uestion, and
nobody lets me alone. Relatives, friends, and strangers all combine to
annoy me. What have I done? I ask myself, I ask my servant, Louis,
fifty times a day--what have I done? Neither of us can tell. Most
extraordinary!

The last annoyance that has assailed me is the annoyance of being
called upon to write this Narrative. Is a man in my state of nervous
wretchedness capable of writing narratives? When I put this extremely
reasonable objection, I am told that certain very serious events
relating to my niece have happened within my experience, and that I am
the fit person to describe them on that account. I am threatened if I
fail to exert myself in the manner required, with consequences which I
cannot so much as think of without perfect prostration. There is
really no need to threaten me. Shattered by my miserable health and my
family troubles, I am incapable of resistance. If you insist, you take
your unjust advantage of me, and I give way immediately. I will
endeavour to remember what I can (under protest), and to write what I
can (also under protest), and what I can't remember and can't write,
Louis must remember and write for me. He is an ass, and I am an
invalid, and we are likely to make all sorts of mistakes between us.
How humiliating!

I am told to remember dates. Good heavens! I never did such a thing in
my life--how am I to begin now?

I have asked Louis. He is not quite such an ass as I have hitherto
supposed. He remembers the date of the event, within a week or
two--and I remember the name of the person. The date was towards the
end of June, or the beginning of July, and the name (in my opinion a
remarkably vulgar one) was Fanny.

At the end of June, or the beginning of July, then, I was reclining in
my customary state, surrounded by the various objects of Art which I
have collected about me to improve the taste of the barbarous people in
my neighbourhood. That is to say, I had the photographs of my
pictures, and prints, and coins, and so forth, all about me, which I
intend, one of these days, to present (the photographs, I mean, if the
clumsy English language will let me mean anything) to present to the
institution at Carlisle (horrid place!), with a view to improving the
tastes of the members (Goths and Vandals to a man). It might be
supposed that a gentleman who was in course of conferring a great
national benefit on his countrymen was the last gentleman in the world
to b