Part 1
MAY 1, 1845.
A LIST OF BOOKS
RECENTLY PUBLISHED BY
EDWARD MOXON, 44, DOVER STREET.
DRAMATIC LIBRARY.
I.
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. With an INTRODUCTION. BY GEORGE DARLEY. In two volumes, 8vo, with Portraits and Vignettes, price 32_s._ cloth.
II.
SHAKSPEARE. With REMARKS on his LIFE and WRITINGS. BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. In one volume, 8vo, with Portrait, Vignette, and Index, price 16_s._ cloth.
III.
BEN JONSON. With a MEMOIR. BY WILLIAM GIFFORD. In one volume, 8vo, with Portrait and Vignette, price 16_s._ cloth.
IV.
MASSINGER AND FORD. With an INTRODUCTION. BY HARTLEY COLERIDGE. In one volume, 8vo, with Portrait and Vignette, price 16_s._ cloth.
V.
WYCHERLEY, CONGREVE, VANBRUGH, AND FARQUHAR. With BIOGRAPHICAL and CRITICAL NOTICES. BY LEIGH HUNT. In one volume, 8vo, with Portrait and Vignette, price 16_s._ cloth.
VI.
SHERIDAN’S DRAMATIC WORKS. With a BIOGRAPHICAL and CRITICAL SKETCH. By LEIGH HUNT. Price 5_s._ 6_d._ cloth.
ROGERS’S POEMS.
I.
ROGERS’S POEMS. A NEW EDITION; In one volume, illustrated by 72 Vignettes, from designs by Turner and Stothard, price 16_s._ boards.
II.
ROGERS’S ITALY. A NEW EDITION. In one volume, illustrated by 56 Vignettes, from designs by Turner and Stothard, price 16_s._ boards.
III.
ROGERS’S POEMS; AND ITALY. In two pocket volumes, illustrated by numerous Woodcuts, price 10_s._ cloth.
WORDSWORTH’S POEMS.
I.
WORDSWORTH’S POETICAL WORKS. In six volumes, price 30_s._ cloth.
II.
WORDSWORTH’S POEMS, chiefly of early and late Years, including “THE BORDERERS,” a Tragedy. In one volume, price 9_s._ cloth.
III.
WORDSWORTH’S SONNET& In one Volume, price 6_s._ cloth.
IV.
WORDSWORTH’S EXCURSION. A POEM. In one volume, price _6s[._?] cloth.
V.
SELECT PIECES FROM WORDSWORTH. In one volume, illustrated by numerous Woodcuts, price 7_s._ 6_d._ boards. 8_s._ 6_d._ half-bound, morocco, gilt edges.
CAMPBELL’S POEMS.
I.
CAMPBELL’S POETICAL WORKS. A NEW EDITION. In one volume, illustrated by 20 Vignettes from designs by TURNER, and 37 Woodcuts from designs by HARVEY. Price 20_s._ boards.
II.
CAMPBELL’S POETICAL WORKS. In one pocket volume, illustrated by numerous Woodcuts, price 8_s._ cloth.
III.
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF CAMPBELL. Edited by Dr. WILLIAM BEATTIE, one of his Executors.
_In the Press._
SHELLEY’S WORKS.
I.
SHELLEY’S POETICAL WORKS. Edited by MRS. SHELLEY. In one volume, 8vo, with Portrait and Vignette, price 10_s._ 6_d._ cloth.
II.
SHELLEY’S ESSAYS AND LETTERS FROM ABROAD. Edited by MRS. SHELLEY. A NEW EDITION. Price 5_s._
CHARLES LAMB’S WORKS.
I.
LAMB’S WORKS. A NEW EDITION. In one volume, 8vo, with Portrait and Vignette, price 14_s._ cloth.
II.
THE ESSAYS OF ELIA. A NEW EDITION. Price 5_s._
D’ISRAELI’S WORKS.
I.
CURIOSITIES OF LITERATURE. THIRTEENTH EDITION. In one volume, 8vo, with Portrait, Vignette, and Index, price 16_s._ cloth.
II.
MISCELLANIES OF LITERATURE. In one volume, 8vo, with Vignette, price 14_s._ cloth.
CONTENTS:--
1. LITERARY MISCELLANIES. 2. QUARRELS OF AUTHORS. 3. CALAMITIES OF AUTHORS. 4. THE LITERARY CHARACTER. 5. CHARACTER OF JAMES THE FIRST.
DYCE’S BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
THE WORKS OF BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER; the Text formed from a new collation of the early Editions. With Notes and a biographical Memoir. By the Rev. A. DYCE. In eleven volumes 8vo. Price 6_l._ 12_s._ 0_d._ cloth.
