so acute as to become absurd, are far from exhibiting tenderness of heart in the other relations of life. It has passed into a proverb, that the sympathy wasted on a dead ass was refused to a living mother. Whether this imputation on Sterne be true or false, we can ourselves aver that we have seen expensive luxuries wasted on a pampered cat by those who refused the slightest relief to starving relatives.

"A fact, worthy of remark," continues Aimè Martin, "is that maternal (or parental) love only lasts in each animal the time necessary for the preservation of the species; so soon as the little ones have ceased to need their mother, their mother abandons them. In the morning the parent would have waged furious war for those young ones whom in the evening she cannot. recognise. And this indifference awakens no regret, leaves no remembrance, enters the mind at the very time when gratitude and habits long formed seem to render it impossible. When we reflect that the order and harmony of the world are maintained by this double law of love and indifference, we are astonished that it does not excite more attention. Let us only imagine what a new order of things the durable affection of animals would introduce upon this globe, what a power added to their exterminating instincts! Let the war-cry be heard, and twenty generations rally round one female,-whole families will be armed, and all these armies will work in the labour of destruction. To prevent this destruction, to establish the balance between life and death, the law of indifference suffices."*

* See "Woman's Mission," chapter viii., for a beautiful application of these principles to the moral training of a family.

D

Parental love, as distinguished from instinctive impulse, begins where that of the animal terminates. Nature seems to have provided for its gradual formation and development as a moral principle, by protracting the infancy of man to a longer period than that of other animals, and consequently extending the time during which the instinctive impulse acts. To animals the instinct is valuable merely for the preservation of the species; to man it is still more valuable, from its tendency to produce a moral obligation, the most binding principle of sociality, the rational affection between parent and child-that is, an affection for which both can assign a cause.*

It is obvious that time is wanting to form this desirable principle, and that if parental care cease altogether with the stage of helplessness, or nearly so, the moral tie can be but faintly established. Among all barbarous nations, parental care is rarely extended beyond the early stages of childhood. Even in their infancy the children are subjected to no coercion or corrective discipline; which some very unwise reasoners have ascribed to the indulgent and fond disposition of the parents. An indulgent parent is not a fond parent, he is nothing more than a negligent one: children are not spoiled by too much affection, but by the want of affection; true affection will not grudge toil nor trouble; the cruel parent, and the indulgent parent equally want active affection; the blow and the bribe

* Experience has taught us that children, in earlier infancy than is generally imagined, can distinguish between instinctive and moral affection; and that even when the former is the more indulgent, the latter is the more respected, and far the more beloved.

are both base means of avoiding the labour of care, watchfulness, and corrective discipline. The savage does not chide his child; but this forbearance arises not from love, but from that recklessness which shews the weakness or absence of love. He suffers the children to be absolute masters of their own conduct, because he is too lazy to watch and superintend their actions. Such a course of education, we are told, tends to render the children" independent," which is true enough, if the word be taken in the sense given to it by Denzil Holles, "not to be depended upon.'

a

"In an American hut," says Father Charlevoix, father, a mother, and their posterity, live together like persons assembled by accident, without seeming to feel the obligation of the duties mutually arising from this connexion." Similar remarks are made respecting the families of the New Zealanders, by the missionaries; in Australia, the bonds of domestic attachment are scarcely known; and throughout the South Sea islands the greatest difficulty which the various missionaries have had to overcome is the habitual and mutual neglect of parents and children from the moment that the latter approached maturity.* Justly then has Dr. Robertson remarked, "the ideas which seem to be natural to man in his savage state, as they result necessarily from his circumstances and condition, affect the two capital relations in domestic life. They render the union between husband and wife unequal. They shorten the duration, and weaken the force of the connexion between parents and children."

* See "Ellis's Polynesian Researches," passim.

The fraternal relations are not less weak and uncertain than the parental. Fratricide is just as common as any other species of murder. Theodore Irving, a professed admirer of what he is pleased to call the chivalry of savage life, relates the following anecdote of the Iotan, a chief of the Otoe Indians, and his brother, as an illustration of Indian revenge. "The Otoe Indians having procured several kegs of whiskey, resolved to have a grand carousal, and aware of the fury to which their passions would be stimulated by intoxication, removed all weapons beyond their reach. When the whiskey began to work, a fearful brawl commenced, and in the frenzy of strife the brother bit off a part of the chieftain's nose. The Iotan was sobered in a moment, he paused, looking intently in the fire, without uttering a word; then drawing his blanket over his head, walked out of the building, and hid himself in his own lodge. On the following morning he sought his brother, and told him that he had disfigured him for life: to-night,' said he, I will go to my lodge and sleep; if I can forgive you when the sun rises you are safe, if not you die.' He kept his word; he slept upon his purpose, but sleep brought no mercy. He sent word to his brother that he had resolved upon his death, that there was no further hope for him; at the same time he besought him to make no resistance, but to meet his fate as a warrior should.

"His brother received the message and fled from the village. An Indian is untiring in his pursuit of revenge, and though years may elapse, yet he will obtain it in the end. From the time that it became the fixed purpose of the Iotan to slay his brother, his assiduity

never slept; he hunted him for months. He pursued his trail over the prairies; he followed his track from one thicket to another, he traced him through the friendly villages, but without success; for although he was untiring his brother was watchful, and kept out of his way. The old warrior then changed his plan of action. He laid in wait for hin in the forest, crouching like a tiger, in the paths which he thought he might frequent in hunting, but he was for a long time unsuccessful. At length, one day when seated on a dead tree, he heard the crackling noise of a twig breaking beneath a cautious footstep. He instantly crouched behind the log, and watched the opposite thicket. Presently an Indian emerged from it, and gazed earnestly around. The Iotan recognised his brother instantly. His care-worn face and emaciated form evinced the anxiety and privations that he had suffered. But this was nothing to the Iotan; as yet his revenge was unsated, and the miserable appearance of his brother touched no chord of his heart. He waited until he was within a few feet of him, then sprang from his lurking-place and met him face to face. His brother was unarmed; but met his fiery look with calmness, and without flinching.

“Ha, ha! brother,' cried the Iotan, cocking his rifle, I have followed you long in vain,—now I have you-you must die.'

"The other made no reply, but throwing off his blanket, stepped before him, and presented his breast. The Iotan raised his rifle, and shot him through the heart!"

Many anecdotes equally revolting might be collected