consider the subject with earnestness. And whatever, in after years,
were the errors of his life, he never, from that hour, ceased to have
a solemn sense of the verities of the Christian religion.

At Oxford, he paid little attention to his regular tasks, but read, or
rather devoured, all the books he could lay his hands on, and began to
display his unrivalled conversational powers, being often seen
"lounging about the college gates, with a circle of young students
around him, whom he was entertaining with wit, keeping from their
studies, and sometimes rousing to rebellion against the college
discipline." He was, at this time, so miserably poor, that his shoes
were worn to tatters, and his feet appeared through them, to the
scandal of the Christ-Church men, when he occasionally visited their
college. Some compassionate individual laid a new pair at his door,
which he tossed away with indignation. At last,--his debts increasing,
his supplies diminishing, and his father becoming bankrupt,--he was,
in autumn 1731, compelled to leave college without a degree. In the
December of the same year his father died.

Perhaps there was not now in broad Britain a person apparently more
helpless and hopeless than this tall, half-blind, half-mad, and wholly
miserable lad, with ragged shoes, and no degree, left suddenly
fatherless in Lichfield. But he had a number of warm friends in his
native place, such as Captain Garrick, father of the actor, and
Gilbert Walmsley, Registrar of the Ecclesiastical Court, who would not
suffer him to starve outright. He had learning and genius; and he had,
moreover, under all his indolence and all his melancholy, an
indomitable resolution, which needed only to be roused to make all
obstacles melt before it. He knew that he was great and strong, and
would yet struggle into recognition. At first, however, nothing