CHAUCER AND SPENSER.
I.
CHAUCER’S POETICAL WORKS. With an ESSAY on his LANGUAGE AND VERSIFICATION, and an INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE; together with NOTES and a GLOSSARY. By THOMAS TYRWHITT. In one volume, 8vo with Portrait and Vignette, price 16_s._ cloth.
II.
SPENSER’S WORKS. With a MEMOIR, NOTES, and a GLOSSARY. In one volume, 8vo. _In the Press._
MISCELLANEOUS.
I.
HAYDN’S DICTIONARY OF DATES, and UNIVERSAL REFERENCE, relating to all Ages and Nations; comprehending every Remarkable Occurrence, Ancient and Modern--the Foundation, Laws, and Governments of Countries--their Progress in Civilisation, Industry, and Science--their Achievements in Arms; the Political and Social Transactions of the British Empire--its Civil, Military, and Religious Institutions--the Origin and Advance of Human Arts and Inventions, with copious details of England, Scotland, and Ireland. The whole comprehending a body of information, Classical, Political, and Domestic, from the earliest accounts to the present time. SECOND EDITION. In one volume, 8vo, price 18_s._ cloth.
II.
KNOWLES’S (JAMES) PRONOUNCING AND EXPLANATORY DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. Founded on a correct development of the Nature, the Number, and the Various Properties of all its Simple and Compound Sounds, as combined into Syllables and Words. A NEW EDITION. In medium 8vo, price 10_s._ 6_d._ cloth.
III.
By the AUTHOR OF “TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST.”
DANA’S SEAMAN’S MANUAL; containing a Treatise on Practical Seamanship, with Plates; a Dictionary of Sea Terms; Customs and Usages of the Merchant Service; Laws relating to the Practical Duties of Master and Mariners. SECOND EDITION. Price 5_s._ cloth.
IV.
HINTS ON HORSEMANSHIP, to a NEPHEW and NIECE; or, Common Sense and Common Errors in Common Riding. By Colonel GEORGE GREENWOOD, late of the Second Life Guards; Price 2_s._ 6_d._
V.
CICERO’S LIFE AND LETTERS. The Life by Dr. MIDDLETON; The Letters translated by WM. MELMOTH and Dr. HEBERDEN. In one volume, 8vo, with Portrait and Vignette, price 16_s._ cloth.
VI.
ELLEN MIDDLETON. A TALE. BY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON. SECOND EDITION. In three volumes price 31_s._ 6_d._ cloth.
VII.
CAPTAIN BASIL HALL’S FRAGMENTS OF VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. A NEW EDITION. In one volume, 8vo, price 12_s._ cloth.
VIII.
DEERBROOK. A NOVEL. By HARRIET MARTINEAU. A NEW EDITION. In one pocket volume, price 6_s._ cloth.
IX.
THE HOUR AND THE MAN. A Historical Romance. By HARRIET MARTINEAU. A NEW EDITION. In one pocket volume, price 6_s._ cloth.
X.
TALFOURD’S (MR. SERJEANT) VACATION RAMBLES AND THOUGHTS; comprising the Recollections of three Continental Tours in the Vacations of 1841, 42, and 43. SECOND EDITION. Price 10_s._ 6_d._ cloth.
XI.
DYCE’S REMARKS ON MR. C. KNIGHT’S AND MR. J. P. COLLIER’S EDITIONS OF SHAKSPEARE. In 8vo, price 9_s._ cloth.
XII.
LIFE IN THE SICK-ROOM: ESSAYS. By AN INVALID. SECOND EDITION. Price 8_s._ boards.
XIII.
HISTOIRE DE FRANCE DU PETIT LOUIS. Par LADY CALLCOTT. Price 2_s._ 6_d._ half-bound.
XIV.
SHELLEY’S (MRS.) RAMBLES IN GERMANY AND ITALY in 1840, 1842, and 1843. In 2 vols. post 8vo. Price 21_s._ cloth.
POETRY.
TENNYSON’S POEMS. 2 vols. Price 12_s._ boards.
MILNES’S POEMS. 4 vols. Price 20_s._ boards.
TRENCH’S JUSTIN MARTYR, and other Poems. 6_s._ bds.
POEMS FROM EASTERN SOURCES. Price 6_s._ bds.
STERLING’S POEMS. Price 6_s._ boards.
STRAFFORD. Price 5_s._ boards.
BROWNING’S PARACELSUS. Price 6_s._ boards.
