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diff --git a/old/10516-8.txt b/old/10516-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6bbf6b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10516-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5633 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bits about Home Matters, by Helen Hunt Jackson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bits About Home Matters + +Author: Helen Hunt Jackson + +Release Date: December 23, 2003 [EBook #10516] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BITS ABOUT HOME MATTERS *** + + + + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +BITS ABOUT HOME MATTERS. + +By H. H., + +Author of "Verses" and "Bits of Travel." + + +1873 + + + +Contents. + + + +The Inhumanities of Parents--Corporal Punishment +The Inhumanities of Parents--Needless Denials +The Inhumanities of Parents--Rudeness +Breaking the Will +The Reign of Archelaus +The Awkward Age +A Day with a Courteous Mother +Children in Nova Scotia +The Republic of the Family +The Ready-to-Halts +The Descendants of Nabal +"Boys not allowed" +Half an Hour in a Railway Station +A Genius for Affection +Rainy Days +Friends of the Prisoners +A Companion for the Winter +Choice of Colors +The Apostle of Beauty +English Lodging-Houses +Wet the Clay +The King's Friend +Learning to speak +Private Tyrants +Margin +The Fine Art of Smiling +Death-bed Repentance +The Correlation of Moral Forces +A Simple Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner +Children's Parties +After-supper Talk +Hysteria in Literature +Jog Trot +The Joyless American +Spiritual Teething +Glass Houses +The Old-Clothes Monger in Journalism +The Country Landlord's Side +The Good Staff of Pleasure +Wanted--a Home + + + + +Bits of Talk. + + + +The Inhumanities of Parents--Corporal Punishment. + + +Not long ago a Presbyterian minister in Western New York whipped his +three-year-old boy to death, for refusing to say his prayers. The little +fingers were broken; the tender flesh was bruised and actually mangled; +strong men wept when they looked on the body; and the reverend murderer, +after having been set free on bail, was glad to return and take refuge +within the walls of his prison, to escape summary punishment at the hands +of an outraged community. At the bare mention of such cruelty, every heart +grew sick and faint; men and women were dumb with horror: only tears and a +hot demand for instant retaliation availed. + +The question whether, after all, that baby martyr were not fortunate among +his fellows, would, no doubt, be met by resentful astonishment. But it is +a question which may well be asked, may well be pondered. Heart-rending as +it is to think for an instant of the agonies which the poor child must +have borne for some hours after his infant brain was too bewildered by +terror and pain to understand what was required of him, it still cannot +fail to occur to deeper reflection that the torture was short and small in +comparison with what the next ten years might have held for him if he had +lived. To earn entrance on the spiritual life by the briefest possible +experience of the physical, is always "greater gain;" but how emphatically +is it so when the conditions of life upon earth are sure to be +unfavorable! + +If it were possible in any way to get a statistical summing-up and a +tangible presentation of the amount of physical pain inflicted by parents +on children under twelve years of age, the most callous-hearted would be +surprised and shocked. If it were possible to add to this estimate an +accurate and scientific demonstration of the extent to which such pain, by +weakening the nervous system and exhausting its capacity to resist +disease, diminishes children's chances for life, the world would stand +aghast. + +Too little has been said upon this point. The opponents of corporal +punishment usually approach the subject either from the sentimental or the +moral standpoint. The argument on either of these grounds can be made +strong enough, one would suppose, to paralyze every hand lifted to strike +a child. But the question of the direct and lasting physical effect of +blows--even of one blow on the delicate tissues of a child's body, on the +frail and trembling nerves, on the sensitive organization which is trying, +under a thousand unfavoring conditions, to adjust itself to the hard work +of both living and growing--has yet to be properly considered. + +Every one knows the sudden sense of insupportable pain, sometimes +producing even dizziness and nausea, which follows the accidental hitting +of the ankle or elbow against a hard substance. It does not need that the +blow be very hard to bring involuntary tears to adult eyes. But what is +such a pain as this, in comparison with the pain of a dozen or more quick +tingling blows from a heavy hand on flesh which is, which must be as much +more sensitive than ours, as are the souls which dwell in it purer than +ours. Add to this physical pain the overwhelming terror which only utter +helplessness can feel, and which is the most recognizable quality in the +cry of a very young child under whipping; add the instinctive sense of +disgrace, of outrage, which often keeps the older child stubborn and still +through-out,--and you have an amount and an intensity of suffering from +which even tried nerves might shrink. Again, who does not know--at least, +what woman does not know--that violent weeping, for even a very short +time, is quite enough to cause a feeling of languor and depression, of +nervous exhaustion for a whole day? Yet it does not seem to occur to +mothers that little children must feel this, in proportion to the length +of time and violence of their crying, far more than grown people. Who has +not often seen a poor child receive, within an hour or two of the first +whipping, a second one, for some small ebullition of nervous +irritability, which was simply inevitable from its spent and worn +condition? + +It is safe to say that in families where whipping is regularly recognized +as a punishment, few children under ten years of age, and of average +behavior, have less than one whipping a week. Sometimes they have more, +sometimes the whipping is very severe. Thus you have in one short year +sixty or seventy occasions on which for a greater or less time, say from +one to three hours, the child's nervous system is subjected to a +tremendous strain from the effect of terror and physical pain combined +with long crying. Will any physician tell us that this fact is not an +element in that child's physical condition at the end of that year? Will +any physician dare to say that there may not be, in that child's life, +crises when the issues of life and death will be so equally balanced that +the tenth part of the nervous force lost in such fits of crying, and in +the endurance of such pain, could turn the scale? + +Nature's retributions, like her rewards, are cumulative. Because her +sentences against evil works are not executed speedily, therefore the +hearts of the sons of men are fully set in them to do evil. But the +sentence always is executed, sooner or later, and that inexorably. Your +son, O unthinking mother! may fall by the way in the full prime of his +manhood, for lack of that strength which his infancy spent in enduring +your hasty and severe punishments. + +It is easy to say,--and universally is said,--by people who cling to the +old and fight against the new, "All this outcry about corporal punishment +is sentimental nonsense. The world is full of men and women, who have +grown up strong and good, in spite of whippings; and as for me, I know I +never had any more whipping than I deserved, or than was good for me." + +Are you then so strong and clear and pure in your physical and spiritual +nature and life, that you are sure no different training could have made +either your body or your soul better? Are these men and women, of whom the +world is full, so able-bodied, whole-souled, strong-minded, that you think +it needless to look about for any method of making the next generation +better? Above all, do you believe that it is a part of the legitimate +outworking of God's plan and intent in creating human beings to have more +than one-half of them die in childhood? If we are not to believe that this +fearful mortality is a part of God's plan, is it wise to refuse to +consider all possibilities, even those seemingly most remote, of +diminishing it? + +No argument is so hard to meet (simply because it is not an argument) as +the assumption of the good and propriety of "the thing that hath been." It +is one of the devil's best sophistries, by which he keeps good people +undisturbed in doing the things he likes. It has been in all ages the +bulwark behind which evils have made stand, and have slain their +thousands. It is the last enemy which shall be destroyed. It is the only +real support of the cruel evil of corporal punishment. + +Suppose that such punishment of children had been unheard of till now. +Suppose that the idea had yesterday been suggested for the first time that +by inflicting physical pain on a child's body you might make him recollect +certain truths; and suppose that instead of whipping, a very moderate and +harmless degree of pricking with pins or cutting with knives or burning +with fire had been suggested. Would not fathers and mothers have cried out +all over the land at the inhumanity of the idea? + +Would they not still cry out at the inhumanity of one who, as things are +to-day, should propose the substitution of pricking or cutting or burning +for whipping? But I think it would not be easy to show in what wise small +pricks or cuts are more inhuman than blows; or why lying may not be as +legitimately cured by blisters made with a hot coal as by black and blue +spots made with a ruler. The principle is the same; and if the principle +be right, why not multiply methods? + +It seems as if this one suggestion, candidly considered, might be enough +to open all parents' eyes to the enormity of whipping. How many a loving +mother will, without any thought of cruelty, inflict half-a-dozen quick +blows on the little hand of her child, when she could no more take a pin +and make the same number of thrusts into the tender flesh, than she could +bind the baby on a rack. Yet the pin-thrusts would hurt far less, and +would probably make a deeper impression on the child's mind. + +Among the more ignorant classes, the frequency and severity of corporal +punishment of children, are appalling. The facts only need to be held up +closely and persistently before the community to be recognized as horrors +of cruelty far greater than some which have been made subjects of +legislation. + +It was my misfortune once to be forced to spend several of the hottest +weeks of a hot summer in New York. In near neighborhood to my rooms were +blocks of buildings which had shops on the first floor and tenements +above. In these lived the families of small tradesmen, and mechanics of +the better sort. During those scorching nights every window was thrown +open, and all sounds were borne with distinctness through the hot still +air. Chief among them were the shrieks and cries of little children, and +blows and angry words from tired, overworked mothers. At times it became +almost unbearable: it was hard to refrain from an attempt at rescue. Ten, +twelve, twenty quick, hard blows, whose sound rang out plainly, I counted +again and again; mingling with them came the convulsive screams of the +poor children, and that most piteous thing of all, the reiteration of "Oh, +mamma! oh, mamma!" as if, through all, the helpless little creatures had +an instinct that this word ought to be in itself the strongest appeal. +These families were all of the better class of work people, comfortable +and respectable. What sounds were to be heard in the more wretched haunts +of the city, during those nights, the heart struggled away from fancying. +But the shrieks of those children will never wholly die out of the air. I +hear them to-day; and mingling with them, the question rings perpetually +in my ears, "Why does not the law protect children, before the point at +which life is endangered?" + +A cartman may be arrested in the streets for the brutal beating of a horse +which is his own, and which he has the right to kill if he so choose. +Should not a man be equally withheld from the brutal beating of a child +who is not his own, but God's, and whom to kill is murder? + + + + +The Inhumanities of Parents--Needless Denials. + + + +Webster's Dictionary, which cannot be accused of any leaning toward +sentimentalism, defines "inhumanity" as "cruelty in action;" and "cruelty" +as "an act of a human being which inflicts unnecessary pain." The word +inhumanity has an ugly sound, and many inhuman people are utterly and +honestly unconscious of their own inhumanities; it is necessary therefore +to entrench one's self behind some such bulwark as the above definitions +afford, before venturing the accusation that fathers and mothers are +habitually guilty of inhuman conduct in inflicting "unnecessary pain" on +their children, by needless denials of their innocent wishes and impulses. + +Most men and a great many women would be astonished at being told that +simple humanity requires them to gratify every wish, even the smallest, of +their children, when the pain of having that wish denied is not made +necessary, either for the child's own welfare, physical or mental, or by +circumstances beyond the parent's control. The word "necessary" is a very +authoritative one; conscience, if left free, soon narrows down its +boundaries; inconvenience, hindrance, deprivation, self-denial, one or +all, or even a great deal of all, to ourselves, cannot give us a shadow of +right to say that the pain of the child's disappointment is "necessary." +Selfishness grasps at help from the hackneyed sayings, that it is "best +for children to bear the yoke in their youth;" "the sooner they learn that +they cannot have their own way the better;" "it is a good discipline for +them to practise self-denial," &c. But the yoke that they _must_ bear, in +spite of our lightening it all we can, is heavy enough; the instances in +which it is, for good and sufficient reasons, impossible for them to have +their own way are quite numerous enough to insure their learning the +lesson very early; and as for the discipline of self-denial,--God bless +their dear, patient souls!