And I am further compensated by the
belief that I have a distinct mission in life--a chance for usefulness
that might never have been mine had I enjoyed unbroken health and
uninterrupted liberty.
The last few months of my life in the hospital were much alike, save
that each succeeding one brought with it an increased amount of
liberty. My hours now passed pleasantly. Time did not drag, for I was
engaged upon some enterprise every minute. I would draw, read, write,
or talk. If any feeling was dominant, it was my feeling for art; and I
read with avidity books on the technique of that subject. Strange as it
may seem, however, the moment I again found myself in the world of
business my desire to become an artist died almost as suddenly as it
had been born. Though my artistic ambition was clearly an outgrowth of
my abnormal condition, and languished when normality asserted itself, I
am inclined to believe I should even now take a lively interest in the
study of art if I were so situated as to be deprived of a free choice
of my activities.
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