What could I say? Every prayer seemed based
on the idea that God was a magnified man--that He needed
asking and praising and thanking. Should the cog of the
wheel creak praise to the Engineer? Let it rather cog
harder, and creak less. Yet I did, I confess, try to put
the agitation of my soul into words. I meant it for a
prayer; but when I considered afterwards the "supposing
thats" and "in case ofs" with which it was sprinkled, it
must have been more like a legal document. And yet I
felt soothed and happier as I went downstairs again.
I tell you this, Bertie, because if I put reason
above emotion I would not have you think that I am not
open to attacks of the latter also. I feel that what I
say about religion is too cold and academic. I feel that
there should be something warmer and sweeter and more
comforting. But if you ask me to buy this at the price
of making myself believe a thing to be true, which all
that is nearest the divine in me cries out against, then
you are selling your opiates too high. I'm a volunteer
for "God's own forlorn hope," and I'll clamber up the
breech as long as I think I can see the flag of
truth waving in front of me.
Well, my next two cares were to get drugs and
furniture. The former I was sure that I could obtain on
long credit; while the latter I was absolutely determined
not to get into debt over. I wrote to the Apothecaries'
Company, giving the names of Cullingworth and of my
father, and ordering twelve pounds' worth of tinctures,
infusions, pills, powders, ointments, and bottles.
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