ing but the
slight chance they would enjoy of passing into some state of existence not
in a remote degree different from that which they have declared themselves
sick of a thousand times before they died. Sick of it as many, however, say
they are, they would all live "a little and a little longer still," when
the dread hour comes that calls them home. These remarks have been
suggested by the following passage in my note-book:--"17th August, ----,
case of Eugene D----, in the jail of ----. Extraordinary example of the
_amor vitae_." I find I had jotted a number of the details; but such was the
impression the scene of that tragedy of life produced in me, that even now,
though many years have passed, I recollect the minutiae of the drama as
distinctly as if I had witnessed it yesterday. I was indeed interested in
the case more than professionally; for the subject of it was an early
companion of my own, and was, besides, calculated, from his acquirements,
and a free, open generosity of spirit, to produce a deep interest in the
fate which, in an unhappy hour, he brought upon himself. It was on the
forenoon of the day I have mentioned, that the under turnkey of the prison
of ---- came in breathless haste, and called me to a prisoner. It was
Eugene D----. I was at the moment occupied in thinking of the youth. He had
forged a bill upon his father, Mr. D----, a wealthy merchant; and it was
very clearly brought out, in evidence that he applied the money to
extricate a friend from pecuniary embarrassments. The father had paid the
bill; but the legal authorities had prosecuted the case; and he, at that
moment, lay in jail a criminal, condemned to die. The gallows was standing
ready to exact its victim within two hours; the post from London would
arrive in an hour with or without a reprieve. His father and mother, what
were they then doing, thinking, suffering? On them and him I was meditating
when the words of the turnkey fell upon my ear.

"What has occurred?" was my question to the messenger.

"Eugene D----, the condemned criminal, has taken some poisonous drug," said
he, "and the provost has sent me for you to come to his relief."

I meditated a moment. It might have been as well, I thought, for all
parties, that I had not been called, and that the drug, whatever it was,
might be allowed to anticipate the law, but I had no alternative; I was
called in my official capacity; and then a messenger might still arrive
from London. I