which was in some
way or other to contribute to the emancipation of the slaves, mainly, I
imagine, by showing that under proper management they were not unfitted
for freedom. The fate of that philanthropic scheme is too well known to
make it necessary for me to rehearse the story of it here, imperfectly
known to me as it is. The upshot was, that my mother and brother were
induced to go to Cincinnati and attempt other plans, the final result of
which was also a failure. I had had no share in these Transatlantic
projects, being at the time a scholar at Winchester in the college of
William of Wykeham. But between quitting Winchester, at the age of
eighteen, and going to Oxford, I had a period of liberty of nearly a
twelvemonth, the greater part of which I devoted to accompanying my
father on a visit to Cincinnati. And there I became acquainted with
Powers, a very few years only my senior, whom I found already the valued
friend of my mother and brother.

He was at that time--I well remember the look of him--a tall, lanky, but
remarkably handsome lad, somewhat awkward in person, but with a calm but
at the same time intellectually expressive beauty of feature which
marked him as one of Nature's noblemen. His eyes were the most
noticeable point about him. They were magnificent--large, clear,
well-opened, and expressive of calm thought and the working of the
intellect rather than of shrewdness or passion. His manner, I remember,
was marked by an exceeding simpleness, and a sort of innocent and
dignified straightforwardness which much impressed me. Altogether, my
acquaintance with him was a contribution of a new sort to the education
of my mind. I had passed eight years in the acquisition of those things
which an English "gentleman's education" is supposed to offer. These
things (in the year 1829) consisted in a very fair knowledge of Latin
and Greek. Unquestionably, the eight years which I had spent in learning
those languages had brought with them other advantages and other
teachings of an altogether priceless sort. But what they professedly had
taught me, what I then considered as the net result of my eight years at
school, was a competent knowledge of Latin and Greek, and nothing else.
Now, here was a young man of my own age, or little more, about whose
idiosyncrasy there was something especially _simpatico_ to me, as
the Italians say--who knew nothing whatever of the only things which I
knew, but knew a whole world of thin