alk, with a harsh threat. The child whimpered
for a while, and soon forgetting himself, came to his father again
over the tender plants. This time Leland seized him still more
violently, seated him roughly in the walk, and, with harsh threats,
struck him upon his plump red cheek. Willie burst into tears, and
wept in passion. His father was in a miserable, uneasy frame of
mind. He ceased his work, bared his brow to the delicious morning
air. He leaned upon his hoe, and gazed upon his child. He felt there
was something wrong. He always knew, and acknowledged, that he was
of a rash, irritable disposition. He now remembered that ever since
his child's birth he had been exceedingly impatient with it. He
remembered how harshly he had spoken to it, how rudely he had tossed
it on his knee when it awoke him with its crying at night. He
remembered that the little one had been daily with him for now three
years, and that not a day had passed in which he had not spoken
loudly, fiercely to the child.

Yes, he remembered the heavy blows he had given it in bursts of
passion, blows deeply regretted the instant after, yet repeated on
the first temptation. He thought of it all; that his boy was but a
little child, and that he had spoken to it, and expected from it, as
if it were grown. All his passionate, cruel words and blows rushed
upon his memory; his rough replies to childish questions; his
unmanly anger at childish offences. He thought, too, how the little
boy had still followed him, because its father was all on earth to
him; how the little thing had said, he "was sorry," and had offered
a kiss even after some bitter word or blow altogether undeserved.
Leland remembered, too, as the morning air blew aside his hair, how
often he had shown the same miserable, nervous irritability to his
dog, his horse, his servants; even the branch of the tree that
struck him as he walked; yea, even to his own wife. He remembered
how the same black, unhappy feelings had clouded his brow, had burst
from his lips at every little domestic annoyance that had happened.
He could not but remember how it had only made matters worse--had
made himself and his family wretched for the time. He felt how
undignified, how unmanly all this was. He pictured himself before
his own eyes as a peevish, uneasy, irritable, unhappy man--so
weak-minded!

He glanced at the house; he knew his wife was in it, engaged in her
morning duties; gentle, lady-like, loving him so de