Between William Edgerton and Julia Clifford my young life and best
affections were divided, entirely, if not equally. I lived for no
other--I cared to seek, to know, no other--and yet I often shrunk
from both. Even at that boyish period, while the heavier cares and
the more painful vexations of life were wanting to our annoyance,
I had those of that gnawing nature which seemed to be born of the
tree whose evil growth "brought death into the world and all our
wo." The pang of a nameless jealousy--a sleepless distrust--rose
unbidden to my heart at seasons, when, in truth, there was no
obvious cause.
When Julia was most gentle--when William was most
generous--even then, I had learned to repulse them with an indifference
which I did not feel--a rudeness which brought to my heart a pain
even greater than that which my wantonness inflicted upon theirs.
I knew, even then, that I was perverse, unjust; and that there was
a littleness in the vexatious mood in which I indulged, that was
unjust to my own feelings, and unbecoming in a manly nature. But
even though I felt all this, as thoroughly as I could ever feel it
under any situation, I still could not succeed in overcoming tha'
insane will which drove me to its indulgence.
Vainly have I striven to account for the blindness of heart--for
such it is, in all such cases--which possessed me. Was there
anything in my secret nature, born at my birth and growing with
my growth--which impelled me to this willfulness. I can scarcely
believe so; but, after serious reflection, am compelled to think
that it was the strict result of moods growing out of the particular
treatment to which I had been subjected. It does not seem unnatural
that an ardent temper of mind, willing to confide, looking to
love and affection for the only aliment which it most and chiefly
desires, and repelled in this search, frowned on by its superiors
as if it were something base, will, in time, grow to be habitually
wilful, even as the treatment which has schooled it. Had I been
governed and guided by justice, I am sure that I should never have
been unjust.
My waywardness in childhood did not often amount to rudeness, and
never, I may safely say, where Julia was concerned. In her case,
it was simply the exercise of a sullenness that repelled her
approaches, even as its own approaches had been repelled by others.
At such periods I went apart, communing, sternly with myself,
refusing the sympathy that I most yearned after, and resolving not
to be comforted. Let me do the dear child the justice to say that
the only effect which this conduct had upon her, was to increase
her anxieties to soothe the repulsive spirit which should have
offended her. Perhaps, to provoke this anxiety in one it loves, is
the chief desire of such a spirit. It loves to behold the persevering
devotion, which it yet perversely toils to discourage. It smiles
within, with a bitter triumph, as it contemplates its own power,
to impart the same sorrow which a similar perversity has already
made it feel.