The sky had
cleared; and I was eager to read the details of my grandfather's crime.
"Tuesday--Sat up late last night, reading my new book. My favorite poets,
novelists, and historians have failed to interest me. I devoured the
Trials with breathless delight; beginning of course with the murder in
which I felt a family interest. Prepared to find my grandfather a
ruffian, I confess I was surprised by the discovery that he was also a
fool. The officers of justice had no merit in tracing the crime to him;
his own stupidity delivered him into their hands. I read the evidence
twice over, and put myself in his position, and saw the means plainly by
which he might have set discovery at defiance.
"In the Preface to the Trials I found an allusion, in terms of praise, to
a work of the same kind, published in the French language. I wrote to
London at once, and ordered the book.
"Wednesday.--Is there some mysterious influence, in the silent solitude
of my life, that is hardening my nature? Is there something unnatural in
the existence of a man who never hears a sound? Is there a moral sense
that suffers when a bodily sense is lost?
"These questions have been suggested to me by an incident that happened
this morning.
"Looking out of window, I saw a brutal carter, on the road before the
house, beating an over-loaded horse. A year since I should have
interfered to protect the horse, without a moment's hesitation.
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