Without adverting to that fond recollection of early happiness, which it is so natural to cherish, and so pardonable to dilate upon - not to remark that the foregoing picture of "bye-gone" social life, may be regarded in the light, of a tribute of gratitude to the memory of a departed friend, and of a somewhat curious display, of modes and customs, found in no page of the book of existing English manners — I would merely observe, that the scenes with which I have been just busied, and in which I mingled for some time, before my settlement in a provincial academy, were not altogether unconnected with my literary life; since, during this space, and whilst tasting these delights, I consorted chiefly with those who were very much my superiors in years; and added, daily, somewhat to the stock of my ideas, and the volume of my experience. The truth appears to be, that the progressive improvement of the understanding, does not so much depend on what we read, as on what we see and hear; associated with reflection, on all that is thus palpably presented to our observation. This is not only the great source and foundation of all practical knowledge; but, exercising thought, as it does, without intermission; and keeping the attention constantly on the alert; it invigorates, while it stores, the mind; and enables it to apply its powers with facility, and to direct them with success, to every subject it may investigate; and to every branch of knowledge, which it shall be inclined to acquire. I would wish to think and speak of myself, (in accordance with the pledge in my first page,) with all becoming modesty; and therefore put the observation hypothetically: that—if I left home for the school of Christ-church, Hants, with a maturity of understanding, and a range of ideas, not very generally found in a lad of eleven years old; the advantage of superiority, ought to have been entirely attributed, to that constant intercourse, which, during the interruption of my scholastic exercises, I had thus, happily, been permitted to enjoy, with such as were far better acquainted, with the human character, with formed manners, and with real life, than myself. CHAP. III. THE apology with which I concluded my last chapter, must be accepted for the subject of the present one; since the town of CHRIST-CHURCH, where I was destined to court the muses for the succeeding four years, was a place so completely sui generis during my residence there, that it demands as minute a description, as memory will enable me to present to the reader. The lapse of time has not, indeed, divested it of the former charms and peculiarities of its situation. Its rivers flow on as rapid and translucent, as when I fished for minnows, or bathed my limbs, in their refreshing streams. The same daisied and luxuriant meadows are still spread around it. Its noble ruins continue to reflect the summer's sun, and brave the wintry blast; and the long Chine of Catherine-Hill, still losing itself in the distance to the north, lifts its head, as dark and bold, as when I and my compeers first climbed its side, and sported on its summit. * But the * Vividly does the varied picture present itself to my mind, when memory recalls the interesting scene; and, however humble the stanzas may be, (which were written many years ago,) yet clear recollection assures me, the description subject it may investigate; and to every branch of knowledge, which it shall be inclined to acquire. I would wish to think and speak of myself, (in accordance with the pledge in my first page,) with all becoming modesty; and therefore put the observation hypothetically: that—if I left home for the school of Christ-church, Hants, with a maturity of understanding, and a range of ideas, not very generally found in a lad of eleven years old; the advantage of superiority, ought to have been entirely attributed, to that constant intercourse, which, during the interruption of my scholastic exercises, I had thus, happily, been permitted to enjoy, with such as were far better acquainted, with the human character, with formed manners, and with real life, than myself. CHAP. III. THE apology with which I concluded my last chapter, must be accepted for the subject of the present one; since the town of CHRIST-CHURCH, where I was destined to court the muses for the succeeding four years, was a place so completely sui generis during my residence there, that it demands as minute a description, as memory will enable me to present to the reader. The lapse of time has not, indeed, divested it of the former charms and peculiarities of its situation. Its rivers flow on as rapid and translucent, as when I fished for minnows, or bathed my limbs, in their refreshing streams. The same daisied and luxuriant meadows are still spread around it. Its noble ruins continue to reflect the summer's sun, and brave the wintry blast; and the long Chine of Catherine-Hill, still losing itself in the distance to the north, lifts its head, as dark and bold, as when I and my compeers first climbed its side, and sported on its summit. * But the * Vividly does the varied picture present itself to my mind, when memory recalls the interesting scene; and, however humble the stanzas may be, (which were written many years ago,) yet clear recollection assures me, the description |