I never resumed the subject; for however much my curiosity might be aroused, I felt too true compassion for his sufferings to increase them by my intrusion.  I sought various ways to divert his mind, and to arouse him from the constant meditations in which he was plunged.  He saw my efforts, and seconded them as far as in his power, for there was nothing moody or wayward in his nature; on the contrary, there was something frank, generous, unassuming, in his whole deportment.  All the sentiments that he uttered were noble and lofty.  He claimed no indulgence; he asked no toleration.  He seemed content to carry his load of misery in silence, and only sought to carry it by my side.  There was a mute beseeching manner about him, as if he craved companionship as a charitable boon; and a tacit thankfulness in his looks, as if he felt grateful to me for not repulsing him.

I felt this melancholy to be infectious.  It stole over my spirits; Interfered with all my gay pursuits, and gradually saddened my life; yet I could not prevail upon myself to shake off a being who seemed to hang upon me for support.  In truth, the generous traits of character that beamed through all this gloom had penetrated to my heart.  His bounty was lavish and open-handed.  His charity melting and spontaneous.  Not confined to mere donations, which often humiliate as much as they relieve.  The tone of his voice, the beam of his eye, enhanced every gift, and surprised the poor suppliant with that rarest and sweetest of charities, the charity not merely of the hand, but of the heart.  Indeed, his liberality seemed to have something in it of self-abasement and expiation.  He humbled himself, in a manner, before the mendicant.  “What right have I to ease and affluence,” would he murmur to himself, “when innocence wanders in misery and rags?”

The Carnival time arrived.  I had hoped that the gay scenes which then Presented themselves might have some cheering effect.  I mingled with him in the motley throng that crowded the place of St. Mark.  We frequented operas, masquerades, balls.  All in vain.  The evil kept growing on him; he became more and more haggard and agitated.  Often, after we had returned from one of these scenes of revelry, I have entered his room, and found him lying on his face on the sofa:  his hands clinched in his fine hair, and his whole countenance bearing traces of the convulsions of his mind.

The Carnival passed away; the season of Lent succeeded; Passion week arrived.  We attended one evening a solemn service in one of the churches; in the course of which a grand piece of vocal and instrumental music was performed relating to the death of our Saviour.