I suppose I had had it in me all along--the "black drop," as the Irish peasants call it, of evil; and, that shame had hitherto prevented me from plunging into the whirlpool of sinful indulgence that now drew me, a willing victim, down into its yawning gulf of ruin and degradation. That bar removed, however, I made rapid progress towards the beckoning devil, who was waiting to receive me with open arms. I hastened along that path, "where,"--as Byron has described from his own painful experience-- "--In a moment, we may plunge our years In fatal penitence, and in the blight Of our own soul, turn all our blood to tears, And colour things to come with hues of night!" I declare to you, that when I look back on this period of my life--life! death, rather I should say, for it was a moral death--I am quite unable to comprehend the motives that led me to take such a course. My eyes were not blinded. I must have seen that each stride placed me further and further away from my darling, erecting a fresh obstacle between us; still, some irresistible impulse appeared to hurry me on--although, I could not but have known how vain it would be for me to recover my lost footsteps: how hard a matter to change my direction, and look upwards to light and happiness once more! Glancing back at this period--as I do now with horror--I cannot understand myself, I say. I went from bad to worse, plunging deeper and deeper into every wickedness that Satan could suggest, or flesh hanker after--until I seemed to lose all sense of shame and self-reproach. My connection with officialdom was soon terminated. I got later and later in my attendance; so that, old Smudge's prediction was shortly fulfilled, for, I became no better than the rest, in respect of early hours. One day the chief spoke to me on the subject, and I answered him unguardedly. I was not thinking of him at the time, to tell the truth; and when he said, "Mr Lorton, late again, late again! This won't do, you know, won't do!" I quite forgot myself; and, in speaking to him, called him by the nickname under which he was known to us, instead of by his proper appellation. "Very sorry, Smudge," said I, "very sorry; won't be so again, I promise you, sir!" He nearly got a fit, I assure you; while, all the other fellows were splitting with laughter at my slip! "Mr Lorton, I will report you, sir!" was all he said to me directly; but, as he shuffled off to his desk, with the attendance book recording my misdeeds under his arm and his face purple with passion, we all could hear him muttering pretty loudly to himself. "Smudge! Smudge!"--he was repeating;--"I'll Smudge him, the impudent rascal! I wonder what the dooce he meant by it! What the dooce did he mean by it?--mean by it?" I begged his pardon off-hand, immediately, of course, although I would not give him the written apology he peremptorily demanded.