322] 
as the sole surviving pledge of their 
loves. The storm of passion in- 
sensibly subsided into calmer me- 
Jancholy. Ata convivial meeting 
of his friends, Mr. Ginbon might 
affeét or enjoy a gleam of cheer- 
fulness; but his plan of happiness 
was for ever destroyed ; and after 
the loss of his companion he was 
left alone in a world, of which the 
business and pleasures were to him 
irksome or insipid. After some 
unsuccessful trials he renounced the 
tumult of London and the hospita- 
lity of Putney, and buried hjmself 
in the rural or rather rusiic soli- 
tude of Buriton ; from which, dur- 
ing several years, he seldom emerg- 
ed. . 
As far back as I can remember, 
the house,. near Putney-bridge 
and church-vard, of my maternal 
grandfather, appears in the light of 
_my proper and native home. It 
was there that I was allowed to 
spend the greatest part of my time, 
in sickness or in health, during my 
school vacations and my parents’ 
residence in London, and finally 
after my mother’s death. | ‘Uhree 
months after that event, in the 
spring of 1748, the commercial ruin 
of her father, Mr. James Porten, 
was accomplished and declared. 
He suddenly absconded ; but as his 
effets were not sold, nor the house 
evacuated, till rhe Christmas follow- 
ing, I enjoyed during the whole 
year the society of my aunt, with. 
out much consciousness of her im- 
pending fate. I feel a melancholy 
Jeasure in repeating my obliga- 
tions to that excellent woman, Mrs, 
Catherine Porten, the true mother 
of my mind and health. Her na- 
tural good sense was improved by 
the perusal of the best books in the 
English language ; and if her rea-. 
ANNUAL REGISTER, 1796. 
son was sometimes clouded by pre- 
judice, her sentiments were never 
disguised by hypocrisy or affecta- 
tion. Her indulgent tenderness, the 
‘frankness of her temper, and my 
innate rising curiosity, soon remov- | 
ed all distance between us: like 
friends of an equal age, we freely 
conversed on every topic, familiar 
or abstruse; and it was her delight 
and reward to observe the first 
shoots of my young ideas. Pain 
and languor were often soothed by 
the voice of instruction and amuse- 
ment; and to her kind lessons fF 
ascribe my early and invincible love 
of reading, which I would not ex- 
change for the treasures of India. 
I should perhaps be astonished, were 
it possible to ascertain the date, at 
which a favourite tale was engrav- 
ed, by frequent repetition, in my 
memory : the Cavern of the Winds ; 
the Palace of Felicity ; and the fa~ 
tal moment, at the end of three 
months or centuries, when prince 
Adolphus is overtaken by ‘Time, 
who had worn out so many pair of 
wings in the pursuit. Before I left 
Kingston school I was well ac- 
-quainted with Pope’s Homer and 
the Arabian Nights Entertainments, 
two books which will always please 
by the moving picture of human 
manners and specious miracles: nor 
was I then capable of discerning 
that Pope’s translation is a portrait 
endowed with every merit, except. 
ing that of likeness to the original, 
‘The verses of Pope accustomed my 
ear to the sound of poetic harmony : 
in the death: of Heétor, and the 
shipwreck’of Ulysses, I tasted the 
new emotions of terror and pity; 
and seriously.disputed with my aunt 
“on the vices and virtues of the he- 
roes of the Trojan’ war, From 
Pope’s Homer to Dryden's Virgil 
was 
, 
