I remember an incident of my first year at Winchester, when I was between ten and eleven, which is illustrative of the misery which shyness may inflict. A boy about a year my senior, and taller than I, was constantly annoying and bullying me, and one day in the presence of a considerable number of onlookers challenged me to fight him. I refused, and naturally of course was considered a coward, and had to endure the jibes and taunts due to one. The explanation of my refusal of my enemy’s challenge however--never offered to mortal ear before the confiding of it to this page--was not that I was afraid to fight, but was too shy to do so. It was not that I could not face all that his fists could do to me, as I shortly afterwards showed him; but I could not bring myself to face the publicity of the proposed contest--the formality of it, the ring, in the centre of which I should have to perform, and to be a spectacle, and have my performance criticised. All this was too absolutely intolerable to me. But early the next morning, chancing to catch my adversary “in meads” with only one or two others near him, I attacked him to his utter astonishment and dismay, and without very much difficulty gave him as good a pummelling as my heart desired. Whether this incident originated the nickname “Badger,” which I bore at Winchester, as being one indisposed to fight, but likely to prove dangerous if “drawn,” I do not know. It was during our stay at Cincinnati that my father and I paid a visit to an establishment of “Shaking Quakers,” as they were called, and I believe called themselves at Mount Lebanon, about five and twenty miles from Cincinnati. We were hospitably received, paying a moderate remuneration for our lodging and food. Both these were supplied of exactly the same kind and quality as used by the inmates of the establishment, and were, though very simple and plain, admirable in quality. The extensive farm, on which the Shakers lived, and which they cultivated by their own labour, was their own property, having been originally purchased at a time when land was of very small market value, and brought under tillage by the labour of the members. But nothing in the nature of private property was held or retained by any one. The number of women was about equal to that of the men. But there were no children. None were born in the establishment, and no man or woman joining it was allowed to bring any. Nor was marriage or connubial life in any sort recognised or permitted. And of course these conditions rendered the whole experiment wholly useless as an example for the conduct of any ordinary community, or for an indication of what may be economically accomplished for such.