Chapter II: Part 2

Home is the great seeding-place of every affection that ever grows in the heart. Hence all should tend well to it, watch, prune, and cultivate with all prudence and wisdom, with all fervency of spirit. Let the music of the heart swell its notes here in one perpetual anthem of good will. Let praise and prayer and fervent good wishes and words and works hallow its sacred shrine. Let offices of love go round like smiles at a feast of joy. Let the whole soul devote its energies to making happy its home, and its rewards will be great.

If there be any tie formed in life which ought to be securely guarded from any thing which can put it in peril it is that which unites the members of a family. If there be a spot upon earth from which discord and strife should be banished it is the fireside. There center the fondest hopes and the most tender affections.

The great lever by which the heart is moved is love; it is the basis of all true excellence, of all excellent thought. How pleasing the spectacle of that home circle which is governed by the spirit of love! Each one strives to avoid giving offense, and is studiously considerate of the others' happiness. Sweet, loving dispositions are cultivated by all, and each tries to surpass the other in his efforts for the common harmony. Each heart glows with love, and the benediction of heavenly peace seems to abide upon that dwelling with such power that no storm of passion is able to rise.

There is no pleasanter sight than that of a family of young folks who are quick to perform little acts of attention towards their elders. The placing of the big arm-chair for the mother, or kindly errands done for father, and scores of little deeds, show the tender sympathy of gentle, loving hearts. Parents should show their appreciation of these kindly acts. If they do not indicate that they are appreciated the habit is soon dropped.

Little children are imitative creatures, and quickly catch the spirit surrounding them. So, if the father shows kindly attention to the mother, bright eyes will see the act, and quick minds will make a note of it. By example much more than by precept can children be taught to speak kindly to each other, to acknowledge favors, to be gentle and unselfish, to be thoughtful and considerate of the comfort of the family.

The boys, with inward pride of the father's courteous demeanor, will be chivalrous and helpful to their sisters; and the girls, imitating the mother, will be patient and gentle, even when brothers are noisy and heedless.

In the homes where true courtesy prevails it seems to meet you on the threshold. You feel the kindly welcome on entering. No angry voices are heard up stairs, no sullen children are sent from the room, no peremptory orders are given to cover the delinquencies of housekeeping or servants. A delightful atmosphere pervades the house, unmistakable, yet indescribable. Such a house, filled by the spirit of love, is a home indeed, to all who enter within its consecrated walls.

Members of the home circle lose nothing by mutual politeness; on the contrary, by maintaining not only its forms, but by inward cultivation of its spirit, they become contributors to that domestic feeling which is in itself a foretaste of heaven. The good-night and the good-morning salutation, though they may seem but trifles, have a sweet and softening influence on all its members. The little kiss and artless good-night of the smaller ones, as they retire to rest, have in them a heavenly melody.

Children are the pride and ornament of the family circle. They create sport and amusement and dissipate all sense of loneliness from the household. When intelligent and well trained they afford a spectacle which even indifferent persons contemplate with satisfaction and delight. Still these pleasurable emotions are not unalloyed with solicitude. It is an agreeable but changeable picture of human happiness. Time in advancing carries them forward, and erelong they will feel like exclaiming, with the older and more sad and serious ones around them, that their youth exists only in remembrance.

There is probably not an unpolluted man or woman living who does not feel that the sweetest consolations and best rewards of life are found in the loves and delights of home. There are very few who do not feel themselves indebted to the influence that clustered around their cradles for whatever good there may be in their character and condition. The influence preceding from the home circle is either a blessing or a curse, either for good or for evil. It can not be neutral. In either case it is mighty, commencing with our birth, going with us through life, clinging to us in death, and reaching into the eternal world. It is that unitive power which arises out of the manifold relations and associations of domestic life. The specific influence of husband and wife, of parent and child, of brother and sister, of teacher and pupil, united and harmoniously blended, constitute the home influence. From this we may infer the character of home influence. It is great, silent, irresistible, and permanent. Like the calm, deep stream, it moves on in silent but overwhelming power. It strikes root deep into the human heart, and spreads its branches wide over our whole being. Like the lily that braves the tempest, and the "Alpine flower that leans its cheek on the bosom of eternal snow," it is exerted amid the wildest scenes of life, and breathes a softening spell in our bosom, even when a heartless world is freezing up the fountains of our sympathy and love. It is governing, restraining, attracting, and traditional. It holds the empire of the heart and rules the life. It restrains the wayward passions of the child and checks the man in his mad career of ruin.

