SOME ACCOUNT OF THE INCONSOLABLE SOCIETY.

BY LAMAN BLANCHARD.

"There's such a charm in melancholy,

I would not, if I could, be gay."-ROGERS.

SOCIETIES are commonly established either for political, scientific, or social purposes. The purpose of the society, of which, through the kindness of a broken-hearted friend, we are about to afflict the world with an account, embraces all these. Its great maxim is, that "man was made to mourn." It professes to include all mankind within its circle, and to have no limit but the cradle on the one hand, and the coffin on the other. It is based upon what may justly be designated the Greatest Wretchedness Principle; and it would endeavour to extend the bond of union among men, by convincing them that every living thing has something in common with every other living thing. That something is-Sorrow. How desirable it is, then, that this one thing in common should be clearly and thoroughly understood by all-that its principles should be comprehended, its properties analyzed and demonstrated.

The objects that call other societies together are, as we have said, various; but they appertain only to the interests of individuals or classes, anxious to discover plausible answers to the every-day questions

"What is knowledge ?" "What is wit?" "What is power?" &c. But all the world (as well as his wife) is interested in answering the one grand question, "What is sorrow?" which some people take to be a paraphrase of the popular question, "What is taxes ?" There is the point at which universal inquiry should begin. But such is human ignorance, that while all feel it, few know anything about it. As a science it is utterly uncultivated. We assume the shadow of it now and then-at a funeral-and forego the reality. People are stupid enough in too many cases to content themselves with sham griefs. How many persons are we acquainted with who have had abundant distresses in this world, without really relishing any! How many might be numbered who have been upon occasions completely miserable without knowing it! How many more might be counted up who have dribbled away their tears, frittered away their wretchedness, wasted all the woes they had, without doing themselves the least service, and in a manner no man knows how! In the one case, we have the miser, who does not enjoy his wealth, because he will not use it; and in the other, we have the spendthrift, to whom riches give no pleasure, because he makes them take to their wings. If people will not reduce their sorrows to a regular system, they can never experience the real luxury of woe. If they would know what sorrow is, they must qualify themselves for a seat in the society to which we are about to introduce them.

The Inconsolable Society is composed of a body of English gentlemen whose social principles are expressed in the motto at the head of this paper, they would not, if they could, be gay. They are practical expounders of the Rogersian philosophy. They are thoroughly in earnest in their griefs. Their tears are rivers, and their sighs hurri

canes. They have no enjoyment in life, if not truly miserable; and are never content but when they are beyond the reach of consolation. As Sorrow holds the key that unlocks the gate of Wisdom, it will be inferred that this society is a club of sages,-duly impressed with the conviction that ignorance is bliss, that the idiot is a happy fellow, that the half-knowing are tolerably comfortable, but that the wise only have the distinction of being supremely wretched, as it is the man who knows everything who alone knows that he knows nothing. Each fellow, therefore, holds rank and obtains estimation among the rest as a man of virtue and genius according to the depth of his despair and misery; in other words, his intellect is not judged of by the breadth of his forehead, but by the length of his face.

We have used the term "fellow;" those who compose this society are not, however, called Fellows, but Wretches. Thus, while it is usual in other societies to refer to an individual as the gallant member, or the honourable and learned gentleman, it is the custom in this to say, “I rise to second the motion of the unfortunate wretch," or, "in reply to the miserable wretch who has just fainted," &c. The speaker is frequently received with deep sighs and long-continued sobbing, but these are the only interruptions he is likely to experience. No laughter was ever heard in the assembly, save that which claims "severest woe" as its parent.

It is implied in the title of the association that every wretch, upon his entrance, undertakes to leave hope behind. It is considered to be a point of honour not to listen to any story, to view any spectacle, or to contract any habit that might have a tendency to raise the spirits, or insensibly to weaken the charm of that melancholy which forbids the wish to be gay even where the power exists. The sorrower must be inconsolable, or he is not strictly and in spirit a member of the society. His rueful countenance must not, therefore, betray a sly and peeping spirit of humour at the corner of the mouth or in a twinkle of the eyebetween the tears, 66 as it were;" his mourning suit must not be lined with flame-coloured taffety.

