not so
old, but the pedigree is nobler. Besides my elder brother, I have one
sister, younger than myself. My mother died shortly after giving birth
to her last child.

Circumstances which will appear hereafter, have forced me to abandon my
father's name. I have been obliged in honour to resign it; and in honour
I abstain from mentioning it here. Accordingly, at the head of these
pages, I have only placed my Christian name--not considering it of any
importance to add the surname which I have assumed; and which I may,
perhaps, be obliged to change for some other, at no very distant period.
It will now, I hope, be understood from the outset, why I never mention
my brother and sister but by their Christian names; why a blank occurs
wherever my father's name should appear; why my own is kept concealed in
this narrative, as it is kept concealed in the world.

The story of my boyhood and youth has little to interest--nothing that
is new. My education was the education of hundreds of others in my rank
of life. I was first taught at a public school, and then went to college
to complete what is termed "a liberal education."

My life at college has not left me a single pleasant recollection. I
found sycophancy established there, as a principle of action; flaunting
on the lord's gold tassel in the street; enthroned on the lord's dais in
the dining-room. The most learned student in my college--the man whose
life was most exemplary, whose acquirements were most admirable--was
shown me sitting, as a commoner, in the lowest place. The heir to an
Earldom, who had failed at the last examination, was pointed out a few
minutes afterwards, dining in solitary grandeur at a raised table, above
the reverend scholars who had turned him back as a dunce. I had just
arrived at the University, and had just been congratulated on entering
"a venerable seminary of learning and religion."

Trite and common-place though it be, I mention this circumstance
attending my introduction to college, because it formed the first cause
which tended to diminish my faith in the institution to which I was
attached. I soon grew to regard my university training as a sort of
necessary evil, to be patiently submitted to. I read for no honours,
and joined no particular set of men. I studied the literature of France,
Italy, and Germany; just kept up my classical knowledge sufficiently
to take my degree; and left college with no other reputation than a
reputation for i