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