This now recurred to his mind, and talk with casual
companions in taverns and chophouses was enough in his present
condition to confirm him in his belief that self-destruction was
lawful. Evidently he was perfectly insane, for he could not take up a
newspaper without reading in it a fancied libel on himself. First he
bought laudanum, and had gone out into the fields with the intention of
swallowing it, when the love of life suggested another way of escaping
the dreadful ordeal. He might sell all he had, fly to France, change
his religion, and bury himself in a monastery. He went home to pack
up; but while he was looking over his portmanteau, his mood changed,
and he again resolved on self-destruction. Taking a coach he ordered
the coachman to drive to the Tower Wharf, intending to throw himself
into the river. But the love of life once more interposed, under the
guise of a low tide and a porter seated on the quay. Again in the
coach, and afterwards in his chambers, he tried to swallow the
laudanum; but his hand was paralysed by "the convincing Spirit," aided
by seasonable interruptions from the presence of his laundress and her
husband, and at length he threw the laudanum away.
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