SORDELLO. Price 6_s._ 6_d._ boards.
PATMORE’S (COVENTRY) POEMS. Price 5_s._ bds.
BARRETT’S (MISS) POEMS. 2 vols. Price 12_s._ bds.
(In 24mo.)
TALFOURD’S (SERJEANT) TRAGEDIES. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
TAYLOR’S PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
EDWIN THE FAIR, &c. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
BARRY CORNWALL’S SONGS. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
LEIGH HUNT’S POETICAL WORKS. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
PERCY’S RELIQUES. 3 vols. Price 7_s._ 6_d._
LAMB’S DRAMATIC SPECIMENS. 2 vols. Price 5_s._
CHEAP EDITIONS OF POPULAR WORKS
SHELLEY’S ESSAYS AND LETTERS. Price 5_s._
SEDGWICK’S LETTERS FROM ABROAD. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
DANA’S TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST. 2_s._ 6_d._
CLEVELAND’S VOYAGES AND COMMERCIAL ENTERPRISES. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
ELLIS’S EMBASSY TO CHINA. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
PRINGLE’S RESIDENCE IN SOUTH AFRICA. 3_s._ 6_d._
THE ESSAYS OF ELIA. Price 5_s._
HUNT’S INDICATOR, AND COMPANION. Price 5_s._
THE SEER; OR, COMMON-PLACES REFRESHED. Price 5_s._
SHERIDAN’S DRAMATIC WORKS. With an INTRODUCTION. By LEIGH HUNT. Price 5_s._
LAMB’S LIFE AND LETTERS. Price 5_s._
ROSAMUND GRAY, &c. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
ADVENTURES OF ULYSSES. TO WHICH IS ADDED, MRS. LEICESTER’S SCHOOL. Price 2_s._
HALL’S VOYAGE TO LOO-CHOO. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
TRAVELS IN SOUTH AMERICA. Price 5_s._
FRAGMENTS OF VOYAGES AND TRAVELS. FIRST, SECOND, AND THIRD SERIES. Price 5_s._ each.
CAMPBELL’S POETICAL WORKS. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
LAMB’S POETICAL WORKS. Price 1_s._ 6_d._
BAILLIE’S (JOANNA) FUGITIVE VERSES. Price 1_s._
SHAKSPEARE’S POEMS. Price 1_s._
Bradbury & Evans, Printers, Whitefriars.
ESSAYS.
“Quand on se porte bien, on ne comprend pas comment on pourrait faire si on était malade; et quand on l’est, on prend médecine gaiement: le mal y résout. On n’a plus les passions et les désirs des divertissements et des promenades, que la santé donnait, et qui sont incompatibles avec les nécessités de la maladie. La nature donne alors des passions et des désirs conformes à l’état présent. Ce ne sont que les craintes que nous nous donnons nous-mêmes, et non pas la nature, qui nous troublent; parcequ’elles joignent à l’état où nous sommes les passions de l’état où nous ne sommes pas.”--PASCAL.
LIFE IN THE SICK-ROOM.
ESSAYS.
BY
AN INVALID.
“For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.”--SHAKSPERE.
“The saddest birds a season find to sing.”--ROBERT SOUTHWELL.
SECOND EDITION.
LONDON: EDWARD MOXON, DOVER-STREET. MDCCCXLIV.
LONDON: BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
TO ---- vii
THE TRANSIENT AND THE PERMANENT IN THE SICK-ROOM 1
SYMPATHY TO THE INVALID 11
NATURE TO THE INVALID 43
LIFE TO THE INVALID 64
DEATH TO THE INVALID 104
TEMPER 126
BECOMING INJURED 146
POWER OF IDEAS IN THE SICK-ROOM 155
SOME PERILS AND PAINS OF INVALIDISM 176
SOME GAINS AND SWEETS OF INVALIDISM 197
TO----
“Passion I see is catching; for mine eyes, Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water.” SHAKSPERE.
“When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes; Who alone suffers suffers most i’ the mind, Leaving free things and happy shows behind. But then the mind much sufferance doth o’erskip, When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.” SHAKSPERE.
As I write this, I cannot but wonder when and how you will read it, and whether it will cause a single throb at the idea that it may be meant for you. You have been in my mind during the passage of almost all the thoughts that will be found in this book. But for your sympathy--confidently reckoned on, though never asked--I do not know that I should have had courage to mark their procession, and record their order. I have felt that if I spoke of these things at all, it must be to some fellow-sufferer--to some one who had attained these experiences before me or with me; and, having you for my companion throughout, (however unconsciously to yourself), I have uttered many things that I could hardly otherwise have spoken: for one may speak far more freely with a friend, though in the hearing of others, than when singly addressing a number. Most frequently, however, I have forgotten that others could hear, and have conversed as with you alone.
