n the day of
hunger? No, no! it appeared to me that I had always misspent my time,
save in one instance, when by a desperate effort I had collected all the
powers of my imagination, and written the 'Life of Joseph Sell'; but even
when I wrote the 'Life of Sell,' was I not in a false position? Provided
I had not misspent my time, would it have been necessary to make that
effort, which, after all, had only enabled me to leave London, and wander
about the country for a time? But could I, taking all circumstances into
consideration, have done better than I had? With my peculiar temperament
and ideas, could I have pursued with advantage the profession to which my
respectable parents had endeavoured to bring me up? It appeared to me
that I could not, and that the hand of necessity had guided me from my
earliest years, until the present night in which I found myself seated in
the dingle, staring on the brands of the fire. But ceasing to think of
the past which, as irrecoverably gone, it was useless to regret, even
were there cause to regret it, what should I do in future? Should I
write another book like the 'Life of Joseph Sell;' take it to London, and
offer it to a publisher? But when I reflected on the grisly sufferings
which I had undergone whilst engaged in writing the 'Life of Sell,' I
shrank from the idea of a similar attempt; moreover, I doubted whether I
possessed the power to write a similar work--whether the materials for
the life of another Sell lurked within the recesses of my brain? Had I
not better become in reality what I had hitherto been merely playing at--a
tinker or a Gypsy? But I soon saw that I was not fitted to become either
in reality. It was much more agreeable to play the Gypsy or the tinker,
than to become either in reality. I had seen enough of gypsying and
tinkering to be convinced of that. All of a sudden the idea of tilling
the soil came into my head; tilling the soil was a healthful and noble
pursuit! but my idea of tilling the soil had no connection with Britain;
for I could only expect to till the soil in Britain as a serf. I thought
of tilling it in America, in which it was said there was plenty of wild,
unclaimed land, of which any one, who chose to clear it of its trees,
might take possession. I figured myself in America, in an immense
forest, clearing the land destined, by my exertions, to become a fruitful
and smiling plain. Methought I heard the crash of the huge trees as th