e reader yawning over
the present pages. What was the cause of this? Constitutional
lassitude, or a desire for novelty? Both it is probable had some
influence in the matter, but I rather think that the latter feeling was
predominant. The parting words of my brother had sunk into my mind. He
had talked of travelling in strange regions and seeing strange and
wonderful objects, and my imagination fell to work and drew pictures of
adventures wild and fantastic, and I thought what a fine thing it must be
to travel, and I wished that my father would give me his blessing, and
the same sum that he had given my brother, and bid me go forth into the
world; always forgetting that I had neither talents nor energies at this
period which would enable me to make any successful figure on its stage.

And then I again sought up the book which had so captivated me in my
infancy, and I read it through; and I sought up others of a similar
character, and in seeking for them I met books also of adventure, but by
no means of a harmless description, lives of wicked and lawless men,
Murray and Latroon--books of singular power, but of coarse and prurient
imagination--books at one time highly in vogue; now deservedly forgotten,
and most difficult to be found.

And when I had gone through these books, what was my state of mind? I
had derived entertainment from their perusal, but they left me more
listless and unsettled than before, and I really knew not what to do to
pass my time. My philological studies had become distasteful, and I had
never taken any pleasure in the duties of my profession. I sat behind my
desk in a state of torpor, my mind almost as blank as the paper before
me, on which I rarely traced a line. It was always a relief to hear the
bell ring, as it afforded me an opportunity of doing something which I
was yet capable of doing, to rise and open the door and stare in the
countenances of the visitors. All of a sudden I fell to studying
countenances, and soon flattered myself that I had made considerable
progress in the science.

'There is no faith in countenances,' said some Roman of old; 'trust
anything but a person's countenance.' 'Not trust a man's countenance?'
say some moderns, 'why, it is the only thing in many people that we can
trust; on which account they keep it most assiduously out of the way.
Trust not a man's words if you please, or you may come to very erroneous
conclusions; but at all times place implicit