CHAPTER IV.
"Of course, sir, you will begin soon to educate your son yourself ?" said Mr.Squills.
"Of course, sir," said my father, "you have read Martinus Scriblerus ?" "I don't understand you, Mr.Caxton." "Then you have not read Aiartinus Scriblerus, Mr.Squills!" "Consider that I have read it; and what then ?" "Why, then, Squills," said my father, familiarly, "you son would know that though a scholar is often a fool, he is never a fool so supreme, so superlative, as when he is defacing the first unsullied page of the human history by entering into it the commonplaces of his own pedantry.
A scholar, sir,--at least one like me,--is of all persons the most unfit to teach young children.

A mother, sir,--a simple, natural, loving mother,--is the infant's true guide to knowledge." "Egad! Mr.Caxton,--in spite of Helvetius, whom you quoted the night the boy was born,--egad! I believe you are right." "I am sure of it," said my father,--"at least as sure as a poor mortal can be of anything.

I agree with Helvetius, the child should be educated from its birth; but how?
There is the rub: send him to school forthwith! Certainly, he is at school already with the two great teachers,--Nature and Love.

Observe, that childhood and genius have the same master-organ in common,--inquisitiveness.

Let childhood have its way, and as it began where genius begins, it may find what genius finds.