I was now placed as a day boarder at a school in that part of Bristol called the Fort, on the hill above S^t Michaels Church.

William Williams

the Master, was as his name denotes a Welshman, I find him satirized, – or to use a more appropriat accurate word, – vilified in the Miscellanies of my Uncles old master, Collins,

as an impudent pretender. This he certainly was not, – for what he professed to teach, he taught well. The Latin he left wholly to an Usher, – Bevan

by name, who was also Curate of the parish. The writing, cyphering & merchants-accounts he superintended himself, tho there was a writing master: He had composed a spelling book, which for a schoolmaster is <a> profitable kind of authorship, & for love of this spelling book exercised the boys in it so much that <the> thumbing & dog-leaving turned to good account. But he was, I verily believe, conscientiously earnest in making them perfect in the catechism, – examination in which was always dreaded as the most formidable duty of the school, such was the accuracy which he exacted, & the severity of his manner on that occasion.

My Grandmother died in 1782,

& either in the latter end of that year, or the ensuing January I was placed at poor old Williams’s. I had commenced poet before this: – at how early an age I cannot call to mind; but I can very well remember that my first composition both in manner & sentiment might have been deemed an unsuccessful <humble a very promising hopefull> imitation of the Bellmans verses.

The discovery, however that I could write rhymes gave me great pleasure, & yet not so much as that was in no slight degree heightened when I perceived that my mother was not only pleased with what I had produced, but proud of it. Miss Tyler had intended, as far as she was concerned, to give me a systematic education, & for this purpose (as she afterwards told me) purchased a translation of Rousseaus Emilius.

That system being happily even more impracticable than M^r Edgeworths,

I was lucky enough to escape from any experiments of this kind, & then good fortune provided better for me than any method could have done. Nothing could be more propitious to me, considering my aptitude, & tendency of mind, than Miss Tylers predilection, – I might almost call it passion for the theatre. Owing to this Shakespere was in my hands as soon as I could read, & it was actually long before I had any other knowledge of the history of England than what I gathered from his plays. Indeed when first I read the plain matter of fact the difference which appeared there, puzzled & did not please me; & for ten some time I preferred Shakesperes authority to the historians

It is curious that Titus Andronicus

was at first my favourite play: – partly I suppose because there was nothing in the characters above my comprehension, but the chief reason must have been that tales of horror make a deep impression upon children as they do upon the vulgar, for whom as their ballads prove, no tragedy can be too bloody: – they excite astonishment rather than pity. – I went thro Beaumont & Fletcher

also before I was eight years old (circumstances enable me to recollect the time accurately.) – They were great theatrical names, & therefore there was no scruple about letting me peruse their works. What harm indeed could they do me at that age? I read them merely for the interest which the stories excited, & understood the worse parts, as little as I did the better. But I acquired imperceptibly from such reading a familiarity with the diction of that last age & an ear for metre the blank verse of our great masters. In general I gave myself no trouble with what I did not understand, – the story was intelligible, & that was enough. But the Knight of the Burning Pestle

perplexed me terribly: – burlesque of this kind is the last thing that a child can comprehend. It set me longing however for Palmerin of England, – & that longing was never gratified till I read it in the original Portugueze.

– My favourite play upon the stage was Cymberline, – & next to that, As you like it.

They are both romantic dramas; – & no one had ever a more decided turn for music, or for numbers, than I had for romance.

You will wonder that with this education I did not become a dramatic writer. I had seen more plays before I was seven years old that I have seen since I was twenty; & heard more conversation about the theatre than any other subject. Miss Tyler had given up her house before I went to Corston, & when I visited her from school she was herself a guest with Miss Palmer & her sister M^rs Bartlett,

whose property was vested in the Bath & Bristol theatres:

Their house was in Galloways Buildings, from whence a covered passage led to the playhouse, & they very rarely missed a nights performance. I was too old to be put to bed before the performance began, & it was better to take me than to leave me with the servants, – therefore I was always taken; & it is impossible to describe the thorough delight which I received from this habitual indulgence. No after enjoyment could equal it, – or approach it. I was sensible of no defects either in the dramas, or in the representation & indeed better acting could not have been seen any where, – for M^rs Siddons

was the heroine, – Dimond

& Murray

would have done credit to any stage, – & among the comic actors xx were Edwin

& Blanchard,

– & Blisset,

who tho never known to a London audience was of all comic actors whom I have ever seen, the most perfect. But I was happily insensible to that difference between good & bad acting, which in riper years takes off so much from the pleasure of dramatic representation. Every thing answered the height of my expectations or desires. And I saw it in perfect comfort, – from the front row of a side box, not too far from the centre, of a small theatre, – in which no expence of scenery & decorations was spared.

Miss Tyler was considered as an amateur & patroness of the drama. She was well acquainted with Henderson

– but of him I have no recollection. Edwin I remember gave me an ivory windmill when I was about Cupn’s age, & there was no family with which she was more intimate than Dimonds. She was thrown too into the company of dramatic authors, at M^r Palmers

who resided then about a mile from Bath, – on the upper Bristol road, at a house called West Hall. Here she became acquainted with Coleman & Cumberland, & Holcroft.

