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as themselves.

They do not know how to be children. "Be a woman," has been drilled into their heads till it has broken their childish hearts; and cold, silent, and reticent, perhaps deceitful, they sit by while other children, easy, happy, and graceful, bear off the honors which they could so easily have won if they could have had fair play.

This is almost the worst thing in the world for a child. Children need each other. They pine and wither away without each other. Twins very often die at nearly the same time. The magnetic influence of children on each other is wonderful. They are thoroughly democratic and gregarious. Rupert's purple and fine linen don't hinder him in the least from playing with barefooted Bob round in the alley. Bob may be a good companion for Rupert, but the chances are against him; but if you do not find Rupert suitable companions he will find those for himself that are not so, and yours will be the responsibility and regret.

Some "don't see the sense of children wasting their time playin' round all day," and work them till all the child is erased, and a dull, old, weary, pinched look takes the place of childish grace. Not that the work amounts to any thing; for every body knows that "bairns' work is aye more plague than profit." You have lost all and gained nothing when you do thus. It is just as bad to dress them like fashion-plates, and force them through a fashionable school, till they emerge creatures of monstrosity at which Dundreary might take heart of grace.

frolics-this is the stuff out of which wholesome manhood and womanhood is made. Children who are under conviction of sin at five years of age die of brain discase, or live with hypochondria to torment the life out of all around them. Sad is the family that has one or more of such. I don't doubt the mother of the Gracchi was a sad romp, and I more than suspect Portia of immense tom-boyhood. Such healthy natures could not have developed otherwise.

Pity and love the little children. Tolerate these pets. Comfort Nellie over her dead bird, and don't call Molly's "little white kitty" a "cat." It is enough to break a juvenile heart to have one's darlings snubbed. How would you like to hear your own Frederick Augustus called a "dirty young one?" The little ones have their tragedies and comedies, and laugh and weep more sincerely than you do at Falstaff or Lear. They love, marry, keep house, have children, have weddings and funerals, and dig little graves for dead mice in the garden, and mourn into small white handkerchiefs, and get brother Jim to write an appropriate inscription for its tiny head-board. Is not this human nature in little, and in its small way, as deserving of a certain respect? You do not despise your own reflection in a concave mirror, you know.

Cherish the children; mend the frocks; don't scold them for broken toys—for man is not more inevitably mortal than playthings. Don't strip their fat shoulders in winter, nor roast them in flannels in dog-days, because somebody told you to. Don't drug them; don't "yarb" them; don't stuff them with pastry, or starve them on chippy bread; don't send them to infant schools at three, or to fancy balls at ten, nor teach them the commandments earlier than they can remember Mother Goose. Let them have Christ

rather than Mr. Birch's ferule; Little Bo-Peep, not English Reader; Mary Howitt, not Jamieson's Rhetoric. Give them Willson's Readers when they want them, not before.

I don't want children to be idle. They will not and can not be idle; but they like to work for themselves, and in their own way. Boys must build (oh, those beautiful castles in Spain!) with blocks, either from the toy-bazar or carpenter's-shop, it don't matter. Girls must have dolls. Oh the earnest passion with which wax-mas and Fairy Stories; grandpa's horse-cane en Lily or cloth-and-cotton Molly is regarded! and the dear rag-baby suffers violence every hour in the day from the affection of her "ittle mamma." That was real human nature in Cossette, her fierce love for her stolen puppet. And if little girls must sew (alas for Eve's unfortunate luncheon and all our woe!), they will learn as well and quickly again making Dolly's clothes, and cloaks, and bedding, than on long sheet-seams or distracting patch-work. Take an interest in their attempts; cut the frocks, show them how to do it, and admire the work when done. I have a great respect for sewing in general, and especially for a child who can dress dolls well.

Children remember those who made them happy. You know you remember yet the lady who brought you Red Riding-Hood when you had the measles, and the oranges when you had the fever; and told you what the chickens, cats, cows, dogs, and bull-frogs said; and the brighteyed big boy who swung you over the foaming gutter ten years ago when you were a little trotter going to school.

