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 me to the outer gate, and looked after me, till the carriage, or horse, was out of sight. At the time appointed for my return all were prepared to meet me; and, if it were late at night, they sat up as long as they were able to keep their eyes open. &hellip; We lived in a garden of about two acres, partly kitchen-garden with walls, partly shrubbery and trees, and partly grass. There were the peaches, as tempting as any that ever grew, and yet as safe from fingers as if no child were ever in the garden. &hellip; In the meanwhile the book-learning crept in of its own accord by imperceptible degrees. &hellip; They began by taking words out of printed books; finding out which letter was which; &hellip; and by imitating bits of my writing. &hellip; The first use that any one of them made of the pen was to write to me, though in the same house with them; &hellip; and they were sure to receive, prompt answer with most encouraging compliments.

"In this happy state we lived until the year 1810, when the Government laid its merciless fangs upon me, dragged from me these delights, and crammed me into a jail amongst felons. &hellip; It was in the month of July when the horrible sentence was passed upon me. My wife, having left the children in the care of her good and affectionate sister, was in London, waiting to know the doom of her husband. When the news arrived at Botley, the three boys, one eleven, another nine, and the other seven years old, were hoeing cabbages in that garden which had been the source of so much delight. When the account of the savage sentence was brought to them, the youngest could not for some time be made to understand what a jail was; and when he did, he all in a tremor exclaimed, 'Now I'm sure, William, that is not in a place like that.' The other, in order to disguise his tears and smother his sobs, fell to work with the hoe, and chopped about like a blind person."

Is it surprising that a man who possessed such strong domestic instincts should have wavered and doubted whether he was justified in sacrificing the interests of those he loved? His offer to capitulate certainly shows that Cobbett had nothing of the martyr in him. The Government refused his submission, and as might be expected, the depth of his power to love became the measure of the intensity of his hate. When he heard how his