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father's anger, which often appeared to be aggravated by her manner of representing things to him,-when a candid and just information, perhaps, would have had a different effect. 2. It made their father terrible to them; by which they stood in a kind of awe of him, far different from what was filial, and which consists with the duty and affection of children; but helped to estrange them, rather than engage them and they grew up by these degrees to shun their father as a furious dreadful governor, and not at all either to desire or delight in him; which is the only effectual method to enforce the commands and instructions of a father upon his children.

As this estranged the children from their father, so it increased his severity to them; and in a word, there was so little calmness on one side, and so little instruction on the other, that, in manner, it wore out what we call affection, on both sides; especially that endearing part, which alone unites the souls of parents and children, and which so much assists in the instructing of children, as to give a far greater force to the words of a dear and tender parent, to a loving, dutiful, and affectionate child, than can be possible in the blows and stripes of a father governing by his authority purely, for as reproof enters farther into a wise man, than an hundred stripes into a fool,-so doubtless the persuasions, the arguments, the obligation of a father to a child, when once that child is convinced bis father loves him, acts for his advantage, and aims wisely for his good only, must go a great way farther with an ingenuous temper, than passions and heat of temper can do.

The father too late found his mistake, and that his passion in correcting his children had quite ruined all instruction; that they were rather terrified at his fury, than influenced by his persuasion: that this way of treating them was so far from engaging their affections, or making them love and delight in him, that it made them shun and avoid him; that his anger being so much their terror, it made his com

pany their aversion, and they were always mute when he came into the room to them.

By this he lost all the power of instruction, made no impression upon their reason; his persuasions were of no force to bias their inclinations,-nay, it rather obstructed heir compliance, and created an aversion to his precepts, from the dislike they had to his passionate usage. As he had made his passion the medium of his government, so their fear was the medium of their obedience,-and this was so far from winning upon the judgment of the children, that it rather stupified their understandings, and made them incapable of getting good by instruction.

It happened one time that a good grave christian, a neighbour of this man's coming by his house, heard a terrible noise of blows, and the cries of a boy mingled with the voice of a man, threatening, calling names, and laying on blows in an unusual manner,—and guessing what it was, for he knew the person, he knocks hard at the door.

Knocking at the door gave the poor boy some relief, for the father leaves off-beating his son, and comes with a little cane in his hand to open the door, but so out of breath that he could scarce speak: the good neighbour made the discourse of some other business serve for the reason of his knocking at the door: but after other accidental discourse, the father presented him an opportunity; for when he be gan to speak of other business, he began to talk of his wicked son, as he called him, and of his own heat, thus:

Fath. Sit down, neighbour, says the father, for I am out of breath with the young villain, that I can hardly talk to you;-Let me blow a little: and thus the dialogue

came in.

Neigh. I think you are out of breath indeed! What, have you been fighting?

Fath. Yes I have been fighting as you may call it,—a young rouge! I think I have dressed him! He has not been cudgelled so this fortnight.

[The father holds his sides, and puffs and blows, and hardly recovers his breath.]

Neigh. O but you have beat the child too much.

Fath. Too much! hang him! a young villian,-I have not given him half enough.

Neigh. But have not you done him some mischief? [The boy is crying all this while most dismally.]

Fath. Mischief! I'll mischief him! I'll give him twice

as much before I have done with him.

[Still puffing and out of breath.]

Neigh. Is he your own child?

Fath. My own! Yes, he is my own, the more is my sorrow, he may come to the gallows for all that.

Neigh. O, then it is well enough if he be your own.
Fath. Why is it well enough?

Neigh. Because then I take all you say to be in jest.
Fath. Why so?

Neigh. Why you would not talk thus, as "hang him," and "I'll mischief him," and such as that, in earnest,--seeing he is your own child.*

Fath. No, no, I would not hang him, I would keep him from being hanged..

Neigh. Then

as you do.

you

should not beat him in such a manner

Fath. Why in such a manner?

Neigh. Why, you make yourself dreadful to the child, and that is the way to drive him to extremities,---and that again is the road to his destruction.

Fath. Aye, aye, let him come to extremities,---I will

venture that.

Neigh. You are not qualified to correct a child in this temper.

Fath. Why so?

Neigh. You are in a great passion.

Fath. A passion! this rouge would put any one into a passion! why he has been gone this hour of an errand, but

4o carry a letter to a neighbour, two or three doors off here, at the upper end of the street,--and bere he pretends to Fae, Mr. was not at home; and that he went to a tavern, I know not where, almost as far as the bridge; but I am as sure it is a lie, as if I had been with him.

Boy. I am sure it is not a lie, for I did go there. Fath. Sırrah, do you prate? I will be with you again presently.

[He holds up his cane again at the boy.]

Neigh. Well, come, neighbour, lay aside your passion for the present, and let us go take a pint of wine somewhere, for I have a mind to talk a little with you.

[The neighbour was willing to put a casual stop to his passion, and to discourse a little with him about it.]

Fath. Well, I will go with you; but I will give you your hire before I sleep yet, sirrah, I will so.

[Turning to the boy, and shaking his cane at him again.]

All this while his family governess was standing at the stair-head, and finding he had left off, cries out, why do not you pay him? You have not given him half enough; he will never be good for any thing, if you do not pay him Soundly and the like, to inflame him.

However, the father being a little cooled did not strike the boy any more at that time, but went out with his neighbour, and when they were together by themselves, after some talk of business for a time, the good neighbour renews the dialogue about his correcting his son, asking him pardon for meddling; says he, I do not care to be officious, but if you would give me leave, I would gladly speak to you a little about this affair of you and your little son.

Fath. Says the father, no, no, I won't take it ill, my passion is over now, you are very welcome to say your mind about him, he is a wicked young rogue.

Neigh. Why I must say then, if you can bear so much freedom that you are greatly to blame.

Fath. To blame! what to correct a young lying rogue?

why, as I said just now, he will come to the gallows if I do not correct him; it is my duty.

Neigh. I know that correction, rightly managed, is both your duty, and the kindest thing you can do to your child, you could neither act the parent or the Christiau, if you did not correct him. But I think you are mistaken, both in the manner, and in the measure; and I doubt, are wrong too in the cause.

Fath. You must explain yourself: what you mean as to the manner, I know not, and as to the measure, how can you judge of it, unless you know the offence more exactly.

Neigh. Well, but first let me begin with the manner; I do undertake to say, you sin more in the manner of correction, than your son can have sinued against you, in the offence you speak of.

Fath. How can I sin in correcting my child? Is it not my duty? Am I not commanded to do it? and not to let my soul spare for his crying?

Neigh. It is true, you are so commanded, and if you corrected him purely in obedience to the command of God, and the amendment of the child, and from no other motive, you were right in the manner.

Fath. Well and so I do, I think,-what other motives can I have?

Neigh. But then dear sir, what reason for all this heat; and whence comes this passion? The duty of correcting a child knows no passion: you quite sink the father and the Christian, by turning a fury and a madman.

Fath. Not at all, I think you are mistaken,--how can I beat the boy, if I am not angry.

Neigh. Before I answer that, give me leave to tell you, that I distinguish between anger and rage; there is displeasure, and there is passion: I may be displeased with my son when he commits an offence; for no good man but is displeased at every thing that is sinful,---but when that displeasure rises up to passion, it is quite another

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