delights indescribable, because purely intellectual and
impalpable to our senses. So we are obliged to use material terms to
express the mysteries of the soul. The pleasure of striking out in some
lonely lake of clear water, with forests, rocks, and flowers around, and
the soft stirring of the warm breeze,--all this would give, to those who
knew them not, a very faint idea of the exultation with which my soul
bathed itself in the beams of an unknown light, hearkened to the awful
and uncertain voice of inspiration, as vision upon vision poured from
some unknown source through my throbbing brain.

"No earthly pleasure can compare with the divine delight of watching
the dawn of an idea in the space of abstractions as it rises like the
morning sun; an idea that, better still, attains gradually like a child
to puberty and man's estate. Study lends a kind of enchantment to all
our surroundings. The wretched desk covered with brown leather at which
I wrote, my piano, bed, and armchair, the odd wall-paper and furniture
seemed to have for me a kind of life in them, and to be humble friends
of mine and mute partakers of my destiny. How often have I confided my
soul to them in a glance! A warped bit of beading often met my eyes,
and suggested new developments,--a striking proof of my system, or a
felicitous word by which to render my all but inexpressible thought. By
sheer contemplation of the things about me I discerned an expression and
a character in each. If the setting sun happened to steal in through my
narrow window, they would take new colors, fade or shine, grow dull or
gay, and always amaze me with some new effect. These trifling incidents
of a solitary life, which escape those preoccupied with outward affairs,
make the solace of prisoners. And what was I but the captive of an
idea, imprisoned in my system, but sustained also by the prospect of a
brilliant future? At each obstacle that I overcame, I seemed to kiss the
soft hands of a woman with a fair face, a wealthy, well-dressed woman,
who should some day say softly, while she caressed my hair:

"'Poor Angel, how thou hast suffered!'

"I had undertaken two great works--one a comedy that in a very short
time must bring me wealth and fame, and an entry into those circles
whither I wished to return, to exercise the royal privileges of a man
of genius. You all saw nothing in that masterpiece but the blunder of a
young man fresh from college, a babyish fiasco. Your jokes c