--if men and women brought to bear on the +thwartings and vexations of their daily lives, and their relations with +each other, one hundredth part of the sweet acquiescence and brave +endurance which average children show, under the average management of +average parents, this world would be a much pleasanter place to live in +than it is. + +Let any conscientious and tender mother, who perhaps reads these words +with tears half of resentment, half of grief in her eyes, keep for three +days an exact record of the little requests which she refuses, from the +baby of five, who begged to stand on a chair and look out of the window, +and was hastily told, "No, it would, hurt the chair," when one minute +would have been enough time to lay a folded newspaper over the +upholstery, and another minute enough to explain to him, with a kiss and +a hug, "that that was to save his spoiling mamma's nice chair with his +boots;" and the two minutes together would probably have made sure that +another time the dear little fellow would look out for a paper himself, +when he wished to climb up to the window,--from this baby up to the pretty +girl of twelve, who, with as distinct a perception of the becoming as her +mother had before her, went to school unhappy because she was compelled to +wear the blue necktie instead of the scarlet one, and surely for no +especial reason! At the end of the three days, an honest examination of +the record would show that full half of these small denials, all of which +had involved pain, and some of which had brought contest and punishment, +had been needless, had been hastily made, and made usually on account of +the slight interruption or inconvenience which would result from yielding +to the request. I am very much mistaken if the honest keeping and honest +study of such a three days' record would not wholly change the atmosphere +in many a house to what it ought to be, and bring almost constant sunshine +and bliss where now, too often, are storm and misery. + +With some parents, although they are neither harsh nor hard in manner, nor +yet unloving in nature, the habitual first impulse seems to be to refuse: +they appear to have a singular obtuseness to the fact that it is, or can +be, of any consequence to a child whether it does or does not do the thing +it desires. Often the refusal is withdrawn on the first symptom of grief +or disappointment on the child's part; a thing which is fatal to all real +control of a child, and almost as unkind as the first unnecessary +denial,--perhaps even more so, as it involves double and treble pains, in +future instances, where there cannot and must not be any giving way to +entreaties. It is doubtless this lack of perception,--akin, one would +think, to color-blindness,--which is at the bottom of this great and +common inhumanity among kind and intelligent fathers and mothers: an +inhumanity so common that it may almost be said to be universal; so common +that, while we are obliged to look on and see our dearest friends guilty +of it, we find it next to impossible to make them understand what we mean +when we make outcry over some of its glaring instances. + +You, my dearest of friends,--or, rather, you who would be, but for this +one point of hopeless contention between us,--do you remember a certain +warm morning, last August, of which I told you then you had not heard the +last? Here it is again: perhaps in print I can make it look blacker to you +than I could then; part of it I saw, part of it you unwillingly confessed +to me, and part of it little Blue Eyes told me herself. + +It was one of those ineffable mornings, when a thrill of delight and +expectancy fills the air; one felt that every appointment of the day must +be unlike those of other days,--must be festive, must help on the "white +day" for which all things looked ready. I remember how like the morning +itself you looked as you stood in the doorway, in a fresh white muslin +dress, with lavender ribbons. I said, "Oh, extravagance! For breakfast!" + +"I know," you said; "but the day was so enchanting, I could not make up my +mind to wear any thing that had been worn before." Here an uproar from the +nursery broke out, and we both ran to the spot. There stood little Blue +Eyes, in a storm of temper, with one small foot on a crumpled mass of pink +cambric on the floor; and nurse, who was also very red and angry, +explained that Miss would not have on her pink frock because it was not +quite clean. "It is all dirty, mamma, and I don't want to put it on! +You've got on a nice white dress: why can't I?" + +You are in the main a kind mother, and you do not like to give little Blue +Eyes pain; so you knelt down beside her, and told her that she must be a +good girl, and have on the gown Mary had said, but that she should have on +a pretty white apron, which would hide the spots. And Blue Eyes, being +only six years old, and of a loving, generous nature, dried her tears, +accepted the very questionable expedient, tried to forget the spots, and +in a few moments came out on the piazza, chirping like a little bird. By +this time the rare quality of the morning had stolen like wine into our +brains, and you exclaimed, "We will have breakfast out here, under the +vines! How George will like it!" And in another instant you were flitting +back and forth, helping the rather ungracious Bridget move out the +breakfast-table, with its tempting array. + +"Oh, mamma, mamma," cried Blue Eyes, "can't I have my little tea-set on a +little table beside your big table? Oh, let me, let me!" and she fairly +quivered with excitement. You hesitated. How I watched you! But it was a +little late. Bridget was already rather cross; the tea-set was packed in a +box, and up on a high shelf. + +"No, dear. There is not time, and we must not make Bridget any more +trouble; but"--seeing the tears coming again--"you shall have some real +tea in papa's big gilt cup, and another time you shall have your tea-set +when we have breakfast out here again." As I said before, you are a kind +mother, and you made the denial as easy to be borne as you could, and Blue +Eyes was again pacified, not satisfied, only bravely making the best of +it. And so we had our breakfast; a breakfast to be remembered, too. But as +for the "other time" which you had promised to Blue Eyes; how well I knew +that not many times a year did such mornings and breakfasts come, and that +it was well she would forget all about it! After breakfast,--you remember +how we lingered,--George suddenly started up, saying, "How hard it is to +go to town! I say, girls, walk down to the station with me, both of you." + +"And me too, me too, papa!" said Blue Eyes. You did not hear her; but I +did, and she had flown for her hat. At the door we found her, saying +again, "Me too, mamma!" Then you remembered her boots: "Oh, my darling," +you said, kissing her, for you are a kind mother, "you cannot go in those +nice boots: the dew will spoil them; and it is not worth while to change +them, we shall be back in a few minutes." + +A storm of tears would have burst out in an instant at this the third +disappointment, if I had not sat down on the door-step, and, taking her in +my lap, whispered that auntie was going to stay too. + +"Oh, put the child down, and come along," called the great, strong, +uncomprehending man--Blue Eyes' dear papa. "Pussy won't mind. Be a good +girl, pussy; I'll bring you a red balloon to-night." + +You are both very kind, you and George, and you both love little Blue Eyes +dearly. + +"No, I won't come. I believe my boots are too thin," said I; and for the +equivocation there was in my reply I am sure of being forgiven. You both +turned back twice to look at the child, and kissed your hands to her; and +I wondered if you did not see in her face, what I did, real grief and +patient endurance. Even "The King of the Golden River" did not rouse her: +she did not want a story; she did not want me; she did not want a red +balloon at night; she wanted to walk between you, to the station, with her +little hands in yours! God grant the day may not come when you will be +heart-broken because you can never lead her any more! + +She asked me some questions, while you were gone, which you remember I +repeated to you. She asked me if I did not hate nice new shoes; and why +little girls could not put on the dresses they liked best; and if mamma +did not look beautiful in that pretty white dress; and said that, if she +could only have had her own tea-set, at breakfast, she would have let me +have my coffee in one of her cups. Gradually she grew happier, and began +to tell me about her great wax-doll, which had eyes that could shut; which +was kept in a trunk because she was too little, mamma said, to play very +much with it now; but she guessed mamma would let her have it to-day; did +I not think so? Alas! I did, and I said so; in fact, I felt sure that it +was the very thing you would be certain to do, to sweeten the day, which +had begun so sadly for poor little Blue Eyes. + +It seemed very long to her before you came back, and she was on the point +of asking for her dolly as soon as you appeared; but I whispered to her to +wait till you were rested. After a few minutes I took her up to your +room,--that lovely room with the bay window to the east; there you sat, in +your white dress, surrounded with gay worsteds, all looking like a +carnival of humming-birds. "Oh, how beautiful!" I exclaimed, in +involuntary admiration; "what are you doing?" You said that you were going +to make an affghan, and that the morning was so enchanting you could not +bear the thought of touching your mending, but were going to luxuriate in +the worsteds. Some time passed in sorting the colors, and deciding on the +contrasts, and I forgot all about the doll. Not so little Blue Eyes. I +remembered afterward how patiently she stood still, waiting and waiting +for a gap between our words, that she need not break the law against +interrupting, with her eager-- + +"Please, mamma, let me have my wax dolly to play with this morning! I'll +sit right here on the floor, by you and auntie, and not hurt her one bit. +Oh, please do, mamma!" + +You mean always to be a very kind mother, and you spoke as gently and +lovingly as it is possible to speak when you replied:-- + +"Oh, Pussy, mamma is too busy to get it; she can't get up now. You can +play with your blocks, and with your other dollies, just as well; that's a +good little girl." + +Probably, if Blue Eyes had gone on imploring, you would have laid your +worsteds down, and given her the dolly; for you love her dearly, and never +mean to make her unhappy. But neither you nor I were prepared for what +followed. + +"You're a naughty, ugly, hateful mamma! You never let me do _any_ thing, +and I wish you were dead!" with such a burst of screaming and tears that +we were both frightened. You looked, as well you might, heart-broken at +such words from your only child. You took her away; and when you came +back, you cried, and said you had whipped her severely, and you did not +know what you should do with a child of such a frightful temper. + +"Such an outburst as that, just because I told her, in the gentlest way +possible, that she could not have a plaything! It is terrible!" + +Then I said some words to you, which you thought were unjust. I asked you +in what condition your own nerves would have been by ten o'clock that +morning if your husband (who had, in one view, a much better right to +thwart your harmless desires than you had to thwart your child's, since +you, in the full understanding of maturity, gave yourself into his hands) +had, instead of admiring your pretty white dress, told you to be more +prudent, and not put it on; had told you it would be nonsense to have +breakfast out on the piazza; and that he could not wait for you to walk to +the station with him. You said that the cases were not at all parallel; +and I replied hotly that that was very true, for those matters would have +been to you only the comparative trifles of one short day, and would have +made you only a little cross and uncomfortable; whereas to little Blue +Eyes they were the all-absorbing desires of the hour, which, to a child in +trouble, always looks as if it could never come to an end, and would never +be followed by any thing better. + +Blue Eyes cried herself to sleep, and slept heavily till late in the +afternoon. When her father came home, you said that she must not have the +red balloon, because she had been such a naughty girl. I have wondered +many times since why she did not cry again, or look grieved when you said +that, and laid the balloon away. After eleven o'clock at night, I went to +look at her, and found her sobbing in her sleep, and tossing about. I +groaned as I thought, "This is only one day, and there are three hundred +and sixty-five in a year!" But I never recall the distorted face of that +poor child, as, in her fearful passion, she told you she wished you were +dead, without also remembering that even the gentle Christ said of him who +should offend one of these little ones, "It were better for him that a +mill-stone were hanged about his neck, and he were drowned in the depths +of the sea!" + + + + +The Inhumanities of Parents--Rudeness. + + +/# + "_Inhumanity_--Cruelty. _Cruelty_--The disposition to give unnecessary + pain."--_Webster's Dict_. +#/ + +I had intended to put third on the list of inhumanities of parents +"needless requisitions;" but my last summer's observations changed my +estimate, and convinced me that children suffer more pain from the +rudeness with which they are treated than from being forced to do needless +things which they dislike. Indeed, a positively and graciously courteous +manner toward children is a thing so rarely seen in average daily life, +the rudenesses which they receive are so innumerable, that it is hard to +tell where to begin in setting forth the evil. Children themselves often +bring their sharp and unexpected logic to bear on some incident +illustrating the difference in this matter of behavior between what is +required from them and what is shown to them: as did a little boy I knew, +whose father said crossly to him one morning, as he came into the +breakfast-room, "Will you ever learn to shut that door after you?" and a +few seconds later, as the child was rather sulkily sitting down in his +chair, "And do you mean to bid anybody 'good-morning,' or not?" "I don't +think you gave _me_ a very nice 'good-morning,' anyhow," replied satirical +justice, aged seven. Then, of course, he was reproved for speaking +disrespectfully; and so in the space of three minutes the beautiful +opening of the new day, for both parents and children, was jarred and +robbed of its fresh harmony by the father's thoughtless rudeness. + +Was the breakfast-room door much more likely to be shut the next morning? +No. The lesson was pushed aside by the pain, the motive to resolve was +dulled by the antagonism. If that father had called his son, and, putting +his arm round him, (oh! the blessed and magic virtue of putting your arm +round a child's neck!) had said, "Good-morning, my little man;" and then, +in a confidential whisper in his ear, "What shall we do to make this +forgetful little boy remember not to leave that door open, through which +the cold wind blows in on all of us?"