er much debate it was
determined to fix me for some years at Lausanne, in Switzerland, under
the roof and tuition of M. Pavilliard, a Calvinist minister. Suddenly
cast on a foreign land, I found myself deprived of the use of speech and
hearing, incapable of asking or answering a question in the common
intercourse of life. Such was my first introduction to Lausanne, a place
where I spent nearly five years with pleasure and profit.

This seclusion from English society was attended with the most solid
benefits. Before I was recalled home, French, in which I spontaneously
thought, was more familiar than English to my ear, my tongue, and my
pen. My awkward timidity was polished and emboldened; M. Pavilliard
gently led me from a blind and undistinguishing love of reading into the
path of instruction. He was not unmindful that his first task was to
reclaim me from the errors of popery, and I am willing to allow him a
handsome share of the honour of my conversion, though it was principally
effected by my private reflections.

It was now that I regretted the early years which had been wasted in
sickness or idleness or mere idle reading, and I determined to supply
this defect. My various reading I now digested, according to the precept
and model of Mr. Locke, into a large commonplace book--a practice,
however, which I do not strenuously recommend. I much question whether
the benefits of this laborious method are adequate to the waste of time,
and I must agree with Dr. Johnson that what is twice read is commonly
better remembered than what is transcribed.

I hesitate from the apprehension of ridicule when I approach the
delicate subject of my early love. I need not blush at recollecting the
object of my choice, and, though my love was disappointed of success, I
am rather proud that I was once capable of feeling such a pure and
exalted sentiment. The personal attractions of Mademoiselle Curchod were
embellished by the virtues and talents of the mind. Her father lived
content with a small salary and laborious duty in the obscure lot of
minister of Crassy. In the solitude of a sequestered village he bestowed
a liberal, and even learned, education on his only daughter. In her
short visit to Lausanne, the wit, the beauty, the erudition of
Mademoiselle Curchod were the theme of universal applause. The report of
such a prodigy awakened my curiosity; I saw and loved. At Crassy and
Lausanne I indulged my dream of felicity, but on my retu