he insulted our sensitive hero to such a degree that he quitted the office, leaving behind him a note to explain the reason.

His dismissal followed; and Mr. Blaxland, after a long and severe lecture upon his impatience and imprudence, took him to be with himself.

But fathers are seldom the fittest persons to educate their sons; and John had little inward self-government to substitute for the firm and equable control that was required for one of his disposition from without. Besides, he had neither taste nor ability for his forced profession. He grew more and more discontented and unhappy, and at length formed the design of running away and becoming an actor in a provincial company. So one sunshiny morning, he packed up his best suit, and a few shirts and other articles of apparel in his carpet-bag; and leaving a note upon his looking-glass to say "good-by," he departed by the early train for a neighbouring town.

We will, for the present, leave him to his adventures, and return to his family at Stoniland.

Mr. Blaxland rose at his usual hour, on the morning when John left home, and the family assembled at the breakfast-table.

"How very late John is!" remarked his little sister, Kate.

"Extremely late," replied the mother; "and yet he retired early last night. Suppose, my dear, you go and see what is the matter."

"Such idle work!" growled Mr. Blaxland. "To be in bed at this hour! A young man, who ought to be up with the lark!"

"Do not be angry, my dear," said his gentle wife, "until you know the reason. John is tolerably regular for a growing youth, who gets well tired in the day-time, and sleeps heavily. Remember how the bed used to pull in your young days."

"Dear mamma," exclaimed Kate, running hastily in, just see what I have found on John's looking-glass, directed to you."

"Is he not in his room, then?" inquired Mrs. Blaxland, who began to have a vague misgiving that all was not right.

"No, mamma, the bedclothes are folded down, and the window is open.'

The mother turned pale, as she looked upon the superscription of the tiny note, and felt that she dared not open it.

"Here, Blaxland," said she, "here, open it yourself, and tell me what it says."

Mr. Blaxland began to read with a blank countenance, which changed into a look of anger as he proceeded.

"Foolish boy!" he exclaimed, throwing down the letter, "not to know when he was well off. But he will soon tire of this new freak, and come back like a beaten hound, glad to be taken on again by his old father. Here! read, read, madam; it is all your fault. You have spoilt the boy, till there will be no making anything decent out of him. Your children, Sarah,".

"And are they not yours also, Blaxland? How cruel of you to speak in such a way? And still trembling, she began to read. The note ran thus :

"Dear Father and Mother,-I feel that I can no longer endure my present life. I shall never become a man of business; and my life, so far, has been wasted. I have, therefore, determined to try for myself a new career, for which I am conscious of more capability, and which will put me in the way of gratifying my musical tastes. It will be of no use to search for me, for I shall take every precaution to secure secresy.

"Farewell, dear father and mother, and sweet sister Kate. I trust that one day you will have reason to be proud of your vagabond son and brother,

"JOHN BLAXLAND."

Mr. Blaxland immediately went to the Stoniland sta

tion, to ascertain if the clerks had noticed a youth like his son, whom he minutely described. But nothing was to be learnt from them, and the electric telegraph was not yet invented; so that he could not transmit a message of inquiry or detention along the line. He did not attempt to proceed further in search of the fugitive, nor would he have been likely to succeed in tracing him, had he done so, for John had effectually provided against the probability of discovery, by changing into another train at Deepcar, a village about half-way between the two towns, and thence travelling in a round-about direction to Wolverstone, where he intended to commence his career. So Mr. Blaxland returned home, without any news whatever.

Poor Mrs. Blaxland! Her erring son was her darling, the very pride of her heart, and she had never believed those who prophesied evil from his desultory course and wavering disposition. The blow was indeed a severe one; and her heart sank as she pictured her dear John wandering about the streets of a strange town, foot-sore and hungry, and missing the comforts of his home. Then she imagined him becoming dirty and shabby, and at length being turned out of a mean lodging, for want of money to pay the rent. Now she would examine his drawers, to calculate what articles of clothing he had taken with him; then she would beg her husband to reckon what amount the boy was likely to have in his purse. Kate said little, but sat by her mother's side, holding her hand in hers, and endeavouring to restrain her tears, for she dearly loved her brother, and had never been really separated from him before.

Weary months passed on, and still nothing was heard of the boy. His mother was growing resigned to her loss; and by dint of reading his farewell note again and again, had persuaded herself that she should, when she least expected it, be meeting with him in some hall or concert-room, as the celebrated Signor Somebody, crowned with the laurels of applause by a grateful and discerning public. So she made her husband escort her to every concert and oratorio that took place within ten miles round; and this seemed to be the only pursuit that afforded her any pleasure. Of course, she continually returned disappointed; yet

"Hope, though fainting oft, revived again."

