she can get, she's at them again."

"You may have scolded her; but scolding a child and making it
comprehend its error are two things. Scolding darkens the mind by
arousing evil passions, instead of enlightening it with clear
perceptions of right and, wrong. _No child is ever improved by
scolding, but always injured_."

"There are few children who are not injured, then. I should like to
see a mother get along with a parcel of children without scolding
them."

"It is a sad truth, as you say, that there are but few children who
are not injured by scolding. No cause is so active for evil among
children as their mother's impatience, which shows itself from the
first, and acts upon them through the whole period in which their
minds are taking impressions and hardening into permanent forms.
Like you, Sarah, our own mother had but little patience among her
children, and you can look back and remember, as well as I, many
instances in which this impatience led her into hasty and ill-judged
acts and expressions that did us harm rather than good."

"It's an easy thing to talk, William. An easy thing to say--Have
patience."

"I know it is, Sarah; and a very hard thing to compel ourselves to
have patience. But, if a mother's love for her children be not
strong enough to induce her to govern herself for their sakes, who
shall seek their good? Who will make any sacrifice for them?"

"Are you not afraid to trust Mary up in your room?" said Mrs. Elder,
recollecting at the moment that Mary was alone there for a longer
time than she felt to be prudent.

"No. She will not trouble any thing."

"I'd be afraid to trust her. She's a thoughtless, impulsive child,
and might do some damage."

"No danger. She understands perfectly what may be and what may not
be touched in my room, and so do all the children in the house. I
wouldn't be afraid to leave them all there for an hour."

"You'd be afraid afterwards, I guess, if you were to try the
experiment."

"I am willing to try it."

"You are welcome."

"Henry! William!" Uncle William went to the door and called the
children.

Two boys came romping into the room.

"Boys," he said, "Mary is up in my room, and I want you to go up and
stay with her until I come."

Away scampered the little fellows as merry as crickets.

"They'll make sad work in your room, brother; and if they do, you
mustn't blame me for it."

"Oh, no, I shall not blame you, nor scold them, but endeavour to
a