I have been a wanderer the greater part of my life; indeed I remember only two periods, and these by no means lengthy, when I was, strictly speaking, stationary.  I was a soldier’s son, and as the means of my father were by no means sufficient to support two establishments, his family invariably attended him wherever he went, so that from my infancy I was accustomed to travelling and wandering, and looked upon a monthly change of scene and residence as a matter of course.  Sometimes we lived in barracks, sometimes in lodgings, but generally in the former, always eschewing the latter from motives of economy, save when the barracks were inconvenient and uncomfortable; and they must have been highly so indeed, to have discouraged us from entering them; for though we were gentry (pray bear that in mind, gentle reader), gentry by birth, and incontestably so by my father’s bearing the commission of good old George the Third, we were not fine gentry, but people who could put up with as much as any genteel Scotch family who find it convenient to live on a third floor in London, or on a sixth at Edinburgh or Glasgow.  It was not a little that could discourage us:  we once lived within the canvas walls of a camp, at a place called Pett, in Sussex; and I believe it was at this place that occurred the first circumstance, or adventure, call it which you will, that I can remember in connection with myself:  it was a strange one, and I will relate it.

It happened that my brother and myself were playing one evening in a sandy lane, in the neighbourhood of this Pett camp; our mother was at a slight distance.  All of a sudden, a bright yellow, and, to my infantine eye, beautiful and glorious, object made its appearance at the top of the bank from between the thick quickset, and, gliding down, began to move across the lane to the other side, like a line of golden light.  Uttering a cry of pleasure, I sprang forward, and seized it nearly by the middle.  A strange sensation of numbing coldness seemed to pervade my whole arm, which surprised me the more, as the object to the eye appeared so warm and sunlike.  I did not drop it, however, but, holding it up, looked at it intently, as its head dangled about a foot from my hand.  It made no resistance; I felt not even the slightest struggle; but now my brother began to scream and shriek like one possessed.  ‘O mother, mother!’ said he, ‘the viper!—­my brother has a viper in his hand!’ He then, like one frantic, made an effort to snatch the creature away from me.  The viper now hissed amain, and raised its head, in which were eyes like hot coals, menacing, not myself, but my brother.  I dropped my captive, for I saw my mother running towards me; and the reptile, after standing for a moment nearly erect, and still hissing furiously, made off, and disappeared.  The whole scene is now before me, as vividly as if it occurred yesterday—­the gorgeous viper, my poor dear frantic brother, my agitated parent, and a frightened hen clucking under the bushes—­and yet I was not three years old.