ows which bears no affinity to any other period
of my studious and social life. On June 12, 1759, my father and I
received our commissions as major and captain in the Hampshire regiment
of militia, and during two and a half years were condemned to a
wandering life of military servitude. My principal obligation to the
militia was the making me an Englishman and a soldier. In this peaceful
service I imbibed the rudiments of the language and science of tactics,
which opened a new field of study and observation. The discipline and
evolutions of a modern battalion gave me a clearer notion of the phalanx
and the legion; and the captain of the Hampshire Grenadiers--the reader
may smile--has not been useless to the historian of the Roman Empire.

I was detained above four years by my rash engagement in the militia. I
eagerly grasped the first moments of freedom; and such was my diligence
that on my father consenting to a term of foreign travel, I reached
Paris only thirty-six hours after the disbanding of the militia. Between
my stay of three months and a half in Paris and a visit to Italy, I
interposed some months of tranquil simplicity at Lausanne. My old
friends of both sexes hailed my voluntary return--the most genuine proof
of my attachment. The public libraries of Lausanne and Geneva liberally
supplied me with books, from which I armed myself for my Italian
journey. On this tour I was agreeably employed for more than a year.
Turin, Milan, Genoa, Parma, Modena, and Florence were visited, and here
I first acknowledged, at the feet of the Venus of Medici, that the
chisel may dispute the preeminence with the pencil, a truth in the fine
arts which cannot on this side of the Alps be felt or understood.

After leaving Florence, I passed through Pisa, Leghorn, and Sienna to
Rome. My temper is not very susceptible to enthusiasm; and the
enthusiasm which I do not feel, I have ever scorned to affect. But, at
the distance of twenty-five years, I can neither forget nor express the
strong emotions which agitated my mind as I first approached and entered
the Eternal City. After a sleepless night, I trod, with a lofty step,
the ruins of the Forum; each memorable spot, where Romulus stood, or
Tully spoke, or Caesar fell, was at once present to my eye; and several
days of intoxication were lost, or enjoyed, before I could descend to a
cool and minute observation.

It was in Rome, on October 15, 1764, as I sat musing amidst the ruins of
t