ABSTRACT
My father was an English gentleman with an estate of three thousand pounds a year. I was his only son. I was brought up with every imaginable indulgence. My wishes were anticipated. Every gratification was procured for me, that by any chance might make my days pass in cheerfulness and joy. Yet I was not utterly spoiled. I had a tutor, the most amiable and exemplary of men. His plan was to teach me, by making the things it was / intended I should learn interesting to me. He was an excellent mathematician. He had a most discriminating taste in poetry, history, and fine writing of every kind. Add to this, that he was penetrated with the deepest enthusiasm. He had a voice, musical and silver-toned: he had an eye that varied to every sentiment that passed within him, and that impressed all these sentiments in succession upon the bottom of my heart. I learned, because I desired to learn. The beauties of Virgil and Horace and Homer were unfolded before me by the skill and susceptibility of my tutor. a . I did not learn the construction and the language first, and afterwards come to discern the merits of the author I read. My instructor, when he opened the first page of the book I perused, taught me to feel its excellence. His enthusiasm became mine: and all which is trying, harsh and repulsive in the common modes of education, was in my / case turned into delight. It scarcely ever happened that the summons which announced the hour of study sounded harshly in my ear: on the contrary I obeyed it with the same alacrity, with which other boys listen to the summons that calls them to scenes of sport and recreation.
