ndolence and reserve.

When I returned home, it was thought necessary, as I was a younger son,
and could inherit none of the landed property of the family, except in
the case of my brother's dying without children, that I should belong
to a profession. My father had the patronage of some valuable "livings,"
and good interest with more than one member of the government. The
church, the army, the navy, and, in the last instance, the bar, were
offered me to choose from. I selected the last.

My father appeared to be a little astonished at my choice; but he made
no remark on it, except simply telling me not to forget that the bar was
a good stepping-stone to parliament. My real ambition, however, was, not
to make a name in parliament, but a name in literature. I had already
engaged myself in the hard, but glorious service of the pen; and I was
determined to persevere. The profession which offered me the greatest
facilities for pursuing my project, was the profession which I was ready
to prefer. So I chose the bar.

Thus, I entered life under the fairest auspices. Though a younger son, I
knew that my father's wealth, exclusive of his landed property, secured
me an independent income far beyond my wants. I had no extravagant
habits; no tastes that I could not gratify as soon as formed; no cares
or responsibilities of any kind. I might practise my profession or
not, just as I chose. I could devote myself wholly and unreservedly to
literature, knowing that, in my case, the struggle for fame could never
be identical--terribly, though gloriously identical--with the struggle
for bread. For me, the morning sunshine of life was sunshine without a
cloud!

I might attempt, in this place, to sketch my own character as it was at
that time. But what man can say--I will sound the depth of my own vices,
and measure the height of my own virtues; and be as good as his word? We
can neither know nor judge ourselves; others may judge, but cannot know
us: God alone judges and knows too. Let my character appear--as far as
any human character can appear in its integrity, in this world--in my
actions, when I describe the one eventful passage in my life which forms
the basis of this narrative. In the mean time, it is first necessary
that I should say more about the members of my family. Two of them, at
least, will be found important to the progress of events in these
pages. I make no attempt to judge their characters: I only describe
them--wheth