The business of placing me at Westminster afforded my Aunt an excuse for going to London. Miss Palmer was easily persuaded to accompany her & to jobb a carriage for the season, & we set off in February 1788. I had never been a mile from Bath in that direction before, – & when my childish thoughts ever wandered into the terra incognita which I was one day to explore, this had been the road to it, – simply because all the other outlets from that city were familiar to me. We slept at Marlborough one night, at Reading the second & on the third day reached Salt Hill.

The three boys Tom

& Charles Palmer

were summoned from Eton to meet their Aunt there, & we remained a day for the sake purpose of seeing Windsor, – which I have never seen since. Lodgings had been taken at a small house in Pall Mall, – for no less fashionable situation would content Miss Tyler, – & she had a recklessness of expense <prodigality> at fits & starts, the effects of which could not be counteracted by the parsimony of her usual habits. M^r Palmer

was at that time Comptroller of the Post Office, holding the situation which he had so well deserved, & from which he was not long afterwards most injuriously displaced. We visited him, & the Newberrys

& M^rs Dolignon, & went often to the theatres, & my Aunt appeared to be as happy as if she were not incurring expenses which she had no means of discharging. My father had given her thirty pounds <for the journey; a sum> as amply sufficient for taking me to school & leaving me there, & moreover as much as he could afford, – but she had resolved upon passing the season in town, as careless of the consequences as if she had been blind to them.

About six weeks elapsed before I was deposited at my place of destination. In the interval I had passed a few days with the Newberrys at Addiscombe, & with the Miss Delamares

at Cheshunt, – at the latter place I was happy, – for they were excellent women to whom my heart opened, & I had the full enjoyment of the country there without any drawback. London I very much disliked, – I was of course too young to take any pleasure in the society to which I was introduced as an app inconvenient appendage to my Aunt, – nor did I feel half the interest at the theatres, splendid as they were which I had been wont to take at Bath & Bristol, where every actors face was familiar to me, & every movement of the countenance could be seen. I wished for Shad & the carpentry, & poor Phillis,

& our rambles among the woods & rocks. At length upon the first of April (of all ominous days that could be chosen)

– M^r Palmer took me in his carriage to Deans Yard, introduced me to D^r Smith

who entered my name with him, & by his recommendation placed me at the boarding house they called Otly’s but kept by M^rs Farrer

& left me there with Samuel Hayes

the Usher of the house & of the fifth form for my tutor.

Botch Hayes as he was called for the manner in which he mended his pupils verses was as somebody said of old Nahum Tate a good natured, free, fuddling companion

kept a smaller boarding house next door, but at this time a treaty of union between the two houses was going on, – which <like> the union of other larger communities <Castile & Aragon>

– was to be brought about by marriage between the respective heads of the states separate <several> states. This marriage took place during the ensuing Whitsun-holydays; & the small flock was then removed to our boarding house, which then took the name of Hayes’s, but retained it only a few months. For Hayes in disgust at not being appointed Under Master withdrew from the school, – his wife of course followed his fortunes, & was succeeded by M^rs Clough

who migrated thither with a few boarders from Abingdon Street. But as Botch Hayes is a person who must make his appearance in the Athenae Cantabrigienses

(if my friend good natured friend M^r Hughes carries into effect his intention of compiling such a work) I will say something of him here.

He was a man who having some skill & much facility in versifying, walked for many years over the Seatonian course race ground at Cambridge, & enjoyed the produce of M^r Seatons Kislingbury estate without a competitor.

He was moreover what Oldys describes Nahum Tate to have been “a free, good-natured, fuddling companion, – to all which qualities his countenance bore witness. With better conduct & better fortunes, Hayes <would have> had learning & talents enough to have deserved & obtained promotion. His want of conduct might in some degree be imputed to ill fortune, – for his first marriage had pl been an <unhappy if not> imprudent one, & his wife

had served him as Michael Angelo did Moses in marble.

When I went to Westminster it was fresh in remembrance that Dodd the Usher & Porson

both intrigued with her, & had once encountered in her bed chamber, when a quarrel took place, & Porson twisted Dodds nose in such a manner, that for many days he could not appear in school. <(By the way this was the first mention I ever heard of Porson.)> Poor Hayes went to the bottle for comfort, his wife did the same, but she drank deeper, & killed herself by so doing – & Hayes did not wait long after shedding his horns before he married M^rs Farrer. – His failings were so notorious, & the boys took such liberties with him (sticking his wig full of paper darts in school -) that it would have been a most unfit thing to have appointed him Under Master when Vincent succeeded D^r Smith. Perhaps he would not have taken offence at being overlooked if a person thoroughly qualified had been chosen, but he could not bear to have an inferior usher (Wingfield) who was a person of no talents whatever put over his head, & therefore to the great injury of his worldly affairs – which could not <ill> bear such a sacrifice, he left the school altogether. – Hayes <it> was the person who published <edited> those sermons which D^r Johnson is supposed to have written for his friend D^r Taylor.

