WILLIAM COBBETT. 77 



of my father and mother. There is a hill, not far from the 

 tovm, called Crooksbury Hill, which rises up out of a flat, in 

 the form of a cone, and is planted with Scotch fir-trees. 

 Here I used to take the eggs and young ones of crows and 

 magpies. This hill was a famous object in the neighbour- 

 hood. It served as tlie superlative degi^ee of height. "As 

 high as Crooksbury Hill" meant with us the utmost degree 

 of height. Therefore, the first object that my eyes sought 

 was this hill. 1 could not believe my eyes I Literally speak- 

 ing, I for a moment thought the famous hill removed, and 

 a little heap put in its stead; for I had seen, in New 

 Brunswick, a single rock, or hill of solid rock, ten times as 

 big, and four or five times as high ! The postboy, going 

 down hill, and not a bad road, whisked me, in a few minutes, 

 to the Bush Inn, from the garden of which I could see the 

 prodigious sand-hill where I had begun my gardening works. 

 What a nothing ! But now came rushing into my mind, all 

 at once, my pretty little garden, my little blue smock-frock, 

 my little nailed shoes, my pretty pigeons that I used to feed 

 out of my hands, the last kind words and tears of my gentle, 

 and tender-hearted, and affectionate mother ! I hastened 

 back into the room. If I had looked a moment longer, I 

 should have dropped. When I came to reflect, what a 

 change ! I looked down at my dress. What a change 1 

 What scenes I had gone through ! How altered my state ! 

 I had dined the day before at the Secretary of State's, in 

 company with Mr. Pitt, and had been waited upon by men 

 in gaudy liveries ! I had had nobody to assist me in the 

 world. No teachers of any sort. Nobody to shelter me from 

 the consequences of bad, and no one to counsel me to good 

 behaviour. I felt proud. The distinctions of rank, birth, 



