However, his master’s son had a Flemming’s _Introduction to Knowledge_, which, as a spiteful boy, he refused to let Gifford use, and hid it away. William, however, by accident discovered where the book was concealed and carried it off, sat up for several nights, and poring over it with avidity mastered the contents, and was then able to pursue his studies in algebra. He says: “I hated my new profession with a perfect hatred; I made no progress in it, and was consequently little regarded in the family, of which I sank by degrees into the common drudge.” Whilst at Ashburton his dreary life had been cheered by making friends with some of his schoolfellows. One of these was young Hoppner, afterwards a famous portrait painter, a rival of Sir Thomas Lawrence, and in after years he looked back to this friendship with pleasure, and wrote to him, on the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds-- One Sun is set, one Glorious Sun, whose rays Long gladdened Britain with no common blaze; O may’st thou soon (for clouds begin to rise) Assert thy station in the Eastern skies, Glow with his fires, and give the world to see Another Reynolds rise, my friend, in thee! But dearer still to him had been the Ashburton butcher’s son, John Ireland, afterwards Dean of Westminster, and to him he wrote-- Sure if our fates hang on some hidden Power, And take their colour from the natal hour, Then, Ireland! the same planet on us rose, Such the strong sympathies our lives disclose! Thou know’st how soon we felt this influence bland, And sought the brook and coppice, hand in hand, And shaped rude bows, and uncouth whistles blew, And paper kites (a last great effort) flew; And when the day was done, retired to rest, Sleep on our eyes, and sunshine in our breast. But in Exeter he had no friends, none who would associate with him. He was utterly alone and miserable. He had not a penny wherewith to bless himself. One only little streak of sunlight entered his gloomy life, and this was the cheery notice of a young woman, a neighbour, who daily gave the depressed boy, as he passed her door, a smile and a kindly greeting, and the gratitude he felt for this slight encouragement was the first pleasing sensation he had ventured to entertain for many dreary months. In his _Autobiography_ he says: “Pen, ink, and paper were for the most part as completely out of my reach as a crown and sceptre.” He had but one resource, which required the utmost caution and secrecy in applying it. He beat out pieces of leather as thin and smooth as possible, and in his garret, by the tiny window, with a blunt awl worked out on the leather his algebraical calculations.