One of these, strange to say, was Defoe's Religious Courtship, and one, Young's Night Thoughts.

But there was another which deserves particular notice, inasmuch as it did far more than merely interest or amuse him, raising a deep question in his mind, and one worthy to be asked.

This book was the translation of Klopstock's Messiah, to which I have already referred.

It was not one of his grandmother's books, but had probably belonged to his father: he had found it in his little garret-room.

But as often as she saw him reading it, she seemed rather pleased, he thought.