duty.  I cannot longer be silent, and, in the conviction that the truth of my statement will be evident enough to those most concerned in hearing it, without the authority of any name, (least of all, of one so little known as mine,) I now give my confession to the world.  The names of the individuals whom I shall have occasion to introduce are, of course, disguised; but, with this exception, the narrative is the plainest possible record of my own experience.  Many of the incidents winch I shall be obliged to describe are known only to the actors therein, who, I feel assured, will never foolishly betray themselves.  I have therefore no fear that any harm can result from my disclosures.

In order to make my views intelligible to those readers who have paid no attention to psychological subjects, I must commence a little in advance of my story.  My own individual nature is one of those apparently inconsistent combinations which are frequently found in the children of parents whose temperaments and mental personalities widely differ.  This class of natures is much larger than would be supposed.  Inheriting opposite, even conflicting, traits from father and mother, they assume, as either element predominates, diverse characters; and that which is the result of temperament (in fact, congenital inconsistency) is set down by the unthinking world as moral weakness or duplicity.  Those who have sufficient skill to perceive and reconcile—­or, at least, govern—­the opposing elements are few, indeed.  Had the power come to me sooner, I should have been spared the necessity of making these confessions.

From one parent I inherited an extraordinarily active and sensitive imagination,—­from the other, a sturdy practical sense, a disposition to weigh and balance with calm fairness the puzzling questions which life offers to every man.  These conflicting qualities—­as is usual in all similar natures—­were not developed in equal order of growth.  The former governed my childhood, my youth, and enveloped me with spells, which all the force of the latter and more slowly ripened faculty was barely sufficient to break.  Luxuriant weeds and brambles covered the soil which should have been ploughed and made to produce honest grain.  Unfortunately, I had no teacher who was competent to understand and direct me.  The task was left for myself, and I can only wonder, after all that has occurred, how it has been possible for me to succeed.  Certainly, this success has not been due to any vigorous exercise of virtue on my part, but solely to the existence of that cool, reflective reason which lay perdue beneath all the extravagances of my mind.