I remember well seeing a "long exiled from home" Scotch woman open a box of keepsakes Children-real live, plump, jolly, roly-poly from over the sea. All were pretty and wellchildren- -are as scarce as sensible grown-up chosen; some of them valuable; but when all people. Little, thin, narrow-shouldered, angu- were emptied out of the box there lay, I know lar, pale intellectualities are common enough. not whether by accident or design, a little dried It is your healthy tom-boy that is the rarity." gowan." You should have seen the power What woman ever was less delicate in soul and pure in heart because she tore her frocks and climbed trees when she was a child? Real wild, childish romping, with ringing laughter and twinkling feet, merry dances and family

of childish association as the lady spied the tiny dry morsel that had once had life in dear old Scotland, and the raining tears as she pressed her lips, trembling with home-sick longings, to her new-found treasure.

IT

"The gowan! the bonnie wee gowan! Oh THE LITTLE HEIRESS. sae mony's the time when, with brithers an' sisters, we pu'ed you far away in old Scotland!" T was in the middle of summer, and in a she exclaimed, in the words and tones of her season of remarkable beauty, when Edward childhood, which long absence and fine culture Courtney-a young and intelligent, though not had for years made strangers to her lips. And yet a distinguished member of the Bar-determshe kissed the withered plant over and over ined to disenthrall himself for a short time from again, crooning over it, as if it were a long-lost child who had been reclaimed from an Indian camp. It was no dry and worthless weed she held, but the priceless key of sweet childish memories of the Hieland and moorland, the loch and the mountain, and the dearer brothers and sisters now parted by the salt sea foam. They were all at home in a moment, and the ingleside blazed for all alike once more.

Don't expect too much of the little people. Original sin don't have as much to do with their ill-temper as physical causes. Bread-andbutter, well sugared, is a powerful moral agent. A warm salt bath of a warm afternoon is a great regenerator, and the moral power of a walk with papa, holding his immense red forefinger with four tiny white ones, is astonishing. Pins and tight frocks are an invention of Herod and his emissaries; use buttons, and don't spare buttonholes. It don't take so long to make them as to hunt up pricking pins in the long-run. Don't fasten babies' frocks so tight, for fear they will hurt themselves crying. They won't cry if they are loose and easy; unless they are tired or in pain, and then crying is their way of telling you. If you have a sweet, good, fat, loving baby, never mind who wears satins and pearls. You have better than satin in its soft skin, and its pearls will come through great tribulation: wherewith be loving and patient, for great is your reward.

You may talk all the soft nursery jargon to it that you want to. It is good for both of you; and if Hypercriticus objects, when you get time read him a six hours' stretch of Johnson's Dictionary. He deserves it.

In fact, if we were transplanted, bodily and helplessly, to a strange country, neither understanding its language nor manners, and every body thumped us about, and never let us do what we wanted to, and made us do what we didn't want to, I don't think we should do very differently from what the babies do. I think that, in their case, I should roar as loudly as I could for help.

Mother-sense is what is needed. A foregone love for the little ones before they come, and undying love when they do-a cherishing care of one's self for their sakes, that we may be brave and strong, wise and beautiful, when they need us to be an undying love for them, in aggregate and in detail, in quantity and quality that does, dares, and braves all things for them.

In a word: Don't kill the little children, either bodily, as wicked old Herod did long ago, or mentally and morally, as so many mothers and nurses now do, who are less wicked than Herod only in the proportion that they are more foolish.

the cares and duties of a profession, which is apt at his time of life to be more arduous than remunerative, and to set out upon an unaccustomed trip of health and pleasure seeking. Having no definite object but relaxation and enjoyment in view, he did not purpose to fetter himself by any presupposed plan or route, but meant to take with him no determination more precise than that of "floating upon the current of events;" of wandering and tarrying just whenever and wherever the whim of the moment should invite, until the limited time and funds which he had devoted to the purpose should be expended.

