COLUMN FOR THE LADIES.

EDUCATION OF INFANCY.

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. One writer on education even ventures to say, that the heaviness of the Dutch and the vivacity of the French are owing to the different manner in which infants are treated in these two countries.

The Dutch keep their children in a state of repose, always rocking, or jogging them; the French are perpetually tossing them about, and showing them lively tricks. I think a medium between these two extremes would be the most favourable to a child's health and faculties.

An infant is, for a while, totally ignorant of the use of At first, he does not see objects; and when he sees them, he does not know that he can touch them. "He is obliged to serve an apprenticeship to the five senses," and at every step he needs assistance

the senses with which he is endowed.

in learning his trade. Any one can see that assistance tends to quicken the faculties, by observing how much faster a babe improves, when daily surrounded by little brothers and sisters.

But 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 little 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 entered into a world where every thing is new and strange to them. Gentleness is a sort of mild atmosphere; and it enters into a child's soul, like the sunshine into the rose-bud, slowly but surely expanding

it into beauty and vigour.

All loud noises and violent motions 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 sooth him. As soon as he recovers from the distraction they have occasioned, he will probably cry again, and even louder than before. Besides the pain given to his mind, violent measures are dangerous to the bodily senses. Deafness and weakness of eye-sight may no doubt often be attributed to such causes as I have mentioned; and physicians are agreed that the dropsy on the brain is frequently produced by violent rocking.

Unless a child's cries are occasioned by sharp bodily pain, they may usually be pacified by some pleasing object, such as stroking a kitten, or patting the dog; and if their tears are really occasioned by acute pain, is it not cruel to add another suffering, by stunning them with noise, or blinding them with light?

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 show 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, because he has not time to get 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

From the Mother's Book, a sensible little Volume, by an American Lady, republished in Glasgow.

play, a smile should always be 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 spectators of anger, or any evil passion. They come to us from heaven, with their little souls full of inno should not interfere with the influence of angels. cence and peace; and, as far as possible, a mother's influence

The first and most important thing, in order to `effect this, is, that the mother should keep her own spirit in transtate of a mother affects her child. There are many proofs quillity and purity; for it is beyond all doubt that the that it is true, both with regard to mind and body. A mere babe will grieve and sob at the expression of distress on a mother's countenance; he cannot possibly know what that expression means, but he feels that it is something painful his mother's state affects him.

Effects on the bodily constitution will be more readily believed than effects on the mind, because the most thought. less can see the one, and they cannot see the other. Children have died in convulsions, in consequence of a mother nursing, while under the influence of violent passion or emotion; and who can tell how much moral evil may be traced the precious little being,, who receives every thing from to the states of mind indulged by a mother, while tending

her?

Therefore the first rule, and the most important of all in education, is, that a mother should govern her own feelings and keep her heart and conscience pure.

The next most important thing appears to me to be, that a mother should, as far as other duties will permit, take the entire care of her own child. I am aware that people of moderate fortune cannot attend exclusively to an infant. Other cares claim a share of attention, and sisters or domestics must be intrusted; but where this must necessarily mother's guardianship. If in the same room, a smile, or a be the case, the infant should, as much as possible, feel its look of fondness, should now and then be bestowed upon him; and if in an adjoining room, some of the endearing ap. pellations to which he has been accustomed, should once in a while meet his ear; the knowledge that his natural protector and best friend is near, will give him a feeling of safety and protection alike conducive to his happiness and beneficial to his temper.

You may say, perhaps, that a mother's instinct teaches fondness, and there is no need of urging that point; but the difficulty is, mothers are sometimes fond by fits and starts:

they frequently follow impulse, not principle. Perhaps the cares of the world vex or discourage you, and you do not, as usual, smile upon your babe when he looks up ear nestly in your face-or you are a little impatient at his fretfulness. Those who know your inquietudes may easily excuse this; but what does the innocent being before you know of toil and trouble? And why should you distract his pure nature by the evils you have received from a vexatious world? It does you no good, and it injures him.

