I endeavoured to pick up as many flowers as I could by the way; but as a serious and permanent personal satisfaction to rest upon, my whole reliance was placed on this....

But the time came when I awakened from this as from a dream....

It occurred to me to put the question directly to myself: "Suppose that all your objects in life realised; that all the changes in institutions and opinions which you were looking forward to, could be completely effected in this very instant, would this be a very great joy and happiness to you ?" And an irrepressible self-consciousness distinctly answered "No!" At this my heart sank within me: the whole foundation on which my life was constructed fell down....

The end had ceased to charm, and how could there ever again be any interest in the means?
I seemed to have nothing left to live for....

The lines in Coleridge's "Dejection" exactly describe my case_:-- "_O grief without a pang, void, dark and drear, A dreary, stifled, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet nor relief In word, or sigh, or tear.
* * * * * Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve, And life without an object cannot live._"' And the foregoing confession is made more significant by the author's subsequent comment on it.