Nevertheless, it must be especially noted that these necessary provisions for the due melancholy and deep-seated despair of the club, by no means preclude the entertainment by its members, collectively or individually, of many of the ordinary topics that engage the conversational powers of other societies and of the community in general. It must not be supposed that, because the mourner is pledged to preserve his sorrows in all their original sacredness, he is not to discourse on subjects which are by courtesy termed entertaining, to visit what are jocosely designated places of amusement, or to herd with dogs called droll and fellows styled jolly. Perhaps the very reverse of an abandonment of what are usually described as recreations, may be essential to the efficient cultivation of the required despondency. Of comfort, certainly, no regularly admitted Inconsolable must speak; but, on the other hand, there is no occasion for him

"To talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;"

for, with precisely the same effect upon his feelings, he may talk of bards, of songs, and theatres. The rules that govern the Inconsolables by no means, for example, preclude a visit to Drury-lane on any night when what is called a legitimate comedy may be represented; there

will not be the least danger of the member's forfeiting caste in the society, or of losing for a single instant any portion of the weight upon his spirits, or the intense gravity of his look. To select a night, however, when a tragedy is played might be deemed injudicious and culpable, as some risk must be incurred of a liveliness incompatible with perfect solemnity of mind. Should any of the more inexperienced adopt this perilous course, it is possible that they take care to weep piteously before the tragedy begins; remembering the plan adopted by Richelieu's listeners, who laughed before he opened his mouth. "And very right," said Walpole; "if they had waited, they would not have laughed at all." Nor do the rules deny to any body the privilege of dining with Lord when he insists upon

on a state occasion, or with Mr. your taking a family dinner with him. In fact, there are a hundred wellknown dinner-tables about town, at which you may be seated three hours per diem per annum, and be sure to meet with neither dish nor drollery at all calculated to excite either stomach or spirit beyond the point of a total suspension of enjoyment. To these you may go, not merely with impunity, but with advantage; for as "true no-meaning puzzles more than wit," so dulness is more afflicting to him who comes in contact with it than "comfortless despair;" and hence the dinerout may derive an additional shade to his misery, especially if, as we have already hinted, he should drop into a theatre on his way home.

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Another exemplary mode of working out the principles of the society, and of acquiring a character for confirmed and unaffected wretchedness, consists in spending a long evening with a family in which the daughters have a passion for poetry and the sons for punning; or where there is a little girl who is not only spiteful enough to sing, but barbarous enough to sing in Italian; or a little boy, who is not only so wicked as to say name is Norval, but so diabolical as to way-lay Eliza on the woodcrowned height. Or a dinner once a month with a host who keeps a lion to exhibit periodically, the said lion delivering himself of the identical roar on each occasion, and that roar being the mere squeak of a most magnanimous mouse; this is an unexceptionable mode of keeping up your melancholy, and the practice is doubtless a favourite one in the society of Inconsolables. There are, moreover, fancy balls, evening parties, and musical soirées in abundance, most of which may be made to minister to a mind diseased in the very way in which physicians are sometimes thought to minister to the diseased body. Of course, the conversaziones of science and literature afford unfailing resources for those members of the Disconsolate Club who are liable to occasional misgivings as to their misery, and to fears lest society should contain a charm for their affliction. Such temptations may always be yielded to by the timid with a perfect reliance upon their power to extend the influence of ennui, and to insure a practical obedience to the mandate to "increase and multiply" in the family of the blue-devils.

Of the thousand remaining expedients another yet may be mentioned. A gentleman who feels uncomfortable, and desires to be inconsolable, should never fail to accept an invitation to dine in snugness with a particular friend, or with a particular friend and his particular wife. The effect in either case is likely to be the addition of a deep shade to his previous gloom. If alone with his friend, he will be pretty sure to quarrel, soon after the commencement of the third bottle, either about.

the bottle itself, or a mutual acquaintance, or about Lord Melbourne, or the Homeric unity. Or if a lady should be in the case, then the host and hostess will most likely take advantage of the presence of a dear friend, and esteem themselves singularly fortunate in the opportunity of getting up a quarrel between themselves, and of appealing to an affectionate but impartial judgment upon the merits of the "scene." Everybody must have observed that man and wife are seldom so apt-should we not rather say so anxious-to dispute, as when seated by the fireside in snug security with the early and intimate friend of the husbandthat friend who, the lady cannot help thinking, led her lord into every species of dissipation before she knew either of them, who still keeps him out, as often as may be, very late at night,-who is acquainted with secrets which she scorns to pry into, because she is utterly at a loss to discover them, and about whom she always thought there was something rather mysterious and vastly disagreeable.