But at this particular crisis, by one of those fortunate chances which do sometimes occur, though rarely, in this untoward world which we presume to call ours, he received the offer of an agency, the object of which was, so far as he was concerned, to collect statistics for an agricultural commission.

It was easy to see that this appointment, if accepted, while it would in no degree interfere with his own plans of enjoyment, would give to his purposeless wanderings the dignity and the zest of an object; and while it would enable him to extend their circuit, would at the same time give him a pleasant introduction to the homes of a class of men at once intelligent and communicative (the better educated farming class), from whose conversation he felt he might, while faithfully following up the interests of his employers, derive much personal pleasure and profit.

The appointment was gladly accepted. A few brief interviews with his principal made known to him the duties and requirements of his office, the particular points of detail upon which information was most desirable, and, armed with note-books and credentials, he set out upon his tour of observation and inquiry.

It is not our intention to weary the reader by dwelling upon the various stages of a journey so devious and erratic-or how he loitered in outof-the-way places and sketched, and fished, and questioned, and answered, and traveled on foot or by rail, as inclination or convenience prompted; but merely say that one fine, bright morning in June was devoted by him in visiting the farm of Mr. Livingstone.

This farm was one which he had been particularly recommended to investigate; he had heard much of it on every hand, for its fame was widely spread. He knew that its owner, Mr. Livingstone, was a man of great wealth; that the place was what is termed a model or experimental farm; that the stock was of the choicest and rarest breeds; the agricultural operations all conducted upon scientific principles, and the

whole machinery of the farm carried forward upon a system of liberality almost lavish, which sought for its results in useful experience for the farming interest in general, rather than in pecuniary remuneration to the owner. He had heard casually of so many acres of tillage, so many acres of mowing-land; so many miles of drainage, so many rods of stone-wall, so many rods of live hedging; he had heard of model barns, and cow-stables, and cattle-sheds; of sleek Alderneys, and fat Durhams; of "Chinese pigs," and hairless pigs," and "Mackey breeds;" until he fully realized that the estate was the favorite hobby of the wealthy proprietor; but not until he reached it did he realize that it was the proprietor's residence. He had fancied it a farm per se, but he found to his surprise that the farm was but a dependency-a tributary to the country-seat which Mr. Livingstone made his home, and that the same lavish hand which had made the farm celebrated had not spared taste and ornament to make the pleasure-grounds beautiful. He had expected a well-kept farmhe found an ornamented paradise, where the naturally picturesque features of the landscape had been heightened by art, and skill, and labor to a perfection rarely seen in our new country, where landscape gardening has only of late years been recognized as among the fine arts.

We have said it was in the perfection of summer; but I fancy few of our readers, probably none who have not from choice made the country their permanent home, and watched closely and lovingly, year after year, the beautiful and mysterious changes of Nature, fully realize how brief a period that season actually is.

People talk of their engagements and arrangements for the summer; of spending a summer in the country, a summer at the sea-side, or a summer in traveling; as if it was a period of weeks and months. And by the calendar it is so. We know there certainly are three summer months. We are accustomed to call all the warm weather, from May-day until October, "summer," in common parlance. But this is not what we mean now: we mean the heart of summer; its paradise glory; its zenith of perfection; and that is but a term of days-a brief, bright week at the uttermost-a turning point between growth and decay.

Will any accurate and candid observer of Nature watch curiously, and minute carefully, the exact length of the period from the time when expectation and preparation are all fulfilled, till the work of demolition begins, and tell us just how many days and hours it actually was?

trace of decay has marred the Eden-glory of creation; nothing speaks to us of death and ruin; no leaf has withered, no flower has faded; and earth is before us, radiant, and flushing in the young bloom and freshness of her beauty, as when the first six days were ended, and the beneficent Creator surveyed His completed work and pronounced it "Good!"

