CHAPTER II.
The only part of the manuscript, at all Egotistical, is the narrative of boyish days, which has the appearance of being drawn up for the amusement of some intimate friend. It commences thus:—
“I will give the earliest information of myself, that I can remember; and as I have no motive for misrepresentation, the accuracy of my narrative need not be questioned.
One of the earliest things I recollect of myself is, that I had a certain pruriency of parts, which induced my friends to suppose, that there was something in me, beyond the ordinary level of boys of my age. I fear, however, that the harvest did not correspond with the promise of the spring; or rather, perhaps, that the partiality of parents and relatives, was in the first instance delusive. This, however, was not their fault, for they certainly bestowed upon me the best education, which their means and opportunities afforded. Of the first schools to which I was put, I remember very little; I fear that I did not learn much: at length I was told that I was to go to a Latin school. I retain the strong impression, that this intelligence electrified my whole frame. A train was laid to my ambition, and I already conceived myself at the very summit of literary honour and distinction. But I was bitterly disappointed; my instructor knew nothing of the matter: he began at the wrong end, and I was plunged into the midst of a crabbed Latin author, without even knowing my accidence, for a time, however, I kept blundering on; conscious to myself, that I was making no progress, and having credit with my master for a large portion of dulness. How long this misuse of valuable hours might have continued, I cannot say; not improbably till I had arrived at the dignity of pounding a mortar, spreading plasters, and compounding medicines. Accident at length removed me to a wider, a fairer, and more promising field. I must however do myself the justice of declaring, that on since looking round me, in a circle not extremely limited, I have never been able to recognize any of the individuals, in whose society I dogs-eared the Colloquies of Corderius, and bewildered myself in the Fables of Phædrus.
An opportunity presented itself of removing me to a remote province, where good education, good air, and kind treatment, came recommended under the sanction of a desireable economy. My hopes expanded, and my ardour increased. I loved my parents, dearly loved them; but I had a certain portion of ambition, which stimulated me to the attempt of rising above the situation in which circumstances had placed me, and I had discernment enough to see, that this could not be done by remaining where I was. I left home therefore with many golden and flattering dreams, and I arrived at the place of my destination, when the Midsummer vacation was about half expended. I had an imposing sprightliness of manner, and a conciliating good humour. The first obtained me a credit which I did not deserve, the latter procured the kindness which as a stranger, I wanted. On being questioned as to what I had read, it appeared that I was seemingly familiar with various books, which intimate a considerable advancement in knowledge. The master predicted that I should be a feather in his cap; my dame was certain that I should cut a figure.
Black Monday at length arrived—the boys assembled. From what they had heard, some were jealous of me, others viewed me askance, and all kept at a distance. I at length stood forth. Alas! it was found that I knew nothing. My master was at first angry, and thought me wilfully perverse. 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 slowly—perhaps 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 beauties; 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.
Qui semel imbuerit rugas nutricis amabat.