endure a
certain degree of joy, sorrow, and pain, but becomes annihilated as soon
as this measure is exceeded. The question, therefore, is, not whether a
man is strong or weak, but whether he is able to endure the measure
of his sufferings. The suffering may be moral or physical; and in
my opinion it is just as absurd to call a man a coward who destroys
himself, as to call a man a coward who dies of a malignant fever."

"Paradox, all paradox!" exclaimed Albert. "Not so paradoxical as you
imagine," I replied. "You allow that we designate a disease as mortal
when nature is so severely attacked, and her strength so far exhausted,
that she cannot possibly recover her former condition under any change
that may take place.

"Now, my good friend, apply this to the mind; observe a man in
his natural, isolated condition; consider how ideas work, and how
impressions fasten on him, till at length a violent passion seizes him,
destroying all his powers of calm reflection, and utterly ruining him.

"It is in vain that a man of sound mind and cool temper understands the
condition of such a wretched being, in vain he counsels him. He can no
more communicate his own wisdom to him than a healthy man can instil his
strength into the invalid, by whose bedside he is seated."

Albert thought this too general. I reminded him of a girl who had
drowned herself a short time previously, and I related her history.

She was a good creature, who had grown up in the narrow sphere of
household industry and weekly appointed labour; one who knew no pleasure
beyond indulging in a walk on Sundays, arrayed in her best attire,
accompanied by her friends, or perhaps joining in the dance now and then
at some festival, and chatting away her spare hours with a neighbour,
discussing the scandal or the quarrels of the village, trifles
sufficient to occupy her heart. At length the warmth of her nature is
influenced by certain new and unknown wishes. Inflamed by the flatteries
of men, her former pleasures become by degrees insipid, till at length
she meets with a youth to whom she is attracted by an indescribable
feeling; upon him she now rests all her hopes; she forgets the world
around her; she sees, hears, desires nothing but him, and him only. He
alone occupies all her thoughts. Uncorrupted by the idle indulgence of
an enervating vanity, her affection moving steadily toward its object,
she hopes to become his, and to realise, in an everlasting union with