The Last Man E-Book

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

• Herausgeber: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

This highly imaginative work of Mary Shelley's twenty-sixth year contains some of the author's most powerful ideas ; but is marred in the commencement by some of her most stilted writing.

The account of the events recorded professes to be found in the cave of the Cumsean Sibyl, near Naples, where they had remained for centuries, outlasting the changes of nature and, when found, being still two hundred and fifty years in advance of the time foretold. The accounts are all written on the sibylline leaves; they are in all languages, ancient and modern; and those concerning this story are in English.

We find ourselves in England, in the midst of a Republic, the last king of England having abdicated at the quietly expressed wish of his subjects. This book, like all Mrs. Shelley's, is full of biographical reminiscences; the introduction gives the date of her own visit to Naples with Shelley, in 1818; the places they visited are there indicated ; the poetry, romance, the pleasures and pains of her own existence, are worked into her subjects ; while her imagination carries her out of her own surroundings. We clearly recognise in the ideal character of the son of the abdicated king an imaginary portrait of Shelley as Mary would have him known, not as she knew him as a living person. To give an adequate idea of genius with all its charm, and yet with its human imperfections, was beyond Mary's power. Adrian, the son of kings, the aristocratic republican, is the weakest part, and one cannot help being struck by Mary Shelley's preference for the aristocrat over the plebeian.

Leseprobe

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

The Last Man

First digital edition 2017 by Anna Ruggieri

INTRODUCTION.

I VISITED Naples in the year 1818. On the 8th of December of that year, my companion and I crossed the Bay, to visitthe antiquities which are scattered on the shores of Baiae. The translucent and shining waters of the calm sea covered fragments of old Roman villas, which were interlaced by sea-weed, and received diamond tints from the chequering of the sun-beams; the blue and pellucid element was such as Galatea might have skimmed in her car of mother of pearl; or Cleopatra, more fitly than the Nile, have chosen as the path of her magic ship. Though it was winter, the atmosphere seemed more appropriate to early spring;and its genial warmth contributed to inspire those sensations of placid delight, which are the portion of every traveller, as he lingers, loath to quit the tranquil bays and radiant promontories of Baiae.

We visited the so called Elysian Fields and Avernus: and wandered through various ruined temples, baths, and classic spots; at length we entered the gloomy cavern of the Cumaean Sibyl. Our Lazzeroni bore flaring torches, which shone red, and almost dusky, in the murky subterranean passages, whose darknessthirstily surrounding them, seemed eager to imbibe more and more of the element of light. We passed by a natural archway, leading to a second gallery, and enquired, if we could not enter there also. The guides pointed to the reflection of their torches onthe water that paved it, leaving us to form our own conclusion; but adding it was a pity, for it led to the Sibyl's Cave. Our curiosity and enthusiasm were excited by this circumstance, and we insisted upon attempting the passage. As is usually the case inthe prosecution of such enterprizes, the difficulties decreased on examination. We found, on each side of the humid pathway, "dry land for the sole of the foot."

At length we arrived at a large, desert, dark cavern, which the Lazzeroni assured us was theSibyl's Cave. We were sufficiently disappointed—Yet we examined it with care, as if its blank, rocky walls could still bear trace of celestial visitant. On one side was a small opening. Whither does this lead? we asked: can we enter here?—"Questo poi, no,"—said the wild looking savage, who held the torch; "you can advance but a short distance, and nobody visits it."

"Nevertheless, I will try it," said my companion; "it may lead to the real cavern. Shall I go alone, or will you accompany me?"

I signified myreadiness to proceed, but our guides protested against such a measure. With great volubility, in their native Neapolitan dialect, with which we were not very familiar, they told us that there were spectres, that the roof would fall in, that it was too narrow to admit us, that there was a deep hole within, filled with water, and we might be drowned.My friend shortened the harangue, by taking the man's torch from him; and we proceeded alone.

