He might sell all he had, fly to France, change his religion, and bury himself in a monastery.

He went home to pack up; but while he was looking over his portmanteau, his mood changed, and he again resolved on self-destruction.

Taking a coach he ordered the coachman to drive to the Tower Wharf, intending to throw himself into the river.

But the love of life once more interposed, under the guise of a low tide and a porter seated on the quay.

Again in the coach, and afterwards in his chambers, he tried to swallow the laudanum; but his hand was paralysed by "the convincing Spirit," aided by seasonable interruptions from the presence of his laundress and her husband, and at length he threw the laudanum away.