--can any words measure the +difference between the first treatment and the second? between the success +of the one and the failure of the other? + +Scores of times in a day, a child is told, in a short, authoritative way, +to do or not to do such little things as we ask at the hands of older +people, as favors, graciously, and with deference to their choice. "Would +you be so very kind as to close that window?" "May I trouble you for that +cricket?" "If you would be as comfortable in this chair as in that, I +would like to change places with you." "Oh, excuse me, but your head is +between me and the light: could you see as well if you moved a little?" +"Would it hinder you too long to stop at the store for me? I would be very +much obliged to you, if you would." "Pray, do not let me crowd you," &c. +In most people's speech to children, we find, as synonyms for these polite +phrases: "Shut that window down, this minute." "Bring me that cricket." "I +want that chair; get up. You can sit in this." "Don't you see that you are +right in my light? Move along." "I want you to leave off playing, and go +right down to the store for me." "Don't crowd so. Can't you see that there +is not room enough for two people here?" and so on. As I write, I feel an +instinctive consciousness that these sentences will come like home-thrusts +to some surprised people. I hope so. That is what I want. I am sure that +in more than half the cases where family life is marred in peace, and +almost stripped of beauty, by just these little rudenesses, the parents +are utterly unconscious of them. The truth is, it has become like an +established custom, this different and less courteous way of speaking to +children on small occasions and minor matters. People who are generally +civil and of fair kindliness do it habitually, not only to their own +children, but to all children. We see it in the cars, in the stages, in +stores, in Sunday schools, everywhere. + +On the other hand, let a child ask for any thing without saying "please," +receive any thing without saying "thank you," sit still in the most +comfortable seat without offering to give it up, or press its own +preference for a particular book, chair, or apple, to the inconveniencing +of an elder, and what an outcry we have: "Such rudeness!" "Such an +ill-mannered child!" "His parents must have neglected him strangely." Not +at all: they have been steadily telling him a great many times every day +not to do these precise things which you dislike. But they themselves have +been all the while doing those very things to him; and there is no proverb +which strikes a truer balance between two things than the old one which +weighs example over against precept. + +However, that it is bad policy to be rude to children is the least of the +things to be said against it. Over this they will triumph, sooner or +later. The average healthy child has a native bias towards gracious good +behavior and kindly affections. He will win and be won in the long run, +and, the chances are, have better manners than his father. But the pain +that we give these blessed little ones when we wound their +tenderness,--for that there is no atoning. Over that they can never +triumph, either now or hereafter. Why do we dare to be so sure that they +are not grieved by ungracious words and tones? that they can get used to +being continually treated as if they were "in the way"? Who has not heard +this said? I have, until I have longed for an Elijah and for fire, that +the grown-up cumberers of the ground, who are the ones really in the way, +might be burned up, to make room for the children. I believe that, if it +were possible to count up in any one month, and show in the aggregate, all +of this class of miseries borne by children, the world would cry out +astonished. I know a little girl, ten years old, of nervous temperament, +whose whole physical condition is disordered, and seriously, by her +mother's habitual atmosphere of rude fault-finding. She is a sickly, +fretful, unhappy, almost unbearable child. If she lives to grow up, she +will be a sickly, fretful, unhappy, unlovely woman. But her mother is just +as much responsible for the whole as if she had deranged her system by +feeding her on poisonous drugs. Yet she is a most conscientious, devoted, +and anxious mother, and, in spite of this manner, a loving one. She does +not know that there is any better way than hers. She does not see that her +child is mortified and harmed when she says to her, in the presence of +strangers, "How do you suppose you _look_ with your mouth open like that?" +"Do you want me to show you how you are sitting?"--and then a grotesque +imitation of her stooping shoulders. "_Will_ you sit still for one +minute?" "_Do_ take your hands off my dress." "Was there ever such an +awkward child?" When the child replies fretfully and disagreeably, she +does not see that it is only an exact reflection of her own voice and +manners. She does not understand any of the things that would make for her +own peace, as well as for the child's. Matters grow worse, instead of +better, as the child grows older and has more will; and the chances are +that the poor little soul will be worried into her grave. + +Probably most parents, even very kindly ones, would be a little startled +at the assertion that a child ought never to be reproved in the presence +of others. This is so constant an occurrence that nobody thinks of +noticing it; nobody thinks of considering whether it be right and best, or +not. But it is a great rudeness to a child. I am entirely sure that it +ought never to be done. Mortification is a condition as unwholesome as it +is uncomfortable. When the wound is inflicted by the hand of a parent, it +is all the more certain to rankle and do harm. Let a child see that his +mother is so anxious that he should have the approbation and good-will of +her friends that she will not call their attention to his faults; and +that, while she never, under any circumstances, allows herself to forget +to tell him afterward, alone, if he has behaved improperly, she will spare +him the additional pain and mortification of public reproof; and, while +that child will lay these secret reproofs to heart, he will still be +happy. + +I know a mother who had the insight to see this, and the patience to make +it a rule; for it takes far more patience, far more time, than the common +method. + +She said sometimes to her little boy, after visitors had left the parlor, +"Now, dear, I am going to be your little girl, and you are to be my papa. +And we will play that a gentleman has just come in to see you, and I will +show you exactly how you have been behaving while this lady has been +calling to see me. And you can see if you do not feel very sorry to have +your little girl behave so." + +Here is a dramatic representation at once which that boy does not need to +see repeated many times before he is forever cured of interrupting, of +pulling his mother's gown, of drumming on the piano, &c.,--of the thousand +and one things which able-bodied children can do to make social visiting +where they are a martyrdom and a penance. + +Once I saw this same little boy behave so boisterously and rudely at the +dinner-table, in the presence of guests, that I said to myself, "Surely, +this time she will have to break her rule, and reprove him publicly." I +saw several telegraphic signals of rebuke, entreaty, and warning flash +from her gentle eyes to his; but nothing did any good. Nature was too much +for him; he could not at that minute force himself to be quiet. Presently +she said, in a perfectly easy and natural tone, "Oh, Charley, come here a +minute; I want to tell you something." No one at the table supposed that +it had any thing to do with his bad behavior. She did not intend that they +should. As she whispered to him, I alone saw his cheek flush, and that he +looked quickly and imploringly into her face; I alone saw that tears were +almost in her eyes. But she shook her head, and he went back to his seat +with a manful but very red little face. In a few moments he laid down his +knife and fork, and said, "Mamma, will you please to excuse me?" +"Certainly, my dear," said she. Nobody but I understood it, or observed +that the little fellow had to run very fast to get out of the room without +crying. Afterward she told me that she never sent a child away from the +table in any other way. "But what would you do," said I, "if he were to +refuse to ask to be excused?" Then the tears stood full in her eyes. "Do +you think he could," she replied, "when he sees that I am only trying to +save him from pain?" In the evening, Charley sat in my lap, and was very +sober. At last he whispered to me, "I'll tell you an awful secret, if you +won't tell. Did you think I had done my dinner this afternoon when I got +excused? Well, I hadn't. Mamma made me, because I acted so. That's the way +she always does. But I haven't had to have it done to me before for ever +so long,--not since I was a little fellow" (he was eight now); "and I +don't believe I ever shall again till I'm a man." Then he added, +reflectively, "Mary brought me all the rest of my dinner upstairs; but I +wouldn't touch it, only a little bit of the ice-cream. I don't think I +deserved any at all; do you?" + +I shall never, so long as I live, forget a lesson of this sort which my +own mother once gave me. I was not more than seven years old; but I had a +great susceptibility to color and shape in clothes, and an insatiable +admiration for all people who came finely dressed. One day, my mother said +to me, "Now I will play 'house' with you." Who does not remember when to +"play house" was their chief of plays? And to whose later thought has it +not occurred that in this mimic little show lay bound up the whole of +life? My mother was the liveliest of playmates, she took the worst doll, +the broken tea-set, the shabby furniture, and the least convenient corner +of the room for her establishment. Social life became a round of +festivities when she kept house as my opposite neighbor. At last, after +the washing-day, and the baking-day, and the day when she took dinner with +me, and the day when we took our children and walked out together, came +the day for me to take my oldest child and go across to make a call at her +house. Chill discomfort struck me on the very threshold of my visit. Where +was the genial, laughing, talking lady who had been my friend up to that +moment? There she sat, stock-still, dumb, staring first at my bonnet, then +at my shawl, then at my gown, then at my feet; up and down, down and up, +she scanned me, barely replying in monosyllables to my attempts at +conversation; finally getting up, and coming nearer, and examining my +clothes, and my child's still more closely. A very few minutes of this +were more than I could bear; and, almost crying, I said, "Why, mamma, what +makes you do so?" Then the play was over; and she was once more the wise +and tender mother, telling me playfully that it was precisely in such a +way I had stared, the day before, at the clothes of two ladies who had +come in to visit her. I never needed that lesson again. To this day, if I +find myself departing from it for an instant, the old tingling shame burns +in my cheeks. + +To this day, also, the old tingling pain burns my cheeks as I recall +certain rude and contemptuous words which were said to me when I was very +young, and stamped on my memory forever. I was once called a "stupid +child" in the presence of strangers. I had brought the wrong book from my +father's study. Nothing could be said to me to-day which would give me a +tenth part of the hopeless sense of degradation which came from those +words. Another time, on the arrival of an unexpected guest to dinner, I +was sent, in a great hurry, away from the table, to make room, with the +remark that "it was not of the least consequence about the child; she +could just as well have her dinner afterward." "The child" would have been +only too happy to help on the hospitality of the sudden emergency, if the +thing had been differently put; but the sting of having it put in that way +I never forgot. Yet in both these instances the rudeness was so small, in +comparison with what we habitually see, that it would be too trivial to +mention, except for the bearing of the fact that the pain it gave has +lasted till now. + +When we consider seriously what ought to be the nature of a reproof from a +parent to a child, and what is its end, the answer is simple enough. It +should be nothing but the superior wisdom and strength, explaining to +inexperience and feebleness wherein they have made a mistake, to the end +that they may avoid such mistakes in future. If personal annoyance, +impatience, antagonism enter in, the relation is marred and the end +endangered. Most sacred and inalienable of all rights is the right of +helplessness to protection from the strong, of ignorance to counsel from +the wise. If we give our protection and counsel grudgingly, or in a +churlish, unkind manner, even to the stranger that is in our gates, we are +no Christians, and deserve to be stripped of what little wisdom and +strength we have hoarded. But there are no words to say what we are or +what we deserve if we do thus to the little children whom we have dared, +for our own pleasure, to bring into the perils of this life, and whose +whole future may be blighted by the mistakes of our careless hands. + + + + +Breaking the Will. + + + +This phrase is going out of use. It is high time it did. If the thing it +represents would also cease, there would be stronger and freer men and +women. But the phrase is still sometimes heard; and there are still +conscientious fathers and mothers who believe they do God service in +setting about the thing. + +I have more than once said to a parent who used these words, "Will you +tell me just what you mean by that? Of course you do not mean exactly what +you say." + +"Yes, I do. I mean that the child's will is to be once for all +broken!