thrown out towards the
road-way by the present occupier, who bears the name of Heywood. Here
the boy passed a quiet and most happy childhood. From the time that he
was three years old he read incessantly, for the most part lying on the
rug before the fire, with his book on the ground, and a piece of bread
and batter in his hand. A very clever woman, who then lived in the house
as parlour-maid, told how he used to sit in his nankeen frock, perched
on the table by her as she was cleaning the plate, and expounding to
her out of a volume as big as himself. He did not care for toys, but was
very fond of taking his walk, when he would hold forth to his companion,
whether nurse or mother, telling interminable stories out of his own
head, or repeating what he had been reading in language far above his
years. His memory retained without shout effort the phraseology of the
book which he had been last engaged on, and he talked, as the maid said,
"quite printed words," which produced an effect that appeared formal,
and often, no doubt, exceedingly droll. Mrs. Hannah More was fond
of relating how she called at Mr. Macaulay's, and was met by a fair,
pretty, slight child, with abundance of light hair, about four years of
age, who came to the front door to receive her, and tell her that his
parents were out, but that if she would be good enough to come in he
would bring her a glass of old spirits; a proposition which greatly
startled the good lady, who had never aspired beyond cowslip wine. When
questioned as to what he knew about old spirits, he could only say that
Robinson Crusoe often had some. About this period his father took him on
a visit to Lady Waldegrave at Strawberry Hill, and was much pleased, to
exhibit to his old friend the fair bright boy, dressed in a green coat
with red cellar and cuffs, a frill at the throat, and white trousers.
After some time had been spent among the wonders of the Orford
Collection, of which he ever after carried a catalogue in his head, a
servant who was waiting upon the company in the great gallery spilt some
hot coffee over his legs. The hostess was all kindness and compassion,
and when, after a while, she asked how he was feeling, the little fellow
looked up in her face and replied: "Thank you, madam, the agony is
abated."

But it must not be supposed that his quaint manners proceeded from
affectation or conceit; for all testimony declares that a more simple
and natural child never lived, or a