University of Virginia Library

LETTER CLXXXIX.

I sympathize in your distress. It is one of the painful
circumstances incident to your profession—but what avocation
is free from them? Instead of yielding to a morbid sensibility,
we must nerve ourselves up to do and to suffer all
that duty calls for—in other words, to do your duty in that
station in life, "to which it has pleased God to call us."
What, then, are we to expect from a generation that has been
taught to cherish this not "fair defect" of our perverted nature;
to nourish and cultivate, as "amiable and attractive,"
what, at the bottom, is neither more nor less than the grossest
selfishness, a little disguised under the romantic epithet of
"sensibility!" This cant (worse than that of "criticism")
has been fashionable since the days of Sterne, a hard-hearted,
unprincipled man; a cassocked libertine and "free thinker;"
who introduced it. Heaven be praised! it is now on the decline;
and, in a little time, we may consider it, I hope, as entirely
passée. Sheridan, himself, a bad principled man, gave
it a home blow, in the form of "sentiment!" in his very witty,
but immoral comedy.

Yesterday, (or "on yesterday," as "it is said" here,) I
dined out; and, although I carried (or, rather, Johnny did)
my bottles of toast and water, and milk, I was tortured with

indigestion. My night has been a most wretched one, and
all my former symptoms seem aggravated. I will, however,
persevere throughout this month, at least. Indeed, I feel no
great difficulty in abstaining—none at all, from wine, and all
fermented and distilled liquors. The odour of a fine fat canvass-back
sometimes tries my self-denial. Every other strong
drink but wine, is now absolutely distasteful to me, and I
have no great propensity to that. Nature's indications ought,
I am persuaded, to be oftener attended to. Dr. B's. opinion
of my case was verified yesterday. Mr. Speaker B., with the
best intentions in the world, set off wrong foot foremost, and,
unlike some other hags, could not change his feet in a long
and very slow heat—for he made, as his brother Jemmy would
say, three "consecutive" decisions, each surpassing the other
in error, and forming a perfect climax of absurdity. As the
"southern speaker," I would not appeal from the first (T's.
of New York, motion to amend R's., by striking out 42 and
inserting 47.) This, finally, was disposed of by R., who
withdrew his motion. Then came another, "That after the
question was propounded by the chair, and before the clerk
had called, or the member at the head of the column had answered,
debate was precluded!" in the teeth of common
sense, of his own interrogatory, always made, ("if the house
be ready for the question? the clerk will proceed to call,")
and of the invariable practice of the body, from the time of
its organization. Out of this, however, he was extricated by
the representation of some of his friends, in deference to
whose longer experience, he waived his own judgment—but
that S. of W., after the debate had gone on, made the point
anew; because it answered his purpose, and he was entirely
reckless of the speaker's feelings and situation. Insinuations
were thrown out, too, by some, "of his too great pliability to
what they termed side-bar counsel;" (the Dowlings cannot
sink the pettifogger:) perhaps, too, S. of W., seeing our reluctance
to appeal, thought we should submit in silence. Be that
as it may, the speaker reaffirmed his former opinion, and an
appeal was taken, by M., of Vermont, and E., of North Carolina,
and the decision reversed by more than two to one.
It was to bolster up this opinion, that he, extra-judicially,
made another decision, the counterpart to V's. famous interpretation
of the sense of the previous question, where now
meant any indefinite future time, and on which I not only
obtained the laugh upon him, but he could find but eight or
ten to support him, in a very full house.[1] I like B., because
he is a friend to the strict construction of the constitution;
and I wanted to adjourn, for his sake—which, at last, we carried,
about dark, (re infecta,) and he was released from his
embarrassments. This long sitting in the air operated on my
stomach as nauseating doses of antimonials would have done,
and I felt as if I were about to be "abolished, quite." At the
close of the day, your letter arrived. The southern mails are
now very irregular. Even the northern is not always punctual.
There is a fine road now from this place to Baltimore,
but they have let the bridge, over the Patuxent, get out of
repair, as it is seldom past fording, and the ice has, on one
occasion, stopped the coach.

Tell E. that among some Yankee names, in a late Boston
paper, I came across "Miss Sybil Dow, married to Mr. Cyrus
Bump." Pray keep this name "for use," as Mrs. G.
hath it.

Show this letter to Dr. B., and to no one else.