My eldest daughter attends at five every morning in a neighbouring establishment, to acquire the process — if process it may be called — of milking cows. My younger children are instructed to observe, as closely as circumstances will permit, the habits of the pigs and poultry maintained in the poorer parts of this city: a pursuit from which they have, on two occasions, been brought home, within an inch of being run over. I have myself directed some attention, during the past week, to the art of baking; and my son Wilkins has issued forth with a walking-stick and driven cattle, when permitted, by the rugged hirelings who had them in charge, to render any voluntary service in that direction — which I regret to say, for the credit of our nature, was not often; he being generally warned, with imprecations, to desist.’