rse, it acquired all the character
of a concealed pleasure, and we used to select for the scenes of our
indulgence long walks through the solitary and romantic environs of
Arthur's Seat, Salisbury Crags, Braid Hills, and similar places in the
vicinity of Edinburgh; and the recollection of those holidays still forms
an oasis in the pilgrimage which I have to look back upon. I have only to
add, that my friend still lives, a prosperous gentleman, but too much
occupied with graver business to thank me for indicating him more plainly
as a confidant of my childish mystery.

When boyhood advancing into youth required more serious studies and
graver cares, a long illness threw me back on the kingdom of fiction, as
if it were by a species of fatality. My indisposition arose, in part at
least, from my having broken a blood-vessel; and motion and speech were
for a long time pronounced positively dangerous. For several weeks I was
confined strictly to my bed, during which time I was not allowed to speak
above a whisper, to eat more than a spoonful or two of boiled rice, or to
have more covering than one thin counterpane. When the reader is informed
that I was at this time a growing youth, with the spirits, appetite, and
impatience of fifteen, and suffered, of course, greatly under this severe
regimen, which the repeated return of my disorder rendered indispensable,
he will not be surprised that I was abandoned to my own discretion, so
far as reading (my almost sole amusement) was concerned, and still less
so, that I abused the indulgence which left my time so much at my own
disposal.

There was at this time a circulating library in Edinburgh, founded, I
believe, by the celebrated Allan Ramsay, which, besides containing a most
respectable collection of books of every description, was, as might have
been expected, peculiarly rich in works of fiction. It exhibited
specimens of every kind, from the romances of chivalry and the ponderous
folios of Cyrus and Cassandra, down to the most approved works of later
times. I was plunged into this great ocean of reading without compass or
pilot; and, unless when some one had the charity to play at chess with
me, I was allowed to do nothing save read from morning to night. I was,
in kindness and pity, which was perhaps erroneous, however natural,
permitted to select my subjects of study at my own pleasure, upon the
same principle that the humours of children are indulged to keep them out
of misc