e he had yet come abroad,
And the stillness reign'd deep o'er his cold moorland bed,
Which came down in the power of the sleep of the dead
When the spirit return'd to its God.'

* * * * *

These are a few out of many more lines written on this subject, which at
the time was so deeply interesting to mind and heart."

Mr Riddell here states that his poetical style of composition about this
period underwent a considerable change. He laid aside his wayward wit
for serious sentiment, an improvement which he ascribes to his
admiration of the elegant strains of his friend, young Knox.

"My fortune in life," he proceeds, "had not placed me within the reach
of a library, and I had read almost none; and although I had attempted
to write, I merely followed the course which instinct pointed out. Need
I state further, that if in these days I employed my mind and pen among
the mountains as much as possible, my thoughts also often continued to
pursue the same practice, even when among others, by the 'farmer's
ingle.' I retired to rest when others retired, but if not outworn by
matters of extra toil, the ardour of thought, through love of the poet's
undying art, would, night after night for many hours, debar the inroads
of sleep. The number of schools which I have particularised as having
attended may occasion some surprise at the deficiency of my scholarship.
For this, various reasons are assignable, all of which, however, hinge
upon these two formidable obstacles--the inconveniency of local
position, and the thoughtless inattention of youth. In remote country
places, long and rough ways, conjoined not unfrequently with wild
weather, require that children, before they can enter school, be pretty
well grown up; consequently, they quit it the sooner. They are often
useful at home in the summer season, or circumstances may destine them
to hire away. Among these inconveniences, one serious drawback is, that
the little education they do get is rarely obtained continuously, and
regular progress is interrupted. Much of what has been gained is lost
during the intervals of non-attendance, and every new return to the book
is little else than a new beginning. So was it with me. At the time when
my father hired a teacher into his house, it was for what is termed the
winter quarter, and I was then somewhat too young to be tied down to the
regular routine of school discipline; and if older when boarde