GULPH OF BANKRUPTCY."
Thomas Paine.
PARIS, 19th Germinal. 4th year of the Republic, April 8, 1796.
XXVII. FORGETFULNESS.(1)
1 This undated composition, of much biographical interest,
was shown by Paine to Henry Redhead Yorke, who visited him
in Paris (1802), and was allowed to copy the only portions
now preserved. In the last of Yorke's Letters from France
(Lond., 1814), thirty-three pages are given to Paine. Under
the name "Little Corner of the World," Lady Smyth wrote
cheering letters to Paine in his prison, and he replied to
his then unknown correspondent under the name of "The Castle
in die Air." After his release he discovered in his
correspondent a lady who had appealed to him for assistance,
no doubt for her husband. With Sir Robert (an English banker
in Paris) and Lady Smyth, Paine formed a fast friendship
which continued through life. Sir Robert was born in 1744,
and married (1776) a Miss Blake of Hanover Square, London.
He died in 1802 of illness brought on by his imprisonment
under Napoleon. Several of Paine's poems were addressed to
Lady Smyth.—Editor.
FROM "THE CASTLE IN THE AIR," TO THE "LITTLE CORNER OF THE WORLD."
Memory, like a beauty that is always present to hear her-self flattered, is flattered by every one. But the absent and silent goddess, Forgetfulness, has no votaries, and is never thought of: yet we owe her much. She is the goddess of ease, though not of pleasure.
When the mind is like a room hung with black, and every corner of it crowded with the most horrid images imagination can create, this kind speechless goddess of a maid, Forgetfulness, is following us night and day with her opium wand, and gently touching first one, and then another, benumbs them into rest, and at last glides them away with the silence of a departing shadow. It is thus the tortured mind is restored to the calm condition of ease, and fitted for happiness.
How dismal must the picture of life appear to the mind in that dreadful moment when it resolves on darkness, and to die! One can scarcely believe such a choice was possible. Yet how many of the young and beautiful, timid in every thing else, and formed for delight, have shut their eyes upon the world, and made the waters their sepulchral bed! Ah, would they in that crisis, when life and death are before them, and each within their reach, would they but think, or try to think, that Forgetfulness will come to their relief, and lull them into ease, they could stay their hand, and lay hold of life. But there is a necromancy in wretchedness that entombs the mind, and increases the misery, by shutting out every ray of light and hope. It makes the wretched falsely believe they will be wretched ever. It is the most fatal of all dangerous delusions; and it is only when this necromantic night-mare of the mind begins to vanish, by being resisted, that it is discovered to be but a tyrannic spectre. All grief, like all things else, will yield to the obliterating power of time. While despair is preying on the mind, time and its effects are preying on despair; and certain it is, the dismal vision will fade away, and Forgetfulness, with her sister Ease, will change the scene. Then let not the wretched be rash, but wait, painful as the struggle may be, the arrival of Forgetfulness; for it will certainly arrive.