IN WHICH SHEPPARD LEE IS PREPARED FOR THE BRILLIANT DESTINY THAT AWAITS
HIM.
There were many things in the conversation of my friend Tickle which I
did not exactly comprehend, though I had a vague, confused appreciation
of all, and afterward understood him well enough. The fact is, I was
in the same difficulty which had beset me when scarce warm in the body
of Mr. Higginson, that is, a confusion of characters, propensities,
and associations, only that the last were imperfect, as if my memory
had suddenly given way; and besides, the difficulty was in both cases
increased by the feeling of amazement with which, for several hours,
when properly conscious of it, I pondered over the marvel of my
transformation. How such a thing could happen, or had happened, I knew
no more than the man in the moon: it was a new thing in the history of
man, and there was nothing in philosophy (at least, such philosophy as
I had at that time) to explain it. I had certainly done nothing, on my
part, in either case, to effect a change, save merely wishing it; and
it seemed to me that I possessed a power, never before known to a human
being, of transferring my spirit from body to body, whenever I willed,
at least, under certain circumstances. But on this subject I will have
more to say hereafter.
Happen how and by what means it might, it was certain a transfer _had_
taken place; and that I was no longer the poor miserable John H.
Higginson, with the gout and a scolding wife; the conception and full
consciousness of which were so rapturous, that I suddenly bounded on
my feet, and danced about like a madman, now running to the glass to
admire my youthful and elegant appearance, and now flinging my arms
round the neck of my friend, and hugging him twenty times over.
The conversation that passed between us was exceedingly joyous and
varied; though, as I said before, I had but an imperfect understanding
of many things Tickle said; for which reason I will record no more of
his expressions, lest they should confuse the reader's mind, as they
did mine. Some things, however, I gathered from him in relation to my
catastrophe and resuscitation which are proper to be told.
It seems that when I--that is, John H. Higginson--wished I were, or
might be, the defunct, Dulmer Dawkins, I fell down under a sudden
stroke of apoplexy, which was supposed to be caused by my exertions
to rescue the unfortunate beau; and, indeed, I saw in the first
newspaper I looked into, upon getting to Philadelphia afterward, a
long account of my demise, with a highly eulogistic and affecting
account of my heroism in sacrificing my life for another's; for, as
the paragraph stated, I was of a full and plethoric habit, strongly
inclined to apoplexy, of which I was aware myself, as well as of the
danger of over exertion; and therefore my act was the more truly
heroic. The paper was of a highly democratic character, and the notice
was closed by a ferocious warning to the young bug of aristocracy
(meaning the elegant and fashionable. I. Dulmer Dawkins), "to remember,
when wasting his trivial existence in that heartless society, whose
pleasures were obtained at the expense of their worthier, though poorer
fellow-creatures, that the preservation of it had cost the nation one
of its most excellent citizens, and the world a virtuous man and pure
patriot:"--by which I understood that John H. Higginson was of the
democratic party; although that was a circumstance of which the gout
and my wife had kept me ignorant, as long as I lived in his body.
As for me--that is, I. D. Dawkins--being lugged into the tavern, along
with my late tenement, the body of John H. Higginson, I was fallen
foul of by all hands; and what with tweaking my nose, beating my arms,
scorching my legs with hot bricks, flaying me with salt, whiskey,
spirits, and such things, and filling my lungs with dust and ashes
from an old fire-bellows, I was brought to life again, greatly to
the triumph of my tormentors, before the appearance of a physician;
who, however, subsequently assured me they had revived me with such
effect as to give him double trouble to keep me in the land of the
living afterward; for it seems, after being more dead than alive all
that night, I had remained in a kind of stupor all the following day,
from which I awoke on the second morning, well enough, as the doctor
prognosticated I would be, but only after I had remained more than
thirty-six hours in a state of insensibility.
As for my body--that is, Higginson's--it had the honour, after being
cogitated over by the coroner, of riding home in my splendid barouche,
with the thousand-dollar hourses; but whether my wife went with it or
not, I never cared to inquire. It was enough she was gone; and oh,
rapture of raptures! gone for ever.
My friend Tickle illuminated me as to other matters, especially in
relation to the fair Miss Smith; with whom, it seems (and I recollected
all about it when he had set my new associations properly to work), I
had been quite particular, until he himself discovered the insolvency
of her father's estate; when (and this I began to recollect in the same
manner) I instantly turned my attentions upon another--the fair Miss
Small--who jilted me. These things, I say, I soon began to recall to
mind, as well as many other incidents in the past life of I. Dulmer
Dawkins; and, indeed, in the course of a few days, I was as much at
home in his body, and among his affairs, as he had ever been himself.
But of this anon. I learned that Mr. Periwinkle Smith, after seeing
me lodged in the tavern, had driven off to town to engage medical
assistance; and this he did so effectually, that I had no less than
seven doctors at one time to send me their bills; which was a very
foolish thing of them.
Of these things, I say, I discoursed with my friend Jack Tickle,
whose conversation, together with the happy consciousness I had of my
transformation, infused inexpressible vivacity into my spirits. I was
marvellously pleased at the idea of being a fine young fellow, with the
freedom of chip-chop society; and I was impatient to return to the city
to enjoy my happiness.
"Bravo!" said Jack; "we'll walk in together. But do you know, Dawky," he
went on, nodding and winking, "that this is a cursed no-credit place,
and that the man below betrayed a certain vulgar anxiety about scot and
lot, and the extra expenses you had put him to? What do you say about
paying?"
"Really," said I, clapping my hands into my pockets, "I have forgotten
my pocketbook!"
"To be sure you have," said Tickle, laughing; "but why need you tell me
so? I am no shop-keeper."
"I mean," said I, in alarm, "demmee, that I have lost it, and with that
hundred-dollar bill my brother Tim--"
"Your brother Tim!" said Tickle; "who's he?"
I was struck all aback. I remembered that I was I. D. Dawkins.
Tickle perceived my confusion, and enjoyed it, attributing it to
another cause.
"Right!" said he, grinning with delight; "but don't make any pretence
with me. I didn't expect you to have any money; and, the Lord be
thanked, I have. I'll square your account, my dear fellow, and help you
to a pigeon besides."
With these words, and many others not needful to be mentioned, he
led the way down stairs, where he became astonishingly grave and
dignified--a peculiarity I found myself falling into--slapped his ratan
against his legs, called for "his friend Dawkins's bill," and paid
it--that is, I suppose he did, for I stalked out upon the porch, as if
I considered such vulgar matters beneath my notice.
Here, being soon joined by Tickle, and the day proving uncommonly fine,
we set out on foot towards the city; and I was conducted by my friend
to the door of my own lodgings.