But all pictures of earthly happiness are transient in duration. Where can you find an unbroken home circle? The time must soon come, if it has not already, when you must part from those who have surrounded the same parental board, who mingled with you in the gay-hearted joys of childhood and the opening promise of youth. New cares will attend you in new situations, and the relations you form and the business you pursue may call you far from the "play-place" of your youth. In the unseen future your brothers and sisters may be sundered from you, your lives may be spent apart, and in death you may be divided; and of you it may be said:

"They grew in beauty side by side,
They filled one home with glee;
Their graves are severed far and wide,
By mount and stream and sea."

How can children repay parents for their watchings, anxieties, labors, toils, trials, patience, and love? Think of the utter helplessness of the long years of infancy, of the entire dependence of succeeding childhood, of the necessities and wants of youth, of the burning solicitude of parents, and their deep and inexhaustible love; think of the long years of unwearied toil, of their deep and soul-felt devotion to the interests of their offspring, of the majesty and matchless power of their unselfish affections—and then say whether it is possible for youth to repay too much love and gratitude for all this bestowal of parental anxiety.

Oh, what thankfulness should fill every child's heart! What a glorious return of love! Every day should they give them some token of love. Every hour should their own hearts glow with gratitude and holy respect for those who have given them being, and loved them so fervently and long. Nothing will so warm and quicken all the affections of the parent's heart as such respect. Who feels like trusting an ungrateful child? Who can believe that his affection for any object can be firm and pure? The child who has loved long and well his parents has thoroughly electrified his affections, has surcharged them with the sweet spirit of an affectionate tenderness, which will pervade his entire heart, and will make him better and purer forever. The affections of such a child are to be trusted. As well may one doubt an angel as such a one.

There is always a liability, where sons and daughters have gone from the home of their childhood, and have formed homes of their own, gradually to lose the old attachments and cease to pay those attentions to parents which were so easy and natural in the olden time. New associations, new thoughts, new cares, all come in, filling the mind and heart, and, if special pains be not taken, they thrust out the old love. _This ought never to be._ Children should remember that the change is in them, and not with those they left behind. They have every thing that is new, much that is attractive in the present and bright in the future; but the parents' hearts cling to the past, and have most in memory. When children go away, they know not, and never will know until they experience it themselves, what it cost to give them up, nor what a vacancy they left behind.

The parents have not, if the children have, any new loves to take the place of the old. Do not, then, heartlessly deprive them of what you still can give of attention and love. If you live in the same place, let your step be—if possible, daily—a familiar one in the old home. Even when many miles away, make it your business to go to your parents. In this matter do not regard time or expense. They are well spent; and some day when the word reaches you, flashed over the wires, that your father or mother is gone, you will not regret then the many hours of travel spent in going to them while they were yet alive.

Keep up your intercourse with your parents. Do not deem it sufficient to write only when something important is to be told. Do not believe that to them "no news is good news." If it be but a few lines, write them. Write, if it be only to say, "I am well;" if it be only to send the salutation which says they are "dear," or the farewell which tells them that you are "affectionate" still. These little messages will be like caskets of jewels, and the tear that falls fondly over them will be treasures for you. Let every child, having any pretense to heart, or manliness, or piety, and who is so fortunate as to have a father or mother living, consider it a sacred duty to consult, at any reasonable personal sacrifice, the known wishes of such a parent until that parent is no more; and, our word for it, the recollections of the same through the after pilgrimage of life will sweeten every sorrow, will brighten every gladness, will sparkle every tear-drop with a joy ineffable.

There is no period of life when our parents do not claim our attention, love, and warmest affections. From youth to manhood, from middle age to riper years, if our honored parents survive, it should be our constant study how we can best promote their welfare and happiness, and smooth the pillow of their declining years.

Nothing better recommends an individual than his attentions to his parents. There are some children whose highest ambition seems to be the promotion of their parents' interest. They watch over them with unwearied care, supply all their wants, and by their devotion and kindness remove all care and sorrow from their hearts. On the contrary, there are others who seem never to bestow a thought upon their parents, and to care but little whether they are comfortably situated or not. By their conduct they increase their cares, embitter their lives, and bring their gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. Selfishness has steeled their hearts to the whispers of affection, and avarice denies to their parents those favors which would materially assist them in the down-hill of life.

Others, too, by a course of profligacy and vice, have drained to the very dregs their parents' cup of happiness, and made them anxious for death to release them from their sufferings. How bitter must be the doom of those children who have thus embittered the lives of their best earthly friends!

There can be no happier reflection than that derived from the thought of having contributed to the comfort and happiness of our parents. When called away from our presence, which sooner or later must happen, the thought will be sweet that our efforts and our care smoothed their declining years, so that they departed in comfort and peace. If we were otherwise, and we denied them what their circumstances and necessities required, and our hearts did not become like the nether millstone, our remorse must prove a thorn in our flesh, piercing us sharply, and filling our days with regret.

There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to her son that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his prosperity. If misfortune overtake him, he will be the dearer to her from misfortune; and if disgrace settles upon his name, she will still love and cherish him in spite of his disgrace. If all the world besides cast him off, she will be all the world to him.