Do you say it is impossible always to govern one's feelings? There is one method, a never-failing one-prayer. It consoles and strengthens the wounded heart, and tranquillizes the stormy passions. You will say, perhaps, that you have not leisure to pray every time your temper is provoked, or your heart is grieved. It requires no time-the inward ejaculation of "Lord, help me to overcome this temptation," may be made in any place, and amid any em ployments; and if uttered in humble sincerity, the voice that said to the raging waters, "Peace! Be still!" will restore quiet to your troubled soul.

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 vigour. For instance, the cradle should be so placed that the face of the infant may be in the shade. A stream of 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. Glaring red curtains and brilliantly striped Venetian car peting are bad things in a nursery, for similar reasons.

THE YOUNG ACTRESS.

BARBARA S.

As I was about to say-at the desk of the then treasurer of the old Bath theatre-not Diamond's-presented herself the little Barbara S

This little maid had just entered her eleventh year; but her important station at the theatre, as it seemed to her, with the benefits which she felt to accrue from her pious application of her small earnings, had given an air of womanhood to her steps and to her behaviour. You would have taken her to have been five years at least older.

Till latterly she had merely been employed in choruses, or where children were wanted to fill up the scene. But the manager, observing a diligence and adroitness in her above her age, had for some few months past intrusted to her the performance of whole parts. You may guess the self-consequence of the promoted Barbara. She had already drawn tears in young Arthur; had rallied Richard with infantine petulance in the Duke of York; and in her turn had rebuked that petulance when she was Prince of Wales. She would have done the older child in Morton's pathetic after-piece to the life; but as yet the "Children in the Wood" was not.

Long after this little girl was grown an aged woman, I have seen some of these small parts, each making two or three pages at most, copied out in the rudest hand of the then prompter, who doubtless transcribed a little more carefully and fairly for the grown-up tragedy ladies of the establishment. But such as they were, blotted and scrawled, as for a child's use, she kept them all; and in the zenith of her after reputation it was a delightful sight to behold them bound up in costliest Morocco, each single-each small part making a book—with fine clasps, gilt-splashed, &c. She had conscientiously kept them as they had been delivered to her; not a blot had been effaced or tampered with. They were precious to her for their affecting remembrancings. They were her principia, her rudiments; the elementary atoms; the little steps by which she pressed forward to perfection. "What," she would say, "could India rubber, or a pumice stone, have done for these darlings ?"

I am in no hurry to begin my story-indeed I have little or none to tell-so I will just mention an observation of hers connected with that interesting time.

Not long before she died I had been discoursing with her on the quantity of real present emotion, which a great tragic performer experiences during acting. I ventured to think, that though in the first instance such players must have possessed the feelings which they so powerfully called up in others; yet, by frequent repetition, those feelings must become deadened in a great measure, and the performer trust to the memory of past emotion, rather than express a present one. She indignantly repelled the notion, that, with a truly great tragedian, the operation, by which such effects were produced upon an audience, could ever degrade itself into what was purely mechanical. With much delicacy, avoiding to instance in her self-experience, she told me, that so long ago as when she used to play the part of the Little Son to Mrs. Porter's Isabella, (I think it was,) when that impressive actress had been bending over her in some heartrending colloquy, she has felt real hot tears come trickling from her, which (to use her powerful expression) have perfectly scalded ber back.

I am not quite so sure that it was Mrs. Porter; but it was some great actress of that day. The name is indifferent; but the fact of the scalding tears I most distinctly remember.

perhaps from that pure infelicity which accompanies some people in their walk through life, and which it is impossible to lay at the door of imprudence-was now reduced to nothing. They were in fact in the very teeth of starvation, when the manager, who knew and respected them in better days, took the little Barbara into his company.

At the period I commenced with, her slender earnings were the sole support of the family, including two younger sisters. I must throw a veil over some mortifying circumstances. Enough to say, that her Saturday's pittance was the only chance of a Sunday's (generally their only) meal of meat.

One thing I will only mention, that in some child's part, where, in her theatrical character, she was to sup off a roast fowl (O joy to Barbara!) some comic actor, who was for the night caterer for this dainty-in the misguided humour of his part, threw over the dish such a quantity of salt, (O grief and pain of heart to Barbara !) that when she crammed a portion of it into her mouth, she was obliged sputteringly to reject it; and what with shame of her ill-acted part, and pain of real appetite at missing such a dainty, her little heart sobbed almost to breaking, till a flood of tears, which the well-fed spectators were totally unable to comprehend, mercifully relieved her.