--that he is to learn that my will is to be his law. The sooner he +learns this the better." + +"But is it to your will simply _as_ will that he is to yield? Simply as +the weaker yields to the stronger,--almost as matter yields to force? For +what reason is he to do this?" + +"Why, because I know what is best for him, and what is right; and he does +not." + +"Ah! that is a very different thing. He is, then, to do the thing that you +tell him to do, because that thing is right and is needful for him; you +are his guide on a road over which you have gone, and he has not; you are +an interpreter, a helper; you know better than he does about all things, +and your knowledge is to teach his ignorance." + +"Certainly, that is what I mean. A pretty state of things it would be if +children were to be allowed to think they know as much as their parents. +There is no way except to break their wills in the beginning." + +"But you have just said that it is not to your will as will that he is to +yield, but to your superior knowledge and experience. That surely is not +'breaking his will.' It is of all things furthest removed from it. It is +educating his will. It is teaching him how to will." + +This sounds dangerous; but the logic is not easily turned aside, and there +is little left for the advocate of will-breaking but to fall back on some +texts in the Bible, which have been so often misquoted in this connection +that one can hardly hear them with patience. To "Children, obey your +parents," was added "in the Lord," and "because it is right," not "because +they are your parents." "Spare the rod" has been quite gratuitously +assumed to mean "spare blows." "Rod" means here, as elsewhere, simply +punishment. We are not told to "train up a child" to have no will but our +own, but "in the way in which he should go," and to the end that "when he +is old" he should not "depart from it,"--i.e., that his will should be so +educated that he will choose to walk in the right way still. Suppose a +child's will to be actually "broken;" suppose him to be so trained that he +has no will but to obey his parents. What is to become of this helpless +machine, which has no central spring of independent action? Can we stand +by, each minute of each hour of each day, and say to the automata, Go +here, or Go there? Can we be sure of living as long as they live? Can we +wind them up like seventy-year clocks, and leave them? + +But this is idle. It is not, thank God, in the power of any man or any +woman to "break" a child's "will." They may kill the child's body, in +trying, like that still unhung clergyman in Western New York, who whipped +his three-year-old son to death for refusing to repeat a prayer to his +step-mother. + +Bodies are frail things; there are more child-martyrs than will be known +until the bodies terrestrial are done with. + +But, by one escape or another, the will, the soul, goes free. Sooner or +later, every human being comes to know and prove in his own estate that +freedom of will is the only freedom for which there are no chains +possible, and that in Nature's whole reign of law nothing is so largely +provided for as liberty. Sooner or later, all this must come. But, if it +comes later, it comes through clouds of antagonism, and after days of +fight, and is hard-bought. + +It should come sooner, like the kingdom of God, which it is,--"without +observation," gracious as sunshine, sweet as dew; it should begin with the +infant's first dawning of comprehension that there are two courses of +action, two qualities of conduct: one wise, the other foolish; one right, +the other wrong. + +I am sure; for I have seen, that a child's moral perceptions can be so +made clear, and his will so made strong and upright, that before he is ten +years old he will see and take his way through all common days rightly and +bravely. + +Will he always act up to his highest moral perceptions? No. Do we? But one +right decision that he makes voluntarily, unbiassed by the assertion of +authority or the threat of punishment, is worth more to him in development +of moral character than a thousand in which he simply does what he is +compelled to do by some sort of outside pressure. + +I read once, in a book intended for the guidance of mothers, a story of a +little child who, in repeating his letters one day, suddenly refused to +say A. All the other letters he repeated again and again, unhesitatingly; +but A he would not, and persisted in declaring that he could not say. He +was severely whipped, but still persisted. It now became a contest of +wills. He was whipped again and again and again. In the intervals between +the whippings the primer was presented to him, and he was told that he +would be whipped again if he did not mind his mother and say A. I forget +how many times he was whipped; but it was almost too many times to be +believed. The fight was a terrible one. At last, in a paroxysm of his +crying under the blows, the mother thought she heard him sob out "A," and +the victory was considered to be won. + +A little boy whom I know once had a similar contest over a letter of the +alphabet; but the contest was with himself, and his mother was the +faithful Great Heart who helped him through. The story is so remarkable +that I have long wanted all mothers to know it. It is as perfect an +illustration of what I mean by "educating" the will as the other one is of +what is called "breaking" it. + +Willy was about four years old. He had a large, active brain, sensitive +temperament, and indomitable spirit. He was and is an uncommon child. +Common methods of what is commonly supposed to be "discipline" would, if +he had survived them, have made a very bad boy of him. He had great +difficulty in pronouncing the letter G,--so much that he had formed almost +a habit of omitting it. One day his mother said, not dreaming of any +special contest, "This time you must say G." "It is an ugly old letter, +and I ain't ever going to try to say it again," said Willy, repeating the +alphabet very rapidly from beginning to end, without the G. Like a wise +mother, she did not open at once on a struggle; but said, pleasantly, "Ah! +you did not get it in that time. Try again; go more slowly, and we will +have it." It was all in vain; and it soon began to look more like real +obstinacy on Willy's part than any thing she had ever seen in him. She has +often told me how she hesitated before entering on the campaign. "I always +knew," she said, "that Willy's first real fight with himself would be no +matter of a few hours; and it was a particularly inconvenient time for me, +just then, to give up a day to it. But it seemed, on the whole, best not +to put it off." + +So she said, "Now, Willy, you can't get along without the letter G. The +longer you put off saying it, the harder it will be for you to say it at +last; and we will have it settled now, once for all. You are never going +to let a little bit of a letter like that be stronger than Willy. We will +not go out of this room till you have said it." + +Unfortunately, Willy's will had already taken its stand. However, the +mother made no authoritative demand that he should pronounce the letter as +a matter of obedience to her. Because it was a thing intrinsically +necessary for him to do, she would see, at any cost to herself or to him, +that he did it; but he must do it voluntarily, and she would wait till he +did. + +The morning wore on. She busied herself with other matters, and left Willy +to himself; now and then asking, with a smile, "Well, isn't my little boy +stronger than that ugly old letter yet?" + +Willy was sulky. He understood in that early stage all that was involved. +Dinner-time came. + +"Aren't you going to dinner, mamma?" + +"Oh! no, dear; not unless you say G, so that you can go too. Mamma will +stay by her little boy until he is out of this trouble." + +The dinner was brought up, and they ate it together. She was cheerful and +kind, but so serious that he felt the constant pressure of her pain. + +The afternoon dragged slowly on to night. Willy cried now and then, and +she took him in her lap, and said, "Dear, you will be happy as soon as you +say that letter, and mamma will be happy too, and we can't either of us be +happy until you do." + +"Oh, mamma! why don't you _make_ me say it?" + +(This he said several times before the affair was over.) + +"Because, dear, you must make yourself say it. I am helping you make +yourself say it, for I shall not let you go out of this room, nor go out +myself, till you do say it; but that is all I shall do to help you. I am +listening, listening all the time, and if you say it, in ever so little a +whisper, I shall hear you. That is all mamma can do for you." + +Bed-time came. Willy went to bed, unkissed and sad. The next morning, when +Willy's mother opened her eyes, she saw Willy sitting up in his crib, and +looking at her steadfastly. As soon as he saw that she was awake, he +exclaimed, "Mamma, I can't say it; and you know I can't say it. You're a +naughty mamma, and you don't love me." Her heart sank within her; but she +patiently went again and again over yesterday's ground. Willy cried. He +ate very little breakfast. He stood at the window in a listless attitude +of discouraged misery, which she said cut her to the heart. Once in a +while he would ask for some plaything which he did not usually have. She +gave him whatever he asked for; but he could not play. She kept up an +appearance of being busy with her sewing, but she was far more unhappy +than Willy. + +Dinner was brought up to them. Willy said, "Mamma, this ain't a bit good +dinner." + +She replied, "Yes, it is, darling; just as good as we ever have. It is +only because we are eating it alone. And poor papa is sad, too, taking +his all alone downstairs." + +At this Willy burst out into an hysterical fit of crying and sobbing. + +"I shall never see my papa again in this world." + +Then his mother broke down, too, and cried as hard as he did; but she +said, "Oh! yes, you will, dear. I think you will say that letter before +tea-time, and we will have a nice evening downstairs together." + +"I can't say it. I try all the time, and I can't say it; and, if you keep +me here till I die, I shan't ever say it." + +The second night settled down dark and gloomy, and Willy cried himself to +sleep. His mother was ill from anxiety and confinement; but she never +faltered. She told me she resolved that night that, if it were necessary, +she would stay in that room with Willy a month. The next morning she said +to him, more seriously than before, "Now, Willy, you are not only a +foolish little boy, you are unkind; you are making everybody unhappy. +Mamma is very sorry for you, but she is also very much displeased with +you. Mamma will stay here with you till you say that letter, if it is for +the rest of your life; but mamma will not talk with you, as she did +yesterday. She tried all day yesterday to help you, and you would not help +yourself; to-day you must do it all alone." + +"Mamma, are you sure I shall ever say it?" asked Willy. + +"Yes, dear; perfectly sure. You will say it some day or other." + +"Do you think I shall say it to-day?" + +"I can't tell. You are not so strong a little boy as I thought. I believed +you would say it yesterday. I am afraid you have some hard work before +you." + +Willy begged her to go down and leave him alone. Then he begged her to +shut him up in the closet, and "see if that wouldn't make him good." Every +few minutes he would come and stand before her, and say very earnestly, +"Are you sure I shall say it?" + +He looked very pale, almost as if he had had a fit of illness. No wonder. +It was the whole battle of life fought at the age of four. + +It was late in the afternoon of this the third day. Willy had been sitting +in his little chair, looking steadily at the floor, for so long a time +that his mother was almost frightened. But she hesitated to speak to him, +for she felt that the crisis had come. Suddenly he sprang up, and walked +toward her with all the deliberate firmness of a man in his whole bearing. +She says there was something in his face which she has never seen since, +and does not expect to see till he is thirty years old. + +"Mamma!" said he. + +"Well, dear?" said his mother, trembling so that she could hardly speak. + +"Mamma," he repeated, in a loud, sharp tone, "G! G! G! G!" And then he +burst into a fit of crying, which she had hard work to stop. It was over. + +Willy is now ten years old. From that day to this his mother has never had +a contest with him; she has always been able to leave all practical +questions affecting his behavior to his own decision, merely saying, +"Willy, I think this or that will be better." + +His self-control and gentleness are wonderful to see; and the blending in +his face of childlike simplicity and purity with manly strength is +something which I have only once seen equalled. + +For a few days he went about the house, shouting "G! G! G!" at the top of +his voice. He was heard asking playmates if they could "say G," and "who +showed them how." For several years he used often to allude to the affair, +saying, "Do you remember, mamma, that dreadful time when I wouldn't say +G?" He always used the verb "wouldn't" in speaking of it. Once, when he +was sick, he said, "Mamma, do you think I could have said G any sooner +than I did?" + +"I have never felt certain about that, Willy," she said. "What do _you_ +think?" + +"I think I could have said it a few minutes sooner. I was saying it to +_myself_ as long as that!" said Willy. + +It was singular that, although up to that time he had never been able to +pronounce the letter with any distinctness, when he first made up his mind +in this instance to say it, he enunciated it with perfect clearness, and +never again went back to the old, imperfect pronunciation. + +Few mothers, perhaps, would be able to give up two whole days to such a +battle as this; other children, other duties, would interfere. But the +same principle could be carried out without the mother's remaining +herself by the child's side all the time. Moreover, not one child in a +thousand would hold out as Willy did. In all ordinary cases a few hours +would suffice. And, after all, what would the sacrifice of even two days +be, in comparison with the time saved in years to come? If there were no +stronger motive than one of policy, of desire to take the course easiest +to themselves, mothers might well resolve that their first aim should be +to educate their children's wills and make them strong, instead of to +conquer and "break" them. + + + + +The Reign of Archelaus. + + + +Herod's massacre had, after all, a certain mercy in it: there were no +lingering tortures. The slayers of children went about with naked and +bloody swords, which mothers could see, and might at least make effort