The packet was lying where it had been left--I took it up; had the
envelope, which consisted of whitish brown paper, been secured by a
string or a seal, I should not have opened it, as I should have
considered such an act almost in the light of a crime; the books,
however, had been merely folded up, and I therefore considered that there
could be no possible harm in inspecting them, more especially as I had
received no injunction to the contrary. Perhaps there was something
unsound in this reasoning, something sophistical; but a child is
sometimes as ready as a grown-up person in finding excuses for doing that
which he is inclined to. But whether the action was right or wrong, and
I am afraid it was not altogether right, I undid the packet: it contained
three books; two from their similarity seemed to be separate parts of one
and the same work; they were handsomely bound, and to them I first turned
my attention. I opened them successively, and endeavoured to make out
their meaning; their contents, however, as far as I was able to
understand them, were by no means interesting: whoever pleases may read
these books for me, and keep them, too, into the bargain, said I to
myself.

I now took up the third book: it did not resemble the others, being
longer and considerably thicker; the binding was of dingy calf-skin. I
opened it, and as I did so another strange thrill of pleasure shot
through my frame. The first object on which my eyes rested was a
picture; it was exceedingly well executed, at least the scene which it
represented made a vivid impression upon me, which would hardly have been
the case had the artist not been faithful to nature. A wild scene it
was--a heavy sea and rocky shore, with mountains in the background, above
which the moon was peering. Not far from the shore, upon the water, was
a boat with two figures in it, one of which stood at the bow, pointing
with what I knew to be a gun at a dreadful shape in the water; fire was