The passage, which at first scarcely admitted us, quickly grew narrower and lower; we were almost bent double; yet still we persisted in making our way through it. At length we entered a wider space, and the low roof heightened; but, as we congratulated ourselves on this change, our torch was extinguished by a current ofair, and we were left in utter darkness. The guides bring with them materials for renewing the light, but we had none—our only resource was to return as we came. We groped round the widened space to find the entrance, and after a time fancied that we had succeeded. This proved however to be a second passage, which evidently ascended. It terminated like the former; though something approaching to a ray, we could not tell whence, shed a very doubtful twilight in the space. By degrees, our eyes grew somewhat accustomed to this dimness, and we perceived that there was no direct passage leading us further; but that it was possible to climb one side of the cavern to a low arch at top, which promised a more easy path, from whence we now discovered that this light proceeded. With considerable difficulty we scrambled up, and came to another passage with still more of illumination, and this led to another ascent like the former.

After a succession of these, which our resolution alone permitted us to surmount, we arrived at a wide cavern with an arched dome-like roof. An aperture in the midst let in the light of heaven; but this was overgrown with brambles and underwood, which acted as a veil, obscuring the day, and giving a solemn religious hue to the apartment. It wasspacious, and nearly circular, with a raised seat of stone, about the size of a Grecian couch, at one end. The only sign that life had been here, was the perfect snow-white skeleton of a goat, which had probably not perceived the opening as it grazed on the hill above, and had fallen headlong. Ages perhaps had elapsed since this catastrophe; and the ruin it had made above, had been repaired by the growth of vegetation during many hundred summers.

The rest of the furniture of the cavern consisted of piles ofleaves, fragments of bark, and a white filmy substance, resembling the inner part of the green hood which shelters the grain of the unripe Indian corn. We were fatigued by our struggles to attain this point, and seated ourselves on the rocky couch, whilethe sounds of tinkling sheep-bells, and shout of shepherd-boy, reached us from above.

At length my friend, who had taken up some of the leaves strewed about, exclaimed, "This is the Sibyl's cave; these are Sibylline leaves." On examination, we found that all the leaves, bark, and other substances, were traced with written characters. What appeared to us more astonishing, was that these writings were expressed in various languages: some unknown to my companion, ancient Chaldee, and Egyptian hieroglyphics, old as the Pyramids. Stranger still, some were in modern dialects, English and Italian. We could make out little by the dim light, but they seemed to contain prophecies, detailed relations of events but lately passed; names, now well known, but of modern date; and often exclamations of exultation or woe, of victory or defeat, were traced on their thin scant pages. This was certainly the Sibyl's Cave; not indeed exactly as Virgil describes it, but thewhole of this land had been so convulsed by earthquake andvolcano, that the change was not wonderful, though the traces of ruin were effaced by time; and we probably owed the preservation of these leaves, to the accident which had closed the mouth of the cavern, and the swift-growing vegetation which had renderedits sole opening impervious to the storm. We made a hasty selection of such of the leaves, whose writing one at least of us could understand; and then, laden with our treasure, we bade adieu to the dim hypaethric cavern, and after much difficulty succeeded in rejoining our guides.

During our stay at Naples, we often returned to this cave, sometimes alone, skimming the sun-lit sea, and each time added to our store. Since that period, whenever the world's circumstance has not imperiously called me away, or the temper of my mind impeded such study, I have been employed in deciphering these sacred remains. Their meaning, wondrous and eloquent, has often repaid my toil, soothing me in sorrow, and exciting my imagination to daring flights, through the immensity of nature and the mind of man. For awhile my labours were not solitary; but that time is gone; and, with the selected and matchless companion of my toils, their dearest reward is also lost to me—

Di mie tenere frondi altro lavoro Credea mostrarte; e qualfero pianeta Ne' nvidio insieme, o mio nobil tesoro?

I present the public with my latest discoveries in the slight Sibylline pages. Scattered and unconnected as they were, I have been obliged to add links, and model the work into a consistent form. But the main substance rests on the truths contained in these poetic rhapsodies, and the divine intuition which the Cumaean damsel obtained from heaven.

I have often wondered at the subject of her verses, and at the English dress of the Latin poet. Sometimes I have thought, that, obscure and chaotic as they are, they owe their present form to me, their decipherer. As if we should give to another artist, the painted fragments which form the mosaic copy of Raphael's Transfiguration in St. Peter's; he would putthem together in a form, whose mode would be fashioned by his own peculiar mind and talent. Doubtless the leaves of the Cumaean Sibyl have suffered distortion and diminution of interest and excellence in my hands. My only excuse for thus transforming them, is that they were unintelligible in their pristine condition.

