you."

Up to his twelfth year, however, his views, in con-
currence with the wishes of his parents, were, I believe,
directed to the ministry of the gospel : but about this
time, his inclination took a new, decisive, and unaltera-
ble bent. Having, at the age of twelve or thirteen,
accompanied his cousin to Dorchester Assizes, he was



50

present at a trial in which Sergeant,— now Judge Best
was for the defendant. A very material witness, on the
part of the plaintiff, was a boy of about William's age.
In cross-questioning this boy, Mr. B. was severe,— not,
perhaps, unusually or unnecessarily so ; but still, in my
son's apprehension, severe. His pity was awakened
for the lad; and he became, at that moment, a decided
opponent of the learned sergeant. He watched every
word of that gentleman's speech to the jury, and resolv-
ed how he would have answered it, had he been the
opposite advocate. Ignorant of law, he probably deem-
ed some parts of the speech weak, which were really
impregnable. He thought, however, that many of the
weak points of the argument were left untouched by
the gentleman on the other side ; and said to himself, as
he afterwards told me, '' If I were there, I would soon
unravel and expose the sophistry of Sergeant B."—
From that time, he determined for the bar ; and noth-
ino- ever for a moment, shook his determination. He
knew, however, our wishes, and, therefore, did not press
the subject upon our attention. When he was about
fourteen, I wrote to him from London, on the subject of
his future prospects, hinting the necessity of giving a
more specific direction to his studies ; but he dexterous-
ly evaded the point, by saying, in his answer, " I hope
that whatever may be my future engagements, 1 shall
keep constantly in view the glory of God, and the good
of my fellow-creatures." In the last letter I ever re-
ceived from him, and from which 1 have already pre-
sented an extract, he enters fully into this subject ; and
says, " We all feel that it is high time something should



51

be deiinitely settled with regard to my future prospects.
** * I have always professed a determination to con-
form myself to your wishes wherever I can conscien-
tiously do so : but what practical evidence of sincerity
have I afforded ? * * * My propensity once made known,
your goodness and excessive delicacy forbore to remind
me of my duty ; and as 1 forgot it, that inclination was
immediately complied with. As soon, however, as the
truth of the case came fairly before me, I determined
to write this letter; and as the determination has been
formed for some months past, you are not to consider it
as a temporary or thoughtless effusion of confidence
and affection : it is, in fact, no more than a recognition
of indefeasible paternal rights, of which the exercise is
highly conducive to the welflire of the son.*** It is,
however, ijer?/, very possible, to embrace in detail, what
one would sincerely reject on the whole ; and 1 there-
fore feel it an unspeakable privilege to apply to one,
who, like yourself, has the same interests, without the
same passions and prejudices which I have. * * * Im-
mediately next in importance,* are the chances of pro-
fessional success^ which must be viewed in connexion
with the character of him who is to strive after that suc-
cess. Here I have only one caution to give you ; and
I am deeply serious when I give it. Always suspect
that 3'ou over-rate me ; and on principle abstract much
from your estimate of my character, when that estimate
forms part of a practical calculation. If, therefore, you
find that any situation requires a given share of talents

* To usefulness, of which he had just spoken.



52

and acquirements, hike your conception of my abilities,
strike off one-third or thereabouts ; and then, if you
find the.remainder equal to the amount required, you
may decide with tolerable correctness. But this cor-
rection^ as a mathematician would call it, you must intro-
duce : legal education is expensive, and success very
uncertain. If, on the whole, you disapprove of the at-
tempt, say medicine, or what you will. Only you will,
of course, form a comparative^ as well as an absolute esti-
mate of these chances : because, while one profession
may be poor enough, all may be equally so. * * * After
this, I wish you to take your own predilections into the
account — as far, 1 mean, as these predilections are pure-
ly arbitrary : otherwise, they are to be considered as
reasons which will have their due weight in your mind ;
and with you the ultimate decision rests. *** Lastly,
my own inclinations. I know you will not like to oppose
these, under the idea that my happiness will thus be
compromised. 1 beg, however, that no feeling of this
kind may have any influence. Happiness and the grat-
ilication of inclination are distinct, may be opposed to
each other. I have no wish for the expensive title of
barrister, with a pocket purseless and impoverished
friends ; still less, with the heavy condemnation at last
of having misspent my opjjortunities of good. Again,
therefore, I say, let the claims of duty, of prudence and
of filial affi'ction be fully satisfied first of all. After this,
if any question remain, refer that and only that to my
predilections. — In addition, I have only to say, inquire
immediately, and decide before I leave College. Once
more, do not rc/er the matter to me. This letter is not



