RATHER more than twenty years since, towards the end of December, a private carriage was rolling on the high road from Rambouillet to Versailles. It did not proceed with that velocity which seems to rival the winds and waves in swiftness, as is now the custom amongst the fashionables of the day; the coachman drove two good horses carefully, which he avoided over-fatiguing; and that quiet, uniform

VOL. III-NEW SERIES.

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pace enabled the travellers inside to maintain a conversation calculated to lessen the weariness of the way.

These travellers were a brother and sister, a female attendant being the third. The first, M. Philéas, had just returned from active service; Madame Olympe de Saint Yves was in mourning for her husband. Both were approaching the meridian of life, living happily together, much attached to each other, although seldom of the same opinion; but diversity of sentiment only increased the interest of their existence. The education best adapted to youth was their favourite topic; they each wished it to be good and virtuous, but each pursued a different method of attaining that end, and pertinaciously adhered to their respective systems. They were, however, only acquainted with the theory of education, never having had an opportunity of testing it by practice. Yet, we must remark, to their credit, that, in discussing warmly, they never suffered any bitterness to mingle with their conversation, and that, after having argued for hours, they were only better friends when they ceased.

Having been detained until that advanced season at the house of one of their relatives who lived on an estate near Rambouillet, they were returning to Paris to spend the remainder of the winter. It was cold, the sky covered with thick clouds, indicating either rain or snow; but the carriage was well closed, and our travellers, enveloped in warm furs, could have endured, without inconvenience, a much severer temperature. Besides which, a trifling circumstance having brought their usual subject on the tapis, they were both animated by a warmth very favourable to the circulation of the blood.

"There are a hundred examples of the bad effects of severity," said Madame Olympe.

I could cite a thousand, adapted to convince you of the danger of that shameful weakness which you would call indulgence," replied M. Philéas; "but unfortu nately, sister, your system of education is at present more fashionable than mine." "That is because the world is more enlightened, brother."

“Would you venture to say that youth has been benefitted by it, sister? Is it better than formerly ?""

66 It appears to me that it is not worse; would you have it exempt from defects?"" 'No, no; I am not so unreasonable. I know that levity, giddiness, and presumption have been always associated with inexperience; but I maintain that respect for age, and the authority of heads of families, are much weakened, in consequence of greater familiarity between parents and children. Think, Olympe, of our youth; silent, quiet, fearful even before our father; he lived in the midst of us like a king in his court; he could say, like Job, 'Unto me men gave ear, and waited, and kept silence at my counsel. If I laughed at men they believed it not. I chose out their way, and sat chief.' His slightest action made us acquainted with his will, and no one thought of opposing it, because we knew that it was as unalterable as fate; and yet, Olympe, our father was a good and great man, and he loved us sincerely."

"I know it, brother; but if the truth must be spoken, I never knew his tenderness until I attained the years of discretion. As a child, I feared him too much to love him; all my affection was for my mother, whose meekness always won me.

Trembling before my father, it was for her I reserved my simple caresses, to her confided my little secrets; for she was not offended at my childishness. And yet, Philéas, she was also a good mother-she really loved us."

"Ah! there never was a better," said M. Philéas, moved by this recollection. "I am right, then, to maintain a system that she constantly pursued," said Madame Olympe, with an air of triumph.

"Do not boast yet, sister; I do not consider myself conquered. In blessing the memory of our cherished mother, I could not help thinking that the severity of her husband prevented the evil which her excessive kindness might have done us. Perhaps perfection is found in uniting the two systems of education."

"Ah! it is useless your seeking examples anywhere, I find them in my own heart; and if heaven had granted my desire to become a mother, I should have preferred the love of my children to their respect."

"Do not add, like many others, that you would have been the friend, the sister of your own children, as if the name of mother were not a sufficiently endearing title. Some imprudent mothers resign it when it would be useful to assert its right, that is to say, in infancy,-and endeavour to regain it when riper years are attained; but it is too late-they are taken at their word."

"They are children of a bad disposition who conduct themselves thus, Philéas." "I allow it, Olympe, but prudence consists in foreseeing everything which may possibly happen."

"The feeling of fear only makes slaves," pursued Madame Olympe.

"It is rare if unlimited condescension be not abused," rejoined M. Philéas.

"That is a cheerless home where the children seem only the hired servants of their father."

"I should prefer it to that where, without the difference of age, it would be difficult to distinguish the parents, whose authority is weak, and whose conversation is uniformly familiar.”

"Ah! you do not approve of tu-toi-ing a father and mother."

"No, certainly; that shocks my old ears."

"Does respect consist in words?"

"More than you suppose, sister."

"Yet in sacred poetry the second person of the verb is generally used in addressing God, and, far from that style of speech destroying the respect due to Him, it appears to me even to give prayer a more sublime expression."

"I think so too, my dear Olympe, but do you not perceive a great difference? Piety being the most elevated feeling the soul can entertain, it seems natural that its holy exaltation should lose sight of that pitiful and allowed politeness customary amongst men. Besides, who would dare to fail in respect to the Creator of heaven and earth? Whereas it too often happens that one neglects to honour father and mother.” "However ignorant I may be, I know that Latin does not admit of our manner of speaking, whether it be to God or man; and notwithstanding that, parental authority was unlimited amongst the Romans."

"I could answer you that that authority was sufficient to command respect, but let us rather say that each language has its genius, and it seems to me contrary to that of our own to speak to a father as to a little child.”