had
fallen into the gutter, and which lashed by the rain was helplessly
whirling about in the dirty puddle, the thought struck me that this
cork was my own brain which had stolen from out my heated skull, and
was now taking a shower bath. If such an absurd fancy could take
possession of my mind for a whole quarter of an hour, then must the
last prop of my reason be fast giving way.

"I have the highest idea of the self-sacrificing duties of a man
towards his fellow-creatures, yet I cannot calmly see the moment
approach when the asphyxiated soul is to be buried alive, watch the
loss of self-consciousness, and finally sink lower than the most
miserable brute. This, my dear Charles, would require the dullness of a
sheep patiently awaiting the butcher's knife, though it feels a worm
gnawing at its brain.

"But I quite forget that this will seem but a confused outpouring of
words to you, who are only aware of a portion of my calamities. You
only know what the rest of the world is acquainted with--that my
adopted sister died, this day year, that her father followed her a
few days later, and her mother in the spring of this year.--You also
know that my family consisted of only these three--that I loved them
dearly--that, in fact, except yourself, they were the only beings to
whom I was much attached.

"Under any circumstance their loss would have wounded me deeply, but I
should have ended by overcoming this grief. Even had they been severed
from me at a single stroke, I could have bravely outlived it. Truly the
death of one man is always irreparable but his life is never
indispensable. Science, my profession, my youth, would have healed the
wound.--Now, it is still open, and the blood which flows from it cannot
be stanched, for these three precious lives would have been spared, but
for me!...

"I must begin from the beginning, Charles, if I wish to make these sad
words clear to you.--You know, I believe, that I hardly ever saw my own
parents, that after the death of my father, I should have been brought
up at the orphan asylum, if those generous people had not taken pity on
the son of the poor surgeon, and adopted me. My foster-father was one
of the most opulent merchants of the town.--When he gave me a home, he
was still childless after eight years of marriage. He hoped that my
presence would cheer him, and his wife, and enliven the quiet dull
house. Unfortunately, at first, I but ill rewarded the kindness of the
worth