This is summer-glorious, magnificent summer! But next week-ay, even to-morrow there will be a change. There will still be buds and blossoms, but mingling with them wiH be the withering flowers of yesterday. There is beauty still, but the heart recognizes a perceptible though scarcely a describable change. The Eden freshness has passed; the full glory has waned; the early gloss has dropped from the leaf, the early dew from the flower; and we are learning to look back upon the summer, for coldness and decay are rising like chilly mists in the advancing future, and to look forward is no longer an enjoyment.

It was at this very period-at the acme of the brief but profuse and undimmed luxuriance of summer-that our young tourist entered the beautiful grounds of Mr. Livingstone; and who can wonder if, in such a scene and on such a day, he determined to reverse the old adage of "Business first, then pleasure,” and to give up the first part of the day to the enjoyment of the beauty around him, and when satisfied with the beautiful, turn with new zest to the useful? He had roamed for hours, unwearied, through the green woods, fresh in their unbroken verdure; had admired the architectural beauty of the buildings from a dozen different points of view, and made sketches of them from two or three, and still he lingered; and struck with the beauty of a bridge arching the tiny river which nature and art had combined to lead through some of the loveliest portions of the grounds, he seated himself on the steep bank above it, and endeavored to transfer some of its beauties to his sketch-book.

He made two or three attempts, and was not satisfied; something failed him; something in the perspective baffled his skill; and he was about to change his point of sight, by going higher up the stream, when his ear was startled by a burst of low, sweet, joyous laughter, which, clear and soft as a chime of silvery bells, seemed to come ringing up almost from beneath his feet. Startled by the sound, for he had supposed himself alone, Mr. Courtney listened breathlessly for a moment; but all was still-all but the sleepy rustling of the tall trees behind him, and the murmuring ripple of the blue water lapping softLast week was beautiful with bud and blos-ly through the arches of the ivy-hung bridge. som, hope, promise, and expectation. It was beautiful, but the heart was not satisfied, for there was more to come; and as we stood amidst the fresh beauty of the new creation we were still looking forward, still reaching out our hands after the fulfillment and the perfection. This week it is realized; the promise is fulfilled; the buds have expanded into perfect bloom; no

And then again came that wild, joyful cry, so low and sweet, so bird-like, and yet so brimmingly full of childish mirth and innocence that the unseen listener could not resist the infection of its fairy melody, but laughed out in ready sympathy with the glad heart that gave it utterance.

Hastily abandoning his drawing, he passed

from the trees beneath which he had been sit- a dark, repulsive-looking woman, evidently a ting, and, advancing to the edge of the steep French waiting-maid or nursery-governess, isbank, looked down upon the scene below. Here sued from the opposite side, and inquired of Mr. the quiet stream made a bend, and swept round Courtney, with eager volubility and very impera mimic promontory, where the cool green moss fect English, if he had seen any thing of her crept down to the very brink of the blue dim- little charge, informing him, with coarse garpling waters. A young, graceful willow-tree rulity, that she was “one bad child, vexatious, drooped its long, floating branches upon the bo- abominable!" som of the stream; and close beside it grew a magnificent white rose-bush, its summer burden of pure waxen flowers reflected in the clear waves which laved its roots.

But even before Mr. Courtney had time to answer her inquiries the little truant was betrayed, like another Cinderella, by the fairy slipper she had left behind her on the turf; and, hastily catching it up, the Frenchwoman, with a dozen shrugs and exclamations, hurried off by the path the child had taken.

Impelled by an irresistible curiosity to learn something more of this fairy being, he too walked slowly on in the same direction, and followed them up the broad gravel walk which led to the back or garden entrance of the house.

The little girl, with her hand close prisoned

Beneath the willow-tree, with her long, golden curls floating on the breeze which swayed its branches, stood the object of his search-a fair child, a girl of apparently not more than eight or ten summers old, standing with one tiny bare white foot half buried in the green velvety moss, the other resting on the sparkling pebbles in the stream, and gleaming like marble through the pure limpid water. She had gathered up to her bosom the loose folds of her simple white mus-in that of her stern conductress, was at some lin robe till the fair dimpled limb was bare to the knee, and clinging with one little white arm round the smooth trunk of the willow, with the other hand she shook the flowering shrub at her side, and as the overblown roses fell, scattering their pearly leaves upon the water, the little fairy would clap her dimpled hands in childish delight, and send forth the sweet musical laughter which had just broken upon the artist's solitude.

