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PREFACE

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THE SECOND EDITION.

THE Author of this little work thinks

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necessary to say,

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in justification of the manner in which it is executed, that it was designed chiefly for a class of persons much neglected, as it appears to him, by the writers of the present day -neither the very young, nor the mature, but those who, having escaped from the nursery, or the petty seminary, are entering upon the severer trials of the larger school, or the university. These

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may be considered as the seed-corn of our future harvests of good and great men. And, so anxious is the Author for its preservation, that he considers himself as well employed, if, while he leaves the accomplishment of loftier objects to men of higher pretensions, he devotes himself faithfully and affectionately to the prosecution of this.

Harrow, Nov. 7, 1816,

SANCHO.

CHAP. I.

A FAMILY PICTURE.

OF my parents I can say very little, for they died before I was two years old. But of my aunt Winifred, to whom my father committed me on his dying bed, as she is likely to act a very prominent part in this history, I feel it right to say a great deal.-She was, then, a little, round, well-conditioned person, with a remarkable air of self-complacency. Her eye was rather dull; her mouth had that sort of gentle elevation of the corners, which is not an unusual symbol of satisfaction with ourselves, and of a kind of quiet contempt for others. She

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was neatness itself; so that if the Hindoos, who have, it is said, at least thirty thousand divinities, and therefore must have a god or goddess for almost every thing, should ever determine to erect a pagoda to the Goddess of Neatness, they would, I am persuaded, feel a very serious loss indeed in my aunt, as the priestess of it. She was, moreover, so remarkably punctual as to render any clock or watch almost unnecessary in the place where she lived. A modern philosophical writer, in illustrating the force of habit, mentions an instance of an ideot, who lived for many years in the same room with a clock, by which he was much interested. It was at last removed; but the poor creature, faithful to his loquacious friend, continued for many years to cluck for sixty minutes, and then to strike, in regular succession, the hours with his hand upon the table. Now, I do not mean to say that my aunt either clucked or struck for the benefit of the neighbourhood; but she

did what was quite as much to the purpose. When, from Lady-day to Michaelmas, she appeared in fine weather at the sheep-fold (for she was scrupulously attentive to her health) to catch the morning breath of the sheep, it was precisely eight o'clock. When she stooped in the broad, sunny, gravel walk, to gather agrimony or rosemary for her breakfast, it was precisely nine. At five minutes after nine her bell rang-not for family prayers-I wish it hadbut for Harry to bring Pug and two cats their breakfast. Exactly ten minutes after this, the first hissings of her own urn were heard; and, at precisely ten, this great business in the life of an idle person being accomplished, the breakfast vanished-crumbs and all.

My aunt was constitutionally cautious. The high sense she had learned to entertain of her own value to the community, had so strengthened this inbred tendency, that the greatest part of every day was spent in considering how

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