ased their
importunity, may be cut up also (horrible suggestion!) to determine
in what system of solids or fluids this original sin of my
constitution lay lurking. What work will they make with their acids
and alkalines, their serums and coagulums, effervescences, viscous
matter, bile, chyle, and acrimonious juices, to explain that cause
which Nature, who willed the effect to punish me for my sins, may no
less have determined to keep in the dark from them, to punish them
for their presumption!

You may ask, Mr. Reflector, to what purpose is my appeal to you; what
can you do for me? Alas! I know too well that my case is out of the
reach of advice,--out of the reach of consolation. But it is some
relief to the wounded heart to impart its tale of misery; and some of
my acquaintance, who may read my case in your pages under a borrowed
name, may be induced to give it a more humane consideration than I
could ever yet obtain from them under my own. Make them, if possible,
to _reflect_, that an original peculiarity of constitution is no
crime; that not that which goes into the mouth desecrates a man, but
that which comes out of it,--such as sarcasm, bitter jests, mocks and
taunts, and ill-natured observations; and let them consider, if there
be such things (which we have all heard of) as Pious Treachery,
Innocent Adultery, &c., whether there may not be also such a thing as
Innocent Gluttony.

I shall only subscribe myself,

Your afflicted servant,

EDAX.

CURIOUS FRAGMENTS,

EXTRACTED FROM A COMMONPLACE-BOOK,

WHICH BELONGED TO ROBERT BURTON, THE FAMOUS AUTHOR OF THE
ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY.

* * * * *

EXTRACT I.

I, Democritus Junior, have put my finishing pen to a tractate _De
Melancholia_, this day, December 5, 1620. First, I blesse the
Trinity, which hath given me health to prosecute my worthlesse
studies thus far, and make supplication, with a _Laus Deo_, if in any
case these my poor labours may be found instrumental to weede out
black melancholy, carking cares, harte-grief, from the mind of man.
_Sed hoc magis volo quam expecto._

I turn now to my book, _i nunc liber, goe forth, my brave Anatomy,
child of my brain-sweat_, and yee, _candidi lectores_, lo! here I
give him up to you, even do with him what you please, my masters.
Some, I suppose, will applaud, commend, cry him up (these are my
friends), hee is a _flos rarus_, forsooth, a nonesuch, a Phoenix
(concerning who