As my father’s age encreased he became more attached to the quiet of a domestic life, and he gradually relinquished his public employments, and devoted himself with ardour to the education of his children.

With what delight do I even now remember the details of our domestic circle, and the happy years of my childhood. Joy attended on my steps—and the ardent affection that attached me to my excellent parents, my beloved Elizabeth, and Henry, the brother of my soul, has given almost a religious and sacred feeling to the recollections of a period passed beneath their eyes, and in their society.

I communicated my discovery to my father, who looking carelessly at the title-page of my book, said, “Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not waste your time upon this; it is sad trash.”