intolerable yoke of a tyrant, rises at last and throws off its
chains, do you call that weakness? The man who, to rescue his
house from the flames, finds his physical strength redoubled, so
that he lifts burdens with ease, which, in the absence of excitement,
he could scarcely move; he who, under the rage of an insult, attacks
and puts to flight half a score of his enemies, are such persons
to be called weak? My good friend, if resistance be strength, how
can the highest degree of resistance be a weakness?"

Albert looked steadfastly at me, and said, "Pray forgive me, but
I do not see that the examples you have adduced bear any relation
to the question." "Very likely," I answered; "for I have often
been told that my style of illustration borders a little on the
absurd. But let us see if we cannot place the matter in another
point of view, by inquiring what can be a man's state of mind who
resolves to free himself from the burden of life, -- a burden often
so pleasant to bear, -- for we cannot otherwise reason fairly upon
the subject.

"Human nature," I continued, "has its limits. It is able to endure
a certain degree of joy, sorrow, and pain, but becomes annihilated
as soon as this measure is exceeded. The question, therefore, is,
not whether a man is strong or weak, but whether he is able to
endure the measure of his sufferings. The suffering may be moral
or physical; and in my opinion it is just as absurd to call a man
a coward who destroys himself, as to call a man a coward who dies
of a malignant fever."

"Paradox, all paradox!" exclaimed Albert. "Not so paradoxical as
you imagine," I replied. "You allow that we designate a disease