rance. A happy childhood gives an elasticity to the spirit which it seldom loses in after life, and which endues it with a capability of sustaining pain and sorrow greater than any that is derived from premature experience of suffering. The childhood of the over-indulged is not happy, since the desires of the child always outrun the parent's power to gratify, and in this particular also, the extremes meet. It sometimes happens that education is a compound of both evils. The fretfulness which overweening attention induces, is occasionally met by a sharp rebuke, or a sudden blow, which is not unfrequently compensated, as is thought, by some extra indulgence. The consequences of this, perhaps, provoke a repetition of the violence; and thus the life of the child is made a scene of vicissitudes, such as would be trying to the temper of the wisest adult. We pass over the probable effects of any such treatment on the mind of a boy, as it is not of his education we are treating, and only inquire what results we may expect in the female character. How many do we find in the world in whom those results are obvious. Single women, dependant and repining; wives, who, at war with themselves, are unable to provide for the domestic peace of their husbands; mothers, who, incapable of ordering their own conduct aright, are little calculated to guide that of their offspring? There perhaps never was a greater cruelty perpetrated with a kind intention, than the bringing up of children in a way to unfit them for their future lot in life. Exactly what that lot will be, it is not in the power of parents to foresee; but since their children are human creatures, it is certain that it will be in some degree one of difficulty and trial. The spirit of a child, especially of a female one, is tender and sensitive; easily crushed, as easily brought, like a hothouse plant, into a state of morbid sensibility. In the little one of the gentle sex, there is often a shrinking delicacy, and a love of ease, which indispose the mind for vigorous or continued action. Let not the affectionate parents flatter themselves, that by their own labour they can supersede the necessity of exertion, at least for the weaker part of their offspring. Let them not dream that they can ward off from their timid maidens the evils they leave them without ability to sustain. It may not be. Even though they toiled night and day, though they exclaimed with the energy of Byron, A parent's love thy griefs would free, And ask its wounds again for thee.' Let not even the wealthy look upon the young and tender females of their family in the fond and vain belief that they can always shelter them from the cares, the anxieties, and the sorrows which are peculiarly the portion of woman. 'Her lot is on them: to be found untired Does any inquire, Am I to be ungentle to my child, because' the world will be unkind? Am I not to minister fondly to her, because she must one day minister to others? Kind and gentle mother, no such sacrifice is required of you. Let every word that is said to a child be spoken in love, let every attention which is paid to it be paid willingly, but let them not be too frequent. For your management of your little ones the grand panacea would be, Let them alone. Do not fear but your maternal feelings will lead you to interfere quite enough in their pursuits; the danger is that you should interfere too often. There cannot be too great stress laid upon the maxim; Relieve all the real wants of a child, and disregard all its fallacious ones.' It is very possible to do this without harshness. If what a child asks for is proper and attainable, it is better to give it to it whether it cries or not, without obliging it to ask often; if it be improper, to refuse calmly and decidedly, and after that not to be moved by entreaties or tears. To attempt to quiet a child, only prolongs the struggle. Children are so quick in observing, that they will detect a yearning look, or an anxious whisper, and attempt to work upon the feeling which prompted it. There is nothing on these occasions but leaving them entirely unnoticed. They are in some degree creatures of experience, however young, and will soon abandon a line of conduct which is always found to be unavailing. The hours of sullenness, and the paroxysms of passion, from which such a plan will save a child, are incalculable. We may learn a useful lesson from the poor. While most of their vices arise from their exposure to harshness and contumely, many of their virtues are produced by the salutary discipline, or rather the absence of discipline, just mentioned. For a picture of the female poor, we cannot do better than refer to Montgomery's beautiful chapter on Old Women. We love quotations; they strengthen us in our own belief; they show that some other spirit, perhaps a master-spirit, has gone thus far with us: to such we cling as the ivy to the oak. 'Old women,' observes the poet, poor old women are those who, taking them all in all, have lived less for themselves and more for others than any class beside of our fellow-creatures. Nineteen out of twenty of these are widows, who, since they were weaned from their own mothers' breasts, have been inured to hard labour, to unkindness, to personal affliction, to family troubles, to scanty clothing and frugal fare, if not to frequent want. Their hands have been diligent to minister to others, from their youth upwards-nay, from their very childhood, as shall presently be shown. A female child is born in a poor man's family, and there is joy even there at such an event-for nature will be glad at that time, however melancholy the prospect of futurity. If the infant be hardy enough to survive a few years of bad nursing, coarse fare, and perhaps cruel usage, from rude parents, or sordid relatives, among whom she has been left an early orphan-no sooner is she able to carry a child, than she begins to learn to nurse; her little arms are strained to clasp a baby half as big as herself, and her feeble knees totter beneath a burden which she kisses with transports of unfeigned affection, while it almost bears her down. Thus from the very lap she is taught by the sweetest feelings of nature, as well as by premature toil, the lessons of love, and the habit of sacrificing self-will and self-indulgence to the wants of others; she scarcely ceases to be an infant before she is initiated in the practical duties of a mother. Yet she is happy, because the sun shines, the shower falls, the rainbow shoots, and the birds sing for her: sleep is sweet, and play is pleasant, and food delicious. She has not yet found out the secret of being discontented with what she has, and coveting what she has not. She has, however, found out the secret of being happy-a secret which many in a higher rank would do