II.

Towards the close of the winter of 184-, a company of opera singers were announced to perform for three nights in the old theatre at Burleigh. Among the earliest applicants for tickets was an elderly gentleman; who, with his wife and pretty daughter, had lately come to reside in the town.

"Three tickets for the stage-box, if you please," said he to the boy who was showing him the box-places. "My wife will like to get as near as she can to the stage."

He walked away contentedly with the tickets in his pocket, and ringing at his own front-door bell in the next street, entered the comfortable room where his wife and daughter were seated together engaged with their needles.

"Have you got our tickets, papa?" inquired the daughter, as she jumped up and ran towards him. "Yes, here they are. For the stage box; for I knew that you, Sarah," looking towards his wife, "would like best to be there."

"Oh, papa!" exclaimed the pretty young girl, with an expression of disappointment, "I like the stage-box least of all, for there one can see all the shabby scenery and the mistakes of the actors. The centre front box is the place, papa, for illusion. When I am sitting there, I can fancy that the actors have really gone to do what they say they will, and that they are carrying on the story behind as well as before the scenes. Oh, mamma!

it would have been perfect, had we but taken the centre front box."

"Nonsense, my dear," said her mother, who had a strange, wandering expression of the eye, "you will enjoy yourself quite as well in the stage-box; and you know what an especial reason I have for liking to be near the performers, particularly since I have grown so near-sighted."

"Yes, dear mamma, I know it," said the young girl, flinging her slender arms lovingly around her mother's neck. "I dare say I shall be quite satisfied."

The first evening of the performances arrived, and the elderly gentleman and lady, with their pretty daughter, were seated at an early hour on the front bench of the stage box. The wandering expression of eye in the mother was more noticeable than ever, while she scanned the countenances of those who entered, as if she were ever striving to recognise in the face of some apparent stranger, a dear, and long lost friend.

The band entered one by one with their instruments, and took their seats before the foot-lights. The overture was played, and the principal singer made his appearance. The elderly lady leaned half-way out of the box with her glass to her eye. After a long and searching scrutiny of his features, she sank back with an exclamation of acute disappointment, and seemed to pay no further attention to what was going on, until a new actor appeared on the

scene.

This was a quiet, downcast young man, who entered the theatre late, by a side door, and stole noiselessly to his place in the orchestra, immediately below the place where our three friends were seated. His long hair fell back from his pale brow on either side, and his hollow cheeks and lank jaws told a tale of suffering and privation. The elderly lady seemed struck by something in his countenance, and leaning breathlessly over the front of the box, she stretched out her arms, exclaimed wildly My son! my son!" and fell back senseless.

The performances were interrupted for a moment; the lady was borne in her husband's arms from the box, her daughter following with a very pale face, and then all went on as before. But the quiet young man in the orchestra had looked up, had recognised his parents, and making a hurried apology to the leader of the band had followed them out into the lobby, and was now clasped by turns in the arms of father and sister.

As soon as Mrs. Blaxland had recovered from her death-like swoon, and the waking agitation of finding that her bliss was real, her son supported her into the coach that was in readiness, and being followed by his father and sister, the happy party were soon in their quiet home. After partaking of a meal something between tea and supper, to which their poor John did such justice, as only the starving can, the parents and children seated themselves round the fire, and fell into conversation.

"And now, John," said his mother, smiling down, with a tear in her eye, upon the dear head that rested upon her shoulder, while the long, lank hair fell over her shawl. "And now, John, that we have met again, we will never more part, will we dear?"

Never mother;-only-I have got something to tell you. I am married-and-you might as well know all am father to three little children."

Mr. Blaxland looked stupefied, the mother gazed upon her son in amazement; and Kate, dear, affectionate, warm-hearted Kate, threw her arms around her brother's neck and burst into tears.

"I

morrow we will consult what is best to be done. Where do my daughter and her little ones live, John?" "Bless you for that word, mother," answered the young man, attempting not to restrain his tears. will introduce you to them to-morrow; and now, dear ones, I must leave you, for my Patty will be very uneasy about me. And if you would only permit me," added he looking wistfully at the viands still upon the table, while a hectic flush suffused his hollow cheek, "if you would only permit me-"

Kate understood him. "I will put them in a basket for you, brother, and we will carry them together. Mamma, papa, you will let me go."

"Surely, my love."

"But Kate," said her brother, hesitating, "I am obliged for your kind offer, but I could not allow you to enter my poor lodging till things are a little set to rights. I could not bear it, dear, used as you have been to see everything nice about you. So wait until to-morrow morning, and then my Patty will be prepared to receive you."

