I remember for some time sitting motionless in my corner,with my eyes bent upon the ground;at last I lifted my head and looked upon the packet as it lay on the table.All at once a strange sensation came over me,such as I had never experienced before-a singular blending of curiosity,awe,and pleasure,the remembrance of which,even at this distance of time,produces a remarkable effect upon my nervous system.What strange things are the nerves-I mean those more secret and mysterious ones in which I have some notion that the mind or soul,call it which you will,has its habitation;how they occasionally tingle and vibrate before any coming event closely connected with the future weal or woe of the human being.
Such a feeling was now within me,certainly independent of what the eye had seen or the ear had heard.A book of some deion had been brought for me,a present by no means calculated to interest me;what cared I for books?I had already many into which I never looked but from compulsion;friends,moreover,had presented me with similar things before,which I had entirely disregarded,and what was there in this particular book,whose very title I did not know,calculated to attract me more than the rest?yet something within told me that my fate was connected with the book which had been last brought;so,after looking on the packet from my corner for a considerable time,I got up and went to the table.
The packet was lying where it had been left-I took it up;had the envelope,which consisted of whitish brown paper,been secured by a string or a seal,I should not have opened it,as I should have considered such an act almost in the light of a crime;the books,however,had been merely folded up,and I therefore considered that there could be no possible harm in inspecting them,more especially as I had received no injunction to the contrary.Perhaps there was something unsound in this reasoning,something sophistical;but a child is sometimes as ready as a grown-up person in finding excuses for doing that which he is inclined to.But whether the action was right or wrong,and I am afraid it was not altogether right,Iundid the packet:it contained three books;two from their similarity seemed to be separate parts of one and the same work;they were handsomely bound,and to them I first turned my attention.I opened them successively,and endeavoured to make out their meaning;their contents,however,as far as I was able to understand them,were by no means interesting:whoever pleases may read these books for me,and keep them,too,into the bargain,said I to myself.
I now took up the third book:it did not resemble the others,being longer and considerably thicker;the binding was of dingy calf-skin.I opened it,and as I did so another strange thrill of pleasure shot through my frame.The first object on which my eyes rested was a picture;it was exceedingly well executed,at least the scene which it represented made a vivid impression upon me,which would hardly have been the case had the artist not been faithful to nature.A wild scene it was-a heavy sea and rocky shore,with mountains in the background,above which the moon was peering.Not far from the shore,upon the water,was a boat with two figures in it,one of which stood at the bow,pointing with what I knew to be a gun at a dreadful shape in the water;fire was flashing from the muzzle of the gun,and the monster appeared to be transfixed.I almost thought I heard its cry.I remained motionless,gazing upon the picture,scarcely daring to draw my breath,lest the new and wondrous world should vanish of which Ihad now obtained a glimpse.'Who are those people,and what could have brought them into that strange situation?'I asked of myself;and now the seed of curiosity,which had so long lain dormant,began to expand,and I vowed to myself to become speedily acquainted with the whole history of the people in the boat.After looking on the picture till every mark and line in it were familiar to me,I turned over various leaves till I came to another engraving;a new source of wonder-a low sandy beach on which the furious sea was breaking in mountain-like billows;cloud and rack deformed the firmament,which wore a dull and leaden-like hue;gulls and other aquatic fowls were toppling upon the blast,or skimming over the tops of the maddening waves-'Mercy upon him!he must be drowned!'I exclaimed,as my eyes fell upon a poor wretch who appeared to be striving to reach the shore;he was upon his legs,but was evidently half smothered with the brine;high above his head curled a horrible billow,as if to engulf him for ever.
'He must be drowned!he must be drowned!'I almost shrieked,and dropped the book.I soon snatched it up again,and now my eye lighted on a third picture:again a shore,but what a sweet and lovely one,and how I wished to be treading it;there were beautiful shells lying on the smooth white sand,some were empty like those I had occasionally seen on marble mantelpieces,but out of others peered the heads and bodies of wondrous crayfish,a wood of thick green trees skirted the beach and partly shaded it from the rays of the sun,which shone hot above,while blue waves slightly crested with foam were gently curling against it;there was a human figure upon the beach,wild and uncouth,clad in the skins of animals,with a huge cap on his head,a hatchet at his girdle,and in his hand a gun;his feet and legs were bare;he stood in an attitude of horror and surprise;his body was bent far back,and his eyes,which seemed starting out of his head,were fixed upon a mark on the sand-a large distinct mark-a human footprint....