great reluctance or refused, we forget which.  His uncle, disapproving of a coercive course, went himself for that which he wanted:  merely exhibiting by his manner the annoyance this ill-behaviour gave him.  And when, later in the evening, the boy made overtures for the usual play, they were gravely repelled—­the uncle manifested just that coldness naturally produced in him; and so let the boy feel the necessary consequences of his conduct.  Next morning at the usual time for rising, our friend heard a new voice outside the door, and in walked his little nephew with the hot water.  Peering about the room to see what else could be done, the boy then exclaimed, “Oh! you want your boots;” and forthwith rushed downstairs to fetch them.  In this and other ways he showed a true penitence for his misconduct.  He endeavoured by unusual services to make up for the service he had refused.  His better feelings had made a real conquest over his lower ones; and acquired strength by the victory.  And having felt what it was to be without it, he valued more than before the friendship he thus regained.

This gentleman is now himself a father; acts on the same system; and finds it answer completely.  He makes himself thoroughly his children’s friend.  The evening is longed for by them because he will be at home; and they especially enjoy Sunday because he is with them all day.  Thus possessing their perfect confidence and affection, he finds that the simple display of his approbation or disapprobation gives him abundant power of control.  If, on his return home, he hears that one of his boys has been naughty, he behaves towards him with that coolness which the consciousness of the boy’s misconduct naturally produces; and he finds this a most efficient punishment.  The mere withholding of the usual caresses, is a source of much distress—­produces a more prolonged fit of crying than a beating would do.  And the dread of this purely moral penalty is, he says, ever present during his absence:  so much so, that frequently during the day his children ask their mamma how they have behaved, and whether the report will be good.  Recently, the eldest, an active urchin of five, in one of those bursts of animal spirits common in healthy children, committed sundry extravagances during his mamma’s absence—­cut off part of his brother’s hair and wounded himself with a razor taken from his father’s dressing-case.  Hearing of these occurrences on his return, the father did not speak to the boy either that night or next morning.  Besides the immediate tribulation the effect was, that when, a few days after, the mamma was about to go out, she was entreated by the boy not to do so; and on inquiry, it appeared his fear was that he might again transgress in her absence.