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 any thing; 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 glow in the face, overturn his
inkstand, and become generally obstreperous; Nippers abated down into
quietude and courtesy; Ginger Nut munched his noon apple; and Bartleby
remained standing at his window in one of his profoundest dead-wall
reveries. Will it be credited? Ought I to acknowledge it? That
afternoon I left the office without saying one further word to him.

Some days now passed, durin