University of Virginia Library

3. DYSPEPSY.

Anthony Brewer.

Ye who flatter yourselves that indolence and
luxury, are compatible with the enjoyment of
vigour of health, and hilarity of spirits, that the
acquisition of the means of happiness, is to be
happy, and that the habitual pampering of the
senses, is not forever paid for by the depression
of the immortal soul, listen to my story, and be
wise.

I am the son of a reputable gentleman, who
made a good figure in the Revolutionary War,
and possessed a competent estate in one of the
adjacent counties. His name will be found in
the old Committees of Safety. He ranked as a
Colonel, in the Continental Army, and acted as a
Deputy Commissary General, in the year 1779.
In this latter situation he committed the most enormous

follies; for finding the good people, his
neighbours, would not exchange their goods for
money that was good for nothing—they were
wiser than the present race notwithstanding the
march of mind—he pledged his own responsibility
for the supplies, without which, the army at
Peeks Kill, would have suffered greatly. He was
warmly thanked in letters from distinguished persons
in the old congress, for people are apt to be
grateful in time of danger; but when at the conclusion
of the struggle, he presented his accounts,
the danger being over, the accounting officers
refused to allow a credit for the debts he had incurred
on his own responsibility. My father returned
home a ruined, and broken hearted man.
His old neighbours pitied him, but they could not
lose their money. They justly considered, that
charity begins at home, and that there was no
moral principle, obliging them to starve themselves
and their children for the sake of other
people. I do not blame them. They divided my
father's property between them, and finding there
was nothing left, they forgave him the rest of his
debts. The contractors and commissaries of the
day, with great appearance of reason, called him
a fool, for ruining himself in a station where every
other man managed to grow rich. The old farmers,
his neighbours, some of whom are still alive,
have often told me that he deserved well of his
country; but his name has been smothered under
the load of great, good, and patriotic people, that
have since sprung up in these times that try men's
soles.

My father might have petitioned congress, and
died like poor Amy Dardin and her horse, before
the members had finished making their speeches.
But he was a cold, proud man, who often went
without his dues, because he would not ask for
them. He accordingly sat down with his little
family around him, steeped in poverty; consoled
himself with reading books, and studying the
stars, and waited in gloomy inactivity for the
time, when a great pocket book full of continental
money, and a few thousand dollars in continental
certificates, should become worth something. The
continental money as every body knows, never
recovered itself; the certificates were afterwards
funded at their full value. But previous to this,
my father had under the strong pressure of necessity,
sold them for almost nothing, to a worthy
friend of his, who afterwards turned out one of
the most eloquent advocates of the Funding System.
Heavens! how he did talk of the sufferings
and privations of the patriots of the Revolution!
He certainly owed them a good turn, for he got
enough by them to build a palace, and purchase
half the Genesee country.

At the period of our ruin, I was about ten years
old, I think, and until that time, I had been
brought up as the children of wealthy country

gentlemen generally are. I had some of the feelings
and a portion of the manners of a gentleman's
son, which I hope I still retain, although, to say
the truth, the latter part of my education was deplorable
enough. My father, from the period in
which he felt himself dishonoured by the rejection
of his accounts, retired within himself, and seemed
benumbed in heart and spirits. He passed his
whole time in reading the few books that he
could come at; and his temper became imperturbable,
except at such times as he was disturbed,
and forced to remove from his seat. He would then
exhibit symptoms of internal discomposure, make
for the nearest chair, set himself down and resume
his studies. Half the time he would have forgot
his dinner, had my mother not waked him from his
reverie. To be sure, our dinner was hardly worth
eating; but to the best of my recollection, I never
enjoyed a better appetite, or had so little of the
Dyspepsy. We were often on the very verge of
want, and had it not been for the exertions of my
excellent mother, who, thank God, is still living,
and at least ten years younger than I am—aided by
the good offices of a sister, well married in the
city, we had sometimes actually wanted the necessaries
of life. It was not then so much the
fashion for genteel people to go begging. But it
is astonishing what the presiding genius of a sensible,
prudent, industrious mother, can do; what
miracles indeed she can achieve, in keeping herself,
her husband, and her children, decent, at
least. My mother did all this, and more; she sent
me to school; and it is not the least of my sources
of honest pride, that my education, such as it was,
cost the public nothing. Women, notwithstanding
what cynics may say, are born for something
better than wasting time, and spending money; and
I hereby apprise the reader, that if ever I am guilty
of a sarcasm against woman, it is only when I am
labouring under the horrors of Dyspepsy.

Till the age of sixteen, I never saw the city; to
me it was the region of distant wonders, ineffable
splendours, wise men, and beautiful women. I
reverenced a New-Yorker, as I now do a person
who has been to Paris or Rome; and I shall
never forget my extreme admiration of a fine lady,
the daughter of a little tailor, who lived near us.
She was an apprentice to a milliner, and came up
during the prevalence of the Yellow Fever, with
three band boxes, and a pocket-handkerchief
full of finery. The world of romance; the region
of airy nothings; of creatures that come and go at
will, before the youthful fancy, was now just opening
before me in long perspective. I was without
employment, for if my mother had a weakness, it
was one which I verily believe belongs even to the
female angels. She could not forget old times,
nor bear the idea that her only son, should learn a
trade, or slave in any useful occupation.

Deprived thus of the resources of active employment,

I spent my time either in reading, or roaming
at random and unpurposed, through the beautiful
romantic scenes which surrounded our poor,
yet pleasant abode. My mind was a complete
contrast to my body—the latter was indolence
itself; the former a perfect erratic vagrant. I was
eternally thinking, and doing nothing. The least
spark awakened in my mind visions of the future—
for that was all to me—and lighted my path
through long perspectives of shadowy happiness.
Sometimes I was a soldier, winning my way to the
highest heaven of military glory—sometimes a
poet, the admiration of the fair; and sometimes I
possessed what then seemed to me, the sure means
of perfect happiness—ten thousand a year. For
days and weeks, and months, and years, I hardly
spoke an unnecessary word—I lived in a world of
my own, and millions of thoughts, wishes, fears,
and hopes; millions of impulses and impressions
arose in my mind, and died away, without ever
receiving a being through the medium of my
tongue, or my pen.

The first born of the passions is love; and love is
of earlier, as well as more vigorous growth, in solitude.
I was always in love with some one; for
love was indispensable to my visionary existence.
It ended however, as it began, in abstract dreams,
and amatory reveries. It is now my pride, to know
that no woman was ever yet the wiser, for my preference.
My affection never manifested itself in

any other way, than by increasing shyness. I
never voluntarily came near a young woman at
any time; but when I was in love, I always
ran away. I would as soon have met a spirit,
as the object of my affections. I was moreover
much given to jealousy, and pique; always
persuading myself against truth and reason, that
the love of which I was myself so conscious, must
of necessity be understood by her, from whom I
was at such pains to keep it a secret. The history
of my amours, with imaginary mistresses, and mistresses
that never imagined my love, is curious; I
may one day give it to the world. But my present
object is different. I will therefore only say, that
I grew up to the age of seventeen or eighteen, a
sheer, abstract man—a being of thought, rather
than action; a dweller in a world of my own
curious and ridiculous composition; living neither
in the past or the present, but in the vast space
before me. My companions were shadows of my
own creation; my enjoyments were the production
of these shadows. Yet, for all this, I became
neither mad, nor an idiot. It seemed as if I was
all this time preparing myself for realities; and
that my sojournings in the world of fancy, imperceptibly
initiated me into the material world.
I cannot otherwise account for my early success in
life, nor the miracle of escaping its shoals and
quick-sands.

At the age of seventeen or eighteen, I forget

which, I was sent for by an uncle who had married
my mother's sister, and who was a merchant
of some note. At one step, I passed from the
ideal to the material world. There is but one greater
step, and that is from the material world, to the
world of spirits. My uncle was an honest, liberal,
cross, gouty old Irish gentleman, with plenty of
relations in Ireland he would not acknowledge,
though they proved that they sprung from the
same family tree He was an inordinate tory; a
member of the Belvidere Club, and a mighty fish-eater
at Becky's. When I first went to live with
him, he was getting rather old and infirm. His
hair was as white as snow; his face as rosy as the
sun in a mist; his body robust to all appearance,
and had it not been for his “d—d legs” as he
was pleased to say, he would have been as good a
man as he was twenty years ago. There is certainly
a great change in the world, within the last
half century, People lived at least as well as they
do now, and only got the gout—now they get
Dyspepsy. Can any learned physician tell me the
reason of this emigration of the old enemy, from
the great toe to the stomach?