My labours have cheered long hours of solitude, and taken me out of a world, which has averted its once benignant face from me, to one glowing with imagination and power. Will my readers ask how I could find solace from the narration of misery and woeful change? This is one of the mysteries of our nature, which holds full sway over me, and from whose influence I cannot escape. I confess, that I have not been unmoved by the development of the tale; and that I have been depressed, nay, agonized, at some parts of the recital, which I have faithfully transcribed from my materials. Yet such is human nature, that the excitement of mind was dear to me, and that the imagination, painter of tempest and earthquake, or, worse, the stormy and ruin-fraught passions of man, softened my realsorrows and endless regrets, by clothing these fictitious ones in that ideality, which takes the mortal sting from pain.

I hardly know whether this apology is necessary. For the merits of my adaptation and translation must decide how far I have well bestowed my time and imperfect powers, in giving form and substance to the frail and attenuated Leaves of the Sibyl.

VOL. I.

.

CHAPTER I.

I AM the native of a sea-surrounded nook, a cloud-enshadowedland, which, when the surface of the globe, with its shorelessocean and trackless continents, presents itself to my mind, appearsonly as an inconsiderable speck in the immense whole; and yet, whenbalanced in the scale of mental power, far outweighed countries oflarger extent and more numerous population. So true it is, thatman's mind alone was the creator of all that was good or great toman, and that Nature herself was only his first minister. England,seated far north in the turbid sea, now visits my dreams in thesemblance of a vast and well-manned ship, which mastered the windsand rode proudly over the waves. In my boyish days she was theuniverse to me. When I stood on my native hills, and saw plain andmountain stretch out to the utmost limits of my vision, speckled bythe dwellings of my countrymen, and subdued to fertility by theirlabours, the earth's very centre was fixed for me in that spot, andthe rest of her orb was as a fable, to have forgotten which wouldhave cost neither myimagination nor understanding an effort.

My fortunes have been, from the beginning, an exemplification ofthe power that mutability may possess over the varied tenor ofman's life. With regard to myself, this came almost by inheritance.My father was oneof those men on whom nature had bestowed toprodigality the envied gifts of wit and imagination, and then lefthis bark of life to be impelled by these winds, without addingreason as the rudder, or judgment as the pilot for the voyage. Hisextraction wasobscure; but circumstances brought him early intopublic notice, and his small paternal property was soon dissipatedin the splendid scene of fashion and luxury in which he was anactor. During the short years of thoughtless youth, he was adoredby the high-bred triflers of the day, nor least by the youthfulsovereign, who escaped from the intrigues of party, and the arduousduties of kingly business, to find never-failing amusement andexhilaration of spirit in his society. My father's impulses, neverunder his own controul, perpetually led him into difficulties fromwhich his ingenuity alone could extricate him; and the accumulatingpile of debts of honour and of trade, which would have bent toearth any other, was supported by him with a light spiritandtameless hilarity; while his company was so necessary at thetables and assemblies of the rich, that his derelictions wereconsidered venial, and he himself received with intoxicatingflattery.

This kind of popularity, like every other, is evanescent: andthedifficulties of every kind with which he had to contend, increasedin a frightful ratio compared with his small means of extricatinghimself. At such times the king, in his enthusiasm for him, wouldcome to his relief, and then kindly take his friend to task; myfather gave the best promises for amendment, but his socialdisposition, his craving for the usual diet of admiration, and morethan all, the fiend of gambling, which fully possessed him, madehis good resolutionstransient, his promises vain. With the quicksensibility peculiar to his temperament, he perceived his power inthe brilliant circle to be on the wane. The king married; and thehaughty princess of Austria, who became, as queen of England, thehead of fashion, looked with harsh eyes onhis defects, and withcontempt on the affection her royal husband entertained for him. Myfather felt that his fall was near; but so far from profiting bythis last calm before the storm to save himself, he sought toforget anticipated evil by making stillgreater sacrifices to thedeity of pleasure, deceitful and cruel arbiter of his destiny.

