"When at St. Helena, I believe I informed you I went from Cardigan to Havre-de-Grace, as a common sailor; I there determined to seek a sister, endeared to me by misfortune as well as the ties of blood; and accordingly directed my steps to Rennes; my whole wealth consisting in the clothes I wore, which were those I obtained by exchange from a lad near Harwich, and the wages arising from my voyage. This little stock, however, was insufficient to bear my expenses, and the last day I travelled without money or food; but hope impelled me forward, and on my arrival at Rennes, I inquired my way to the Convent of St. Ursule. My appearance there was too mean to gain me access to the Abbess, or even procure me a civil answer to the question I asked, whether Louise were living, and residing in the Convent? The portress disclaimed all knowledge of the circumstance—or the child I alluded to, and finally closed the grate to my face.
"Thus repulsed, I slowly turned from the gate, and directed my steps to an humble auberge, where I threw myself on a bench in the yard, in a state of mind painfully depressed. The hope I had indulged to a most sanguine degree of finding Louise, and being acknowledged by her as a brother, and which had cheered me on my journey, and soothed me in my moments of sadness, was thus completely destroyed; nor had I then the least clue to guide me to her.
"Was my sister dead? I asked myself—or had I been deceived?
"The question led to events long since past; busy memory, in vivid colours, brought to view each circumstance which had progressively involved me in a state of wretchedness, and made me feel with maddening exaggeration a fate I thought unmerited. I was indeed driven by a power I could not oppose, from kindred, friends, and fortune—a wanderer on a foreign shore, without even the means of procuring a single meal to satisfy the wants of nature.—The only prospect before me, was beggary!
"The idea was too much—my passions, long restrained, with a violence not to be controlled, o'erburst the bounds of reason; franticly I called for death; cursed the hour that gave me to the arms of my parents; and bade the earth open and bury me for ever in her bosom!
"What inconsistencies I was guilty of, I cannot say; I was unconscious of observation—of all around me!—and such ascendancy did my madness at last attain, that I thought I heard the voice of my father in the breeze, chiding me for living in a world, where I had lost every prospect of happiness.
"The conceit led to self-destruction; and suicide instantly presented itself to my fevered imagination, as affording the oblivion I coveted. Wildly my eye glanced to every object, in search of some instrument wherewith to perpetrate my design; but none presented itself. A well, however, met my view, and, starting from my seat, I ran with an intention of precipitating myself into it. Already had I reached the brink, when my arm was arrested, with a violence, which not only prevented my design, but forced me some paces back from the place of destruction.
"The shock in some degree recalled my recollection, and, raising my eyes, I beheld an old religieux, to whose timely interposition I was indebted for preservation. The tear started to his eye, and his right hand trembled as he grasped my arm; he gently raised his other toward heaven, and regarded me with such a look, as struck me to the the heart; and reproved me more forcibly, than language could have done, for my temerity in daring to rush unsummoned into the presence of my Maker!
"The tempest of my mind ceased; but was succeeded by a horror and remorse, I cannot attempt to describe. I passively permitted the worthy Monk to conduct me to the seat I had quitted; where, placing himself beside me, he hesitatingly asked, what had induced me to attempt self-destruction?
"I would have offered an extenuation of my madness; but my words were incoherent. He stopped me—'Suicide, my son, can admit of no excuse!—Misfortune and sorrow attend us all, from the monarch to the lowest mendicant; but, were the burden ten times heavier than that inflicted, it is our duty to bear it! I saw you in the street; your appearance bespoke distress, and I followed, for the purpose of affording that relief, I thought you merited. The action I have witnessed here, young man,' he continued with severity, 'I need not comment on; your own conscience, I trust, will sufficiently speak its enormity.'