en out of school was employed in carrying about the
butcher's basket. Some lines "On being confined to School one pleasant
Summer Morning," written at the age of thirteen, by which time he had
been placed under the tuition of a Mr. Shipley, are nearly equal to any
he afterwards produced. Next year he was made to work at a stocking-loom,
preparatively to his learning the business of a hosier; but his
mother, seeing the reluctance with which he engaged in an employment so
ill-suited to his temper and abilities, prevailed on his father, though
not without much difficulty, to fix him in the office of Messrs. Coldham
and Endfield, attorneys in Nottingham. As his parents could not afford
to pay a fee, he was (in 1799) engaged to serve for two years, and at
the end of that term he was articled. Most of his time that could be
spared from the duties of the office was, at the recommendation of his
masters, spent in learning Latin, to which, of his own accord he added
Greek, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese. Some knowledge of chemistry,
astronomy, electricity, and some skill in music and drawing, were among
his other voluntary acquirements. White was one of those, who feel an
early and importunate craving for distinction. He had already been
chosen member of a literary society in his native town; and soon after
his election, as Mr. Southey relates, "he lectured upon genius, and
spoke extempore for about two hours, in such a manner, that he received
the unanimous thanks of the society, and they elected this young Roscius
of Oratory their Professor of Literature." He next became a writer in
several of the Monthly Miscellanies; and (in 1803) put forth a volume of
poems. A few words of unfortunate criticism in one of the Reviews, which
in a few years more he would have learned to smile at, had nearly
crushed his hopes as an author; when Mr. Southey, into whose hands both
the Review and the Poems themselves chanced to fall, generously came to
his relief. The protection of one so deservedly eminent could not fail
of affording him some comfort: though he still complained that "the
Review went before him where ever he turned his steps, that it haunted
him incessantly, and that he was persuaded it was an instrument in the
hands of Satan to drive him to distraction."

It is not usual to hear a poet, much less a young poet, complaining that
Satan is busied about his concerns. But his mind, which had before been
disposed to scepticism, was now