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conceivable subject. The advice given is so wholesome, and the letter so good that it is given, though the reaction against such books as are here assailed has set in, and carried the day.

William Godwin to William Cole.

"March 2, 1802.

"SIR,-Your question is much too copious to admit of being properly answered in an extemporary letter, and it may happen that my opinions upon some parts of the subject are so singular that they can stand little chance of obtaining your approbation without a further explanation than I can here give. I will, however, give you a proof of my willingness to oblige you on this point by giving you such an answer as I can.

"You enquire respecting the books I think best adapted for the education of female children from the age of two to twelve. I can answer you best on the early part of the subject, because in that I have made the most experiments; and in that part I should make no difference between children male and female.

“I have no difficulty in the initiatory part of the business. I think Mrs Barbauld's little books, four in number, admirably adapted, upon the whole, to the capacity and amusement of young children. I have seen another little book in two volumes, printed for Newbury, entitled 'The Infants' Friend, by Mrs Lovechild,' which I think might, without impropriety, accompany or follow

Mrs Barbauld's books.

"I am most peremptorily of opinion against putting children extremely forward. If they desire it themselves, I would not baulk them, for I love to attend to these unsophisticated indications. But otherwise, Festina lente is my maxim in education. I think the worst consequences flow from overloading the faculties of children, and a forced maturity. We should always remember that the object of education is the future man or woman; and it is a miserable vanity that would sacrifice the wholesome and gradual development of the mind to the desire of exhibiting little monsters of curiosity.

BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG.

119

"As far as Mrs Barbauld's books I have no difficulty. But here my judgment and the ruling passion of my contemporaries divide. They aim at cultivating one faculty, I should aim at cultivating another. A whimsical illustration of this occurred to me the other day in a silly bookseller, who was observing to me what a delightful book for children might be made, to be called A Tour through Papa's House.' The object of this book was to explain all the furniture, how carpets were made, the history and manufacture of iron, &c., &c. He was perfectly right: this is exactly the sort of writing for children which has lately been in fashion.

"These people, as I have said, aim at cultivating one faculty, and I another. I hold that a man is not an atom less a man, if he lives and dies without the knowledge they are so desirous of accumulating in the heads of children. Add to which, these things may be learned at any age, while the imagination, the faculty for which I declare, if cultivated at all, must be begun with in youth. Without imagination there can be no genuine ardour in any pursuit, or for any acquisition, and without imagination there can be no genuine morality, no profound feeling of other men's sorrow, no ardent and persevering anxiety for their interests. This is the faculty which makes the man, and not the miserable minutenesses of detail about which the present age is so uneasy. Nor is it the only misfortune that these minutenesses engross the attention of children: I would proscribe them from any early share, and would maintain that they freeze up the soul, and give a premature taste for clearness and exactness, which is of the most pernicious consequence.

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“I will put down the names of a few books, calculated to excite the imagination, and at the same time quicken the apprehensions of children. The best I know is a little French book, entitled 'Contes de ma Mère, or Tales of Mother Goose.' should also recommend Beauty and the Beast,' 'Fortunatus,' and a story of a Queen and a Country Maid in Fenelon's Dialogues of the Dead.' Your own memory will easily suggest to you others which would carry on this train, such as Valentine and Orson,'

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The Seven Champions of Christendom,' 'Les Contes de Madame Darmon,'' Robinson Crusoe,' if weeded of its methodism, and the Arabian Nights.' I would undoubtedly introduce before twelve years of age some smattering of geography, history, and the other sciences; but it is the train of reading I have here mentioned which I should principally depend upon for generating an active mind and a warm heart.-I am, Sir, yours, &c.,

"W. GODWIN."

It has been said that Godwin's second marriage was not a happy one, and ample proof of this will hereafter appear. Meanwhile, the only letter to his wife preserved for 1802, written during a visit to Norfolk, shows Godwin still under an illusion, which faded abruptly in the following year. But in the letters to his friends, is evidence that his natural loneliness was greatly increased. This came, no doubt, partly from increasing pecuniary embarrassment, but probably also from the want of comfort and perfect union at home, which affected him even before the existence of it was quite evident to himself.

William Godwin to Mrs Godwin.

“Fast BradenHAM, May 6, 1802. “MY DEAREST LOVE,-I am extremely sorry-but no: I will not say that.

"I am at this moment (twelve o'clock, Tuesday) under my brother's roof at East Bradenham. I found two conveyances from Swaffham to this place, when I expected none. Mr Sturley, the cabinetmaker, my brother's wife's brother-in-law, kindly offered to bring me on in his taxed cart (a thing very little different from an open chaise), and when we were a mile on the road, my brother met me with a similar intention. Thus circumstanced, however, Mr Sturley did not turn back, and will therefore form one of our party at the dinner which is on the spit.

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"For God's sake, write to me often, and especially if you have any good news to communicate. I had some thoughts extremely deject and wretched last night on the road near Puckeridge (for that was the road we took, and supped at Cambridge), but as morning approached, and promised a beautiful day, these thoughts were dissipated.

"I should not have troubled you with a letter to-day (I am extremely stupid, owing to having travelled all night) were it not that, in my hurry, and exceeding anxiety to forget nothing, I forgot the letter to Mr Norman, which I left open on the table. Pray, seal and despatch it without delay. Something else also I forgot, which recurred to me in the darkness of the night, but I cannot now recollect it. I know that it belongs to something in one of the brown paper parcels which I left on the green table. One of these parcels consists of Christmas bills, and the other contains papers of various sorts, which I put together thus that they might come to my hand with more facility at my return. Open everything, but leave, as nearly as possible, as you find.

"I set out to-morrow morning for Dalling upon a horse of my brother's. What I am to do, and what course the thing will take, I know not, but I will do the best I can. Of course, I can give no account of my motions till I have let down my fathom-line, and sounded the bottom.

"God for ever bless you, and for your sake and the sake of those you love, bless me too!"

Charles Lamb to Mrs Godwin.

[1802].

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“DEAR MRS G.,-Having observed with some concern that Mr Godwin is a little fastidious in what he eats for supper, herewith beg to present his palate with a piece of dried salmon. I am assured it is the best that swims in Trent. If you do not know how to dress it, allow me to add, that it should be cut in thin slices and boiled in paper previously prepared in butter. Wishing it exquisite, I remain,-Much as before, yours sincerely, "C. LAMB.

"Some add mashed potatoes."

CHAPTER VI.

ENTRANCE INTO BUSINESS LIFE.

1804-1806.

THE Diaries for 1804 show no fact of general or social interest, except the usual intercourse with the literary world of London, among whom is now found Miss Owenson (Lady Morgan), whose fame far exceeded her literary merits; and a renewal of relations with Everina Wollstonecraft, which were not, however, firm or abiding.

Some of Godwin's own family who were in London grew less and less satisfactory, and his poor old mother at Dalling wrote pathetically that she feared the streets would be "full of begging Godwins." William, for the position he filled, was perhaps in as great straits as any, but his purse, when there was anything in it, his house and all that it contained, were constantly at the service of one or the other relative. And when Godwin is seen deteriorating by slow but sure steps, asking for pecuniary assistance in words, and with subterfuges which fill those who read with a feeling akin to real pain, it must always be remembered that his needs were not selfish, and that the use of money to provide luxury or even comfort was the last of which he thought.

After the publication of Chaucer, the novel of "Fleetwood" occupied the greater portion of his time, but the play of "Faulkener" also was completed in this year. One of the many quarrels with Holcroft took place in regard to this play.

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