Autobiography | Page 3

of his History and all else that he had to write during those
years.
The only thing besides Greek, that I learnt as a lesson in this part of my childhood, was
arithmetic: this also my father taught me: it was the task of the evenings, and I well
remember its disagreeableness. But the lessons were only a part of the daily instruction I
received. Much of it consisted in the books I read by myself, and my father's discourses
to me, chiefly during our walks. From 1810 to the end of 1813 we were living in
Newington Green, then an almost rustic neighbourhood. My father's health required
considerable and constant exercise, and he walked habitually before breakfast, generally
in the green lanes towards Hornsey. In these walks I always accompanied him, and with
my earliest recollections of green fields and wild flowers, is mingled that of the account I
gave him daily of what I had read the day before. To the best of my remembrance, this
was a voluntary rather than a prescribed exercise. I made notes on slips of paper while
reading, and from these in the morning walks, I told the story to him; for the books were
chiefly histories, of which I read in this manner a great number: Robertson's histories,
Hume, Gibbon; but my greatest delight, then and for long afterwards, was Watson's
Philip the Second and Third. The heroic defence of the Knights of Malta against the
Turks, and of the revolted Provinces of the Netherlands against Spain, excited in me an
intense and lasting interest. Next to Watson, my favourite historical reading was Hooke's
History of Rome. Of Greece I had seen at that time no regular history, except school
abridgments and the last two or three volumes of a translation of Rollin's _Ancient
History_, beginning with Philip of Macedon. But I read with great delight Langhorne's
translation of Plutarch. In English history, beyond the time at which Hume leaves off, I
remember reading Burnet's _History of his Own Time_, though I cared little for anything
in it except the wars and battles; and the historical part of the _Annual Register_, from
the beginning to about 1788, where the volumes my father borrowed for me from Mr.
Bentham left off. I felt a lively interest in Frederic of Prussia during his difficulties, and
in Paoli, the Corsican patriot; but when I came to the American War, I took my part, like
a child as I was (until set right by my father) on the wrong side, because it was called the
English side. In these frequent talks about the books I read, he used, as opportunity
offered, to give me explanations and ideas respecting civilization, government, morality,
mental cultivation, which he required me afterwards to restate to him in my own words.
He also made me read, and give him a verbal account of, many books which would not
have interested me sufficiently to induce me to read them of myself: among other's
Millar's _Historical View of the English Government_, a book of great merit for its time,
and which he highly valued; Mosheim's _Ecclesiastical History_, McCrie's _Life of John
Knox_, and even Sewell and Rutty's Histories of the Quakers. He was fond of putting
into my hands books which exhibited men of energy and resource in unusual

circumstances, struggling against difficulties and overcoming them: of such works I
remember Beaver's _African Memoranda_, and Collins's Account of the First Settlement
of New South Wales. Two books which I never wearied of reading were Anson's Voyages,
so delightful to most young persons, and a collection (Hawkesworth's, I believe) of
_Voyages round the World_, in four volumes, beginning with Drake and ending with
Cook and Bougainville. Of children's books, any more than of playthings, I had scarcely
any, except an occasional gift from a relation or acquaintance: among those I had,
Robinson Crusoe was pre-eminent, and continued to delight me through all my boyhood.
It was no part, however, of my father's system to exclude books of amusement, though he
allowed them very sparingly. Of such books he possessed at that time next to none, but he
borrowed several for me; those which I remember are the _Arabian Nights_, Cazotte's
_Arabian Tales_, _Don Quixote_, Miss Edgeworth's _Popular Tales_, and a book of
some reputation in its day, Brooke's Fool of Quality.
In my eighth year I commenced learning Latin, in conjunction with a younger sister, to
whom I taught it as I went on, and who afterwards repeated the lessons to my father; from
this time, other sisters and brothers being successively added as pupils, a considerable
part of my day's work consisted of this preparatory teaching. It was a part which I greatly
disliked; the more so, as I was held responsible for the