AND SE

—-

‘THIS IS TRUE LIBERT

WEW SBRIsS.

EE ee

+

wee

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF EBE- NEZER ELLIOTT. {Concladed.)

On my return from the land of the great pan I was again sent to Hollis school; where, ss was my wont in all cases, [ took the shortest ways to my objects ; and the easiest way to ge. my suins done was to let John Ross do them for ne. This practice, in its consequences, added nota little to my reputation for duncery at home. Yet | have an impression that J was looked up to by my schoolfellows—] eannot tell why; for I never fought; and Tthink they must have suspected me to be rather wanting in certain learned ac- complishments, [sxy 1 never fought, and yet my brother Gries, when in danger, always took me out to defend him. How allthis happened | am at a loss to con- ceive, for | took no pains to bring it about. But having got into the rule of three, without having first learned numeration,

addition, subtraction, and division, I was |

sent by my despairin parents to Dalton

school, two miles trou Masbro’; and | see | ’

at this moment, as vividly asif nearly fifty ears had not since pissed over me, the ingfisher shooting along the Don as | passed ecloolward through the Aldward meadows, eating my dinner four hours before dinner-time. But, oh! the misery of reading without having learned to spell. The name of the master was Brunskill, ~-a broken hearted Cumberland man— one of the best of living creatures—a Bort

ef sad looking, halfstarved angel without |

wings; aud | have stood for hoars beside his desk, with tears running down my face, utterly ueable to set down one cor- rect fiyure. [ deubt whether he ever sus-

pected that | had not been taught the’

preliminary rules, 1 actually did not know that they were necessary, and hooked on a boy who could doa sum in vulgar fractions as a sort of magician, Dreading school, | absented myself from it during the Sammer months of the second year—* playing truant” about

Dalton, Deign, and Silverwood, or Thry- |

bergh Park, where [ stole duck eggs,

mistaking them for the eggs of wild birda, and was brought befure Madame Finch. |

She, seeing what a simpleton | was, re- leased me with a reprimand.

Let it not be supposed that these were happy days. I was utterly miserable. J trembled when 1 drew near home, for I knew not how to answer the questions which I feared my father would put to me. Sometimes { avoided them by slinking to ded without supper—which, to a lad who took care to eat his dinner soon afier dbreakfasting, could not be convenient. It was impossible, however, to prevent wy father from discovering that I was

learning nothing but vagabondism, or fr6in suspecting that my slow progress | Was owing more to idleness than to want

of abiluy to learn. He set me to work ia the fotndry as a punishment. But working in the foundry, so far from being & punishment to me, relieved me from the sense of inferiority which had so long depressed me; for | was not found to be feae clever there than other beginners. For this there was a sufficient reason: I had been familiar, from my infancy, with the processes of the manufactory, and possibly a keen though silent observer of them. The resuit of this experiment vexed the experimenter—and he had good cause for vexation ; for it soon ap- os that 1 could play my part at the

ork-Keelman with tie best of his cus- tomers. Yet I never thoroughly relished the rude company avd coarse enjoyments of the alehouse. My thoughts constantly wendered to the canal banks and my little ships; and—I know not why, but—I al- ways built my fortresses aye, and my