A father may turn his back on his child, brothers and sisters may become inveterate enemies, husbands may desert their wives, wives their husbands; but a mother's love endures through all. In good repute, in bad repute, in the face of the world's condemnation, a mother still lives on and still hopes that her child may turn from his evil ways and repent; still she remembers his infant smile that ever filled her bosom with rapture, the merry laugh, the joyful shout of his childhood, the opening promise of his youth; and thinking of these, she never can be brought to think him all unworthy.

Young man, speak kindly to your mother, and ever courteously and tenderly of her. But a little while and you shall see her no more forever. Her eye is dim, her form bent, and her shadow falls grave-ward. Others may love you when she has passed away—a kind-hearted sister, perhaps, or she whom of all the world you chose for a partner—she may love you warmly, passionately; children may love you fondly; but never again, never, while time is yours, shall the love of woman be to you as that of your old, trembling mother has been. Alas! how little do we appreciate a mother's tenderness while living! How heedless are we in youth of all her anxious tenderness! But when she is dead and gone, when the cares and coldness of the world come withering to our hearts, when we experience how hard it is to find true sympathy, how few love us for ourselves, how few will befriend us in misfortune, then it is that we think of the mother we have lost.

The loss of a parent is always felt. Even though age and infirmities may have incapacitated them from taking an active part in the cares of the family, still they are rallying points around which affection and obedience, and a thousand tender endeavors to please, concentrate. They are like the lonely star before us: neither its heat nor light are any thing to us in themselves, yet the shepherd would feel his heart sad if he missed it when he lifts his eye to the brow of the mountains over which it rises when the sun descends.

Over the grave of a friend, of a brother or a sister we would plant the primrose, emblematical of youth; but over that of a mother we would let the green grass shoot up unmolested; for there is something in the simple covering which nature spreads upon the grave which well becomes the abiding place of decaying age. Oh, a mother's grave! It is indeed a sacred spot. It may be retired from the noise of business, and unnoticed by the stranger; but to our heart how dear!

The love we should bear to a parent is not to be measured by years, nor annihilated by distance, nor forgotten when they sleep in dust. Marks of age may appear in our homes and on our persons, but the memory of a beloved parent is more enduring than that of time itself. Who has stood by the grave of a mother and not remembered her pleasant smiles, kind words, earnest prayer, and assurance expressed in a dying hour? Many years may have passed, memory may be treacherous in other things, but will reproduce with freshness the impressions once made by a mother's influence. Why may we not linger where rests all that was earthly of a beloved parent? It may have a restraining influence upon the wayward, prove a valuable incentive to increased faithfulness, encourage hope in the hour of depression, and give fresh inspiration to Christian life.

The mother's love is indeed the golden cord which binds youth to age; and he is still but a child, however time may have furrowed his cheek or silvered his brow, who can yet recall with a softened heart the fond devotion or the gentle chidings of the best friend that God ever gave us. Round the idea of mother the mind of a man clings with fond affection. It is the first deep thought stamped upon our infant heart, when yet soft and capable of receiving the most profound impressions; and the after feelings of the world are more or less light in comparison. Even in old age we look back to that feeling as the sweetest we have known through life.

Our passions and our willfulness may lead us far from the object of our filial love; we may come even to pain their heart, to oppose their wishes, to violate their commands. We may become wild, headstrong, or angry at their counsels or oppositions; but when death has stilled their monitory voices, and nothing but silent memory remains to recapitulate their virtues and deeds, affection, like a flower broken to the ground by a past storm, lifts up her head and smiles away our tears. When the early period of our loss forces memory to be silent, fancy takes her place, and twines the image of our dead parents with a garland of graces, beauties, and virtues, which we doubt not they possessed.

Infancy, the morning of life! How beautiful it is! How filled with great responsibilities! An immortal soul commences its existence. A life, beginning in time, but capable of growing brighter when time is ended and eternity begun, commences to note the passing hours.

We welcome the infant with joy, and congratulate the parents, and we do well; but to an angel, who can clearly understand the infinite value of the life just commenced, the heights of happiness to which it may ascend, the depths of misery to which it may be brought, it must seem a moment so deeply freighted with solemn meaning as to dispel all expressions of joy, save only of a subdued and chastened kind.