The king, who was a man of excellent dispositions, but easilyled, had now become a willing disciple of his imperious consort. Hewas induced to look with extreme disapprobation, and at last withdistaste, on my father's imprudence and follies. It is true thathis presence dissipated these clouds; his warm-hearted frankness,brilliant sallies, and confiding demeanour were irresistible: itwas only when at a distance, while still renewed tales of hiserrors were poured into his royal friend's ear, that he lost hisinfluence. The queen's dextrous management was employed to prolongthese absences, and gather together accusations. At length the kingwas brought to see in him a source of perpetual disquiet, knowingthat he should pay for the short-lived pleasure of his society bytedious homilies, and more painful narrations of excesses, thetruth of which he could not disprove. The result was, that he wouldmake one more attempt to reclaim him, and in case of ill success,cast him off for ever.

Such a scene must have been one of deepest interest andhigh-wrought passion. A powerful king, conspicuous for a goodnesswhich had heretofore made him meek, and now lofty inhisadmonitions, with alternate entreaty and reproof, besought hisfriend to attend to his real interests, resolutely to avoid thosefascinations which in fact were fast deserting him, and to spendhis great powers on a worthy field, in which he, his sovereign,would be his prop, his stay, and his pioneer. My father felt thiskindness; for a moment ambitious dreams floated before him; and hethought that it would be well to exchange his present pursuits fornobler duties. With sincerity and fervour he gave therequiredpromise: as a pledge of continued favour, he received from hisroyal master a sum of money to defray pressing debts, and enablehim to enter under good auspices his new career. That very night,while yet full of gratitude and good resolves, this whole sum, andits amount doubled, was lost at the gaming-table. In his desire torepair his first losses, my father risked double stakes, and thusincurred a debt of honour he was wholly unable to pay. Ashamed toapply again to the king, he turned his backupon London, its falsedelights and clinging miseries; and, with poverty for his solecompanion, buried himself in solitude among the hills and lakes ofCumberland. His wit, his bon mots, the record of his personalattractions, fascinating manners, and social talents, were longremembered and repeated from mouth to mouth. Ask where now was thisfavourite of fashion, this companion of the noble, this excellingbeam, which gilt with alien splendour the assemblies of the courtlyand the gay—you heard that hewas under a cloud, a lost man;not one thought it belonged to him to repay pleasure by realservices, or that his long reign of brilliant wit deserved apension on retiring. The king lamented his absence; he loved torepeat his sayings, relate the adventures they had had together,and exalt his talents—but here ended his reminiscence.

Meanwhile my father, forgotten, could not forget. He repined forthe loss of what was more necessary to him than air orfood—the excitements of pleasure, the admiration of thenoble,the luxurious and polished living of the great. A nervous fever wasthe consequence; during which he was nursed by the daughter of apoor cottager, under whose roof he lodged. She was lovely, gentle,and, above all, kind to him; nor can it afford astonishment, thatthe late idol of high-bred beauty should, even in a fallen state,appear a being of an elevated and wondrous nature to the lowlycottage-girl. The attachment between them led to the ill-fatedmarriage, of which I was the offspring. Notwithstanding thetenderness and sweetness of my mother, her husband still deploredhis degraded state. Unaccustomed to industry, he knew not in whatway to contribute to the support of his increasing family.Sometimes he thought of applying to the king; prideand shame for awhile withheld him; and, before his necessities became so imperiousas to compel him to some kind of exertion, he died. For one briefinterval before this catastrophe, he looked forward to the future,and contemplated with anguish the desolate situation in which hiswife and children would be left. His last effort was a letter tothe king, full of touching eloquence, and of occasional flashes ofthat brilliant spirit which was an integral part of him. Hebequeathed his widow and orphans tothe friendship of his royalmaster, and felt satisfied that, by this means, their prosperitywas better assured in his death than in his life. This letter wasenclosed to the care of a nobleman, who, he did not doubt, wouldperform the last and inexpensiveoffice of placing it in the king'sown hand.

