EXPLANATORY.
“Good men live twice: it doubleth every hour
To look with joy on that which passed before.”
The author of the following paper, having himself witnessed and heard what he has attempted to detail, merely designed to attract attention to a rich resource of pleasure inherent in every good man. To him who has carefully kept himself free from dishonor, and whose life has never been marred by the stains of vice, there is nothing so happily adapted to beguile the hours of solitude as reflections upon the past. Seneca calls the “unmoved tranquility of a happy mind, a great reward.” He who has so lived as to obtain it, whatever his present condition, may always find in his own thoughts the purest enjoyment, perhaps realizing in this healthful exercise of the resources within him, that there is much more of reality than fancy in what Iamblicus has said: “We must take this as a certain truth, that nothing properly evil shall happen to a good man, either in this life, or after it.”
M. S——g.
THE SICK MOTHER.
I have never sat by the sick-bed of a mother without finding gradually stealing over me a deeply melancholy and impressive feeling. Nature has so constituted the human mind as to render it susceptible of an infinite variety of emotions, and made it so expansive in its grasp as to enable it to contemplate everything within the boundless universe. However finite it may be, there is nothing of which it cannot think; and although there are many things which it fails to understand, they all inspire some feeling or awaken some emotion within the invisible recesses of our nature. The many truths of which we know, and the countless beauties mirrored before our eyes by the imagination dwelling upon uncertainties and doubtful probabilities, often give rise to a variety of sensations so powerful as to hold us spell-bound. The deep springs of the heart, frequently hidden to our comprehension, are ever flowing for our enjoyment. Of this I was recently reminded, in a very impressive manner, by being ushered into the presence of a mother, who had, for three successive years, been confined to a sick-bed. The information of her sore affliction suggested a train of thought, and prompted a number of reflections, the recollection of which will forever abide fresh in my memory. She was yet young, and notwithstanding her many trials, exhibited a vigor of mind and a freshness of heart seldom discovered in the most healthy and buoyant. The knowledge of her prostration for years, in the prime of her life, and when possessed of all the impulsive desires and sanguine expectations common to those of her age, saddened me to sickness as I first entered her apartment; but upon discovering her genuine animation, her beauty of heart and sprightliness of mind, my feelings alternately changed from sadness to surprise, from surprise to veneration. How many pleasures, thought I, had I enjoyed during the past three years! How had I, watching the changing seasons, relished the many delightful things each of them had brought forth! In the mellow sunlight of the morning, I had drank in the beauties of the earth; and in the sweet twilight of the evening, I had reaped the richest bounties it afforded. I had daily sported with my friends, many of whom had never felt a wish unanswered, yet still remained unsatisfied; I had played alike with the young and old with an intensity of interest that touched every chord of the heart; and I had felt the ecstacy of a variety of joys, whilst the vigor of uninterrupted health but spread out before me all that heart could wish, or soul desire. There were our glorious winter parties, where kindness, friendship, and love, ministered to our wishes; gleeful rides over the silvery snow, cozily muffled in furs, and almost buried in robes, our exuberant hilarity rising high above the jingling music of the bells; summer meetings beneath the shady branches of the willow, in the downy meadow; and moonlight strolls with cherished companions all around us, and loved ones leaning tenderly on our arms. We had our social enjoyments in all their diversified characters; our many exhibitions of the noblest intellect fraught with the golden treasures of study; our seasonable round of vivifying concerts by the highest talent in the wide world; our splendid and attractive operas, with all the more and less refined amusements which the age required to make up the sum total of this never satisfied and insatiable human life. Whether in door or out, we found all that could be desired to make existence pleasing, and attach us the more firmly to it; yet here was one who had none, or few of these things. Chained down within the narrow compass of her bed, her ill destiny had denied to her the pleasures of the world without. How could she endure it? Would not her heart wither for want of food, and her mind perish for lack of stimulants? Nothing in the least approaching to this was perceptible. She ever seemed the happy spirit that could rise above the afflictions of fate, and over which no misfortune could cast a cloud of despair.
In conversation, she spoke of the world with a knowledge and a heart that would have persuaded you she constantly moved with the busiest portion of it. She was fully aware of the condition and employments of her friends, enjoying their sports and amusements as much, apparently, as though she was participating in them; and often, with her own delicate hands, she had prepared some trifling and expressive thing, which told how much she wished their happiness. There was no complaint in her, nor could you force repining regrets upon her. Her answers to your queries were always the same in sweetness and resignation, and such as might almost have led you to think she preferred her condition to one of health, and its attendant pleasures. It is true, she did not conceal that, at first, her situation seemed indeed terrible to herself, yet principally from one cause, which never ceased more or less to trouble her. She had a young and devoted husband, and she regretted more for his sake than her own, her incapacity to mingle in the social spheres of life, and thus afford him enjoyments which were denied him in her condition. Her selfishness, if she ever had any, was changed from herself and directed towards him, upon whom she would have conferred every merit or good quality she possessed, had she had the power, and many more, if possible, and regarded the task the most delightful she had ever performed. His very desires and aims of life had become her’s, and I believe she would have suffered any personal inconvenience or sacrifice to have gratified him in them all; his troubles and vexations, by some strange and inexplicable influence of sympathy, she had invariably succeeded in removing from his mind, and placing in their stead a new and more exalted vigor: in truth, he had never felt a regret, a pang, a trial, however trifling, in which she had not participated, and which, by some mysterious balm distilled by her own sympathetic heart, she had not contributed to remove or obliterate. If, however, she shared so much in his sorrows, she partook none the less of his joys. His happiness was her own; his successes and his triumphs were her’s; and the just rewards of his ceaseless labors, deservedly elevating him in public esteem, were even more gratifying to her than to himself. In his honorable elevation, she beheld her personal advancement, and in the brightness of his reputation, she felt additions to her own. When his aspirations had been realized, she had experienced a gratification superior to his, and when he had attained a point through assiduous effort, the acquisition afforded mutual pleasure. Thus entering into his very existence, she deplored her affliction more from a desire to promote his happiness than from any wish or anxiety for personal gratification and enjoyment.
The apartment occupied by her was neatly fitted up and arranged with a view of making her situation as comfortable as possible, and evidences were not wanting of the generous sympathies of her friends. Whatever was supposed capable of affording her a moment’s cheerful amusement, or of lessening the tedium of her constant confinement, was supplied; and the innumerable attentions bestowed upon her bore ample testimony of the esteem in which she was held. Her acquaintances seemed really to be vieing with each other who could do most to attest the good wishes entertained in her behalf, and the many expedients invented to gratify her, well exhibited the magnanimous ingenuity and skill of their authors. How highly did she appreciate this kindness, and how enthusiastically did she speak of it! To hear her, was to forget her afflictions, and partake of her grateful and joyous feelings. She had often exclaimed, in the fullness of her heart, that she could wish for no more; and indeed, turn where you would, you could see nothing but tokens of sympathy and love, which the stricken soul alone can fully know how to cherish. Then, too, she had a little bright-eyed, prattling boy, the best and happiest in the world, she would say. With him she would play for hours together, and pet him with tender caresses, attesting the power of her motherly affections, and evincing how much she treasured him. In his gleeful gambols, she would watch him with ineffable fondness, and his infantile freaks elicited emotions which she would not have bartered for the world. Next to her husband, her boy was her greatest earthly idol, and a stay which, though tender, made life, however afflicted, a boon that filled her heart with gratitude.