suppose that you have another in view, but as I am not consulted, I presume that my assistance is not required, and therefore from this hour I shall withhold it. I havechildren enough with claims on the allowance which has been for some months thrown away on you. From this moment cease to expect it. We all wish you well, and success in the scheme of life you have resolved on pursu- ing, whatever it may be.
“I. S.”
I thought I had long made up my mind to the worst quences of my disobedience, but it seemed that this letter opened my eyes for the first time to my utter helplessness, when aban- doned to my own resources. My debts (small, very small, as they really were) first occurred to me—how were they to be discharged? how could I meet the applications of my creditors? how could I,a Squanderly, endure the insolence of these importunate people, an insolence of which I had already had a sample or two?--then, how was I to support myself, how to supply my daily wants? I knew not how a stiver was to be earned. “How am I to live?” was the question; “I can die,” was my answer. The suggestion elevated me in my own opinion. Zay asx por aic- Xpees Tose nares wepuxocsy, exclaimed I with dignity. The squalid details of misery which I had been passing in anticipation before me, disappeared, and I strode across my little apartment with the air of one who had taken a resolution which placed him above the malice of fortune. I was about to act the first part in a tragedy, which would make some noise in the world. My family would be made to suffer vain regrets, and to repent their rigour towards me. The world would admire my high sense of honour which led me to prefer death to degradation. And Louisa Daventry!--Louisa Daventry would pass a life of celibacy in weeping over my early fate, keep- ing her vestal flame alive in the tomb of her Heary! I remembered how she had been affect- ed one sweet night as we sat in the honeysuckle alcove, by my reciting to her the lines from Campbell’s Pleasures of Hope:—
And say, when summoned from the world and thee,
I lay my head beneath the willow tree,
Will thou, sweet mourner! at my stone appear,
And soothe my parted spirit lingering near?
Oh! wilt thou come, at evening hour to shed
The tears of memory o’er my narrow bed;
With aching temples on thy hand reclined,
Mase on the last farewell I left behind;
Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low,
And think on all my love and all my woe?”
I was at that time as strong as a horse, and never coughed except when my water went the wrong way; but nevertheless it pleased my sen- timental soul to imagine myself fated to early death by consumption; and I recited these lines with all the eloquence of a lover, and the pecu- liar tenderness of one anticipating his own de- mise. Louisa was moved, and sunk sobbing on my shoulder. It afforded me at this period an indescribable satisfaction to think, that the des- perate expedient I contemplated, would cause them again to flow in sorrow for my tragic fate. Yes, I thought, my death will put its sad seal on her young affections—She will never love ano- ther—No! She will pass the remainder of her blameless life in retirement, and “think on all my love and all my woe.” The thought was luxury to me. The thought of the late regrets of iny family also pleased me. I felt that they had every thing to answer for; it was their self- ishness that made me asuicide. In my own judg- ment I stood clear of all blame. I never cast the slightest reprozch to my own account. I looked upon myself as an injured, persecuted being, driven to death by the base, worldly, sor- did covetings of my kinsmen. It is astonishing how afiliction endears us to ourselves.
Having now determined on self-destruction as the only means of avoiding want, misery, and degradation, the time for carrying my resolution into effect was the only remaining point to be settled. I was in no immediate hurry to be cruel to my flesh. While I had the means of living, [ thought there was no reason for dying; but I determined not to put the deed off to the last moment, or rather to the last pound. Inmy treasury I found only three pounds and some silver. My sand, thought I, runs low; but it were cowardly to economise, when death comes, with the last pound. Acting on this feeling, I lived more expensively than usual. I drank some wine too; and the first night, after dinner, I had a very good mind to carry my purpose into effect at once, without more delay. I strolled out toex- ercise myself with a short ramble over town, and on my return, having been detained longer than I anticipated, I found I was too sleepy to think of suicide. The next day I read the Sorrows of Werter, wrote a letter to Louisa, and cut off a large lock of my hair, which I enclosed in ‘it. On.the third day my money was getting low, and I thought of the choice of deaths. Shooting was out of the question, for I had no pistols; and if I had had any, I conceived that there would bean ugly crunch, like the drawing of a tooth, and perhaps a lingering painful death, which I felt extremely anxious to spare myself. Throat- cutting I disapproved of also, for I was habitually a neat man in all things. Being alone privy to my own intended demise, I was, as it were, my own chief mourner, and I conscientiously believe that the office was never more sincerely or affec- tionately filled. In the afternoon I went forth with the purpose never to return, having left a packet for Louisa, and a short letter for my family, bequeathing them my forgiveness, and my debts. I set out at about three, on a mild but blowy December day, and walked from my lodgings to Millbank, thence on to Chelsea; for though it was high-water, and the river ran deep at Millbank, I passed on, preferring, I don’t ex- actly know why, the more distant Battersea- bridge for my fatal plunge. When I arrived at the bridge the evening was fast closing in, the tide had turned to the ebb, and was-sweeping rapidly through the wooden arches, curled, black- ened, and burried, by a brisk south-westerly
wind. I thought myself ready for my leap; I