What is that, mother?—

The eagle, boy.—

Proudly careering his course of joy,

Firm, in his own mountain vigour relying,
Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying;
His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun.
He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on.
Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine,

Onward, and upward, true to the line.

What is that, mother?—

The swan, my love.—
He is floating down from his native grove;
No loved one now, no nestling nigh;
He is floating down by himself to die;
Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings,
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings.

Live so, my love, that when Death shall come,
Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home.
Doane.

THE BODILY SENSES.

Few people think that the management of very young babes has any thing to do with their future dispositions and characters; yet I believe it has more influence than can easily be calculated.

An infant is, for a while, totally ignorant of the use of the senses with which he is endowed. He is obliged to serve an apprenticeship to the five senses, and at every step he needs assistance in learning his trade.

In trying to excite an infant's attention, care should be taken not to confuse and distract him. His mind, like his body, is weak, and requires to have but littlė sustenance at a time, and to have it often. Gentleness, patience, and love, are almost every thing in education; especially to those helpless little creatures, who have just entered into a world where every thing is new to

them.

All loud noises and violent emotions should be avoided. They pain an infant's senses, and distract his faculties.

I have seen impatient nurses thrust a glaring candle before the eyes of a fretful babe, or drum violently on the table, or rock the cradle like an earthquake. These things may stop a child's cries for a short time, because the pain they occasion his senses draws his attention from the pain which first induced him to cry, but they do not comfort or soothe him. Besides the pain given to the mind, violent measures are dangerous to the bodily senses. Deafness

and weakness of eyesight may no doubt often be attributed to such causes as these; and physicians are agreed that water on the brain is often occasioned by violent rocking.

Attention should be early aroused by presenting attractive objects-things of bright and beautiful colours, but not glaring, and sounds pleasant and soft to the ear. When you have succeeded in attracting a babe's attention to any object, it is well to let him examine it just as long as he chooses. Every time he turns it over, drops it, and takes it up again, he adds something to the little stock of his scanty experience. When his powers of attention are wearied, he will soon enough shew it by his actions. A multitude of new playthings crowded upon him one after another, only serve to confuse him. He does not learn so much as he would do from a few toys, because he has not time to become acquainted with the properties of any one of them. Having had his little mind excited by a new object, he should be left in quiet, to toss, and turn, and jingle it, to his heart's content. If he look up in the midst of his play, a smile should be always ready for him, that he may feel protected and happy in the atmosphere of love.

It is important, that children, even when babes, should never be witnesses of anger, or any evil passion. Above all things, therefore, those who have the charge of children should keep their own spirits in tranquillity and purity. A mere babe will grieve and sob at the expression of distress on the countenance; he cannot possibly know what that expression means, but he feels that it is something painful.

As the first step in education, I have recommended gentle, but constant efforts to attract the attention, and improve the bodily senses. I would here suggest the importance of preserving the organs of those senses in full

C

vigour. For instance, the cradle should be so placed that the face of the infant may be in shade. A strong light is dangerous to his delicate organs of vision; and if it be allowed to come in at one side, he may turn his eyes, in the effort to watch it.-Mrs. Child.

THE ENGLISH COTTAGE DOOR.
How lovely is a cottage door,

At sunset's dewy close,

How sweet, when labour's toils are o'er,
The scenes each hamlet shows.

Then manhood's brow throws off its care,
Woman puts on her smile,
And sportive infancy doth share
The joys of home awhile.

And happy, smiling faces meet
The rustic porch before;

While playmates fond, each other greet
Around the cottage door.

Ah! who would leave our happy land,
Where peace and plenty dwell,
To roam upon a foreign strand,
Whose wonders travellers tell?

The orange sheds its sweet perfume
Beneath Ausonia's skies;

But we've the apple's clustering bloom,
The orchard's rich supplies.

The cocoa and the date-tree spread
Their boughs in India's clime,
The yellow mango hangs o'erhead,
And stately grows the lime.

But we've the cherry's tempting bough,
The currant's coral gem;
What English child will not allow

That these may vie with them?

Italy boasts its citron groves,
And walks of lemon-trees;
Ceylon its spicy nuts and cloves,

That scent the summer breeze;

But we've the peach, and nectarine red,
The ripe and blooming plum,
The strawberry in its leafy bed,
When holidays are come.

The purple vine its harvest yields,
France on thy fertile plain;
But we've the yellow-waving fields
Of golden British grain.

The swelling fig from Turkey comes,
And China sends her tea,
Well known to all our British homes,
The Congou and Bohea.

The East and Western Indies give
The sugar's useful cane,
Whose culture makes the Negro live
Too oft a life of pain.

Each climate bears the varied fruit

Best suited to its soil;

God sees what every race will suit,

And fits them for each toil.

Heaven on our favoured land hath smiled; From want and war we're free;

The noble's heir, the peasant's child,

Alike have liberty.

Here no conscription doth alarm

The trembling mother's heart;
Here, no oppressor's tyrant arm
Tears son and sire apart.

Grateful we'll praise the Mighty hand
That sheds such blessings here,
Protecting still our native land

From ills that others fear.

Still let us love this spot of earth,—

The best where'er we roam,

And duly estimate the worth

Of a true English home.-Mrs. Wilson.

ON ATTENDING THE SICK.

THE comfort, and perhaps the life of patients, are often, humanly speaking, more in the hands and at the mercy of the nurse, than of the physician; and yet, when we would give directions to nurses, we almost hesitate to dwell upon the trifles that present themselves in the discharge of their duties. But, to one who is condemned to long illness, trifles become great events. A good nurse will acquire a tenderness for her charge which will lead her to be very considerate, in order that she may add to the comfort of the sufferer.

In watching over the sick, nurses should endeavour to accommodate the minds as well as the bodies of their patients; and by attentively learning what they like, and acquiring some knowledge of their tastes and habits, they will not only become more useful, but save themselves much trouble and difficulty.

A kind temper, as well as fair judgment, is very properly said to be of prime importance; but to possess at all times, this sort of temper, amidst all the trials of patience which occur in a sick room, is truly stated to require a disposition which only belongs to a sincere Christian. Let not the following hints be considered trifling.

A fearful or melancholy countenance has, in itself, a depressing effect; and a steady, cheerful temper of mind, and manner, is almost as requisite in a nurse as tenderness and affection.

In a sick room it is better, if the patient be awake, to speak distinctly, though quietly, than to whisper, as the latter mode often stretches the attention to listen, and excites suspicion and inquiry.

If the patient wishes to be read to, you should read rather loud than otherwise, slowly and distinctly, but not with much emphasis; the sick require rather to be soothed than interested.

In reading to yourself, in a sick room, turn over the leaves gently; even the noise of paper is often very disturbing to invalids; you will not be heard, if, in wishing to turn over the leaf, you close the book, and open it again on the other side.

Do not talk to the patient, except as he may lead to conversation, or show that he wishes it.