This being so, why am I not
overwhelmed at the thought of it? In that feverish, full age--so full,
and yet, my God, how empty!--in the wilderness of every man's soul, was
not a voice heard crying out, prophesying the end? I know that a thought
sometimes came to me, passing through my brain like lightning through
the foliage of a tree; and in the quick, blighting fire of that
intolerable thought, all hopes, beliefs, dreams, and schemes seemed
instantaneously to shrivel up and turn to ashes, and drop from me, and
leave me naked and desolate. Sometimes it came when I read a book of
philosophy; or listened on a still, hot Sunday to a dull preacher--they
were mostly dull--prosing away to a sleepy, fashionable congregation
about Daniel in the lions' den, or some other equally remote matter; or
when I walked in crowded thoroughfares; or when I heard some great
politician out of office--out in the cold, like a miserable working-man
with no work to do--hurling anathemas at an iniquitous government; and
sometimes also when I lay awake in the silent watches of the night.
Pages:
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274