As soon as Southey had learned to read, one of his aunt’s friends presented him with a number of children’s books, which he much prized and eagerly perused; and thus, perhaps, was implanted in his glowing breast the germs of that extraordinary passion for literature which made him in later days regard the fame arising from it as the most worthy and desirable, as well as least evanescent of any. Moreover, his maiden guardian was extremely fond of frequenting the theatre, and had an extensive acquaintance among people connected with histrionic affairs. Thus, at the age of four, Southey was taken to witness a play, which so much delighted him, that he speedily, conceived a keen relish for the stage. He heard more of theatrical matters than of any other subject; and soon essayed to write dramas himself. His aunt was also much given to reading romances, and trained her little nephew to do likewise. Notwithstanding this unquestionable fascination held out by her, the capricious sway which she exercised with incessant vigilance was so much felt by the boy, that he rejoiced exceedingly when allowed to return to his father’s house, where he enjoyed comparative freedom, and could walk into the neighboring fields, which with him, at this period, was the greatest of all pleasures and the chief of all delights. Miss Tyler had sternly prohibited her charge being breeched, like other juveniles of the day; and though he was six years old, and tall for his age, she had forced him to wear a childish, fantastic dress. It was now gladly exchanged for a garb befitting the dignity of ambitious boyhood; and the youthful dramatist was placed at a day-school, kept by a Baptist minister. There, though a docile boy, he received somewhat harsh treatment, and the only flogging on record that he ever underwent at the hands of a teacher; but he did not profit, to any extent, by the tuition. In twelve months the reverend pedagogue died; and Southey was sent to a boarding-school about nine miles from Bristol, at a house which, in other days, had been the seat of a provincial family of consequence. The broken and ruinous gateways about which the urchins sported, the walled garden transformed into a play-ground, the oaken staircase on which they aspiringly scrawled their names, and the tapestry which covered the old walls of the school-room, conveyed to the heart of the young rhymer mournful impressions and associations, and produced an impression on his memory not soon effaced. When in the pride of youthful and eccentric intellect, he visited the spot in company with a versifying friend, and described it in his early poem, the “Retrospect.” He knew well how to appreciate the ideas suggested by such a scene.