Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course, over a great ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.

I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy - ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy. I have sought it, next, because it relieves loneliness--that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought it finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what--at last--I have found.

With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men. I have wished to know why the stars shine. And I have tried to apprehend the Pythagorean power by which number holds sway above the flux. A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.

Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward the heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of pain reverberate in my heart. Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a burden to their sons, and the whole world of loneliness, poverty, and pain make a mockery of what human life should be. I long to alleviate this evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer.

This has been my life. I have found it worth living, and would gladly live it again if the chance were offered me.

The September sun was shining brightly into the windows of 221B Baker Street,and London was enjoying a beautiful late summer.I had finished my breakfast and was reading the newspaper.As usual,Holmes had got up late,and was still eating.We were expecting a visitor at half past ten,and I wondered whether Holmes would finish his breakfast be fore our visitor arrived.

Holmes was in no hurry.He was reading once again a letter he had received three days ago.It was from Dr James Mortimer,who asked for an appointment with Holmes.

Well,Watson,*Holmes said to me,*I*m afraid that a doc tor from Devonshire won*t bring us anything of real interest.His letter doesn*t tell us anything about his business though he says it*s very important.I hope we can help him.*

At exactly half past ten there was a knock on our front door.
*Good,*said Holmes.*Dr Mortimer is clearly a man who will not waste our time.*
We stood up as our visitor was brought into the room.

Good morning,gentlemen,*he said.*I*m Dr James Mor timer,from Grimpen in Devonshire,and I think you must be Mr Sherlock Holmes.*He shook hands with Holmes,who said:
*How do you do,Dr Mortimer?May I introduce my good friend,Dr John Watson,who helps me with my cases.I hope you will allow him to listen to our conversation.*

Of course,*said Mortimer,as he turned to me and shook hands.*I need your help very badly,Mr Holmes.If it will be useful for Dr Watson to hear what I have to say,please let him stay and listen.*

Mortimer did not look like a country doctor.He was very tall and thin.He had a long thin nose.His grey eyes were bright,and he wore gold glasses.His coat and trousers were old and worn.His face was young,but his shoulders were bent like an old man*s and his head was pushed forward.He took some pa pers from his pocket,and said:

Mr Holmes,I need your help and advice.Something very strange and frightening has been happening.*
*Sit down,Dr Mortimer,*said Holmes,*and tell us your problem.I*ll help you if I can.*

These papers were given to me by Sir Charles Baskerville,*said Dr Mortimer.*He asked me to take good care of them.You may remember that Sir Charles died suddenly three months ago.His death caused much excite ment in Devonshire,the county where Baskerville Hall is.Sir Charles was a sensible man,but he believed the story which is told in these papers.*

Please continue,Dr Mortimer,*said Holmes,and sat back in his chair with his eyes shut.
Mortimer began to read in his high,rather strange,voice: