e subject, the mysterious connection between soul and body, was
again strong upon me, and I longed to witness the last agonies of a
person dying by violence. It was necessary to elucidate my theory, and
the desire to obtain the knowledge, increased. The crime and all its
horrors never occurred to me as any thing but a great, a magnanimous
action, a sacrifice of my own feelings for the benefit of mankind.

One evening my employer detained me much later than he was wont. We sat
as usual--he at one side of the table, I at the other. I had, all the
afternoon, been much stronger than I had for some time before, and felt
more confidence in myself than I had done for several weeks. No
sensation gave indication of the misery that was to fill my heart. All
at once my mind was hurled, as if by a whirlwind, from its calm. My
employer stooped over a book, in which he was deeply engaged--his head
was towards me. I was mending my pen with a stout, ivory-handled
desk-knife. The temptation came upon me, with hideous force, to plunge
the knife into his head, and obtain the great object I so long had
desired. In this fearful moment I even reasoned--if I dare use the
often-abused term--that the wound would be small, and hidden by the
hair, so that no man could ever know, far less blame me for the act. I
grasped the knife firmly in my hand, changing it to the best position to
strike with effect. My mind felt pleased and happy. I actually exulted
in the opportunity. My arm was raised to strike the unconscious victim
of my madness, when he raised his head, and looked me in the face. I
sank into my seat, with a faint scream, and wept like a babe. The
impulse had passed away, like a hideous nightmare. I shook in every
limb, and raised my eyes to heaven, imploring pardon, and sighed forth a
mental prayer of thanks; while the intended victim of my madness,
unconscious of the danger he had escaped, did his utmost to soothe the
agitation and distress which I could not conceal. I could no longer look
upon his benign and placid countenance without a shudder of horror, such
as the wretch must feel who is dragged to the spot where the body of his
murdered victim lies witnessing against him. I felt that he was a victim
snatched from me by a merciful God--a victim I had murdered in my heart.
That same night I gave up my situation, much against the desire of my
kind employer, and returned to my parents' roof, the most to be pitied
of living men.

For se