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young birds, I felt for the first time the joy of feeding the helpless and the young. This was a new light in my spirit,

a new love that I had never known.

"I had no sympathy with the world; I needed none; from the moment I discovered myself deserted by him I would gladly have died for, I lived in the joy of my own hopes; I was instructed by the toils of these winged spirits, these teaching messengers of parental love; they never seemed to forsake each other, nor repudiate the fruits of their love; it is, it seems, the privilege of a man and a Christian, a gentleman and a scholar, to do that; a man must be bred in polite society, and be the heir of wealth, to impress such a blot on the fair face of a generous and confiding love, without making a stain on a manly escutcheon.

"One night, a rude storm came over my rose tree, and scattered the young birds in the grass, and a remorseless cat destroyed them. All the next day the poor things mourned and chirped out their sad notes of grief over the little vacant nest. They stopped not to eat or to rest, but mourned all the day, and made even the night sad with their laments. This was the first real sorrow I had ever known; the world had brought many clouds over my sun, but none seemed so dark as this; none so full of grief. Day after day the poor birds came to mourn for their little ones, till weary of lamenting, they forsook the spot.

"When the cruel disease slew my darling boy, you remember we laid him close under the window by the tree where they had reared their young. I know not why, unless the birds of the air have sympathy with human sorrow, that man cannot feel, yet the robbins came again at the coming October, and seemed again, to my doomed spirit, to sing the dirge for my darling boy. His sweet little hands were laid upon his breast, and I spread the white muslin over his face; I kissed his cold lips the last time, and I was alone. The sorrow of the poor birds was now plain to me; my heart

could read their song; their notes were now home music; the strings of my own heart were jarred by the same anguish. Angels cannot know the joy of being a mother, and much less can they comprehend the sad notes that are mingled in a mother's grief."

She ceased, and I took my leave. She is gone now from earth, and some future day I will tell you her further history. If "the motive force of the human heart originates in maternal love," then man and all life, originates in the love of the maternal heart; and man being the creation of woman's love, he is ever the object of her divinest care and solicitude; she cheerfully braves death to give him his being; she foregoes society to rear and nurture his tender life, and all the return her generous nature asks, is, that man should love her, and honor that love with an enduring faith, a deep sincerity.

The mother's heart is a mine of sparkling diamonds, a casket of gems glittering with the topaz, the jasper and the onyx; and I repeat, I would guard the rights of her holiest affections, her maternity, from the hands of the robber, as God guarded the tree of life in Paradise with a flaming sword. Fill her life with all holiest blessings, enlarge her heart by a generous teaching, and expand her affections into a larger life by a generous sympathy, and the maternal heart gives back to her child by the laws of maternity, all the blessings it has received, with as generous a return as she receives the blessings of her own being from the hand of the invisible Creator. It is true, that woman always displays in her nature a deeper and truer devotion than man; that feature in the religious system of some nations which requires or permits the female to burn herself on the funeral pile of her dead husband, shows it forth in an indisputable manner. To suppose this the work of a blind idolatry is sheer nonsense; it has a deeper and a purer foundation. Man never burns himself on the funeral pile of a wife-such an act would amaze the world; but

woman alone has the abiding faith, the deep devotion to lay such a gift on the altar of her affections. It is plainly the result of that overpowering love-element that pervades her being, and actuates her most deeply in the maternal life. She represents most fully that love-element that pervades and animates the universe; were it not so, we should not see so many instances of devotion to the object of her affections, that braves death and defies all peril.

When the deep sea of her love is roused, there is no offering within her reach that she will not lay on the altar with an air of triumph. The Christian philosophy has this idea embodied in its system in a very impressive manner. The Being that redeemed the race from sin and death, was wholly female; the male element was excluded from the origin of his being; he was the seed of the woman, quickened by the Holy Spirit; and most devoutly do I believe, that if a man is to have such a redemption, the being to be offered for such a sacrifice must have such an origin; and yet that idea is but the counterpart of the sacrifice on the funeral pile; woman will go to any point to secure the happiness of the man, and she fearlessly mounts the fiery car, and her spirit rides on fire and flames into the presence of the invisible Jehovah. God is love. The strength and power of this element in her nature must be brought into full and perfect play in perpetuating and educating of the race.

The stern and selfish nature of man cannot understand at present the strength of the law of maternity, and its freedom and beauty is restrained and crippled, and the race is dwarfed and shrivelled by the breath of selfishness. Fifteen years' experience among mothers has left one truth most deeply engraven on my heart: that among them an element of love and devotion is seen at work, that nowhere else presents itself in human character or conduct.

11

SCENES IN CITY PRACTICE.

DEATH'S QUARTETTE IN A GARRET; DELIRIUM TREMENS.

"Ye little know how many feel this very moment death
And all the sad variety of pain."

THE physician who can retrace an experience of twentyfive years during an ordinary practice in a large city and its suburbs, must enjoy a singularly placid temperament if he avoid an occasional emotion of joy or sadness, that he desires to share with some one who can smile or sigh with him over the many ludicrous and sad scenes he has been called to witness during his ministrations to the whimsical and the afflicted. It is certain, however, that some of our number will draw near to the close of a long life, and show but little emotion as they leaf over the checkered volume of their experience. We have often endeavored to arouse the sympathies of men, who, it would seem from their social position, could scarce have failed to experience

"The gentle power whose bosom heaves the sigh
When memory paints the scene of deep distress."

But the tear spontaneous would not crystallize the eye, nor could we always believe that mere self-control suppressed an emotion that seemed due to the subject, had it presented itself to a sympathetic heart. The surgical and operating corps of our profession, have so long been accustomed to hear the quiet self-congratulations of the public, that "it is

providentially provided," in especial reference to the sufferer's safety, that we shall lose our finer feelings, together with that useless commodity, a surgeon's humanity, that I trust I shall be pardoned for endeavoring to repudiate the compliment, at the expense of some professional credit for nerve, and perhaps a little comfort to the reader, who may not thank me for disturbing his nerves when sipping his brandy and water, with unpleasant images of cloven skulls and broken limbs. It is somewhat singular, but 'tis true, that while the same delightful beverage can warm the heart and expand the affections with such refined sentiments, the temperate surgeon is often destined to hear himself complimented for his want of sympathy by the very person who may require his services for a broken head incurred by a "little imprudence" in the use of the inspiring nectar; a wife or mother's broken heart is unworthy of the generous creature's notice; but it illustrates a frequent phenomenon that we often witness, and tends to the cultivation of a proper self-abasement for our want of refinement and benevolence.

How far we shall be tolerated by our fairer readers for the introduction of some scenes that may shock their sensitive nerves, will depend very much upon their vanity and selfishness. Every day's observation teaches us that the distinctions are very slight in the degree of intellect and self-respect between those who are accustomed to give way to their appetites, whether for extravagant display in dress and furniture, or gambling, drunkenness, and other vices. Neither the fine lady, who would scorn to be seen under the influence of wine, yet loads her body and her house with extravagant clothes and furniture, at the expense of her husband's happiness and her children's food and education; nor she who comes forth from the midnight ball-room with cheeks glowing and breath redolent with champagne, are withheld from the same vice that impels the wretched victim

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