XXVII. HASTY RESOLUTION

In my last chapter I brought my reader to that portion of my story
which formed the turning-point of my destiny. And here I might, perhaps,
conclude these brief memoirs of an early life, whose chief object was
to point out the results of a hasty and rash judgment, which, formed in
mere boyhood, exerted its influence throughout the entire of a lifetime.
Only one incident remains still to be told; and I shall not trespass on
the good-natured patience of my readers by any delay in the narrative.

From being poor, houseless, and unknown, a sudden turn of fortune
had made me wealthy and conspicuous in station; the owner of a large
estate,--almost a lead-ing man in my native county. My influence was
sufficient to procure the liberation of M'Keown; and my interference in
his behalf mainly contributed to procure for Fortescue the royal pardon.
The world, as the phrase is, went with me; and the good luck which
attended every step I took and every plan I engaged in was become a
proverb among my neighbors.

Let not any one suppose I was unmindful or ungrateful, if I confess,
that even with all these I was not happy. No: the tranquil mind, the
spirit at ease with itself, cannot exist where the sense of duty is not.
The impulse which swayed my boyish heart still moved the ambition of the
man. The pursuits I should have deemed the noblest and the purest seemed
to me uninteresting and ignoble; the associations I ought to have
felt the happiest and the highest appeared to me vulgar, and low, and
commonplace. I was disappointed in my early dream of liberty, and
had found tyranny where I looked for freedom, and intolerance where I
expected enlightenment; but if so, I recurred with tenfold enthusiasm to
the career of the soldier, whose glories were ever before me. That
noble path had not deceived me; far from it. Its wild and whirlwind
excitement, its hazardous enterprise, its ever-present dangers, were
stimulants I loved and gloried in. All the chances and changes of a
peaceful life were poor and mean compared to the hourly vicissitudes of
war. I knew not then, it is true, how much of enjoyment I derived from
forgetful ness; how many of my springs of happiness flowed from that
preoccupation which prevented my dwelling on the only passion that ever
stirred my heart,--my love for one whose love was hopeless.

How thoroughly will the character of an early love tinge the whole of a
life! Our affections are like fl