every region of the globe. Always and everywhere, it seems to me,
have poor human beings been tempted to eat of some "tree of
knowledge," that they may be, even for an hour, as gods; wise, but
with a false wisdom; careless, but with a frantic carelessness;
and happy, but with a happiness which, when the excitement is
past, leaves too often--as with that hapless pair in Eden--
depression, shame, and fear. Everywhere, and in all ages, as far
as I can ascertain, has man been inventing stimulants and
narcotics to supply that want of vitality of which he is so
painfully aware; and has asked nature, and not God, to clear the
dull brain, and comfort the weary spirit.

This has been, and will be perhaps for many a century to come,
almost the most fearful failing of this poor, exceptional, over-
organised, diseased, and truly fallen being called Man, who is in
doubt daily whether he be a god or an ape; and in trying wildly to
become the former, ends but too often in becoming the latter.

For man, whether savage or civilised, feels, and has felt in every
age, that there is something wrong with him. He usually confesses
this fact--as is to be expected--of his fellow-men, rather than of
himself; and shows his sense that there is something wrong with
them by complaining of, hating, and killing them. But he cannot
always conceal from himself the fact that he, too, is wrong, as
well as they; and as he will not usually kill himself, he tries
wild ways to make himself at least feel--if not to be--somewhat
"better." Philosophers may bid him be content; and tell him that
he is what he ought to be, and what nature has made him. But he
cares nothing for the philosophers. He knows, usually, that he is
not what he ought to be; that he carries about with him, in most