A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken possession of my soul – a sensation which will admit of no analysis, to which the lesson of bygone time are inadequate, and for for which I fear futurity itself will offer me no key.
To a mind constituted like my own, the latter consideration is an evil.
I shall never – I know that I shall never – be satisfied with regard to the nature of my conceptions.
Yet it is not wonderfull that these conceptions are indefinite, since they have their origin in sources so utterly novel. A new sense – a new entity is added to my soul.
What say of it? what say C O N S C I E N C E grim,
That spectre in my path?

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