The Southern Literary Messenger, Volume I., 1834-35Various
General
The Southern Literary Messenger, Volume I., 1834-35
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
The feelings engendered in the heart of Willis, (for that was the name
of the usurer,) by the kindness of his benefactor, were envy and
bitter hatred. Envy, that he possessed the means to be generous;
hatred, that having them he was so. But his heart rejoiced when he
reflected that this very generosity would betray itself; and as he
counted his own increasing gains, and became acquainted with the
diminished and decreasing resources of his friend, he foresaw the time
would come when their relative situations would be changed--when the
patron would in turn become the suitor, and be dependant on his former
menial's bounty. The time did come. A small loan was requested, and
granted with cheerfulness. "The spider" as Heywood afterwards said,
"had spun his first line." Then came a demand for a larger sum, which
was raised with a pretence of great difficulty. Another thread was
wrapped around the body of the victim. Slowly, silently, cautiously,
these tiny lines were drawn, with a touch so light, that they were not
felt until the web was fully formed--the prey secure--fluttering and
struggling in the toils,--but vainly struggling; for those little
threads had been plied and twisted into a cord of strength to bind the
unshorn Sampson.
Of all the galling miseries that man is heir to, the most intolerable,
the most debasing, the most corroding to the heart, the most
destructive to the mind, is the consciousness of debt without the
means of payment. Oh! what days of humiliation, what nights of nervous
wakefulness, or else of dreaming horror, does he abide, on whose
oppressed spirit is laid the load of payments he cannot meet, of
obligations he cannot cancel. For him, though the sun shines abroad,
there is no beauty in his beams. The earth is clothed with verdure,
and a thousand odorous flowers are scattered in his path. He heeds
them not; their perfume is wasted on him. The moon rides in liquid
lustre, and the myriad stars break forth in light, and the whole
heaven is clothed with exceeding glory; but there is a darkness in his
soul no light can penetrate--a grief at his heart no beauties of
nature can assuage. His energies are dead; they fester beneath the
pall of despair.
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