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 supersedes 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 colic, 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 continue 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 Abernethy. In short, I took every means but the only proper ones, to effect a cure. I proportioned my eating and other indulgences, to my faith in the workings of my favourite panacea. When 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 plum 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. 66 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. "Oh, 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 practised 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 ought I can re member, 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. 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

It

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 Abernethy; 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 morningI 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