The voice of freedom. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1839-1848, 1847-07-01
From the Knickcl booker.
Thoughts on Medi0critys
By " TIE DOCTOR"

The blessing of mediocrity, that middle
state, neither rich nor poor neither famous
or insigniicant neither ugly nor handsome ;
neither tall nor short; neither fat nor lean ;
on Il level; Cair sample Of what man can be,
enjoying what man can enjoy; not dying in
ones youth, nor living down to the slippered
pantaoon; is supposed very wise andpious to
wish for, but practically very poor to have
With your leave, kind reader, We will en-
deayor, according to our poor ability, to show
the true happiness Of q state y0Uare probably
trying to avoid.
The unhappiness of wealth lies in this, that
it disappoints the hopes. The rich man is
disappointed. Not that wealth has it not in
its power to do much good and compass noble
ends; not that it has not great privileges
But 1t is not every thing. If man extended
his heart as his purse swelled if lis intellect
grew with his pocket; if his moral views cx-
tended with his domains; If man were not
man, but an angel, wealth would bring I'M
told blessings and / would pray for it as
now pray for contened mind. But what is
the case? The boy, yes, the man, sees what
he might do with it he pines for it; works
for it drudgcs for it and has it. Where is
he now himself? He has contracted habits of
mind and body in his acquisitions which he
cannot throw off; he has outraged nature
He did not grow in bcnevolencc as he increas-
ed in money. lie occupies on elevation, to
be sure lie is on oh mountain, and is
chilled by the thin air. lie is a wonder to
his neighbors; an object of envy to many !;
but wealth does not bring him peace neces-
sarily. He thought it would. It clogs him ;
it is weighty. The dollars sunk the sailor
who jumped overheard to swim to land from
a sinking ship with his pockets full of specie
We say wealth acquired disappoints the hopes
and hope is necessary to happiness: hope for
some great end This the man Of moderate
fortune always may have. He is constantly
bettering his condition, getting nearer and
nearer to his object. His interest is awake,
life is full Of excitement to him. There is a
curtain soon to be raised which shall display
a magnificent scene, He is like the boy sit
ting in the theatre before the curtain rises
The noise and din of life is the music of the
orchestra to him soon, very soon-next year
perhaps-his hopes will be fulfilled! We
hope not for human happiness. For then he
will be like the same boy going home at
twelve o'clock at night from his stolen pleas
ure, to find himself locked out. He has come
to the end of the play,and is in the cold street
without rest.
But look at genius 1t is an excrcscensc :;
unnatural, even if beautiful. Too large fruit
breaks the branches of the tree. Our medical
books tell us fat is disease. Eat a piece of
that huge porker slaughtered lately in Boston
weighing eight hundred and fifty pounds, and
ten to one you eat fever or dysentery.-
"What has become of the geniusscs ?"' we
ask; "have they been happy men?" A
thousand voices from the crowded city:
would be willing to suffer all that genius ever
suffered; its poverty and neglect; woes that
out-speak the Newgate Calender; only let
me be famous, like Shakespeare or Milton :;
only let me die in the midst of conquest, like
Alexander! What glory to die in despair,
like Brutus what splendid horror No; |
think would be Bonapartc, strutting about
in military boots upon st. Helena, and I'M
agining the white crested waves that beat up
on the rocky prison to be troops of white
plumed horsemen coming furously to the
charge p "And l." liaps an ambitions little
miss of sixteen, "thould like to die like NTH
eth Jordon, on thofl, after Estimating a
printhe my heart broken with tender melan-
choly!"
Genius is good to looI, at, not to take. 1t
pays for its high vocation. Itcons its blood ;
its sweet voices are signs from broken heart
its pathos is real wo and that sound that comes
to our cars ,soGtened by distance, is a piercing
shrek of agony where it originates. Be a
byron, my youngstcrpcnning burning words