I should like to know whether there ever passed such childish notions in the hearts of other men as sometimes do in mine.  In the midst of my studies, and of a life as innocent as man could lead, notwithstanding every persuasion to the contrary, the dread of hell frequently tormented me.  I asked myself, “What state am I in?  Should I die at this instant, must I be damned?” According to my Jansenists the matter was indubitable, but according to my conscience it appeared quite the contrary:  terrified and floating in this cruel uncertainty, I had recourse to the most laughable expedient to resolve my doubts, for which I would willingly shut up any man as a lunatic should I see him practise the same folly.  One day, meditating on this melancholy subject, I exercised myself in throwing stones at the trunks of trees, with my usual dexterity, that is to say, without hitting any of them.  In the height of this charming exercise, it entered my mind to make a kind of prognostic, that might calm my inquietude; I said, “I will throw this stone at the tree facing me; if I hit my mark, I will consider it as a sign of salvation; if I miss, as a token of damnation.”  While I said this, I threw the stone with a trembling hand and beating breast but so happily that it struck the body of the tree, which truly was not a difficult matter, for I had taken care to choose one that was very large and very near me.  From that moment I never doubted my salvation:  I know not on recollecting this trait, whether I ought to laugh or shudder at myself.  Ye great geniuses, who surely laugh at my folly, congratulate yourselves on your superior wisdom, but insult not my unhappiness, for I swear to you that I feel it most sensibly.

These troubles, these alarms, inseparable, perhaps, from devotion, were only at intervals; in general, I was tranquil, and the impression made on my soul by the idea of approaching death, was less that of melancholy than a peaceful languor, which even had its pleasures.  I have found among my old papers a kind of congratulation and exhortation which I made to myself on dying at an age when I had the courage to meet death with serenity, without having experienced any great evils, either of body or mind.  How much justice was there in the thought!  A preconception of what I had to suffer made me fear to live, and it seemed that I dreaded the fate which must attend my future days.  I have never been so near wisdom as during this period, when I felt no great remorse for the past, nor tormenting fear for the future; the reigning sentiment of my soul being the enjoyment of the present.  Serious people usually possess a lively sensuality, which makes them highly enjoy those innocent pleasures that are allowed them.  Worldlings (I know not why) impute this to them as a crime:  or rather, I well know the cause of this imputation, it is because they envy others the enjoyment of those simple and pure delights which they have lost the relish of.  I had these inclinations,