It matters little, in this view, that we have never met--that each of us does not know, except by the eye of the mind, with what outward face the other has encountered the unusual lot appointed to both. While I was as busy as any one on the sunny plain of life, I heard of you laid aside in the shadowy recess where our sunshine of hope and joy could never penetrate to you; and it was with reverence, and not pity, that I inquired of those who could tell whether you had separate lights of heaven, such as there are for retreats like yours. When I was myself withdrawn into such a recess, if I learned to pity more than before, it was with a still enhanced reverence for your older experience. As the evils of protracted unhealthiness came upon me, one after another, I knew that they had all visited you long ago; and I felt as if they brought me a greeting from you. For me, at least, you have not suffered in vain. Would there might be anything in this volume which might enable you to say the same to me!
At all events, there is something sweet and consoling in the fellowship. Though we would, if we could, endure anything to set the other free--though we would thankfully take upon us any suffering that nature could bear for the thought that no one else was qualified to conceive of our troubles,--yet, as this cannot be, we may make the most of the comfort of our companionship. In our wakeful night seasons, when the healthy and the happy are asleep, we may call to each other from our retreats, to know each how the other fares; and, whether we are at the moment dreary or at peace, it may be that there are angels abroad, (perhaps the messengers of our own sympathies), who may bear our mutual greetings, and drop them on their rounds. Often has this been my fancy, when the images close about me have been terrific enough; and when, in the very throng of these horrors, I have cast about for some charm or talisman wherewith to rid myself of them, and some voice of prayer has presently reached me from a temple on the furthest horizon of my life--or some sweet or triumphant hymn of submission or praise has floated to my spirit’s ear from the far shores of my childhood--I have hoped, in the midst of the heaven thus brought down about me, that the same consolations were visiting you, who in the same need would, I knew, make the same appeal.
But there are times when the sense of fellowship is dearer still. You know, doubtless, as well as I, the emptiness of the consolation when our pitying friends, in all love and sincerity, remind us of what we did by our efforts when we were well and active, and what we are doing still for the world, by preserving a decent quietness in the midst of our troubles. You know, as well as I, how withering would be the sense of our own nothingness, if we tried to take comfort from our own dignity and usefulness. You know, as well as I, how very far we can see from our place on the verge of life, over its expanse, and how ridiculous, if it were not shocking, would be any complacency on the ground of our having followed the instincts of our nature to work, while work was possible,--the issues of such divinely-appointed instrumentality being wholly brought out and directed by Him who framed and actuated us. You know, as I do, how useful it is to human beings to have before their eyes spectacles of all experiences; and we are alike willing, having worked while we could, now to suffer as we may, to help our kind in another mode. We feel it some little service to be appointed to,--having become accustomed to our footing on the shaking plank over the deep dark river,--to lead on and uphold with a steady hand some who may be appointed to follow, and perhaps to pass us upon it.
But while agreeing in this, our happiest fellowship must be, I think, in seeing, with a clearness we could never otherwise have attained, the vastness and certainty of the progression with which we have so little to do. I do not believe it is possible for persons in health and action to trace, as we can, the agencies for good that are going on in life and the world. Or, if they can, it seems as if the perception were accompanied by a breathless fear,--a dread of being, if not crushed, whirled away somewhere, hurried along to new regions for which they are unprepared, and to which, however good, they would prefer the familiar. You and I, and our fellow-sufferers, see differently, whether or not we see further. We know and feel, to the very centre of our souls, that there is no hurry, no crushing, no devastation attending Divine processes. While we see the whole system of human life rising and rising into a higher region and a purer light, we perceive that every atom is as much cared for as the whole. While we use our new insight to show us how things are done,--and gravely smile to see that it is by every man’s overrating the issues of his immediate pursuit, in order that he may devote all his energies to it, (without which nothing would ever be done,) we smile with another feeling presently, on perceiving how an industry and care from above are compensating to every man his mistake by giving him collateral benefits when he misses the direct good he sought,--by giving him and his helpers a wealth of ideas, as often as their schemes turn out, in their professed objects, profitless. When we see men straining every nerve to reach the tempting apples which are to prove dust and ashes in their jaws, we see also, by virtue of our position, the flying messenger who is descending with the ambrosia which is to feed their immortal part. We can tell that while revolutions are grandly operating, by which life and the world will in time change their aspect,--while a progress is advancing to which it is now scarcely conceivable that we should ever have dreamed of putting our hands,--there is not one of our passing thoughts that is not ordained,--not a sigh of weariness unheeded,--not an effort of patience that is not met half-way by divine pity,--not a generous emotion of triumph in the world’s improvement that is not hallowed by the divine sympathy ever living and breathing round about us. This our peculiar privilege, of seeing and feeling something of the simultaneous vastness and minuteness of providential administration, is one in which we most enjoy sympathy;--at least, I do:--and in this, therefore, do I find your undoubted fellowship most precious.