Aware of the actual danger of the child's position, yet dreading to break in upon her evident and intense enjoyment too hastily, Mr. Courtney descended the bank cautiously, and reached the river-side just as she had swept up an armful of the scattered roses from the surface of the stream, and, heedless as a second Undine of the dripping water, clasped the moistened treasure to her bosom.

She heard the coming step and started; raised her dewy, violet eyes to his; and then, shyly veiling them beneath their long, dark lashes, stood for a moment with a timid, hesitating air -a sort of hovering attitude, as if irresolute whether to linger or fly, while blush after blush spread over her fair rounded cheek and sunny brow, like the glowing tints of a summer's sun

set.

Mr. Courtney loved children, and his ready sympathy and quick tact had laid open to him the avenue to many a little childish heart; but he exerted himself in vain upon the fair little créature before h'n-question and remark were alike unheeded and unanswered. Silently she stood, shy, blushing, and beautiful; and then gradually the waxen arms unclasped beneath their flowery burden, till suddenly, dropping the crushed and moistened roses at his feet, she darted round the willow and disappeared, while another peel of glad, sweet laughter rung out like music over the still water.

Almost at the same moment that the child had fled a harsh loud voice, with a strong foreign accent, called aloud for "Mam'zell," and

little distance before him; but he could see that her whole manner had undergone a change, and that a timid, shrinking air had replaced the sweet joyousness which had at first so attracted him. To the woman's angry expostulations she returned only a look of stupid, sullen indifference, and was led, or rather dragged away, in evident reluctance, although without any show of opposition.

As they disappeared up the wide steps of the piazza Mr. Courtney, accosting a pleasant-looking Irishman, whom he had observed to touch his hat to the child, as she passed him, with an air of grave respect, to which her youth seemed scarcely to entitle her, he inquired if that was one of Mr. Livingstone's children.

"Yes, Sir," replied the man, with ready civility; "little miss is his daughter and his only child: poor little thing!" he added, tenderly; and then, meeting Mr. Courtney's look of surprised inquiry, he said, as if in explanation or apology, "I am thinking, yer Honor, that Frenchwoman is too hard on her entirely: poor little miss!"

This remark, after the scene which Mr. Courtney had himself just witnessed, seemed perfectly natural, and if it did not serve to gratify his curiosity, certainly failed to stimulate it; and, recurring to the object of his visit, he inquired if there was any one there to whom he could apply to show him the cattle, and give him information respecting the farming operations.

"Oh yes, Sir," was the ready answer; "it is Mr. Stephenson you want; Mr. Stephenson is the foreman of the farm; he is the headman here, and can tell you all about the stock and the crops. You can just go up to the farmhouse, if you please, and ask for Mr. Stephenson; and if he's not in the house itself, they can tell you where he'll be found. I would show yer the way to the barns mesilf, but I'm but the gardener here, and I don't know the first thing about the cattle; but Mr. Stephenson he knows all about them; he has it all down in

black and white, by book and rule, jest as if ev-be glad to do so, for the sun, as you say, is high, ery crcture born was a Christian child-names, and the day is becoming warm; I have been and age, and all! This path leads to the farm- walking all the morning, and shall enjoy a lithouse, Sir; keep to the right. Good-morning, tle rest and shelter, so I will gladly come in if I Sir." shall not intrude upon you."

Following the path thus indicated Mr. Courtney reached the farm-house, which, surrounded by the various farm-buildings, was located in a pleasant but retired part of the grounds.

