FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to
pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to
expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence.
Yet, mad am I not --and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I
die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul.
THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could,
but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well
know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave
utterance to a threat.
MONOS. Yes, fairest and best beloved Una, "born again." These were
the words upon whose mystical meaning I had so long pondered,
rejecting the explanations of the priesthood, until Death itself
resolved for me the secret.
The ways of God in Nature, as in Providence, are not as our ways;
nor are the models that we frame any way commensurate to the vastness,
profundity, and unsearchableness of His works, which have a depth in
them greater than the well of Democritus.
SINCE the world began there have been two Jeremys. The one wrote a
Jeremiad about usury, and was called Jeremy Bentham. He has been
much admired by Mr. John Neal, and was a great man in a small way.