He was unlucky in imbibing his first rudiments. He was placed under the tuition of the eccentric character introduced in one or two preceding passages of this narrative, and to be mentioned again hereafter, who boldly and openly professed not to be a christian, for the most preposterous of all reasons, namely, that the lives of the professors of christianity, did not correspond with its precepts. He did indeed allow a final cause, but his ideas even on this head, were rude, perplexed and confused; they bewildered himself, and confounded others. But the quality by which he was most strongly and peculiarly characterized, and which from principle he communicated to others, was a universal scepticism. His first and last maxim to his pupils was believe nothing but on proof. The effects of this injunction on a mind so constituted as was that of this young man, may be easily anticipated. He doubted of every thing, extended his suspicions to whatever came within the sphere of his observation, and, as far as recollection goes, the impression remains strongly fixed, that he ultimately fell a victim to the gloomy sentiments, which ill-founded notions and prejudices on the subject of religion inspired. He was recommended to the Sexagenarian by a common friend, an amiable clergyman, and excellent scholar, who for a time directed the course of his studies, and assisted the young man’s literary views. The writer of these memoranda, as appears from his notes, undertook to read with him certain parts of Homer, Horace, and Virgil. It was his custom to interrupt him with perpetual questions, which were sometimes answered to his satisfaction, but often far otherwise; but what was most surprizing, the most animated and beautiful passages excited no emotions of gratification or delight; and on being asked whether he did not admire such and such descriptions, as characteristic of superior genius, he would say, they are very pretty, but what is the use of them? I learn nothing from them; they prove nothing.