------ there were none to praise
And very few to love.[A]

It is true that I now saw a little more of my aunt, but she was in every way an unsocial being; and to a timid child she was as a plant beneath a thick covering of ice; I should cut my hands in endeavouring to get at it.  So I was entirely thrown upon my own resourses.  The neighbouring minister was engaged to give me lessons in reading, writing and french, but he was without family and his manners even to me were always perfectly characteristic of the profession in the exercise of whose functions he chiefly shone, that of a schoolmaster.  I sometimes strove to form friendships with the most attractive of the girls who inhabited the neighbouring village; but I believe I should never have succeeded [even] had not my aunt interposed her authority to prevent all intercourse between me and the peasantry; for she was fearful lest I should acquire the scotch accent and dialect; a little of it I had, although great pains was taken that my tongue should not disgrace my English origin.

As I grew older my liberty encreased with my desires, and my wanderings extended from our park to the neighbouring country.  Our house was situated on the shores of the lake and the lawn came down to the water’s edge.  I rambled amidst the wild scenery of this lovely country and became a complete mountaineer:  I passed hours on the steep brow of a mountain that overhung a waterfall or rowed myself in a little skiff to some one of the islands.  I wandered for ever about these lovely solitudes, gathering flower after flower

    Ond’ era pinta tutta la mia via[B]

singing as I might the wild melodies of the country, or occupied by pleasant day dreams.  My greatest pleasure was the enjoyment of a serene sky amidst these verdant woods:  yet I loved all the changes of Nature; and rain, and storm, and the beautiful clouds of heaven brought their delights with them.  When rocked by the waves of the lake my spirits rose in triumph as a horseman feels with pride the motions of his high fed steed.

But my pleasures arose from the contemplation of nature alone, I had no companion:  my warm affections finding no return from any other human heart were forced to run waste on inanimate objects.[12] Sometimes indeed I wept when my aunt received my caresses with repulsive coldness, and when I looked round and found none to love; but I quickly dried my tears.  As I grew older books in some degree supplied the place of human intercourse:  the library of my aunt was very small; Shakespear, Milton, Pope and Cowper were the strangley [sic] assorted poets of her collection; and among the prose authors a translation of Livy and Rollin’s ancient history were my chief favourites although as I emerged from childhood I found others highly interesting which I had before neglected as dull.