22 THE BOY. 



were under the superintendence of a single master, and 

 when it is added that the competence of that master's 

 acquirements and the excellence of his character were 

 qualified by sluggishness and associated with no force, 

 fineness, or sympathetic richness of mind, it will be evi- 

 dent that little deserving the name of education could be 

 had in the place. A boy of six, however strong his in- 

 tellectual bent, requires a certain amount of well-applied 

 compulsion to induce him to prefer his lessons to his play. 

 Hugh, left to do as he chose, preferred the latter ; but if, 

 in his lessons, he was ' an egregious trifler/ he was intel- 

 lectual enough in his sports. In addition to the nursery 

 treasures already mentioned, the narratives of Cook, 

 Anson, and Woods Rogers afforded him inexhaustible de- 

 light, and inflamed him with a passionate desire to be a 

 sailor. He spent much of his time sauntering about the 

 harbour, or peering and prying aboard the ships. One of 

 his amusements was to trace on the maps of an old geogra- 

 phical grammar the path of vessels to and from the coun- 

 tries visited by his father or by Uncle Sandy. He began 

 to compose before he could write. ' I was in the habit/ 

 he says, in the account of his life previously referred to, 

 1 of quitting my school companions for the sea-shore, 

 where I would saunter for whole hours, pouring out long 

 blank verse effusions (rhyme was a discovery of after date) 

 about sea-fights, storms, ghosts, and desert islands. 

 These effusions were no sooner brought to a close than 

 forgotten ; and no one knew anything of them but my- 

 self ; for I had not yet attained the art of writing, and I 

 could compose only when alone/ That passion for lin- 

 guistic expression, that rapture in fitting thought and 

 emotion to words, by which nature seems to point out 

 the born literary man, was already characteristic of 

 Miller. 



