LIFE IN THE SICK-ROOM.
Tins volume is a series of essays written by a confirmed invalid, whose life is passed in the confinement of the house, whose bodily wellbeing is cessation of pain, and whose only remedy is death. The essays, as their title implies, treat of such topics as might naturally suggest themselves to a reflective and well-conditioned mind in sickness,—as "The Transient and the Permanent in the Sick-room," "Nature to the Invalid," "Power of Ideas in the Sick-room" ; or subjects which experience enforces upon every one in a similar condition, though the views taken and the mode of treatment will depend upon the individual character—as "Death to the Invalid," "Becoming Inured." The spirit which animates the volume is the principle of making the best of a bad bargain ; sometimes pushed to the extent of the popular axiom, "It will be all the same a hundred years hence." In an extreme view the book may sometimes be said to get beyond the Stoics, who merely held pain to be indifferent and not an evil ; whereas the drift of "The Transient and the Permanent in the Sick-room" is to make it out a good. Tested by sound logic, however, the instances merely show that there is no unmixed evil, or ills from which good may not be deduced ; but the question still remains, whether the operation of this good in evil is necessary and inevitable, like natural processes, or whether, like honey in flowers, it is merely latent, to be drawn forth by minds peculiarly constituted for the task. Other instances do not even approach as closely to the conclusion arrived at. For example—the writer one spring night or morning was kept awake by pain ; unwilling to arouse the house, and unable to rest, he (or she) arose, walked into the ad- joining room, and, drawing the curtains, was greeted with a land- scape effect of unexampled beauty, which made so deep an im- pression that it is described at length. But the moral appears to be the advantages of early rising, not the good of sleeplessness from pain. The writer seems to have pushed to an extreme the beau- tiful doctrine of compensation; which, whatever it may mean in philology, is not in nature a complete equivalent. The blind ac- quire a wonderful nicety of touch ; the deaf, a great facility in in- terpretation, and escape from much that others are doomed to hear ; the constitution, we believe, becomes "inured" to pain or bodily derangement,—in which view we differ from our author : but blindness, deafness, and pain, are evils, though the compensat- ing principle in nature prevents them from becoming evils to the extent that ignorant theory would suppose.
The direct benefit of ill health, which, like that described in the volume before us, leaves the powers free during the intervals of pain, is of an intellectual character. The isolation of the sick- room, the absence of practical interest and of practical bias in temporary affairs, give the effect of remoteness of time to the re- sults of the judgment, and impart a philosophical elevation of tone. This feeling pretty generally pervades Life in the Sick-Room, and is perhaps the source of the logical error just discussed ; but it often gives rise to novelty of thought, and occasionally—as in the follow- ing passages from " Life to the Invalid "—thoughts of great value, fully and closely expressed. The writer is addressing the reader, to whom the book is dedicated as to a brother invalid ; and the topic is the tendency of the sick-room to show life under a quieter aspect.
"Before we were laid aside, we read, as everybody read, philosophical histo- ries, in which the progress of society was presented. We read of the old times, when the chieftain, whatever his title, dwelt in the castle on the steep, while his retainers were housed in a cluster of dwellings under the shadow of his protection. We read of the indispensable function of the priest in the castle, and of the rise of his order ; and then, of the lawyer and his order. We read of the origin of commerce, beginning in monopoly ; and then, of the gradual admission of more and more parties to the privileges of trade, and their settling themselves in situations favourable for the purpose, and apart from the head monopolists. We read of the indispensable function of the merchant, and the rise of his order. We read of the feuds and wars of the aristocratic orders, which, while fatally weakening them, left leisure for the middle and lower classes to rise and grow, and strengthen themselves, till the forces of society were shifted, and its destinies presented a new aspect. We read of the sure though sometimes intermitting advance of popular interests and reduc- tion of aristocratic power and privileges, throughout the general field of civili- zation. We read of all these things, and assented to what seemed so very clear—so distinct an interpretation of what had happened up to our own day. At the same time, busy and involved as we were in the interests of the day, how little use did we make of the philosophic retrospect, which might and should have been prophetic ? Yon, I think, dreaded in every popular move- ment a whirlwind of destruction—in every popular success a sentence of the dissolution of society. You believed that such a man, or such a set of men, could give stability to our condition, and fix us, for an unassignable time, at the point of the last settlement, or what you assumed to be the latest. I, meanwhile, believed that our safety or peril, for a term, depended on the event of this or that movement, the carrying of this or that question : I was not guilty of fearing political ruin. I did with constancy believe in the certain advance of popular interests, and demolition of all injurious power held by the few ; but I believed that more depended on single questions than was really involved in such, and that separate measures would be more comprehensive and complete than a dispassionate observer thinks possible. In the midst of all this, you and I were taken apart; and have not our eyes been opened to per- ceive, in the action of society, the continuation of the history we read so long ago ? I need scarcely allude to the progress of popular interests, and the un- equalled rapidity with which some great questions are approaching to a settle- ment. We have a stronger tendency to speculate on the movements of the- minds engaged in the transaction of affairs than on the rate of advance of the affairs themselves. With much that is mortifying and sad, and something that is amusing, how much is there instructive; and how clear, as in a bird's-eye view of a battle, or as in the analysis of a wise speculative philosopher, is the process!"
