England -- Fiction; Humorous stories; Male friendship -- Fiction; Men -- Societies and clubs -- Fiction
‘It is a touching thing to hear the mind reverting to the ordinary
occupations and pursuits of health, when the body lies before you weak
and helpless; but when those occupations are of a character the most
strongly opposed to anything we associate with grave and solemn ideas,
the impression produced is infinitely more powerful. The theatre and the
public-house were the chief themes of the wretched man’s wanderings. It
was evening, he fancied; he had a part to play that night; it was late,
and he must leave home instantly. Why did they hold him, and prevent his
going?--he should lose the money--he must go. No! they would not let
him. He hid his face in his burning hands, and feebly bemoaned his own
weakness, and the cruelty of his persecutors. A short pause, and he
shouted out a few doggerel rhymes--the last he had ever learned. He rose
in bed, drew up his withered limbs, and rolled about in uncouth
positions; he was acting--he was at the theatre. A minute’s silence, and
he murmured the burden of some roaring song. He had reached the old
house at last--how hot the room was. He had been ill, very ill, but he
was well now, and happy. Fill up his glass. Who was that, that dashed it
from his lips? It was the same persecutor that had followed him before.
He fell back upon his pillow and moaned aloud. A short period of
oblivion, and he was wandering through a tedious maze of low-arched
rooms--so low, sometimes, that he must creep upon his hands and knees to
make his way along; it was close and dark, and every way he turned, some
obstacle impeded his progress. There were insects, too, hideous crawling
things, with eyes that stared upon him, and filled the very air around,
glistening horribly amidst the thick darkness of the place. The walls
and ceiling were alive with reptiles--the vault expanded to an enormous
size--frightful figures flitted to and fro--and the faces of men he
knew, rendered hideous by gibing and mouthing, peered out from among
them; they were searing him with heated irons, and binding his head with
cords till the blood started; and he struggled madly for life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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