pose of debate, but of composition. These undoubtedly have some
disadvantages, where a bold, petulant, and disputatious temper happens
to be combined with considerable information and talent. Still,
however, in order to such a person {p.045} being actually spoiled by
his mixing in such debates, his talents must be of a very rare nature,
or his effrontery must be proof to every species of assault; for there
is generally, in a well-selected society of this nature, talent
sufficient to meet the forwardest, and satire enough to penetrate the
most undaunted. I am particularly obliged to this sort of club for
introducing me about my seventeenth year into the society which at one
time I had entirely dropped; for, from the time of my illness at
college, I had had little or no intercourse with any of my
class-companions, one or two only excepted. Now, however, about 1788,
I began to feel and take my ground in society. A ready wit, a good
deal of enthusiasm, and a perception that soon ripened into tact and
observation of character, rendered me an acceptable companion to many
young men whose acquisitions in philosophy and science were infinitely
superior to anything I could boast.

In the business of these societies--for I was a member of more than
one successively--I cannot boast of having made any great figure. I
never was a good speaker unless upon some subject which strongly
animated my feelings; and, as I was totally unaccustomed to
composition, as well as to the art of generalizing my ideas upon any
subject, my literary essays were but very poor work. I never attempted
them unless when compelled to do so by the regulations of the society,
and then I was like the Lord of Castle Rackrent, who was obliged to
cut down a tree to get a few fagots to boil the kettle; for the
quantity of ponderous and miscellaneous knowledge, which I really
possessed on many subjects, was not easily condensed, or brought to
bear upon the object I wished particularly to become master of. Yet
there occurred opportunities when this odd lumber of my brain,
especially that which was connected with the recondite parts of
history, did me, as Hamlet says, "yeoman's service." My memory of
events was like one of the large, old-fashioned stone-cannons of the
Turks--very difficult to load well {p.046} and discharge, but making
a powerful effect when by good chance any object did come within range
of its shot. Such fortunate opportunities of exploding with effec