Beaux and Belles of England | Page 6

book from which the
clergyman read the lessons of the day; and nothing could keep me away,
even in the coldest seasons, but the stern looks of an old man, whom I
named Black John from the colour of his beard and complexion, and
whose occupations within the sacred precincts were those of a
bell-ringer and sexton.

As soon as I had learned to read, my great delight was that of learning
epitaphs and monumental inscriptions. A story of melancholy import
never failed to excite my attention; and before I was seven years old I
could correctly repeat Pope's "Lines to the Memory of an Unfortunate
Lady;" Mason's "Elegy on the Death of the Beautiful Countess of
Coventry," and many smaller poems on similar subjects. I had then
been attended two years by various masters. Mr. Edmund Broadrip
taught me music, my father having presented me with one of Kirkman's
finest harpsichords, as an incitement to emulation. Even there my
natural bent of mind evinced itself. The only melody which pleased me
was that of the mournful and touching kind. Two of my earliest
favourites were the celebrated ballad by Gay, beginning, "'Twas when
the sea was roaring," and the simple pathetic stanzas of "The Heavy
Hours," by the poet Lord Lyttelton. These, though nature had given me
but little voice, I could at seven years of age sing so pathetically that
my mother, to the latest hour of her life,' never could bear to hear the
latter of them repeated. They reminded her of sorrows in which I have
since painfully learned to sympathise.
The early hours of boarding-school study I passed under the tuition of
the Misses More, sisters to the lady of that name whose talents have
been so often celebrated.[4] The education of their young pupils was
undertaken by the five sisters. "In my mind's eye," I see them now
before me; while every circumstance of those early days is minutely
and indelibly impressed upon my memory.
I remember the first time I ever was present at a dramatic
representation: it was the benefit of that great actor[5] who was
proceeding rapidly toward the highest paths of fame, when death,
dropped the oblivious curtain, and closed the scene for ever. The part
which he performed was King Lear; his wife, afterward Mrs. Fisher,
played Cordelia, but not with sufficient _éclat_ to render the profession
an object for her future exertions. The whole school attended, Mr.
Powel's two daughters being then pupils of the Misses More. Mrs. John
Kemble, then Miss P. Hopkins, was also one of my schoolfellows, as
was the daughter of Mrs. Palmer, formerly Miss Pritchard, and
afterward Mrs. Lloyd. I mention these circumstances merely to prove
that memory does not deceive me.
In my early days my father was prosperous, and my mother was the

happiest of wives. She adored her children; she devoted her thoughts
and divided her affections between them and the tenderest of husbands.
Their spirits now, I trust, are in happier regions, blest, and reunited for
ever.
If there could be found a fault in the conduct of my mother toward her
children, it was that of a too unlimited indulgence, a too tender care,
which but little served to arm their breast against the perpetual arrows
of mortal vicissitude. My father's commercial concerns were crowned
with prosperity. His house was opened by hospitality, and his
generosity was only equalled by the liberality of fortune: every day
augmented his successes; every hour seemed to increase his domestic
felicity, till I attained my ninth year, when a change took place as
sudden as it was unfortunate, at a moment when every luxury, every
happiness, not only brightened the present, but gave promise of future
felicity. A scheme was suggested to my father, as wild and romantic as
it was perilous to hazard, which was no less than that of establishing a
whale fishery on the coast of Labrador, and of civilising the Esquimaux
Indians, in order to employ them in the extensive undertaking. During
two years this eccentric plan occupied his thoughts by day, his dreams
by night: all the smiles of prosperity could not tranquillise the restless
spirit, and while he anticipated an acquirement of fame, he little
considered the perils that would attend his fortune.
My mother (who, content with affluence and happy in beholding the
prosperity of her children, trembled at the fear of endangering either),
in vain endeavoured to dissuade my father from putting his favourite
scheme in practice. In the early part of his youth he had been
accustomed to a sea life, and, being born an American, his restless
spirit was ever busied in plans for the increase of wealth and honour to
his native country, whose fame and interest were then united to those of