Letters of Peregrine PickleUpton, George P. (George Putnam)
General
Letters of Peregrine Pickle
Upton, George P. (George Putnam)
Chicago (Ill.) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
He paused a minute, and said: "And yet I think I might send some
advice by you. A great many good souls upon Earth are troubled
about the meaning of life. There was one poor fool named Dr. Faust,
who once sold himself to me, in order to get at the meaning of the
riddle. Tell them that any one who can appreciate the littleness of
life and not lose his own dignity has come near enough to solving
the problem. Tell them, also, to realize, if they can, that their
condition is human, and that, whenever they try to ape the divine,
they are opposing the eternal fitness of things. The best happiness,
and glory, and virtue they can reach is in being _men_, and loving
their fellow-men. If they become angels on Earth, they have nothing
left to do when they get up there. That old poet whom you are
accustomed to style a heathen was just right when he said: 'I am
human, and I deem nothing human a stranger to me.'"
I promised the Devil I would take his message to Earth, and then
said: "I have but one more question to ask."
"What is that?" he replied.
"Do editors come here often?"
"No! they have quite enough of this place where they are."
I thanked him from my heart of hearts, and bade him good-bye as one
not utterly bereft of comfort and consolation.
As the old ferryman landed I noticed that his boat was full of stock
speculators, and that the Devil looked utterly disgusted when they
stepped into his dominions.
We passed over the river in silence. I climbed the hill and crossed
the blank moors, passed through the golden sea again, and then on
through the systems until I reached Earth and awaked.
It may be barely possible that a quarter section of hot mince pie had
something to do with this visit.
September 19, 1869.
_L'ENVOI._
It is only a few brief lines, and I must say good-bye to the reader,
and the book closes. You and I have kept company together through
nearly three years of pleasant intercourse--a brief time as numbered
by years, but long enough in the calendar of words and deeds. I trust
neither of us is the worse for the company, and that we shall part
with kindly words, good wishes and mutual blessings, until we see
each other again. I trust that in these preceding pages, each one
of you may have found some thought you will deem worthy to lay away
for preservation among the locks of hair and old letters and faded
flowers and other souvenirs which each of you keep and look at when
the world presses heavily upon you with its cares and anxieties.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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