The old gentleman had a heart big enough to
hold all the world, except the French, the Democrats,
and the multiplicity of cousins, and second
cousins, who claimed kindred there, and had not
their claims allowed. He had in truth a most intolerable
contempt for poor relations. I believe

he would have served his wife's family the same
way, but the truth is, my aunt was—but it is a great
secret—she could make him do just as she
pleased, for she was the best natured creature in
the world, and none but a brute can resist a kindhearted
woman. Being a relation, I was treated
with a seat at the dinner-table. The old gentleman
was reckoned one of the best livers in town,
and here it was, I believe, that I laid the corner
stone of my miseries. At home, there had been no
temptation to gluttony—here there was a sad succession
of allurements, such as human nature seldom
can resist, even when experience has demonstrated
their ill consequences, and Death sits shaking
his dart, over every successive delicacy.

People talk of the mischiefs of drinking; invent
remedies and preventives, and institute societies,
as if eating was not ten times more pernicious.
There are a hundred die of eating to one that dies
of drinking. But gluttony is the vice of gentlemen,
and gentlemanly vices require neither remedies,
preventives, nor societies. It is not necessary
to my purpose that I should make a book out
of my apprenticeship, as Goethe has; nor am I
writing the history of my uncle, else I might tell
some fine stories of his life, actions, and end. His
latter years were spent as usual, in paying the
penalty of former indulgences, and a complication
of disorders carried him off in a green old
age. In three months from the time of his death,

half the county of Kilkenny claimed kindred
with him. There were so many different claimants,
that nobody but the lawyers could settle the
matter. After three or four years, a decision was
finally had in favour of a young man, who on
taking possession, had the mortification to discover
that nothing was left. The law had become
my uncle's heir. It is an excellent thing to have
plenty of laws and courts of law; but then one can
have too much of a good thing, and pay too much
for it. Tournefort, in his travels to the east, says,
“An Italian once told me at Constantinople, that
we should be very happy in Europe, if we could
appeal from our courts to the divan; `for,' added
he, `one might go to Constantinople, and all over
Turkey too if there were occasion, before one suit
could be finally decided in Europe.' A Turk,”
continues M. Tournefort, “pleading before the
parliament of Provence, against a merchant of
Marseilles, who had led him a dance for many
years from court to court, made a very merry reply
to one of his friends, who desired to know the
state of his affairs. `Why they are wonderfully
altered,' says he: `when I first arrived here I had
a roll of pistoles as long as my arm, and my pleadings
were comprised in a single sheet; but at present
I have a writing above six times as long as
my arm, and my roll of pistoles is but half an
inch.”' I wish the lawgivers, the judges, and more
especially the lawyers, would recollect that time
is money, and that to waste both the time and the
money of suitors, is a double oppression. A man
might better get the bastinado promptly though
wrongfully sometimes, than wait seven years for his
rights, as in some Christian countries.

The death of my uncle was a lucky affair for
me, as by it I lost the mischievous allurements of
his table, and was thrown upon my own resources
for a livelihood. Hard days make soft nights;
and I soon found that the necessity of exertion,
and the occasional difficulties in procuring a dinner,
soon reinstated me in the possession of the
only inheritance I received from my father, a hale
constitution. It was my good fortune, as the world
would call it, to meet with a young man of capital,
who wanted a partner skilled in the business my
uncle had followed. We accordingly entered
into partnership, and our business proved exceedingly
profitable. In a few years, I had more
money than I required for my wants, and with the
necessity of exertion ceased the inclination.
When a man has been toiling for years to get rich,
and dreaming all the while that riches will add to
his enjoyments, he must try and realize his dreams,
after his exertions have been crowned with success.
I had proposed to myself a life of ease
and luxury, as the reward of all my labours. Accordingly,
finding myself sufficiently wealthy, I
retired from the firm as an active partner, continuing,
however, my name to the connexion, and

receiving a share of the profits, in return for the
use of my capital.

I am now my own master, said I, as I shook the
dust of the counting house from my feet. I can
do as I please, and go where I please. Now a
man that has but one thing to do, and one place
to go to, can never be in the predicament of the
animal between two bundles of hay; nor puzzled
to death in the midst of conflicting temptations.
At first, I thought of going to Europe; but before
I could make up my mind, the packet had sailed,
and before another was ready I had altered my
mind. Next, I decided for the Springs; then for
the Branch; then for Schooley's mountain, and
then, in succession, for every other “resort of
beauty and fashion,” in these United States. In
conclusion, I went to none of them. I made but
two excursions: one of the Fireplace, to catch trout,
where I caught an ague; and the other to Sing
Sing, to see the new State prison, where I missed
the ague and caught a bilious fever. Thus the
summer passed away, and I may say I did nothing
but eat. That is an enjoyment, in which both
ease and luxury are combined, and my indisposition
had left behind a most voracious appetite.
Towards the latter end of autumn, I began to feel,
I can scarcely tell how. I slept all the evening,
and lay awake all the night; or if I fell asleep,
always dreamed I was suffocating between two
feather beds. I was plagued worse than poor

Pharaoh. I had aches of all sorts: stiff necks,
pains in the shoulders, sides, back, loins, head,
breast; in short, there never was a man so capriciously
used by certain inexplicable, unaccountable
infirmities as I was. I dare say I had often
felt the same pains before, without thinking of
them, because I was too busy to mind trifles; for
it is a truth which my experience has since verified,
that the most ordinary evils of life are intolerable,
without the stimulus of some active pursuit, to
draw us from their perpetual contemplation. What
was very singular, I never lost my appetite all this
time, but ate more plentifully than ever. Indeed
eating was almost the only amusement I had,
ever since I became a man of pleasure; and it
was only while eating, that I lost the sense of
those innumerable pains that tormented me at
other times.

I went to a physician, who gave me directions
as to the various modes of treatment in these cases.
“You are dyspeptic,” said he, “and you must
either eat less, exercise more, take physic, or be
sick.” As to eating less, that was out of the
question. What is the use of being rich, unless a
man can eat as much as he likes; as to exercise,
what is the use of being rich if a man can't be as
lazy as he pleases. The alternative lay between
being sick or taking physic, and I chose the latter.
The physician shook his head and smiled, but it is
not the doctor's business to discourage the taking

of physic, and he prescribed accordingly. I took
medicines, I ate more than ever, and what quite
discouraged me, I grew worse and worse. I sent
for the doctor again. “You have tried physic in
vain; suppose you try exercise on horseback,”
said he.

I bought a horse, cantered away every morning
like a hero, and ate more than ever; for
what was the use of exercise except to give
one impunity in eating? I never worked half
so hard when I was an apprentice, and not
worth a groat, as I did now I was a gentleman of
ease and luxury. It was necessary, the doctor said,
that the horse should be a hard trotter; and accordingly
I bought one that trotted so hard, that he actually
broke the paving stones in Broadway, and
struck fire at every step. O, reader! gentle reader,
if thou art of Christian bowels, pity me! I was dislocated
in every joint, and sometimes envied St. Barnabas
his gridiron. But I will confess that the
remedy proved not a little efficacious, and it is my
firm opinion that had I persevered, I should have
been cured in time, had I not taken up a mistaken
notion, that a man who exercised a great deal,
might safely eat a great deal. Accordingly, I ate
by the mile, and every mile I rode furnished an
apology for a farther indulgence of appetite. The
exercise and the eating being thus balanced, I
remained just where I was before.

I sent for the physician again. “You have
tried medicine and exercise, suppose you try a regimen.

Continue the exercise; eat somewhat
less; confine yourself to plain food, plainly dressed;
abstain from rich sauces, all sorts of spices,
pastes, confectionaries, and puddings, particularly
plumb puddings, and generally every kind of luxury,
and drink only a glass or two of wine.” “Why,
zounds! doctor, I might as well be a poor man at
once! Why what is the use of being rich, if I
can't eat and drink, and do just as I like? Besides,
I am particularly fond of sauces, spices, and
plumb puddings.”

