The Southern Literary Messenger, Volume I., 1834-35Various
General
The Southern Literary Messenger, Volume I., 1834-35
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
animal or other substances, if exposed to the action of heat and
moisture in the open air: a quantity of carbonic acid gas is
disengaged, and this gas filling the stomach acts by mechanical
pressure, and thus produces the pain I feel. Now I have discovered
that in consequence of my habit of eating fast, my food is not
sufficiently _triturated_, and of course the gastric juice [heaven
help me!] cannot act upon it; and I am exactly in the situation of the
sheep or any other ruminating animal, who swallows the herbage whole,
and then _regurgitates_, that it may undergo a better mastication.
Well what then is the remedy? I will tell you; I will make John pound
my food in a mortar, which will supply the necessary trituration, and
thus I shall be a well man." He sent off immediately to a druggist and
purchased a nice little wedge-wood mortar, and there stood John every
day behind his chair, pounding his meat, bread and vegetables, into a
revolting mass, until my poor ears were well nigh deafened with the
shrill din of the pestle against the sides of the mortar. Was ever
woman so beset? At the end of a week, finding himself no better, he
threw the mortar, pestle and all at John's head, and would certainly
have pounded _him_ to death but for a fortunate dodge, which permitted
the mortar to come in contact with my china press, where it made sad
havoc among my most valuable ware. He was very glad he said, because I
had no business to let the press stand there. It was on the tip of my
tongue to say, "bray a fool in a mortar," &c., but I checked the
impulse, and mildly said, I was very sorry indeed that he could get no
relief. This somewhat mollified him, and the next day he came to me
and apologized for what he had done, and promised to repair the damage
by making me a handsome present; but this calm was of short duration,
for he soon relapsed into gloom--and as he sat by the fire smoking his
pipe, he all at once declared that it must have been the cursed
tobacco which had poisoned his existence; that during the combustion
of the tobacco an oil was disengaged, which mixing with the saliva,
was taken up by absorption into his lungs, and had eaten them to a
honeycomb. John was immediately called: "Here," said he, "John, take
this pipe, and d'ye hear sir, hide it--hide it where I never can find
it again." John accordingly took the pipe, but struggled in vain to
choke his laughter. Before he could escape from the room, he burst out
into such a loud, distinct, irrepressible ha! ha! that there was no
mistaking the thing, and he was soundly caned for his involuntary
breach of decorum. About three days after this, in the evening after
tea, my husband's favorite time for smoking, I observed him very
restless indeed; he rose, walked about the room, sat down, whistled,
hummed a tune, and rose again. At last he began to rummage about the
wainscoat and mantlepiece, and behind the book case, and suddenly
turning round he called John in a softened voice; "John, my good
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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