282.  Now, proceeding to relate what was, in this respect, my line of conduct, I am not pretending that every man, and particularly every man living in a town, can, in all respects, do as I did in the rearing up of children.  But, in many respects, any man may, whatever may be his state of life.  For I did not lead an idle life; I had to work constantly for the means of living; my occupation required unremitted attention; I had nothing but my labour to rely on; and I had no friend, to whom, in case of need, I could fly for assistance:  I always saw the possibility, and even the probability, of being totally ruined by the hand of power; but, happen what would, I was resolved, that, as long as I could cause them to do it, my children should lead happy lives; and happy lives they did lead, if ever children did in this whole world.

283.  The first thing that I did, when the fourth child had come, was to get into the country, and so far as to render a going backward and forward to London, at short intervals, quite out of the question.  Thus was health, the greatest of all things, provided for, as far as I was able to make the provision.  Next, my being always at home was secured as far as possible; always with them to set an example of early rising, sobriety, and application to something or other.  Children, and especially boys, will have some out-of-door pursuits; and it was my duty to lead them to choose such pursuits as combined future utility with present innocence.  Each his flower-bed, little garden, plantation of trees; rabbits, dogs, asses, horses, pheasants and hares; hoes, spades, whips, guns; always some object of lively interest, and as much earnestness and bustle about the various objects as if our living had solely depended upon them.  I made everything give way to the great object of making their lives happy and innocent.  I did not know what they might be in time, or what might be my lot; but I was resolved not to be the cause of their being unhappy then, let what might become of us afterwards.  I was, as I am, of opinion, that it is injurious to the mind to press book-learning upon it at an early age:  I always felt pain for poor little things, set up, before ‘company,’ to repeat verses, or bits of plays, at six or eight years old.  I have sometimes not known which way to look, when a mother (and, too often, a father), whom I could not but respect on account of her fondness for her child, has forced the feeble-voiced eighth wonder of the world, to stand with its little hand stretched out, spouting the soliloquy of Hamlet, or some such thing.  I remember, on one occasion, a little pale-faced creature, only five years old, was brought in, after the feeding part of the dinner was over, first to take his regular half-glass of vintner’s brewings, commonly called wine, and then to treat us to a display of his wonderful genius.  The subject was a speech of a robust and