53

matter of form and ceremony, or even of duty merely.
When 1 say, Decide for me, I mean, Decide for me. All
I want is the result of your inquiries. With entire con-
fidence in the wisdom of your decision, I am perfectly
iinsolicitous about the premises on which your conclu-
sions may be founded. You may or may not state those
when you announce that conclusion. Till then, how-
ever, I should be sadly mortitied, if letters, which ought
to be the effusion of the heart and the representatives
of social chit-chat, were to be encumbered even with
family business. Let me, then, have nothing more, ex-
cept your kind compliance with my request, that you
â– will decide, and then your ultimate decision. If you
deem it prudent for ?ne to take the lower walks of either
profession^ you need anticipate no objection from rny pride.^''
My mind had been long made up ; and, on everv con-
sideration, after he had declined the ministry of the gos-
pel, 1 thought it proper for him to enter into the law.
And 1 certainly had hoped to have seen him an orna-
ment to the bar. If the fondness and the folly of a pa-
rent had indulged a faint expectation that, as far as his
religious principles would have permitted, he might
have risen even higher than the bar, parents will, at
least, pity, if they do not forgive me.



54



HIS COMMENCEMENT AND PROGRESS IN LATIN, FRENCH,
GREEK AND ITALIAN,

At the age of seven, he began to learn Latin. My
friend, Mr Bullar, of Southampton, for whom my dear
boy, who could almost divine the characters of his fel-
low-creatures, felt, to the end of life, unbounded admira-
lion—afforded me the benefit of his advice, at the com-
mencement of this part of William's education. I was
a novice at teaching ; but, aided by my friend, 1 enter-
ed upon it with confidence and pleasure. My first in-
tention was, merely to have trained him myself till ten
or eleven, and then send him to Southampton. From
this 1 was afterwards deterred by the express desire of
Mr Bullar, who, modestly, and, 1 believe sincerely,
however incorrectl}^, thought, and assured me, that tee
could do much more for him at home, than, under his
circumstances, he could accomplish for him at school.
His advance through the grammar was sure, not rapid.
In the declensions of his i>ouns, or the conjugations of
his verbs, 1 would sometimes bet him ten kisses that I
could go through them lasler and more accurately than
he. And this was a stimulus which he was eminently
formed to feel : no severity could have urged him to so
much diligence : his heart could always be touched by
an appeal to his affections. After he had fairly master-
ed " The Accidence, As in praesenti. Propria quae ma-
ribus, Syntax, and Prosody," I divided the whole



55

into twenty-four parts, which he repeated daily;- — thus
accomplishing his task every month. This, 1 iind, he
continued to do till the end of his life. He parsed, of
course, as he read, and thus applied his rules: but the
practice of monthly repetition kept them ever ready
for application. Before he went to College, at the age
of a little more than fifteeen, he had read through the
elementary books of the Valpys, with Eutropius, Nepos,
Florus, Justin, (twice) Caesar, (twice) Sallust, (twice)
Liv}^, Tacitus, several orations and some philosophical
pieces of Cicero. He read frequently the Eclogues,
Georgics and ^neid of Virgil ; with Lucan's Pharsalia ;
Excerpta of Ovid, which contain most of the unexcep-
tionable parts ; and such parts of Terence, Martial,
Persius and Juvenal, as prudence permitted. All the
finest parts of those poets — especially their bold and
tender descriptions, — he had committed to memory.
My friend had furnished me with Didot's edition of Ho-
race, printed at Paris, from which all the Pagan filthi-
ness of that beautiful author is ejected : — and can it be
worth while, for the purpose of maintaining the integ-
rity of his writingrJ, to publish edition after edition for
our seminaries of instruction, and to thrust upon the at-
tention of the young, scenes and language which, how-
ever popular at Pome in the days of Augustus, or in
England during the reign of Charles II. are tit only for
a brothel, and are condemned equally by the sober dic-
tates of common morality and the authoritative mandate
of divine revelation ! This expurgated copy he gener-
ally used ; and, as I had tixed with a pen the mark of
reprobation on all the indecent passages in my own



56

complete editions, on which he might occasionally light,
he never read one line that could awaken a passion
which Christianity teaches us to sui)press. He commit-
ted to memory the whole of Horace's Odes, the Carmen
Scecidare, and Dc Arte Foetica ; all which he repeated,
at least, four times every year.

