The first year of wedded life passed away, and a new chord was
awakened. Mary had become a mother; and as she pressed the babe to
her bosom, new hopes were aroused. The clouds which had gathered
around her seemed passing away, and the cheering sunbeams again
broke forth. The manifest solicitude of her husband in the hour of
danger, the affection with which he had gazed on the countenance of
his first-born, were promises of happy days to come.

But, alas! these hopes were but illusory. All that a father could do
for the welfare of an infant was scrupulously performed, but its
expanding intellect, its innocent playfulness, soon remained
unmarked--apparently uncared for.

"Is he not lovely?" exclaimed the fond mother, as the babe stretched
his little hands and crowed a welcome as the father entered.

"He seems to be a good, healthy child," was the quiet reply. "I see
nothing, particularly lovely in an infant six months old, and if I
did I would not tell it so. Praise is very injurious to children,
and you should school yourself from the first, Mary, to restrain
your feelings, and utter no expressions which will have a tendency
to foster the self-esteem common to us all. Teach your children to
perform their duties from a higher motive than the hope of praise."

A chill like that of mid-winter came over the heart of the wife as
she listened to the grave rebuke.

There was truth in the words. Our duties should be performed from
higher motives than the approbation of our fellow men; but that
little word of praise from those we love--surely, surely it cannot