e
in the day of hunger? No, no! it appeared to me that I had always
misspent my time, save in one instance, when by a desperate effort I had
collected all the powers of my imagination, and written the Life of
Joseph Sell; {87} but even when I wrote the life of Sell, was I not in a
false position? Provided I had not misspent my time, would it have been
necessary to make that effort, which, after all, had only enabled me to
leave London, and wander about the country for a time? But could I,
taking all circumstances into consideration, have done better than I had?
With my peculiar temperament and ideas, could I have pursued with
advantage the profession to which my respectable parents had endeavoured
to bring me up? It appeared to me that I could not, and that the hand of
necessity had guided me from my earliest years, until the present night
in which I found myself seated in the dingle, staring on the brands of
the fire. But ceasing to think of the past which, as irrecoverably gone,
it was useless to regret, even were there cause to regret it, what should
I do in future? Should I write another book like the Life of Joseph
Sell; take it to London, and offer it to a publisher? But when I
reflected on the grisly sufferings which I had undergone whilst engaged
in writing the Life of Sell, I shrank from the idea of a similar attempt;
moreover, I doubted whether I possessed the power to write a similar
work--whether the materials for the life of another Sell lurked within
the recesses of my brain? Had I not better become in reality what I had
hitherto been merely playing at--a tinker or a gypsy? But I soon saw
that I was not fitted to become either in reality. It was much more
agreeable to play the gypsy or the tinker, than to become either in
reality. I had seen enough of gypsying and tinkering to be convinced of
that. All of a sudden the idea of tilling the soil came into my head;
tilling the soil was a healthful and noble pursuit! but my idea of
tilling the soil had no connection with Britain; for I could only expect
to till the soil in Britain as a serf. I thought of tilling it in
America, in which it was said there was plenty of wild, unclaimed land,
of which any one, who chose to clear it of its trees, might take
possession. I figured myself in America, in an immense forest, clearing
the land destined, by my exertions, to become a fruitful and smiling
plain. Methought I heard the crash of the huge trees as th