He died in debt, and his little property was seized immediatelyby his creditors. My mother, pennyless and burthened with twochildren, waited week after week, and month after month, insickening expectation ofa reply, which never came. She had noexperience beyond her father's cottage; and the mansion of the lordof the manor was the chiefest type of grandeur she could conceive.During my father's life, she had been made familiar with the nameof royalty and the courtly circle; but such things, ill accordingwith her personal experience, appeared, after the loss of him whogave substance and reality to them, vague and fantastical. If,under any circumstances, she could have acquired sufficient courageto address the noble persons mentioned by her husband, the illsuccess of his own application caused her to banish the idea. Shesaw therefore no escape from dire penury: perpetual care, joined tosorrow for the loss of the wondrous being, whom she continued tocontemplate with ardent admiration, hard labour, and naturallydelicate health, at length released her from the sad continuity ofwant and misery.

The condition of her orphan children was peculiarly desolate.Her own father had been an emigrant from another part of thecountry, and had died long since: they had no one relation to takethem by the hand; they were outcasts, paupers, unfriended beings,to whom the most scanty pittance was a matter of favour, and whowere treated merely as children of peasants, yet poorer than thepoorest, who, dying, had left them, a thankless bequest, to theclose-handed charity of the land.

I, the elder of the two, was five years old when my mother died.A remembrance of the discourses of my parents, and thecommunications whichmy mother endeavoured to impress upon meconcerning my father's friends, in slight hope that I might one dayderivebenefit from the knowledge, floated like an indistinct dreamthrough my brain. I conceived that I was different and superior tomy protectors and companions, but I knew not how or wherefore. Thesense of injury, associated with the name of king and noble, clungto me; but I could draw no conclusions from such feelings, to serveas a guide to action. My first real knowledge of myself was asanunprotected orphan among the valleys and fells of Cumberland. Iwas in the service of a farmer; and with crook in hand, my dog atmy side, I shepherded a numerous flock on the near uplands. Icannot say much in praise of such a life; and its pains farexceeded its pleasures. There was freedom in it, a companionshipwith nature, and a reckless loneliness; but these, romantic as theywere, did not accord with the love of action and desire of humansympathy, characteristic of youth. Neither the care of my flock,nor the change of seasons, were sufficient to tame my eager spirit;my out-door life and unemployed time were the temptations that ledme early into lawless habits. I associated with others friendlesslike myself; I formed them into a band, I was theirchief andcaptain. All shepherd-boys alike, while our flocks were spread overthe pastures, we schemed and executed many a mischievous prank,which drew on us the anger and revenge of the rustics. I was theleader and protector of my comrades, and as I became distinguishedamong them, their misdeeds were usually visited upon me. But whileI endured punishment and pain in their defence with the spirit ofan hero, I claimed as my reward their praise and obedience.

In such a school my disposition became rugged, but firm. Theappetite for admiration and small capacity for self-controul whichI inherited from my father, nursed by adversity, made me daring andreckless. I was rough as the elements, and unlearned as the animalsI tended. I often compared myself tothem, and finding that my chiefsuperiority consisted in power, I soon persuaded myself that it wasin power only that I was inferior to the chiefest potentates of theearth. Thus untaught in refined philosophy, and pursued by arestless feeling of degradation from my true station in society, Iwandered among the hills of civilized England as uncouth a savageas the wolf-bred founder of old Rome. I owned but one law, it wasthat of the strongest, and my greatest deed of virtue was never tosubmit.

Yet letme a little retract from this sentence I have passed onmyself. My mother, when dying, had, in addition to her otherhalf-forgotten and misapplied lessons, committed, with solemnexhortation, her other child to my fraternal guardianship; and thisone dutyI performed to the best of my ability, with all the zealand affection of which my nature was capable. My sister was threeyears younger than myself; I had nursed her as an infant, and whenthe difference of our sexes, by giving us various occupations, inagreat measure divided us, yet she continued to be the object of mycareful love. Orphans, in the fullest sense of the term, we werepoorest among the poor, and despised among the unhonoured. If mydaring and courage obtained for me a kind of respectful aversion,her youth and sex, since they did not excite tenderness, by provingher to be weak, were the causes of numberless mortifications toher; and her own disposition was not so constituted as to diminishthe evil effects of her lowly station.