It may be thought, and the probability is suggested to our minds by this very allusion to circumstances of friendly intercourse, that the Inconsolable Society has made a fatal mistake in seeking to form a club for the purpose of a general communication and confession of grievances. Every objector will bring his own experience against the project, and insist that to disclose our sorrows is to lighten them-to pour a part of our griefs into a friend's bosom is partially to get rid of them-to tell people that we are wretched is to be far less miserable than we declare ourselves to be. This is an error, and a very vulgar one. Push the doctrine to a test, or, in modern phraseology, carry out the principle, and where does it leave you? Here:-that the man who was bowed down by sorrow when he took his morning walk, having bored with the heart-rending tale of his distresses every acquaintance whom he encountered, is perfectly upright when he sits down to dinner. Such is the wisdom of old maxims-such the charity of worldly notions of morality that we may chatter away our griefs by chattering them into other people, relieve ourselves by racking all we meet. The society with whose philosophy our heart-broken friend has made us slightly acquainted, is not composed of such unconscionable complainants. Their doctrine is, that if you are in possession of a solid and steadfast woe, you are bound to cherish it. Get grief and keep it. Lavish not your troubles on any man whose heart will not ache to the core as it receives them. Sorrow is sacred; and what the moral philosopher of Fielding (Jonathan Wild the Great) said of mischief, may with not less truth be said of misery-it is too precious a thing to be wasted.

Another class of sceptics may urge what they would deem a fatal objection; that, in an assembly of friends, all wretched, no man could be wretched long-because, each one seeing so many shareholders of his affection completely disconsolate, must necessarily find (in accordance with the philosophy of friendship) his own affliction decrease in proportion to the extent of his survey. According to these, nothing checks one's tears like seeing the eyes of one's friends filling with water. This, also, is an error. The truth is to be found in the very depth of the sentiment entertained by the Inconsolables; the companion-sentiment to the popular one, "the more the merrier." "The more the miserabler' is the maxim, less grammatical than grievous, of the society for the dissemination of wretchedness. We believe, of course, with the philoso

pher, that there is something in the distresses of even our dearest friends that is far from being displeasing to us; but this can only be when we ourselves are not under the influence of a consuming sorrow. In moments of ease or of languor, it may be an agreeable excitement to hear of a banker's failure, by which one dear friend loses half a fortune—or of a footman's flight, by which another loses a daughter, or perhaps a wife; but such pleasures cannot reach us in the season of our utter wretchedness. As, in the language of Lord Bacon, a little philosophy carries us away from religion, while a greater brings us round to it; so it may be said that a small trouble or vexation carries us to a point of sympathy, while a greater brings us round again to self. The language of another illustrious ornament of our literature, the celebrated Mr. William Lackaday, may be cited in support of our doctrine-" My own distresses touches me more nearer than anybody helse's!" One pang of our own is a sort of Aaron's serpent that swallows up those of our friends. The bonâ fide proprietor of those popular commodities called afflictions sore, well knows that there are times when the worst that can happen to others brings no particle of comfort to the heart. While the gout is gnawing, the sufferer is quite insensible to pleasing emotions, though you were to tell him that his wife's brother was in the gazette, or his own uncle going to be hanged.

The principle of the society is, therefore, a sound one. When we are in trouble, the trouble even of a friend is a bore. The Inconsolables are in no danger of consolation while they assemble together. Every long visage is a full-length likeness of all the rest; and each mourner sees his own calamity staring him in the face, in a hundred directionswhich is sufficiently unpleasant. Every man hears, in the multitudinous moan of the assembly, the voice of his own dolour, and his grief deepens with the groan. Nature has done much on behalf of misery, but it is the glorious province of art to double the natural poignancy of it, and add a more refined venom to the sting.

The qualification for admission into this rapidly rising society is only defined in the general provision that the candidate must be past consolation. It will not do to look merely melancholy and gentlemanlike; the society admits of no mock-miseries. No vague misanthropy or lugubrious morbidity of disposition, is sufficient to ensure election. Neither will an actual calamity, however tragic to the party, at all times prevail. We can relate an instance. An acquaintance of the miserable wretch to whom we owe these particulars of the institution, offered himself lately as a candidate on the ground of having unexpectedly become a widower the week before. The loss of a wife was not held to be a sufficient qualification, and the gentleman was white-balled-for the black-balls in this society are the certificates, not of rejection, but of election. It appearing afterwards, however, that a considerable annuity, which he had enjoyed in right of his wife, had ceased with her, his claim was readily reconsidered, and unanimously allowed. Among other cases our inconsolable friend mentioned that of a highly popular author, who was recently labouring under a grievous attack of tædium vitæ, and wished to join the Inconsolables, in consequence of the remorselessness of a literary reviewer, who had infamously proved him to be a blockhead. The plea was not satisfactory; and the highly popular author would have been rejected, as not thoroughly undone and broken