On my return one afternoon from a round of pastoral visits, I was informed that a gentleman was waiting to see me; and I received a most agreeable surprise in finding that it was no other than Mr. Holmes, an old and much valued friend, and whose eldest daughter Louisa has already been casually mentioned as a friend and correspondent of Miss Roscoe.[15] He informed me that he had just left his family at Dawlish, their favourite summer resort, where they had been rusticating for nearly two months, and had come to transact some business in my neighbourhood. I pressed him to remain a few days with me, but he would consent to stay only one night, as he had already been occupied a longer time than he expected. Before leaving, he extorted a promise from me that, as soon as my avocations permitted it, I would pay him a visit at the Elms, his seat near London, whither he and his family expected to return in the end of the summer. [15] Vol. i. page 232. The history of Mr. Holmes' career in life is an interesting one, and furnishes a striking example of those gradual elevations from poverty and obscurity to affluence and an honoured position in the world, which are, perhaps, more frequently to be met with in the ranks of English society than in those of any other country. I will here give some account of it, as exhibiting an instructive example of persevering industry and upright conduct, crowned by honour and success. Mr. Holmes was the second son of a respectable farmer, who rented a small estate in the county of Warwick. When a little boy he was very inquisitive, fond of mixing with his seniors and superiors, from whom he gained much information; and though there was no good school in the neighbourhood, yet, by the assistance of the kind and amiable Vicar of the parish, he acquired the rudiments of a useful education. That leisure time which other children usually devote to play, he gave to reading and study, and before he was fourteen, he was a very good accountant. He happened, when about nine years old, to read the popular story of _Whittington and his Cat_, and such was the deep impression it made on his mind, that it became the perpetual subject of his conversation; and he would often amuse the other members of the family with visionary tales of his future eminence. He would say to his brothers, "I will leave _you_ to feed cows, and pigs, and horses, and turn up the clods of the field; but when I grow up, I will go to London, and see if I cannot become as great a man as Whittington." So completely had this passion gained an ascendency over him, that he would often walk miles to see the mail coach pass along the road towards the far-famed city; and after listening to the sound of the horn, with an ecstasy of delight which no other notes could inspire, he would return home to talk and to dream of his future adventures.