had heard the cheering accents of a generous and a gentle father.
The one had soothed my griefs and encouraged my hopes--the other
had stimulated my energies and prompted my desires. Let no one
fancy that, because I was a child, these lessons were premature.
All education, to be valuable, must begin with the child's first
efforts at discrimination. Suddenly, both of these fond parents
disappeared, and I was just young enough to wonder why.

The change in my fortunes first touched my sensibilities, which
it finally excited until they became diseased. Neglected if not
scorned, I habitually looked to encounter nothing but neglect or
scorn. The sure result of this condition of mind was a look and
feeling, on my part, of habitual defiance. I grew up with the mood
of one who goes forth with a moral certainty that he must meet and
provide against an enemy. But I am now premature.

The uncle and aunt with whom I found shelter were what is called
in ordinary parlance, very good people. They attended the most
popular church with most popular punctuality. They prayed with
unction--subscribed to all the charities which had publicity and
a fashionable list to recommend them--helped to send missionaries
to Calcutta, Bombay, Owyhee, and other outlandish regions--paid
their debts when they became due with commendable readiness--and
were, in all out-of-door respects, the very sort of people who
might congratulate themselves, and thank God that they were very
far superior to their neighbors. My uncle had morning prayers at
home, and my aunt thumbed Hannah More in the evening; though it
must be admitted that the former could not always forbear, coming
from church on the sabbath, to inquire into the last news of the
Liverpool cotton market, and my aunt never failed, when they reached