changes made at proper times, so that the patient may never be prevented from sleeping or dozing, by having things taken out of the room at a time when quietness is particularly desirable. It is important to have some signal to show those out of the room when the patient is asleep, or particularly desirous of being quiet: such as a long piece of paper, or goosequill, put through the keyhole of the door. When an attendant is long confined in the room, by fearing to disturb the patient by opening the door, it is well to have some plan agreed upon for relieving the anxiety of friends below stairs, or for giving any needful directions. For this purpose a billet may be written and slipped under the door. The nurse should not waste her strength when there is no occasion. For, if she rests when she can, she will be the better able to go through her duty, and thus render the best service to her charge.-Anon. THE TEAR OF SYMPATHY. How lovely shines the liquid pearl, Its beams a fairer lustre yield Than richest rubies give; Golconda's gems, though bright, are cold— Softer the tones of Friendship's voice, Its word more kindly flows; More grateful in its simplest sound Than all which art bestows. When torturing anguish racks the soul, Then, Sympathy! 'tis thine to lull To feel each pang, to share each throb, "Tis thine to aid the sinking frame; To bind the heart by anguish torn, "Tis thine to cherish Hope's fond smile, Then give me, Heaven, the soul to feel, The hand to mercy prone, The eye with kindly drops that flows Be mine the cause of Misery's child Be mine the wish sincere To pluck the sting that wounds his breast, INSTINCTIVE LOVE OF THEIR YOUNG IN THE BRUTE AND FEATHERED CREATION. THE more I reflect on the instinctive affection of animals for their young, the more am I astonished at its effects. Nor is the violence of this affection more wonderful than 'the shortness of its duration. Thus, every hen is in her turn the terror of the yard in proportion to the helplessness of her brood; and will fly in the face of a dog or a cat in defence of those chickens, which in a few weeks she will drive before her with relentless cruelty. This affection quickens the invention and sharpens the sagacity of the brute creation. Thus, a hen just become a mother, is no longer the placid bird she used to be; but with feathers on end, wings hovering, and clucking note, she runs about like one possessed. Mothers will throw themselves in the way of the greatest danger to defend their young. Thus, a partridge will tumble along before a sportsman, in order to draw away the dogs from her helpless covey. In the time of nest building, the most feeble birds will assault the most rapacious. All the swallows and martins of a village are up in arms at the sight of a hawk, whom they will persecute till he leaves the district. A very exact observer has often remarked, that a pair of ravens nesting in the rock of Gibraltar, would suffer no vulture or eagle to rest near their station; but would drive them from the hill with amazing fury. If you stand near the nest of a bird that has young, she will not be induced to betray them by any inadvertent fondness, but will wait about at a distance with meat in her mouth for an hour together. The fly-catcher builds every year in the vines that grow on the walls of my house. A pair of these little birds had one year inadvertently placed their nest on a crooked bough, perhaps, in a shady time, not being aware of the inconvenience that followed; but a hot sunny season coming on before the brood was half fledged, the reflection from the wall became insupportable, and must inevitably have destroyed the tender young, had not affection suggested an expedient, and prompted the parent birds to hover over the nest all the hotter hours, while, with wings expanded and mouths gaping for breath, they screened off the heat from their suffering offspring. A further instance I once saw of notable sagacity in a willow raven, which had built in a bank in my fields. This bird a friend and myself had observed as she sat in her nest, but were particularly careful not to disturb her, though we saw she eyed us with some degree of jealousy. Some days after, as we passed that way, we were desirous of remarking how this brood went on; but no nest could be found, till I happened to take up a large bundle of green moss, carelessly thrown over the nest, in order to deceive the eye of any impertinent intruder.-White's Selborne. DIVINE IMPRESS. THERE's not a tint that paints the rose, Or streaks the humblest flower that grows, At early dawn there's not a gale And not a breeze that sweeps the vale, There's not a grass, a single blade, Where heavenly skill is not displayed, There's not a tempest dark and dread, Or blast that sweeps o'er ocean's bed, And cheers the solemn gloom of night, There's not a cloud whose dews distil And clothe with verdure vale and hill, There's not a place in earth's vast round, Where skill and wisdom are not found, Wherever space extends, There heaven displays its boundless love, ON AUTHORITY OVER CHILDREN.—No. II. NEVER punish when the child has not intentionally done wrong. Children are often unjustly punished; things which are really wrong are overlooked, and again, punishment is inflicted on account of some accident, when the child is entirely innocent; such a procedure not only destroys in the mind of the child the distinction between accident and crime, but is, in itself, absolutely iniquitous. It is not unfrequently the case that a nurse or governess who does not intend to be guilty of injustice, neglects to make a proper distinction between faults and accidents. A child may be careless, and so criminally careless, as to deserve punishment; in that case it ought not to be punished for the accident, but for the carelessness, which is a fault. We are all too much inclined to estimate guilt by consequences. A child who has been permitted to climb upon the chairs, and take things from the table, accidentally pushes off some valuable article. The child is perhaps punished. Now, in what respect did this child do wrong? You never taught him that he must not climb upon the table; of course, in that there was no disobedience, and he was not conscious of doing any thing improper. If merely a book had fallen, probably no notice would have been taken of it; but the simple fact that one thing fell instead of another, cannot alter the nature of the offence. If it had been the most valuable watch which had fallen, and thus had been entirely ruined, if it had occurred purely through accident, the child deserves no punishment. Does any one ask what should be done in such cases? The answer is plain. Children ought to be taught not to do what will expose property to injury; and then if they do what is thus prohibited, consider them guilty, whether injury results or not. If the child, in the above case, had been so taught, this would have been an act of direct disobedience. And a faithful governess would probably pursue some such course as this: without any manifestation of anger, she would calmly and seriously say to her pupil :-" My child, I have often told you that you must not climb upon the table, you have disobeyed me.' "But," says the child, "I did not mean to do any harm." "I presume you did not; I do not accuse you of doing harm, but of having disobeyed me. The injury was accidental, but the disobedience was deliberate and very wrong. I am very sorry to punish you, but I must do it; it is my duty." She would then punish him, either by the infliction of pain, or by depriving him, for a time, of some of his usual privileges or enjoyments. The punishment, however, would be inflicted for the disobedience, and not for the accident. The child could not but feel that he was justly condemned. But the question still remains, what is to be done, upon the original supposition, that the child had never been taught that it was wrong to climb upon the table, or to throw his ball about the room? In that case, no one has |