Y WHEN FREe-BORN MEN

Ant Ae itt

|

_ castles in the air, too, where the flowers | were the finest. Atthis time I had strong religious impressions ; and (when there was service) | seldom missed attending the Chapel of Parson Allard—a character who might have sate for Scott’s picture of | Dominie Sampson. But I sometimes | went to the Masbro’ Chapel (Walker's, it | was then called), to hear Mr. Groves, one of the most eloquent and dignified of men, _bat hated by my father (who was a capital hater) for some nothing or other of dis- ) cipline or of doctrine. I+was on iy way, | I believe, to hear him, when I called, one | Sunday, on my aunt Robinson—a widow, left with three children and about £30 a year,on which (God knows how!) she | contrived to live respeciably, and to give | her two sons an education which ultimate- ly made them both gentlemen. [thought | she received me coldly. She did not, | think, know that | had been tipsy a meht ‘or two before; but 1 was conscience- stricken. After a minute's silence, she /rose, and Jaid before me a number of |“ Sewerby’s English Botany,” which her son Benjamin, then apprenticed fo Doctor Stainforth, of Sheffield, was purchasing monthly. Never shall f forget the im- pression made on me by the beautiful plates. f actually touched the figure of the primrose, half convinced — that the mealiness on the leaves was real. [ felt hurt when ehe removed the book from me; but she removed it only to show me | how to draw the figures, by holding thein ito the light, with a thin piece of paper before them. On finding that I could so draw thein correctly, T was lifted at once above the inmates of the alehouse at least a fuot in mental stature. My first. effort was a copy from the primrosé; under whieh {always fond of fine words) [ wrote its | Latin name, Primula veris vulgaris. So, thenceforward, when T happened to have a spare hour, 1 went tomy aunt’s to draw, But she had not yet shewn me all the wealth of her Benjamin. The next re- vealed marvel was his book of dried plants. Coldinbus when he discovered ‘the New World was not a greater man ‘than [ at that moment; for no misgiving crossed my mind that the discovery was /not my own, and no Awerico Vespucius | disputed the hunour of it with me, But | (alas, for the strength of mny religious im- | pressions!) thenceforth often did Parson | Allard inquire why Eb. was not at Cha- | pel ?—for [ passed my Sandays in gather- ing flowers, that I might make pictures of them. [ had then, as now, no taste for the science of botany, the classification of which seemed to ine to be like prepara- tions for sending flowers to prison. I be- gan, however, to feel mannish. There ws a mystery aboutme, People stopped me with my plants, and asked me what diseases | was goingtocure? But I was not in the least aware that [ was learning the art of poetry, which I then hated— especially Pope’s, which gave me the headache if I heard it read aloud. My wanderings, however, soon made me ac- quainted with the nightingales in Basing- thorpe Spring, where, I am told, they still sing sweetly; and with a beautiful green snake, about a yard Jong, which on the fine Sabbath mornings, about ten o’clock, seemed to expect me at the top ef Primrose lane. It became so familiar that it ceased to uncurl at my approach. I have sate on the style beside it till it seemed un- conscious of my presence; and when I rose to go, it would only lift the scales behind its head or the skin beneath them —and they shone in the sun Jike fire. I

—HAVING TO ADVISE THE PUBLIC—MAY SPEAK FREE”—_M

CHARLOTTETOWN, FE

know not how often this beautiful and harmless child of God may have “sate | for his picture” in my writings —a dozen, at least; but, wherever! might happen to | meet with any of its brettiren or sisters, |

miner, —

Mi-WEREKLY INTELLIG

- ~~

tee ten tet eeneetcepetitenn-nattinean

BRUARY 27, 1850.

if drawn, was sure to be that of my first snake-love.

| had now become a person of some note; and if I let my wondering adorers suppose that I copied my figures of plants, not at second hand, but from the plants which they saw I was in the habit of col- lecting—pardon me, outraged spirit of rath! for [had been so long a stranger to the voice of praise, and it sounded so sweetly to my unaccustomed ears, that | could not refuse to welcome it when it came. But my dried plants were unde- miably iny own; and so obvious was their merit, that even my all praised and all able brother sometimes condescended to look at and admire my “ Hortus Siccus” —as 4 pompptsly named my book of spe- cimens. [t Was abont this time that I

first beard him read the first book of!

Vhomson’s Seasons ; and he was a capi- tal reader—well aware, too, of that fact, When he came to the deseription of the polvanthus and auricola, ] waited innpa- tiently till he laid down the book; I then took it into the garden, « here t compared the description with the living flowers. Here was another new idea—botany in verse !—a prophecy that the days of scribbling were at hand. “But my earliest taste in poetry was like that of Bottor, the weaver, who of all things liked best “ascene totearacatin” Accordinuly, my first poetical atiempt was an unitation in rhyme of Thomson's blank verse thun- derstorim. I knew perfectly well that sheep could not take to tight after having heen killed, But the “ rhyme” seemed to be of opinion that they should be so de

scribed; aud as it dogeedly abided by thas perversity, there was nothing fur tt bittutlescribe my flock “ sendding away” after the lightning had slain them. I read the marvel to my cousin Benjamin, from whom I received infliction the first

of merciless criticism. God forgive him! —! never could. Neither could I help perceiving the superiority which his learn. | ing gave him over me; and never was I so happy as when listening to his recita- tions of Homer’s Greek, of which I did not understand a word.—and yet, after the elapse of nearly half a century, its music has not departed from my soul. Willingly, too, would i have shared the praises showered on my brother Giles —but, alas, how was that to be accom- plished? Hitherto, I had been as fat and round as a ball—T now became pale and lean. My health visibly suffered; but I had inly resolved to undert: ke the great task of self-intruction. I purchased a grammar; but proved unable to remem- ber a single rule, however laboriously committed to memory. Ahout a year afterwards I added the “Key” to my grammar, and read it throngb and through a hnndred times. I found at last, that by reflection, and by supplying elisions, &c.,