She was asingular being, and, like me, inherited much of thepeculiar disposition of our father. Her countenance was allexpression; her eyes were not dark, but impenetrablydeep; youseemed to discover space after space in their intellectual glance,and to feel that the soul which was their soul, comprehended anuniverse of thought in its ken. She was pale and fair, and hergolden hair clustered on her temples, contrasting its rich hue withthe living marble beneath. Her coarse peasant-dress, littleconsonant apparently with the refinement of feeling which her faceexpressed, yet in a strange manner accorded with it. She was likeone of Guido's saints, with heaven in her heart and in her look, sothat when you saw her you only thought of that within, and costumeand even feature were secondary to the mind that beamed in hercountenance.

Yet though lovely and full of noble feeling, my poor Perdita(for this was the fanciful name my sister had received from herdying parent), was not altogether saintly in her disposition. Hermanners were cold and repulsive. If she had been nurtured by thosewho had regarded her with affection, she might have been different;but unloved and neglected, she repaid want of kindness withdistrust and silence. She was submissive to those who heldauthority over her, but a perpetual cloud dwelt on her brow; shelooked as if she expected enmity from every one who approached her,and her actions were instigated by the same feeling. All the timeshe could command she spent in solitude. She wouldramble to themost unfrequented places, and scale dangerous heights, that inthose unvisited spots she might wrap herself in loneliness. Oftenshe passed whole hours walking up and down the paths of the woods;she wove garlands of flowers and ivy, or watched the flickering ofthe shadows and glancing of the leaves; sometimes she sat beside astream, and as her thoughts paused, threw flowers or pebbles intothe waters, watching how those swam and these sank; or she wouldset afloat boats formed of bark of trees or leaves, with a featherfor a sail, and intensely watch the navigation of her craft amongthe rapids and shallows of the brook. Meanwhile her active fancywove a thousand combinations; she dreamt "of moving accidents byflood and field"—she lost herself delightedly in theseself-created wanderings, and returned with unwilling spirit to thedull detail of common life. Poverty was the cloud that veiled herexcellencies, and all that was good in her seemed about to perishfrom want of the genial dew ofaffection. She had not even the sameadvantage as I in the recollection of her parents; she clung to me,her brother, as her only friend, but her alliance with me completedthe distaste that her protectors felt for her; and every error wasmagnified by them into crimes. If she had been bred in that sphereof life to which by inheritance the delicate framework of her mindand person was adapted, she would have been the object almost ofadoration, for her virtues were as eminent as her defects. All thegeniusthat ennobled the blood of her father illustrated hers; agenerous tide flowed in her veins; artifice, envy, or meanness,were at the antipodes of her nature; her countenance, whenenlightened by amiable feeling, might have belonged to a queen ofnations;her eyes were bright; her look fearless.

Although by our situation and dispositions we were almostequally cut off from the usual forms of social intercourse, weformed a strong contrast to each other. I always required thestimulants of companionship andapplause. Perdita was all-sufficientto herself. Notwithstanding my lawless habits, my disposition wassociable, hers recluse. My life was spent among tangible realities,hers was a dream. I might be said even to love my enemies, since byexciting me theyin a sort bestowed happiness upon me; Perditaalmost dislikedher friends, for they interfered with her visionarymoods. All my feelings, even of exultation and triumph, werechanged to bitterness, if unparticipated; Perdita, even in joy,fled to loneliness, and could go on from day to day, neitherexpressing her emotions, nor seeking a fellow-feeling in anothermind. Nay, she could love and dwell with tenderness on the look andvoice of her friend, while her demeanour expressed the coldestreserve. A sensation with her became a sentiment, and she neverspoke until she had mingled her perceptions of outward objects withothers which were the native growth of her own mind. She was like afruitful soil that imbibed the airs and dews of heaven, and gavethem forth again to light in loveliest forms of fruits and flowers;but then she was often dark and rugged as that soil, raked up, andnew sown with unseen seed.