There is much of truth and wisdom in the following remarks on the comparative unimportance of the present, and the little value of any one thing.
"We see everybody that is busy doing what we did—overrating the imme- diate object. There is no sin in this, and no harm, however it proves inces- santly the fallibility of human judgments. It is ordered by Him who con- stituted our minds and our duties, that our business of the hour should be magnified by the operation of our powers upon it. Without this, nothing would ever be done: for every man's energy is no more than sufficient for his task ; and there would be a fatal abatement of energy if a man saw his present employment in the proportion in which it must afterwards appear to other affairs,—the limitation and weakness of our powers causing us to apprehend feebly the details of what we see, when we endeavour to be comprehensive in our views. The truth seems to lie in a point of view different from either. I doubt whether it is passible for us to overrate the positive importance of what we are doing, though we are continually exaggerating its value in relation to other objects of our own ; while it seems pretty certain that we entertain an inadequate estimate of interests that we have dismissed, to make room for new ones.
" Next, we sec the present operation of old liberalizing causes so strong as to be irresistible; men of all parties—or, at least, reasonable men of all parties—so carried along by the current of events, that it is scarcely now a question with any one what is the point towards which the vessel of the state is to be carried next, but how she is to be most safely steered amidst the perils which beset an ordained course. One party mourns that no great political hero rises up to retard the speed to a rate of safety ; and another party mourns that no great political hero presents himself to increase while guiding our speed by the
inspiration of his genius ; while there are a few tranquil observers who believe that, glorious as would be the advent of a great political hero at any time, we could never better get on without one, because never before were principles so clearly and strongly compelling their own adoption and working out their own results. They are now the masters and not the servants of statesmen ' • and, inestimable as would be the boon of a great individual will, which should work in absolute congeniality with these powers, we may trust, for our safety and progress, in their dominion over all lesser wills." a " While in this conflict grave and responsible leaders grow factions—while men of purpose forget their march onward in side-skirmishes—while reformers lose sight of the Imperishable quality of their cause, and talk of hopeless corruption and inevitable destruction—how do affairs appear to us, in virtue merely of our being out of the strife?
a We see that large principles are more extensively agreed upon than ever before—more manifest to all eyes, from the very absence of a hero to work them, since they are every hour showing how irresistibly they are making their own way. We see that the tale of the multitude is told as it never was told before—their health, their minds and morals, pleaded for in a tone perfectly new in the world. We see that the dreadful sins and woes of society are the results of old causes, and that our generation has the honour of being responsible for their relief; while the disgrace of their existence belongs, certainly not to our time and perhaps to none. We see that no spot of earth ever before con- tained such an amount of infallible resources as our own country at this day ; so much knowledge, so much sense, so much vigour, foresight, and benevolence, or such an amount of external means. We see the progress of amelioration, silent but sure, as the shepherd on the upland sees in the valley the advance of a gush of sunshine from betr.een two hills, lie observes what the people below are too busy to mark : how the light attains now this object and now that—how it now embellishes yonder copse, and now gilds that stream, and now glances upon the roofs of the far-off hamlet—the signs and sounds of life quickening along its course." It will be seen from these passages, that Life in the Sick- Room is not deficient in comprehension of view, or closeness and cogency of style. The book also displays a kind and sympathetic spirit ; but, it strikes us, rather sentimental than feeling—more of the nerves than the heart. Great elegance of manner and much consideration is also exhibited ; but sometimes reflection is prone to degenerate into reverie ; and this, coupled with an over curious treatment of minute topics, gives to certain parts an air of weariness. Taken altogether, however, Life in a Sick-Roam is a remarkable production ; fresh in its character, phi- losophical in its tone, deep yet elegant in its treatment, and likely to be of use to numbers, in pointing out sources of consolation within the attainment of the hopelessly invalided, as well as crumbs of comfort inherent in their condition, if they would but draw them forth.
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