Infancy has its hours of anxiety and trials for the parents, but it has also its hours of compensating joys. When sickness is in the midst, and it seems as if the cradle song would be exchanged for a dirge, what utter wretchedness of heart is the parent's portion! A mother watching the palpitating frame of her child as life ebbs slowly away evokes the sympathy of the sternest. A child dying dies but once, but the mother dies a hundred times. A mother mourning by the grave of her first-born, and strewing flowers over a coffined form instead of kisses on a warm brow, is one of the deepest spectacles of human woe. These are the dark shades, the night scenes of the parents' experience; but it has its richer, deeper, and more inspiring history, its seasons of comfort and delight, when the little child, insensibly, perhaps, draws the parents into a higher and a better life. What a sense of delicious responsibility fills the parents' hearts as they realize that in their hands and under their influence is to be molded a character, that they are the ones to carefully watch the unfolding of a human life, the development of a human soul.

How earnestly should they seek to set a watch over their lips, to guard well their thoughts and actions, to surround the child with such an air of refined, intelligent, loving kindness that its young life shall as naturally grow into a youth of beauty and a noble manhood or true womanhood as that the bud on the rose-bush expands to the gorgeous flower that excites universal admiration. Welcome to the parents the puny struggler, strong in his weakness, his little arms more irresistible than the soldier's, his lips touched with persuasion which Chatham and Pericles in manhood had not. His unaffected lamentation when he lifts up his voice on high, or, more beautiful, the sobbing child—the face all liquid grief, as he tries to swallow his vexation—soften all hearts to pity and to mirthful and clamorous compassion.

The parent's duty commences at the birth of the child. There is importance even in the handling of infancy. If it is unchristian it will beget unchristian states and feelings. If it is gentle, even patient and loving, it prepares a mood and temper like its own. Then how careful to banish the cross word, the impatient gesture! Let kind and loving tones only fall on its ears, and only gentle hands assist it in its little wants. There is scarcely room to doubt that all most crabbed, resentful, passionate characters—all most even, lovely, firm, and true ones—are prepared in a great degree by the handling of the nursery. The biography of many persons, faithfully written, would ascribe to the training of early years the molding not only of youthful character, but the more matured forms of mental and moral development of after years. The influence thus exerted in the early days of infancy is often the almost hopeless "casting of bread upon the waters"—often not found in any of its favorable developments until after "many days." The cares of the world and the evil example of others often choke the word of a good mother, and destroy its vitality; but not unfrequently it will be found, like seed long buried in the earth, to spring up to remembrance in active life, and the counsels imparted to the "infant of days" be found to influence and control the whole destiny of the man of mature years and gray hairs.

As it is a law of our being that all, even the most feeble and insignificant, exert a reciprocal influence on all around them, then an infant exerts a great modifying influence on the elder men and women around it. It recalls them from the contemplation of the stern realities of life to its innocent phases, from disdainful, self-reliant pride to trustful confidence. Hearts that but for the smile of innocence on the prattling lips of infancy had grown callous beat once more in sympathy with the distressed around them. The feeble clasp of well-nigh helpless hands is sometimes powerful enough to turn strong men from the road to ruin. An infant in his cradle is king, and wields his power over all who come near him.

Infants are the poetry of the world; the fresh flowers of our hearts and homes; little conjurers, with the magic of their natural ways, working by their spells what delights and enriches all ranks and equalizes the different classes of society. Every infant comes into the world, like a delegated prophet, the harbinger and herald of good tidings, whose office it is to make young again hearts well-nigh wearied with the cares of years. A child warms and softens the heart by its gentle presence; it enriches the soul by new feeling, and it awakens within it what is favorable to virtue. An infant is a beam of light, a fountain of love, a teacher, whose lessons few can resist. They recall us from much that engenders and encourages selfishness, that freezes the affections, roughens the manners, and indurates the heart. They brighten the home, deepen love, invigorate exertion, infuse courage, and vivify and sustain the charities of life.

An infant finds a place in the hearts of all people. The selfish and proud open their hearts to its silent influence. The aged, who are standing near the end of the journey of life, have the scenes of their younger days called up afresh by the child's artless ways, and in its company grow young again. The disconsolate seem to catch a fresh gleam of hope when they see the confiding ways of the little child, and take heart again.

It would seem fitting that nature should exempt little children from sickness and death, but, alas! impartial fate, which,

"With equal pace,
Knocks at the palace as the cottage gate,"

is no respecter of age. What a great hush falls on the ear, like a pall, and an untold sadness settles over the heart when the little child is sick. Is it not strange that such a wee bit of a thing should have the power to change every thing, making the sunshine that but yesterday played in and out of the windows so merrily and bright seem such a mockery to-day, changing the joyous tones of the other children into funeral notes? Why is it that the soft winds, which but lately seemed burdened with joy, and came softly whispering of pleasant dells, of flowing streams, of flowery banks, to-day seem strangely sighing, to have exchanged its joy for sorrow?

But such is the spell that baby has woven, knitting itself into the very meshes of our hearts in such a quiet, subduing manner that we scarcely know how dear it is until the little form lies still and prostrate. Great as is the influence of the little child while living it has also a sweet and sacred influence when its brief life is over and the solemn "dust unto dust" and "ashes unto ashes" has been said over the little mound in the church-yard.