At his first Session in Glasgow, he gained the chief
Latin prize at the Black Stone examination ; and made
one of the largest 'â– ^professions'''' that any of his age had
ever been known to make. The profession for com-
petition consists in meeting several of the professors :
with fellow-students as judges ; and the person who
" competes'''' recites to the professor of his class a list of
authors, of which he professes himself the master ; and
offers to read, ad aperturam lihri — the examiner open-
ing as many of the authors, in what places he pleases,
or to which chance may direct him. I have before me
a list of thirty-nine authors, which he professed on that
occasion. All who pass from a lower to a higher class,
undergo a Black Stone examination, (so called from the
students' silting at the end of a long table on a black
marble slab ;) but the competition for prizes lies among
those few who have the courage to dare bravely, and to
meet the cleverest and boldest of their companions in
literature.

At the age of nine, he began to learn French, under
his beloved mother, who spoke that language with flu-
ency and correctness. After his progress in Latin, he
found this very easy; and soon read through many-of
the Poets, Racine, Moliere, Crebillon, Delille, &,c. ; to-
gether with Pascal, Fenelon, Du Bosc, Saurin, &c. It



57

was originally intended that after he had been four
years at Glasgow, he should spend a year either at Pa-
ris, or at the University of Montaubon ; but this purpose,
at his particular request, we had for some time relin-
quished.

The next year he entered upon the study of Greek.
It was impossible that he should not admire the Greek
historians and poets; though he thought even they had
been over-rated. That the expatriation of the Greeks,
by the capture of Constantinople, and the consequent
diffusion of Greek literature, contributed most materi-
ally to the revival of learning in Europe ; and that
nothing then existed which could bear comparison with
the chaste atid beautiful writings of the ancients, he
readily admitted : but he thought it mere pedantry to
offer a homage to them, which should imply a contempt
for the moderns. He thought, and others thought with
him, that whatever might be the powers of the ancients,
they did not surpass, in any department, writers who
have lived since the revival of learning; while, in some
departments, they fell far short of them. During one
of his vacations, after he went to College, he wrote a
very elaborate essay on " The advantages of classical
literature," in which he said all that he could say in fa-
vor of the ancients ; but his sentiments on the compara-
tive worth and beauty of the classical and more recent
writers remained unchanged. Of the Greek philosophers
he used to say, "It is classical treason to declare it ;
and, therefore, I must take care before whom I expose
myself; but I think most of these are mere drivellers."
He was particularly struck with this when we read to-



58

gether the Ethics of Aristotle. He thought that, as a
philosopher, Cicero threw all the Greeks into the shade.
This might be true, without any disgrace to thetn : for
he enjoyed the advantage of all their lights.

My dear son, however, moving, as he did, among the
fine writings, and curious but unsatisfying speculations
of the classics, learned to perceive, more and more, the
necessity and advantages of that divine revelation, which
has thrown open to the most uneducated christian, and
placed among (he first principles of his knowledge, the
truths for which so many powerful minds had been for
ages searching in vain. " The world by wisdom knew
not God." He saw that while philosophers, toiling in
the dark, had only accumulated a mass of errors, with
here or there a particle of truth, rather " received by
tradition from their fathers," than elicited by their own
efforts, God had " revealed" his perfections, the nature
of his government, and the riches of his grace, "to
babes." He excepted from the mass of trifling philoso-
phers, one distinguished man. His great favourite of
pagan antiquity was Socrates, who had, as he thought,
drawn moral science out of the obscurity, in which the
miserable sophistry of the rest had involved it. This
excellent man he ever designated, " the St. John of
heathenism :" and he wondered how any scholar could
maintain, that that almost inspired sage virtually aban-
doned the principle of the divine unity, for which he
dared to die, by requesting, as Plato, in his Phtedo, re-
lates, that his attendants would offer a cock to tEscuIe-
pius. Is it forgotten that he did this — if, indeed, he
really did it at all — only as he was just sinking under



