In proportion as the will became
passive, the activity of my imagination was increased, and I experienced
a new and strange delight in watching the play of fantasies which
appeared to come and go independently of myself. There was still a dim
consciousness of outward things mingled with my condition; I was not
beyond the recall of my senses. But one day, I remember, as I sat
motionless as a statue, having ceased any longer to attempt to control
my dead limbs, more than usually passive, a white, shining mist
gradually stole around me; my eyes finally ceased to take cognizance of
objects; a low, musical humming sounded in my ears, and those creatures
of the imagination which had hitherto crossed my brain as _thoughts_ now
spoke to me as audible voices. If there is any happy delirium in the
first stages of intoxication, (of which, thank Heaven, I have no
experience,) it must be a sensation very much like that which I felt.
The death of external and the birth of internal consciousness
overwhelmed my childish soul with a dumb, ignorant ecstasy, like that
which savages feel on first hearing the magic of music.
How long I remained thus I know not.
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