“Why so you may do as you like,” replied he,
smiling. “You have your choice between Dyspepsy
and all these good things.”

The doctor left me to take my choice, and after
great and manifold doubts, resolutions and retractions,
I decided on trying the effects of this most
nauseating remedy. I practised the most rigid
self-denial; tasted a little of this, a very little of
that, a morsel of the other, and ate moderately of
every thing on the table; cheating myself occasionally
by tasting slyly a bit of confectionary, or
a slice of plumb pudding. Now and then, indeed
when I felt better than usual, I indulged more
freely, as indeed I had a right to do; for what is
the use of starving at one time, except to enable
oneself to indulge at another? The physician
came one day to dine with me at my boarding
house, the most famous eating place in the
whole city, and the most capital establishment for

Dyspepsy. He came, he said, on purpose to see
how I followed his prescription. I was extremely
abstinent that day, only eating a mouthful of every
thing, now and then. The doctor, I observed
played a glorious knife and fork, and seemed particularly
fond of rich sauces, spices, paste, and
plumb pudding.

“Well, doctor,” said I, after the rest of the
company had retired, “am not I a here—a perfect
anchorite?”

“My dear sir,” said he, “I took the trouble to
count every mouthful. You have eaten twice as
much as an ordinary labourer, and tasted of every
thing on the table.”

“But only tasted, doctor; while you—you—
gave me a most edifying example. Faith, you
displayed a most bitter antipathy to pies, custards,
rich sauces, and most especially plumb pudding.”

“My dear Ambler,” said the doctor, “you are
to follow my prescriptions, not my example. But
by the way, that was delightful wine, that last
bottle—Bingham, or Marston, hey?”

I took the hint, and sent for another bottle,
which we discussed equally between us, glass for
glass. I felt so well, I sent for another, and we
discussed that too.

“My dear fellow,” said the doctor, who by this
time saw double, “my dear friend, mind don't forget
my prescription; no sauces, no spices, no

paste, no plumb pudding, and above all, no wine.
Adieu. I am going to a consultation.”

That night I suffered martyrdom; night-mare,
dreams, and visions of horror. A grinning villain
came, and seizing me by the toe, exclaimed, “I
am Gout, I come to avenge the innocent calves
who have suffered in forced meat balls, and mock
turtle, for your gratification.” Another blear eyed,
sneering rogue, gave me a box on the ear, that
stung through every nerve, crying out, “I am
Catarrh, come to take satisfaction for the wine you
drank yesterday;” while a third, more hideous
than the other two, a miserable, cadaverous, longfaced
fiend, came up, touching me into a thousand
various pains, and crying in a hollow, desparing
voice, “I am Dyspepsy, come to punish you
for the gluttony of yesterday” I awoke next
morning in all the horrors of indigestion and acidity,
which lasted several days, during which
time I made divers excellent resolutions, forswearing
wine, particularly old wine, most devoutly.

This time however, I had one consolation. The
doctor and not I was to blame. It was he that
led me into excesses for which I was now paying
the penalty. I felt quite indignant. “I'll let
him know,” said I, “that I am my own master,
and not to be forced to drink against my inclination.”
So I discharged the doctor who set me
such a bad example, and called in three more,

being pretty well assured that I should now hear
all sides of the question. Professional men
seldom or ever agree perfectly in opinion, because
that would indicate that neither has an
opinion of his own. They retired into my dressing-room,
forgetting to shut the door. Doctors in
consultation should always make sure to shut the
door.

“He wants excitement,” said Doctor Calomel,
a thunderbolt of science, “there is—that is to
say, the bile has got the better of the blood, and
the phlegm has overpowered the atrabile—they
are struggling like fury for the upper hand. We
must give him a dose of calomel.”

“Not at all,” quoth Doctor Jalap, whose great
excellence consisted in the number of capital letters
he carried at the tail of his name, insomuch
that he was called the Professor of A. B. C,
“not at all—the salt, sulphur, and mercury which
Paracelsus affirms constitute the matter of all animal
bodies, are in a state of disorganization. We
must therefore give him two doses of calomel.”
What a piece of work is man!—thought I—“salt,
sulphur, and mercury!”

“The body being an hydraulic engine,” quoth
Doctor Rhubarb, who valued himself on his theory,
“the body being an hydraulic engine, our remedies
must be founded on the laws of magnitude, and
motion; we must therefore give him three doses of
calomel in succession; the first to increase the

magnitude of the stomach, the others, to cause
motion.”

“Pish,” quoth Doctor Calomel, “what nonsense
is this, about salt, sulphur, and mercury: Paracelsus
was a fool.”

“'Sdeath,” cried Doctor Jalap, he always swore
by his old friend; “'sdeath! sir, if you come to that
sir, what nonsense is this, about bile, and phlegm,
and atrabile; and you sir,” turning to Doctor Rhubarb,
“with your hydraulic machine; you might as
well call a man a forcing pump at once. Hippocrates
was a great blockhead, and knew nothing
of chymistry; and so was Meade, Borelli, and the
rest of the hydraulic machines.”

The debate was getting hot, when Dr. Jalap,
who was a man of great skill and experience in his
profession, interposed the olive branch.

“Gentlemen,” said the doctor, “nothing weakens
the influence of the profession, and destroys the
confidence of the public in medicine, so much as
the opposite opinions of physicians. Where is the
use of quarrelling about the disease, when we all
agree in the remedy?”

So they ordered the calomel.

But it would not do, though I continued my system
of abstinence, and only barely tasted a little of
every thing; at the same time compromising matters
with my conscience, by drinking twelve half
glasses of wine, instead of six whole ones. The
doctors on the whole, did me more harm than good.

Their different opinions had conjured up a hundred
chimeras in my fancy, and inflicted on me a
host of new complaints I never felt before. Sometimes
the conflicts of the bile and the phlegm,
turned every thing topsy-turvy; anon the salt, sulphur,
and mercury fell together by the ears; and
lastly, the hydraulic machine got terribly out of
order. It was no joke then, though now I can look
back upon these horrors, as on a sea of ills, that I
have safely passed over. My spirits began to sink;
for I considered that I had now tried all remedies,
and that my case was hopeless. The fear of death,
swelled into a gigantic and disproportioned magnitude
of evil, came upon me. I never heard of a
person dying of a disease, let it be what it would,
that I did not make that the bugbear of my imagination,
and feel all the symptoms appropriate to
it. Thus I had by turns, all the diseases under the
sun; sometimes separately, sometimes all together.
The sound of a church bell, conjured up
the most gloomy associations, and the sight of a
church yard withered every feeling of hilarity in my
bosom. In short, there were moments of my life,
when I could fully comprehend the paradox of a
human being seeking death, as a relief from its
perpetual apprehension, as the bird flies into the
maw of the serpent, from the mere fascination of
terror.

It is one of the most melancholy features of the
disease, under which I laboured, that it creates a

most disproportioned apprehension of death; a
vague and horrible exaggeration, if possible ten
times worse than the reality. In most other disorders
the pain of the body supercedes that of the
mind; in this, the mind predominates over the body,
and the sense of apprehension of the future, swallows
up the present entirely. This was the case
with me; and often have I welcomed an acute fit
of rheumatism, or cholic, as a present cure for anticipated
evils. I had another enemy to contend
with, and that was the want of sympathy.
People laughed at my complaints, when they saw
me eat my meals with so good an appetite; for the
world seldom gives a man credit for ailing any
thing, when he can eat his allowance; nor is it
easy to persuade the vulgar, that there is such a
disease as appetite. Besides, a man who is always
complaining, and never seeming to grow worse, is
enough to tire the patience of Job, much more of
such friends as Job and most afflicted people are
blessed with. My mind was in a perpetual state
of fluctuation. One day I threw all my phials, and
boxes, and doses into the street, determined to take
no more physic; and the next perhaps, sent for
some more, and renewed my potions. I had lost
by this time all confidence in physicians, but still
continued to believe in physic.

