LETTERS TO BROTHER JOHN. 195 



literally burthensome. He is, indeed, in a mise- 

 rable condition. Food does not strengthen him 

 sleep does not refresh him mirth does not cheer 

 him society has no charms for him pleasure no 

 allurement : for him every thing- seems to have lost 

 its interest. He can think of nothing but himself: 

 his own wretched feelings are perpetually solicit- 

 ing his attention, and forcibly abstracting his mind 

 from every other contemplation. Like the owl, he 

 mopes all day, and is only aroused into active ex- 

 istence at night ; and even then, should he dare to 

 suffer himself to be tempted to indulge in a glass 

 of wine, or a slight supper with his friends, he is 

 haunted the whole time, and his comfort poisoned, 

 by the dread of additional suffering to be endured 

 in the morning. He becomes hipped, nervous, 

 melancholy, desponding. If his friends are not 

 perpetually sympathizing with him, he fancies they 

 have no regard for him. If they be merry, he 

 imagines that they are exulting over him. He feels 

 every smile as a personal cruelty, and the voice of 

 mirth rings in his ear like the voice of the death- 

 bell. His friends appear to have forsaken him * 



* " Is it not strange," exclaimed the elegant but dyspeptic 

 Rousseau, " that all the world should be leagued together to 

 oppress the son of a poor watchmaker ! " 

 K 2 



