th wrath.

But, with a surly nod to me, the man left the apartment; and in a moment
more the heavy footsteps of himself and his companion were heard
descending the staircase.

"Who is that man?" said my friend, turning towards me.

"A sporting gentleman, well known in the place from which I come."

"He appeared to know you."

"I have occasionally put on the gloves with him."

"What is his name?" {230}

CHAPTER XXV

Doubts--Wise King of Jerusalem--Let Me See--A Thousand Years--Nothing
New--The Crowd--The Hymn--Faith--Charles Wesley--There He Stood--Farewell,
Brother--Death--Sun, Moon, and Stars--Wind on the Heath.

There was one question which I was continually asking myself at this
period, and which has more than once met the eyes of the reader who has
followed me through the last chapter. "What is truth?" I had involved
myself imperceptibly in a dreary labyrinth of doubt, and, whichever way I
turned, no reasonable prospect of extricating myself appeared. The means
by which I had brought myself into this situation may be very briefly
told; I had inquired into many matters, in order that I might become
wise, and I had read and pondered over the words of the wise, so called,
till I had made myself master of the sum of human wisdom; namely, that
every thing is enigmatical and that man is an enigma to himself; thence
the cry of "What is truth?" I had ceased to believe in the truth of that
in which I had hitherto trusted, and yet could find nothing in which I
could put any fixed or deliberate belief--I was, indeed, in a labyrinth!
In what did I not doubt? With respect to crime and virtue I was in
doubt; I doubted that the one was blamable and the other praiseworthy.
Are not all things subjected to the law of necessity? Assuredly; time
and chance govern all things: yet how can this be? alas!

Then there was myself; for what was I born? Are not all things born to
be forgotten? That's incomprehensible: yet is it not so? Those
butterflies fall and are forgotten. In what is man better than a
butterfly? All then is born to be forgotten. Ah! that was a pang
indeed; 'tis at such a moment that a man wishes to die. The wise king of
Jerusalem, who sat in his shady arbours beside his sunny fish-pools,
saying so many fine things, wished to die, when he saw that not only all
was vanity, but that he himself was vanity. Will a time come when all
will be forgotten that now is beneath the sun? If so, of what