The latter was con thought a disagreable person, & dreaded as an irreligious one. Neither of them did I see in those years, & Coleman indeed never. Sophia Lee,

the eldest of the sisters, was M^rs Palmers

most intimate friend, – she was then in high reputation for the first volume of the Recess, & for her Chapter of Accidents. You will not wonder that hearing as I continually did of living authors, & seeing in what estimation they were held, I formed a great notion of the dignity which attached to their profession. Perhaps in no other circle could this have effect have so surely been produced as in a dramatic one, – where ephemeral productions produce <excite> an intense interest while they last. Superior as I thought actors to other men, it was not long before I perceived that authors were still a higher class.

There was much more promise implied in my notion of how a play ought to be written, than would have been found in any of my attempts. The first subject which I tried was the Continence of Scipio

– suggested by a print in a Pocket Book. Battles were introduced in abundance, – because the battle in Cymberline was one of my favourite scenes. And because Congreves hero in the Mourning Bride finds the writing of his father in prison,

I made my Prince of Numantia find pen ink & paper that he might write to his mistress. An act & half of this nonsense exhausted my perseverance. Another story ran for a long time in my head, & I had planned the characters to suit the actors on the Bath stage. The fable was taken from a collection of Tales every circumstance of which has compleated faded from my recollection, – except that I think the book must have been thirty or forty years old at least at that time, – & I should recognize it if it ever fell in my way. While this dramatic passion continued, I wished my friends to partake it, & soon after I went to Williams’s school, persuaded one of my schoolfellows to write a tragedy. – Ballard

was his name, – the son of a surgeon at Portbury,

a good-natured good fellow – with a round face which I have not seen for seven or eight & thirty years, – & yet fancy that I could recognize it now, & should be right glad to see it. He liked the suggestion & agreed to it very readily, – but he could not tell what to write about. I gave him a story. – But then another difficulty was discovered, he could not devise names for the personages of the drama. I gave him a most heroic assortment of Propria quae maribus & foeminis.

He had now got his story & his Dramatis Personae, – but xxx he could not tell what to make them say, & then I gave up the business. I made the same attempt with another schoolfellow, & with no better success, – it seemed to me very odd that they should not be able to write plays as well as to do their lessons. The subject of this second experiment was a boy

whose appearance prepossessed every body, – (it is heedless to say that both these friends were of my own age, – that is always the case with school intimacies) – my Mother was so taken with the gentleness of his manners, & the regularity & mildness of his features that she was very desirous I should become intimate with him. He grew up to be a puppy, – sported a tail when he was fifteen, & at thirty <five & twenty> was an insignificant withered homunculus, with a white face shrivelled into an expression of effeminate peevishness. It was the most striking instance I have seen many instances wherein the promises of the boy has not been fulfilled in the man, but never so striking a case of blight as this.

The school was better than Flowers

inasmuch as I had a Latin lesson every day, instead of thrice a week. But my lessons were solitary ones, so few boys were there in my station, & indeed in the station above me who received a classical education in those days, compared with what is the case now. Writing & arithmetic – with, at most a little French, was thought sufficient for the sons of opulent merchants at Bristol. I was in Phaedrus

when I went there, & proceeded thro Cornelius Nepos, Justin, & the Metamorphoses.

One lesson in the morning was all, the rest of the time was given to what was deemed there of more importance. Writing was taught here very differently from what it was at Corston, & much less agreably to my inclinations. We did copies of capital letters there, & were encouraged to aspire to the ornamental parts of penmanship. But Williams

who wrote a slow strong hand himself, put me back <to the rudiments> at once into strokes, & kept me at <strokes, posthooks, & hangers, ys, ns, & ms, & such words as tulip & pupil > xxxx heaven knows how long, with absurd & wearisome perseverance. Writing was the only thing in which any pains were ever taken to ground me thoroughly, & I was generally thought a most unpromising pupil. No instruction ever could teach me to hold the pen properly, – of course therefore I could not make none of those full free strokes which were deemed essential to good writing, & this drew upon me a great deal of unavailing reproof, – tho not severity, – for old Williams liked me on the whole, – & Mr Foote

was the only master (except a dancing master)

– who ever laid hand on me in anger. At home too my Father & my Uncle Thomas used to shake their heads at me, & pronounce that I never should write a decent hand. The cyphering book however made some amends in my masters eyes. It was in this that his pains & the proficiency of his pupils were to be shown. The books he used to sew himself, – half a dozen sheets in the common quarto size, & they were ruled with double red lines, & the lines which were required in the sums were also double, in red ink. When the book was filled, x pencil-lines were carefully rubbed out, & Williams tearing off the covers deposited it in an envelope of fine cartridge paper, on which he had written in his best hand, the boys name to whom it belonged And When there were enough of these to make a volume, – they were consigned to a poor old man, the inhabitant of an alms-house, who obtained a few comforts beyond what the establishment allowed him, by binding them. Now tho I wrote what was called a stiff cramp hand, there was a neatness & regularity about my books, which were peculiar to them. I had as quick a sense of symmetry as of metre: My lines were always drawn according to some standard of regularity & proportion, so that the page had an appearance of order at first sight. I found the advantage of this when I came to have business with the press. The method which I used in my cyphering book led me to teach the printers how to print verses of irregular length upon a regular principle.

I set the fashion for black letter in poetical works which prevailed for twenty years & Ballantyne once told me that I was the only person he had ever met with who knew how a page would look before it was set up, I may add that I it was who set the fashion for black letter in title pages & half titles,

& that this arose from my admiration of German text at school.