 course of two hundred years, by a family which
had been always wealthy, and inclined, of course, as a mark of splendour, to
furnish their shelves with the current literature of the day, without much
scrutiny, or nicety of discrimination. Throughout this ample realm Edward was
permitted to roam at large. His tutor had his own studies; and church politics
and controversial divinity, together with a love of learned ease, though they
did not withdraw his attention at stated times from the progress of his patron's
presumptive heir, induced him readily to grasp at any apology for not extending
a strict and regulated survey towards his general studies. Sir Everard had never
been himself a student, and, like his sister Miss Rachel Waverley, he held the
common doctrine, that idleness is incompatible with reading of any kind, and
that the mere tracing the alphabetical characters with the eye is in itself a
useful and meritorious task, without scrupulously considering what ideas or
doctrines they may happen to convey. With a desire of amusement, therefore,
which better discipline might soon have converted into a thirst for knowledge,
young Waverley drove through the sea of books, like a vessel without a pilot or
a rudder. Nothing perhaps increases by indulgence more than a desultory habit of
reading, especially under such opportunities of gratifying it. I believe one
reason why such numerous instances of erudition occur among the lower ranks is,
that, with the same powers of mind, the poor student is limited to a narrow
circle for indulging his passion for books, and must necessarily make himself
master of the few he possesses ere he can acquire more. Edward, on the contrary,
like the epicure who only deigned to take a single morsel from the sunny side of
a peach, read no volume a moment after it ceased to excite his curiosity or
interest; and it necessarily happened, that the habit of seeking only this sort
of gratification rendered it daily more difficult of attainment, till the
passion for reading, like other strong appetites, produced by indulgence a sort
of satiety.
    Ere he attained this indifference, however, he had read, and stored in a
memory of uncommon tenacity, much curious, though ill-arranged and miscellaneous
information. In English literature he was master of Shakspeare and Milton, of
our earlier dramatic authors; of many picturesque and interesting passages from
our old historical chronicles; and was particularly well acquainted with
Spenser, Drayton, and other poets who have exercised themselves on romantic
fiction, of all themes the most fascinating to a youthful imagination, before
the passions have roused themselves, and demand poetry of a more sentimental