With much reluctance, the affectionate girl consented, for her heart was yearning towards her unknown sisterin-law; and John, embracing them all round, left them, carrying with him the well-stored basket to gladden the eyes of poor Patty.

In subsequent conversations, John related his adventures; and seated by his father's fireside, with his young thing of a wife looking up into his face as he spoke, and his three boys playing quietly in a corner, he told his parents and sister, how he had first tried his fortune as an actor; and how, being hissed off the stage in three different towns, he had given up the attempt in despair and bitter mortification. How a brother actor had given him a few lessons on the clarionet, and seeing the extraordinary quickness with which he learnt, had recommended him to a subordinate place in the orchestra, just as his slender store of money was exhausted. How he had ever since lived on the scanty pittance thus obtained; and how, in a moment of love and imprudence, he had linked his fate with the gentle creature who sat by his side; "a step," said he, smiling down upon her with a look of deep affection, "which he had never repented." For she was a helpful little soul, and bore her full share towards their small household expenses, and though a poor, despised ballet-girl, possessed a rare sense of modesty and propriety.

Towards the end of one of these conversations, Mr. Blaxland said, "I have often repented taking the advice of that mercenary music-master, John, who advised me not to bring you up to the musical profession. A positive talent ought never to be neglected. I am beginning to discern this principle; and the world will one day adopt it. Had you possessed more perseverance, or had a more judicious master, who would have fostered your genius instead of cramping it, or had I insisted upon your making the most of such advantages as were within your reach, you would doubtless now have occupied a very different position. Kate here evinces no preference for any distinct study, she appears to have no call to a particular vocation, so I think we must get her married."

"With my permission, if you please, papa," said Kate, laughing, and shaking her brown curls.

Mr. Blaxland was heard to mutter, "Foolish fellow! Served him right for his folly!" but his wife interposed her gentle voice.

"We cannot now help the past," she said, "and to

children."

"May I be allowed to finish my speech without interruption?" humbly inquired her husband. 'Only sup pose the case: if I were blessed with a dozen more, I was going to say, I should endeavour to ascertain the

"That is supposing they were all boys." "Boys or girls, it matters not. There will be more for women to do some day, when governessing shall have become a drug."

"Why, Mr. Blaxland, I never heard you talk in this manner before," said his wife. "Where have you got all your new notions?"

"Out of my heart and my head, Sarah, which are both possibly a trifle better than you give me credit for. Come, brighten up, my dear," he continued, addressing Patty, who sat apart in a somewhat melancholy attitude. "There is good news for you; I have heard of a few pupils for your husband, and have procured him the post of organist in a little country church not far off, where he can rub up his old dexterity on the keys; for they don't know much about music, and won't notice a few mistakes at first. And as for the rest, so long as I have my nice little income, you and your children shall never come to want."

There was a general kissing and wiping away of happy tears; and then John and his wife and little ones returned to the comfortable cottage in which they now resided, Mr. Blaxland having made himself responsible for the rent and taxes for the first year.

Our hero plodded on, and in process of time earned a tolerable income. He profited by his own experience and the advice of his father; and his children prospered in the world, and in their own hearts and homes, each cheerfully and industriously following his peculiar H. C.

vocation.

"PETSY-WETSIES."

WHAT little baby is there that has ever been born into this world that was not the most wonderful, delightful, loving, teasing, and beautiful, of all possible babies? Is there one of them that has not been a petsy-wetsy, and a princey-wincey? Even old fellows, that now sit in the evenings dozing over their wine and walnuts, heavy-looking members of Parliament, such as you see hobbling in through the lobby of the House of Commons any afternoon during the session,-great Judges looming through their loads of horsehair and black serge in our courts of justice,-dried up lawyers, and robust clergymen,-heavy binds at the plough stilts, and stalwart mechanics grown grey at their trade,-all have, in their time, been dandled on the knee to "See Saw, Margery Daw," and "Ride a Cock-horse to Banbury Cross." These demure-looking chancellors have trundled hoops and gobbled pippins; and they have squalled, and plunged, screamed with fun, and been frantic with grief like any other model baby of our own day. And they were all model babies, every one of them, in their mothers' eyes. Not one that was not the veriest petsy-wetsy of its time. What a pity those infantine perfectibilities should expand gradually into such very commonplace men and women. "How lamentable to think," said some one, on contemplating the Eton scholars, "that these fine fellows should grow up into stupid members of Parliament !"

