ow about to
relate the story of an error, innocent in its beginning, guilty in its
progress, fatal in its results; and I would fain hope that my plain
and true record will show that this error was not committed altogether
without excuse. When these pages are found after my death, they will
perhaps be calmly read and gently judged, as relics solemnized by the
atoning shadows of the grave. Then, the hard sentence against me may
be repented of; the children of the next generation of our house may
be taught to speak charitably of my memory, and may often, of their own
accord, think of me kindly in the thoughtful watches of the night.
Prompted by these motives, and by others which I feel, but cannot
analyse, I now begin my self-imposed occupation. Hidden amid the far
hills of the far West of England, surrounded only by the few simple
inhabitants of a fishing hamlet on the Cornish coast, there is little
fear that my attention will be distracted from my task; and as
little chance that any indolence on my part will delay its speedy
accomplishment. I live under a threat of impending hostility, which may
descend and overwhelm me, I know not how soon, or in what manner. An
enemy, determined and deadly, patient alike to wait days or years for
his opportunity, is ever lurking after me in the dark. In entering on my
new employment, I cannot say of my time, that it may be mine for another
hour; of my life, that it may last till evening.
Thus it is as no leisure work that I begin my narrative--and begin it,
too, on my birthday! On this day I complete my twenty-fourth year; the
first new year of my life which has not been greeted by a single kind
word, or a single loving wish. But one look of welcome can still find me
in my solitude--the lovely morning look of nature, as I now see it from
the casement of my room. Brighter and brighter shines out the lusty sun
from banks of purple, rainy cloud; fishermen are spreading their nets
to dry on the lower declivities of the rocks; children are playing round
the boats drawn up on the beach; the sea-breeze blows fresh and pure
towards the shore----all objects are brilliant to look on, all sounds
are pleasant to hear, as my pen traces the first lines which open the
story of my life.
II.
I am the second son of an English gentleman of large fortune. Our family
is, I believe, one of the most ancient in this country. On my father's
side, it dates back beyond the Conquest; on my mother's, it is
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