clergyman, whose name was Pélissier, of a French refugee family, with no great parts and no great learning, as good-humoured and as good-natured as a narrow mind is capable of being, with a dash of that pertness of character which commonly belongs to the French. There was, indeed, one advantage which I might have found in his society, and that of his friends and family, which was learning French, for they spoke little else. My father particularly insisted on it, but that very circumstance determined me against it. As I was crossed in everything, I was determined to cross in my turn, and succeeded perfectly in this instance, much to my own disadvantage. I loved Lady Arabella Denny because she loved me. She inculcated into me a sense of duty towards God, the publick, and my neighbours, which has never quitted me. I have somewhere a paper, which my schoolmaster, Dr. Ford, gave me upon leaving him, containing his idea of my character and turn of mind. He was a sensible man; I remember his telling me when he gave me the paper that he saw I was neglected, and that if I did not take care of my own education I might chance to go without any, which made him write down his observations, that I might, if I came to reflect on my situation, apply to more purpose.[1] I remember the turn of the paper was to recommend logick and mathematicks, that my capacity was more calculated for what required strong action than to the more elegant and refined walks of life. He made me read some civil law and some Latin and Greek. I found I had some taste for Greek, and if I had continued to apply, might have made some proficiency in it. Dr. Ford indeed took a personal liking to me, and, independent of the ordinary school exercises, took a good deal of pains to teach me a little logick, which was the only study for which I had a real taste, and for which I could perceive in myself a natural talent.
"To give an idea of the narrow-mindedness of my tutor, I remember being invited to dinner with my
- ↑ Lord Shelburne, down to the end of his life, continued to complain of his neglected education. See Jeremy Bentham's Works, x. 186.
