Passages from the Life of a Philosopher

my ultimate great disappointment when it was pronounced, upon the undoubted authority of the village doctor, that the square piece of brass I had found was a half-dram weight which had escaped from the box of a pair of medical scales. This little incident had an important effect upon my after-life. I reflected upon the extraordinary fact, that my head-ache had been entirely cured by the discovery of the piece of brass. Although I may not have put into words the principle, that occupation of the mind is such a source of pleasure that it can relieve even the pain of a head-ache; yet I am sure it practically gave an additional stimulus to me in many a difficult inquiry. Some few years after, when suffering under a form of tooth-ache, not acute though tediously {15} wearing, I often had recourse to a volume of Don Quixote, and still more frequently to one of Robinson Crusoe. Although at first it required a painful effort of attention, yet it almost always happened, after a time, that I had forgotten the moderate pain in the overpowering interest of the novel. 〈COMPACT TO APPEAR AFTER DEATH.〉 My most intimate companion and friend was a boy named Dacres, the son of Admiral Richard Dacres. We had often talked over such questions as those I have mentioned in this chapter, and we had made an agreement that whichever died first should, if possible, appear to the other after death, in order to satisfy the survivor about their solution. After a year or two my young friend entered the navy, but we kept up our friendship, and when he was ashore I saw him frequently. He was in a ship of eighty guns at the passage of the Dardanelles, under the command of Sir Thomas Duckworth. Ultimately he was sent home in charge of a prize-ship, in which he suffered the severest hardships during a long and tempestuous voyage, and then died of consumption. I saw him a few days before his death, at the age of about eighteen. We talked of former times, but neither of us mentioned the compact. I believe it occurred to his mind: it was certainly strongly present to my own. 〈DID NOT APPEAR.〉 He died a few days after. On the evening of that day I retired to my own room, which was partially detached from the house by an intervening conservatory. I sat up until after midnight, endeavouring to read, but found it impossible to fix my attention on any subject, except the overpowering feeling of curiosity, which absorbed my mind. I then undressed and went into bed; but sleep was entirely banished. I had previously carefully examined whether any cat, bird, or living animal might be accidentally concealed in my room, {16} and I had studied the forms of the furniture lest they should in the darkness mislead me. I passed a night of perfect sleeplessness. The distant clock and a faithful dog, just outside my own door, produced the only sounds which disturbed the intense silence of that anxious night.