elonging to the Thames.

His mind was fraught with independence, magnanimity, and every manly
virtue. I loved and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, and of
course strove to imitate him. In some measure I succeeded; I had pride
before, but he taught it to flow in proper channels. His knowledge of
the world was vastly superior to mine, and I was all attention to
learn. . . . My reading only increased while in this town by two stray
volumes of "Pamela," and one of "Ferdinand Count Fathom," which gave me
some idea of novels. Rhyme, except some religious pieces that are in
print, I had given up; but meeting with Fergusson's Scottish Poems, I
strung anew my wildly sounding lyre with emulating vigour. When my
father died his all went among the hell-hounds that growl in the kennel
of justice; but we made a shift to collect a little money in the family
amongst us, with which to keep us together; my brother and I took a
neighbouring farm. My brother wanted my hare-brained imagination, as
well as my social and amorous madness; but in good sense, and every
sober qualification, he was far my superior.

I entered on this farm with a full resolution, "come, go to, I will be
wise!" I read farming books, I calculated crops; I attended markets;
and, in short, in spite of the devil, and the world, and the flesh, I
believe I should have been a wise man; but the first year, from
unfortunately buying bad seed, the second from a late harvest, we lost
half our crops. This overset all my wisdom, and I returned, "like the
dog to his vomit, and the sow that was washed, to her wallowing in the
mire."

I now began to be known in the neighbourhood as a maker of rhymes. The
first of my poetic offspring that saw the light was a burlesque
lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both of them
figuring in my "Holy Fair." I had a notion myself that the piece had
some merit; but, to prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it to a friend,
who was very fond of such things, and told him that I could not guess
who was the author of it, but that I thought it pretty clever. With a
certain description of the clergy, as well as laity, it met with a roar
of applause. "Holy Willie's Prayer" next made its appearance, and
alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they held several meetings to
look over their spiritual artillery, if haply any of it might be
pointed against profane rhymers. Unluckily for me, my wanderings led
me on another