drawn their venom. The most trivial thing would rouse me into madness.

Myself and brother were educated at a school in our own neighbourhood. The scholars were principally boarders, boys from the city, destined to a commercial life. Amongst these was the son of an old schoolfellow of my father's. Theirs was one of the few town-families with whom we kept up an intimacy. Edmund Young had spent one or two of the vacations at our house, and my sister had paid a visit of two or three months' duration to his parents in the city. He had a sister, between whom and my own, during their short acquaintance, a girlish friendship had sprung up. They maintained a correspondence, the outpouring of young and innocent souls. I had seen some of the letters of Lilias Young, and they spoke of one whom sin had never blighted, of a being whose gaiety had as yet been undimmed by sorrow. There was one thing which I loved beyond all others -music. I quarrelled with all my schoolfellows, except Edmund Young. In my moments of fury I avoided his presence. He was in possession of an accomplishment which afforded me pleasure. He played exquisitely on the flute. I would sit and listen to his breathings until my very soul seemed to pass away and mingle with the melody. Music had the power of giving to me a new crea

tion. I became "a bodiless existence, born and dying with the blest sounds that made me." I was like some untaught child of the wilderness becoming acquainted with its divine powers for the first time-the sounds appeared to my bewildered imagination as having an actual, tangible existence -I stretched forth my hands as though I would have grasped them-my breath became short and thick-I sobbed convulsively, and then, burying my face in my hands, I wept like an infant. The musician was well acquainted with my malignant and ungovernable temper. He knew how much I was hated by his companions, and he pitied me. He seldom refused to obey my calls for the exertion of his skill; others ridiculed and laughed at my absurd devotedness, as they termed it, to the science of sweet sounds-he ridiculed me not-he carefully avoided reasoning with or talking to me on the subject-he condemned not my folly, but appeared fearful of giving me the slightest pain. I saw this, but I was not grateful. I regarded him as I did the instrument he played upon, merely as the tool of my pleasure-friendship or gratitude was unknown to me.

My memory was strong as were my passions. I had no need of laborious application. What I once read, and read with attention, I seldom forgot. Will it be believed that, gifted as I was with

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so retentive a mind, my advancement in learning was slow, at least in such learning as was taught at the school. My lessons I despised, and cast them aside without deigning to read them. This entailed upon me continual punishments. I cared not for the pain they inflicted, but the ignominy sunk into my soul. Disdaining to utter a single sound that might betray my sufferings, I violently clenched my teeth, and muttered vengeance on the inflictor. The master I deemed a tyrant, whom I should have been justified in slaying. After any of these punishments, the moment I could escape, I fled away to gloom and solitude, howling execrations, every vein burning and swelling as though torrents of molten lead were coursing through me. I would rend the branches from the trees-I would fling myself on the grass, and tear it up by the roots, in the impotence of my rage; then I would plunge into the stream, and buffet the billows with mad and rapid strokes, until, weak and exhausted by my exertions, I was obliged to throw myself on the bank, where I would sit gnawing my flesh in the agony of helplessness.

I was in my seventeenth year, and was to leave school next vacation. An incident, however, occurred which caused me to quit it sooner. Edmund Young had been playing a favourite old and plaintive ditty, and I had been listening with my wonted

emotion. The strain had ceased, and tears were chasing each other down my cheeks, when suddenly I was aroused from my dream by the sound of boisterous laughter. I started up, and dashing aside the branches of the arbour in which I was sitting, I saw a boy, who had long been the object of my particular aversion, almost convulsed with laughter at the strange gestures I had made use of during the continuance of the air. This was enough. I rushed out with flashing eyes, and limbs quivering with rage. The offender fled, and I pursued him. He ran with rapidity, but I was active and muscular, and overtook him as he was on the point of dropping with fatigue. I seized him by the throat-he resisted, but his feeble efforts availed him naught against my sinewy grasp. I cast him to the ground, and then spurned him with my foot. I kicked him, stamped upon him, struck his face with my heel until the blood gushed from his mouth and nostrils, and then left him stretched upon the earth in a state of insensibility. I was glad to think of the effects of my cruelty, and, flushed with the joy of triumphing over an enemy, I returned home. My victim was found covered with gore. An inquiry took place,

and I was discovered to be the author of the outrage. I did not attempt to deny it- I did not seek an excuse to palliate my conduct-the deed

was done-I felt no compunction, and cared not for the consequences. A general expression of indignation followed the discovery. The master did not punish me by corporeal chastisement. No punishment which he could inflict was thought to be commensurate with my crime, and by his sentence, and the unanimous verdict of my schoolfellows, I was expelled the school.

I returned to my parents, preceded by a letter explaining the cause of my dismissal. Parents are ever prone to view the conduct of their offspring on the most favourable side, and, though my offence elicited manifestations of disapprobation, the master was believed to have extenuated the provocation and exaggerated the injury. This was the view my poor father and mother took of the matter-my sister's was different. She saw in it but the dawning of my crimes, the first of a long list of guilty acts, some destined to be far more fatal.