T was a windy night, that memorable seventh night of 
  December, when this philosophy was born in me.  
How the grave old Professor wondered at my ravings !  
I had called at his house, for he was a valued friend of 
mine, and I felt strange thoughts and emotions shake 
within me.  Ah ! how I raved !  I called to him to trample 
me, he would not.  We passed together into the stormy 
night.  I was on horseback, how I galloped round him 
in my phrenzy, till he became the prey of a real physical 
fear !  How I shrieked out I know not what strange 
words !  And the poor good old man tried all he could 
to calm me ; he thought I was mad !  The fool !  I was 
in the death struggle with self :  God and Satan fought for 
my soul those three long hours.  God conquered—now 
I have only one doubt left—which of the twain was God ?  
Howbeit, I aspire ! 
I