if the pen is the tongue of a ready writer, so may a piece
of glass be, under given conditions. As the thought I had in mind
seemed an immortal one I decided to etch, rather than write with
fugitive graphite. On the topmost panel of the door, which a few
minutes before had dealt me so vicious a blow, I scratched a seven-word
sentiment--sincere, if not classic: "God bless our Home, which is
Hell."

The violent exercise of the morning had given me a good appetite and I
ate my dinner with relish, though with some difficulty, for the choking
had lamed my throat. On serving this dinner, the attendants again left
me to my own devices. The early part of the afternoon I spent in vain
endeavors to summon them and induce them to take notes to the
superintendent and his assistant. They continued to ignore me. By
sundown the furious excitement of the morning had given place to what
might be called a deliberative excitement, which, if anything, was more
effective. It was but a few days earlier that I had discussed my case
with the assistant physician and told him all about the suicidal
impulse which had been so strong during my entire period of depression.
I now reasoned that a seeming attempt at suicide, a "fake" suicide,
would frighten the attendants into calling this doctor whose presence I
now desired--and desired the more because of his studied indifference.
No man that ever lived, loved life more than I did on that day, and the
mock tragedy which I successfully staged about dusk was, I believe, as
good a farce as was ever perpetrated. If I had any one ambition it was
to live long enough to regain my freedom and put behind prison bars
this doctor and his burly henchmen. To compel attention that was my
object.

At that season the sun set by half-past five and supper was usually
served about that time. So dark was my room then that objects in it
could scarcely be discerned. About a quarter of an hour before the
attendant was due to appear with my evening meal I made my
preparations. That the stage setting might be in keeping with the plot,
I tore up such papers as I had with me, and also destroyed other
articles in the room--as one might in a frenzy; and to complete the
illusion of desperation, deliberately broke my watch. I then took off
my suspenders, and tying one end to the head of the bedstead, made a
noose of the other. This I adjusted comfortably about my throat. At the
crucial moment I placed my pillow on the floor bes