I was placed in the under fourth, – a year lower than I might have been if I had learnt to make Latin verses, – & yet more than a year too high for being properly trained to make them. The manner of introducing a boy into the ways of the school was by placing him for a week or ten days under the direction of one in his own form, who is called his Substance – the new comer being the Shadow; the Shadow neither taking nor losing place by his own deserts, but following the Substances. A diligent boy is of course chosen for this service, & Smedley

the Usher of the fourth to my great joy picked out <George Strachey> the very individual on whom I should have fixed my physiognomical eyes <would have rested>, if I might have made a choice throughout the whole school. Strachey & I were friends at first sight, – but he boarded at home, & it is in the boarding house more than in school that a friend is wanted, & there God knows, I had for some time a solitary heart.

The present Lord Amhurst

was head of the house, a mild, inoffensive boy, who interfered with no one, & having a room to himself, lived very much to himself in it, liked & respected by every body. I was in the room with one boy a little younger than myself only worth remembering as being slow & obtuse at what he ought to have learnt, & sharp & mannish in every thing else,

– & with Sparrow,

afterwards the husband of that sweet creature Lady Olivia. Never was woman of a dove-like nature more unsuitably mated for Sparrow when either in anger or in drink was perfectly frantic. His face was as fine as a countenance could be which expressed so ungovernable & dangerous a temper, – the finest red & white, dark eyes & brows, & black curling hair; – but the expression was rather that of a savage than of a civilized being, & no savage could be more violent. He had seasons of good nature, & at the worst was rather to be dreaded than disliked, – for he was plainly not master of himself. But I had cause to dread him, for he once attempted to hold me by the leg out at the window – of it was the first floor – & over a stone area. Had I not struck back struggled in time, & clung to the frame with both hands, my life would probably have been lost. He used at night to pour water into my ear, when I was a bed & asleep, & in many ways exercised such a capricious tyranny – merely by right of the strongest, for he had no right to fag me, – that at last I desired M^rs Hayes to remove me into another room. Thither he followed me, <&> at a very late hour one night, in a wild <came in> wrapt in a sheet & thinking to frighten me by personating a ghost, in which character he came & rolled upon my head bed. <threw himself upon the bed & rolled upon me>. Not knowing who it was, but certain that it was flesh & blood, I seized him by the throat, & we made noise enough to occasion an enquiry which ended in requiring Sparrows word that he would molest me no more. & He kept that word faithfully, & left school a few months afterwards, when he was about 17 or 18 & apparently full grown, – a singularly fine & striking youth – indeed one of those figures which you always remember vividly. I heard nothing of him till the Irish rebellion, he served in the army there, & there was a story which got into the papers of his meeting a man upon the road & putting him to death without judge or jury upon suspicion of his being a rebel. It was no doubt an act of madness, but in those times every thing was past over. I know not if any proceedings took place <(indeed in those dreadful times every thing was past over) – but> & indeed he died soon afterwards happily for himself & all who were connected with him.

– Some ten years ago as I was returning from Keswick Church after the evening service, Lord Calthorpe

accosted me, introduced me to a Lady whose name owing to his low voice I did not catch, & engaged me to dine with him at the Inn;

an invitation which perhaps I accepted the more willingly, because there was something in the Ladys countenance & manners particularly pleasing. I was seated next her at table, & opposite was her son

a youth of seventeen, who had just left Harrow & had now a tutor with him.

The warmth & unreservedness of her animated manner <had> made me more interested than I commonly am with the conversation of a stranger when I discovered that she was Lady Olivia, Sparrows widow, & that the boy youth was his only son. Thus to fall in with a son of the age at which you had last seen his father, – is one of those incidents in life that bring home to us the lapse of time with most effect.

Miss Tyler returned to Bristol before the Whitsun holydays, – for which time to spare the expence of a journey so soon after my entrance at school, I was invited by the good Miss Delameres to Cheshunt. I past my time <three weeks> there very happily, having the use of an excellent microscope, & frequently taking my book into the green house, for the sake of its temperature & the odour of its flowers. During part of the time there were two other guests in the house. The one was a nice good humoured warm hearted girl in the very flower of youth, who was engaged to a Hugenot or French or Swiss Protestant Clergyman Mercier

by name: her own was La Chaumette.