For a while, white mustard seed was a treasure
to me, and such was my firm reliance on its wonderful
virtues, that I actually indulged myself in a

few extra glasses, and a few extra luxuries on the
credit of its prospective operation. I read all the
guides to health, and all the lectures of Doctor
Abenethy. In short I took every means but the
only proper ones, to effect a cure. I proportioned
my eating and other indulgencies, to my
faith in the workings of my favourite panacea.
When I took a dose of physic, I considered myself
as fairly entitled to take a small liberty the
day after; and when I rode or walked farther than
usual, I made the old wine, and the sauces, and
plumb pudding pay for it. It was thus that I
managed to keep myself in a perfect equilibrium,
and like another Penelope, undid in the afternoon
the work of the morning. I found after all, nothing
did me so much good as laughing; but
alas! what was there for me to laugh at in this
world!

The summer of my second year of ease and luxury,
I was advised to go to the Springs, where all
the doctors send those patients who get out of patience
at not being cured in a reasonable time.
Here I found several companions in affliction, and
was mightily comforted to learn that some of them
had been in their present state almost a score of
years, without ever dying at all. We talked over
our infirmities, and I found there was a wonderful
family resemblance in them all, for not one of us
could give a tolerable account of his symptoms.

One was bilious, another rheumatic, a third was
nervous, and a fourth was all these put together.

“Why don't you exercise in the open air?”
said I, to this last martyr, one day.

“I catch cold, and that brings on my rheumatism.”

“In the house then?”

“It makes me nervous.”

“Why don't you sit still?”

“It makes me bilious.”

I thank my stars, thought I, here is a man to
grow happy upon; he is worse off than myself. He
became my favourite companion; and no one can
tell how much better I felt in his society.

We formed a select coterie, and managed to sit
next each other at meals, where we discussed the
subject of digestion. We were all blessed with
excellent appetites, and particularly fond of the
things that did not agree with us.

“Really, Mr. Butterfield, you are eating the
very worst thing on the table.”

“I know it, my dear sir, but I am so fond of it.”

“My good friend Mr. Creamwell, how can you
taste that hot bread?”

“My dear sir, don't you see I only eat the
crust.”

“Let me advise you not to try that green corn,
Mr. Ambler. It is the worst thing in the world
for dyspeptic people.”

“I know it, my dear Abstract, but I always
take good care to chew, before I swallow it.”

Thus we went on, discussing and eating, and I
particularly noticed that every one ate what he
preferred, because the fact was, he was so particularly
fond of that particular dish, he could not
help indulging in it sometimes. However, we
talked a great deal on the subject of diet, and not
a man of us but believed himself a pattern of abstinence.
I continued my custom of riding every
fair day, and occasionally met a fat lady fagging
along on a little fat pony, with a fat servant behind
her. One day when it was excessively hot,
I could not help asking her how she could think
of riding out in the broiling sun.

“O, sir, I've got the dyspepsy.”

I happened to see her at dinner that day, and
did not wonder at it.

I passed my time rather pleasantly here with
my companions in misfortune. We exchanged
notes; compared our infirmities, and gave a full
and true history of their rise, progress, and present
state, always leaving out the eating. By degrees
I became versed in the history of each.
One was a literary man, and a poet. He set out
in life, with the necessity of economy and exertion,
and practiced a laborious profession for
some years, when by great good fortune, he
made a lucky speculation, that enabled him to
lead a life of ease and luxury. He devoted himself

to the muses, and gained enough of reputation,
as he said, to make him indifferent to a thing
which he perceived came and went by chance or
fashion. However, he did not make this discovery
until after several of his works had been condemned
to oblivion. Not having the stimulative of
necessity, and without the habit of being busy
about nothing, than which none can be more
essential to a life of ease and luxury, he gradually
sunk into indifference and lassitude. He finally
took to eating, and for want of some other object,
came at last to consider his dinner as the most
important affair of life. By degrees, he lost his
spirits and health, and came to the Springs to
recover them.

“I ought to be happy,” said he, “for I have an
ample sufficiency of money, and as for fame, I
look to posterity for that.”

The next person of our coterie, was a man who
in like manner had begun the world, a hardy, yet
honest adventurer. By dint of unwearied perseverance
and the exertion of his excellent faculties,
he had risen, step by step, on the ladder of the
world, until at the age of fifty, he was in possession
of a fair estate, and an unsullied name. But
he was sorely disappointed to find that what he
had been all his life seeking, was in fact a shadow.
This is the common error of sanguine tempers;
they first exaggerate the object of their pursuit,
and then quarrel with it because it does not

realize their expectations. “I have all I ever proposed
to myself in pursuing the means of happiness,”
said he, “and for aught I can remember, I
was happier in what I sought, than in what I
found. I will retire from these vain pursuits and
pass the rest of my life in ease and luxury.” Accordingly
he settled himself down, and having nothing
else to think of in the morning, his time
hung heavy on him till dinner. Of consequence,
he began to long for dinner time; and of course,
dinner became an object of great consequence.
It was an era, in the four and twenty hours, and
you may rely on it, gentle reader, it was properly
solemnized. There are no people that eat so
much as the idle. The savage, basking in the
sun all day with his pipe, eats thrice as much,
when he can get it, as the industrious labourer.
The necessary consequences of high feeding, connected
with inaction of body and mind, made
their appearance in good time, and my friend was
pronounced dyspeptic. Having in the course of
three years consulted twenty-five doctors; taken
a half bushel of white mustard; fifty kegs of
Jamison's Dyspepsy crackers, and swallowed six
hundred doses of various kinds in vain, (for he still
continued to have a glorious appetite, he at last
came to the Springs, where I had the happiness to
meet him.

“I am indifferent to the world,” said he, after
finishing the sketch, “I am indifferent to the
world and all it contains.”

“Then why do you take such pains to live?”

“I don't know,” said he, with a melancholy
smile, “I sometimes think Providence implanted
in our hearts the fear of death, in order to enable
us to endure the ills of life, without fleeing to the
grave for a refuge.”

Another of my new friends was brought up to
politics, a profession rather overstocked at present.
I will not enter into particulars, but merely state,
that after scuffling at meetings; declaiming at
polls; clinging to the skirts of great men; fagging
at their errands; doing for them what they
were ashamed of doing for themselves; and sacrificing
all private, social, and domestic duties to
his party principles, he at length attained an
honourable public station, which being permanent,
he flattered himself would secure him an independency
for life. He accordingly discontinued his
active exertions, and confined himself to the laborious
idleness and desperate monotony of his
office, which although it did not furnish employment,
enforced the necessity of constant attendance.
He grew lazy, idle and luxurious. The
morning was too long for his occupations, and the
usual consequence ensued; he waited for his dinner,
and made his dinner pay for it. In this way
he continued, increasing in riches and complainings
of his health; passing through the various
stages of Dyspepsy, from the doctor to the horse;
from the horse to the white mustard, the blue pills,

and Dr. Abenethy; to every thing, in short, but
the right one. A sudden summerset of party, in
which all his friends turned their coats but himself,
brought him in jeopardy of office. They all
insisted he had deserted his party, when the fact
was, his party had deserted him, as he solemnly
assured me. Be this as it may, as his appointment
was for life, and they could not get rid of
the incumbent, they got at him in another way;
they abolished the office, a cunning invention of
modern politicians. Having nothing to keep him
in town, he came to the Springs to nurse his Dyspepsy,
and rail at the ingratitude of republics.

There is but one more of the party to be mentioned.
He was the gentleman of all work, and
whose diseases were so provokingly contrasted,
that what was good for one, was bad for the other.
Being one day interrogated on the subject, he began:—

“I was born in the lap of—” here he yawned
pathetically, “and I shall die in the arms of—”
here he gave another great yawn, “but really
gentlemen, I feel so nervous, and bilious, and
rheumatic this morning—I am sure the wind is
easterly—pray excuse me—some other time.” So
saying, he yawned once more, and went to see
which way the wind blew.

My readers, if they are such readers as alone I
address myself to, in looking back on the progress
of whatever wisdom and experience, time and

opportunity may have bestowed on them, will
have observed that a particular branch of knowledge,
or a special conviction of the understanding,
will often baffle our pursuit for a long while. We
grope in the dark—we lose ourselves—and lose
sight of the object of our pursuit—yet still we are
gaining upon it unknown and imperceptibly to
ourselves. The light is hidden, though just at
hand, and finally, all at once bursts upon us,
illuminates the mind, and brings with it the full,
perfect perception. Thus was it with me. I had
read all the most approved books, to come at the
mystery of a man being always sick, and always
hungry; and I had taken all the steps, save one,
which they recommended, either as cures or palliatives.
I was still in the dark, but I was approaching
the light. The history of my complaining
friends, at once put me upon the right path.
I saw in them what I could not see in myself.

