beauty of its plumage, I inquired its origin, and was told to plant it and another would grow. I waited patiently the required time, and finding out the deception, added a second to my stock of doubts; nay, not only a second, but as many more as occasion might demand. I believed nothing but the tea-bell and bed-time-a capital illustration of the advantage of the truth in imparting knowledge. The teabell and bed-time were invariably attended with a certain result, and I always believed them. My next event was one that betrayed a weakness that had not left me at the more mature age of twenty-three. I fell in love with a pretty woman; she used to play with me, and give me sugar-plums, and being much in her company, I grew fond of the gentle expression of her face, and became quite unhappy when she was absent; it was not the absence of the sugar-plums, nor the expectation of "favors to come," for it was all the same in a little while, whether she brought them or not; if I could only gaze in her pretty face I was happy; but this is no marvel, indeed, for all children love to look at a beautiful and happy face, and by a natural consequence their own features assume a gentle expression, if surrounded by such; the face is but the index to the soul, and if the thoughts are not at war with nature, will always be pleasant to look upon. And here let me anticipate, by a little anecdote of this same lady. At five, I was in love with her; at thirty-one, I called to pay her a new-year's visit; finding her surrounded with some eight or ten fine children, I naturally recurred to the past, and communicated e fact-new, and I really thought it must needs be gratiying to her—that she was the first person of whom I had ny distinct recollection. It was my intention to have comnunicated my childish flame, but I could not take it into my heart to gratify her by relating it, when I observed the frown that visited her still agreeable face, on my recurring to an event that made her older than myself; there were the eight or ten palpable contradictions to her youthfulness, all talking away to their "mother," yet, alas! poor woman, she was angry at my presumption in supposing she could get older. In my folly, I really thought I was paying her a delicate compliment, and designed to make it much more so; but alas! I never was a lady's man. And this was not my first error by many a one. Time passed, and my recollections of my earlier years are principally identified with an intense love of nature, and a constant habit of musing, and wondering what I was and what I was made for; whether my mother-for I always placed her first in my estimate of happiness-or my father could die; and why the Almighty was so cruel as to kill people-for so I find all children think; nay, most of them speak their thoughts in language equally plain. Alas! I had not then discovered that the philosopher knew as little of the great Why as the child. Amongst other subjects of wonder, I well remember my constant amazement that people tried so hard to explain their destiny hereafter; when my infant mind, absorbed with the present, could not conceive the purpose of my being in the world at all. Of the philosophy of admiring beautiful faces and flowers, and of eating sugar, I felt perfectly assured; but the endless sermon, every Sunday, to prove that we should not be roasted hereafter (for my parents attended the church of a very eloquent Universalist), I could by no means understand; though I see now but too plainly my deficiency of wonder as the phrenologists say; there is so much Indian in my nature, and that villanous doctrine of utilitarianism has gripped me so fast, that I am, perhaps, a poor judge of such matters. One of my everlasting annoyances about this period, was the constant pouring into my ears of bugaboo stories and Santaclaus nonsense by the family servants. my very heart of hearts I believed them all lies, for my early habit of doubting stood me in good stead here; yet the In withering contempt I used to throw in my ascetic little face, as I pronounced my anathemas upon liars, I well remember to this day; and it is even now a source of unhappiness to me to know how I hated all who tried to deceive me, however kind at other times. Their efforts were constant, and made me indeed a good hater. And here I cannot withhold my earnest appeal to all who have the care of children, never, on any account, to deceive them. A fudge for all the so-called poetry of the namby-pamby toy books, the Santaclaus nonsense, the Little Red Riding-hood story, and all the rest of it: why, what absurdity is it true? or is it false? Is the child to whom it is repeated a learner or not? How is the infant mind to discriminate between the beauty of truth and falsehood, if its earliest efforts are to be foiled by those it should revere as the soul of truth? whose earnest meditative expression of countenance should be for ever associated with beautiful truth, truth in all things; and who should ever set forth to the youthful learner the meanness of a lie, a cowardly lie, that implies that the teller is afraid of some one. Children all believe their parents heroes, and associate them in every possible way with the idea of protection; if they detect them in a deception, there are a thousand ways in which it is associated in their minds with cowardice. Never tell your children that if they will be good and stay at home, they shall have such and such things, enjoy some favorite amusement, and so on. It implies ability to extort the reward for obedience which belongs to parents as a right. If the reward be not paid to the letter-and such is not always possible-they set it down as a falsehood, and whenever a new promise is made to induce obedience, they conclude it to originate in the cowardice of parents who are afraid to command the obedience the child should know belongs to them. During my sixth year, the great object that occupied my thoughts was an almost insane love of nature, but more especially flowers and foliage, and well do I remember connecting this love of my earlier years, with my destiny hereafter, and deducing from it the absurdity of punishment; I reasoned thus: God is good, and lives in a beautiful country called heaven; the devil is bad, and lives in a very ugly country called hell. There can be no heaven without beautiful ladies and flowers, and no hell without plenty of fire, which burns people; but the ladies and flowers everybody likes, and the devil nobody can like; so nobody will go to the devil, and God would be very wicked to send them there; therefore, as everybody will go to heaven, and no one can love flowers and foliage as well as I do, I shall be head gardener there, for God will want me to take care of the flowers. Often have I made a miniature garden with a little hill by way of a throne for God to sit upon, and overlook the garden, whilst I and my beautiful wife should work in it. This powerful youthful passion for the visible representation of psychological truth, has influenced me. strongly in the plan I have adopted, and the advice I have always given for the education of children. SKETCHES OF A WESTERN PHYSICIAN'S LIFE. WHAT IS MEMORY?-COLLEGE LIFE IN THE COUNTRY-THE PIOUS STUDENT-THE ORPHAN BETRAYED THE ROBIN'S NEST-MATERNAL REFLECTIONS-WHAT IS LOVE THE FUNERAL PILE: WHAT IS ITS PHILOSOPHY? "Heaven guide thy pen to write thy sorrows plain, A TRUE definition of Memory cannot be given, and yet retain in that defining any of the popular notions of that faculty of the mind. An idea is everywhere prevalent, that most of the acts of our lives may be forgotton and covered up from our mental recognition; that an act, when once forgiven or repented of, is repudiated by our moral sense, and done with for ever; but a greater error does not exist in mental philosophy, and it leads to the most immoral and paralyzing results, so far as keeping our consciences void of offence is concerned. The wretch who believes that he may forget an act of infamy, an outrage on the weak and defenceless, is not careful about committing another. The crime. of to-day, if submitted to eternal forgetfulness, is as though it had never been; but the stain is impressed upon the soul, it cannot be effaced, but will return at some future period when the equilibrium of selfishness is disturbed by the memory of injustice or crime. In that mysterious world of mental lights and shadows, some strange events occur, which startle the thinker when he looks into the future. Many instances have occurred to most physicians who have seen much practice, in which the |