and glowed within my heart. I felt myself exalted by this overflowing
fulness to the perception of the Godhead, and the glorious forms of
an infinite universe became visible to my soul! Stupendous mountains
encompassed me, abysses yawned at my feet, and cataracts fell headlong
down before me; impetuous rivers rolled through the plain, and rocks
and mountains resounded from afar. In the depths of the earth I saw
innumerable powers in motion, and multiplying to infinity; whilst
upon its surface, and beneath the heavens, there teemed ten thousand
varieties of living creatures. Everything around is alive with an
infinite number of forms; while mankind fly for security to their petty
houses, from the shelter of which they rule in their imaginations over
the wide-extended universe. Poor fool! in whose petty estimation all
things are little. From the inaccessible mountains, across the desert
which no mortal foot has trod, far as the confines of the unknown ocean,
breathes the spirit of the eternal Creator; and every atom to which he
has given existence finds favour in his sight. Ah, how often at that
time has the flight of a bird, soaring above my head, inspired me
with the desire of being transported to the shores of the immeasurable
waters, there to quaff the pleasures of life from the foaming goblet
of the Infinite, and to partake, if but for a moment even, with
the confined powers of my soul, the beatitude of that Creator who
accomplishes all things in himself, and through himself!

My dear friend, the bare recollection of those hours still consoles me.
Even this effort to recall those ineffable sensations, and give them
utterance, exalts my soul above itself, and makes me doubly feel the
intensity of my present anguish.

It is as if a curtain had been drawn from before my eyes, and, instead
of prospects of eternal life, the abyss of an ever open grave yawned
before me. Can we say of anything that it exists when all passes away,
when time, with the speed of a storm, carries all things onward,--and
our transitory existence, hurried along by the torrent, is either
swallowed up by the waves or dashed against the rocks? There is not a
moment but preys upon you,--and upon all around you, not a moment in
which you do not yourself become a destroyer. The most innocent walk
deprives of life thousands of poor insects: one step destroys the fabric
of the industrious ant, and converts a little world into chaos. No:
it is not the gr