On comparing their auto-biographies—odious,
clumsy word!—I could not but perceive a family
likeness in all. They had commenced the world
with active ardent pursuits before them, and were
all too busy as well as too poor in their youth, to
become gluttons; and again they had each, without
exception, attained at mid age, the means of
enjoying a life of luxury and ease. They had arrived
at stations, in which they could enjoy both,
without the necessity of exertion, either of body or
mind, and they did enjoy them. But they wanted

something still—they wanted a hobby-horse, a
stimulant of some kind or other, sufficiently ardent
to carry their minds along without dragging
on the ground, and wearing them out with the labour
of nothingness. They were in the situation
of a pair of fat pampered horses, belonging to a
friend of mine, a great mathematician, who though
he kept a carriage, never rode in it. Of course
they got plump, clumsy, and Dyspeptic; and never
were used without either falling lame, or tumbling
on their knees. My friend cast about for a remedy,
and at length hit upon one worthy of a
philosopher. He invented a machine, which
being fastened to the axle tree of his carriage,
made an excellent corn-mill, and sent his horses
out every day to take an airing, and grind their own
corn. The friction of the machine, created a
wholesome necessity for exertion in the horses,
which in a little time, became perfectly serviceable,
active, and sprightly. My companions in misery,
only wanted to be under the necessity of grinding
their own corn, and like the horses of my friend,
the mathematician, to combine the pleasure of
eating, with the labour of earning a meal.

Next to this necessity for exertion, is a hobby;
a pursuit of some kind or other, something to
awake the sleeping mind, if it be only to get up
and play puss in a corner. I know a worthy
gentleman, who has kept off ennui and its twin
sister, Dyspepsy, by a habit of going every day

round all the docks, counting the vessels, and
reading the names on the stern. He came nigh
being drowned the other day, in leaning over the
edge of a wharf, to find out the name of a beautiful
new ship. Another distances the foul fiend,
which is as lazy as a pampered house dog, by
walking up one street and down another, examining
all the new houses that are building,
counting the number of rooms, closets, and pantries,
and noting divers other particulars. He can
describe the marble mantel-pieces of every new
house in town. But in my opinion, the wisest of
all my friends, was a wealthy idler, who was fast
sinking into the embraces of the besetting fiend
of the age. He all at once bethought himself of
altering his dinner hour, and afterwards went about
telling it to all his friends. Let not the dingy
moralists, who send out their decrees for the acquisition
of happiness, from the depths of darkness,
and know no more of the world than a ground
mole, turn up their noses at these my especial
friends. Did they know what they ought to know,
before they set themselves up as teachers; did they
only know that when men have made their fortunes
by industry and economy, when they have paid
their debt to society in useful and honourable pursuits,
there comes a time when the bow must be
unstrung, when amusements, or at least light
occupations become indispensable, and trifles assume
the importance, because they exercise the
influence of weighty circumstances on our happiness.
It is then that he who can find out an innocent
mode of living, and innocent sources of
amusement, which interfere with no one's happiness,
and contribute to his own; which keep his
mind from preying on itself, and his body healthy,
is better entitled to the honours of philosophy
than inexperienced people are aware.

What would have been the effect of the new
light which had thus broke in upon me, whether
habit would have yielded to conviction, or whether
as is generally the case with old offenders, I
should have continued to act against my better
reason, I know not. Happily, as I now know, I
was not left to decide for myself; fortune took
the affair in her own hands. I one morning received
a letter apprising me of the failure of our
house, and the probable ruin it would bring upon
myself. That very day I set out for the city, with
a vigour and activity beyond all praise, and proceeded
directly on without stopping by the way,
or once thinking of my digestion.

“Adieu,” said the poet, as I took leave of him,
“never trust to the present age, but look to posterity
for your reward.”

“Farewell,” said the despiser of this world,
“take care of your health, and never eat sausages.”

“Good bye,” said the politician, “beware of the
ingratitude of republics.”

“Day-day, Mr. Ambler,” said the nervous gentleman,

“can you tell me which way the wind
blows? I wish you all hap—” here he was beset
by a yawn which lasted till I was in my carriage,
and on the way to the city.

Arriving in town, I plunged into a sea of
troubles. The younger partner of our house
being in a hurry to grow rich, had encouraged a
habit of speculating, which unfortunately for us
all, produced a pernicious habit of gambling in
schemes of vast magnitude. Having thrown
doublets two or three times in succession, he did
not, like a wise calculator, conclude that his luck
must be nearly exhausted, and retire from the
game with his winnings. He doubled again, and
lost all. I will not fatigue my readers with the
details of a bankruptcy of this kind. It will be
sufficient to say, that I took the business directly
in hand; nearly deranged my head in arranging
my affairs, and by dint of extraordinary industry,
and I will say extraordinary integrity, managed to
do what only three men before me in similar circumstances,
had ever done in this city, since the
landing of Hendrick Hudson. I paid the debts
of the firm to the last farthing, leaving myself nothing
but a good name, a good conscience, and a
large farm in the very centre of the Highlands.
I worked every day in the business like a hero,
and took no care what I should eat or what I
should drink. My mind was fully occupied, and

I was perpetually running about, or examining
into my affairs at the counting house.

I went to pay off my last and greatest debt, to my
last creditor, a hard featured, hard working, gigantic
Scotsman, who had the reputation of being a
most inflexible dealer. When all was settled he said,

“Mr. Ambler, of course you mean to begin
business again. Remember that my credit, aye,
sir, my purse is at your service. You have gained
my confidence.”

“I thank you, Mr. Hardup,” replied I, “warmly,
sincerely; for I know you are sincere in your
offers. But I mean to retire into the country with
what I have saved from the wreck of my fortune.
I am tired of business, and too poor to be idle. I
have a farm in the mountains, which, I thank God,
is mine; for my creditors are all paid. You, sir,
are the last.”

“Very well, very well,” replied Mr. Hardup,
stumping about as was his custom, “but is your
farm stocked, and all that?”

I was obliged to answer in the negative. It
was almost in a state of nature. Mr. Hardup said
nothing more, and I bade him farewell with a
feeling of indignation at his idle inquiries. The
next day I received the following note, enclosing
a check for a sum which I shall not mention:—

“Sir—You must have something to stock your
farm. Pay the enclosed when you are able. I

shall come and see you one of these days, when
you are settled. Send me neither receipt nor
thanks for the money. There is more where that
came from You have gained my confidence, I
repeat again; and no man ever gained, without I
hope being the better for it, sooner or later.

A worthy man was this Mr. Hardup; and I
shall never, while I live, again judge of any body
by the expression of the face, or the common report
of the world.

It was in the spring of the year 1818, that I
bade adieu to the city, and went to take possession
of my farm, where I arrived, just when the
sun was gilding the mountain tops with his retreating
rays, as he sunk behind the equally high
hills on the opposite side of the river. The scene
indeed was beautiful to look at, but by no means
encouraging to a man who was going to set down
here, and labour for a livelihood. I was received
by an old man and his wife, who had occupied
my farm a long time, at a very moderate rent,
which they never paid. The aspect of the
house was melancholy. Broken windows, broken

chairs, and a broken table. But there was plenty
of fresh air, and I slept that night on a straw bed,
and studied astronomy through the holes in the roof.
The dead silence too that reigned in this lonely
retreat, contrasted with the ceaseless racket of the
town, to which I had been so long accustomed,
had a mournful effect on my spirits, and disposed
my mind to gloomy thoughts of the future. The
fatigue of my journey, however, at last overpowered
me, and I fell asleep with the certainty
of waking next morning with some terrible malady,
arising from my exposed situation. It is a singular
fact, that I slept that night more sweetly
than I had done, ever since I determined upon the
enjoyment of a life of luxury and ease; and what
is equally singular, I waked early in the morning,
without either a sore throat, a swelled face, or a
rheumatic headache. I am certain of this, for I
felt my throat, shook my head to hear if it cracked,
and looked in a bit of a glass to see if my face
retained its true proportions. I confess, I was
rather disappointed. “But never mind,” thought
I, “I shall certainly pay for it to-morrow.”

