The Oak Shade, or, Records of a Village Literary Association
General
The Oak Shade, or, Records of a Village Literary Association
American literature -- 19th century
“Without him,” remarked I, desirous of ascertaining how so long a
period of confinement could be endured, “time would, no doubt, hang
heavily upon you, and your sources of comfort and pleasure be much
diminished?”
“Since I have become accustomed to the many gratifications he has
brought me, I can scarcely endure his absence for a single day. Though
he is not my only source of comfort and amusement, to lose him would be
a most terrible affliction.”
“How,” continued I, putting the question direct, “could you tolerate
this long confinement, and yet retain your youthful glee? I should long
since have perished from utter despondency.”
“It was not so easily done,” was her answer, whilst a pleasant smile
lighted up her countenance, “yet I made every effort to maintain my
spirits, and with the kind assistance of all around me, I happily
succeeded.” After speaking of the many kindnesses of her friends, and
the constant devotion of her husband, in so animating a manner that
I could not help fully sharing in her feelings, she continued: “If I
cannot move with the busy world, I constantly hear of it, and often
think of it. To appreciate and feel its pleasures, it is not always
necessary that we should actively participate in them. The heart and
mind are the seats of true enjoyment, and the occurrences and events
of busy life can only be pleasing as they harmonize with the one or
the other, whatever may be your condition. There is no joy, unless you
reach them by the right direction, and no pain, unless you approach
them wrongly. The measure of happiness depends more upon the manner
in which they are made to move, than upon external causes. They are
likewise mighty sources of comfort and amusement within themselves.
I had lived happily for a number of years, partaking of all the
enjoyments my tastes suggested, or opportunity presented; and since
confined in this room, I have again and again lived over my former
life. Every incident has been reviewed, even from my infancy to the
present hour. This retrospective life, if I may so denominate it,
is very singular, and withal, very pleasing. The pure pleasure of a
good action is often little experienced whilst you are performing it,
but felt most keenly after it has been done. At times an occurrence
makes you tremble with affright whilst beholding it, and when your
momentary terror has subsided, its ridiculous nature convulses you with
laughter. I have known men to fret, and scold, and swear, for entire
days at the inconveniences that beset them, and when safely over their
difficulties, sit down and detail them again and again with the most
heartfelt merriment. I remember having once encountered a traveller,
who was so provoked at the miserable condition of the road, and the
cold winter weather, as very audibly to wish the company in a much
warmer locality more than fifty times during the slow journey; yet, a
few days after, I met him comfortably seated before a cheerful fire
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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