GOOD Lord, what do I know of life? I exclaimed. I cannot help often thinking that it is impossible for me to understand life's meaning ; I am a perfect failure; is there not a hidden joy that I missed where a willow-tree swings? is not there a strange tear that I should shed where a cloud points? Oh! is not there a beautiful love that I could not even dare to dream, where a stream chatters and away hastens? (Pray, stream, stay with me a little longer and speak more clearly to my prosaic mind!)  I may have been a mere spectator before the stage of life; at least I have been regarded as such, and late at night when people sleep, early in the morning when people do not rise, I bitterly cry that I could not become a real player. Had I not any art as a player? But I can say, I believe, I had some experience when I thought I was a real player myself, when I pressed a cup of life's wine, and, in truth, did not know properly what to do with my own body, which was tickled, happy or sad, by an unfamiliar touch [<169] of love, and I walked alone by a lonely road more often sobbing, sometimes singing; alas, those hours did not last long. And I always found myself suddenly cool and passionless and my uncertainty of mind awoke; when the scene changed I was no more a player, but a critic. Was it my strength or weakness? I could not accept wisdom good-naturedly, as my sceptic eye saw much foolishness in it; when I faced laughter my first question was of tears, and I was really a sad mortal, prone to undervalue the worth of love. Oh! what a wretchedness, after all! My mind is full of questions. And this questioning is, I think, the newest thing; the best possible pride is to say that I am of a new race. Such is my fate—the saddest fate indeed.
    Happy was the ancient age when the minds of people were not tortured and wounded by questions, did not attempt to understand what they could not understand; and they had a great genius to turn their ignorance to the wonder of awakening. They lived fully. It is true that even I know how to live fully by reason or argument; but I have no faith, and [<170] without the touch of faith reason cannot become a living thing. Shall I go eastward, westward, southward, or northward to seek Faith? If I were sure to get it, I should not mind to travel any thousand miles. But night may full before I walk much, when my head, of course uncontent and tired, may drop upon the dead leaves of a roadside tree. [<171]