I could detect and correct grammatical |

errors. ‘i‘he pronouns bothered me most —-as they still do. At this moment, I do not know a single rule of grammar; and vet, | can now, I flatter myself, write inglish as correctly as Samuel Johnson could, and detect errors in a greater author—Samuel Bailey. Flashed with success, my enthusiasm knew no bounds. To the great joy of my father, I resolved to learn French. But, though I could, with ease, get and say my lessons, I could not remember a word of them; I, there- fore, at the end of a few weeks, gave up the attempt. For once, however, [ was lucky in calamity, for my French veacher,

not understanding the language himself, |

I was allowed to throw the blame on him —which | did gloriously.

ENCER.

iLTon’s Eurtpimes.

a ete ee ee

et eet

__ Vor. 1-40, 8.

eflorts for itself. Those efforts, however, were fayoured by an aceident of impon- ance in the history of my education. A Clergyman, called Firth, wne held a poor Curacy ata desolate place, called Mid- dlesmoor, bequeathed to my father his library, containing, besides scores of Greek and Latin books, Barrow’s “ Ser- mons,” Ray’s “ Wisdom of God,” Derham’s “ Physico-Theology,” Young's “ Night Thoughts,” Lipaeste “ Medita-

tions,” Henepin’s “Travels,” and three volumes of the “ Royal M wazine,” em- bellished with views of iy, Madras,

the Falls of Niagara, Pope’s Villa at Twickenham, and tine coloured represen- tations of foreign birds, . My writings owe something to all these books; par. ticularly to Henepin, whocarried me with bin from Niagara to the Mississippi. | was wever weary of Barrow: he and

Young taught me bow to condense, Ray, also, was a favourite... The picture of

Pope’s Villa induced me to buy his Essay on Man,” but could not enable ine to like it. In the © Royal Magazine” { found the narrative of a shipwreck ona South Sea Island; on which { made a romance, in blank verse, twenty. years before Scott primed his « Lay of the Last Minstrel.” My next treasnre was Shen- stone; [| could repeat all the mottos, translated from the Greek. and Latin, which he has prefixed to his poems. I think he is now undervalned: ‘Then fo}- followed Milton, who held me captive long. T have said, T always took the shortest road to an object: this tendency led me into some errors, but is the prin. cipal cause of my ultimate stiecess as an author, f never could tead.@ feeble book «» through: it follows that ad master- pieces only—the best thoughts of the highest nunds—after Milton, Shakespeare —then Ossian—then Junius, with my father’s Jacobinism for a commentary— Paine’s * Common sense” — Swift’s * Tale of a Tub”’—“Joan of Arc”—Schiller’s

© Robbers” —Burger’s “ Leonora”—Gib-

bon’s “Decline and Fali”—and, lon

afierwards, Tasso, Dante. De Stael, Schle- gel, Hazlitt, and The Westminster Review. Kut T have a étrange memory. Some

times it fails me altogether; yet, when I was twelve years old, I almost knew the Bible by heart; and in my sixteenth year I conld repeat, without missing a word, the first, second, and sixth books of “ Pa- radise Lost!” If, then; I possess that power which is called genius, how great must be my moral demerits, for what have [ written that will bear any comparison with the least of my glotious models ? But £ possess not that glorions power. Time has developed in me, not genins, but powers which eXist in all men; and lie dormancin most, I cannot, like Byron and Montgomery, pour poetry from my heart hke an unfailing fountain; and of my inability to ideniify myself, hike Shak- speare and Scott, with the characters of other men, my abortive “ Kerhoneb,” * Taurepedes,” and similar rejected faii- utes, are melancholy instan¢es. My thoughts are all exterior—my mind és the mind of my own eyes. A primrose is to me a primrose, and nothing more—I love it becanse it is nothing more, There is not in my Writings one good idea that has not been suggested to me by some real occurrence, or by some object actually before my eyes, or by some re:nembered

object or occurrence, or by the thoughts

of other men, heard or read. If I possess any power at all allied to genius, it is that of making other men’s thoughts suggest thoughts to me which, whether origina! or not, are tome new. Some years ago

It would seem, that my poetical pro- pensities are traceable to certain acci- dents; but, that about the end of my

whatever the scene might be, the portrait, | fourteeth year, mv mind began to meke | i

LL NC ACO

my late excejjent neighbour, John Hep-

penstel, after shewing me the plates of

Audubon’s * Big@f America,” requested me te address a Tew verses to the author.

re