surable emotions: these, however, were different in the different seasons; that is, each season produced its peculiar and appropriate feelings. I well remember with what indescribable pleasure I contemplated the return of spring, and how gladly I hailed every indication of its near approach. The early flowers, the first butterfly, the renewed song of birds, the milder temperature of the atmosphere, with the increased splendour and warmth of the sun-all these were to me sources of heart-felt "delight and joy." And I hailed the harbingers of the other seasons with no less enthusiasm. I rejoiced to see the full-grown foliage, the tall grass just ready for the mower's scythe, the young of various animals approaching to maturity, with the numerous other objects that betoken the approach of summer. I was, perhaps, yet more glad to see the forerunners of autumn, as this was my favourite season; partly, I think, because its mild and equal temperature was then, as it now is, grateful to my external senses, but chiefly because of its being the time when the anxious hopes of the spring and summer months are usually exchanged for fruition. Nor was the approach of winter unwelcome, for it was with pleasure rather than with uneasiness that I looked at the fading face of nature, or listened to the voice of the rude wind, or contemplated the other impressive phenomena that precede its advent.

I am no longer susceptible of these lively feelings, yet I am not indifferent to the objects which once excited and nourished them. There are, indeed, moments when I look back with regret upon the time when I could not contemplate nature, whether in its

lovelier or its sublimer aspects, without having these emotions awakened to a degree that was sometimes almost painful, because I had no means of giving them utterance. I was a timid, shy, sensitive boy, one whose outward nature. alone was rounding persons and objects.

associated with surThe mind and the

heart were in solitude. I knew no one to whom I could unveil the thoughts that perplexed the one, or tell of the feelings which frequently oppressed the other. Thus situated, what remained for me but to seek some other medium of giving expression to my speculations and emotions? I did this, and almost unconsciously fell upon the expedient which is, as it would seem, natural to man—I mean, the composition of verse. I well remember my first effort in this direction, when I contrived to string together some twelve or sixteen lines. These were, beyond doubt, sufficiently childish; but, notwithstanding their puerility, I have often wished I had preserved them, merely as a record of the force and tendency of my early emotions. With this temperament of mind, it was natural that I should be much gratified on discovering that the Bible would much help me in giving utterance to feelings which, but for its aid, could then find no adequate medium of expression.

At this time I knew but little of the doctrines propounded in the Bible; I had, however, a somewhat better knowledge of its moral precepts, and could in some degree enter into the spirit of its devotional parts. What I thus learned was, I think, much enforced by the perusal of that well-known little book Watts's 'Divine and Moral Songs,' which I read with

so much interest as to impress them indelibly upon the memory. From these sources, in connection with such oral instruction as I received, I learned something concerning the first principles of Religious Truth. The amount of knowledge gained was indeed small; yet it was of much use as a means of qualifying me to learn more readily, in afterlife, much that I wished to know upon this weighty subject.

Until my ninth year I had learned little or nothing of any merely human science, but my ignorance herein was involuntary, for I had no means of commanding the sources of knowledge. A series of Pinnock's Catechisms, or of any other simple elementary treatises, would at that time have been a treasure of no small value; but such helps as these were not then in existence.

As a necessary consequence of my unfavourable circumstances, my notions were for the most part not a little childish; so much so, indeed, that they did not always satisfy myself. I had in truth many misgivings as to their correctness, on account of the difficulties or contradictions which they seemed to involve. Thus, for example, I supposed the sky to be a solid surface of a blue colour, with a great many bright spots upon it, of which the sun and moon, as being the largest, naturally attracted my especial attention. I of course supposed the sun to be no larger than its apparent size seemed to indicate; yet I could not comprehend how so small an object should communicate so much light and heat as I perceived it did.

Neither could I understand why or how it was that the moon should give light without heat; and I

was equally at a loss to account for its frequent changes of form, as also for its periodical disappear

ance.

As to the causes that produce the succession of the seasons, I neither had nor could obtain any information about them that seemed to be either satisfactory or probable.

Nor was I better able to ascertain the causes or the nature of many atmospheric phenomena: this, however, I had the less cause to regret, because I was pleased rather than alarmed by storms of thunder, lightning, or wind, unless they were more than usually severe; but, had I known anything of their immediate causes, or of their real nature, this pleasure would have been much diminished. As it was, I had full scope for the play of my childish imagination, whose conjectures, wild and strange as they indeed were, gave me far higher gratification than perhaps I could have derived from a more rational

source.

As to the interchange of day and night, I readily conjectured-what I afterwards learned had been taught by eminent philosophers-that it was caused by the revolution of the heavens around the earth. But as I supposed the latter to be only a vast plain, united to the sky at the horizon, I was utterly at a loss to reconcile my theory concerning the motion of the heavens with the notions I held respecting the form and position of the earth. Besides these difficulties there were others equally knotty, and which defied all my efforts to surmount them; for I wished to know the thickness of the earth, what it was that

supported it, and what was underneath that supporter, and so on: thus my young mind was bewildered, and sometimes vexed or wearied, while it found no way of escape from the labyrinth in which it was entangled. Nor was I more happy in my attempts to learn something about the great divisions of the earth's surface. I sometimes heard persons talking about America, the East and West Indies, France, Ireland, and other countries, but as to their situation or any other particular I could get no satisfactory account.

There was also a good deal said about the continental countries of Europe, but as they were collectively called "the Continent," without any distinctive appellation either to mark what continent was intended, or what part was meant of the continent referred to, I of course took the phrase to mean a separate and distinct country, like England; but none could tell me whether it was so or not, nor whether it was in Europe, Africa, or America. As to Asia, I do not remember to have known that it existed, at any rate under that name, until I learned it from books; nor until then did I know the distinction between a continent and an island, nor, indeed, whether there was any difference between them.

I also heard much talk about the American war, the French revolution, the Irish rebellion, and other public events; but it was all of the most vague and hearsay character, so that I was but little the wiser for what I heard. Moreover, as regarded the topography or the history of my own country, I was equally at a loss for the means of getting instruction. I knew neither its position, extent, nor divisions, nor