This was the little starved, meritorious maid, who stood before old Ravenscroft the treasurer, for her Saturday's payment.

Ravenscroft was a man, I have heard many old theatrical people beside herself say, of all men least calculated for a treasurer. He had no head for accounts, paid away at random, kept scarce any books, and summing up at the week's end, if he found himself a pound or so deficient, blest himself that it was no worse.

Now Barbara's weekly stipend was a bare half-guinea. By mistake he popped into her hand a-whole one. Barbara tripped away.

She was entirely unconscious at first of the mistake: God knows, Ravenscroft would never have discovered it. But when she had gone down to the first of those uncouth landing-places, she became sensible of an unusual weight of metal pressing her little hand.

Now mark the dilemma.

She was by nature a good child. From her parents and those about her, she had imbibed no contrary influence. But then they had taught her nothing. Poor men's smoky cabins are not always porticoes of moral philosophy. This little maid had no instinct to evil; but then she might be said to have no fixed principle. She had heard honesty commended, but never dreamed of its application to herself. She thought of it as something which concerned grown-up people-men and women. She had never known temptation, or thought of preparing resistance against it. Her first impulse was to go back to the old treasurer, and explain to him his blunder. He was already so confused with age, besides a natural want of punctuality, that she would have had some difficulty in making him understand it. She saw that in an instant. And then it was such a bit of money! and then the image of a larger allowance of butcher's meat on their table next day came across her, till her little eyes glistened, and her mouth moistened. But then Mr. Ravenscroft had always been so good-natured, had stood her friend behind the scenes, and even recommended her promotion to some of her little parts. But again the old man was reputed to be worth a world of money. He was supposed to have fifty pounds a-year clear of the theatre. And then came staring upon her the figures of her little stockingless and shoeless sisters. And when she looked at her own neat white cotton stockings, which her situation at the theatre had made it indispensable for her mother to provide for her, with

hard straining and pinching from the family stock, and thought how glad she should be to cover their poor feet with the same and how then they could accompany her to rehearsals, which they had hitherto been precluded from doing, by reason of their unfashionable attire,-in these thoughts she reached the second landing-place-the second, I mean from the top-for there was still another to traverse.

Now virtue support Barbara!

And that never-failing friend did step in-for at that moment a strength not her own, I have heard her say, was revealed to her a reason above reasoning-and without her own agency, as it seemed (for she never felt her feet to move) she found herself transported back to the individual disk she had just quitted, and her hand in the old hand of Ravenscroft, who in silence took back the refunded treasure, and who had been sitting (good man) insensible to the lapse of minutes, which to her were anxious ages; and from that moment a deep peace fell upon her heart, and she knew the quality of honesty.

A year or two's unrepining application to her profession, brightened up the feet, and the prospects of her little sisters, set the whole family upon their legs again, and released her from the difficulty of discussing moral dogmas upon a landing-place.

I have heard her say, that it was a surprise, not much short of mortification to her, to see the coolness with which the old man pocketed the difference, which had caused her such mortal throes.-Last Essays of Elia.

USEFUL KNOWLEDGE.*

SUMMER AND WINTER CLOTHING.-If several pieces of cloth, of the same size and quality, but of different colours, black, blue, green, yellow, and white, be thrown on the surface of snow in clear daylight, but especially in sunshine, it will be found that the black cloth will quickly melt the snow beneath it, and sink downwards. The blue will do the same, but less rapidly; the green still less so; the yellow slightly; and the white not at all. We see, therefore, that the warmth or coolness of clothing depends as well on its colour as its quality. A white dress, or one of a light colour, will always be cooler than one of the same quality of a dark colour; and especially so in clear weather, when there is much sunshine. A white and light colour reflects heat copiously, and absorbs little; while a black and dark colour absorbs copiously, and reflects little. From this we see that experience has supplied the place of science in directing the choice of clothing. The use of light colours always prevails in summer, and that of dark colours in

winter.