Here then I end my greeting,--except in as far as the whole book is truly conversation with you. I shall not direct it to your hands, but trust to the most infallible force in the universe,--human sympathy,--to bring these words under your eye. If they should have the virtue to summon thoughts which may, for a single hour, soften your couch, shame and banish your foes of depression and pain, and set your chamber in holy order and something of cheerful adornment, I may have the honour of being your nurse, though I am myself laid low,--though hundreds of miles are between us, and though we can never know one another’s face or voice.
Yours,
----
ESSAYS.
THE TRANSIENT AND THE PERMANENT IN THE SICK-ROOM.
“Lasting! what’s lasting? The earth that swims so well, must drown in fire, And Time be last to perish at the stake. The heavens must parch; the universe must smoulder. Nothing but thoughts can live, and such thoughts only As god-like are, making God’s recreation.” I. KNOWE.
“Affliction worketh patience: and patience, experience; and experience, hope.” ST. PAUL.
“All places that the eye of Heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.” SHAKSPERE.
The sick-room becomes the scene of intense convictions; and among these, none, it seems to me, is more distinct and powerful than that of the permanent nature of good, and the transient nature of evil. At times I could almost believe that long sickness or other trouble is ordained to prove to us this very point--a point worth any costliness of proof.
The truth may pass across the mind of one who has suffered briefly--may occur to him when glancing back over his experience of a short sharp illness or adversity. He may say to himself that his temporary suffering brought him lasting good, in revealing to him the sympathy of his friends, and the close connexion of human happiness with things unseen; but this occasional recognition of the truth is a very different thing from the abiding and unspeakably vivid conviction of it, which arises out of a condition of protracted suffering. It may look like a paradox to say that a condition of permanent pain is that which, above all, proves to one the transient nature of pain; but this is what I do affirm, and can testify.
The apparent contradiction lies in the words “permanent pain”--that condition being made up of a series of pains, each of which is annihilated as it departs; whereas all real good has an existence beyond the moment, and is indeed indestructible.
A day’s illness may teach something of this to a thoughtful mind; but the most inconsiderate can scarcely fail to learn the lesson, when the proof is drawn out over a succession of months and seasons. With me, it has now included several New Year’s Days; and what have they taught me? What any future New Year’s retrospect cannot possibly contradict, and must confirm: though it can scarcely illustrate further what is already as clear as its moon and stars.
During the year looked back upon, all the days, and most hours of the day, have had their portion of pain--usually mild--now and then, for a few marked hours of a few marked weeks, severe and engrossing; while, perhaps, some dozen evenings, and half-dozen mornings, are remembered as being times of almost entire ease. So much for the body. The mind, meantime, though clear and active, has been so far affected by the bodily state as to lose all its gaiety, and, by disuse, almost to forget its sense of enjoyment. During the year, perhaps, there may have been two surprises of light-heartedness, for four hours in June, and two hours and a half in October, with a few single flashes of joy in the intermediate seasons, on the occurrence of some rousing idea, or the revival of some ancient association. Over all the rest has brooded a thick heavy cloud of care, apparently causeless, but not for that the less real. This is the sum of the pains of the year, in relation to illness. Where are these pains now?--Not only gone, but annihilated. They are destroyed so utterly, that even memory can lay no hold upon them. The fact of their occurrence is all that even memory can preserve. The sensations themselves cannot be retained, nor recalled, nor revived; they are the most absolutely evanescent, the most essentially and completely destructible of all things. Sensations are unimaginable to those who are most familiar with them. Their concomitants may be remembered, and so vividly conceived of, as to excite emotions at a future time: but the sensations themselves cannot be conceived of when absent. This pain, which I feel now as I write, I have felt innumerable times before; yet, accustomed as I am to entertain and manage it, the sensation itself is new every time; and a few hours hence I shall be as unable to represent it to myself as to the healthiest person in the house. Thus are all the pains of the year annihilated. What remains?
All the good remains.
And how is this? whence this wide difference between the good and the evil?