Excerpt from Littell's Living Age: 11 August, 1849 I regret that I did not execute this wretched task long ago. Should I live to complete it, I shall hold out longer than I expect; for I was never ready at my pen, and words sometimes will not come at my bidding. Besides, so many years have elapsed since the chief events I am about to relate took place, that even they no longer come before me with that distinctness which they did formerly. They do not torture me now, as of old times. The caustic has almost burnt them out of my soul. I will, however, give a plain, and, as nearly as I am able, a faithful statement. I will offer no palliation of my offences, which I do not from my soul believe should be extended to me.
I was born on the 23d of October, 1787. My father was a watch-case maker, and resided in a street in the parish of Clerkenwell. I went a few months ago to look at the house, but it was taken down indeed, the neighborhood had undergone an entire change. I, too, was somewhat altered since then. I wondered at the time which of the two was the more so.
My earliest recollection recalls two rooms on a second floor, meanly furnished my father, a tall, dark man, with a harsh, unpleasing voice; and my mother, the same gentle, quiet being whom I afterwards knew her.
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