of them older than myself. Shortly after we began work, a tall, powerful young man rose before the close of school, and went off without leave. Next evening I handed him books and slate, and told him he could not continue longer in my school. He left me, and soon came back with a letter from his father, begging me to take him back, and he would make any acknowledgments I chose. I took him back, and he never gave me any trouble again. I had the most perfect command of the school, and, as they were all most anxious to learn, much progress was made. After school, I often studied far into the night by a coal fire instead of a candle. I was not allowed a candle, lest I should sit too late. Young’s Night Thoughts, especially the first four books, I almost committed to memory. Forty years later, after a long conversation with Archbishop Hughes, I quoted some lines from Young. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘Young has been my vade mecum from my very early days.’ I felt drawn to the aged prelate when I found he had drunk at the same fountain as I in life’s morning.
“In 1824, I taught school at a little hamlet four miles from home, and twice a week walked over the hills to meet my cousin, who heard me recite in Latin. I think I made more progress that season than at any other period, as I had no society to interfere with my studies. We held a prayer meeting in a shepherd’s house once a week, when I was refreshed by the warm prayers of the good old rustics, who ‘knew, and knew no more, their Bible true.’
“In 1825, I opened a school in my native village. I had seventy day scholars, twenty at night. In my spare hours I read the Latin and Greek classics, and became somewhat familiar with the current literature I
