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multitude. The collation of philosophical opinions, the study of historical
facts, the acquirement of languages, were at once my recreation, and the
serious aim of my life. I turned author myself. My productions however were
sufficiently unpretending; they were confined to the biography of favourite
historical characters, especially those whom I believed to have been
traduced, or about whom clung obscurity and doubt.
As my authorship increased, I acquired new sympathies and pleasures. I
found another and a valuable link to enchain me to my fellow-creatures; my
point of sight was extended, and the inclinations and capacities of all
human beings became deeply interesting to me. Kings have been called the
fathers of their people. Suddenly I became as it were the father of all
mankind. Posterity became my heirs. My thoughts were gems to enrich the
treasure house of man's intellectual possessions; each sentiment was a
precious gift I bestowed on them. Let not these aspirations be attributed
to vanity. They were not expressed in words, nor even reduced to form in my
own mind; but they filled my soul, exalting my thoughts, raising a glow of
enthusiasm, and led me out of the obscure path in which I before walked,
into the bright noon-enlightened highway of mankind, making me, citizen of
the world, a candidate for immortal honors, an eager aspirant to the praise
and sympathy of my fellow men.
No one certainly ever enjoyed the pleasures of composition more intensely
than I. If I left the woods, the solemn music of the waving branches, and
the majestic temple of nature, I sought the vast halls of the Castle, and
looked over wide, fertile England, spread beneath our regal mount, and
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