THE HISTORY OF MY YOUTH: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF FRANCIS ARA60. 



[To keep up the series of publicatious of eulogies of distingnislied men, which has 

 been a special feature of the Aispendix to the Sniithsouiau Reports, the following auto- 

 biography and the eulogies of Herschel and Fourier are copied from the volume, now 

 out of print, of the trauslations by the late Admiral Smyth, the late Eev. Baden 

 Powell, and Prof. Grant, from the works of Arago. — J. H] 



I have not the foolish A^anity to imagine that any one, even a short 

 time hence, will have the curiosity to find ont how my first education 

 was given, and how my mind was developed ; but some biographers, 

 writing off-hand and without authority, having given details on this 

 subject utterly incorrect, and of a nature to imply negligence on the part 

 of my i)arents, I consider myself bound to put them right. 



I was born on the 20th of February, 1780, in the commune of Estagel, 

 an ancient province of lloussillon, (department of the Eastern P^-renees.) 

 My father, a licentiate in law, had some little property in arable land, in. 

 vineyards, and in plantations of olive trees, the income from which sup- 

 ported his numerous family. 



I was thus three years old in 1789, four years old in 1790, five years 

 in 1791, six years in 1792, and seven years old in 1793, &c. 



The reader has now himself the means of judging whether, as has 

 been said, and even stated in print, I had a hand in the excesses of our 

 first revolution. 



My parents sent me to the primary school in Estagel, where I learned 

 the rudiments of reading and writing. I received, besides, in my 

 father's house, some private lessons in vocal music. I was not otherwise 

 either more or less advanced than other children of my age. I enter 

 into these details merely to show how much mistaken are those who 

 have printed that at the age of fourteen or fifteen years I had not yet 

 learned to read. 



Estagel was a halting place for a portion of the troops who, coming 

 from the interior, either went on to I?erpignan, or repaired direct to the 

 army of the Pyrenees. My parents' house was therefore constantly full 

 of officers and soldiers. This, joined to the lively excitement which the 

 Spanish invasion had produced within me, inspired me with such de- 

 cided military tastes that my family was obliged to have me narrowly 

 watched to prevent my joining by stealth the soldiers who left Estagel. 

 It often happened that they caught me at a league's distance from the 

 village, already on my way with the troops. 



On one occasion these warlike tastes had nearly cost me dear. It was 

 the nigbt of the battle of Peires-Tortes. The Spanish troops in their 

 retreat had partly mistaken their road. I was in the square of tlie vil- 

 10 s 



