Sketch of the life of the Author, written by himself

Sketch of the Life of the Author,
Written by Himself a short Time before his Death.[1]

I was born the 21st of May, 1743, in the decayed town of Westbury, in the county of Wilts. My father inherited a small paternal estate, in the neighbourhood, of about £.100 per annum; which proving but a scanty maintenance for a large family, he undertook, without any knowledge of the business, as I have been informed, to deal in corn and malt, but with very little success. He died in 1756, leaving my excellent mother, and six children, in distressed circumstances.—Luckily for my mother, she had two opulent brothers in the West Indies, one of them a wise and worthy man, of a liberal mind, and princely fortune. This was Zackary Bayly, of the Island of Jamaica, who, on the death of my father, took my mother and her family under his protection, and as I was the eldest son, directed that I should be well educated. I had been placed by my father at the school of a dissenting minister in Bristol, whose name was William Foot, of whom I remember enough, to believe that he was both a learned and good man, but by a strange absurdity, he was forbidden to teach me Latin and Greek, and directed to confine my studies to writing, arithmetick, and the English grammar. I should therefore have had little to do, but that the schoolmaster had an excellent method of making the boys write letters to him on different subjects, such as, the beauty and dignity of truth, the obligation of a religious life, the benefits of good education, the mischief of idleness, &c. &c. previously stating to them the chief arguments to be urged; and insisting on correctness in orthography and grammar. In this employment, I had sometimes the good fortune to excel the other boys; and when this happened, my master never failed to praise me very liberally before them all; and he would frequently transmit my letters to my father and mother.—This excited in my mind a spirit of emulation, and, I believe, gave me the first taste for correct and elegant composition. I acquired, however, all this time, but very little learning; and when my uncle (on my father’s death) took me under his protection, his agent in Bristol considered me as neglected by Mr. Foot, and immediately removed me to a French boarding school in the same city, where I soon obtained the French language, and having access to a circulating library, I acquired a passion for books, which has since become the solace of my life.

In 1759, a younger and the only brother of my great and good uncle, came to England, and settling in London, took me to reside with him, in a high and elegant style of life. He was a representative in Parliament for Abingdon, and afterwards for his native town.—Further, I cannot speak of him so favourably as I could wish; for I remember that at the period I allude to, his conduct towards me, was such, as not to inspire me with much respect: he perceived it; and soon after, in the latter end of the same year, sent me to Jamaica.— This proved a happy and fortunate change in my life, for I found my eldest uncle the reverse, in every possible circumstance, of his brother. To the most enlarged and enlightened mind, he added the sweetest temper, and the most generous disposition. His tenderness towards me was excessive, and I regarded him with more than filial affection and veneration. Observing my passion for books, and thinking favourably of my capacity, he engaged a clergyman (my loved and ever to be lamented friend Isaac Teale) to reside in his family, chiefly to supply by his instructions my deficiency in the learned languages. Mr. Teale had been master of a free grammar school, and besides being a most accomplished scholar, possessed an exquisite taste for poetry, of which the reader will be convinced by referring to the Gentleman’s Magazine, for August 1771, the beautiful copy of verses, there first published, called “The Compliment of the Day,” being of his composition. I dare not say, however, that I made any great progress in the languages under his tuition; I acquired “small Latin, and less Greek;” even now, I find it difficult to read the Roman poets in their own language. The case was, that not having been grounded in the Latin grammar at an earlier period of life, I found the study of it insupportably disgusting, after that I had acquired a taste for the beauties of fine writing. Poetry was our chief amusement; for my friend, as well as myself, preferred the charms of Dryden and Pope, to the dull drudgery of poring over syntax and prosody.* We preferred Belles Lettres.—We laughed away many a happy hour over the plays of Molière, and wrote verses on local and temporary subjects, which we sometimes published in the Colonial newspapers. Yet the Latin classicks were not altogether neglected; my friend delighted to point out to me the beauties of Horace, and would frequently impose on me the task of translating an ode into English verse, which with his assistance, in construing the words, I sometimes accomplished.

Having made myself known to the publick by my writings, it is probable that after I am in the grave, that some collector of anecdotes, or biographical compiler, may pretend to furnish some particulars concerning my life and manners. It is not pleasant to think that misrepresentation or malice may fasten on my memory; and I have therefore made it the amusement of an idle hour to compile a short account of myself. My personal history, however, is of little importance to the world. It will furnish no diversified scenes of fortune, nor relate many circumstances of myself, worth remembering. Yet I feel the fond ambition of an Author, and am willing to hope, that those who have read my Book with approbation, will be glad to know something further concerning me:

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, &c.[2]

For the satisfaction then of such kind readers (if such there are) and the information of my posterity, I have drawn up this paper, which I desire my Bookseller to prefix to the next Edition of my History of the West Indies.

B.E.

* Vide Armstrong.[3]

[1] History, Civil and Commercial, of the British Colonies in the West Indies (London, 1801), 1:ix-xiv.

[2] Thomas Gray, An Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard (1751): “For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, / This pleasing anxious being e’er resign’d, / Left the warm precincts of the chearful day, / Nor cast one longing ling’ring look behind.”

[3] See John Armstrong, The Art of Preserving Health (1744), Book 4, lines 65-67: “But may nor thirst of fame, / Nor love of knowledge, urge you to fatigue / With constant drudgery the liberal soul.”