Pagina 757 de 896

"These words are formed by the rusty iron point with which I

write with difficulty in scrapings of soot and charcoal from the

chimney, mixed with blood, in the last month of the tenth year of

my captivity. Hope has quite departed from my breast. I know from

terrible warnings I have noted in myself that my reason will not

long remain unimpaired, but I solemnly declare that I am at this

time in the possession of my right mind--that my memory is exact

and circumstantial--and that I write the truth as I shall answer

for these my last recorded words, whether they be ever read by

men or not, at the Eternal Judgment-seat.