Sweet places for pure thought and holy meditation are these little graves. They are depositories of the mother's sweetest joy, unfolded buds of innocence, humanity nipped by the frosts of time ere yet a canker-worm of corruption has nestled among its embryo petals.

Callous, indeed, must be the heart of him who can stand by a little grave-side and not have the holiest emotions of the soul awakened to thoughts of purity and joy, which belong alone to God and heaven. The mute preacher at his feet tells of a life begun and ended without a stain; and surely if this be vouchsafed to mortality, how much more pure and holier must be the spirit-land, enlightened by the sun of infinite goodness, from whence emanated the soul of that brief sojourner among us! How swells the soul with joy when standing by the earth-beds of lost little ones, sorrowful because a sweet treasure has been taken away, joyful because that sweet jewel glitters in the diadem of the redeemed.

Such, then, is infancy. 'Tis the brief morning hour which precedes the busy day. It may be grand and beautiful, while its after life may but be dark and lowering, going out at last with wailing winds and weeping storms. Or it may be bleak and dreary, only at last to break forth into the full glory of the beauteous Summer day. But whatever its present state care and trouble and sorrow are sure to await it. So train it, then, that it shall expect them and look to the only true source for aid and assistance for the trials that lie in store for it.

Childhood, after reason has begun her sway, seems to us the happiest season of life. It is also the critical period. At this time they receive those impressions and contract those habits which impel them towards the good and true or towards the evil and false.

The child's soul is without character. It is a rudimental existence, pure as the driven snow—beautiful as a cherub angel, spotless, guileless, and innocent. It is the chart of a man yet to be filled up with the elements of a character. These elements are first outlined by the parents. With what delicacy should they use the pencil of personal influence! The soul is soft, and the lines they make are deep and not easily erased. It is a man they form. Responsible work! It is an immortal soul they work upon, destined to survive the wreck of matter and the crush of worlds, and to show in its character forever some distant trace, at least, of their work.

Never believe any thing that concerns children to be of no importance. A hasty word is of consequence. The little things that they see and hear about them mold them for eternity. Observe how very quick the child's eye is to perceive the meaning of looks, voices, and motions. It peruses all faces, colors, and sounds. Every sentiment that looks into its eye is reflected therefrom, and plays in miniature on its countenance. The tear that steals down the cheek of a mother's suppressed grief gathers the little infantile face into a sob. With a wondering silence it studies the mother in her prayers, and looks up with her in that exploring watch which signifies unspoken prayer. If the child be tended with impatience, or coolly and with a lack of motherly gentleness, it straightway shows by its action that it, too, feels the sting of just that which is felt towards it. And thus it is angered by anger, fretted by fretfulness, irritated by irritation, having impressed upon it just that kind of impatience or ill-nature which is felt towards it, and growing faithfully into the bad mold as by a fixed law.

However apparently trivial the influences which contribute to form the character of the child, they endure through life. Those impulses to conduct which last the longest and are rooted the deepest always have their origin near our birth. It is there that the germs of virtue or vice, of feeling or sentiment, are first implanted which determine the character for life. It is in childhood that the mind is most open to impression, and ready to be kindled by the first spark that flies into it. The first thing continues always with the child. The first joy, the first failure, the first achievement, the first misadventure, paint the foreground of life.

Influence is as quiet and imperceptible on the child's mind as the falling of snowflakes on the meadows. One can not tell the hour when the human mind is not in the condition of receiving impressions from exterior moral forces. In innumerable instances the most secret and unnoticed influences have been in operation for months, and even years, to break down the strongest barriers of the human heart, and work out its moral ruin while yet the fondest parents and friends have been unaware of the working of such unseen agents of evil.

Children are more easily led to be good by examples of loving kindness and tales of well-doing in others than threatened into obedience by records of sin, crime, and punishment. Then strive to impress on the child's mind sincerity, truth, honesty, benevolence, and their kindred virtues, and the welfare of your child, not only for this life, but for the life to come, will be assured. What a responsibility it is to form a creature, the frailest and feeblest that heaven has made, into the intelligent and fearless sovereign of the whole animated universe, the interpreter, adorer, and almost representative of Divinity!

There is much mistaken kindness in the management of children. The law of love is great, but it showeth not its full strength, save when united with kindness. Make your children helpful and useful, and you make them happy. Let them early form habits of neatness, and when you are weary you will not have to wait on their carelessness.

Teach them to give you courteous speech and manners, and they will live to honor you. Take pains to have the home attractions stronger than can come from outside influences. It is a sad fact that few children confide in their parents. The parents must take an interest in them, and draw them to their hearts instead of repelling them away. There is no mystery in attaching children to one's self. If you love them, they will love you. If you make much of them, they will make much of you. They can readily pick out the children's friend among many. They have a quick way of discerning who really love them and who care for them.

