Sometimes it is a yearning after immortality, which absorbs and consumes the spirit, and then we die and go to enjoy that which we have pined for.

Now, my worthy mute friend, mark me, in my case the malady is not so exalted.

I only want my green fields, my dark mountains, my early rivers, with liberty to tread them for a brief space.

There lies over them in my imagination--there does, my worthy and most taciturn friend, upon my soul there does--a golden light so clear, so pure, so full of happiness, that I question whether that of heaven itself will surpass it in radiance.

But now I am caged once more, and will never see anything even like them again." The poor young man then wept for a couple of minutes, after which he added, "Yes, sir, this is at once my malady and my hope.