We can recognise the beautiful provision which nature has made in thus securing for the child the tender care and love of its parents. How much does each one of us owe to it; and, but for that mother's affection, how stunted in our affections, and how unloving in our nature, might we have been! But, like the most beneficent of provisions, even affection may be abused; it may degenerate into over-indulgence, and regard even faults as excellencies. Short-sighted, and blind to the future, it lives only in the present; it pampers, pets, and idolizes its objects, and while it seeks to strew the path of life with roses for

I had an opportunity, not long ago, of witnessing a rather striking illustration of the turmoil and disorder into which a household may be thrown by an over-indulgent and pampering method of bringing up children. It was a holiday in the public offices, and I accepted an invitation to dine with a friend, at his snug box, a few miles from town. It was quite a little family party, and I was to be the only stranger guest present. As I entered the garden gate, I observed a group of children busily engaged at a little pool of water in a corner, near the water-butt. They were so eager in their pursuit, whatever it was, that I passed on, and entered the house, unobserved by them. Scarcely had I been seated, and exchanged the compliments of the day with the lady of the house, than the troop, who had heard the door-bell, came bouncing into the room. "Ah! what a fine family of children, Mrs. Brown, and how much they have grown since I last saw them." "Yes, indeed," answered the admiring mamma, "Johnny there has grown quite wonderfully,—come forward, Johnny, and shake hands with the gentleman." I saw, at once, that Johnny was his mother's darling. Johnny stept forward, and grasped me with a moist hand; I glanced at my kids, and perceived that the model boy had left his mark there. "Johnny dear, what's the matter with your hands?" was the mother's inquiry, seeing me divest myself of the superfluities. "Oh, mamma! we have only been making a few clay pies down in the garden; Lucy is going to give a party!" "Ah! naughty children, go and get yourselves washed and changed. And Lucy, such a frock, I declare: away with you! Nurse, (calling aloud at the bottom of the stairs) see these children changed directly, and put Johnny a pair of clean trowsers on: d'ye hear?" "Yes, Ma'am." And away go the children, excepting Jane; and dinner waits.

"Come to me, my little darling, and let us have some talk together." Jane shrinks to her mother's side, and puts her finger in her mouth. "Go to the gentleman, love, and say one of the nice things you are learning at school." "Oh! pray do," I chimed in," she looks a very intelligent child.” "Yes, she is so; her teacher assures me she is remarkably clever." "It's all stuff," broke in a large raw lad, sitting in a recess, whom I had not before observed-"Its all stuff; they say the same of them all-boobies as well." "How dare you say so, Alfred, in the presence of the gentleman? You should not depreciate your sister in that way." "I don't, but I know that young Miss Belcher gammons you horribly." My dearest child, how can you say so?" The big fellow blushed, and shrank back into his corner: he seemed at that uncomfortable age, between the boy and the young man, during which, Carlyle recommends that fellows like him should be kept "under barrels."

and in their impetuosity, several started saying grace together. "Only one, only one!" shouted the father; "let Johnny do it!" Johnny began, "For what we have received:" "No, no, that's not it," said the mother. "I'll do it," cried Jane. "Well, you try, then." "Now I lay me down to rest me:" "Halt there, you're wrong again: you see," said the father, turning to me, "they are rather out of practice." "So I see," I observed. "Now, children, compose yourselves." And then grace was said by the parent himself, and proceedings commenced.

"Some meat, papa!" "I want gravy, papa!" "Give me potatos, mamma!" "Pickles!" shouted the little dears, almost in a breath. "Don't you see the stranger, darlings?" observed the father, seriously. They looked askance, and rather suspiciously at me, but they were in full cry again in a minute. "Me first!" "meat, papa! and so on. At last the petsy-wetsies got to work. Jane, my pretty little partner, was deep in her plate, exploring its mysteries with her fingers and spoon. Johnny soon cleaned his plate, and began beating a tattoo among the gravy, making a nice splash all round him. The reiterated commands to desist―" Don't do this, love," and "don't do that, dear," were unheeded. The landlord left his wife to control the angels, and the hubbub went on gloriously.

Prune tart was placed on the table, and received by the little angels with "loud cheers." Jane relished this course amazingly; she dabbled among her prunes like a little duck. Her appetite, however, in course of time, became somewhat subdued, and then she began to turn her attentions upon me. My brequet chain attracted her notice first, and she reached up her dabbled fingers to seize it. I made a sudden move, which she followed, and in her eagerness to reach me, she capsized the glass of port wine standing alongside my plate all among my cheese. "Oh, fy! Jane, naughty girl-how could you do so?" Jane began crying, and I had to do my best to pacify her. I pleaded for her excuse, and it was granted; I showed her the brequet, and she was pacified; but she left the marks of her sticky tart-sodden fingers on my white waistcoat. I began to feel rather bitter, but forebore all outward signs. I must enjoy the family party as I best could. Johnny would drink my health, and his father proceeded to pour out the wine; but Johnny made a snatch at it, to do the job for himself, and, in the scuffle, the bottle tumbled over, and another spill took place; but, fortunately, this time, there was no breakage. I responded to the young urchin with the best grace I could, but, I confess, I began to feel disgusted.

