intellectual fame, _that_, as the essential accompaniment, was never once
lost sight of. Pride still clung to me--and was fed throughout. I was
eighteen years of age, and I desired to enter the university. I fixed
upon Oxford, as holding out a better prospect of success than the sister
seat of learning. I enquired what sum of money was necessary for my
education there; and received for answer, that two hundred pounds a-year
might carry me comfortably through, but that, with some economy and
self-denial, a hundred and fifty might be sufficient. It is a curious
circumstance that the very post which brought this information, brought
likewise a letter from my uncle, offering, as my guardian, and at his own
expense, to send me to the university. I was indignant at the
proposition, and vowed, before his letter was half read, that I would
rather live upon a meal a-day, than owe my bread to one whom I regarded
as my father's foe. Does it not strike you, sir, as somewhat singular,
that my father should make this man executor, trustee, and guardian? Men
do not generally appoint their enemies to such offices. I wrote to my
uncle in reply, declined coldly but respectfully his offer, and told him
my intention. Here our correspondence ended, and six months afterwards my
name was on the boards of my college. I went up knowing no one, but
carrying from my friend, the schoolmaster, a letter of introduction to a
clergyman who had been his college friend, and who (now married and the
father of one child) earned his subsistence by taking pupils. I was
received by this poor but worthy man with extreme kindness. He read the
character which I had brought with me, and bade me make his house my
home. His hospitality was at first a great advantage to me. My slender
income compelled me to exercise rigid economy--and to avoid all company.
Although very poor, I have told you that I was already very proud. I
would not receive a favour which I could not pay back--I would not permit
the breath of slander to whisper a syllable against my name. There were
hours in which no book could be read with pleasure, which no study could