Parents do not think how far a word of praise will ofttimes go with children. Praise is sunshine to a child, and there is no child who does not need it. It is the high reward of one's struggle to do right. Many a sensitive child hungers for commendation. Many a child, starving for the praise which parents should give, runs off eagerly after the designing flattery of others. To withhold praise where it is due is dishonest, and, in the case of a child, such a course often leaves a stinging sense of injustice. One may as well think to rear flowers in frost as to think of educating children successfully in rebuff and constant criticism. Judicious flattery is almost one of the necessities of existence with children. Indiscriminate flattery is, of course, bad. When it becomes necessary to reprove children, use the gentlest form of address under the circumstances. Reproof must not fall like a violent storm, breaking down and making those to droop whom it is meant to cherish and refresh. It must descend as the dew upon the tender herb, or like melting flakes of snow. The softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into, the mind.

Never reprove the little ones before strangers; for children are as sensitive, if not more so, than older persons, and wish strangers to think well of them. When reproved before any one with whom they are not well acquainted, their vanity is wounded. They have self-respect, and such mortification of it is dangerous. Praise spurs a child on to earnest effort; blame, when administered before visitors, takes away the power of doing well.

It is the parents' duty to make their children's childhood full of love and childhood's proper joyousness. Not all the appliances that wealth can buy are necessary to the free and happy unfolding of childhood in body, mind, and heart. But children must have love inside the house, and fresh air and good play and companionship outside; otherwise young life runs the danger of withering and growing stunted, or, at best, prematurely old and turned inward on itself. There is something in loving dependent children, in tender care for them, which bestows upon the soul the most enriching of its experience. They make us tender and sympathetic, and a thousand times reward us for all we do for them. We are indebted to them for constant incentives to noble living; for the perpetual reminder that we do not live for ourselves alone. For their sake we are admonished to put from us the debasing appetite, the unworthy impulse; to gather into our lives every noble and heroic quality, every tender and attractive grace. We owe them gratitude for the dark hour their presence has brightened; for the helplessness and dependence which have won us from ourselves; for the faith and trust which it is evermore their mission to renew; for their kisses, wet with tears, placed on brows that, but for their caressing, had furrowed into frowns.

The gleeful laugh of happy children is the best home music, and the graceful figures of childhood are the best statuary. They are well-springs of pleasure, messengers of peace and love, resting-places for innocence, links between angels and men. Their eyes, those clear wells of undefiled thought,—what is more beautiful? Full of hope, love, and curiosity, they meet your own. In prayer, how earnest; in joy, how sparkling; in sympathy, how tender! The man or woman who never tried the companionship of a little child has carelessly passed by one of the greatest pleasures of life, as one passes a rare flower without plucking or knowing its value. A home, and no children,—it is like a lantern, and no candle; a garden, and no flowers; a vine, and no grapes; a brook, and no water gurgling and gushing in its channels.

Nature affords striking proofs of foresight and wisdom in making the bonds of parental sympathy so invincibly strong and lasting. During childhood and youth, and even afterwards, when these charming epochs of life have passed away, the ties of constancy and attachment continue to prevail. Were not the chords of love thus strengthened, they would frequently be snapped asunder; for the severest trials which the world knows are those which assail the parental heart and pierce it with the deepest sorrows.

How fleeting are the happiness and innocent guilelessness of childhood! The years as they come bring with them intelligence and experience; but they take with them, in their resistless course, the innocent pleasures of childhood's years. Then deal gently, patiently, and kindly with them. You may be nearly over the rough pathway of life yourselves; make the only time of life that they can call happy as pleasant as possible. "Our children," says Madame de Stael, "who are tenderly reared by us, are soon destined for others than ourselves. They soon stride rapidly forward in the career of life, while we fall slowly back. They soon begin to regard their parents in the light of memory and to look upon others in the light of hope."

They will not trouble you long. Children grow up; nothing on earth grows so fast as children. It was but yesterday and that lad was playing with tops, a buoyant boy. He is a man now. There is no more childhood for him or for us. Life has claimed him. When a beginning is made, it is like a raveling stocking; stitch by stitch gives way till all are gone. The house has not a child left in it; there is no more noise in the hall; no boys rush in, pell-mell; it is very orderly now. There are no more skates or sleds, bats, balls, or strings left scattered about. There are no more gleeful laughs of happy girls, or dolls left to litter the best room. There is no delay for sleeping folks; there is no longer any task before you lie down. But the mother's heart is heavy, and the father's house is lonely.