59

the stupifying influence of poison ? My son also greatly
admired the distinguished disciple of Socrates, Xeno-
phon, whose Memorabilia, Cyropaedia, and Anabasis, he
read through. Besides, portions of almost all the differ-
ent Greek classics, he read with me the whole New
Testament and Septuagint, before he went to College.
When eleven years old, he began to learn Italian,
under his mother, and read with her Metastasio, Tasso,
and some other of the poets — what they read in prose
I forget. He never appeared afterwards to be at a loss
in translating any thing he met with in the course of his
reading.



60



Jl'st about this time, he began to rsrite themes al-
most every Friday forenoon. He generally chose his
own subjects ; though we sometimes chose them for
him, or the passing events of the day suggested them.
He always wrote upon his slate, read them to the fami-
ly, and, for a long time, understood that they were rub-
bed out and lost. But both from their extraordinary
character as the productions of a child, and in order to
preserve a permanent memorial of his mental progress,
I copied them off, even from the beginning. After hav-
ing done this for some time, I made no secret of it. As
those productions afford a fair specimen of his habits of
thought and modes of expression ; and do, I think, con-
tain a proof of the precocity, vigor, and cultivation of
his powers, I shall take the liberty of presenting a few^
extracts — assuring my readers, that, as I copied them
with scrupulous exactness from his slate, I give them as
exactly in these pages. I have not the folly to imagine
that these early productions of his pen can gratify per-
sons of matured understanding, further than as they af-
ford an illustration of his mental progress. The first of
the following essa} s was written, when he was about
eleven years and three months old. I have inserted in
succession, pieces written at the intervals of three or
six months, in the first series ; and every one who un-
derstands composition, will instantly perceive his rapid
improvement in the choice of his words, the structure,
harmony, and force of his style. I shall pursue the



61

same course in the two subsequent periods ; and leave
the intelligent reader to form his own judgment of that
child who began the last, " on the connexion of ideas,"
before he attained his fourteenth year. I may remark,
in passing, that, as far as I recollect, he never obtained
assistance in writing any of these pieces, by reference to
hooks. He had conversed, read, and thought on all
these subjects ; but when he wrote, he drew immedi-
ately from the stores of his own mind.



5*



62



THEMES



Written between the Age of Eleven and Twelve.



ADVANTAGES OF THE STUDY OF HISTORY,
{Dated April, 1814.)

The advantages of the study of history are various.
Even if there were none, it seems natural to wish to
know the degree of civilization and fi^eedotn which our
fellow creatures have enjoyed, and the forms of govern-
ment under which they have lived, in various ages and
countries. But besides the gratification which it affords
us, several advantages arise from a good acquaintance
with it. By presenting to our view the actions of great
and good men, it stimulates us to exertion, that we may
imitate them. It is said that Julius Caesar, when he
read the actions of Alexander, wept that he^ though he
was as old as that conqueror, had performed no action
which equalled any of his.

Besides affording examples which may stimulate us
to noble and useful actions, it warns us to avoid those
which are base or hurtful. What king of England
would attempt to levy taxes without a parliament, or to
encroach on the civil or religious privileges of English-
men, after the fate of Charles I. and James H. ! And
will not the fall of Napoleon Buonaparte shew all fu-



63

ture kings what a vain attempt it is to subject all Eu-
rope to one man ! What people will imitate the French
Revolution, after knowing the murders which were its
immediate consequences, and the despotism to which it
ultimately led ! Besides all this, we see for what wise
ends the darkest providences were sent ; and that the
greatest judgments have ultimately tended to the good
of mankind.



THE DISADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE.

{July, 1814.)

