a passion that will never
rank me in the number of its eulogists; it was alone sufficient to the
extermination of my peace: it was itself a plenteous source of
calamity, and needed not the concurrence of other evils to take away the
attractions of existence, and dig for me an untimely grave.

The state of my mind naturally introduced a train of reflections upon
the dangers and cares which inevitably beset an human being. By no
violent transition was I led to ponder on the turbulent life and
mysterious end of my father. I cherished, with the utmost veneration,
the memory of this man, and every relique connected with his fate was
preserved with the most scrupulous care. Among these was to be numbered
a manuscript, containing memoirs of his own life. The narrative was by
no means recommended by its eloquence; but neither did all its value
flow from my relationship to the author. Its stile had an unaffected and
picturesque simplicity. The great variety and circumstantial display of
the incidents, together with their intrinsic importance, as descriptive
of human manners and passions, made it the most useful book in my
collection. It was late; but being sensible of no inclination to sleep,
I resolved to betake myself to the perusal of it.

To do this it was requisite to procure a light. The girl had long since
retired to her chamber: it was therefore proper to wait upon myself.
A lamp, and the means of lighting it, were only to be found in the
kitchen. Thither I resolved forthwith to repair; but the light was of
use merely to enable me to read the book. I knew the shelf and the spot
where it stood. Whether I took down the book, or prepared the lamp in
the first place, appeared to be a matter of no moment. The latter was
preferred, and, leaving my seat, I approached the closet in which, as I
mentioned formerly, my books and papers were deposited.

Suddenly the remembrance of what had lately passed in this closet
occurred. Whether midnight was approaching, or had passed, I knew not. I
was, as then, alone, and defenceless. The wind was in that direction
in which, aided by the deathlike repose of nature, it brought to me
the murmur of the water-fall. This was mingled with that solemn and
enchanting sound, which a breeze produces among the leaves of pines. The
words of that mysterious dialogue, their fearful import, and the wild
excess to which I was transported by my terrors, filled my imagination
anew. My steps faultered, and