The Farmers Boy | Page 3

"in such houses as are let to poor people in London, to have light Garrets fit for Mechanics to work in. In the Garret, where we had two turn-up Beds, and five of us worked, I received little ROBERT."
"As we were all single Men, Lodgers at a Shilling per week each, oar beds were coarse, and all things far from being clean and snug, like what Robert_ had left at SAPISTON. _Robert was our man, to fetch all things to hand. At Noon he fetch'd our Dinners from the Cook's Shop: and any one of our fellow workmen that wanted to have any thing fetched in, would send him, and assist in his work and teach him, for a recompense for his trouble."
"Every day when the Boy from the Public-house came for the pewter pots, and to hear what Porter was wanted, he always brought the yesterday's Newspaper. [Footnote: There was then, neither as a resource for the exigencies of finance, nor as a Principle of supposed Policy, that unhappy Check which prevails now on the circulation of Newspapers, and other means of popular Information. L.] The reading of the Paper we had been us'd to take by turns; but after Robert came, he mostly read for us,... because his time was of least value."
"He frequently met with words that he was unacquainted with: of this he often complain'd. I one day happen'd at a Book-stall to see a small Dictionary, which had been very ill us'd. I bought it for him for 4d. By the help of this he in little time could read and comprehend the long and beautiful speeches of BURKE, FOX, or NORTH.
"One Sunday, after an whole day's stroll in the country, we by accident went into a dissenting Meeting-house_ in the _Old Jewry, where a Gentleman was lecturing. This Man fill'd Robert with astonishment. The House was amazingly crowded with the most genteel people; and though we were forc'd to stand still in the aisle, and were much press'd, yet Robert always quicken'd his steps to get into the Town on a Sunday evening soon enough to attend this Lecture.
"The Preacher lived somewhere at the West End of the Town ... his name was FAWCET. His language," says Mr. G. BLOOMFIELD, "was just such as the Rambler is written in; his Action like a person acting a Tragedy; his Discourse rational, and free from the Cant of Methodism.
"Of him Robert_ learn'd to accent what he call'd _hard words; and otherwise improv'd himself; and gain'd the most enlarg'd notions of PROVIDENCE.
"He went sometimes with me to a Debating Society?[Footnote: It is another of the Constitutional Refinements of these times to have fetter'd, and as to every valuable purpose, silenc'd, these Debating Societies. They were at least, to say the lowest of them, far better amusements than drunkenness, gambling, or fighting. They were no useless Schools to some of our very celebrated Speakers at the Bar and in Parliament: and, what is of infinitely more importance, they contributed to the diffusion of Political Knowledge and Public Sentiment. L.] at Coachmaker's-hall_, but not often; and a few times to Covent-garden Theatre_. These are all the opportunities he ever had to learn from Public Speakers. As to Books, he had to wade through two or three Folios: an History of England, British Traveller_, and a _Geography. But he always read them as a task, or to oblige us who bought them. And as they came in sixpenny numbers weekly, he had about as many hours to read as other boys spend in play."
"I at that time," proceeds his Brother, "read the London Magazine; and in that work about two sheets were set apart for a Review ... Robert seem'd always eager to read this Review. Here he could see what the Literary Men were doing, and learn how to judge of the merits of the Works that came out. And I observ'd that he always looked at the _Poet's Corner_. And one day he repeated a Song which he compos'd to an old tune. I was much surpris'd that a boy of sixteen [Footnote: He was probably 17; as appears on the statement from the Author himself. See N. to p. xvii.] should make so smooth verses: so I persuaded him to try whether the Editor of our Paper would give them a place in _Poet's Corner_. And he succeeded, and they were printed. And as I forget his other early productions, I shall copy this."
THE MILK-MAID, ON THE FIRST OF MAY.
Hail, MAY! lovely MAY! how replenish'd my pails!?The young Dawn overspreads the East streak'd with gold!?My glad heart beats time to the laugh of the Vales,?And COLIN'S voice rings through the woods from the fold.
The Wood to the Mountain submissively bends,?Whose blue misty summits first glow with the