This, however, was not the person who assisted the Sexagenarian. The name of his friend was Peter B⸺y. He was what is called a Throwster, of which no further explanation can here be given, than by saying that his occupation was, to prepare the yarn for the weaver. His situation was of the humblest kind, but never was there a more acute, intelligent, or able man. His knowledge of mathematics was surprizing; but how he obtained it, nobody could imagine. He was perfectly self-taught, or at least had no better instruction than a common charity-school supplied; and what he might have obtained both of acquirements and celebrity, with the advantages of education, and under more favourable circumstances of local situation, it is not easy to ascertain. Be this as it may, it was impossible not to admire the precision and clearness of his mode of instructing; and the Sexagenarian left him, after spending an hour in the day with him for two or three months, as well acquainted with Euclid and simple equations as it was necessary to be. No mention would have been made of this person, whose memory much deserves respect, but for his mental endowments. He had, however, even after he had passed the middle age of life, most extraordinary agility. He could do, what few other persons would ever attempt. He used to take a few steps, and putting one of his feet against the wall, would turn the other over it, so as to make a complete revolution of his body. He performed many similar feats of activity. It is not known that any specimens of his talents were printed, except in the Ladies’ Diary, to which he was a frequent contributor; and to which, if the reader will refer, if he shall have the opportunity, he will, from about the years 1768 to 1780, have sufficient demonstration, that this venerable and early instructor of our friend, merits the tribute of respect which is here paid him. Parce venturis, tibi mors paramur, Sis licet segnis, properamus ipsi. CHAPTER VIII. In this place also, as far as these Recollections can avail, let us rescue from the oblivion it by no means merits, the memory of a man somewhat, as appears from the dates, our friend’s junior in standing, but of extraordinary talents, the greatest simplicity of mind and manners; and though of no mean proficiency in classical and mathematical learning, artless, modest, and entirely unassuming. Alas! he died prematurely; and, from the unfortunate bias which he subsequently took, he might probably not have entirely fulfilled the promise of his talents, and the expectations of his friends. His name was G⸺; he was the son of a pork-butcher, but he discovered when a child such acuteness of remark, and powers of reflection, that his parents determined to give him the best education which their humble means afforded.