Now and then you hear a growl, or see a spat.  But, generally, the “old ones” know better.  The little frolicsome creatures are indulged.  Nature seems to teach these canine and feline parents that their progeny must and will have sport.  I have, indeed, as I have said, heard the ominous growl and the warning spat or spit, but what good has it done?  Why, the growl seems only to inspirit the young dog.  He plays so much the more; or, at least, if he plays shy for a brief space, the next you’ll see, he jumps on to the old dog and plays the harder, and the kitten acts in like manner.

But I have said enough.  The sum is, that it is wise not to take cognizance of all that might be considered amiss in children.  Correct the faults which are the most prominent.  Let the statute-book not be overburdened with small enactments.  Nothing is small which is morally wrong; but little physical twitchings, and nervous peccadilloes are not worthy of grave legislation.  The apostle’s account of himself has some pertinence here.  “When I was a child, I thought as a child, I spoke as a child”—­Paul, doubtless acted as a child; “but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”  The experience and observation of years often make salutary corrections, which you would in vain attempt to effect in early childhood, by all the laws of a ponderous octavo, or by all the birch saplings to be found in a western forest.

A GRANDFATHER.

* * * * *

Original.

MAGNETISM.

Kind reader, whoever thou art, I come to thee with an earnest plea, and that I may the more surely prevail in my suit, let me for a time exert over thee the mesmeric power; thy bodily eyes being closed, and thy spirit set free from its encumbering clay, let me introduce thee to distant scenes.

The hour is midnight,—­the place an humble home in far off Michigan.  Let us enter; nothing hinders, for bolts and bars are here unknown.  Step quietly, that we may not disturb the sleeping.  Come with me to this bed-chamber; it is indeed dark, but the spirit does not need material light.  On this rude bed reposes an aged man with whitened locks and furrowed face, and yonder lies a little child whose tiny feet have yet taken but few steps on life’s rude journey.  Listen!—­she moves—­she is not asleep.  What has wakened thee, gentle one?—­the slumbers of childhood should be undisturbed.  She sings—­in the silent, lonely night, with sweet low voice she is singing—­

  “Jesus, Saviour, Son of God,
  Who for me life’s pathway trod;
  Who for me became a child,
  Make me humble, meek, and mild.

  I thy little lamb would be,
  Jesus, I would follow thee;
  Samuel was thy child of old,
  Take me now within thy fold.”