"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.' "I could not look up--I dared not meet his penetrating eye: and shame added an additional pang to sorrow.--He saw the struggle in my bosom, and pity regained her influence: his voice softened--'Forgive my harshness, youth; I ought perhaps rather to apply the balm of consolation to a mind diseased, than by reproaches add to its malady: but you appear faint, my child;--perhaps for want of sustenance?'--He anxiously arose, and beckoning the host, desired him to carry some wine and provisions into a private room; then again addressing me, proffered his assistance to conduct me into the house. "A false pride at first made me recoil: but the benevolence which beamed in his eyes, as he gently drew my hand on his arm, checked the ungrateful sentiment.