them keep their places in my memory to the present day. And though it
may seem incredible to some, I actually committed to memory every hymn
in the Wesleyan Hymn Book. I never knew them all off at one time, but I
got them all off in succession. And I never forgot the better, truer,
simpler, sweeter ones. I can repeat hundreds of them still, with the
exception of here and there a stanza or two. And I committed to memory
all the better portion of the new hymns introduced into the hymn book
by the Methodist New Connection. And I committed to memory choice pieces
of poetry without number. I read Shakespeare till I could quote many of
his best passages, including nearly all his soliloquies, and a number of
long conversations, as readily as I could quote the sacred writings.

I read all Bunyan's works. I could tell the story of his Pilgrim from
beginning to end. I read Robinson Crusoe, and some of the other works of
Defoe. I read Addison and Johnson, Goldsmith and Swift. To get at the
origin and at the primitive meaning of words, I studied French and
German, as well as Latin and Greek. When I met with passages in English
authors that expressed great truths in a style that was not to my taste,
I used to translate them into my own style, just as I did fine passages
from Latin, Greek, or French authors. I also translated poetical
passages into prose. I tried sometimes to translate things into the
language of children, and in some cases I succeeded. I did my best to
keep in mind how I felt, and what I could understand, when I was a child
and a boy, and endeavored to keep my style as near as I could to the
level of my boyish understanding. My first superintendent did not
approve of my plan. "The proper way," said he, "is, not to go down to
the people; but to compel the people to come up to you." He was fond of
a swelling, high-sounding, long-winded style. How far he succeeded in
bringing people up to himself, I cannot say, but I recollect once
hearing a pupil of his talk a whole hour without uttering either a