I observed to Mr. Stanley, that as he had so noble a library, and wished to inspire his children with the love of literature, I was surprised to see their apartment so slenderly provided with books. "This is the age of excess in every thing," replied he; "nothing is a gratification of which the want has not been previously felt. The wishes of children are all so anticipated, that they never experience the pleasure excited by wanting and waiting. Of their initiatory books they _must_ have a pretty copious supply. But as to books of entertainment or instruction of a higher kind, I never allow them to possess one of their own, till they have attentively read and improved by it; this gives them a kind of title to it; and that desire of property, so natural to human creatures, I think stimulates them in dispatching books which are in themselves a little dry. Expectation with them, as with men, quickens desire, while possession deadens it." By this time the children had exhausted all the refreshments set before them, and had retreated to a little further distance, where, without disturbing us, they freely enjoyed their innocent gambols: playing, singing, laughing, dancing, reciting verses, trying which could puzzle the other in the names of plants, of which they pulled single leaves to increase the difficulty, all succeeded each other. Lady Belfield looking consciously at me, said, "These are the creatures whom I foolishly suspected of being made miserable by restraint, and gloomy through want of indulgence." "After long experience," said Mr. Stanley, "I will venture to pronounce, that not all the anxious cutting out of pleasure, not all the costly indulgences which wealth can procure, not all the contrivances of inventive man for his darling youthful offspring, can find out an amusement so pure, so natural, so cheap, so rational, so healthful, I had almost said so religious, as that unbought pleasure connected with a garden." Kate and Celia, who had for some time been peeping into the bower, in order to catch an interval in the conversation, as soon as they found our attention disengaged, stole in among us, each took the fond father by a hand, and led him to the turf seat. Ph[oe]be presented him a book which he opened, and out of it read with infinite humor, grace, and gayety, THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. This, it seems, was a pleasure to which they had been led to look forward for some time, but which, in honor of Kate, had been purposely withheld till this memorable day. His little auditors, who grouped themselves around him on the grass, were nearly convulsed with laughter, nor were the tenants of the bower much less delighted.