give to my son; my situation was more respectable than had I lived alone; and last, not least, I enjoyed the society of my own beloved parents, and at the same time saw much of my brothers and sisters, who being settled in different parts of the country, came from time to time to visit them.

But as the years of my widowhood rolled on, and as my mind began to cast off the first heavy pressure of grief, my parents, by the same process, in progress of time, began to forget that I had been a wife and was a mother; and my dear father, returning to old habits, would now and then reprove me for some slight failure of attention to family rules, with as little ceremony, in the presence of my son, as if I had been only eight or nine years of age. I was certainly hurt at these things, and once complained of an attack of this sort to an old clergyman, a friend of the family: in reply to which he said, "Permit me to congratulate you, my dear madam, on a happy occasion for showing your sense of filial submission in the presence of your son; depend upon it, the lesson will not be lost upon him." The remark was blessed to me, and I was henceforward enabled so to act, that the lesson descended as the dew of heaven on the heart of my son, who has ever been a dear and dutiful child.

My dear father died at seventy-five, and my mother survived him ten years. In the meantime my son settled in London, having been brought up to the law: he married, with my approbation, a very elegant and pleasing young lady, and, as far as I heard, their family management seemed such as I could most have wished; for my son assured me that they had morning and evening family prayers, and never failed to attend divine service on the Lord's day. Neither did they frequent places of public amusement, and were also strictly honourable and correct in their pecuniary arrangements; but for the last eight years of my mother's life I saw very little of them. I could not leave my venerable parent, neither could she bear the noise of children; I was therefore almost a stranger to my son's family when she died.

When my beloved mother was no more, I remained only to see her remains interred, and to deliver every thing up in the family mansion to my eldest brother; and then, being earnestly solicited by my daughter-inlaw, hastened to town, my dear son meeting me at one

stage from London, and embracing me with a tenderness which showed how dear his sole remaining parent was to his heart. This was pleasant, and I felt myself comforted for the loss of my poor mother, especially when introduced into my son's pleasant drawing-room. His wife met me with a warmth of manner and brightness of expression which left no doubt in my mind that she was really glad to see me. As it was very late, no children were present that night, although my daughter took me into the nursery to see and kiss them sleeping, as they were in their little cribs; there were four of them already; a girl, the eldest of the family, nearly eight years old; two little sturdy boys, and a baby, who looked as she slept like a little cherub. Before I was ushered to my own apartments, for two together had been set aside for me, my dear son and daughter expressed a hope that I would stay with them always, if I found myself comfortable. In return for which, having thanked them with tears in my eyes, I assured them that whether I stayed with them a longer or shorter time, I should never (God helping me) forget the respect due to the master and mistress of the house that sheltered me, or use the prerogative of the parent to interfere with any of their arrangements; I only stipulated that the liberty of being in company or withdrawing to my room should always be allowed to me. I am of a very sociable turn of mind. I always have preferred living with my friends to residing alone.

These things being settled, I was conducted to my apartments, which I found all that I could wish; and awoke the next morning in an agreeable and thankful state of mind. In this temper I came down to breakfast precisely at the hour indicated the night before by my daughter.

The door of the breakfast-room was opened to me by a footman who was in the hall, and I was advancing to kiss my daughter, who was making the tea, when from an inner apartment, which, according to the London fashion, was separated from the outer by folding doors, burst three out of four of my grandchildren, shrieking, and clamouring, and tumbling over each other, all impatient to see their grandmother, but standing in a group at about three yards distance from me, and looking at me as if I had been some strange animal just brought in from the woods.

"Come and kiss grandmamma,-dear grandmamma," said my daughter,-" come, darling :" on which the eldest child came forward and gave me her cheek to kiss, though without vouchsafing me any thing like a smile; while the other two held back, the younger saying, decidedly, "I wo'n't."

My son was not present, or this probably would not have passed; and as I never court sullen children, no notice was taken, and I proceeded to place myself in a chair which was set next my daughter-in-law. I had scarcely placed myself before I was startled by a terrible cry in my ears, feeling at the same time a sort of concussion in my seat which made me start-my daughter at the same time saying, "What is the matter? do not let us have this noise."

