Falsely luxurious! Will not man awake?
used to lie in bed till noon, because he said he had no motive in
getting up. He could imagine the good of rising; but then he could
also imagine the good of lying still; and his exclamation, it must be
allowed, was made upon summer-time, not winter. We must proportion the
argument to the individual character. A money-getter may be drawn out
of his bed by three and four pence; but this will not suffice for a
student. A proud man may say, "What shall I think of myself, if I
don't get up?" but the more humble one will be content to waive this
prodigious notion of himself, out of respect to his kindly bed. The
mechanical man shall get up without any ado at all; and so shall the
barometer. An ingenious lier in bed will find hard matter of
discussion even on the score of health and longevity. He will ask us
for our proofs and precedents of the ill effects of lying later in
cold weather; and sophisticate much on the advantages of an even
temperature of body; of the natural propensity (pretty universal) to
have one's way; and of the animals that roll themselves up, and sleep
all the winter. As to longevity, he will ask whether the longest life
is of necessity the best; and whether Holborn is the handsomest street
in London.
We only know of one confounding, not to say confounded argument, fit
to overturn the huge luxury, the "enormous bliss"--of the vice in
question. A lier in bed may be allowed to profess a disinterested
indifference for his health or longevity; but while he is showing the
reasonableness of consulting his own or one person's comfort, he must
admit the proportionate claim of more than one; and the best way to
deal with him is this, especially for a lady; for we earnestly
recommend the use of that sex on such occasions, if not somewhat
_over_-persuasive; since extremes have an awkward knack of meeting.
First then, admit all the ingeniousness of what he says, telling him
that the bar has been deprived of an excellent lawyer. Then look at
him in the most good-natured manner in the world, with a mixture of
assent and appeal in your countenance, and tell him that you are
waiting breakfast for him; that you never like to breakfast without
him; that you really want it too; that the servants want theirs; that
you shall not know how to get the house into order, unless he rises;
and that you are sure he would do things twenty times worse, even than
getting out of his warm bed, to put them all into good humour and a
state of comfort. Then, after having said this, throw in the
comparatively indifferent matter, to _him_, about his health; but tell
him that it is no indifferent matter to you; that the sight of his
illness makes more people suffer than one; but that if, nevertheless,
he really does feel so very sleepy and so very much refreshed by----
Yet stay; we hardly know whether the frailty of a---- Yes, yes; say
that too, especially if you say it with sincerity; for if the weakness
of human nature on the one hand and the _vis inertiae_ on the other,
should lead him to take advantage of it once or twice, good-humour and
sincerity form an irresistible junction at last; and are still better
and warmer things than pillows and blankets.
Other little helps of appeal may be thrown in, as occasion requires.
You may tell a lover, for instance, that lying in bed makes people
corpulent; a father, that you wish him to complete the fine manly
example he sets his children; a lady, that she will injure her bloom
or her shape, which M. or W. admires so much; and a student or artist,
that he is always so glad to have done a good day's work, in his best
manner.
_Reader._ And pray, Mr. Indicator, how do _you_ behave yourself in
this respect?
_Indic._ Oh, Madam, perfectly, of course; like all advisers.
_Reader._ Nay, I allow that your mode of argument does not look quite
so suspicious as the old way of sermonising and severity, but I have
my doubts, especially from that laugh of yours. If I should look in
to-morrow morning--
_Indic._ Ah, Madam, the look in of a face like yours does anything
with me. It shall fetch me up at nine, if you please--_six_, I meant
to say.
_Leigh Hunt._