ABSTRACT
In the middle of the night our hero was wakened by a loud bellowing. It was only king Corny in a paroxysm of the gout. His majesty was naturally of a very impatient temper, and his maxims of philosophy encouraged him to the most unrestrained expression of his feelings - the maxims of his philosophy - for he had read, though in a most desultory manner, and he had thought often deeply, and not seldom justly. The turns of his mind, and the questions he asked, were sometimes utterly unexpected. ‘Pray, now,’ said he to Harry, who stood beside his bed, ‘now that I’ve a moment’s ease - did you ever hear of the Stoics that the bookmen talk of? 11 And can you tell me what good any one of them ever got by making it a point to make no noise, when they’d be punished and racked with pains of body or mind? Why, I will tell you all they got - all they got was no pity: who would give them pity that did not require it? I could bleed to death in a bath, as well as the best of them, if I chose it; or chew a bullet if I set my teeth to it, with any man in a regiment -but where’s the use? nature knows best, and she says roar!’ And he roared -for another twinge seized him.
