Nor did
his thankful spirit confine itself to this. To listen to him, you
would have believed him an especial object of divine as well as
human benevolence--all things working for his good. The doctor used
to say that No. 12 had a "mania for happiness;" but it was a mania,
that, in creating esteem for its victim, infused fresh courage into
all that came within its range.
I think I still see him seated on the side of his bed, with his
little black silk cap, his spectacles and the well-worn volume,
which he never ceased perusing. Every morning, the first rays of the
sun rested on his bed, always to him a fresh subject of rejoicing
and thankfulness to God. To witness his gratitude, one might suppose
that the sun was rising for him alone. I need hardly say, that he
soon interested himself in my cure, and regularly made inquiry
respecting its progress. He always found something cheering to
say--something to inspire patience and hope, himself a living
commentary on his words. When I looked at this poor motionless
figure, those distorted limbs, and, crowning all, that smiling
countenance, I had not courage to be angry, or even to complain. At
each painful crisis, he would exclaim: "One minute, and it will be
over.
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