verse,

He left me for a while; then came to me again-soothed and cheered me. It was all in vain. I knew nothing. What was to be done? Instead of being placed in one of the higher classes, the master most judiciously determined, that I should begin again, from the very first rudiments. This was hitting the right nail on the head. Every thing went on smoothly. At first I proceeded slowlyperhaps with a little sullenness; but I soon found that I was progressively getting that which I had not-knowledge.

I look back to these enchanting scenes with no ordinary satisfaction. A momentary bliss is imparted by the recollection. Ah! why should they return no more! Then it was, that the heart, untainted by vice, and uncorrupted by the world, expanded itself to the impression of nature's beau ties; when the mind, full of hope and ardour, thirsting for improvement, which was every day obtained, indulged in lovely golden dreams of fancy, and constructed imaginary castles, with all the accompaniments of Sylph and Fairy creation. I very soon imbibed a love for reading, which almost instantaneously became a passion. I was voracious. The difficulty of satisfying my appetite in an obscure village of a distant province, remote from any market-town, served but to increase it. The first beginnings of a literary life do not always constitute

the least interesting part of it. Memory delights to retrace a few incidents at this period, the narration of which will at least amuse myself.

I hoarded my scanty allowance to subscribe to a circulating library, which I had heard was to be found at some four miles distance. It was occasionally expedient to send hither, to supply the domestic exigencies of the family. I offered myself as volunteer for all messages, errands, and parcels, and I returned laden with the produce of this contaminated and contaminating receptacle of trash. I had however a friend, whose kindness and judgment preserved me from any mighty mischief. My master had a daughter. It is not impossible that she may yet live, nor is it utterly improbable that she may peruse this narrative. Be it so. I do not less willingly pay the debt of gratitude. This young lady distinguished me above my fellows, cheered me, encouraged my desire for books, directed me in the choice of them, nor did I venture to read any without the sanction of her awful fiat.

СНАР.

Qui semel imbuerit rugas nutricis amabit.

CHAPTER III.

SHALL I say which was the first book that most strongly excited my curiosity, and interested my sensibility? It was Tom Jones. My female Mentor tantalized me without mercy. She would let me have but one volume at a time; and not only would not afford me any clue to the concluding catastrophe, but rather put me upon a wrong scent. Sometimes too when my impatience of expectation was at the very highest point possible, the succeeding volume was mislaid, was lent, was not impossibly lost. However, after a long and most severe trial, after hating Blifil with no common hatred, forming a most friendly intimacy with Partridge, loving Sophia with rapturous extravagance, I complacently accompanied dear wicked Tom to the nuptial altar. I endeavoured of course to procure the other productions of this popular author, but I well remember that I did not peruse any of them, no not within a hundred degrees of the satisfaction, which the Foundling communicated.

The

The next book which chance threw in my way rendered me important service. It enlarged my mind, multiplied my ideas, inflamed my ambition, and gave my curiosity and desire of knowledge, a proper direction. I by accident picked up in a closet, little frequented, the first volume of Pope's translation of the Iliad. It was a mean edition, which I do not remember to have since seen; but it had notes and illustrations, which were to me extremely necessary. It is not possible to express the enthusiasm, with which I hurried through it, nor the anxious impatience with which I hastened to my female adviser to supply the continuation.Alas! no more volumes were to be found in the house. What was to be done? I could not endure the idea of beginning any other book. I made the attempt, indeed, but it was impossible. My mind was too elevated, to descend from gods and heroes, (from goddesses more particularly, for I adored Pallas) to the humdrum of common authors, and the incidents of ordinary life.

At length my fair friend sent for me, to communicate the joyful and momentous intelligence, that a gentleman, whose residence was a few miles distant from our own, compassionated my distress, and had promised to lend me a volume at a time, if I would' take the trouble to walk and fetch them. I hardly stayed to express my thanks: it was asking a very hungry wretch, to feed on the dish most delightful to

his palate. I was at the appointed place as expeditiously as youthful speed could carry me. The gentleman was pleased with my ardour, and kindly encouraged it. He conceived a friendship for me, and under certain very proper restrictions, accommodated me with the use of his library.

These were truly Halcyon days, for my friend was a man of taste and talents, and his collection of books proved him to be so. Under such auspices, I essentially increased my store of knowledge. I remember (and the remembrance at this very dis tant period is still painful) that he was absent once for an interval, to me an eternity, of almost two months. What a dreadful void, and how was I to fill it up? I had exhausted the circulating library above-mentioned, long since. I had read again and again the little library of my Mentor, when in the corner of a village shop, I discovered an odd volume of the Town and Country Magazine. Might I be permitted to borrow it? The nod of assent was a signal to me to hurry home with it as fast as possible. I did not exactly know what to make of it, but it had the charm of novelty, and occasionally at the end of each month's magazine I found some tolerable poetry. By the way, this incident induces me to mention a circumstance for which I could never satisfactorily account. I was, from the first moment of having ability to read, exceedingly fond of poetry, and almost as soon as I could write, made

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