well to purchase with half their wealth, yet they rarely will know it, or act upon the knowledge, unless it be revealed to them in early life.' The foundation of all true happiness is a pure and lively faith, but its two great pillars are a worthy employment of time, and a relish for simple pleasures. It is needless to subject a child to privation, merely to inure it to hardship. There will always be found enow exercises for self-denial in the circumstances that naturally arise. It is worse than needless to encourage in it the increase of artificial wants. When a mother has released herself from the fear of harassing entreaties and passionate shrieks, she will have removed the great temptation to do this, and her mind will be free to reflect upon the amusements and employments of her little family. The young have a fountain of happiness within their hearts, which, if it be not choked up or polluted, will keep their path-way ever bright and green. They will be amused without any studied efforts. They will be happy, because the sun shines, and the birds sing for them. This might be a touchstone. If they are not, there must be something wrong, either physically or morally. With regard to their employments, there must be some hours devoted to receiving direct instruction; but excepting these, it is desirable, as they advance in years, to throw them more and more upon their own resources. To let them see and feel that there is important business to be performed in life; to excite a wish to assist in it; to set them an example of diligence and earnestness, and leave them to follow it (in some measure at least) according to their own devices. A few years ago, it was the custom, in teaching a child to walk, to use a leading-string, and the delicate art in nursery was, to hold the band so easily that it should not be felt that while it was ready to act as a check in case of a false step, it should not destroy the confidence which a child ought to feel in itself when obliged really to walk alone. Something of this kind is wanted in the direction of the mind. The time will come when the young must try their own powers; and when can the experiment be so safely made, as while they are under the watchful eye of their parents? It is a beautiful idea of childhood, that 'Affection, gentleness, and hope, Are all its brief years ask.' But let it be understood, what kind of hope; for upon that depends the truth or fallacy of the assertion. If it be the hope to increase continually the powers of usefulness-to enlarge the means of communicating happiness-to conform more and more to the Divine example which is set before us, of purity, holiness and self-denying love-then let hope be the pole-star of existence, and affection the pilot that steers the vessel by its ray. S. J. W. FRAGMENTS OF PHILOSOPHY FOR THE PEOPLE. To the Editor of the Christian Teacher. SIR, I fear you will be alarmed at the title which I have prefixed to this paper. Philosophy and Christianity are supposed to be at variance, and the word PEOPLE is rather democratical. But, probably, as the editor of a periodical, essentially opposed to inveterate prejudices, you are above these petty alarms. When St. Paul spoke against philosophy and vain deceit,' he must have meant one and the same thing by these two expressions; he must have used the figure called hendiadys, which, as all scholars know, abounds in the writings of the New Testament. As St. Paul himself made a constant use of all the philosophy he had acquired in the Rabbinical schools, he cannot be supposed to have condemned all philosophy whatever. The meaning of philosophy and vain deceit' must, consequently, be vain and deceitful philosophy-an evil of great magnitude, which, at that period, was present everywhere, but more especially in those parts of the Roman empire where Christianity was originally published. This was, indeed, the most fatal source of danger to the Gospel-one which the apostles themselves could not successfully oppose, as we find by the deep regrets which Paul has recorded. But philosophy is essential to man; the love of wisdom, or knowledge, is the great characteristic of a rational being; and any one who should condemn philosophy altogether, would deserve himself to be condemned as a blind and ignorant fanatic. As for the word people, which I have used to express the class to which I wish particularly to adapt these fragments, I do not know any other which I could employ instead of it. It is the only word which can signify society at large, excluding the notion of particular classes, especially those which may be called privileged, because they are the most favoured by circumstances. In the present case, the word people is principally intended to exclude the accidental qualification of learning. I But, it will be asked, what have the people to do with philosophy? Now, that question betrays the total want of an enlightened and well-digested plan of general education under which the country suffers. Can a human being properly be educated, even in the lowest degree, unless he is made to acquire some knowledge of himself as a rational creature, i. e. unless he is made to reflect upon his own mental faculties? will not deny that by merely calling those faculties into action, we may make them grow and unfold themselves. Indeed, this, with very few exceptions, is the only method which is employed in the highest kind of education known among us. But how strange, that men should be made to study every thing except themselves! The ancients, though much inferior in many things, were far above us in their consciousness of the importance of a certain knowledge which it concerned the poor as well as the rich, the old as well as the young, to possess. was that part of philosophy which teaches us to know ourselves. I do not use the phrase to know ourselves, in that devotional sense which has degraded it into cant. I do not allude to that affected humility which, with arched eye-brows, and in a whining tone, declares the utter corruption of the human heart; a declaration which, far from originating in any real knowledge of self, is only a contrivance to lose all perception of individual faults by casting them into that bottomless gulph of wickedness which is, theologically, made to belong to the species. This The basis of all education should be a really philosophical knowledge of our intellectual faculties. The degree in which this knowledge should be given, ought to vary according to the circumstances of the persons to be educated; but the manner of imparting its first rudiments might be one for all. We have only to observe the nature of all human language, and we shall perceive how obviously we are presented in it with the means of teaching a child the elements of mental philosophy; or, what is |