[_Blackwood's Magazine_ for the current month contains a sketchy
article under this title, which displays much of the breadth and vigour
of one of Maga's contributors. Our extract is in the form of the
confession of a reckless, daring spirit, who being imprisoned for
murder, commits suicide. The early developement of his bad passions is
admirably drawn, and altogether this is one of the most powerfully
written papers that we have lately met with.]
I was the youngest child of three; but before I had attained my tenth
year, I was an only one. I had always been the favourite of both my
parents, and now I was their idol. They hung upon my existence, as a
shipwrecked mariner clings to the last floating fragment of the gallant
bark that bore him; they lived, but while they held by me, in the rough
tossings of the ocean of life. I was not slow to discover my value in
their estimation, or to exercise, in its fullest extent, the capricious
tyranny of conscious power. Almost the earliest impression which my
ripening mind received, was a regal immunity from error--I could _do
no wrong_.
My education was not neglected. Alas! the only use I have ever made of
what I acquired, has been to gild my vices when acted, or refine upon
the manner of acting them while in contemplation. I look back, at this
moment, to the period of my life I am describing, as prosperous men
recall the day-spring of their fortunes. _They_, from the proud
eminence on which they stand, trace, step by step, in retrospective
view, the paths by which they ascended; and _I_, looking through
the dark vista of my by-gone years, behold the fatal series of crimes
and follies that stained their progress, stretching to my boyhood. The
gay and frolic _irregularities_, as they were gently termed, of
that untamed age, were the turbid source of the waters of misery in
which I am now engulphed, I was a lawless planet, running at will; and
the orbit I described laid waste more than one fair region of peace and
happiness.
My father had a brother, his elder by many years; a man of stern and
rigid character, as I then considered him; but, as I would now call him,
of upright, firm, and honourable principle. He loved my father, but did
not love his weakness; and the display of it, in his indulgence towards
me, was the cause of many a serious, if not sometimes angry, debate
between them. Well do I remember (for it rankled like poison in my
swelling heart) a declaration he once made in my presence. It was a
fine autumnal evening, and he was seated with my father and mother in
a balcony, which opened from the library-window upon a spacious lawn.
I entered the room, and advanced towards them, unconscious, of course,
that their conversation had been about me; but my uncle looking at me
with a severe expression of countenance, and at the same time addressing
his brother, exclaimed, "Well, James, neither you nor I may live to see
it; but if the grace of God, or his own better reflection, as he grows
older, do not work a change in this young squire, a duel, Jack Ketch,
or a razor, will work his exit some day or other."
My father smiled--I saw my mother wipe away a tear--at that moment
I could have struck my uncle dead. I muttered a few words--I knew not
what, and left the room. Boy as I was, (for I had barely completed
my seventeenth year,) I felt all the vindictive passions of manhood
kindling within me. It seemed as if a sentence had been passed upon
me, the more terrible, because a secret voice whispered to me, it was
prophetic! _That impression never forsook me!_
I questioned my father haughtily, a few days afterwards, as to the
reasons of his brother for thus speaking of me; and I even dared to
insinuate, that, had he felt what a father should, he would have
resented the indignity. He answered me (I write it with shame and
contrition) most mildly, most affectionately. The gentle being--I see
him now, as he tenderly took my hand--apologized to me--to me! who ought
to have stood trembling in _his_ presence! I followed up my blow.
With cold, but subtle malignity. I played off my revenge towards my
uncle, through the idolatry of my father's love towards myself. I
barbarously gave him a choice of misery; for I disdainfully replied,
that he must henceforth determine, whether he would lose a brother or
a son, as _I_ had determined to remain no longer under his roof,
unless I had the assurance that I should never again see my uncle there.
He looked at me. My God! what a look it was! so full of meek sorrow
and appalling obedience! Without uttering a word, he sat down to his
writing-table. The tears fell upon his paper; but they did not blot out
a few bitter words addressed to his brother, which severed for ever in
this world two noble hearts; cast, indeed, in different moulds, but
which kindred blood had cemented, in the close bonds of fraternal love,
for more than forty years.
This was my _first_ revenge. But was I satisfied? No!
It was only a few months afterwards, that chance threw in my way a
daughter of my uncle's. I met her at the house of a common friend, who
knew and deplored the unhappy schism which prevailed between the two
brothers. He was equally attached to both, and I believe pleased himself
with the idea, that an occasional intercourse between the younger
branches of the families, might, some day or other, bring about a
reconciliation between the heads. My cousin Harriet was a year older
than myself. She was in her nineteenth, I in my eighteenth year. I loved
her. Yes; the _first_ feeling that glowed within my bosom was that
of love. She was beautiful--fascinating--accomplished--amiable--and
I loved her. It was not long before I was satisfied. I had kindled a
reciprocal passion in her breast. The mute eloquence of her look and
manner was only the harbinger of that same thrilling eloquence, which
fell from her tongue when I won the declaration of her affection.
Her father knew we met at this friend's house; but whether he was told,
or whether he penetrated, the secret of our attachment, I never learned.
I only know, that, at the very moment when separation was madness, his
mandate went forth, prohibiting all farther intercourse between us, and
that it was obeyed. Not by me; for I was incapable of submission: but by
my gentle Harriet, who thought _herself_ incapable of disobeying.
We met no more where we had been wont to meet; and my young heart's
spring of happiness seemed for ever withered.
But here again, I began to reflect, my path was crossed--my hopes were
blighted--by my uncle. I heard, too, that his tongue had been free with
my name; that the blistering censure of his austere virtue had fallen
upon my actions. I writhed under the contumely. My wounded spirit was
insatiate for vengeance. I meditated, deeply, how I could inflict it, so
as to strike the blow where he was most vulnerable. I did not brood long
over my dark purpose. The love I still bore his daughter, was _now_
mingled with the hatred I bore towards himself; and I exulted in the
thought, that I should perhaps be able to gratify, at one and the same
moment, two of the fiercest passions of my nature--lust and revenge!