She dwelt in a cottage whose trim grass-plat sloped down to thewaters of the lake of Ulswater; abeech wood stretched up the hillbehind, and a purling brook gently falling from the acclivity ranthrough poplar-shaded banks into the lake. I lived with a farmerwhose house was built higher up among the hills: a dark crag rosebehind it, and, exposed tothe north, the snow lay in its crevicesthe summer through. Before dawn I led my flock to the sheep-walks,and guarded them through the day. It was a life of toil; for rainand cold were more frequent than sunshine; but it was my pride tocontemn the elements. My trusty dog watched the sheep as I slippedaway to the rendezvous of my comrades, and thence to theaccomplishment of our schemes. At noon we met again, and we threwaway in contempt our peasant fare, as we built our fire-place andkindled the cheering blaze destined to cook the game stolen fromthe neighbouring preserves. Then came the tale of hair-breadthescapes, combats with dogs, ambush and flight, as gipsey-like weencompassed our pot. The search after a stray lamb, or the devicesby which weelude or endeavoured to elude punishment, filled up thehours of afternoon; in the evening my flock went to its fold, and Ito my sister.

It was seldom indeed that we escaped, to use an old-fashionedphrase, scot free. Our dainty fare was often exchanged for blowsand imprisonment. Once, when thirteen years of age, I was sent fora month to the county jail. I came out, my morals unimproved, myhatred to my oppressors encreased tenfold. Bread and water did nottame my blood, nor solitary confinement inspireme with gentlethoughts. I was angry, impatient, miserable; my only happy hourswere those during which I devised schemes of revenge; these wereperfected in my forced solitude, so that during the whole of thefollowing season, and I was freed early in September, I neverfailed to provide excellent and plenteous fare for myself and mycomrades. This was a glorious winter. The sharp frost and heavysnows tamed the animals, and kept the country gentlemen by theirfiresides; we got more game than we could eat,and my faithful doggrew sleek upon our refuse.

Thus years passed on; and years only added fresh love offreedom, and contempt for all that was not as wild and rude asmyself. At the age of sixteen I had shot up in appearance to man'sestate; I was tall and athletic; I was practised to feats ofstrength, and inured to the inclemency of the elements. My skin wasembrowned by the sun; my step was firm with conscious power. Ifeared no man, and loved none. In after life I looked back withwonder to what I then was; how utterly worthless I should havebecome if I had pursued mylawless career. My life was like that ofan animal, and my mind was in danger of degenerating into thatwhich informs brute nature. Until now, my savage habits had done meno radical mischief; my physical powers had grown up and flourishedunder their influence, and my mind, undergoing the same discipline,was imbued with all the hardy virtues. But now my boastedindependence was daily instigating me to acts of tyranny, andfreedom was becoming licentiousness. I stood on the brink ofmanhood; passions, strong as the trees of a forest, had alreadytaken root within me, and were about to shadow with their noxiousovergrowth, my path of life.

I panted for enterprises beyond my childish exploits, and formeddistempered dreams of future action. I avoided my ancient comrades,and I soon lost them. They arrived at the age when they were sentto fulfil their destined situations in life; while I, an outcast,with none to lead or drive me forward, paused. The old began topoint at me as an example, the young to wonder at me as a beingdistinct from themselves; I hated them, and began, last and worstdegradation, to hate myself. I clung to my ferocious habits, yethalf despised them; I continued my waragainst civilization, and yetentertained a wish to belong to it.

I revolved again and again all that I remembered my mother tohave told me of my father's former life; I contemplated the fewrelics I possessed belonging to him, which spoke of greaterrefinement than could be found among the mountain cottages; butnothing in all this served as a guide to lead me to another andpleasanter way of life. My father had been connected with nobles,but all I knew of such connection was subsequent neglect. The nameof the king,—he to whom my dying father had addressed hislatest prayers, and who had barbarously slighted them, wasassociated only with the ideas of unkindness, injustice, andconsequent resentment. I was born for something greater than Iwas—and greater I would become; but greatness, at least to mydistorted perceptions, was no necessary associate of goodness, andmy wild thoughts were unchecked by moral considerations when theyrioted in dreams of distinction. Thus I stood upon a pinnacle, asea of evil rolled at my feet; I was about to precipitate myselfinto it, and rush like a torrent over all obstructions to theobject of my wishes— when a stranger influence came over thecurrent of my fortunes, and changed their boisterous course to whatwas in comparison like the gentle meanderings of ameadow-encircling streamlet.