because I always expected to meet with injustice and tyranny, and these characteristics were soon discovered by my superiors and companions, who showed me little mercy, being ignorant of the manner in which these ill germs had been cultivated and developed.
Thus, though now in circumstances not incompatible with happiness—for Mr. Carter, though a rigid disciplinarian, was a well-intentioned man, who wished to act fairly by us—I continued to suffer from the effects of previous harshness and mismanagement. I suppose I was the most unpopular boy in the school, neither liked by my superiors nor my equals; and I remember once overhearing Mrs. Carter benevolently pleading for me, by suggesting that I was “an unfortunately constituted little urchin.” And yet I do not think that Nature had been so niggardly to me as she thought; and I cannot help believing, that had I been kindly and genially treated in my early years, I should have been a different creature. For example, I remember, when I was almost an infant, how I used to long for somebody to love and caress me, as I sometimes saw the women caress their children as we drove through the village; and how I wished my father would toss me up in bis arms as Trotter, the keeper, did his boy. But I never had a toss in my life, nor a caress since my poor mother left home, and from her but few, and stolen ones; for I have since thought that, beside her fear of my father and grandmother, she must have stood in great awe of Gubbins, who waited upon her, and had also the charge of me. I suspect this person was a spy set over her, for I can distinctly remember, one day that she had taken me upon her knee in her own bedroom, the haste and flurry with which she set me down upon the entrance of this woman. However that may be, some feeling restrained her from much exhibition of affection towards me. Perhaps she knew that the condition of my not being taken away from her altogether was that there should not appear too good an understanding betwixt us.
It was late in the autumn when I went to Mr. Carter’s, and when Christmas came the boys all went home. Of course, they were as merry as crickets at the approach of the holidays, while I was terrified at the idea of returning to gloomy Elfdale, in comparison of which, notwithstanding all my disadvantages, the school was a paradise. However, I was soon relieved of my apprehensions by Mrs. Carter, who informed me that I was to spend the Christmas with them. She communicated the intelligence with much consideration, expecting it would be a heavy disappointment; but when she saw how my face brightened, she held out her hand and said cheerfully, “I daresay we shall be able to make you very comfortable. You’ll have Charles and George for your companions, and you will have few lessons, for this is a season of recreation.”
Now, I liked Charles and George better than any boys in the school. They were her own sons, a little older than me; and being always under the benign influence of this amiable and gentle-hearted mother, they were, at her instigation, more merciful to me than the others, who had no such constant supervision. They never insulted me, and then made a display of their courage by offering to fight me if I did not like it—a cheap display, for they knew I would not do it. They never took away my playthings and hid them till the play-hours were over; in short, they never took advantage of my weaknesses, which the others were too prone to do. The consequence of this forbearance on their part was, that as soon as I was left alone with them my spirits rose, and a sense of freedom came over me that I had never felt before. I associated with them on more equal terms, feeling that I should have fair play, and not be made to suffer more than my natural inferiority—for inferior I knew I was in acquirements as well as in courage and manliness. They were two fine boys, but I cannot help thinking that the difference between us would not have been so great had I had such a mother as they had to train and form my infant mind, and awaken its affections. Her kindness, even to me especially, during this and the subsequent vacations I spent there, I can never forget. It was at those periods she could venture to show it without incurring the reproof of her husband, or the jealousy of the other boys. I think she had gathered in her conversations with me some notion of the evil influences which made me what I was—or at least contributed to do so, for I suppose Nature was not altogether sinless in the business—and by justice and gentleness, those two wonderful weapons with children when judiciously combined, she sought to repair the evil, and certainly did effect much. I look back upon those vacations with a tender yearning of the heart towards her and her two noble boys—all now dead—while I, whose life was not worth preserving, either as regards myself or others, am still cumbering the earth. Not that I have any right to accuse the fates; my misery in after life, at least, was of my own making; and yet I cannot tell. I look back and reproach myself, but could I have acted otherwise? The feelings that urged me were my masters; I was not theirs. My motives were not bad, though my conduct was. Nay, these very feelings that led me wrong had their root in right and honour, though they went astray on false premises; but, then, how could I avoid—but I must cry a halt, or I shall find myself involved in the question of free-will and necessity, which never fails to arise and perplex me whenever I review the past.
During the many years I spent at Mr. Carter’s, I had never been home, and I had only seen my father twice. Immediately after placing me there he had broken up the establishment, and left England for the continent, whence he only occasionally visited Elfdale. Now, however, I was to join him there, and I cannot say that I felt any great pleasure in the anticipation. This time I travelled by the coaches alone, being committed to the supervision of the guards; and in due time I arrived without accident at the town where my father’s carriage met me.
There was a wild gloomy beauty about Elfdale, which I believe strangers much admired; but, perhaps from association, I saw only the gloom, while I was insensible to the beauty. My heart sank as we drove up the sombre avenue; and the