COLD FROM DAMP CLOTHES. If the clothes which cover the body are damp, the moisture which they contain has a tendency to evaporate, by the heat communicated to it by the body. The heat absorbed in the evaporation of the moisture contained in clothes, must be, in part, supplied by the body, and will have a tendency to reduce the temperature of the body in an undue degree, and thereby to produce cold. The effect of violent labour, or exercise, is to cause the body to generate heat much faster than it would do in a state of rest. Hence we see why, when the clothes have been rendered wet by rain or by perspiration, the taking of cold may be avoided, by keeping the body in a state of exercise, or labour, until the clothes can be changed, or till they dry on the person; for in this case, the heat carried off by the moisture in evaporating, is amply supplied by the redundant heat generated by labour, or exercise.

DAMP BEDS. The object of bed-clothes being to check the escape of heat from the body, so as to supply at night that warmth which may be obtained by exercise or labour during the day, this end is not only defeated, but the contrary effect produced, when the clothes by which the body is surrounded contain moisture in them. The heat supplied by the body is immediately absorbed by this moisture,

Compiled from Dr, Lardner's last volume.

and passes off in vapour; and this effect would continue until the clothes were actually dried by the heat of the body. A damp bed may be frequently detected by the use of s warming-pan. The introduction of the hot metal causes the moisture of the bed-clothes to be immediately converted into steam, which issues at the open space in which the warming-pan is introduced. When the warming-pan is withdrawn, this yapour is again partially condensed, and deposited on the surface of the sheets. If the hands be introduced between the sheets, the dampness will then be distinctly felt-a film of water being in fact deposited on their surface.

DANGER OF DRYING CLOTHES IN AN INHABITED ROOM.-The danger of leaving clothes to dry in an inha bited apartment, and more especially in a sleeping-room, will be readily understood. The evaporation which takes place in the process of drying, canses an absorption of heat, and produces a corresponding depression of temperature in the apartment.

HEAT AND LIGHT.-Innumerable operations of nature proceed as regularly, and as effectually, in the absence of light, as when it is present. The want of that sense which it is designed to affect in the animal economy, in no degree impairs the other powers of the body; nor in man does such a defect interfere in any way with the faculties of the mind. Light is, so to speak, an article rather of luxury than of positive necessity. Nature supplies it, therefore, not in an unlimited abundance, nor at all times and places, but rather with that thrift and economy which she is wont to observe in dispensing the objects of our pleasures, com. pared with those which are necessary to our being; but heat, on the contrary, she has yielded in the most un bounded plenteousness. Heat is everywhere present. Every object that exists, contains it in quantity without known limit.

nant with it.

The most inert and rude masses are preg Whatever we see, hear, smell, taste, or feel, is full of it. To its influence is due that endless variety of forms which are spread over and beautify the surface of the globe. Land, water, air, could not for a single instant exist as they do, in its absence; all would suddenly fall into one rude formless mass-solid and impenetrable. The air of heaven, hardening into a crust, would envelop the globe, and crush, within an everlasting tomb, all that it contains. Heat is the parent and the nurse of the endless beauties of organization, the mineral, the vegetable, the animal kingdom, are its offspring. Every natural struc ture is either immediately produced by its agency, maintained by its influence, or intimately dependent on it Withdraw heat, and instantly all life, motion, form, and beauty, will cease to exist, and it may be literally said, "Chaos has come again."

DUTCH SERVANTS AND NOBLES.

DUTCH servants are the greatest thieves in Christendom. Even their masters do not scruple to tell you that thieving is a part of a servant's perquisite, which he, therefore, no doubt, makes a chief consideration in his calculation of the value of any given family he engages with. A gullible, rich, easy-tempered lodger must, of course, very much dispose him to abate his demand for wages. But it is thieving of a peculiar kind,-sly, nimble pilfering, under a mask of the most guileless simplicity, without any of the glorious risks of robbing upon a daring scale. They will open your buffet and nibble at a cake, or empty an unperceived portion of your wine or liqueur. But every thing is done tout doucement. The following extret from a friend's letter is illustrative:-" One day," says he, "my servant suspected that a larger portion of sweetmeats had been abstracted; but as he was in possession of the key of the buffet, his misgiv ings acquired no force. It occurred to me at last, that the housemaid who swept the apartments (she was the only ser vant who had access beside my own) might have another key. To ascertain the fact, a trap was set by placing an empty wine-bottle in such a situation, that when the door of the buffet should open, the bottle, by one of the most in