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Page 64
Throwing myself upon a chair, I remained for some time absorbed in
meditation. My reflections, be sure, were of no consolatory kind. A
thousand vague and lachrymatory fancies took possesion of my soul --
and even the idea of suicide flitted across my brain; but it is a
trait in the perversity of human nature to reject the obvious and the
ready, for the far-distant and equivocal. Thus I shuddered at
self-murder as the most decided of atrocities while the tabby cat
purred strenuously upon the rug, and the very water dog wheezed
assiduously under the table, each taking to itself much merit for the
strength of its lungs, and all obviously done in derision of my own
pulmonary incapacity.
Oppressed with a tumult of vague hopes and fears, I at length heard
the footsteps of my wife descending the staircase. Being now assured
of her absence, I returned with a palpitating heart to the scene of
my disaster.
Carefully locking the door on the inside, I commenced a vigorous
search. It was possible, I thought, that, concealed in some obscure
corner, or lurking in some closet or drawer, might be found the lost
object of my inquiry. It might have a vapory -- it might even have a
tangible form. Most philosophers, upon many points of philosophy, are
still very unphilosophical. William Godwin, however, says in his
"Mandeville," that "invisible things are the only realities," and
this, all will allow, is a case in point. I would have the judicious
reader pause before accusing such asseverations of an undue quantum
of absurdity. Anaxagoras, it will be remembered, maintained that snow
is black, and this I have since found to be the case.
Long and earnestly did I continue the investigation: but the
contemptible reward of my industry and perseverance proved to be only
a set of false teeth, two pair of hips, an eye, and a bundle of
billets-doux from Mr. Windenough to my wife. I might as well here
observe that this confirmation of my lady's partiality for Mr. W.
occasioned me little uneasiness. That Mrs. Lackobreath should admire
anything so dissimilar to myself was a natural and necessary evil. I
am, it is well known, of a robust and corpulent appearance, and at
the same time somewhat diminutive in stature. What wonder, then, that
the lath-like tenuity of my acquaintance, and his altitude, which has
grown into a proverb, should have met with all due estimation in the
eyes of Mrs. Lackobreath. But to return.
My exertions, as I have before said, proved fruitless. Closet after
closet -- drawer after drawer -- corner after corner -- were
scrutinized to no purpose. At one time, however, I thought myself
sure of my prize, having, in rummaging a dressing-case, accidentally
demolished a bottle of Grandjean's Oil of Archangels -- which, as an
agreeable perfume, I here take the liberty of recommending.
With a heavy heart I returned to my boudoir -- there to ponder upon
some method of eluding my wife's penetration, until I could make
arrangements prior to my leaving the country, for to this I had
already made up my mind. In a foreign climate, being unknown, I
might, with some probability of success, endeavor to conceal my
unhappy calamity -- a calamity calculated, even more than beggary, to
estrange the affections of the multitude, and to draw down upon the
wretch the well-merited indignation of the virtuous and the happy. I
was not long in hesitation. Being naturally quick, I committed to
memory the entire tragedy of "Metamora." I had the good fortune to
recollect that in the accentuation of this drama, or at least of such
portion of it as is allotted to the hero, the tones of voice in which
I found myself deficient were altogether unnecessary, and the deep
guttural was expected to reign monotonously throughout.
I practised for some time by the borders of a well frequented marsh;
-- herein, however, having no reference to a similar proceeding of
Demosthenes, but from a design peculiarly and conscientiously my own.
Thus armed at all points, I determined to make my wife believe that I
was suddenly smitten with a passion for the stage. In this, I
succeeded to a miracle; and to every question or suggestion found
myself at liberty to reply in my most frog-like and sepulchral tones
with some passage from the tragedy -- any portion of which, as I soon
took great pleasure in observing, would apply equally well to any
particular subject. It is not to be supposed, however, that in the
delivery of such passages I was found at all deficient in the looking
asquint -- the showing my teeth -- the working my knees -- the
shuffling my feet -- or in any of those unmentionable graces which
are now justly considered the characteristics of a popular performer.
To be sure they spoke of confining me in a strait-jacket -- but, good
God! they never suspected me of having lost my breath.
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