The fewer formal lessons that are inculcated, the better. A thousand modes of instruction may be adopted in the freedom of conversation, more useful than lessons themselves. I have known many children who have learnt to read during their play; we need only relate to them some diverting story from a book opened in their presence, and make them insensibly become acquainted with their letters; after this, they will themselves be anxious to arrive at the source which has afforded them such amusement. There are two circumstances which spoil every thing; namely, teaching them at first to read in a foreign tongue[3]--which takes away all pleasure in reading; and making them read with a forced and ridiculous emphasis. Give them a book handsomely bound, with neat cuts, and printed with a fine type; every thing which delights the fancy, facilitates study: we should even let them have a book full of short and marvellous stories. After this, do not be uneasy about the child's learning to read--do not fatigue her by requiring too great a precision; let her pronounce naturally as she speaks: other tones are always bad, and partake of the declamation of the stage. When the tongue has acquired sufficient volubility, the chest strength, and the habit of reading been confirmed, she will then read without pain, and with more grace and distinctness. [3] Fenelon says the _Latin_ tongue: but this is not practised in England. The manner of teaching to write should be pretty nearly the same. When children can read a little, one may amuse them in making them sort the letters; and if there are several pupils, emulation may be kindled. Children are naturally inclined to make figures on paper; and if this propensity be encouraged, without teasing them too much, they will form letters during their play, and accustom themselves by degrees to write. One may also encourage them by the promise of a reward adapted to their taste, and which has no unpleasant consequences. "Write me a note," you may say, "inform your brother or cousin of such and such things:" all this (varied as you like) pleases a child, provided that no sad idea of a formal lesson intrude. "A free curiosity," says St. Austin, from his own experience, "excites the mental faculties of a child, much more than the formality of rules, or a constraint imposed by fear." Observe this grand defect in ordinary educations--all pleasure is placed on one side, and pain on the other: the latter is attached to study, the former to play. What then can be expected from a child, but that, in supporting one of these maxims, she will eagerly fly to her amusements? Let us try to invert this order: let us make study agreeable, concealing it under the form of liberty and pleasure: the dull routine of continued application may be sometimes broken in upon by little sallies of amusement. Children require these relaxations to preserve the elasticity of their mind.