I never saw such a man in all my life as her powdered swain. "I too am for flogging," said he, "since, such as you see me here before you, I am become by mere dint of birch." "_Dieu nous en preserve!_" said I, hurrying into my carriage. Having reached home too early for dinner, I sat down to consider the plan of a book in the style of the _Spectator_, a kind of picnic, where every wiseacre might contribute his mite of knowledge at so much a head, provided he and she would sign their real names to the paper. Having imagined myself to be a wild lad, like my young scamp of a nephew, addressing a second _Rambler_ or _Spectator_, whom I ventured to name Momus, I addressed as follows: "MR. MOMUS,--I am one of those unfortunate victims whose hard fate was decided before I was born, and _bon gré, mal gré_, I must become a prodigy of learning. Now, Mr. Momus, I have to inform you that, notwithstanding I love my parents above all the world, yet I abhor and detest everything in the way of study. Floggings, rewards, private tutors and public schools, have all been tried in vain; and, though I am at fifteen becoming somewhat hardened against my father's harsh sarcasms on my stupidity, yet fain would I exert myself to dry up the tears my poor mother often sheds, for the disappointment of her sanguine wishes on my account; but for the strong conviction I feel that it is as impossible to acquire a taste for study, as to benefit by a forced application to books. "'Learn, oh youth,' says Zimmerman, one of my tutor's favourite authors, 'learn, oh young man! that nothing will so easily subdue your passion for pleasure as an increasing emulation in great and virtuous actions, a hatred to idleness and frivolity, the study of the sciences, and that high and dignified spirit, which looks with disdain, on everything that is vile and contemptible.' "All very fine old boy, and clear as the nose in your face. A hatred of idleness, Mr. Zimmerman, is a love of industry; but how is this love and this hatred to be acquired? '_Voilà_,' said a French matron to Monsieur le Duc de ----, at Paris, throwing open the doors of an elegant apartment, '_Voilà la chambre où l'on_' ... '_Mais, où est la chambre où l'on--?_' said the duke. "'Try solitude,' says Zimmerman-- "My father has tried that too, and it failed--but then, Zimmerman continues, 'for solitude to produce these happy effects it is not sufficient to be continually gazing out of a window with a vacant mind, nor gravely walking up and down your study, in a ragged _robe de chambre_ and worn-out slippers. The soul must feel an eager desire to roam at large.'