I hasten to the conclusion of my melancholy story. I began to write soon after the period to which I have now conducted it. 307 [It has] served me as a source of avocation for several years. For some time I had a melancholy 308 [consolation in writing]. I was better pleased to 309 [repass in my mind] the particulars of calamities that had formerly afflicted me, than to look forward, as at other times I was too apt to do, to those by which I might hereafter be overtaken. I conceived that my story faithfully digested would carry in it an impression of truth that few men would be able to resist; or at worst that, by leaving it behind me when I / should no longer continue to exist, posterity might be induced to do me justice, and, seeing in my example what sort of evils are entailed upon mankind by society as it is at present constituted, might be inclined to turn their attention upon the fountain from which such bitter waters have been accustomed to flow. But these motives have diminished in their influence. I have contracted something too like a loathing for life and all its appendages. Writing, which was at first a pleasure, is changed into a burthen. I shall compress into a small compass what 310 [yet] remains to be told.