In some interval which preceded my removal to the university, I came in contact with Porson. At a succeeding period of life, I lived for a continued series of years in considerable intimacy with him, but it so happened, that after this our first interview, we did not for a very long time, meet again. It was at the house of a clergyman, whose kindness encouraged, and whose judgment often directed my studious pursuits. I was informed by him that I was to meet an extraordinary boy, one from whom the greatest things were expected, he having already excited both surprize and admiration. I proceeded to the house with emotions of respect and awe, prepared to listen and admire. I was alone with him for an hour: he discovered the greatest talents for silence; I could not get a word from him. After dinner, as I had the prerogative of being older, I tried again; it would not do; he was invincibly reserved, and we parted with little, or rather with no colloquial communication—I, with the impression that he was sullen, which I do not think he was, and he probably with the idea that I was a great chatterer; in which, perhaps, he was not much mistaken. I had, however, sufficient sagacity to discover that he was “no vulgar boy,” and I retained this impression so forcibly, that not long afterwards, finding myself in the village where he was born, I visited the schoolmaster who was his first teacher, and made enquiries concerning him. The old gentleman, who joined to his occupation of schoolmaster, those also of exciseman and shopkeeper, was not displeased with my curiosity. “There,” says he, “is where Dick used to sit, and this is his slate, but he soon got beyond me.” I have more than once mentioned this circumstance to Porson, and he assented to its truth, though I have seen statements of his earlier life, which seemingly contradict it. At length the momentous period arrived, big with my future fate, when I was to be fixed at the university. I entered upon this career, with all the ardour of hope and expectation, with the resolution to acquire both knowledge and reputation. Alas! a very short interval convinced me how vain and unsubstantial were the dreams I had indulged. Reputation, it appeared, was only to be obtained by the acquisition of a branch of knowledge, of which I at present possessed very little, and for which I had rather repugnance than inclination. However, there was no alternative, and I set doggedly about it. I so far succeeded, that at my departure, I did no discredit to the society of which I was a member. At this point, let me be allowed to digress a little on the subject of our universities. They do indeed seem to require a strong and powerful reforming hand.