The affections that exist between the members of the same family afford a pleasing spectacle of human happiness. That which exists between brother and sister should be assiduously cultivated. It is a beautiful and lovely feeling, and seems to be wholly angelic in its thoughts and feelings. It must necessarily be a pure, spiritual love. It arises, not from a sense of gratitude, or for favors received, or from any thing save the endearing relationship of family. It rests not on any thing but a spiritual affinity of soul. It should be cultivated as one of the sweetest plants in the garden of the heart. It should be watered every morning and evening with the dews of good nature, and sunned all day with the light of kindness. It should hear nothing but loving and tender words, even the dulcet music of home; see nothing but smiles and the tokens of confidence and sympathy, and know nothing but its own spirit of tenderness and unity.

How large and cherished a place does a good sister's love always hold in the grateful memory of one who has been blessed with the benefit of this relation! How many are there who, in the changes of mature years, have found a sister's love their ready and adequate resource! With what a sense of security is confidence reposed in a good sister, and with what assurance that it will be uprightly and considerately given is her counsel sought! How intimate is the friendship of such a brother and sister not widely separated in age from one another!

What a reliance for warning, caution, and sympathy has each secured in each! How many are the brothers who, when thrown into circumstances of temptation, have found the thought of a sister's love a constant, holy presence, rebuking every wayward thought! How many brothers are there from whom death separated the sister years ago who yet feel her influence thrown around them like sweet incense from an unseen censer; who are arrested, when just about to take a downward step, by the memory of a reproving look from eyes that have long been closed; who have pursued their weary path of duty, cheered by the remembrance of a smile from lips that will never smile again!

Who can tell the thoughts that cluster around the word sister? How ready she is to forgive the foibles of a brother! She never deserts him. In adversity she clings closely to him, and in trial she cheers him. When the bitter voice of reproach is poured in his ears she is ever ready to hush its hard tones, and to turn his attention away from its painful notes. Let him move in pleasant paths, she hangs clusters of flowers about him.

In watching his favored career and listening to his eulogy she feels the purest satisfaction. The cold grave can not crush her affections for him—it outlives her tears and sighs; and hence she often wanders to the spot where he reposes with the fragrant rose-bush and creeping honeysuckle, and plants them on his tomb; and who will dare to affirm her love perishes when she passes away from earth? May it not live far off in the glorious land, increasing in fervor and intensity as the years of eternity pass away?

Affection does not beget weakness, nor is it effeminate for a brother to be firmly attached to a sister. Such a boy will make a noble and brave man. The young man who was accustomed to kiss his sweet, innocent sister night and morning as they met shows its influence upon him. He will never forget it, and when he shall take some one to his heart as his wife she shall reap the golden fruits thereof. The young man who is in the habit of giving his arm to his sister as they walk to and from church will never leave his wife to find her way as best she can. He who has been trained to see that his sister was seated before he sought his own will never mortify a neglected wife in the presence of strangers. And the young man who frequently handed his sister to her chair at the table will never have cause to blush as he sees some gentleman extend to his wife the courtesy she knows is due from him.

The intercourse of brother and sister forms an important element in the happy influence of home. A boisterous or a selfish boy may try to domineer over the weaker or more dependent girl. But generally the latter exerts a softening influence. The brother animates and heartens; the sister modifies and refines. The vine-tree and its sustaining elm are the emblems of such a relation; and by such agencies our "sons may become like plants grown up in youth, and our daughters like corner-stones polished after the similitude of a temple."

Sisters scarcely know the influence they have over their brothers. A young man is pretty much what his sister and young lady friends choose to make him. If sisters are watchful and affectionate they may in various ways lead them along till their characters are formed, and then a high respect for ladies and a manly self-respect will keep them from mingling in low society.

Girls, especially those who are members of a large family, have a great influence at home, where brothers delight in their sisters, and where parents look fondly down on their daughters. Girls have much in their power with regard to those boys; they have in their power to make them gentler, truer, purer; to give them higher opinion of woman; to soften their manner and ways; to tone down rough places, and shape sharp, angular corners. They should interest themselves in their pursuits, and show them by every means in their power that they do not consider them and their doings beneath their notice.

But few sisters realize how much they have to do with the welfare of their brothers—how much it is in their power to win them to the right modes of thoughts and actions by little acts of sisterly attentions. If they would but spare an hour now and then from their peculiar employment to their boyish sports, and not turn contemptuously away from the books and amusements in which they delight, they would soon find how a gentle word would turn off a sharp answer; how a genial look would effectually reprove an unfitting expression; how gratefully a small kindness would be received, and how unbounded would be the power for good they would obtain by a continuance of such conduct.