The morrow came, however, and I was again
disappointed. I was sure it would come the next
day. But wonderful as it may seem, I thought I
felt better than when I had slept in a feather bed,
and a close room, warmed with anthracite coal. I
began to be encouraged, and by degrees became
reconciled to the enormity of sleeping on a straw

bed, in a room where the air was playing about in
zephyrs, without catching cold. My reader, if he
chance to be in the enjoyment of ease and luxury,
will shrink with horror from my dinners, which
consisted of a piece of salt pork and potatoes for
the first course, and some bread and butter, or
bread and milk for the dessert. At first, I was certain
the pork would produce indigestion; but I
suppose as there was nothing particularly inviting
in it, I did not eat enough to do me any harm, for
I certainly felt as light as a feather after my meals,
and instead of dozing away an hour in a chair, was
ready for exercise at a minute's warning.

The old couple welcomed me to my “nice
place,” and were exceedingly eloquent in praise of
my nice, comfortable house, the nice pork, the
bread and butter, and the milk all equally “nice.”
By degrees I began to be infected with their unaffected
content, and sometimes actually caught
myself enjoying the scanty comforts before me. I
did not reason on the matter, and cudgel myself
into an unwilling submission to necessity: but I
benefitted by the example of the honest old couple,
without reasoning at all about it. Reason and
precept, are a sort of pedagogues, that at best, but
bring about a grumbling acquiescence; but example
comes in the shape of a gentle guide, himself
pursuing the right way, and not commanding
us to follow, but beckoning us on with smiles.

I confess, when I looked around on my domain,

I despaired of ever bringing it into order, beauty,
or productiveness. I knew not the magic of labour
and perseverance; nor did I dream that the fields
around me which seemed only fruitful in rocks and
stones, could ever be made to wave in golden
grain, or green meadows. The only spot of all
my extensive estate that seemed susceptible of improvement,
was about twenty acres that lay directly
before my door, between two shelving
rocky mountains, and through which ran a little
brook of clear spring water. But even this was
so sprinkled with rocks which had rolled down
from the neighbouring hills, that it was sufficiently
discouraging to a man who had for several years
worn spatterdashes, because he shrunk from pulling
on his boots. I spent a month nearly, in pondering
on what I should first undertake, and ended
in despairing to undertake any thing.

One day I was leaning over the bars, at the entrance
to my house, when a tall raw-boned figure,
with hardly an ounce of flesh to his complement,
came riding along, on a horse as hardy and rawboned
as himself. He stopt at the bars, and bade
me good morning. In justice to myself, I must
say, that though proud enough in all conscience,
I am not one of those churls, who because they
have a better coat to their backs, which by the
way, often belongs to the tailor, think themselves
entitled to receive the honest salute of an honest
man, with coldness or contempt. Beshrew me,

such arrant blockheads, they call this vulgar insolence,
when in fact, it is the impulse of nature
whispering to the inmost man, that there is nothing
in outward circumstances, or the difference
of wealth or dress, which places one being so high
above another, that he must not speak to him,
when they happen to meet or be thrown together.
Even when I was enjoying a life of luxury and
ease, and possessed of great wealth, it was a
pleasure to me to talk with these honest fellows
in linsey woolsey; and I will here bear this testimony,
that I have gained from them, more practical
knowledge, heard more plain good sense, and
caught more valuable hints for the government and
enjoyment of life, than I ever did from all the philosophers
I ever conversed with, or all the books I
ever read.

“Good morning, good morning,” said the tall
man on the tall horse, and “good morning, good
morning,” replied I, repating my salutation twice,
not to be outdone in courtesy.

“I believe you don't know me,” said he, after a
short pause, which short as it was, proved the
longest he ever afterwards made in his conversations
with me. “I believe you don't know me;
my name is Lightly, and I am your next neighbour
over the mountain yonder.”

“And my name is Ambler,” said I, “and I am
heartily glad to have you for a neighbour. Won't
you alight?”

“Why I don't care if I do; it was partly my
business to come and have a talk with you.”

Mr. Lightly accordingly dismounted, and fastening
his horse under a tree, to protect him from the
sun, which was waxing hot, followed me into the
house. After taking something, he looked about,
first at one mountain, then at another, and at
length began, “A rough country this you've got
into, Mr. Ambler.”

“Very,” replied I, “so rough that I am afraid I
shall never make any part of it smooth.”

“No?” said Mr. Lightly, “why not?”

“Look at the trees.”

“You must cut them down.”

“Look at the rocks.”

“You must grub them up, they'll make excellent
stone walls.”

“Doubtless, if I had the people who piled Ossa
on Pelion, to assist me.” Mr. Lightly had never
read the history of the great rebellion of the
Giants, and rather stared at me. “But,” added I,
“do you really think I can make any thing out of
these mountains?”

“Do I?” said he, “only come over and see
me to-morrow, and I will give you proof of it;
but no, now I think of it, not to-morrow, the
day after. I am going to walk to Poughkeepsie
to-morrow, and sha'nt be back till sundown.”

“Poughkeepsie!” cried I, “and back again in

one day: why'tis sixty miles; you mean you'll be
back the day after to-morrow evening.”

“No I don't: I mean to-morrow evening, God
willing; but my days are much longer than
yours.”

“I should think so: you mean to make the sun
stand still, like Joshua.”

“No I don't, though my name is Joshua. I
mean to be up at the first crowing of an old cock,
that never sleeps after three in the morning, in
summer.”

“But you've got a horse, why don't you ride?”

“O, that would take me two days; and I can't
well spare the time. I never ride when I'm in a
hurry.”

So saying, Mr. Lightly, after taking my promise
to come over the day after to-morrow, took
his departure, leaving me to ponder on the vast
improbability of a man walking to Poughkeepsie,
and back again in one day. If he does, thought
I, I shall begin to believe in the seven league
boots.

The next morning but one, accordingly, my old
man guided me by a winding path, to the summit of
the mountain, and pointing to a comfortable looking
house, surrounded by a large barn, and other
out houses, standing in the midst of green meadows
and cultivated fields, told me that was the
place to which I was going. As I paused awhile to
contemplate the little rural landscape, I could not

help wishing that it had pleased Providence to
cast my lot where the rocks were so scarce, and
the meadows so green. Lightly saw me at the
top of the hill, and making some half a dozen
long strides with his long legs, met me more than
half way up the mountain side.

“Good morning, good morning,” said he, repeating
it twice, for I soon found he was very fond
of talking, and often repeated the same thing to
keep himself going.

I returned his salutation, adding, “I see you
have got back.”

“O yes; but not quite so soon as I calculated.
I went about four miles out of my way, to bring
home my old woman's yarn from the manufactory,
and it was almost dark before I got home.”

During this brief dialogue, he had shot ahead
of me two or three times. “You are no great
walker, I see,” said Mr. Lightly.

“Why, no; I don't think I could walk sixty-eight
miles a day, in the month of June, without
being a little tired.”

“There's nothing like trying,” said he.

“I don't think I shall try,” thought I.

My new friend, Mr. Lightly, kept me with him
all day, showing me what he had done in the
course of eight or ten years, and describing his
farm, as it was when he first purchased it, for little
or nothing. We came to a beautiful meadow,

which I could not help admiring, and wishing I
had such a one on my farm,

“You have a much finer one,” said Lightly.

“Where? I never saw it.”

“Directly before your door.”

“That! why it is paved with rocks.”

“Well, and so was this.”

“What has become of them all?”

“There they are,” pointing to the wall which
surrounded the meadow.

The wall seemed a work of the Cyclops, or the
builders of the pyramids, for it was literally rocks
piled on rocks, “as if by magic spell.” I inquired
how he got these rocks one upon the other, as I
did not see any machinery.

“We had no machines but such as these,” holding
out his hard, bony hands, and baring part of
his arms, that were nothing but twisted sinews.

“But you did not dig these rocks out of the
ground, and pile them up here yourself, surely?”

“No, no; not quite that either. I have six
boys, who assisted me. You shall see them;
they will be home from work presently.”

“Fine boys' work! faith I should like to see
them.”

“Yonder they come,” said Mr. Lightly.

