in such a state of nervous resentment that I thought it but
prudent to check myself at present from further demonstrations. Bartleby
and I were alone. I remembered the tragedy of the unfortunate Adams and
the still more unfortunate Colt in the solitary office of the latter;
and how poor Colt, being dreadfully incensed by Adams, and imprudently
permitting himself to get wildly excited, was at unawares hurried into
his fatal act--an act which certainly no man could possibly deplore more
than the actor himself. Often it had occurred to me in my ponderings
upon the subject, that had that altercation taken place in the public
street, or at a private residence, it would not have terminated as it
did. It was the circumstance of being alone in a solitary office, up
stairs, of a building entirely unhallowed by humanizing domestic
associations--an uncarpeted office, doubtless, of a dusty, haggard sort
of appearance--this it must have been, which greatly helped to enhance
the irritable desperation of the hapless Colt.

But when this old Adam of resentment rose in me and tempted me
concerning Bartleby, I grappled him and threw him. How? Why, simply by
recalling the divine injunction: "A new commandment give I unto you,
that ye love one another." Yes, this it was that saved me. Aside from
higher considerations, charity often operates as a vastly wise and
prudent principle--a great safeguard to its possessor. Men have
committed murder for jealousy's sake, and anger's sake, and hatred's
sake, and selfishness' sake, and spiritual pride's sake; but no man,
that ever I heard of, ever committed a diabolical murder for sweet
charity's sake. Mere self-interest, then, if no better motive can be
enlisted, should, especially with high-tempered men, prompt all beings
to charity and philanthropy. At any rate, upon the occasion in question,
I strove to drown my exasperated feelings towards the scrivener by
benevolently construing his conduct.--Poor fellow, poor fellow! thought
I, he don't mean anything; and besides, he has seen hard times, and
ought to be indulged.

I endeavored, also, immediately to occupy myself, and at the same time
to comfort my despondency. I tried to fancy, that in the course of the
morning, at such time as might prove agreeable to him, Bartleby, of his
own free accord, would emerge from his hermitage and take up some
decided line of march in the direction of the door. But no. Half-past
twelve o'clock came; Turkey began to