their knowledge of the world, can talk of Switzerland, and Italy, and France with all the many who have visited their shores. My holidays are yet to come; but do not be frightened; I am not thinking of the Continent—I am only running forward with my mind's eye to the happy accomplishment of our mutual wishes in the meeting at this dear spot of which your promise holds out the exhilarating prospect. My children seem to feel that months are years, till August comes and brings the Sandfords to Glenalta.

But dearest Elizabeth, I am not answering your question: "Will you help me with your experience in this weighty task which I have undertaken, and give me your advice upon the important subject of female education, as I proceed in an endeavour to fulfil the part which I have engaged to act?" Yes surely, my friend, I will gladly afford you every aid in my power to bestow, but you will not expect more than I can give. You must not look to me for that which I have never found myself, namely a plan or system by which I could work under the guidance of another mind without exercising at every moment whatever penetration the Almighty had conferred upon my own. This, whatever be its measure, has been employed night and day in scrutinizing the individual varieties that presented themselves in the several dispositions of my children.

You know the little history of their infant years, and that they were ever with me. You know also of the frightful chasm in my life, which succeeded. I dare not even now look back upon that period, nor is it necessary; for you have nothing to do with the first years of childhood: but till this moment I never told you of the heart-sting by which I was roused from that torpor which had diffused a species of Upas shade over my character for some years.

While I was buried in my cottage near Linton, in Devonshire, I was attacked by low fever which threatened my life. It was not contagious, and therefore I was not debarred from seeing my children. Frederick, the eldest, was then twelve years old, and one day when he and his little sisters came to kiss and say farewell before they took their walk, I perceived my dear boy's cheek wet as it touched mine, and almost in the same instant that the tiny group hurried from my room I found a scrap of paper lying on the pillow upon which my head was reclined. I opened and read the following artless effusion addressed

"To my beloved Mamma.

This first lisping of an almost infant muse produced an electric effect, and seemed the proximate instrument to inspire a degree of resolution which till then had been denied to my prayers; for God does his work in our hearts by secondary means and not by miracles. From that hour my mind appeared gradually to receive strength. I began to feel that solitude was too selfish an enjoyment; that I had active duties which claimed a share of my thoughts. I prayed earnestly, I exerted myself unceasingly, recovered health, and then determined on the great sacrifice of re-visiting Glenalta. The anguish, which that effort cost me, it would be as impossible for me to express, as it would be painful to you to conceive. Enough of this! Your request for assistance in your new character has led me back through a labyrinth of past time, and my pen has almost unconsciously pursued the train.

The excellent tutor who was procured for me by my invaluable friend Edward Otway, seemed as if formed expressly for my purpose. I could not have borne the society of any mortal who expected to be made a companion, nor could I have allowed my children to associate with a person who did not deserve to be made a friend. Mr. Oliphant, old enough to be my father, yet cheerful enough to be the play-fellow of my children when he was not their teacher, religious, benevolent, learned, simple in his manners, enthusiastic both in acquiring and imparting knowledge, and never desiring other company than that of his pupils and his books, was the man whom I found at Lisfarne under the roof of my friend, and waiting the arrival of my family at Glenalta. A few dreadful struggles over, we commenced upon the "noiseless tenor of our way." I read every volume of which I had ever heard upon education, and found instruction in a short paper upon the subject, written by the late Mrs. Barbauld, whose pen was called upon to direct the conduct of a father and mother who found themselves the parents of a darling only son, and possessed of such affluence as to induce them to give a carte blanche for whatever might be suggested as most likely to succeed in making this object of their common affection all that they fondly desired to see him.

Her letter in reply to their solicitations for advice, was published many years ago in a periodical work entitled "The Inquirer," and contains more strong good sense in a few pages than I have ever met with in the many ponderous quartos which maternal anxiety induced me to wade through. Mrs. Barbauld tells her friends to be themselves in daily life, in all their habits of speaking and acting, that which they desire to impress upon their son. The quantity of Greek and Latin, logic, and mathematics, which he might attain in the progress of his studies, or the place in which such knowledge should be acquired, she wisely leaves in a great measure to other advisers; and resting on what is surely of far higher consequence in the human compound, namely the principles, the sentiments, the opinions which it is desirable should actuate the conduct of the future man, she admirably remarks that the moral atmosphere by which youth is surrounded, is the real teacher—not the tutor or governess who lays down precepts in the closet.

We are told in holy writ, that "the children of this world are wiser in their generation than the children of light," and we may fairly draw a similar comparison between the young and the more advanced of our fellow creatures upon earth. The whole strength of a child lies in his sagacity, which accounts for all the acuteness employed by young people in observing looks and actions, and in developing the secret motives of those in whose conduct they are interested. In low minds this acuteness degenerates into cunning, but in all children there is a quickness of intellect, a readiness in deducing effects from causes, and marking inconsistencies between theory and practice, which ought to operate as a powerful incentive with those who undertake the care of youth, to make singleness of heart and a broad bold integrity the rule of every act in life. It is in vain that we talk of the beauty of truth, while we employ dissimulation in our intercourse with society; or descant on the advantages of occupation, while our own days are passed in idleness and sloth. Words go for very little, whilst it is what we are doing that secretly determines the bias of our children either to imitate or avoid. Powerfully impressed with this leading truth, I