I followed the direction of his eye, and beheld
coming down the hill, afar off, what I took for
six giants, striding onward with intent to devour
us at one meal. As they advanced towards me,

my apprehensions subsided, for I saw in their
open countenances, and clear blue eyes, indubitable
tokens of harmlessness and good nature. I
never saw such men before; and here in the
mountains, out of the sphere of those artificial
distinctions, which level in some measure, all
physical disparities, I could not help feeling a sort
of qualm of inferiority. In the crowded city, and
amid the conflicts of civilized society, the mind
predominates; but here my business was to cut
down trees, and remove rocks, and the man best
qualified for these, was the great man for my
money. After seeing these “boys,” I did not so
much wonder at the miracles they had achieved.
The whole farm, in fact, exhibited proofs of the
wonders which may be wrought by a few strong
arms, animated and impelled by as many stout
hearts.

“You see what we have done,” said Lightly,
“why can't you do the same?”

“My good sir, I am neither a giant myself, nor
have I any sons that are giants.”

“Well, well,” said he, I will tell you what was
partly my reason—what was partly my reason, for
asking you over to see me. My youngest boy—step
out, Ahasuerus—my youngest boy is just married,
and as our hive is pretty full, it is necessary that
he should swarm out with his wife, who is a good
hearty, industrious girl, that will be excellent help
for your old woman. You can't get on at first,

without some hard work, and you will not be able
to work yourself for some time very hard; you will
want such a boy as mine, to break the way a little
smooth for you."

I caught at the proposal instantly; we were not
long coming to terms, and in three days the new
married couple, the boy and the girl, were established
at my house.

"She don't know any thing about housekeeping,"
said my old woman.

"You shall teach her," said I, and she went
about her work perfectly content."

"He is a mere boy," quoth my old man, "what
can he know of farming."

"He will learn it of you," said I, and the old
man felt as proud as a peacock.

My Polyphemus with two eyes, set to work
without delay, under the direction of my old man,
who talked a great deal, and did nothing; and
who, after having given his opinion was content
to follow that of the other. I was busy, too, looking
on; running about, doing little or nothing; but
taking an interest, and sympathizing with the lusty
labours of the young giant, Ahasuerus, to such a
degree that I have often actually fallen into a violent
perspiration, at seeing him prying up a large
stone. Thus I got a great deal of the benefit of
hard work, without actually fatiguing myself. By
degrees, I cam to work a little myself; and
when I did not work, I gave my advice, and saw

the others work. One day—it was the crisis of
my life—one day Ahasuerus and the old man were
attempting to raise a rock out of the ground by
means of a lever, but their weight was not sufficient.
They tried several times but in vain; whereat
the spirit came upon me, and seizing the far
end of the lever, I hung upon it with all my might,
kicking most manfully all the while. The rock
yielded to our united exertions, and rolled out of
the ground. It was my victory.

“We should not have got it out without you,”
said Ahasuerus.

“It was all your doing,” quoth the old man.

But, to tell the honest truth, I quaked in the
midst of my triumph, lest this unheard of exertion
might have injured a blood vessel, or strained
some of the vital parts. That night I thought,
some how or other, I felt rather faintish and languid.
But it may be I was only a little sleepy;
for I fell asleep in five minutes, and did not wake
till sunrise. It was some time before I could
persuade myself I was quite well; but being
unable fairly to detect any thing to the contrary,
I arose and walked forth into the freshness of the
morning, and my spirit laughed in concert with
the sprightly insects and chirping birds.

After this I became bolder and bolder, until
finally animated by the example of the great
Ahasuerus, I one day laid hold of a rock, and rolled
it fairly out of its bed. I was astonished at

this feat; I had no idea that I could make the
least exertion, without suffering for it severely in
some way or other. I never could do it before,
and what is the reason I can do it now, thought
I; I certainly used to feel very faint, on occasion
of sometimes drawing a hard cork out of a bottle.
My new monitor, experience, whispered me, that
this was nothing but apprehension, which when it
becomes a habit, and gains a certain mastery over
the mind, produces a sensation allied to faintness.
It embarrasses the pulsation, and that occasions a
feeling of swooning. The mental, causes the
physical sensation. I was never so happy in my
whole life, as when I received this lesson of experience.
I was no longer afraid of dying off hand,
of the exertion of drawing a cork.

Thus we went on during the summer. The salt
pork relished wonderfully; the bread and milk
became a delicious dessert; and the rocks daily
vanished from the meadow, like magic. The autumn
now approached, and I bethought to myself
how I should get through the winter, with so many
broken panes, and so many sky lights in the
roof of my house. There was neither carpenter
nor glazier in ten miles; and I was at a loss what
to do. I spoke to Ahasuerus the Great, about it.
“If you will get me a few shingles and nails, and
some glass and putty, I will do it myself,” said he.
“If you can do it, so can I,” said I; for I began
to be a little jealous of Ahasuerus. Accordingly,

I procured the materials, and mounting on the
roof, went to work zealously. It was a devil of
a business; but I got through at last. It did not
look very well, to be sure; but it kept out the
rain, the snow, and the keen air. Encouraged at
my unaccountable ingenuity as a carpenter, I
commenced glazier, and broke six panes of glass
off hand. With the seventh, however, I succeeded;
and well it was that I did so, for I had determined
this should be the last, and its failure
would have forever satisfied me, that none but a man
who had learned the trade of a glazier, could put in
pane of glass. As it was, I passed from the extreme
of depression and vexation, to that of exaltation
and vanity.

“How easy it is to get on in this world, and
with what small means, we may attain to all the
necessary comforts of life!” cried I; “men make
themselves slaves to ward off evils that are imaginary;
and sweat through a life of toil, to become
at last dependent on others, for what they
can do just as well themselves. What is the use
of plaguing myself with these eternal labours; I
will be idle and happy.”

“Remember the poet at Saratoga.”

“Remember the philosopher.”

“Remember the politician.”

“Remember the man of nerves,” whispered memory
in my ear, “and remember thyself—remember
Dyspepsy.” I fled from my conclusion as fast

as I could run, and worked that day harder than
ever.

Winter came, and having a vast forest of wood;
some of which was decaying, and the remainder
had reached its full maturity, I determined to have
it cut down and sold to pay my debt to my old
Scotsman. With the assistance of one or two
others, Ahasuerus performed wonders in the
woods, as he had done among the rocks. I
forget how many cords they sent to market, but
it produced enough to pay my old friend, and then
I stood upon the proudest eminence an unambitious
man can attain; I owed no man a penny,
and I could live without running in debt. This is
a great and solid happiness, not sufficiently appreciated
at this time. People that know no better,
are apt to think that winter in the country, is
one long series of dead uniformity; and that there
is no enjoyment away from the fire-side. But they
are widely mistaken; nature every where presents
a succession of varieties, and those of winter are
not the least beautiful. The short days of December
and January, are perhaps the most gloomy;
but have this advantage, that they are short, and
followed by good long nights, in which it is a luxury,
to nestle in a warm bed, hear the wind whistle,
or the light fleeces of snow patting against the windows,
and fall asleep thinking how much better
off we are, than millions of our fellow-creatures.
When the earth lies barren, the herbage destroyed,

and the forests, stript of their leafy honours, stand
bare to the winds, even then nature is not altogether
desolate in these lonely mountains. The
homely brown of the woods, is dotted here and
there by clusters of evergreens, that appear only
the more beautiful from the barrenness that surrounds
them; and even the gravity of the old grey
beard rocks, is often enlivened with spots of green
moss, that relieve their sober aspect. There is
music too in the wintry solitudes: for in the pure
clear air, every sound is musical. The lowing of
the cattle, the barking of the dog and the squirrel,
the drumming of the partridge, the echoes of the
fowler's gun, the woodman's axe, whose strokes
are by and bye followed by the loud crash of the
falling tree, all breaking in succession, and sometimes
mingling in chorus on the beautiful and
buoyant air, bear with them a lonely, yet touching
charm, which to a contented mind, in a healthy
frame, affords the means of real substantial enjoyment.

