went down alone through a fir-wood, reading as I walked. How
often since then has it befallen me to be happy even so; but that was
the first time: the shock of that pleasure I have never since forgot,
and if my mind serves me to the last, I never shall, for it was then
that I knew I loved reading.

II

To pass from hearing literature to reading it is to take a great and
dangerous step. With not a few, I think a large proportion of their
pleasure then comes to an end; "the malady of not marking" overtakes
them; they read thenceforward by the eye alone and hear never again the
chime of fair words or the march of the stately period. _Non ragioniam_
of these. But to all the step is dangerous; it involves coming of age;
it is even a kind of second weaning. In the past all was at the choice
of others; they chose, they digested, they read aloud for us and sang to
their own tune the books of childhood. In the future we are to approach
the silent, inexpressive type alone, like pioneers; and the choice of
what we are to read is in our own hands thenceforward. For instance, in
the passages already adduced, I detect and applaud the ear of my old
nurse; they were of her choice, and she imposed them on my infancy,
reading the works of others as a poet would scarce dare to read his
own; gloating on the rhythm, dwelling with delight on assonances and
alliterations. I know very well my mother must have been all the while
trying to educate my taste upon more secular authors; but the vigour and
the continual opportunities of my nurse triumphed, and after a long
search, I can find in these earliest volumes of my autobiography no
mention of anything but nursery rhymes, the Bible, and Mr. M'Cheyne.

I suppose all children agree in looking back with delight on their
school Readers. We might not now find so much pathos in "Bingen on the
Rhine," "A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers," or in "The
Soldier's Funeral," in the declamation of which I was held to have
surpassed myself. "Robert's voice," said the master on this memorable
occasion, "is not strong, but impressive": an opinion which I was fool
enough to carry home to my father; who roasted me for years in
consequence. I am sure one should not be so deliciously tickled by the
humorous pieces:--

"What, crusty? cries Will in a taking,
Who would not be crusty with half a year's baking?"

I think this quip would leave us cold. The "Isles of Greece" seem rather
tawdry to