to +flee from. Into Rachel's refusal to be comforted there need enter no +bitter agonies of remorse. But Herod's death, it seems, did not make Judea +a safe place for babies. When Joseph "heard that Archelaus did reign in +the room of his father, Herod, he was afraid to return thither with the +infant Jesus," and only after repeated commands and warnings from God +would he venture as far as Nazareth. The reign of Archelaus is not yet +over; he has had many names, and ruled over more and more countries, but +the spirit of his father, Herod, is still in him. To-day his power is at +its zenith. He is called Education; and the safest place for the dear, +holy children is still Egypt, or some other of the fortunate countries +called unenlightened. + +Some years ago there were symptoms of a strong rebellion against his +tyranny. Horace Mann lifted up his strong hands and voice against it; +physicians and physiologists came out gravely and earnestly, and fortified +their positions with statistics from which there was no appeal. Thomas +Wentworth Higginson, whose words have with the light, graceful beauty of +the Damascus blade its swift sureness in cleaving to the heart of things, +wrote an article for the "Atlantic Monthly" called "The Murder of the +Innocents," which we wish could be put into every house in the United +States. Some changes in school organizations resulted from these protests; +in the matter of ventilation of school-rooms some real improvement was +probably effected; though we shudder to think how much room remains for +further improvement, when we read in the report of the superintendent of +public schools in Brooklyn that in the primary departments of the grammar +schools "an average daily number of 33,275 pupils are crowded into +one-half the space provided in the upper departments for an average daily +attendance of 26,359; or compelled to occupy badly lighted, inconvenient, +and ill-ventilated galleries, or rooms in the basement stories." + +But in regard to the number of hours of confinement, and amount of study +required of children, it is hard to believe that schools have ever been +much more murderously exacting than now. + +The substitution of the single session of five hours for the old +arrangement of two sessions of three hours each, with a two-hours interval +at noon, was regarded as a great gain. So it would be, if all the +brain-work of the day were done in that time; but in most schools with +the five-hours session, there is next to no provision for studying in +school-hours, and the pupils are required to learn two, three, or four +lessons at home. Now, when is your boy to learn these lessons? Not in the +morning, before school; that is plain. School ends at two. Few children +live sufficiently near their schools to get home to dinner before half +past two o'clock. We say nothing of the undesirableness of taking the +hearty meal of the day immediately after five hours of mental fatigue; it +is probably a less evil than the late dinner at six, and we are in a +region where we are grateful for _less_ evils! Dinner is over at quarter +past three; we make close estimates. In winter there is left less than two +hours before dark. This is all the time the child is to have for out-door +play; two hours and a half (counting in his recess) out of twenty-four. +Ask any farmer, even the stupidest, how well his colt or his lamb would +grow if it had but two hours a day of absolute freedom and exercise in the +open air, and that in the dark and the chill of a late afternoon! In spite +of the dark and the chill, however, your boy skates or slides on until he +is called in by you, who, if you are an American mother, care a great deal +more than he does for the bad marks which will stand on his week's report +if those three lessons are not learned before bed-time. He is tired and +cold; he does not want to study--who would? It is six o'clock before he is +fairly at it. You work harder than he does, and in half an hour one lesson +is learned; then comes tea. After tea half an hour, or perhaps an hour, +remains before bed-time; in this time, which ought to be spent in light, +cheerful talk or play, the rest of the lessons must be learned. He is +sleepy and discouraged. Words which in the freshness of the morning he +would have learned in a very few moments with ease, it is now simply out +of his power to commit to memory. You, if you are not superhuman, grow +impatient. At eight o'clock he goes to bed, his brain excited and wearied, +in no condition for healthful sleep; and his heart oppressed with the fear +of "missing" in the next day's recitations. And this is one out of the +school-year's two hundred and sixteen days--all of which will be like +this, or worse. One of the most pitiful sights we have seen for months was +a little group of four dear children, gathered round the library lamp, +trying to learn the next day's lessons in time to have a story read to +them before going to bed. They had taken the precaution to learn one +lesson immediately after dinner, before going out, cutting their out-door +play down by half an hour. The two elder were learning a long +spelling-lesson; the third was grappling with geographical definitions of +capes, promontories, and so forth; and the youngest was at work on his +primer. In spite of all their efforts, bed-time came before the lessons +were learned. The little geography student had been nodding over her book +for some minutes, and she had the philosophy to say, "I don't care; I'm so +sleepy. I had rather go to bed than hear any kind of a story." But the +elder ones were grieved and unhappy, and said, "There won't _ever_ be any +time; we shall have just as much more to learn to-morrow night." The next +morning, however, there was a sight still more pitiful: the baby of seven, +with a little bit of paper and a pencil, and three sums in addition to be +done, and the father vainly endeavoring, to explain them to him in the +hurried moments before breakfast. It would be easy to show how fatal to +all real mental development, how false to all Nature's laws of growth, +such a system must be; but that belongs to another side of the question. +We speak now simply of the effect of it on the body; and here we quote +largely from the admirable article of Col. Higginson's, above referred to. +No stronger, more direct, more conclusive words can be written:-- + +"Sir Walter Scott, according to Carlyle, was the only perfectly healthy +literary man who ever lived. He gave it as his deliberate opinion, in +conversation with Basil Hall, that five and a half hours form the limit of +healthful mental labor for a mature person. 'This I reckon very good work +for a man,' he said. 'I can very seldom work six hours a day.' Supposing +his estimate to be correct, and five and a half hours the reasonable limit +for the day's work of a mature intellect, it is evident that even this +must be altogether too much for an immature one. 'To suppose the youthful +brain,' says the recent admirable report, by Dr. Ray, of the Providence +Insane Hospital, 'to be capable of an amount of work which is considered +an ample allowance to an adult brain is simply absurd.' 'It would be +wrong, therefore, to deduct less than a half-hour from Scott's estimate, +for even the oldest pupils in our highest schools, leaving five hours as +the limit of real mental effort for them, and reducing this for all +younger pupils very much further.' + +"But Scott is not the only authority in the case; let us ask the +physiologists. So said Horace Mann before us, in the days when the +Massachusetts school system was in process of formation. He asked the +physicians in 1840, and in his report printed the answers of three of the +most eminent. The late Dr. Woodward, of Worcester, promptly said that +children under eight should never be confined more than one hour at a +time, nor more than four hours a day. + +"Dr. James Jackson, of Boston, allowed the children four hours schooling +in winter and five in summer, but only one hour at a time; and heartily +expressed his detestation of giving young children lessons to learn at +home. + +"Dr. S.G. Howe, reasoning elaborately on the whole subject, said that +children under eight years of age should never be confined more than half +an hour at a time; by following which rule, with long recesses, they can +study four hours daily. Children between eight and fourteen should not be +confined more than three-quarters of an hour at a time, having the last +quarter of each hour for exercise on the play-ground. + +"Indeed, the one thing about which doctors do _not_ disagree is the +destructive effect of premature or excessive mental labor. I can quote +you medical authority for and against every maxim of dietetics beyond the +very simplest; but I defy you to find one man who ever begged, borrowed, +or stole the title of M.D., and yet abused those two honorary letters by +asserting under their cover that a child could safely study as much as a +man, or that a man could safely study more than six hours a day." + +"The worst danger of it is that the moral is written at the end of the +fable, not at the beginning. The organization in youth is so dangerously +elastic that the result of these intellectual excesses is not seen until +years after. When some young girl incurs spinal disease from some slight +fall, which she ought not to have felt for an hour, or some business man +breaks down in the prime of his years from some trifling over-anxiety, +which should have left no trace behind, the popular verdict may be +'Mysterious Providence;' but the wiser observer sees the retribution for +the folly of those misspent days which enfeebled the childish constitution +instead of ripening it. One of the most striking passages in the report of +Dr. Ray, before mentioned, is that in which he explains that, 'though +study at school is rarely the immediate cause of insanity, it is the most +frequent of its ulterior causes, except hereditary tendencies.' _It +diminishes the conservative power of the animal economy to such a degree +that attacks of disease which otherwise would have passed off safely +destroy life almost before danger is anticipated_." + +It would be easy to multiply authorities on these points. It is hard to +stop. But our limits forbid any thing like a full treatment of the +subject. Yet discussion on this question ought never to cease in the land +until a reform is brought about. Teachers are to blame only in part for +the present wrong state of things. They are to blame for yielding, for +acquiescing; but the real blame rests on parents. Here and there, +individual fathers and mothers, taught, perhaps, by heart-rending +experience, try to make stand against the current of false ambitions and +unhealthy standards. But these are rare exceptions. Parents, as a class, +not only help on, but create the pressure to which teachers yield, and +children are sacrificed. The whole responsibility is really theirs. They +have in their hands the power to regulate the whole school routine to +which their children are to be subjected. This is plain, when we once +consider what would be the immediate effect in any community, large or +small, if a majority of parents took action together, and persistently +refused to allow any child under fourteen to be confined in school more +than four hours out of the twenty-four, more than one hour at a time, or +to do more than five hours' brain-work in a day. The law of supply and +demand is a first principle. In three months the schools in that community +would be entirely reorganized, to accord with the parents' wishes; in +three years the improved average health of the children in that community +would bear its own witness in ruddy bloom along the streets; and perhaps +even in one generation so great gain of vigor might be made that the +melancholy statistics of burial would no longer have to record the death +under twelve years of age of more than two-fifths of the children who are +born. + + + + +The Awkward Age. + + + +The expression defines itself. At the first sound of the words, we all +think of some one unhappy soul we know just now, whom they suggest. Nobody +is ever without at least one brother, sister, cousin, or friend on hand, +who is struggling through this social slough of despond; and nobody ever +will be, so long as the world goes on taking it for granted that the +slough is a necessity, and that the road must go through it. Nature never +meant any such thing. Now and then she blunders or gets thwarted of her +intent, and turns out a person who is awkward, hopelessly and forever +awkward; body and soul are clumsy together, and it is hard to fancy them +translated to the spiritual world without too much elbow and ankle. +However, these are rare cases, and come in under the law of variation. But +an awkward age,--a necessary crisis or stage of uncouthness, through which +all human beings must pass,--Nature was incapable of such a conception; +law has no place for it; development does not know it; instinct revolts +from it; and man is the only animal who has been silly and wrong-headed +enough to stumble into it. The explanation and the remedy are so simple, +so close at hand, that we have not seen them. The whole thing lies in a +nutshell. Where does this abnormal, uncomfortable period come in? Between +childhood, we say, and maturity; it is the transition from one to the +other. When human beings, then, are neither boys nor men, girls nor women, +they must be for a few years anomalous creatures, must they? We might, +perhaps, find a name for the individual in this condition as well as for +the condition. We must look to Du Chaillu for it, if we do; but it is too +serious a distress to make light of, even for a moment. We have all felt +it, and we know how it feels; we all see it every day, and we know how it +looks. + +What is it which the child has and the adult loses, from the loss of which +comes this total change of behavior? Or is it something which the adult +has and the child had not? It is both; and until the loss and the gain, +the new and the old, are permanently separated and balanced, the awkward +age lasts. The child was overlooked, contradicted, thwarted, snubbed, +insulted, whipped; not constantly, not often,--in many cases, thank God, +very seldom. But the liability was there, and he knew it; he never forgot +it, if you did. One burn is enough to make fire dreaded. The adult, once +fairly recognized as adult, is not overlooked, contradicted, thwarted, +snubbed, insulted, whipped; at least, not with impunity. To this +gratifying freedom, these comfortable exemptions, when they are once +established in our belief, we