|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 23
She visited them every day, and procured them every comfort; contrary to
her expectation, the woman began to recover; cleanliness and wholesome
food had a wonderful effect; and Mary saw her rising as it were from the
grave. Not aware of the danger she ran into, she did not think of it
till she perceived she had caught the fever. It made such an alarming
progress, that she was prevailed on to send for a physician; but the
disorder was so violent, that for some days it baffled his skill; and
Mary felt not her danger, as she was delirious. After the crisis, the
symptoms were more favourable, and she slowly recovered, without
regaining much strength or spirits; indeed they were intolerably low:
she wanted a tender nurse.
For some time she had observed, that she was not treated with the same
respect as formerly; her favors were forgotten when no more were
expected. This ingratitude hurt her, as did a similar instance in the
woman who came out of the ship. Mary had hitherto supported her; as her
finances were growing low, she hinted to her, that she ought to try to
earn her own subsistence: the woman in return loaded her with abuse.
Two months were elapsed; she had not seen, or heard from Henry. He was
sick--nay, perhaps had forgotten her; all the world was dreary, and all
the people ungrateful.
She sunk into apathy, and endeavouring to rouse herself out of it, she
wrote in her book another fragment:
"Surely life is a dream, a frightful one! and after those rude,
disjointed images are fled, will light ever break in? Shall I ever feel
joy? Do all suffer like me; or am I framed so as to be particularly
susceptible of misery? It is true, I have experienced the most rapturous
emotions--short-lived delight!--ethereal beam, which only serves to shew
my present misery--yet lie still, my throbbing heart, or burst; and my
brain--why dost thou whirl about at such a terrifying rate? why do
thoughts so rapidly rush into my mind, and yet when they disappear
leave such deep traces? I could almost wish for the madman's happiness,
and in a strong imagination lose a sense of woe.
"Oh! reason, thou boasted guide, why desert me, like the world, when I
most need thy assistance! Canst thou not calm this internal tumult, and
drive away the death-like sadness which presses so sorely on me,--a
sadness surely very nearly allied to despair. I am now the prey of
apathy--I could wish for the former storms! a ray of hope sometimes
illumined my path; I had a pursuit; but now _it visits not my haunts
forlorn_. Too well have I loved my fellow creatures! I have been wounded
by ingratitude; from every one it has something of the serpent's tooth.
"When overwhelmed by sorrow, I have met unkindness; I looked for some
one to have pity on me; but found none!--The healing balm of sympathy is
denied; I weep, a solitary wretch, and the hot tears scald my cheeks. I
have not the medicine of life, the dear chimera I have so often chased,
a friend. Shade of my loved Ann! dost thou ever visit thy poor Mary?
Refined spirit, thou wouldst weep, could angels weep, to see her
struggling with passions she cannot subdue; and feelings which corrode
her small portion of comfort!"
She could not write any more; she wished herself far distant from all
human society; a thick gloom spread itself over her mind: but did not
make her forget the very beings she wished to fly from. She sent for the
poor woman she found in the garret; gave her money to clothe herself
and children, and buy some furniture for a little hut, in a large
garden, the master of which agreed to employ her husband, who had been
bred a gardener. Mary promised to visit the family, and see their new
abode when she was able to go out.
CHAP. XXIV.
Mary still continued weak and low, though it was spring, and all nature
began to look gay; with more than usual brightness the sun shone, and a
little robin which she had cherished during the winter sung one of his
best songs. The family were particularly civil this fine morning, and
tried to prevail on her to walk out. Any thing like kindness melted her;
she consented.
Softer emotions banished her melancholy, and she directed her steps to
the habitation she had rendered comfortable.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|