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The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas

were deranged, and he instantly changed the subject of our

conversation and endeavoured to alter the course of my thoughts.

He wished as much as possible to obliterate the memory of the

scenes that had taken place in Ireland and never alluded to them

or suffered me to speak of my misfortunes.

As time passed away I became more calm; misery had her dwelling

in my heart, but I no longer talked in the same incoherent manner

of my own crimes; sufficient for me was the consciousness of

them. By the utmost self-violence I curbed the imperious voice of

wretchedness, which sometimes desired to declare itself to the

whole world, and my manners were calmer and more composed than

they had ever been since my journey to the sea of ice.

A few days before we left Paris on our way to Switzerland, I

received the following letter from Elizabeth:

"My dear Friend,