Autobiography [pp. 665-685]

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
PUBLISHED MAON.THLY, AT FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM-THOMAS W. WHITEI EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
VOL. VII. RICHAMOND, OCTOBER, 1841. NO. 10.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A MONOMANIAC,
When men die of diseases, of which neither the
causes nor the symptoms are recognized, the industry of Science is at once exerted to discover the
seat of the malady, and the nature of the agents
which have wrought it ilnto being. But when evil
phenomena arise in the soul, they are not only suffered to grow into strength, but even to destroy its
finest faculties, and that without restraint, whilst
restraint might avail, and without investigation, or
record, afterwards, when these might at least possess the power to place instruction before the future. A fearful volume might have been, and yet
may be, composed of such sad histories-startling
revelations of human weakness, and consequent
human wretchedness. Were the deep ocean dried,
and all its secrets opened to our scrutiny, less varied, less monstrous would be its mighty discoveries,
than those which we should receive from the unveiling of one distempered spirit. The distortion
of mental vision, or of natural feeling, perhaps in
early childhood-the bearing upon such a case of
mingling circumstances, that mingling clash-the
influences of hearts that should have been kindred
ipon that of this miserable wanderer from the beaten path-how small a portion would these-even
these!-compose, of the dark and moving shadows
that we call Life! Oh! Thou, who hast made our
existence a marvel, and its accompaniments the
parts of a bewildering labyrinth, amidst whose
mysteries the soul wanders, erring and lost in conjecture and perplexity, how shall we elucidate the
thousand subjects of amazement which crowd and
press upon our senses-and oh! far more difficult,
how shall we extricate ourselves from the entangled
and yet conflicting abstractions, into which our
minds enter as they enter life, and which, thenceforth, hold them incapable alike of advance or retreat. Not unto us-not unto us belongs the power
to emerge into light! But Thine, as I have found,
to lead us forth, and to provide for the unending Future, that knowledge to which the departing Present cannot attain-to make the unreal, which
eludes our grasp, assume the form and substance of
Reality, and to open Truth to the enlarged comprehension of an immortal spirit!
I cast this Leaf, which contains the record of my
consciousness, as well as of the events which have
borne upon it, unto the great waters of the world.
Perchance, after many days, one shall find it to
whom it may seem the mirror of his own sufferings, or of his own emotions. I have been a Monomaniac-and could the minds of other men be
withdrawn from the illusions of sense, and the
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contemplation of external objects, and their gaze
fixed upon self, and the world within, all-all would
start from that which this internal world reveals,
and all, I solemnly believe, would share ill this
terrible species of insanity!
It matters nothing what I might have been! The
events of my life have been few, but painful, and
the cause of my misfortunes originated in myself,
and might as well have belonged to the king upon his
throne-to the lowliest peasant that tills the soilto the child of the sun-or to the dweller amidst
perpetual snows, as to me-the fated struggler
with despair. As well also might it have come
into being when the earth was young, and men were
mighty, as nowv when the aged sphere turns to the
all-piercing " Eye of Creation," her myriads of
evil and helpless habitants.
I was the child of wealthy parents, but not their
only child. They were occupied with the interests
and pleasures of their station, fond of their offspring, but too much occupied, or too careless, to
attend to the forming of their character. My mother laughed away existence-my father was divided between its business and enjoyments. The
one ridiculed every body and every thing-even
her children. The other lavished upon them every
indulgence they could desire, and was then heartily
glad to be rid of them for the time. By nature I
myself was shy, sensitive, and retiring, yet full of
warm impulse, and of obstinate affections-there
fore, whenever my mother ridiculed some simple expression of feeling, or some sudden betrayal of
sentiments which she could not comprehend, I
shrank with dread from what appeared to me coarseness and cruelty, and could thenceforward rarely
unfold myself in her presence. As I grew up,
this shyness deepened into a cautious reserve, which
kept me at a distance from the mother, who would
not understand me, and from the father, who had
never found time to win my confidence. I had two
brothers, but both were older, and of hardier natures than myself, and both had habits of thought
with which I possessed no power to sympathize.
I think that my mind had grown too quickly; circumstances had developed some of my faculties too
early; it was therefore never strong. A creature of vehement passions, vivid imagination, and
unexercised reason, can never be calm or wise
enough for happiness. And such was I, at an early
age; for no one had entered into my heart, or endeavored to train my abilities to good. I was left
to form mny own character; and without experience,
and without fixed principles, what matter of surprise is it that the result should have been distortion l My family were any thing but what is
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