adjust ourselves, and grow contentedly +good-mannered. To the other _régime_, while we were yet children, we also +somewhat adjusted ourselves, were tolerably well behaved, and made the +best of it. But who could bear a mixture of both? What genius could rise +superior to it, could be itself, surrounded by such uncertainties? + +No wonder that your son comes into the room with a confused expression of +uncomfortable pain on every feature, when he does not in the least know +whether he will be recognized as a gentleman, or overlooked as a little +boy. No wonder he sits down in his chair with movements suggestive of +nothing but rheumatism and jack-knives, when he is thinking that perhaps +there may be some reason why he should not take that particular chair, and +that, if there is, he will be ordered up. + +No wonder that your tall daughter turns red, stammers, and says foolish +things on being courteously spoken to by strangers at dinner, when she is +afraid that she may be sharply contradicted or interrupted, and remembers +that day before yesterday she was told that children should be seen and +not heard. + +I knew a very clever girl, who had the misfortune to look at fourteen as +if she were twenty. At home, she was the shyest and most awkward of +creatures; away from her mother and sisters, she was self-possessed and +charming. She said to me, once, "Oh! I have such a splendid time away from +home. I'm so tall, everybody thinks I am grown up, and everybody is civil +to me." + +I know, also, a man of superb physique, charming temperament, and uncommon +talent, who is to this day--and he is twenty-five years old--nervous and +ill at ease in talking with strangers, in the presence of his own family. +He hesitates, stammers, and never does justice to his thoughts. He says +that he believes he shall never be free from this distress; he cannot +escape from the recollections of the years between fourteen and twenty, +during which he was so systematically snubbed that his mother's parlor was +to him worse than the chambers of the Inquisition. He knows that he is now +sure of courteous treatment; that his friends are all proud of him; but +the old cloud will never entirely disappear. Something has been lost which +can never be regained. And the loss is not his alone, it is theirs too; +they are all poorer for life, by reason of the unkind days which are gone. + +This, then, is the explanation of the awkward age. I am not afraid of any +dissent from my definition of the source whence its misery springs. +Everybody's consciousness bears witness. Everybody knows, in the bottom of +his heart, that, however much may be said about the change of voice, the +thinness of cheeks, the sharpness of arms, the sudden length in legs and +lack of length in trousers and frocks,--all these had nothing to do with +the real misery. The real misery was simply and solely the horrible +feeling of not belonging anywhere; not knowing what a moment might bring +forth in the way of treatment from others; never being sure which impulse +it would be safer to follow, to retreat or to advance, to speak or to be +silent, and often overwhelmed with unspeakable mortification at the rebuff +of the one or the censure of the other. Oh! how dreadful it all was! How +dreadful it all is, even to remember! It would be malicious even to refer +to it, except to point out the cure. + +The cure is plain. It needs no experiment to test it. Merely to mention it +ought to be enough. If human beings are so awkward at this unhappy age, +and so unhappy at this awkward age, simply because they do not know +whether they are to be treated as children or as adults, suppose we make a +rule that children are always to be treated, in point of courtesy, as if +they were adults? Then this awkward age--this period of transition from an +atmosphere of, to say the least, negative rudeness to one of gracious +politeness--disappears. There cannot be a crisis of readjustment of social +relations: there is no possibility of such a feeling; it would be hard to +explain to a young person what it meant. Now and then we see a young man +or young woman who has never known it. They are usually only children, and +are commonly spoken of as wonders. I know such a boy to-day. At seventeen +he measures six feet in height; he has the feet and the hands of a still +larger man; and he comes of a blood which had far more strength than +grace. But his manner is, and always has been, sweet, gentle, +composed,--the very ideal of grave, tender, frank young manhood. People +say, "How strange! He never seemed to have any awkward age at all." It +would have been stranger if he had. Neither his father nor his mother ever +departed for an instant, in their relations with him, from the laws of +courtesy and kindliness of demeanor which governed their relations with +others. + +He knew but one atmosphere, and that a genial one, from his babyhood up; +and in and of this atmosphere has grown up a sweet, strong, pure soul, for +which the quiet, self-possessed manner is but the fitting garb. + +This is part of the kingdom that cometh unobserved. In this kingdom we are +all to be kings and priests, if we choose; and all its ways are +pleasantness. But we are not ready for it till we have become peaceable +and easy to be entreated, and have learned to understand why it was that +one day, when Jesus called his disciples together, he set a little child +in their midst. + + + + +A Day with a Courteous Mother. + + + +During the whole of one of last summer's hottest days I had the good +fortune to be seated in a railway car near a mother and four children, +whose relations with each other were so beautiful that the pleasure of +watching them was quite enough to make one forget the discomforts of the +journey. + +It was plain that they were poor; their clothes were coarse and old, and +had been made by inexperienced hands. The mother's bonnet alone would have +been enough to have condemned the whole party on any of the world's +thoroughfares. I remembered afterward, with shame, that I myself had +smiled at the first sight of its antiquated ugliness; but her face was one +which it gave you a sense of rest to look upon,--it was so earnest, +tender, true, and strong. It had little comeliness of shape or color in +it, it was thin, and pale; she was not young; she had worked hard; she had +evidently been much ill; but I have seen few faces which gave me such +pleasure. I think that she was the wife of a poor clergyman; and I think +that clergyman must be one of the Lord's best watchmen of souls. The +children--two boys and two girls--were all under the age of twelve, and +the youngest could not speak plainly. They had had a rare treat; they had +been visiting the mountains, and they were talking over all the wonders +they had seen with a glow of enthusiastic delight which was to be envied. +Only a word-for-word record would do justice to their conversation; no +description could give any idea of it,--so free, so pleasant, so genial, +no interruptions, no contradictions; and the mother's part borne all the +while with such equal interest and eagerness that no one not seeing her +face would dream that she was any other than an elder sister. In the +course of the day there were many occasions when it was necessary for her +to deny requests, and to ask services, especially from the eldest boy; but +no young girl, anxious to please a lover, could have done either with a +more tender courtesy. She had her reward; for no lover could have been +more tender and manly than was this boy of twelve. Their lunch was simple +and scanty; but it had the grace of a royal banquet. At the last, the +mother produced with much glee three apples and an orange, of which the +children had not known. All eyes fastened on the orange. It was evidently +a great rarity. I watched to see if this test would bring out selfishness. +There was a little silence; just the shade of a cloud. The mother said, +"How shall I divide this? There is one for each of you; and I shall be +best off of all, for I expect big tastes from each of you." + +"Oh, give Annie the orange. Annie loves oranges," spoke out the oldest +boy, with a sudden air of a conqueror, and at the same time taking the +smallest and worst apple himself. + +"Oh, yes, let Annie have the orange," echoed the second boy, nine years +old. + +"Yes, Annie may have the orange, because that is nicer than the apple, and +she is a lady, and her brothers are gentlemen," said the mother, quietly. +Then there was a merry contest as to who should feed the mother with +largest and most frequent mouthfuls; and so the feast went on. Then Annie +pretended to want apple, and exchanged thin golden strips of orange for +bites out of the cheeks of Baldwins; and, as I sat watching her intently, +she suddenly fancied she saw longing in my face, and sprang over to me, +holding out a quarter of her orange, and saying, "Don't you want a taste, +too?" The mother smiled, understandingly, when I said, "No, I thank you, +you dear, generous little girl; I don't care about oranges." + +At noon we had a tedious interval of waiting at a dreary station. We sat +for two hours on a narrow platform, which the sun had scorched till it +smelt of heat. The oldest boy--the little lover--held the youngest child, +and talked to her, while the tired mother closed her eyes and rested. Now +and then he looked over at her, and then back at the baby; and at last he +said confidentially to me (for we had become fast friends by this time), +"Isn't it funny, to think that I was ever so small as this baby? And papa +says that then mamma was almost a little girl herself." + +The two other children were toiling up and down the banks of the +railroad-track, picking ox-eye daisies, buttercups, and sorrel. They +worked like beavers, and soon the bunches were almost too big for their +little hands. Then they came running to give them to their mother. "Oh +dear," thought I, "how that poor, tired woman will hate to open her eyes! +and she never can take those great bunches of common, fading flowers, in +addition to all her bundles and bags." I was mistaken. + +"Oh, thank you, my darlings! How kind you were! Poor, hot, tired little +flowers, how thirsty they look! If they will only try and keep alive till +we get home, we will make them very happy in some water; won't we? And you +shall put one bunch by papa's plate, and one by mine." + +Sweet and happy, the weary and flushed little children stood looking up in +her face while she talked, their hearts thrilling with compassion for the +drooping flowers and with delight in the giving of their gift. Then she +took great trouble to get a string and tie up the flowers, and then the +train came, and we were whirling along again. Soon it grew dark, and +little Annie's head nodded. Then I heard the mother say to the oldest boy, +"Dear, are you too tired to let little Annie put her head on your shoulder +and take a nap? We shall get her home in much better case to see papa if +we can manage to give her a little sleep." How many boys of twelve hear +such words as these from tired, overburdened mothers? + +Soon came the city, the final station, with its bustle and noise. I +lingered to watch my happy family, hoping to see the father. "Why, papa +isn't here!" exclaimed one disappointed little voice after another. "Never +mind," said the mother, with a still deeper disappointment in her own +tone; "perhaps he had to go to see some poor body who is sick." In the +hurry of picking up all the parcels, and the sleepy babies, the poor +daisies and buttercups were left forgotten in a corner of the rack. I +wondered if the mother had not intended this. May I be forgiven for the +injustice! A few minutes after I passed the little group, standing still +just outside the station, and heard the mother say, "Oh, my darlings, I +have forgotten your pretty bouquets. I am so sorry! I wonder if I could +find them if I went back. Will you all stand still and not stir from this +spot if I go?" + +"Oh, mamma, don't go, don't go. We will get you some more. Don't go," +cried all the children. + +"Here are your flowers, madam," said I. "I saw that you had forgotten +them, and I took them as mementoes of you and your sweet children." She +blushed and looked disconcerted. She was evidently unused to people, and +shy with all but her children. However, she thanked me sweetly, and +said,-- + +"I was very sorry about them. The children took such trouble to get them; +and I think they will revive in water. They cannot be quite dead." + +"They will _never_ die!" said I, with an emphasis which went from my heart +to hers. Then all her shyness fled. She knew me; and we shook hands, and +smiled into each other's eyes with the smile of kindred as we parted. + +As I followed on, I heard the two children, who were walking behind, +saying to each other, "Wouldn't that have been too bad? Mamma liked them +so much, and we never could have got so many all at once again." + +"Yes, we could, too, next summer," said the boy, sturdily. + +They are sure of their "next summers," I think, all six of those +souls,--children, and mother, and father. They may never again gather so +many ox-eye daisies and buttercups "all at once." Perhaps some of the +little hands have already picked their last flowers. Nevertheless, their +summers are certain. To such souls as these, all trees, either here or in +God's larger country, are Trees of Life, with twelve manner of fruits and +leaves for healing; and it is but little change from the summers here, +whose suns burn and make weary, to the summers there, of which "the Lamb +is the light." + +Heaven bless them all, wherever they are. + + + + +Children in Nova Scotia. + + + +Nova Scotia is a country of gracious surprises. Instead of the stones +which are what strangers chiefly expect at her hands, she gives us a +wealth of fertile meadows; instead of stormy waves breaking on a frowning +coast, she shows us smooth basins whose shores are soft and wooded to the +water's edge, and into which empty wonderful tidal rivers, whose courses, +where the tide-water has flowed out, lie like curving bands of bright +brown satin among the green fields. She has no barrenness, no +unsightliness, no poverty; everywhere beauty, everywhere riches. She is +biding her time. + +But most beautiful among her beauties, most wonderful among her wonders, +are her children. During two weeks' travel in the provinces, I have been +constantly more and more impressed by their superiority in appearance, +size, and health to the children of the New England and Middle States. In +the outset of our journey I was struck by it; along all the roadsides they +looked