Anon nature puts on her robe of spotless white,
the true livery of youth, beauty, and innocence;
and then what an intense, ineffable lustre invests
her all around, and every where. The impurities,
the blemishes, and the deformities of the earth, are
all hidden under the snowy veil; the roughness
becomes smooth and glassy; the stagnant pools,
exhaling in summer disease and death, are robbed
of their poisons; the bogs all invisible, and the

very swamps salubrious. All is clear, pure, unsullied,
and still; the pale image of innocent beauty
clothed for a while in the trappings of the tomb.
All is soothing, but nothing lively: all grave and
solemn, yet nothing melancholy. But the night
is, if possible, still more holy and beautiful, when
the brightness of the moon-beams sporting on the
glittering surface of the snow, creates a sort of
female day, softer, and more soothing, yet almost
equally bright. Not an insect chirps or buzzes in
the ear; there is nothing of life stirring in nature's
veins; her pulses are still. A thousand glittering
stars, invisible at other times, come forth, as if to
view the scene stretched out below them, or watch
with sparkling eyes, the course of their bright
queen, athwart the heavens.

Then come the lengthening days, which at first
steal on imperceptibly, with steps noiseless and
slow, silently unlocking the chains of winter,
and setting nature free so easily, that we do not
hear the turning of the key. At first the trickling
of the waters from the roof, and the falling of the
icicles, apprize us of the advance of the sun,
to resume his glowing sceptre. Anon the little
sunny southern exposures begin to spot the vast
white winding sheet with brown; and here and
there, though very rarely, along the margin of
some living spring, the tender grass begins to peep
forth. Every day the empire of the sun extends
by slow degrees. The brooks begin again to

murmur and glisten, marking their courses by the
increased verdure of the grass, and willows, on
their margins; and by imperceptible degrees, the
few brown leaves that clung all winter to the
sapless branches, are pushed from their hold by
the swelling buds, and fall whispering to the
earth, to mingle with her crumbling atoms. It is
thus, with all the works of nature and with man.
The young buds push off the old dry leaves; the
very rocks are mutable; all feel the universal
law of change, and man the most of all.

I did not spend my winter idly, but went out
every day to see my wood cutters. In order to
give some interest to my walks, I purchased a
gun, procured a brace of fox hounds, and in time
became a mighty hunter, before the Lord. No
man of sentiment has ever heard the “deepmouthed
hound,” as the poet, with singular felicity
calls him, saluting the clear frosty morning, with
sonorous and far sounding challenges, without
feeling its inspiration, in the silence of the mountains.
I found their society, and that of my gun,
delightful, though truth obliges me to confess,
that I seldom got any thing but exercise and a
keen appetite in my sporting rambles. Almost the
first extensive excursion I made, being intent in
following the hounds, I unluckily fell through the
ice into a small pond, which the melting of the
first snows had formed in a little valley. I got
completely wet from head to foot; and I was

some miles from home. The whole way, I suffered
the horrible anticipation of diseases without
number; rheumatism, consumption, catarrh, sore
throat, inflammation of the chest, and a hundred
others. In short, I gave myself up for gone; and
was in such a hurry to get home and settle my affairs,
that I arrived there in a perfect glow. I lost
no time in changing my dress, and it being now
evening, went directly to bed, expecting next
morning to find myself as stiff as a poker. At
first, I fell into a profuse perspiration, and then into
a sound sleep, which lasted till morning.
I can hardly believe it myself, at this moment; I
awoke as well as ever I was in my life, and never
felt any ill effects from my accident. After this, I
defied the whole college of physicians, nay, all the
colleges put together. I considered myself another
Achilles, invulnerable even at the heel, and
now cared no more for the weather than a grizzly
bear, or a seeker of the north west passage.

Thus passed my first winter. In the spring I
paid my debt to Hardup with the product of my
wood. In the summer he came to see me. “I
would not come before, for fear you would think it
was to dun you,” said he. He has repeated his
visit every summer, for the last seven years, and
assures me every time, that were he not Hardup, he
would be Ambler. It would be tedious, neither is
it necessary to the moral of my story, to detail the
progress I made, and the wonders achieved by

Ahasuerus, from the period in which I first took possession
of my estate, to that in which I am now writing.
Great as they were, they bear no comparison
with those I have undergone. My farm is now a little
Eden, among the high hills, whose rugged aspects
only add richness and beauty to the cultivated
fields. I have saved enough to add two wings
to my old house, and to put it in good repair, besides
building a barn and other out-houses. Every
year I execute some little improvements, just to
keep up the excitement of novelty, and prevent me
from thinking too much about myself. Every fair
day in spring, summer, and autumn, it is my custom
to climb a part of the mountain, which overlooks
my little domain, and affords a full view of
its green or golden enclosures.

It lays at the head of a long narrow vale, skirted
on either side, by rough, rocky, steep mountains,
clothed with vast forests of every growth. My
house is on a little round knoll, just on the edge of
the meadow I spoke of at my first arrival here, and
which now has not a single stone above its surface.
The clear spring brook which meanders
through it, and is full of trout, forms the head of a
little river, which gathering, as it proceeds onward,
the tribute of the hills, waxes larger as it
goes, and appears, at different points far down the
valley, coursing its bright way to the Hudson. On
either side of the valley, among rocks and woods,
is sometimes seen a cultivated field or two, with a

house, and a few cattle; but, with this exception,
there is a perfect and beautiful contrast between
the bosom and the sides of the valley. The former
is all softness, verdure and fertility, the latter
all stately forests, or naked sublimity. In a clear
day, and a north west wind, I can see the junction
of the little stream, of which, as being the proprietor
of its parent spring, I consider myself the father,
with the majestic Hudson. I wish the reader,
that is if he is a clever man, or what is still better,
a clever and pretty lady, would come and see
my farm next summer.

I have paid but one visit to the city, and that
was to my old friend Hardup, who is become very
fond of me ever since he conferred a benefit.
While I was one day strolling along the Battery, I
exchanged one of those glances, which bespeak a
doubtful recognition, with a portly, rosy cheeked
man, I was sure I had seen before. On these occasions,
I generally make the first advances.

“I think I have seen you before sir,” said I,
“but really I can't tell exactly where.”

“I am in the same predicament,” replied he,
smiling; “your face is familiar, though I can't recall
your name.”

“My name is Ambler.”

“Good heavens! is it possible,” and though glad
to see me, he seemed quite astonished; “my
name is Abstract!” I almost fell backwards over
one of the benches; it was my friend, the man of

nerves, as hale and hearty, as if he never had any
nerves in his life.

“I'll not believe it,” said I, “why what has happened
to you?”

“O I'm married,” he replied, “and have enough
to do besides attending to my nerves; but you—
you are metamorphosed too; what has come over
you? are you too, married?”

“NO: I'm a bachelor still,” said I, “so you see
there are two opposite ways, to the same thing.”

Having exchanged our addresses, we parted the
best friends in the world.

“You had better get a wife,” cried he.

“I mean to,” I replied, “as soon as I can afford
the revenues of a city, to keep her in pin-money.”

“Pooh! if you can't keep her in pin-money,
you can keep her in order,” answered he of
the nerves, and strutted away, with the air of a
man who was either master at home, or so dexterously
led captive, as not to suspect it.

I begin to grow weary of talking about myself;
and as I have observed, that listeners and
readers, generally get tired before speakers and
authors, will here conclude my story. Its moral
is completed, and I hope cannot be mistaken.
I committed to paper the result of my experience,
not for the purpose of ridiculing the infirmities
of my fellow creatures, or laughing at
the miseries of human life. I wished, if possible,
to persuade them that a large portion of the cares

of this world, from which we are so anxious to
escape, are nothing more than blessings in disguise,
and thus to diminish that inordinate love of
riches, which is founded on the silly presumption
that they are the sources of all happiness. It is
under the dominion of this mistaken idea, that
money becomes indeed the root of all evil, by
being sought with an insatiable appetite, that
swallows up all our feelings of brotherhood, and
causes men to prey upon each other like the wild
beasts of the forest; nay, more—for even their
instinct teaches them to spare their own species.
Were mankind aware of the total inability of
wealth to confer content, or to make case and
leisure delightful, they would perchance seek it
with less avidity, and fewer sacrifices of that integrity,
which is a far more essential ingredient in
human happiness, than the gold for which it is so
often sacrificed. My history may also afford a
useful example to those whose situations entail on
them the necessity of labour and economy, by
teaching them the impossibility of reconciling a
life of luxury and ease, with the enjoyment of
jocund spirits, lusty health, and rational happiness.

“But what has become of your DYSPEPSY
all this time?” the reader will ask.

Faith, I had forgot that entirely!