breast at a very early age,
by an old woman, who lived with us as nurse. I shall remember her as long
as I live, for to her may be attributed a very great portion of my
sufferings. She was an excellent story-teller. I do not know whether she
invented them herself, but she had always a plentiful supply. My family
resided at that time in Berlin, where, indeed, I was born. This old woman,
when she took me and my sister to bed of an evening, kept us awake for
hours and hours, by relating to us tales which were always interesting,
and sometimes very frightful. Our parents were not aware of this, or they
never would have suffered her to relate them to us. In the long winter
nights, when it grew quite dark at four o'clock, she would draw her chair
to the stove, and we would cluster round her, and listen to her marvelous
stories. Many a time did my limbs shake, many a time did I turn as pale as
death, and cling closely to her from fear, as I sat listening with greedy
ear to her narratives. So powerful an effect did they produce, that I
dared not remain alone. Even in the broad day-light, and when the sun was
brightly shining into every chamber, I was afraid to go upstairs by
myself; and so timid did I become, that the least noise instantly alarmed
me. That old woman brought misery and desolation into our house; she
blasted the fondest hopes, and threw a dark and dismal shadow over the
brightest and most cheerful places. Often and often have I wished that she
had been sooner removed; but, alas! it was ordered otherwise. She
pretended to be very fond of us, and our parents never dreamed of any
danger in permitting her to remain under their roof. We were so delighted
and captivated with her narratives, that we implicitly obeyed her in every
respect; but she laid strong injunctions upon us, that we were not to
inform either our father or mother of the nature of them. If we were
alarmed at any time, we always attributed it to some other than the true
cause; hence the injury she was inflicting upon the family was
unperceived. I have sometimes thought that she was actuated by a spirit of
revenge, for some supposed injury inflicted upon her, and that she had
long contemplated the misfortune into which she eventually plunged my
unhappy parents, and which hurried them both to a premature grave.

I will briefly state the cause of the grievous change in our domestic
happiness. My sister was a year or two younger than myself, and, at the
ti