Solitude has been supposed the fittest situation for
contemplation and devotion, and for the cultivation of
all the most excellent qualities of the soul. It has been
loved and sought by some men, from a natural morose-
ness of dispositien —by others, because they have been
disappointed in the pursuit of honors or riches, and so
disgusted with society — and also by some good and wise
men, who would have been, perhaps the honor of their
age, and the lights of the world, if erroneous ideas of
devotion had not led them astray. But how great are
the pleasures and advantages of society ! In solitude,
there are none who may partake one's joys or griefs —
a man must suffer his afflictions, and enjoy all his hap-
piness (if it is possible to possess any in such a situation)
alone. There is none to console the man when in dis-
tress, or to counsel him wlien he knows not how to act.
But in society, our sorrow is, at least, alleviated by the



64

condolence of those who love us ; and pleasures are
doubled, by knowing that all our joys make a friend joy-
ful. There are in society vvise and good men to advise
and admonish us. All these advantages are lost in soli-
tude.

O solitude I where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face !

I think the love of society natural to the human race.
There may have been some exceptions : but they are,
in general, considered as monsters, rather than men.



65
THEMES

Written between Twelve and Thirteen.

ON DECISION. {February, 1815.)

Many of the best properties of the mind, when pos-
sessed in an excessive degree, are hurtful ; and jet al-
most all of them are apt to run into extremes. Zeal
may beget fanaticism ; strong reasoning powers, an ar-
gumentative turn of mind, may create scepticism j emu-
lation may become ambition ; and, in like manner, de-
cision may degenerate into obstinacy. Nevertheless,
we ought not to confound these various qualities. We
need not dislike zeal, because we hate fanaticism ; we
need not admire scepticism, because we are fond of
acute reasoning ; it would not be right to discourage
emulation, because we see the fatal consequences of
ambition. And it is an equal mistake to confound deci-
sion with obstinacy. Though they are, (if I may so
epeak) of the same species, they are far from being the
same thing. Decision is determination and firmness,
governed by reason, directed by wisdom, and associated
with prudence : — while obstinacy is unrestrained, gov-
erned by passion, and directed by folly ; opposing only
that which is good ; determined only in that which is
evil; vaccillating, when it ought to decide j deciding,
when it ought to consider.



66

Efjually opposite to both of these is Indecision. It
shows a vast weakness and imbecility of the mind when
a man is always halting between two opinions ; when
the slightest arguments can determine him ; and argu-
ments still weaker unfix his determination ; when he
never knows what course to take, what sentiments to
adopt. Nothing can be done without decision, in peace
or war, in the affairs of a nation, or in those of an indi-
vidual. Decision has formed the characters of a Marl-
borough, a Nelson, a Wellington, and an Elizabeth ; —
while Indecision and obstinacy united, distinguish those
execrable princes (the disgrace of Scotland, and the
curse of England) the Stuarts. It is decision by which
Britain has overthrown the tyrant. It is decision by
which Europe has thrown ofT the yoke of slavery. And
it is decision by which Britons have obtained their pres-
ent rights and liberties.



POLYTHEISM. {March, 1815.)

Wickedness produces negligence ; and negligence
fosters ignorance. Mankind, who had received the
knowledge of the only living and true God from their
father, Noah, lost it by degrees from among them ; and
gave themselves " to believe a lie." But reason ; tra-
dition ; the testimony of the earth, with it« flowers, its
fruits and its verdure ; the testimony of the heavens,
with their wonders — all — all — concurred to prove a God.
Thus far went reason, but no farther : for, unilluminat-
ed by the lamp of revelation, and unenlightened by the



%



67

torch of truth, she wandered in endless mazes of error
and folly. ' The Sun enlightens us, and He shall be our
God. The Earth nourishes us, and we will adore Her.
But who formed the earth ? We know not. Who cre-
ated the sun ? We are ignorant. Who " spake and it
was done, commanded and it stood fast ?" We know of
no such Being.

But even this was too refined for them. They con-
sidered their gods only as more exalted men. They
no longer worshipped the sun ; but the god of the sun
— a god cursed with all the passions of a very bad man.
The number of gods was multiplied ; and almost every
tree, every fountain had its divinity. Not content with
this, they proceeded a step farther ; and deified men
were placed among the gods, and stood next to the
throne of Jupiter. These marvellous and incongruous
tales, these numerous and jarring divinities, were adorn-
ed bj' the pens of an Ovid, a Homer and a Virgil : and
their ridiculous and impure rites were sanctioned by the
examples of a iSTuma, a Cato, and a Pompey.

As for the philosophers — what they disbelieved we
know — what Ihey believed, we can hardly tell. Al-
though they contemned the rabble of divinities worship-