ply to the variety of
dispositions among ourselves; and if we follow, with regard to their
natures, the same economy, then shall we see how simply true it is,
that when we train up a child in the way he _should_ go, he will not
depart from it.

The conviction of this truth makes me curious to ascertain the way I
ought to have gone; not that I am unaware of my present tastes, but
which, probably, are the mere effects of education, and consequent
and acquired habits, while my early ones have long since been lost or
"warped by the kind severity of the pedagogue."

Possessing a tolerable memory with regard to events, I will, then,
just rummage about its lumber-room, and see if I cannot tumble out
some long-forgotten recollection on the subject, if I may so express
myself; but I sincerely trust that it may not turn out to be a
tendency for the poet, or some such inclination incompatible with the
fortunes of the youngest of younger brothers.

After some pains to effect this object, I fear I must conclude that I
have never evinced any marked genius, one way or another, unless it be
for that of the vagrant! What a shock to my theory!

Though an idle boy, I was ever a restless one. Whenever I had an
opportunity, I was certain to give my nursery-maid the slip, and
ramble through the fields and coppices, though at the cost of a
whipping, or, at all events, the deprivation of my supper. I could
never see a distant hill, but I longed to reach its summit to see what
was on the other side; and had I been more conversant with holy writ,
I should have been ever sighing, "O, that I had wings like the dove,
for then would I flee away and be at rest." In short, every spot in
the distance seemed to be more sunny and delightful than that which I
at the moment occupied. For hours would I lean my forehead against the
cold glass of the nursery window, and contemplate the noble hill that
swelled in the horizon. There, I had no doubt, was the end of the
world. Then would I conjecture whether it were possible to get there
and back again, and whether life was long enough for such a voyage. I
then fixed my eye on a large beech-tree--which, blessings on it, is
still standing--that I conjectured to be placed about midway. I next
counted the number of fields between us, in which I included the lawn.
I knew that it was not a very great voyage to traverse this last to
the Ha-ha and back. Following up these data, I arrived at the
astounding conclusio