The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1866-03-09

w NNNASA AouSS VI iilJ
and their "meanderings" are on such a
scale that we are not left in doubt as to
the strength and vigor of their limbs
Yet my friends are sad
1t is Byronic sadness; it is
1.-THE lea1ess desert of the mind,
The waste of feelings unemployed,
from which my friends suffer- / remem.
Der that in "David Copper6eld," there
was certain "Mrs. Gummidge,' who,
whenever anything happened that was not
in strict accord with her notions, would
greatly bemoan it, and would not be co.,
soled by being told that all of us have
our trials. eyes," she would exclain,,
"but | feels it more than others" So
my friends feel the pebbles in their way
to be great rocks; and the notes in their
eyes, are to them huge beams; and the
cloud in their sky. SO small as scarcely to
be perceived by the lockers on, is to them
gloomy, black, threatening mass ready
to whelm them in destruction. Talk to
my friends of love. 1t is embodied to
them in one word-sadness 1t lis not that
healthy feeling, which singing out from
the whole world one object upon whom to
lavish an unsel6sh devotion-whose hap.
piness is to be considered in every spoken
word and loving action; whose veal is
dearer far than any selfish qualification !;
and upon whose life we would not cast
even the shadow of our love, if by its sac
rifce we might leave the loved ones path
strewed with those flowers which are not
ours to give, but which it shall never be
our hands to root away. No, my friends
are like Byron; they can't have what they
want, so they nave Giade up their minds
to be miserable-when they talk and
think of love. But suppose you bring
disgrace, poverty, sorrow upon those in
whose veins flow kindred blood, and do
not make either yourself or the object
of your affection, really happier or better
by this engagement or marriage? No
matter, say my friends-'hs natures
doom"-and then they quote from man
whose life showed he was incapable of
pure, unselfsh love:
~ look around and cannot trace
One friendly smile or welcome face,
And ev'n in crowds am still alone,
Because | cannot love but one."
This is very pretty-but is it sense p
Is the reason given sufficient to account
nationally for the melancholy am of
the opinion that all this may be
1.-THE flowers of rhetoric, though not of sense"
Talk to my friends of friendship. 1t is
all embraced-to them-iu the one word
sadness. To be cheerful is, my friends
think, to be unfeeling. Never to weep,
is to be stony-hearted. To speak ono
word of true, honest meaning, devoid of
fattery, and with the desire of bene6ting
friends to impose. I cannot help
laughing-abuse me if they will-when
think of the image which they call frien-
dship Its features are those of idiocy ;
for friend is not to know our character
and desire its renovation. Its counte-
nance is gloom, and the trickling tears
proclaim that friend is expected to
grieve, no matter whether any adequate
cause is discoverable or not. Talk to
my friends of money, approach the sub
ject with metaphor, they detect you
whisper it in allegory, they hear it,
"Meecenary," is the sad term by which
my friends would stigmatize all those who
have ever breathed the word-money.-
Yet cannot but notice that with all this
sadness lavished on this mercenary sub
ject-with all these TRADES against those
who would not willingly lose their money
my friends wear G, cd clothes which
cost money; live in comfortable houses that
cost money; eat what is not given them.
To be sure my friends are "Skimpoles,"
and have not to provide money for these
things-they have "John Jarndyees" to
do all this for them. 1t may be because
am "mercenary," but 1 really think
these sad ones-however they may theor-
ize-can do as little without money as
those who profess to be "mercenary,' like
myself. AS long as money represents
cleanliuess-for though water is said to be
cheap, to judge from poor people it is Mt
much prized-health, books, education,
refinement, christianity, virtue--so long
shall l remain-a "mercenary'' creature.
have not time to pursue this theme.
My friends saluess, though I treat it SO
lightly-sometimes make me sad.
think of desoIated homes, of widows and
of orphans battling SO cheerfully and
bravely for what gives only sadness to my
friends, and Il feel how much better this
superduous sadness might be spent, not
in making themselves wretched-but in
those
-"tears most sacred, shed for Others pain,
That start at once-bright-pure from PHYS
mine,
Already polish'd by the hand divine"
M.