In other words, Mrs. A-la-mode leaves it to hired menials to work, irrigate, and plant the virgin soil, and expects, in the ripening of the harvest, to put in her patent sickle--latest style--and gather such grain as she shall then decree. I am acquainted with but one way in which a woman can conscientiously and surely evade the fulfilment of a mother’s obligations. In this day and country, there are no forced marriages. If Miss Faintheart and Miss Easy abhor the prospect of directing and fostering a young family, they can remain single; and, to be frank, I think the next generation will be the gainers by their celibacy. Again, and strictly apropos to this division of my subject--_Babies have a right to be heard_. “My dear children,” said a Sabbath-school lecturer; “when I say ‘boys’ I mean girls, and when I say ‘girls’ I mean boys.” He designed to be entirely comprehensive in his address, and engage the attention of both sexes; but his juvenile auditors were evidently in a state of terrible confusion after this lucid preamble, most of them imagining that he meditated some game of cross-purposes; as when “Rise, No. 2” means that No. 2 must do quite the opposite thing and not budge, upon penalty of a forfeit. But when I say “babies,” I mean children of tender years--legal infants--and do not confine myself altogether to those in arms. Especially has a baby a right to a hearing from Mamma. Unless you have been so foolish as to let him form a habit of crying--and this should be carefully avoided--his wail or scream always means that something is amiss, and it is your business to find out what it is. If you choose to send Bridget to see “what ails that child, now!” at least let him be brought to you for inquiry and for judgment. Take the convulsed, struggling little fellow in your arms; draw his head to your bosom; pat the wet cheeks and kiss the mouth quivering in distress, that is more than he can bear, slight and ridiculous as it may be to you. Soothe and quiet, before you chide, should there seem to be need for reproof. Remember--and it is a sadly solemn thought--that your arms form the only refuge outside the bosom of Infinite Compassion, to which he can, as man and boy, flee alike in sin and woe, in innocence and joy. Don’t hush his sobbed confession or complaint, however strangled and unintelligible. It does him good to utter it, whether you understand it or not. Don’t call him “a silly boy” for crying because he has broken the whip Papa gave him only this morning, or because the pretty kitty Auntie sent him has proved ungrateful and deserted her doting master. It is doubtful if you ever had what was to you a greater loss than either of these is to him. If his are tears of bereavement, kiss them away and hold up some promise of future delight that shall cast a rainbow athwart the cloud of grief. If he weeps in childish anger, be loving, while you rebuke. He loses much--how much, Eternity can only tell--who has not learned, from