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"Timothy hubbard" thus ventilated his domestic infelicities and his spelling in the Connecticut Courant of January 30th, 1776: "Whearis my Wife Abigiel hes under Rote me by saying it is veri Disagria bell to Hur to Expose to the World the miseris & Calamatis of a Distractid famely, and I think as much for hur Father & mother to Witt Stephen deming & his wife acts very much like Distractid or BeWicht & I believe both, for the truth of this I will apell to the Nabors.
"O miseris hominorum mentas!" exclaimed that lady, tragically. "O pectorae caecae!" "You hear her, sir?" continued Mr. Sagittarius. "You grasp her meaning?" "I do hear certainly," said the Prophet, beginning to feel that he really must rub up his classics. "She helps Capricornus, sir, of an evening. She assists him in his Latin. Madame is a lady of deep education, sir." "Quite so. But "
Better were the old life we started from, and dreams therewith, better the free days "Novitas tum florida mundi Pabula dia tulit, miseris mortablibus ampla;" than wealth or power, and neither hope nor fear, but one certain end of all before the eyes of all.
"Is that the reason why he tempts us thus?" the Doctor asks again, and the evil spirit answers: "Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris," which, mistranslated into Romance, is the equivalent of our proverb "The misfortune of many is the consolation of fools."
Ille multum cunctatus tandem instantibus mira respondit: septem dormientes in monte Caelio requiescere iam ducentis annis in dextro iacentes latere: sed tunc in hora ipsa risus sui, latus inuertisse sinistrum: futurum vt septuaginta quatuor annis ita iaceant: dirum nimirum miseris mortalibus omen.
But as Nietzsche no longer belongs to the Quixotic class, as Germany seems to emerge with him from her youthful and cranky nebulosity, you will not even have the pleasure of being thrashed in the company of your Master: no, you will be thrashed all alone, which is an abominable thing for any right-minded human being. "Solamen miseris socios habuisse malorum." *
For as in my hot youth I suffered sorrows many from love, so now I may say, like that Carthaginian queen in Maro, "miseris succurrere disco."
They were both very grateful to Newhaven; when they married they vowed to visit it twice a year, and mingle a fortnight's simple life with its simple scenes; but four years have passed, and they have never been there again, and I dare say never will; but when Viscount Ipsden falls in with a brother aristocrat who is crushed by the fiend ennui, he remembers Aberford, and condenses his famous recipe into a two-edged hexameter, which will make my learned reader laugh, for it is full of wisdom: "Diluculo surgas! miseris succurrere discas!!"
Nec minus apud indigenas quam apud Europaeos, remedium hujusoe morbi speciale: medicamenta sunt mercurialia, majore tamen illis cum periculo, tum propter eorum mores, quum quod plerumque sub dio vivunt, omni absente medicina. Post annum primum aut alterum morbus evanescit, interdum mortem affert. Semper autem aegrotis miseris cruciatus maximus et dolores perpetui inde flunt.
“Well, Arnobius,” he cried, “how does rhetoric proceed? are we to take the law line, or turn professor? Who’s the boy? some younger brother?” “I’ve taken pity on the little fool,” answered Arnobius; “these schoolmasters are a savage lot. I suffered enough from them myself, and ‘miseris succurrere disco.’ So I took him from under the roof of friend Rupilius, and he’s under my tutelage.
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