ARTHUR
2

I don't turn a deaf ear to these censors. I was aware of all the inconveniences and dangers with which I spontaneously exposed myself. No one knows better the value of the woman I call me, or set a higher price on her life, her health, and her ease. This virulence and activity of transmission, the dangerous condition of my patient, and the doubts of his character, I do not forget; but still my conduct in this matter receives all my own consent. All objections to the judgment of my friends were removed by his own volition and even his attention to taking over the province. I am more confident than others in overcoming this disease, and in the success of the actions we have used for our defense against it. But whatever evil befalls us, we are sure of one thing: namely, that the consciousness of having neglected this unfortunate person would be a greater source of unhappiness than could possibly be gained from the presence and attention he would claim.

The more we see it, the more we congratulate ourselves on our actions. His torment was acute and dull; but, in the midst of the delirium, his heart seemed to overflow with gratitude, and was moved by anything other than to alleviate our hard work and danger. He exerts tremendous energy to perform the necessary tasks for himself. He suppresses his feelings and struggles to maintain a cheerful tone and face, so that he can prevent the anxiety brought about by the sight of his suffering within us. She constantly gives reasons why her nurse should leave her alone, and expresses dissatisfaction whenever she enters her apartment.

Within a few days, there was reason to make it out of harm's way; and, within two weeks, only exercise and nutrition wanted to complete its recovery. While nothing was gained from him except general information, that his important residence encouraged him to jeopardize his safety by coming to the city at the height of the epidemic.

He is far from saying much. His silence seemed to be the result of a combination of politeness and unpleasant memories. His features were characterized by a miserable seriousness, and his attitude with the force of gravity was very unusual at his age. According to his own representatives, his age was no more than eighteen, but the depth of his remarks showed much greater progress. His name was Arthur, he described himself as having passed his life on the end of the plow and on the threshing floor; as poor of all scholastic instruction; and having long lost the affection of his parents and kinsmen.

When asked about the life path he wanted to pursue after his recovery, he admitted he was without the right object. He is willing to be guided by the advice of others, and by the light that experience must give. The country was open to him, and he thought that there was no part of it where food could not be bought with his energy. He was not qualified, according to his education, for any liberal profession. His poverty was also an insurmountable obstacle. He could not spend time in trade acquisitions. He must work, not for future wages, but for immediate livelihood. The only pursuit whose circumstances now allow him to adopt is what, he tends to believe, is also the most qualified. Without a doubt, his experience is very thin, and it seems unreasonable to say about what he does not know directly; but it is , he cannot deprive his mind of the belief that plowing, sowing, and reaping, is the most suitable work for a reasonable creature, and from it the true pleasures and least pollution will flow. He thought of no other plan than to return, as soon as his health had made it possible, to the country, to find work where it could be obtained, and to free himself from his involvement with loyalty and perseverance.

To this he objected, the experience had shown him unfit for the life of a writer. This had been his main job for a while, and he felt it was completely incompatible with his health. He must not sacrifice purpose for means. Hunger is a disease that is preferred to be consumed. Moreover, he worked only for the sake of living, and he lived only for the sake of pleasure. If his duties allow him to live, but, at the same time, make him lose all gratification, they inflict injury, and must be shunned as a worse evil than death.

I asked him what kind of pleasure he was alluding to, with which the business of a clerk was inconsistent.

He replied that he hardly knew how to describe it. He read books when they came in his way. He had illuminated little, and, perhaps, the pleasure they had given him because of their lack; yet he admitted that a lifestyle that completely forbade him from reading was not at all to his taste. But this is trivial. He knows how to appreciate the thoughts of others, but he cannot part with the privilege of observing and thinking for himself. He wanted a business that would suffer at least nine-tenths of his attention to go free. If it gives a pleasant work to the part of his attention applied to his own use, it is much better; but, if not, he should not reprimand. He had to settle for a life whose pleasure was comparable to his suffering like nine to one. He had tried the trade of a copyist, and in more favorable circumstances than likely he would ever again have the opportunity to try it, and he had found that it did not meet the necessary requirements. The ploughman trade is friendly to health, freedom and pleasure.

Pestilence, if it can be called that, has now decreased. The health of my young friend allows him to breathe fresh air and walk. A friend of mine, named Wortley, who had spent two months out of town, and to whom, in familiar correspondence, I had mentioned the above, returned from his rural journey. He posted, on the night of his arrival, on a friendly expedition, to my house, as he was following towards the same direction. He was surprised to find him gone before he went to my residence, and to find, which he did quickly, that this was the young man whom I often mentioned to him. I was at their meeting.