rly gone a considerable way in
the path of classic lore, and had turned aside, but who, now repenting
of their apostasy, returned to their former faith. These were likewise
well grown up, and I may state that they are now both eminent as
scholars and public men. The individual first mentioned and I sat in the
master's desk, which he rarely, if ever, occupied himself; and although
we were diligent upon the whole, yet occasionally our industry and
conduct as learners were far from deserving approbation. To me the
confinement was frequently irksome and oppressive, especially when the
days were bright with the beauty of sunshine. There were ways, woods,
and even wilds, not far apart from the village, which seemed eternally
wooing the step to retirement, and the mind to solitary contemplation.
Some verses written in this school have been preserved, which will
convey an idea of the cast of feeling which produced them:--

"Discontented and uncheery,
Of this noise and learning weary,
Half my mind, to madness driven,
Woos the lore by nature given;
'Mong fair fields and flowing fountains,
Lonely glens and lofty mountains,
Charm'd with nature's wildest grandeur,
Lately wont was I to wander,
Wheresoever fancy led me,
Came no barrier to impede me;
Still from early morn till even,
In the light of earth and heaven,
Musing on whatever graces,
Livelier scenes or lonelier places,
Till a nameless pleasure found me
Living, like a dream, around me,--
How, then, may I be contented,
Thus confined and thus tormented!

"'Still, oh! still 'twere lovelier rather
To be roaming through the heather;
And where flow'd the stream so glassy,
'Mong its flowers and margins mossy,
Where the flocks at noon their path on
Came to feed by birk and hawthorn;
Or upon the mountain lofty,
Seated where the wind blew softly,
With my faithful friend beside me,
And my plaid from sun to hide me,
And the volume oped before me,
I would trace the minstrel's story,
Or mine own wild harp awaken,
'Mid the deep green glens of braken,
Free and fearlessly revealing
All the soul of native feeling.

"''Stead of that eternal humming,
To the ear for ever coming--
Humming of these thoughtless beings,
In their restless pranks and pleaings;
And the sore-provoked preceptor
Roaring, "Silence!"--O'er each quarte