er grandchildren at four or five years old. 'I once,
indeed, knew a little girl,' so wrote Mrs. Aikin of her daughter, 'who
was as eager to learn as her instructor could be to teach her, and who
at two years old could read sentences and little stories, in her _wise_
book, roundly and without spelling, and in half a year or more could
read as well as most women; but I never knew such another, and I believe
I never shall.' It was fortunate that no great harm came of this premature
forcing, although it is difficult to say what its absence might not
have done for Mrs. Barbauld. One can fancy the little assiduous girl,
industrious, impulsive, interested in everything--in all life and
all nature--drinking in, on every side, learning, eagerly wondering,
listening to all around with bright and ready wit. There is a pretty
little story told by Mrs. Ellis in her book about Mrs. Barbauld, how
one day, when Dr. Aikin and a friend 'were conversing on the passions,'
the Doctor observes that joy cannot have place in a state of perfect
felicity, since it supposes an accession of happiness.

'I think you are mistaken, papa,' says a little voice from the opposite
side of the table.

'Why so, my child?' says the Doctor.

'Because in the chapter I read to you this morning, in the Testament, it
is said that "there is more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth
than over ninety and nine just persons that need no repentance."'

Besides her English Testament and her early reading, the little girl was
taught by her mother to do as little daughters did in those days, to
obey a somewhat austere rule, to drop curtsies in the right place, to
make beds, to preserve fruits. The father, after demur, but surely
not without some paternal pride in her proficiency, taught the child
Latin and French and Italian, and something of Greek, and gave her an
acquaintance with English literature. One can imagine little Nancy with
her fair head bending over her lessons, or, when playing time had come,
perhaps a little lonely and listening to the distant voices of the
schoolboys at their games. The mother, fearing she might acquire rough
and boisterous manners, strictly forbade any communication with the
schoolboys. Sometimes in after days, speaking of these early times and
of the constraint of many bygone rules and regulations, Mrs. Barbauld
used to attribute to this early formal training something of the
hesitation and shyness which troubled her and never