CTF RACTE RS. 
Esher, in Surrey, in the house of the 
reverend Mr. Philip Francis, in a 
pleasant spot, which promised to 
unite the various benefits of air, ex- 
ercise, and study (January 1752). 
The translator of Horace might 
have taught me to relish the Latin 
poets, had not my friends disco- 
vered in a few wecks, that he pre- 
ferred the pleasures of London to 
the instruction of his pupils. My 
father’s perplexity at this time, ra- 
ther than his prudence, was urged 
to embrace a singular and desperate 
measure. Without preparation or 
delay he carried me to Oxford: 
.and I was matricalated in the uni- 
versity as a gentleman commoner of 
Magdalen college, before 1 had ac- 
complished the fifteenth year of my 
age (April 3, 1752).- 
The curiosity, which had been 
implanted in my infant mind, was 
still alive and aétive; but my rea- 
son was not sufficiently informed 
to understand the value, or to la- 
ment the loss, of three precious 
years from my entrance at West- 
minter, to my admission at Oxford. 
Instead of repining at my long and 
frequent confinement to the cham. 
ber or the couch, I secretly rejoiced 
in those infirmities, which deliver- 
ed me from the exercises of the 
school, and the society of my 
equals. As often as | was tolera- 
bly exempt from danger and pain, 
reading, free desultory reading, was 
the employment and comfort of my 
solitary hours. At Westminster, 
my aunt sought only to amuse and 
indulge me ; in my stations at Bath 
and Winchestér, at Buriton and 
Putney, a false compassion respected 
my sufferings; and I was allowed 
without controul or advice, to gra- 
tify the wanderings of an unripe 
taste. My indiscriminate appetite 
[325 
subsided by degrees in the historic 
line: and since philosophy has ex- 
ploded all innate ideas and natural 
propensities, I must ascribe this 
choice to the assiduous perusal of 
the Universal History, as the oc- 
tavo volumes successively appeared. 
This unegual work, and a treatise 
of Hearne, the Dudor historicus, re- 
ferred and introduced me to the 
Greek and Roman historians, to as 
many at least as were accessible to 
an English reader. All that I could 
find were greedily devoured, from 
Littlebury’s lame Herodotus, and 
Spelman’s valuable Xenophon, to 
the pompous folios of Gordon’s 
Tacitus, and a ragged Procopius 
of the beginning of the last cen- 
tury. The cheap acquisition of so 
much knowledge confirmed my 
dislike to the study of languxges ; 
and I argued with Mrs. Porten, 
that, were I a master of Greek and 
Latin, I must interpret to myself 
in English the thoughts of the ori- 
ginal, and that such extemporary 
versions must be inferior to the 
elaborate translations of professed 
scholars; a silly sophism, which 
could not easily be confuted by a 
person ignorant of any other lan- 
guage than her own. From the an- 
cient I leaped to the medern world: 
many crude lumps of Speed, Rapin, 
Mezeray, Davila, Machiavel, Fa- 
ther Paul, Bower, &c. I devoured 
like so many novels; and I swal- 
lowed with the same voracious ap- 
petite the descriptions of India and 
China, of Mexico and Peru. 
My first introduction to the 
historic scenes, which have since 
engaged so many years of my life, 
must be ascribed to an accident. 
In the summer of 1751, I accom. 
panied my father on a visit to Mr. 
Hoare’s in Wiltshire; but I was 
Y3 less 
