ty? How soon she sacrifices her own ease and convenience to that of her babe. She wakens at its slightest cry, and in its sicknesses forgets to take sleep.
"Night after night
She keepeth vigil, and when tardy morn
Breaks on her watching eyelids, and she fain
Would lay her down to rest, its weak complaining
O'ercomes her weariness."
Has she been indolent or vain? The physical care of her child helps to correct these faults. She patiently plies the needle, to adorn its person. She is pleased to hear the praises that were once lavished on herself, transferred to her new darling. Almost could she respond to the sentiment of Ossian, "Let the name of Morni, be forgotten among the people, if they will only say, behold the father of Gaul."
Has she been too much devoted to fashionable amusements? She learns to prize home-felt pleasures. She prefers her nursery to the lighted saloon, and the brilliant throng.
Has she been passionate? She restrains herself. How can she require the government of temper from her child, and yet set him no example? She learns to feel with Rousseau, that "the greatest respect is due to children." When her temper has been discomposed, she dreads the gaze of that little, pure, wondering eye, perhaps even more than the reproof of conscience.
