Let me write on,--write on, with this dead fleshly hand, ... one moment more time, dread God! ... one moment more to write the truth,--the terrible truth of Death whose darkest secret, Life, is unknown to men! I live!--a new, strong, impetuous vitality possesses me, though my mortal body is nearly dead. Faint gasps and weak shudderings affect it still,--and I, outside it and no longer of it, propel its perishing hand to write these final words--_I live!_ To my despair and horror,--to my remorse and agony, I live!--oh the unspeakable misery of this new life! And worst of all,--God whom I doubted, God whom I was taught to deny, this wronged, blasphemed, and outraged God EXISTS! And I could have found Him had I chosen,--this knowledge is forced upon me as I am torn from hence,--it is shouted at me by a thousand wailing voices! ... too late!--too late!--the scarlet wings beat me downward,--these strange half-shapeless forms close round and drive me onward ... to a further darkness, ... amid wind and fire! * * * * * Serve me, dead hand, once more ere I depart, ... my tortured spirit must seize and compel you to write down this thing unnameable, that earthly eyes may read, and earthly souls take timely warning! ... I know at last WHOM I have loved!--whom I have chosen, whom I have worshipped! ... Oh God, have mercy! ... I know WHO claims my worship now, and drags me into yonder rolling world of flame! ... his name is ........" Here the manuscript ended,--incomplete and broken off abruptly,--and there was a blot on the last sentence as though the pen had been violently wrenched from the dying fingers and hastily flung down.