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As with “Indian Sketch,” Simms published “Confessions of a Murderer” in the Southern Literary Gazette—in the long missing November 1, 1829, number of the second or “new” series, with which number the journal died. Several years later “Confessions of a Murderer” provided Simms the germ for Martin Faber, his first piece of fiction published separately in book form. CONFESSIONS OF A MURDERER. I was born in an obscure country village in D——; the place had not more than ten or twelve families, and that of my parents was one of the most intelligent and respectable. The village was one of that class which is never known to vary its position; it neither increased nor diminished, and my father was one of the principal, if not the only principal man in it. Would he had been less so. Had he thought more of his own and the business of his own family and less of those around, I should not this day recount the history of my own disgrace. But my father was the great man, the lion of the village, and I became no less so of my mama’s fireside. I was a spoiled boy even before I could read—so early are the principles of the human mind subject to misdirection . I was perverse, unruly and puerile, and my father mended the matter very considerably by damning at me on all warrantable occasions . To him and to my mother I charge my crime and its punishment , and while they are wondering how so bad a scion should spring from so good a stock, they have been weaving the rope about my neck. I shall render amends to the laws of the land; they are accountable to God, and to his mercies I leave them. I was a truant from school and exulted in it without punishment. I was brutal while a mere boy to all around me; was a boor in decent society; was insolent to my parents; rude and boisterous at table; savage and ferocious among my associates and received no punishment. Sometimes when I exceeded even the bounds of toleration, tacitly joined to my conduct by my father, I received some such rebuke as— ‘now my dear how can you do so,’ or,‘I will be vexed with you, my son, if you do not behave.’ What was all this to an overgrown boy, nursed in full ideas of his own importance, licentious in his habits, and admitted to all and any irregularities, for which my father furnished an ample model. I bade defiance to threats, and scorned reproaches. I laughed at the soothings Simms-MFaber final pages:Layout 1 4/10/08 11:51 AM Page 83 of my mother and took her gifts and favors, furnished in order to persuade me to do better, as things of course which she was obliged to give me. I was brought up a brute, and fulfilled to the letter the seeming objects of my education. Their lessons fitted me to be what I have been, and have reduced me to the miserable situation in which I now am. But let that rest. I was sent to school, but learnt nothing, or what I learnt was entirely obliterated and counteracted by the nature of my education at home. I cared little to learn; my tutor dared not coerce me; he was a poor miserable hireling from the east, who cringed to all for his bread and who considered my father’s influence as a matter which would not allow him to restrain or chastise his favorite son. Whatever I did, therefore , went by with impunity. However extravagant, violent or insolent my amusements, I was unpunished. Grown bold and confident, I even ventured to assume the burdens of my companions, announce myself as the offender and get them off free of punishment, while I escaped myself. One day, however, a circumstance occurred which could not pass so easily. It was under the master’s own eye, and I was brought up to receive the award which his sense of justice or his lenity might think proper to bestow. He did not even flog me, he spoke to me like a father; as my father never spoke to me; his words were those of kindness, of friendship. I laughed in his face. He was indignant, as well he might be, and gave me a smart blow with his open hand on my face. I looked round upon my companions...

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