fast

confined to my bed by indisposition. Ideas come unbidden-chains of thought succeed each other-my fancy seems richer-my thoughts purermy conceptions more sublime.-It is then that I possess the clearest_conviction of the double nature of our existence. It is then that I am sure I have, indeed, a soul—a divine, ethereal spark, which even now, while clogged with this lump of suffering mortality, disdaining to be controlled by its frail tenement, soars triumphant ly in the regions of exalted thought. So entirely am I persuaded of the truth of these remarks, that at the outset of any literary undertaking, I have been fain to indulge myself with taking a little cold, in order to set my intellectuality afloat. Hence, too, I view with feelings very different from those of my neighbours, the approach of an infectious fever, which I am told has broken out in my immediate vicinity. I have already observed that I am not desirous of extremes-nor would I court the benefit of the highest degree of delirium which a typhus might furnish; but, having profited by the weaker attacks of febrile excitement, I am almost curious to know what might arise from the application of a more powerful stimulus-Ishall, therefore, not take the trouble to run away from it as others are doing-sensible

that should it come to my door, it might be the means of elevating my mind to higher flights than it has yet reached, and materially assist me in the execution of a work of which I conceived the embryo idea during an attack of an intermittent, which I was fortunate enough to have, whilst on a visit to a friend who resides near the fens in Lincolnshire; and who has kindly given me the offer of his house in the autumn, should I wish a periodical return of the disorder. But, however highly I may prize the pleasures of sympathy, I should deem it culpable voluntarily to distress the feelings of those about me, whose minds are not sufficiently tinctured with my theory to allow of their entering into the sublime spirituality of my notions. Yet if I fail in obtaining the desired degree of inspiration, I must make some effort and if I could ever be tempted to encounter the fatigues of leaving England, it would be, not like others, in pursuit of health, but with an exactly opposite intention ;-and by simply transporting myself to Cadiz, I might, with little or no trouble, get a slight touch of the fever which is said to flourish there,—and thus, at a small expence, at once indulge my whim, and spare the anxieties of my surrounding friends.

V.

At that call

VOL. XII.

2 C