I have often said to her, when I have been too furious in beating my boys, Cousin, why would you let me beat him so much? Why did not you come and take him away? And she would always say, I take him away! not I truly, I think you don't correct him enough,-the boy will be good for nothing, and the like; and it has made me answer, if you were a mother you would be of another mind.

Neigh. But if you, or she either, had begun with them when they were very wrong, and had joined together, the one to have acted like a christian father, and the other to have taken the mother's part so much upon her, as I hinted just now, your children would have been quite another sort of creatures, and you would have had little or none of this work to do now,---they would have loved you, as well as feared you, and they would have had, not a value for her only, but for what she said too,-whereas now all she can say, by way of instruction, stands for nothing; for where they hate the person, they will very rarely love the counsel.

Fath. Nay, that is the truth of it, there is not one of them loves her; and now they begin to grow up, they don't fail to let her know it.

Neigh. It is a wonder they love you any more than they do her for where the passions of a father run your length, they rather whip their children's affections away, than increase them; and when your children once cease to love you, what good do you think your instruction will do them? They will only get from under your government as soon as they can, and then you will have the charge of them indeed, but very little of the delight that you would have had in or from them,-for you are now laying in a store of unkindness between you and them, and robbing them of the blessing of a father, and yourself the comfort of your children whereas correction given in a fatherly and christian manner, will make your children love you the more; and the impression of it leaves not only an immediate in

fluence upon their manners, but the more they grow up, the more they will be sensible of the justice and kindness of their father in their former discipline, and will love and value him the more for it; the scripture is plain in this, We have had fathers of the flesh who corrected us, and we gave them reverence; that is, he gave them reverence for that very correction..

Fath. You are right in deed, for I see very little affection in my children to me, especially my sons; but they shun and run away from me, and care not to converse with me now they begin to grow up: I think verily it is from my being so furious to them all along; I see my mistake, but it is too late.

Neigh. You should strive to alter your conduct, and especially with those who are still young.

Fath. Nay, I do not know how to be familiar with them myself; I have been so used to beat them, and give them hard words, that I hardly know how to give them any other usage now they grow bigger.

Neigh. I confess there is a danger in the familiarity with children too; it requires a great deal of prudence to treat our children with a decent familiarity, and yet preserve the majesty and authority of a parent; and much of the prudence of this part lies on the children's part, in not assuming an indecent equality; and therefore though I do not wholly agree to the proverb, that father and son are good friends, but bad company; yet in many cases, and especially where the children want manners, and the father wants gravity, it will be true; a levity of behaviour in a father, dishonours the parent in the eye of his children, and will soon bring him into contempt with them; and a forwardness to an equality in a son disgusts the father, and is not at all grateful to a man of any sense; but there is a modest medium, which makes the father the most agreeable company to his children in the world.

Fath. But this is as difficult a part, as any a father has to act in his whole paternal office.

Neigh. It is so, but the foundation of it is all laid in the early conduct of the parents to their children, and this brings me back to the article of correction, in which I have one thing more to say, which perhaps more nearly concerns you than all that I have said yet.

Fath. Pray what is it, you a little surprise me.

Neigh. Why, as we ought not to mix our passions with our resentment in the offences of our childen, nor correct them in gratification of our anger; so we ought to be very careful not to do them injustice, and inflict a punishment without a crime.

Fath. What do you mean by injustice?

Neigh. Why I mean, we ought to give them a fair hearing, and with a calm examination patiently inquire first into the fact, and be very sure that they are guilty; otherwise it must kindle in the mind of the child an inexpressible contempt of their father's justice, and consequently leave for hereafter a deep impression of anger and resent

ment.

Fath. Well, but what does this relate to me? I am sure I have just cause enough to correct mine, for he is one of the most refractory young creatures that ever a father had to do with.

Neigh. If you will not take it ill, I will convince you that it relates to you.

Fath. 1 will take nothing ill; pray speak freely.

Neigh. First of all answer me this question, did you correct your son for the fault you mentioned, viz. his staying of the errand you sent him, or did you clear an old score with him?

Fath. No, no, I am not so patient neither; I never run in debt to my sons, I assure you, I always make punctual payment.

Neigh. And perhaps sometimes make your payment when there is no debt.

Fath. They take pretty good care of that, they make a constant claim.

Neigh. Well, but now you say, you bad but one particular thing that you punished him for; pray let me hear what it was over again, for I doubt I have you fast in a

noose.

Fath. I corrected him for staying on that errand, and for nothing else; and considering how often he had been corrected for the same fault, I think he deserved it very well.

Neigh. But had you first calmly inquired into the fact Are you sure he was guilty?

Fath. Aye, aye, guilty, I am sure he was guilty,-he had been gone above an hour, and the distance was next to nothing.

Neigh. Bu thad he nothing to say for himself?

Fath. Yes, yes, he never wants something to say,-be made a formal story of his going to the Hoop Tavern by London-bridge, to find the man, and of staying there I know not how long for an answer; but I knew his rogue's tricks, I knew it was all a lie, he has been at play all the while, to be sure.

Neigh. And so you corrected him at a venture?

Fath. Aye, and no great venture neither, for I did not believe a word he said.

Neigh. But suppose now the boy was innocent, and really had been so far, and had staid there so long, what then! Would you not think you had done him wrong?

Fath. Why truly yes, I should own I had been wrong; but he is such an old offender, that if it had been so, it had only been an advance of payment, and he would soon have balanced accounts with me; if he did not deserve it to-day, he would be sure to deserve it to-morrow.

Neigh. Well, but I am arguing seriously, that the injury is to ourselves to fall upon our children unjustly,— observing how it lessens us in their affection, weakens our authority, enervates just correction itself, and plants an early contempt of the parent in the minds of the children.

Futh. I know you are serious, and I do not set light by what you are saying; only I think I am out of danger of the charge.

Neigh. Perhaps not so much out of danger as you think you are.

Fath. I am very easy about it.

Neigh. Well, but do you acknowledge this, or do you not, that a parent who corrects his child without due examination into the fact, and calm hearing of his defence, if the child should be really innocent, is himself guilty of a great sin.

Fath. Yes, I readily acknowledge that; for doubtless there is justice due to our children, as well as to any other; and Solomon says, He that judges a matter before he hears it, it is folly and shame unto him.

Neigh. Why then in the words, of Nathan the prophet, to king David, Thou art the man; for I am providentially a witness at this time for the poor child, though I knew nothing of this part, that he is wholly innocent.

Fath. You surprise me; it is impossible.

Neigh. You shall see that immediately; you say, you sent him to Mr. at the upper end of the street. Fath. Yes, and he said he was at the Hoop-tavern by London bridge, and that he went to him thither, which I took for a sham.

Neigh. Well, and did he not bring you a letter from Mr.

Fath. Yes, indeed he did bring me a letter.

Neigh. And why then did you question his having seen such a person?

Fath. I did not question that, you may be sure, indeed I could not because I saw his hand; but his going after him to London-bridge, that I knew was a sham, because Mr. was at home but a few minutes before.

Neigh. All rash still, unjustly rash, for Mr.

was

at the Hoop Tavern by London-bridge, and I was there with him upon a special affair, and I saw your little boy