up, boys and girls, fair, broad-cheeked, sturdy-legged, such as +with us are seen only now and then. I did not, however, realize at first +that this was the universal law of the land, and that it pointed to +something more than climate as a cause. But the first school that I saw, +_en masse_, gave a startling impetus to the train of observation and +inference into which I was unconsciously falling. It was a Sunday school +in the little town of Wolfville, which lies between the Gaspcreau and +Cornwallis rivers, just beyond the meadows of the Grand Pré, where lived +Gabriel Lajeunesse, and Benedict Bellefontaine, and the rest of the +"simple Acadian farmers." + +"Mists from the mighty Atlantic" more than "looked on the happy valley" +that Sunday morning. Convicting Longfellow of a mistake, they did descend +"from their stations," on solemn Blomidon, and fell in a slow, unpleasant +drizzle in the streets of Wolfville and Horton. I arrived too early at one +of the village churches, and while I was waiting for a sexton a door +opened, and out poured the Sunday school, whose services had just ended. +On they came, dividing in the centre, and falling to the right and left +about me, thirty or forty boys and girls, between the ages of seven and +fifteen. I looked at them in astonishment. They all had fair skins, red +cheeks, and clear eyes; they were all broad-shouldered, straight, and +sturdy; the younger ones were more than sturdy,--they were fat, from the +ankles up. But perhaps the most noticeable thing of all was the quiet, +sturdy, unharassed expression which their faces wore; a look which is the +greatest charm of a child's face, but which we rarely see in children over +two or three years old. Boys of eleven or twelve were there, with +shoulders broader than the average of our boys at sixteen, and yet with +the pure, childlike look on their faces. Girls of ten or eleven were there +who looked almost like women,--that is, like ideal women,--simply because +they looked so calm and undisturbed. The Saxon coloring prevailed; +three-fourths of the eyes were blue, with hair of that pale ash-brown +which the French call "_blonde cendrée_" Out of them all there was but one +child who looked sickly. He had evidently met with some accident, and was +lame. Afterward, as the congregation assembled, I watched the fathers and +mothers of these children. They, too, were broad-shouldered, tall, and +straight, especially the women. Even old women were straight, like the +negroes one sees at the South, walking with burdens on their heads. + +Five days later I saw in Halifax the celebration of the anniversary of the +settlement of the province. The children of the city and of some of the +neighboring towns marched in "bands of hope" and processions, such as we +see in the cities of the States on the Fourth of July. This was just the +opportunity I wanted. It was the same here as in the country. I counted on +that day just eleven sickly-looking children; no more! Such brilliant +cheeks, such merry eyes, such evident strength; it was a scene to kindle +the dullest soul. There were scores of little ones there, whose droll, fat +legs would have drawn a crowd in Central Park; and they all had that same, +quiet, composed, well-balanced expression of countenance of which I spoke +before, and of which it would be hard to find an instance in all Central +Park. + +Climate undoubtedly has something to do with this. The air is moist, and +the mercury rarely rises above 80° or falls below 10°. Also the +comparative quiet of their lives helps to make them so beautiful and +strong. But the most significant fact to my mind is that, until the past +year, there have been in Nova Scotia no public schools, comparatively few +private ones; and in these there is no severe pressure brought to bear on +the pupils. The private schools have been expensive, consequently it has +been very unusual for children to be sent to school before they were +_eight or nine_ years of age; I could not find a person who had ever known +of a child's being sent to school _under seven!_ The school sessions are +on the old plan of six hours per day,--from nine till twelve, and from one +till four; but no learning of lessons out of school has been allowed. +Within the last year a system of free public schools has been introduced, +"and the people are grumbling terribly about it," said my informant. +"Why?" I asked; "because they do not wish to have their children +educated?" "Oh, no," said he; "because they do not like to pay the taxes!" +"Alas!" I thought, "if it were only their silver which would be taxed!" + +I must not be understood to argue from the health of the children of Nova +Scotia, as contrasted with the lack of health among our children, that it +is best to have no public schools; only that it is better to have no +public schools than to have such public schools as are now killing off our +children. + +The registration system of Nova Scotia is as yet imperfectly carried out. +It is almost impossible to obtain exact returns from all parts of so +thinly settled a country. But such statistics as have been already +established give sufficient food for reflection in this connection. In +Massachusetts more than two-fifths of all the children born die before +they are twelve years old. In Nova Scotia the proportion is less than +one-third. In Nova Scotia one out of every fifty-six lives to be over +ninety years of age; and one-twelfth of the entire number of deaths is +between the ages of eighty and ninety. In Massachusetts one person out of +one hundred and nine lives to be over ninety. + +In Massachusetts the mortality from diseases of the brain and nervous +system is eleven per cent. In Nova Scotia it is only eight per cent. + + + + +The Republic of the Family. + + + +"He is lover and friend and son, all in one," said a friend, the other +day, telling me of a dear boy who, out of his first earnings, had just +sent to his mother a beautiful gift, costing much more than he could +really afford for such a purpose. + +That mother is the wisest, sweetest, most triumphant mother I have ever +known. I am restrained by feelings of deepest reverence for her from +speaking, as I might speak, of the rare and tender methods by which her +motherhood has worked, patiently and alone, for nearly twenty years, and +made of her two sons "lovers and friends." I have always felt that she +owed it to the world to impart to other mothers all that she could of her +divine secret; to write out, even in detail, all the processes by which +her boys have grown to be so strong, upright, loving, and manly. + +But one of her first principles has so direct a bearing on the subject +that I wish to speak of here that I venture to attempt an explanation of +it. She has told me that she never once, even in their childish days, took +the ground that she had right to require any thing from them simply +_because_ she was their mother. This is a position very startling to the +average parent. It is exactly counter to traditions. + +"Why must I?" or "Why cannot I?" says the child. "Because I say so, and I +am your father," has been the stern, authoritative reply ever since we can +any of us remember; and, I presume, ever since the Christian era, since +that good Apostle Paul saw enough in the Ephesian families where he +visited to lead him to write to them from Rome, "Fathers, provoke not your +children to wrath." + +It seems to me that there are few questions of practical moment in +every-day living on which a foregone and erroneous conclusion has been +adopted so generally and so undoubtingly. How it first came about it is +hard to see. Or, rather, it is easy to see, when one reflects; and the +very clearness of the surface explanation of it only makes its injustice +more odious. It came about because the parent was strong and the child +weak. Helplessness in the hands of power,--that is the whole story. +Suppose for an instant (and, absurd as the supposition is practically, it +is not logically absurd), that the child at six were strong enough to whip +his father; let him have the intellect of an infant, the mistakes and the +faults of an infant,--which the father would feel himself bound and _would +be_ bound to correct,--but the body of a man; and then see in how +different fashion the father would set himself to work to insure good +behavior. I never see the heavy, impatient hand of a grown man or woman +laid with its brute force, even for the smallest purpose, on a little +child, without longing for a sudden miracle to give the baby an equal +strength to resist. + +When we realize what it is for us to dare, for our own pleasure, even with +solemnest purpose of the holiest of pleasures, parenthood, to bring into +existence a soul, which must take for our sake its chance of joy or +sorrow, how monstrous it seems to assume that the fact that we have done +this thing gives us arbitrary right to control that soul; to set our will, +as will, in place of its will; to be law unto its life; to try to make of +it what it suits our fancy or our convenience to have it; to claim that it +is under obligation to us! + +The truth is, all the obligation, in the outset, is the other way. We owe +all to them. All that we can do to give them happiness, to spare them +pain; all that we can do to make them wise and good and safe,--all is too +little! All and more than all can never repay them for the sweetness, the +blessedness, the development that it has been to us to call children ours. +If we can also so win their love by our loving, so deserve their respect +by our honorableness, so earn their gratitude by our helpfulness, that +they come to be our "lovers and friends," then, ah! then we have had +enough of heaven here to make us willing to postpone the more for which we +hope beyond! + +But all this comes not of authority, not by command; all this is perilled +always, always impaired, and often lost, by authoritative, arbitrary +ruling, substitution of law and penalty for influence. + +It will be objected by parents who disagree with this theory that only +authority can prevent license; that without command there will not be +control. No one has a right to condemn methods he has not tried. I know, +for I have seen, I know, for I have myself tested, that command and +authority are short-lived; that they do not insure the results they aim +at; that real and permanent control of a child's behavior, even in little +things, is gained only by influence, by a slow, sure educating, +enlightening, and strengthening of a child's will. I know, for I have +seen, that it is possible in this way to make a child only ten years old +quite as intelligent and trustworthy a free agent as his mother; to make +him so sensible, so gentle, so considerate that to say "must" or "must +not" to him would be as unnecessary and absurd as to say it to her. + +But, if it be wiser and better to surround even little children with this +atmosphere of freedom, how much more essential is it for those who remain +under the parental roof long after they have ceased to be children! Just +here seems to me to be the fatal rock upon which many households make +utter shipwreck of their peace. Fathers and mothers who have ruled by +authority (let it be as loving as you please, it will still remain an +arbitrary rule) in the beginning, never seem to know when their children +are children no longer, but have become men and women. In any average +family, the position of an unmarried daughter after she is twenty years +old becomes less and less what it should be. In case of sons, the question +is rarely a practical one; in those exceptional instances where invalidism +or some other disability keeps a man helpless for years under his father's +roof, his very helplessness is at once his vindication and his shield, and +also prevents his feeling manly revolt against the position of unnatural +childhood. But in the case of daughters it is very different. Who does not +number in his circle of acquaintance many unmarried women, between the +ages of thirty and forty, perhaps even older, who have practically little +more freedom in the ordering of their own lives than they had when they +were eleven? The mother or the father continues just as much the +autocratic centre of the family now as of the nursery, thirty years +before. Taking into account the chance--no, the certainty--of great +differences between parents and children in matters of temperament and +taste, it is easy to see that great suffering must result from this; +suffering, too, which involves real loss and hindrance to growth. It is +really a monstrous wrong; but it seems to be rarely observed by the world, +and never suspected by those who are most responsible for it. It is +perhaps a question whether the real tyrannies in this life are those that +are accredited as such. There are certainly more than even tyrants know! + +Every father and mother has it within easy reach to become the intimate +friend of the child. Closest, holiest, sweetest of all friendships is this +one, which has the closest, holiest tie of blood to underlie the bond of +soul. We see it in rare cases, proving itself divine by rising above even +the passion of love between man and woman, and carrying men and women +unwedded to their graves for sake of love of mother or father. When we +realize what such friendship is, it seems incredible that parents can +forego it, or can risk losing any shade of its perfectness, for the sake +of any indulgence of the habit of command or of gratifying of selfish +preference. + +In the ideal household of father and mother and adult children, the one +great aim of the parents ought to be to supply, as far as possible to each +child, that freedom and independence which they have missed the +opportunity of securing in homes of their own. The loss of this one thing +alone is a bitterer drop in the loneliness of many an unmarried woman than +parents, especially fathers, are apt even to dream,--food and clothes and +lodgings are so exalted in unthinking estimates. To be without them would +be distressingly inconvenient, no doubt; but one can have luxurious +provision of both and remain very wretched. Even the body itself cannot +thrive if it has no more than these three pottage messes! Freedom to come, +go, speak, work, play,--in short, to be one's self,--is to the body more +than meat and gold, and to the soul the whole of life. + +Just so far as any parent interferes with this freedom of adult children, +even in the little things of a single day or a single hour, just so far it +is tyranny, and the children are wronged. But just so far as parents +help, strengthen, and bestow this freedom on