master left our school, and went to Stafford, where he taught for many years.  It may be perhaps as well to mention, that the first verses which I wrote were a task imposed by my master; the subject, ‘The Summer Vacation;’ and of my own accord I added others upon ‘Return to School.’  There was nothing remarkable in either poem; but I was called upon, among other scholars, to write verses upon the completion of the second centenary from the foundation of the school in 1585, by Archbishop Sandys.  These verses were much admired, far more than they deserved, for they were but a tame imitation of Pope’s versification, and a little in his style.  This exercise, however, put it into my head to compose verses from the impulse of my own mind, and I wrote, while yet a school-boy, a long poem running upon my own adventures, and the scenery of the country in which I was brought up.  The only part of that poem which has been preserved is the conclusion of it, which stands at the beginning of my collected Poems [’Dear native regions,’ &c.].

In the month of October, 1787, I was sent to St. John’s College, Cambridge, of which my uncle, Dr. Cookson, had been a fellow.  The master, Dr. Chevallier, died very soon after;[18] and, according to the custom of that time, his body, after being placed in the coffin, was removed to the hall of the college, and the pall, spread over the coffin, was stuck over by copies of verses, English or Latin, the composition of the students of St. John’s.  My uncle seemed mortified when upon inquiry he learnt that none of these verses were from my pen, ‘because,’ said he, ’it would have been a fair opportunity for distinguishing yourself.’  I did not, however, regret that I had been silent on this occasion, as I felt no interest in the deceased person, with whom I had had no intercourse, and whom I had never seen but during his walks in the college grounds.

[18] He was succeeded by Dr. Craven in 1789.

When at school, I, with the other boys of the same standing, was put upon reading the first six books of Euclid, with the exception of the fifth; and also in algebra I learnt simple and quadratic equations; and this was for me unlucky, because I had a full twelvemonth’s start of the freshmen of my year, and accordingly got into rather an idle way; reading nothing but classic authors according to my fancy, and Italian poetry.  My Italian master was named Isola, and had been well acquainted with Gray the poet.  As I took to these studies with much interest, he was proud of the progress I made.  Under his correction I translated the Vision of Mirza, and two or three other papers of the Spectator, into Italian.  In the month of August, 1790, I set off for the Continent, in companionship with Robert Jones, a Welshman, a fellow-collegian.  We went staff in hand, without knapsacks, and carrying each his needments tied up in a pocket handkerchief, with about twenty pounds apiece in our pockets.  We crossed from Dover and landed at Calais on the eve of the day when the king was to swear fidelity to the new constitution:  an event which was solemnised with due pomp at Calais.  On the afternoon of that day we started, and slept at Ardres.  For what seemed best to me worth recording in this tour, see the ’Poem of my own Life.’[19]