agree with you, that she is a good mother. In the whole course of the
education of her son and daughter, she has pursued a system of artifice.
Whatever she wanted them to learn, or to do, or to leave undone, some
stratagem, sentimental or scenic, was employed; somebody was to hint to
some other body to act upon Amelia to make her do so and so.
Nothing--that is, nothing like truth, ever came directly from the
mother: there were always whisperings and mysteries, and 'Don't say that
before Amelia!' and 'I would not have this told to Edward,' because it
might make him like something that she did not wish that he should like,
and that she had _her reasons_ for not letting him know that she did not
wish him to like. There was always some truth to be concealed for some
mighty good purpose; and things and persons were to be represented in
false lights, to produce on some particular occasion some partial
effect. All this succeeded admirably in detail, and for the management
of helpless, ignorant, credulous childhood. But mark the consequences
of this system: children grow up, and cannot always see, hear, and
understand, just as their mothers please. They will go into the world;
they will mix with others; their eyes will be opened; they will see
through the whole system of artifice by which their childhood was so
cleverly managed; and then, confidence in the parent must be destroyed
for ever."

Miss Walsingham acknowledged the truth of what her father said; but she
observed that this was a common error in education, which had the
sanction of high authority in its favour; even the eloquent Rousseau,
and the elegant and ingenious Madame de Genlis. "And it is certain,"
continued Miss Walsingham, "that Mrs. Beaumont has not made her children
artful; both Amelia and Mr. Beaumont are remarkably open, sincere,
honourable characters. Mr. Beaumont, indeed, carries his sincerity
almost to a fault: he is too blunt, perhaps, in his manner;--and Amelia,