ABSTRACT
Three days since, enfeebled nature compelled me to resign my pen: the conflicts of my heart had increased till a burning fever confined me to my pillow, and there my imagination became deranged. To the care of the Cordelier my soul was commended, and this patient minister bore with my ravings till reason returned. – I had railed at the King and the Government; accused woman, and cursed Dormoud: but my agitation neither disturbed the Confessor, nor availed with my unhappy lot. – He pitied me, prayed with me, and consoled me, agreeably to the duties of his office; – in vain! I was not capable of devotion, and if I had been piously inclined, the Cordelier was the last man in the world who could have taught me to lift my eyes in gratitude to heaven.
