cases, is the fault of the parents themselves,
because they neglect those little objects of interest to which the minds
and tastes of their sons are inclined, and for want of which they
_imagine_ more attractive objects abroad, although in the search they
often fail in finding them. We are a progressive people. Our children
are not always content to be what their fathers are; and parents must
yield a little to "the spirit of the age" in which they live. And boys
_pay_ too, as they go along, if properly treated. They should be made
companions, not servants. Many a joyous, hearty spirit, who, when
properly encouraged, comes out a whole man at one-and-twenty, if kept in
curb, and harnessed down by a hard parent, leaves the homestead, with a
curse and a kick, determined, whether in weal or in woe, never to
return. Under a different course of treatment, he would have fixed his
home either at his birthplace, or in its immediate vicinity, and in a
life of frugality, usefulness, and comparative ease, blessed his
parents, his neighborhood, and possibly the world, with a useful
example--all, perhaps, grown out of his youthful indulgence in the
possession of a rabbit-warren, or some like trifling matter.

This may appear to be small morals, as well as small business. We admit
it. But those who have been well, and indulgently, as well as
methodically trained, may look back and see the influence which all such
little things had upon their early thoughts and inclinations; and thus
realize the importance of providing for the amusements and pleasures of
children in their early years. The dovecote, the rabbitry, the
poultry-yard, the sheep-fold, the calf-pen, the piggery, the young colt
of a favorite mare, the yoke of yearling steers, or a fruit tree which
they have planted, and nursed, and called it, or the fruit it bears,
_their own_,--anything, in fact, which they can call _theirs_--are so
many objects to bind boys to their homes, and hallow it with a thousand
nameless blessings and associations, known only to those who have been
its recipients. Heaven's blessings be on the family homestead!

"Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!"

sung the imaginary maid of Milan, the beautiful creation of John Howard
Payne, when returning from the glare and pomp of the world, to her
native cottage in the mountains of Switzerland. And, although all out of
date, and conventionally vulgar this sentiment may be _now_ considered,
such