dotard! thou wilt never more press thy darling to thy bosom--there is a
gulf between thee and him impassable as heaven is from hell. He was
torn from thy arms before even thou couldst have dreamed it possible to
decree the separation. Why, what a sorry bungler should I be had I not
skill enough to pluck a son from a father's heart; ay, though he were
riveted there with hooks of steel! I have drawn around thee a magic
circle of curses which he cannot overleap. Good speed to thee, Master
Francis. Papa's darling is disposed of--the course is clear. I must
carefully pick up all the scraps of paper, for how easily might my
handwriting be recognized. (He gathers the fragments of the letter.)
And grief will soon make an end of the old gentleman. And as for her--
I must tear this Charles from her heart, though half her life come with
him.

No small cause have I for being dissatisfied with Dame Nature, and, by
my honor, I will have amends! Why did I not crawl the first from my
mother's womb? why not the only one? why has she heaped on me this
burden of deformity? on me especially? Just as if she had spawned me
from her refuse.* Why to me in particular this snub of the Laplander?
these negro lips? these Hottentot eyes? On my word, the lady seems to
have collected from all the race of mankind whatever was loathsome into
a heap, and kneaded the mass into my particular person. Death and
destruction! who empowered her to deny to me what she accorded to him?
Could a man pay his court to her before he was born? or offend her
before he existed? Why went she to work in such a partial spirit?

No! no! I do her injustice--she bestowed inventive faculty, and set us
naked and helpless on the shore of this great ocean, the world--let
those swim who can--the heavy** may sink. To me she gave naught else,
and how to make the best use of my endowment is my present business.