A TRUNCATED biography, like a cone in the same condition, seems to require some account of the eliminated section. The author must disclose so much of his previous history, as will be necessary to enable the reader to comprehend, and duly to appreciate, the events that must, to a great extent, be intimately connected with the former.

The past, the present, and the future in the life of man, are three interjections in one and the same sentence; and the reader whose heart can sympathise with the feeling indicated by the first, will respond, like the vibration of the musical string, to the sigh that saddens the second in the dirge of life.

I was born in an island situated between the tropics—a Swedish colony. My parents were of German and French origin: at the time of my birth, and long after, they were sufficiently wealthy.

My father was a "liberal" Protestant, my mother not a "bigoted" Catholic: still, of six children five were devoted to the baptism of Rome, and only one conceded to that of Luther.

To my seventh year, I was permitted to grow in health and strength, unmolested by study of any kind. Scorched and tanned by the vertical fierce sun of the tropics; battling ever and anon with the wild waves, and borne on their crests as they lashed the rocks of our sea-girt isle-with hook and line, seated on some solitary boulder, the waves breaking around

-or with my father sailing in our pleasure-boat far out to sea, on that ocean which I had so often to cross in after life—or engaged in some handy-work at home, learning to use every mechanical tool-for my father prided himself in being able to work at every trade, self-taught: such was my childhood.

In my tenth year I lost my father. In my twelfth my mother took me from school, and consigned me to the care of a priest to prepare me for my first communion; or as she said, "to break me in." The dogmas of the faith were then imparted to me for the first time. The seeds of religion sank deep in the virgin soil-I embraced the faith with rapture-went to confession every week, and to communion every fortnight. Such was the result of two months, exclusively dedicated to the study of religion in the house of the priest. With religious fervour came

zeal for the conversion of heretics. I studied controversy. In my twelfth year I strove to propagate the faith. I attacked the forlorn hope of my father's religion-my elder sister; and she was converted to the faith of Rome. I often think of the day when she surrendered to me her poor Common-Prayer Book to be transferred to the priest, at his request-then to be consigned emendaturis ignibus, to the cleansing fires!

My mother destined me for the medical profession : I studied it two years, vowing myself, meanwhile, to the priesthood. I obtained her consent, at length, and was sent to England. At St. Cuthbert's College, commonly called Ushaw, near Durham, I remained rather more than five years.

Within the first year after my arrival, I lost my mother: and then my night of bitterness beganevery letter I received from my home gave a pang! By intense application to study, and increased devotional fervour, I strove to forget the fate that impended.

I was now a poor student on the funds of the college-pledged to the priesthood. Tolerable sucmy studies tended to soothe the pangs of pride in humiliation.

cess in

Controversy continued to be my favourite study. It cost me "the faith." I argued myself into doubts. By my nineteenth year I had read more than the course of studies required, or allowed, in classic and

general literature; in natural and moral philosophy : for I have never lost a day in idleness of mind since the hour when I first went to school, in my seventh year.

About this period a hope flashed on my mind, that I might be able, by returning to the world, to retrieve the fortunes of my family. This hope sounded a truce to my temptations against the faith, from which I longed to escape by a life of action; and I resolved to resign the certainties of the priesthood for the hopes of my dreams.

The reader is now in possession of all the information he requires, concerning my previous history. In the Narrative that follows, he will find the next stage of my journey,

"While still pursuing, still unblest,

I wander on, nor dare to rest!"

ANDREW STEINMETZ.

Fakenham, Norfolk.

Feb. 1846.