When he plodded home, after a hard day’s work, it rested him body and soul to have the little one spring into his arms for a kiss, or come toddling along, tilting his little porringer of milk, in eagerness to eat his supper on father’s knee. But though this new influence seemed to have an almost miraculous power over his nature, it could not quite subdue the force of temperament and habit. As the darling babe grew into boyhood, he was sometimes cherished with injudicious fondness, and sometimes repelled by bursts of passion, that made him run and hide himself from the over-indulgent father. Mr. Barker had himself been educated under the dispensation of punishment, rather than attraction, and he believed in it most firmly. If his son committed a fault, he thought of no other cure than severity. If a neighbour did him an ill turn, he would observe, in presence of the boy, “I will watch my chance to pay him for it.” If the dog stole their dinner, when they were at work in the woods, he would say, “Run after him, Joe, and give the rascal a sound beating.” When he saw the child fighting with some larger lad, who had offended him, he would praise his strength and courage, and tell him never to put up with an insult. He was not aware that all these things were education, and doing far more to form his son’s character than any thing he learned at school. He did not know it, because his thoughts had never been directed toward it. The only moral instruction he had ever received, had been from the minister of the parish; and he usually preached about the hardheartedness of Jews two thousand years ago, rather than the errors and temptations of men and boys, who sat before him. Once he received an admonition from his neighbour Goodwin, which, being novel and unexpected, offended him, as an impertinent interference with his rights. He was riding home with Joe, then a lad of thirteen, when the horse took fright at a piece of white paper, that the wind blew across the road. Mr. Barker was previously in an ill humor, because a sudden squall of rain had wet some fine hay, all ready for the barn. Pursuing the system on which he had himself been educated, he sprang to the ground and cudgelled the poor beast unmercifully. Mr. Goodwin, who was passing by, inquired the cause of so much severity, and remonstrated against it; assuring him that a horse was never cured of bad habits by violence. He spoke mildly, but Mr. Barker was irritated, and having told him to mind his own business, he continued to whip the poor frightened animal. The humane neighbour turned away, saying, “That is a bad lesson for your son, Mr. Barker.” “If you say much more, I will flog you, instead of the horse,” muttered the angry man. “It is’nt _his_ horse. What business is it to _him_?” he added, turning to his son.