There was in his manner and address an affectionate kindness which overcame me.  I could neither speak nor look at him; but, laying my head on the table, and hiding my face with my hands, I wept bitterly.  The good bishop allowed me reasonable time to recover myself, and, with extreme good breeding, mildly requested that, if it were possible, I would confide to him the cause of my affliction.

“Be not afraid or ashamed, my good lad,” said he, “to tell me your sorrows.  If we have temporal blessings, we do not forget that we are but the almoners of the Lord:  we endeavour to follow his example; but, if I may judge from appearance, it is not pecuniary aid you have come to solicit.”

“No, no,” replied I; “it is not money that I want:”  but, choked with excess of feeling, I could say no more.

“This is indeed a more important case than one of mere bodily want,” said the good man. “That we might very soon supply; but there seems something in your condition which requires our more serious attention.  I thank the Almighty for selecting me to this service; and, with his blessing, we shall not fail of success.”

Then, going to the door, he called to a young lady, who I afterwards found was his daughter; and, holding the door a-jar as he spoke, that I might not be seen in my distress, said, “Caroline, my dear, write to the duke, and beg him to excuse my dining with him to-day.  Tell him that I am kept at home by business of importance; and give orders that I be not interrupted on any account.”

He then turned the key in the door; and, drawing a chair close to mine, begged me, in the most persuasive manner, to tell him every thing without reserve, in order that he might apply such a remedy as the case seemed to demand.

I first asked for a glass of wine, which was instantly brought; he received it at the door, and gave it to me with his own hand.

Having drank it, I commenced the history of my life in a brief outline, and ultimately told him all; nearly as much in detail as I have related it to the reader.  He listened to me with an intense and painful interest, questioning me as to my feelings on many important occasions; and having at length obtained from me an honest and candid confession, without any extenuation,

“My young friend,” said he, “your life has been one of peculiar temptation and excess.  Much to deplore, much to blame, and much to repent of; but the state of feeling which induced you to come to me, is a proof that you now only require that which, with God’s help, I trust I shall be able to supply.  It is now late, and we both of us require some refreshment.  I will order in dinner, and you must send to the inn for your portmanteau.”

Perceiving that I was about to answer, “I must take no denial,” resumed he.  “You have placed yourself under my care as your physician, and you must follow my prescriptions.  My duty is as much more important, compared to the doctor’s, as the soul is to the body.”