"It is Sam, mamma," replied his sister. "Grandmamma has got his seat." Her mother tried to silence her by some dumb and ineffectual tokens of displeasure; but my son, who had just entered in time to hear what his daughter had said, and to see what his little son was doing, for he was still drumming on my chair, reproved them both, decidedly saying to Harriet (that was my grand-daughter), "Let me hear such another word, and you leave the room. Your grandmamma shall have any seat in this room which is most agreeable to her." He immediately caused every child to take his place, and we proceeded to breakfast, during which, to my surprise, there could be little conversation from the constant interruptions of the loud shrill voices of the children. But what was this to what ensued when the father went out for business, it seemed, required his absence every day from ten o'clock till four or five, and often somewhat later, in the evening. He was no sooner gone than I discovered that, small as his influence was over the minds of his children, that of their mother was still less.

My daughter-in-law, I verily believe, ever meant to do well by her young ones, but unfortunately she had imbibed two or three modern principles which completely rendered her the slave of her children, and made them the torment of everybody else.

In the first instance, they were to be allowed to say every thing which came uppermost, lest they should learn to be artful; in the next, they were to be with their mamma at all times and seasons, excepting when

they were asleep, lest they should be induced to like any other person's company better than hers; though I never could ascertain that they considered it half the privilege to be permitted to associate with her, as I and my sisters did, when children, to be allowed to stand behind our mother's chair when introduced into the parlour after dinner. Again, they were to eat of any thing they chose, lest they should acquire the habit of greediness by being deprived of dainties. In the last place, all their lessons were to be taught them by word of mouth, lest they should mispronounce some new word which might occur; and no servant was on any account to control them, because servants are injudicious, and the parent is decidedly the proper person to manage a child. But truly I thought it very hard, and a very fit subject for complaint, that I should have come into existence just at the point of time in which I was subjected in youth to the old regime, and compelled in old age to submit to the new; especially as I never could bring my reason to assent to the expediency of letting the world be governed by that portion of society the least fitted for it-nor could I persuade myself that there could be any propriety or justice in allowing the free-will of the grandchild to encroach upon the comforts and privileges of the grandmother-not to speak of the mother, since, as the power is in her own hands while her children are in their infancy, if she chooses to be uncomfortable, she is no object of pity. With regard to my daughter-in-law, if she resolved to allow her children to make a play-room or dog-kennel of her parlour during the absence of her husband-to suffer perpetual headaches rather than control the exuberant spirits of her sons-to fatigue herself continually in instructing her daughter by word of mouth instead of insisting that the child should exert herself, I felt it was not for me to interfere with her, but I took the liberty of withdrawing myself to my own apartments as much as possible. As my son and daughter continued to wish me to remain with them, I put up with much coldness, and what my mother would have called insolence, from the children, rather than leave the house; and I trust was led so to act to my descendants, that these young creatures will be willing, when I am no more, to pay that respect to my memory which I am sorry to say they have as yet withheld in my lifetime.

THE SHEPHERD'S FOUNTAIN.

THERE is in the East a certain range of mountains called the Mountains of the Leopards; this range bears but an evil report, by reason of the fierce beasts which infest its acclivities, which prowl among its valleys, and take refuge in its dens and its caves. Nevertheless, these hills are beautiful to look upon, their loftiest peaks being clad with eternal snow, shining pale and cold in the moonbeam, and gleaming sadly in the hours of frozen winter, but emitting a thousand rays of violet and golden light when the summer sun rises upon them, and the wintry clouds roll away from their summits.

On the sides of these hills grows every variety of tree and herb, from those whose hardy natures can endure the Alpine blasts, to the broad-leafed and fragrant palm, the spikenard and calamus, the aloe and cassia, whose roots imbed themselves in the southern banks at the foot of the range.

Now, in former times, my history tells me not in what age or at what period, there dwelt upon these mountains a certain shepherd called Theogenes, a sort of patriarch, for in his manners and mode of life he was not unlike what we read of Abraham; he was a species of inferior chief; he was not a prince himself, for he held this place under another, and was subject to the dominion of that other; although the subjection was so easy that, as he would often say, he had no other experience of his state as a bondsman than that he was thereby, as the servant of a powerful prince, secured from enemies, who, had he endeavoured to maintain his place in his own strength, would have assuredly proved too powerful for him.

Now this shepherd had his habitation on the ledge of a rock; this rock was hard as adamant, and more pure and white than the far-famed marble of Carara; there was no spot or stain therein, neither had the inclemencies of the seasons, the variations of heat or cold, of damp or dry, power to sully the purity of its surface. Hence it was known, by those living in those parts, by the name of the White Stone, which being seen far and