As soon as the use of speech had prepared my infant reason for the
admission of knowledge, I was taught the arts of reading, writing,
and arithmetic. So remote is the date, so vague is the memory of
their origin in myself, that, were not the error corrected by
analogy, I should be tempted to conceive them as innate. In my
childhood I was praised for the readiness with which I could
multiply and divide, by memory alone, two sums of several figures;
such praise encouraged my growing talent; and had I persevered in
this line of application, I might have acquired some fame in
mathematical studies.

After this previous institution at home, or at a day school at
Putney, I was delivered at the age of seven into the hands of Mr.
John Kirkby, who exercised about eighteen months the office of my
domestic tutor. His learning and virtue introduced him to my
father; and at Putney he might have found at least a temporary
shelter, had not an act of indiscretion driven him into the world.
One day reading prayers in the parish church, he most unluckily
forgot the name of King George: his patron, a loyal subject,
dismissed him with some reluctance, and a decent reward; and how the
poor man ended his days I have never been able to learn. Mr. John
Kirkby is the author of two small volumes; the Life of Automathes
(London, 1745), and an English and Latin Grammar (London, 1746);
which, as a testimony of gratitude, he dedicated (Nov. 5th, 1745) to
my father. The books are before me: from them the pupil may judge
the preceptor; and, upon the whole, his judgment will not be
unfavourable. The grammar is executed with accuracy and skill, and
I know not whether any better existed at the time in our language:
but the Life of Automathes aspires to the honours of a philosophical