e evergreen shrubs in
the winter garden for underneath the poplars the air is now getting too
sharp. Society seems to have reconciled itself to the unpardonable and
unheard of crime, committed by two candidates for death, in talking to
each other, and no longer disturbs us. So to-day we had a remarkable
conversation. It began, instead of ending, as such conversations when
they are earnest and agitated are apt to do, by the utterance of the
most hidden thoughts which are usually kept back, till, after having
turned over different questions, they suddenly break forth in the
ardour of the contest. It was not the first time that I experienced in
myself a habit of thinking aloud. To my own great astonishment I, this
time suddenly took heart, and poured forth my most hidden and unavowed
thoughts and feelings; so that when the words, I was uttering struck my
ear I felt quite frightened at my audacity in harbouring such strange
ideas, and still more in delivering them to a stranger. It sometimes
really appears to me as if I had two characters within me--the one
spirited, out spoken, and clever, and this one seldom shews itself--the
other, silly and girlishly shy, which sits by in fear and trembling
when the other speaks, and cannot muster courage to interrupt it. I
forget what gave rise to this conversation. I only remember that before
I knew what I was saying I found myself in the midst of an eager, and
passionate sermon. The subject I treated was "the fear of death," which
is so plainly written in many faces around us, and also in his pale
quiet features. I have now forgotten the greatest part of my lecture,
though as the words flowed from my tongue it pleased me much and seemed
to me impossible to be refuted. I only remember that the text of my
sermon were the words of Goethe: "For I was made man, and that means,
that I have striven"--etc. "Why then if we are all combatants," I
began, "Who sooner or later must perish beside their colours, why
should it be a disgrace to those only who bear arms by profession to
meet death with cowardice; why should it not also be considered
repugnant to the esprit de corps, and the honour of humanity in
general, to cling to life with groanings and lamentations when danger
approaches. Soldiers who slink away on the eve of a battle are brought
back dishonoured and disgraced, and are thought too despicable to be
allowed to fight in the ranks of the brave. Why should a dying man who
prays for a re