LETTER TO FINLAY. 97 



God." The Bible is a much more cheerful book than I 

 once used to think it, and has a world of sound philoso- 

 phy in it besides. 



'Do you remember how I stole you from John? 

 You were acquainted with him ere you knew me, and 

 used to spend almost all your play-hours with him on 

 the Links or in his little garden. But I fell in love with 

 you, and carried you off at the first pounce. And John 

 was left lamenting ! I brought you to the woods, and 

 the wild sea-shore, and the deep dark caves of the Sutors, 

 and taught you how to steal turnips and peas ; and 

 succeeded (though I could never get you improved into 

 a robber of orchards though you had no serious objec- 

 tion to the fruit when once stolen) in making you nearly 

 as accomplished a vagabond as myself. Are not you 

 grateful ? " The boy," Wordsworth says, " is father to 

 the man." If so, your boy-father was a warm-hearted 

 lonny laddie, worthy of all due honour from you in your 

 present filial relation ; but as for mine, I can't respect 

 the rascal, let the commandment run as it please. Don't 

 you remember how he used to lead you into every kind 

 of mischief, and make you play truant three days out of 

 four ? A perfect Caliban, too. 



" I'll show thee the best springs, I'll pluck thee berries, 

 And I, with my long nails, will dig thee pig-nuts." 



But he's gone, poor fellow ! and his son, a much graver 

 person, who writes a highly sensible letter, has a thorough 

 respect for all his father's old friends, and steals neither 

 peas nor turnips. Fine thing, dearest Finlay, to be able 

 now and then to play the fool. I wouldn't give my non- 

 sense to be sure the amount is immensely greater for 

 all my sense twice told. 



' You give me the outlines of your history, and I 



YOL. II. 7 



