as I would, Sam," said he; "parting from friends
whether temporally or for ever, is a sad thing, and the former is
typical of the latter. No, I do not know as I would. We may use these
things, but not abuse them. Be temperate, be moderate, but it is a sorry
heart that knows no pleasure. Take your night-cap, Sam, and then commend
yourself to His safe keeping, who rules the wind and the waves to Him
who--"

"Well then, minister, what a dreadful awful looking thing a night-cap is
without a tassel, ain't it? Oh! you must put a tassel on it, and that
is another glass. Well then, what is the use of a night-cap, if it has
a tassel on it, but has no string, it will slip off your head the very
first turn you take; and that is another glass you know. But one string
won't tie a cap; one hand can't shake hands along with itself: you must
have two strings to it, and that brings one glass more. Well then, what
is the use of two strings if they ain't fastened? If you want to keep
the cap on, it must be tied, that's sartain, and that is another go; and
then, minister, what an everlastin' miserable stingy, ongenteel critter
a feller must be, that won't drink to the health of the Female Brewer.
Well, that's another glass to sweethearts and wives, and then turn in
for sleep, and that's what I intend to do to-night. I guess I'll tie the
night-cap this hitch, if I never do agin, and that's a fact."

"Oh Sam, Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, "for a man that is wide awake and
duly sober, I never saw one yet that talked such nonsense as you do. You
said, you understood me, but you don't, one mite or morsel; but men
are made differently, some people's narves operate on the brain
sens_itively_ and give them exquisite pain or excessive pleasure; other
folks seem as if they had no narves at all. You understand my words, but
you don't enter into my feelings. Distressing images rise up in my mind
in such rapid succession, I can't master them, but they master me. They
come slower to you, and the moment you see their shadows before you,
you turn round to the light, and throw these dark figures behind you.
I can't do that; I could when I was younger, but I can't now. Reason
is comparing two ideas, and drawing an inference. Insanity is, when you
have such a rapid succession of ideas, that you can't compare them. How
great then must be the pain when you are almost pressed into insanity
and yet retain your reason? What is a broken heart? Is it death? I think
it