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The tortures endured, however, were indubitably quite equal for the
time, to those of actual sepulture. They were fearfully--they were
inconceivably hideous; but out of Evil proceeded Good; for their very
excess wrought in my spirit an inevitable revulsion. My soul acquired
tone--acquired temper. I went abroad. I took vigorous exercise. I
breathed the free air of Heaven. I thought upon other subjects than
Death. I discarded my medical books. "Buchan" I burned. I read no "Night
Thoughts"--no fustian about churchyards--no bugaboo tales--such as
this. In short, I became a new man, and lived a man's life. From that
memorable night, I dismissed forever my charnel apprehensions, and with
them vanished the cataleptic disorder, of which, perhaps, they had been
less the consequence than the cause.
There are moments when, even to the sober eye of Reason, the world of
our sad Humanity may assume the semblance of a Hell--but the imagination
of man is no Carathis, to explore with impunity its every cavern. Alas!
the grim legion of sepulchral terrors cannot be regarded as altogether
fanciful--but, like the Demons in whose company Afrasiab made his voyage
down the Oxus, they must sleep, or they will devour us--they must be
suffered to slumber, or we perish.
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