As he approached the house he heard, through the open windows of a room on the first floor, a ringing female voice, rich, clear, and strong, singing some popular air. He was struck with the breezy freshness of the voice, which seemed to pour out note after note in full volume of sound, and with a careless, easy grace, that appeared to cost the singer no more effort than the song of the bobolink costs that merry-hearted and much-loved bird. "Good strong lungs!" soliloquized the gentleman; "no pneumonia, no consumption there."

As he reached the house the song broke off abruptly, but the same rich voice called out, "Fa-ther! father! don't you hear? There is some one at the door. Can't you see who it is? My lap is full. You go, please; will you?"

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'Ay, ay," responded a cheerful manly voice. "Ship ahoy! I'll hail 'um. You need not get up; you sit still." And, advancing at once, the speaker opened the door and stood face to face with Mr. Courtney.

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"Get the gentleman a chair, father, won't you?" said Mrs. Stephenson, looking up from her work, but not rising, while she returned his salutation.

"Ay, ay, darter! No ceremony, Sir! Drop anchor at once," pushing a chair toward him, "and unload without delay;" and taking the stranger's hat, cane, and note-book, he placed them on a chair near him, and then rolling off, he returned to his own seat at the window, elevated his feet to a convenient height upon the window-sill, and resumed his paper.

There was a short silence, and Mr. Courtney sat quietly contemplating the female figure before him. In person she was full, but not coarsely so. She was not young, she must have been five-and-thirty or forty at the least. And she was not handsome: with the exception of a There is no mistaking a sailor any where. clear complexion, and white, even teeth, she Father Neptune puts a more definite and legible had no regular beauty at all; but there was inscription upon his children than Alma Mater such a look of health, and strength, and free, sets upon hers; and the rolling gait, the merry vigorous powers of mind and body about her eye, and an indescribable air of the sea, would that it was refreshing to look at her, in these have betrayed the "old salt," even without the degenerate days, when healthy, active, vigorous touch of nautical phraseology with which he al-womanhood is rarely met with among any class ways saw fit to garnish his most common ob- of American females. servations.

She was sitting in a low rocking-chair near "Good-morning, Sir! Is Mr. Stephenson in the open window, a large piece of work in her the house?" asked the new-comer.

"No, Sir," said the man of the sea; "Cap'en's gone ashore, I guess.'

"Not at home, then? I am very sorry. When will he probably be at home?"

"Stop, skipper; hold on a bit. I didn't say he warn't to home: I said he warn't aboard, and no he ain't. He's gone ashore; out among the land-sharks in the fields somewheres; but he ain't left port. He'll be cruising round this way before the wind shifts."

"Father," called out the voice of the unseen singer from the room within, "hadn't you better ask the gentleman to walk in? I expect Christopher in very soon."

capacious lap. And it was a pleasant picture to contemplate her sitting there in the full summer noontide, swinging herself back and forth in her low chair with a slow, measured, ground-swell sort of motion-pleasant to contemplate the full, matronly, well-developed shoulders and bust that seemed to speak of unimpeded vital action; the firm, erect figure that looked as if it defied backache and weariness; the well-poised head, carried easily and almost jauntily, as if headache and nervousness had never bowed it to a weary pillow.

It was pleasant to watch her, as she sat all unconscious of observation, and mark the sense of healthful power and energy in her every motion. There was conscious power even in her brisk way of reaching out for her thread or silk, snapping off a needleful with prompt decision, and replacing the spool upon the window-ledge with an audible clap, which implied, as plainly

"Ay, ay, Susie!" said the old man, who, with his hand still on the door-handle, stood turning his merry, keen eyes from the speaker within to the speaker without, with the droll gravity and reverent attention of a sagacious parrot learning a new lesson. "You hear, Sir, what my daugh-as words could have done, "Stay there until I ter in there says: hadn't you better step aboard, want you again!" It was pleasant to see her and rest in the cabin till he comes in? The lift up her large, firm, white hands, and thread sun's getting high." her needle with quick dexterity, drawing the "Thank you," said Mr. Courtney, "I shall threaded needleful twice or thrice through the

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