She was of Swiss extraction, & having past the preceding year among her relations in the Pays de Vaud, had brought home something like a maladie du pays if that phrase may be applied to a longing for any country which is not our own ±

< it was however a very natural affection for one who was compelled to exchange Lausanne for Spitalfields>. I used to abuse Switzerland as a land of bears & wolves, & ice & snow for the sake of seex seeing the animation with which she defended & praised it. She married not long afterwards to her hearts content – & to the very great regret of all who knew her, died in first child bed. Poor Betsy La Chaumette, I thought of her in Switzerland, & when I was at Echichens with M^r Audrey,

met with a person

who knew her & remembered her visit to that country.<see + 3^d page>

<I have heard her mother

relate an anecdote of herself, which is well worthy of preservation because of another personage to whom it relates also. She was a most lively, good-humoured entertaining woman, & her conversation was the more amusing because it was in broken English, intermingled plentifully with French interjections, in person strong featured, large & plain even to ugliness, if a countenance can be ugly which is always brightened with chearfulness & good nature. There was a M. Giffardiere who held some appointment about the Queen, (I think he used to read French to her) which & was one of those persons with whom the Royal Family were familiar.

M^rs La Chaumette went to was on a visit at his house <to him> at Windsor, & it was insisted upon by the Giffardieres that she must have one of the Lunardi bonnets, <(immortalized by Burns)>

which were then in fashion (it being the first age of balloons); this she resisted most womanfully, pleading her time of life & ugliness with characteristic volubility & liveliness, but to no purpose; her eloquence was overruled, & as nobody could appear without such a bonnet, such a bonnet she had. All this went to the Palace, for Kings & Queens are sometimes as much pleased at being acquainted with private affairs, as their subjects are in conversing upon public ones – xx M^rs La Chaumettes conversation was worth reporting <even to a King,> & she was so original a person that the King

knew her very well by character, & was determined to see her. Accordingly he stopt his horse one day before Giffardieres window <apartments>, & after talking a while with him, asked if M^rs La Chaumette was within, & desired she might be called to the window. She came in all the agitation <or fluster,> that such a summons was likely to excite. The King spoke to her with his characteristic <wonted> good-nature, asked her a few questions, hoped she liked Windsor, & concluded by saying he was glad to hear she had consented at last to have a Lunardi bonnet. – Trifling as this is, it is a sort of trifling in which none but a kind-hearted man <King> would have indulged, & I believe no one ever heard the story without liking the King <George 3> the better for it. How well do I remember the looks <& tones> & gestures of mon Dieus with which she accompanied the relation!>

James Beresford

was the other guest, – an unsuccessful translator of Virgil, – but the very successful author of the Miseries of Human Life. || <|| see p.4>

< He was then a young man – if I remember rightly <either> just in orders, – or on the point of being ordained.

This story was then remembered of him at the Charter House, that he was equally remarkable remarkabl for his noisiness & his love of music, – & having one day skipt school to attend a concert, xxx there was such an unusual quietness in consequence of his absence that the master, <looked round & said> – Where is Beresford? I am sure he cannot be here <in school>, – & the detection thus brought about cost poor Beresford a flogging.> Him too I never saw after that visit, & with all his pleasantness & good nature he left upon me an unpleasant impression from a trifling circumstance which I remember as indicative of my own moral temper at that time. Our holydays exercise was to compose a certain number of Latin verses from any part of Thompsons Spring.

I did my task doggedly, in such a manner that it was impossible any exercise could have been more unlike a good one, or at <yet> the same time <very best could not> have more effectually proved the diligence with which it had been made. There was neither a decent line, nor a false quantity in the whole. The Ladies made me show it to Beresford, & he instead of saying in ‘good natured sincerity – “‘you have never been taught to make verses but it is plain that you have taken great pains x in making these, – & therefore I am sure the Usher will give you credit for what you have done,” – returned them to me with the absurd saying Sir – I see you’ll be another Virgil one of these days. – I knew that this was neither deserved as praise nor as mockery: & I felt then as I have continued to do that undeserved <unmerited> censure provides <brings with it> its own balm <antidote> in the sense of injustice which it provokes, but that nothing is too mortifying as the praise <to> which you are conscious <that> you have not deserved no claim.

Smedley was then Usher of the spoke to me sensibly & kindly about this verse <exercise> & put me in training as far as could then be done. He had no reason to complain of my want of good will – for before the next holydays I composed <wrote> a poem about fifty long & short verses upon the death of Fair Rosamond

which I put into his hands. The <composition> was bad enough I dare say in many respects, but it bore<gave> proofs of good progress, <they were verses to the ear as well as to the fingers> & I remember them sufficiently to know that the attempt was that of a poet. It is more worth remembering as being the only Latin verses <poem> that I ever composed voluntarily. But there my ambition ended when I was so far upon a footing with the rest of the remove that I could make verses decent enough to pass muster, I was satisfied. knowing It was in English & not in Latin heathen Latin that –