me this excellent 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