People call me odd. I wonder really whether the conflicts of which my brain is the occasional arena are fiercer than those of others. I wonder whether other people's thoughts are as like clouds as mine are--sometimes, when it is stormy, grouping themselves in wild fantastic forms; sometimes chasing each other through vacancy, for no apparent purpose; sometimes melting away in "intense inane;" and again consolidating themselves, black and lowering, till they burst in a passionate explosion. What are they doing now? and I tried in vain to stop the mental kaleidoscope which shifted itself so rapidly that I could not catch one combination of thought before it was succeeded by another; but always the same prominent figures dodging madly about the chambers of my brain--Chundango, Ursula, Lady Broadhem, and Grandon; Lady Broadhem, Chundango, Grandon, and Ursula--backwards and forwards, forwards and backwards, like some horrid word that I had to spell in a game of letters, and could never bring right. Love, friendship, hate, pity, admiration, treachery--more words to spell, ever combining wrongly, and never letting me rest, till I thought something must crack under the strain. Then mockingly came a voice ringing in my ears--Peace, peace, peace--and I fancied myself lulled to rest in her arms, and I heard the cooing of doves mingle with the soft murmur of her voice as she leant wistfully over me, and I revelled in that most fatal of all nightmares--the nightmare of those who, perishing of hunger and thirst, die of imaginary banquets. "Sweet illusion," I said, "dear to me as reality, brood over my troubled spirit, deaden its pain, heal its wounds, and weave around my being this delicious spell for ever." Then suddenly, as though my brain had been a magazine into which a spark had fallen, it blazed up; my hair bristled, and drops stood upon my forehead, for a great fear had fallen upon me. It had invaded me with the force of an overwhelming torrent, carrying all before it. It said, "Whence is the calm that soothes you? Infatuated dreamer, think you it is the subsiding of the storm, and not rather the lull that precedes it? Beware of the sleep of the frozen, from which there is no waking." What was this? was my mind regaining its balance, or was it going to lose it for ever? Most horrid doubt! the very thought was so much in the scale on the wrong side. Oh for something to lean upon--some strong stay of common-sense to support me! I yearned for the practical--some fact on which to build. "I have got it," I exclaimed suddenly. "There must be some osseous matter behind my dura mater!" I shall never forget the consolation which this notion gave me: it relieved me from any further psychological responsibility, so to speak; I gave up mental analysis. I attributed the keen susceptibility of my æsthetic nature to this cause, and accepted it as I would the gout, without a murmur. Still I needed