Fortunate is the family that possesses such an elder sister. The mother confides in her, the father takes pride in her ability to aid and cheer the household, and the younger ones lean upon her. By her counsels, her example, her influence, she may do as much as the parents to give to the family life. She is at once companion and counselor for the younger members, since separated by only a brief interval from the sports of childhood she can sympathize easily with the little wants and little griefs that fill the child's heart to overflowing, and show it how to compass its desires and forget its sorrows. A short girlhood is usually the allotment of the oldest daughter; but this is more than made up to her in the long and delightful companionship she has with her mother, in the sense she is made to have of her own importance in the family, and the unusual capability she is obliged by the force of circumstances to acquire and display.

It is a law of our being that no improvement that takes place in either of the sexes is confined to itself; each is the universal mirror to each, and the refinements of the one will always be in reciprocal proportion to the polish of the other. The brother and sister should grow up together, be educated at the same school, engage in the same sports, and, as far as practicable, in the same labors. Their joys and sorrows, tastes and aims, should be mutual as far as possible. The same moral lessons, obligations, and duties should bear upon them. It is an error that the youths of our land are separated in so many of the most important duties of life.

Much evil is caused by mistaken opinions on this point. The girls are taught that it is not pretty to be with the boys and the boys that it is not manly to be with the girls, while at the same time the society of each is necessary for the best development of character in the other. When they do meet it is only for sport and nonsense, to cajole and deceive each other. Hence the good influence they should have upon each other is in a great measure lost. They are unacquainted with each other, know not each other's natures, and have but little interest in each other's business and duties.

We want the girls to rival the boys in all that is good, refined, and ennobling. We want them to rival the boys, as they well can, in learning, in understanding, in all noble qualities of mind and heart, but not in any of the rougher qualities and traits. We want the girls to be gentle—not weak, but gentle—and kind and affectionate. We want to be sure that wherever a girl is there should be a sweet, subduing, and harmonizing influence of purity and truth and love pervading and hallowing from center to circumference the entire circle in which she moves. It is her mission to instruct the boys in all needful lessons of neatness and order, of patience and goodness.

We want the boys to be gentle, courteous, and considerate towards their younger sisters; to be the protector and emulator of their virtues. We want to be sure that where there is a boy there will go forth the influence inspired by the courage of manly self-respect—a respect that keeps him from mingling in low society. We want him to be every whit a man, a fit friend and companion for true womanhood. We want to see them both enjoy the Spring-time of life, for this is the season of joy, of bliss, of strength, of pride; it is the treasury of life, in which nature stores up those riches which are for our future employment and profit. Youth is to age what the flower is to the fruit, the leaf to the tree, the sand to the glass. Hence we want to see them both so using the golden age of youth as to be able to reap a rich harvest in the years of maturity.

Manhood is the isthmus between two extremes—the ripe, the fertile season of action, when alone we can hope to find the head to contrive united with the hand to execute.

Each age has its peculiar duties and privileges, pleasures and pains. When young we trust ourselves too much; when old we trust others too little. Rashness is the error of youth, timid caution of age. In youth we build castles and plan for ourselves a course of action through life. As we approach old age we see more and more plainly that we are simply carried forward by a mighty torrent, borne here and there against our will. We then perceive how little control we have had in reality over our course; that our actions, resolves, and endeavors, which seemed to give such a guiding course to our life,

"Are but eddies of the mighty stream
That rolls to its appointed end."

In childhood time goes by on leaden wings,—ten, twenty years, a life-time seems an endless period. At manhood we are surprised that time goes so rapidly; we then comprehend the fleeting period of life. In old age the years that are passed seem as a dream of the night, our life as a tale nearly told. Childhood is the season of dreams and high resolves; manhood, of plans and actions; age, of retrospection and regret.

There is certainly no age more potential for good or evil than that of early manhood. The young men have, with much propriety, been denominated the flower of a country. To be a man and seem to be one are two different things. All young men should carefully consider what is meant by manhood. It does not consist in years simply, nor in form and figure. It lies above and beyond these things. It is the product of the cultivation of every power of the soul, and of every high spiritual quality naturally inherent or graciously supplemented. It should be the great object of living to attain this true manhood. There is no higher pursuit for the youth to propose to himself. He is standing at the opening gates of active life. There he catches the first glimpse of the possibilities in store for him. There he first perceives the duties that will shortly devolve upon him. What higher aim can he propose to himself than to act his part in life as becomes a man who lives not only for time but for eternity? How earnestly should he resolve to walk worthily in all that true manhood requires!

There are certain claims, great and weighty, resting upon all young men which they can not shake off if they would. They grow out of those indissoluble relations which they sustain to society, and those invaluable interests—social, civil, and religious—with all the duties and responsibilities connected with them, which are soon to be transferred to their shoulders from the venerable fathers who have borne the burden and heat of the day. The various departments of business and trust, the pulpit and the bar, our courts of justice and halls of legislation, our civil, religious, and literary institutions, all, in short, that constitute society and go to make life useful and happy, are to be in their hands and under their control.