Dessert appeared, and now there was a contention for the fruit. "Johnny's apple is bigger than mine! Give me the biggest, papa!" "I want raisins and almonds, mamma!" "An onge, an onge," shrieked the youngest angel, from the other side the table. "Take time, my darlings, and you shall all be served," said the papa. And now I thought we should have done with the uproar, and that the youngsters would be sent out to play. But no! "It looks rather threatening of rain, and the dear children might catch cold." So the dear children remained in the room to amuse the visitor. I had soon one of them clambering up my back, and his foul fingers round my best cravat; another would have a ride upon my foot, and a third kicked my shins, in the vain effort to climb my person.

While this was going on, what was my horror to see Johnny enter the room with my hat, which he had brought down from the peg on the lobby, and, tying a string to it, drag it round the room for a cart. He rode astride my silver-mounted cane, and "gee-hupped' along in extraordinary glee. It was getting too hot to last, and made desperate by the poke of an abominable finger in my eye, from the urchin who had climbed up behind, I made a rush at Johnny, snatched my cane and

hat from him, and bounced out of the house. It was very rude, and I felt ashamed of the act before I had emerged from the front gate, but I could positively stand it no longer.

I saw my good-natured friend the day following, and he expressed his surprise at my hasty, and, as he rightly thought, angry departure; and he apologized for the behaviour of his children. "You see," he observed, "I leave all family matters to my wife, and she has a theory on the subject of infant-training, which I leave to her to work out in her own way." "And what may the theory be?" I asked. "Oh! that a child's will is a precious thing, and that to thwart or repress it is destructive of noble character." "Too fine a theory to work, my friend, depend upon it. A switch, and at the right time, is worth a thousand theories." "A switch!" cried my friend, utterly aghast. "Yes, a switch. Like other children, I too had a will, I suppose; but my will, like other children's, was very selfish; and when I grew violent, and rude, and disobedient, I was put under discipline and taught to obey; if I didn't I was switched; and now, when I look back, I thank my parents for the loving blows, which cost them tears, but saved me many after pains. Depend upon it, Sir, there is a great deal of wisdom in that old maxim -"He that spareth the rod". broke in my mild friend, "my wife says that was suited for rude times, but that we have outgrown such barbarous usages." "Why, Sir, what was good for re bellious and uproarious children then is good for them now, and will be till the world ends." I think my friend again quoted his wife, but I had seen the fruits of her training, and he could not convince me her theory was right.

"Ah!"

Yet I have seen children, and sat in the midst of them with delight, where no such signs of rebellion and untrained selfishness were to be observed; where a word or a look was sufficient to correct the defaulter; where kindness, politeness, and orderliness, seemed to pervade the entire household. I had the curiosity to ask my friend, Williams, what was the secret of his domestic government, which had issued in such a result, and he answered:-" It is no secret; it is simple persistent gentleness.” "But have you not an occasional rebellion?" I asked. "An exception, now and then; but we begin with the children while infants, and teach them the habit of obeying; it afterwards comes to them like nature; and the younger children learn of the older, and we have no trouble." "But how do you subdue your rebellions?" "By gentle enforcement, if I can; but if that will not do, then by enforcement; the child must obey; that is my first rule." "But what do you say about breaking their will? Do not you thereby destroy, or at least repress the character?" "Not at all! You only train and educate the will: sometimes it is necessary to bend it, like the young twig, so as to give it a proper direction; but as for breaking it, that is a course I have never pursued, and which, I believe, is not only unnecessary, but positively most hurtful."

I quite agreed with my friend, and could confirm the soundness of his views from the results of my own observation. As for the system of freedom, indulgence, and unrestrained enjoyment, I found that, however beautiful might be the theory, it worked badly; and the little angels very often expanded into full-grown de― (I will not venture to say the word). Children, like older people, need guidance, government, and discipline. The mere animal instincts of a child, brought up amidst the conflicting selfishness of a family of other children, will not guide him aright. He must be put in the proper road, and made to go there. It may cost him some restraint, trouble, perhaps pain at first; but it will save him many a pang and regret in his after-life.

Sometimes there is a system of favouritism prevalent in families, which is most injurious in its effect on the