wisdom could have planned this repulsive adventure! I have been misled!
I am the victim of a delusion!" he said to himself, in shame and
bitterness.

To him, Christianity had been not so much a system of doctrines based
upon historical proofs, as emotions springing from his own heart. He
believed in another world not because its existence had been testified
to by others, but because he daily and hourly entered its sacred
precincts. He had faith in God, not because He had spoken to apostles
and prophets, but because He had spoken to David Corson. Having received
direct communication from the Divine Spirit, how could he doubt? What
other proof could he need?

Suddenly, without warning and without preparation, the foundation upon
which he had erected the superstructure of his faith crumbled and fell.
He had been deceived! The communications were false! They had originated
in his own soul, and were not really the voice of God.

Through this suspicion, as through a suddenly-opened door, the powers of
hell rushed into his soul and it became the theater of a desperate
battle between the good and evil elements of life. Doubt grappled with
faith; self-gratification with self-restraint; despair with hope; lust
with purity; body with soul.

He heard again the mocking laughter of the quack, and the stinging words
of his cynical philosophy once more rang in his ears. What this coarse
wretch had said was true, then! Religion was a delusion, and he had been
spending the best portion of his life in hugging it to his bosom. Much
of his youth had already passed and he had not as yet tasted the only
substantial joys of existence,--money, pleasure, ambition, love! He felt