Sunset Gleams; Or, Progress from Doubt to Faith, the Journal of an Old Man, from the Fr., 'au Declin de La Vie', Tr. by F.A. Freer (Paperback)

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1883 Excerpt: ... SUNSET GLEAMS; OR, PROGRESS FROM DOUBT TO FAITH. July 3, 1879. To-day I have reached the age of seventy years. These years are to me a heavy burden, yet I have been complimented and wished many happy returns of the day. Oh, if it were but known how heavily life sometimes weighs upon me What am I good for? There seem to be many more reasons for desiring to die than to live. I am a ruin which can hardly stand upright; time is demolishing me bit by bit. Within the ruin is a flickering flame, a spark which threatens at every moment to go out--and they wish me long life But whether I will or not, I must live on. Well, let me take courage and do my best. July. I have spoken of courage, but what is there to sustain it? If I turn my eyes within and examine myself calmly, what do I see? My senses are becoming more and more dull. That vividness of impression, which formerly was the cause of so much pleasure, is now nothing but a memory. My sight continues tolerable, but my hearing is affected by every change in the weather, and I shall evidently soon become quite deaf. Rheumatism and asthma torture me daily. What has become of that life which used to flow like a torrent within me? It is already reduced to a slender rill, which is gradually drying up. Nor is that all. My memory plays me strange tricks. I often have to seek a long time for a most simple expression. I can only imperfectly recall the events of yesterday, while sometimes, often in the night, facts which occurred in my childhood, ideas which I entertained long years ago, suddenly appear in the dark background of my memory. Where have they been sleeping? What has awakened them? My mind works but slowly, my imagination has become dull, though illumined at long intervals as by a lightning-flash. My heart i...