LITMIR.BIZ

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and critics.

      But this subject, though often reflected on, I have had no leisure to digest properly. For which reason, begging the reader's pardon for the digression, I shall now leave it, and resume my story.

      CHAPTER VIII.

      SHEPPARD LEE'S SEARCH FOR A BODY. – AN UNCOMMON INCIDENT

      I was provoked, I say, to think there were so many millions of dead bodies thrown away every year, for which I, in the greatest of my difficulties, should be none the better. Such was the extremity to which I was reduced, that I should have been content to change conditions with a beggar.

      It was a night in February. The day had been uncommonly fine, with a soft southern air puffing through the streets; the frost was oozing from the pavement, and the flags – I beg their pardon, the bricks – were floating in the yellow mud, so that one walked as if upon a foundation of puddings. Such had been the state of things in the day; such also as late as at nine o'clock P. M.

      But it was now eleven; the wind had chopped round to the northwest and northeast, and perhaps some half a dozen other points beside, for it seemed to blow in all directions, and the thermometer was galloping downward towards zero. A savage snow-storm had just set in, and with such sharp and piercing gusts of wind, and such fierce rattling of hail, that, had not my mind been in a ferment, I should have hesitated to expose myself to its fury. But I reflected that I was flying from wo and terror; and the hope of diving into some body that might introduce me to a life of sunshine, rendered me insensible to the rigours of the tempest.

      Having stumbled about in the snow for a while, I began to inquire of myself whither I was going; and the answer, or rather the want of an answer, somewhat confounded me. Where was I to look for a dead body, at such a time of night? It occurred to me I had better refer to a newspaper, and see what persons had lately died in town and were yet unburied. I stepped accordingly into a barber's shop, that happened to be open, and snatched up an evening paper. The first paragraph I laid my eyes on contained an account of the forgeries of my son, Ralph Skinner. It was headed Unheard-of Depravity, and it blazoned, in italics and capitals, the crime, the unnatural crime of committing frauds in the name of a father.

      The shock with which I beheld the fatal publication renewed my horror, and sharpened my desire to end it. I threw down the paper, without consulting the column of obituaries, and ran towards the Hospital, where, it appeared to me, I should certainly find one or more bodies which the doctors had no longer occasion for. But my visit was at a highly unseasonable hour, and the porter, being knocked out of a comfortable nap, got up in an ill humour. "Whose cow's dead now?" I heard him grumble from his lodge – "I wonder people can't break their necks by daylight!"

      But my neck was not broken; and he listened to my eager inquiry – "whether there were no dead bodies in the house?" – with rage and indignation.

      "I tell you what, mister," said he, "we takes no mad people in here, except they comes the regular way."

      And with that he shut the door in my face, leaving me to wonder at his want of civility.

      But the air was growing more frigid every moment, and the hour was waxing later and later. I ran to the Alms-house, not doubting, as that was a more democratic establishment, that I should be there received with greater respect. But good-breeding is not a whit more native to a leather shirt than to a silk stocking. My Cerberus here was cut from the same flint as the other; his civility had been learned in the same school, and his English studied from the same grammar.

      "I tell you what, uncle Barebones," said he, without waiting to be questioned, "we takes no paupers here, except they comes with an order."

      And so saying, he slapped to the door with an energy that dislodged from the roof of his den a full hundred weight or more of snow, which fell in my face, and had wellnigh smothered me.

      The case began to look desperate; but the difficulty of finding what I wanted only rendered my wits more active. I resolved to run to one of the medical schools, make my way into its anatomical repositories, and help myself to the best body I could find; for, indeed, I was in such a rage of desire to be released from my present tenement, that I did not design to stand upon trifles.

      I set out accordingly, with this object in view; but fate willed I should seek my fortune in another quarter.

      The storm had by this time begun to rage with uncommon violence; the winds were blowing like so many buglers and trumpeters on a militia-day, and the snow that had already fallen was whisked up every moment from the ground, and driven back again into the air, to mingle in contention with that which was falling. The atmosphere was thickened, or rather wholly displaced, by the whirling particles, so that, in a short time, the wayfarer could neither see nor breathe in the white chaos around him. It was, in truth, a savage, inclement night. The watchman betook him to his box, to snooze away the hours in comfort; the lamps went out, being of a spirit still more economical than their founders, and thinking, with great justice, that the streets which could do with them, could do equally well without them; the dogs were no longer heard yelping at the corners; and the pigs – the only spectres of Philadelphia – that run squeaking and gibbering up and down the streets in the night, to vanish at early cock-crowing, provided the hog-catchers are in commission, were one by one retreating to their secret strongholds, leaving the street to solitude, the snow-storm, and me.

      I plodded on as well as I could, and with such effect, that, after a quarter hour's trudging, I knew not well whither, I stopped at last, I knew as little where. Instead of being in the heart of the city, as I supposed, I found myself somewhere in the suburbs, wedged fast in a snow-drift. One single lamp, and one single wick of that single lamp, had escaped the puffs of the tempest; it shone from aloft, through the rack of snow, like a fire-fly in a fog, dividing its faint beam betwixt my frozen visage and a low open shed hard by, the only objects, beside itself, that were visible.

      I perceived that I was lost; and being more than half dead with cold, I dragged myself into the shed, to shelter me from the fury of the storm, and lament the ill fate that attended my efforts.

      As I stepped into the wretched hole, I stumbled over a man lying coiled up on the ground, and so exposed to the air that his legs were already heaped over with snow. There was just light enough to discern a black jug lying broken at his side, from which arose the odour of corn-juice, but by no means of the true Monongahela savour.

      I was struck by the fellow's appearance; he had evidently been lying there all the evening; the stumble I had made over him did not disturb him in the least, and my hand chancing to touch his face, I found it could as marble. I perceived he was dead; a discovery that filled me with uncommon joy; for my eagerness to change my condition was such, that I only saw in him a body to be taken possession of, without reading in the broken jug, and the miserable corner in which its victim had breathed his last, the newer wretchedness and degradation upon which I was rushing. Such is the short-sightedness of discontent; such the folly of the man who deems himself the unluckiest of his species.

      With a trembling hand I thrust into the pockets of the corse the money and the silver spoons I had brought with me, being so far prudent that I was resolved not to trust the transfer of such valuables to my new body to accident. This being accomplished, I uttered the wish that had thrice served my turn before.

      I wished, however, in vain; I muttered the charm a dozen times over, but with no more effect than if I had pronounced it to the lamp-post. The body lay unmoved, and I remained unchanged.

      I became horribly disconcerted; a fear seized me that my good angel, if I had ever had one, had deserted me; or that the devil, if it was from him I derived my power of passing from body to body, had suddenly left me in the lurch; – in a word, that I had consumed all my privileges of transformation, and was chained to the body of Abram Skinner for life.

      I beat my breast in despair, and then, changing from that to wrath, I began to belabour the ribs of the dead man with all the strength of my foot, as if he were answerable for my disappointment. Perhaps, indeed, the reader will think that he was; for at the third kick the corpse became animated, and to my astonishment rose upon its feet, saying, in accents tolerably articulate, though somewhat thick and tumultuous, "I say, Charlie, odd rabbit it, none on your jokes now, and none on your takin

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