riably allied to meanness, lying, and
dishonesty. I had about 2000 children in the _public schools_ of
Philadelphia pass under my teaching, and never met with but one instance
of direct rudeness. There was also only one of dishonesty or theft, and
that was by a fighting boy, who looked like a miniature pugilist.
Philadelphia manners were formed by Quakers. When I visited, in 1884,
certain minor art-work classes established in the East End of London, Mr.
Walter Besant said to me that I would find a less gentle set of pupils.
In fact, in the first school which I examined, the girls had, the week
before, knocked down, kicked, and trampled on an elderly lady who had
come to teach them art-work out of pure benevolence. I am often told
that whipping put an end to garroting. If this be true, which it is
_not_ (for garroting was a merely temporary fancy, which died out in
America without whipping), it only proves that the garotters, who were
all fighting and boxing roughs, were mere cowards. Red Indians never
whip children, but they will die under torture without a groan.

My parents were from Massachusetts, and every summer they returned to
pass several months in or near Boston, generally with their relatives in
Worcester county, in Dedham, in the "Hub" itself, or in Milford, Mendon,
or Holliston, the home of my paternal grandfather, Oliver Leland. Thus I
grew to be familiar with New England, its beautiful scenery and
old-fashioned Yankee rural ways. Travelling was then by stage-coach, and
it took two days to go from Philadelphia to Boston, stopping on the way
overnight at Princeton, Perth Amboy, or Providence. This is to me a very
interesting source of reminiscences. In Dedham, for three summers, I
attended school. I remember that we stayed with Dr. Jeremy Stimson, who
had married a sister of my mother. I studied French; and can recall that
my cousins Caroline and Emily, who were very beautiful young ladies,
generally corrected my exercises. I was then seven or eight years of
age. Also that I was very much alone; that I had a favourite bow, made
by some old Indian; that I read with great relish "Gil Blas" and "Don
Quixote," and especially books of curiosities and oddities which had a
great influence on me. I wandered for days by myself fishing, strolling
in beautiful wild places among rocks and fields, or in forests by the
River Charles. I can remember how one Sunday during service I sat in
church unseen behind