their children, just so far +it is justice and kindness, and their relation is cemented into a supreme +and unalterable friendship, whose blessedness and whose comfort no words +can measure. + + + + +The Ready-to-Halts. + + + +Mr. Ready-to-Halt must have been the most exasperating pilgrim that Great +Heart ever dragged over the road to the Celestial City. Mr. Feeble Mind +was bad enough; but genuine weakness and organic incapacity appeal all the +while to charity and sympathy. If people really cannot walk, they must be +carried. Everybody sees that; and all strong people are, or ought to be, +ready to lift babies and cripples. There are plenty of such in every +parish. The Feeble Minds are unfortunately predisposed to intermarry; and +our schools are overrun with the little Masters and Misses Feeble Mind. +But, heavy as they are (and they are apt to be fat), they are precious and +pleasant friends and neighbors in comparison with the Ready-to-Halts. + +The Ready-to-Halts are never ready for any thing else. They can walk as +well as anybody else, if they only would; but they are never quite sure on +which road they would better go. Great Hearts have to go back, and go +back, to look them up. They are found standing still, helpless and +bewildered, on all sorts of absurd side-paths, which lead nowhere; and +they never will confess, either, that they need help. They always think +they are doing what they call "making up their mind." But, whichever way +they make it, they wish they had made it the other; so they unmake it +directly. And by this time the crisis of the first hour which they lost +has become complicated with that of the second hour, for which they are in +no wise ready; and so the hours stumble on, one after another, and the day +is only a tangle of ineffective cross purposes. Hundreds of such days +drift on, with their sad burden of wasted time. Year after year their +lives fail of growth, of delight, of blessing to others. Opportunity's +great golden doors, which never stay long open for any man, have always +just closed when they reach the threshold of a deed; and it is hard, very +hard, to see why it would not have been better for them if they had never +been born. + +After all, it is not right to be impatient with them; for, in nine cases +out of ten, they are no more responsible for their mental limp than the +poor Chinese woman is for her feeble feet. From their infancy up to what +in our comic caricature of words we call "maturity," they have been +bandaged. How should their muscles be good for any thing? From the day +when we give, and take, and arrange the baby's playthings for him, hour by +hour, without ever setting before him to choose one of two and give up the +other, to the day when we take it upon ourselves to decide whether he +shall be an engineer or a lawyer, we persist in doing for him the work +which he should do for himself. This is because we love him more than we +love our own lives. Oh! if love could but have its eyes opened and see! +If we were not blind, we should know that whenever a child decides for +himself deliberately, and without bias from others, any question, however +small, he has had just so many minutes of mental gymnastics,--just so much +strengthening of the one faculty on whose health and firmness his success +in life will depend more than upon any other thing. + +So many people do not know the difference between obstinacy and +clear-headed firmness of will, that it is hardly safe to say much in +praise or blame of either without expressly stating that you do not mean +the other. They are as unlike as digestion and indigestion, and one would +suppose could not be much more easily confounded; but it is constantly +done. It has not yet ceased to be said among fathers and mothers that it +is necessary to "break the will" of children; and it has not yet ceased to +be seen in the land that men by virtue of simple obstinacy are called men +of strong character. The truth is that the stronger, better-trained will a +man has, the less obstinate he will be. Will is of reason; obstinacy, of +temper. What have they in common? + +For want of strong will kingdoms and souls have been lost. Without it +there is no kingdom for any man,--no, not even in his own soul. It is the +one attribute of all we possess which is most God-like. By it, we say, +under his laws, as he says, enacting those laws, "So far and no further." +It is not enough that we do not "break" this grand power. It should be +strengthened, developed, trained. And, as the good teacher of gymnastics +gives his beginners light weights to lift and swing, so should we bring to +the children small points to decide; to the very little children, very +little points. "Will you have the apple, or the orange? You cannot have +both. Choose; but after you have chosen you cannot change." "Will you have +the horseback ride to-day, or the opera to-morrow night? You can have but +one." + +Every day, many times a day, a child should decide for himself points +involving pros and cons,--substantial ones too. Let him even decide +unwisely, and take the consequences; that too is good for him. No amount +of Blackstone can give such an idea of law as a month of prison. Tell him +as much as you please of what you know on both sides; but compel him to +decide, and also compel him not to be too long about it. "Choose ye this +day whom ye will serve" is a text good for every morning. + +If men and women had in their childhood such training of their wills as +this, we should not see so many putting their hands to the plough and +looking back, and "not fit for the kingdom of heaven." Nor for any kingdom +of earth, either, unless it be for the wicked little kingdom of the Prince +of Monaco, where there are but two things to be done,--gamble, or drown +yourself. + + + + +The Descendants of Nabal. + + + +The line has never been broken, and they have married into respectable +families, right and left, until to-day there can hardly be found a +household which has not at least one to worry it. + +They are not men and women of great passionate natures, who flame out now +and then in an outbreak like a volcano, from which everybody runs. This, +though terrible while it lasts, is soon over, and there are great +compensations in such souls. Their love is worth having. Their tenderness +is great. One can forgive them "seventy times seven," for the hasty words +and actions of which they repent immediately with tears. + +But the Nabals are sullen; they are grumblers; they are never done. Such +sons of Belial are they to this day that no man can speak peaceably unto +them. They are as much worse than passionate people as a slow drizzle of +rain is than a thunder-storm. For the thunder-storm, you stay in-doors, +and you cannot help having pleasure in its sharp lights and darks and +echoes; and when it is over, what clear air, what a rainbow! But in the +drizzle, you go out; you think that with a waterproof, an umbrella, and +overshoes, you can manage to get about in spite of it, and attend to your +business. What a state you come home in,--muddy, limp, chilled, +disheartened! The house greets you, looking also muddy and cold,--for the +best of front halls gives up in despair and cannot look any thing but +forlorn in a long, drizzling rain; all the windows are bleared with +trickling, foggy wet on the outside, which there is no wiping off nor +seeing through, and if one could see through there is no gain. The street +is more gloomy than the house; black, slimy mud, inches deep on crossings; +the same black, slimy mud in footprints on side-walks; hopeless-looking +people hurrying by, so unhappy by reason of the drizzle that a weird sort +of family likeness is to be seen in all their faces. This is all that can +be seen outside. It is better not to look. For the inside is no redemption +except a wood-fire,--a good, generous wood-fire,--not in any of the modern +compromises called open stoves, but on a broad stone hearth, with a big +background of chimney, up which the sparks can go skipping and creeping. + +This can redeem a drizzle; but this cannot redeem a grumbler. Plump he +sits down in the warmth of its very blaze, and complains that it snaps, +perhaps, or that it is oak and maple, when he paid for all hickory. You +can trust him to put out your wood-fire for you as effectually as a +water-spout. And, if even a wood-fire, bless it! cannot outshine the gloom +of his presence, what is to happen in the places where there is no +wood-fire, on the days when real miseries, big and little, are on hand, to +be made into mountains of torture by his grumbling? Oh, who can describe +him? There is no language which can do justice to him; no supernatural +foresight which can predict where his next thrust will fall, from what +unsuspected corner he will send his next arrow. Like death, he has all +seasons for his own; his ingenuity is infernal. Whoever tries to forestall +or appease him might better be at work in Augean stables; because, after +all, we must admit that the facts of life are on his side. It is not +intended that we shall be very comfortable. There is a terrible amount of +total depravity in animate and inanimate things. From morning till night +there is not an hour without its cross to carry. The weather thwarts us; +servants, landlords, drivers, washerwomen, and bosom friends misbehave; +clothes don't fit; teeth ache; stomachs get out of order; newspapers are +stupid; and children make too much noise. If there are not big troubles, +there are little ones. If they are not in sight, they are hiding. I have +wondered whether the happiest mortal could point to one single moment and +say, "At that moment there was nothing in my life which I would have had +changed." I think not. + +In argument, therefore, the grumbler has the best of it. It is more than +probable that things are as he says. But why say it? Why make four +miseries out of three? If the three be already unbearable, so much the +worse. If he is uncomfortable, it is a pity; we are sorry, but we cannot +change the course of Nature. We shall soon have our own little turn of +torments, and we do not want to be worn out before it comes by having +listened to his; probably, too, the very things of which he complains are +pressing just as heavily on us as on him,--are just as unpleasant to +everybody as to him. Suppose everybody did as he does. Imagine, for +instance, a chorus of grumble from ten people at a breakfast-table, all +saying at once, or immediately after each other, "This coffee is not fit +to drink." "Really, the attendance in this house is insufferably poor." I +have sometimes wished to try this homoeopathic treatment in a bad case of +grumble. It sounds as if it might work a cure. + +If you lose your temper with the grumbler, and turn upon him suddenly, +saying, "Oh, do not spoil all our pleasure. Do make the best of things: +or, at least, keep quiet!" then how aggrieved he is! how unjust he thinks +you are to "make a personal matter of it"! "You do not, surely, suppose I +think you are responsible for it, do you?" he says, with a lofty air of +astonishment at your unreasonable sensitiveness. Of course, we do not +suppose he thinks we are to blame; we do not take him to be a fool as well +as a grumbler. But he speaks to us, at us, before us, about the cause of +his discomfort, whatever it may be, precisely as he would if we were to +blame; and that is one thing which makes his grumbling so insufferable. +But this he can never be made to see. And the worst of it is that +grumbling is contagious. If we live with him, we shall, sooner or later, +in spite of our dislike of his ways, fall into them; even sinking so low, +perhaps, before the end of a single summer, as to be heard complaining of +butter at boarding-house tables, which is the lowest deep of vulgarity of +grumbling. There is no help for this; I have seen it again and again. I +have caught it myself. One grumbler in a family is as pestilent a thing as +a diseased animal in a herd: if he be not shut up or killed, the herd is +lost. + +But the grumbler cannot be shut up or killed, since grumbling is not held +to be a proof of insanity, nor a capital offence,--more's the pity. + +What, then, is to be done? Keep out of his way, at all costs, if he be +grown up. If it be a child, labor day and night, as you would with a +tendency to paralysis, or distortion of limb, to prevent this blight on +its life. + +It sounds extreme to say that a child should never be allowed to express a +dislike of any thing which cannot be helped; but I think it is true. I do +not mean that it should be positively forbidden or punished, but that it +should never pass unnoticed; his attention should be invariably called to +its uselessness, and to the annoyance it gives to other people. Children +begin by being good-natured little grumblers at every thing which goes +wrong, simply from the outspokenness of their natures. All they think they +say and act. The rudiments of good behavior have to be chiefly negative at +the outset, like Punch's advice to those about to marry,--"Don't." + +The race of grumblers would soon die out if all children were so trained +that never, between the ages of five and twelve, did they utter a needless +complaint without being gently reminded that it was foolish and +disagreeable. How easy for a good-natured and watchful mother to do this! +It takes but a word. + +"Oh, dear! I wish it had not rained to-day. It is too bad!" + +"You do not really mean what you say, my darling. It is of much more +consequence that the grass should grow than that you should go out to +play. And it is so silly to complain, when we cannot stop its raining." + +"Mamma, I hate this pie." + +"Oh! hush, dear! Don't say so, if you do. You can leave it. You need not +eat it. But think how disagreeable it sounds to hear you say such a +thing." + +"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I am too cold." + +"Yes, dear, I know you are. So is mamma. But we shall not feel any warmer +for saying so. We must wait till the fire burns better; and the time will +seem twice as long if we grumble." + +"Oh, mamma! mamma! My steam-engine is all spoiled. It won't run. I hate +things that wind up!" + +"But, my dear little boy, don't grumble so! What would you think if mamma +were to say, 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! My little boy's stockings are full of +holes. How I hate to mend stockings!' and, 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! My little +boy has upset my work-box! I hate little boys'?" + +How they look steadily into your eyes for a minute,--the honest, +reasonable little souls!--when you say such things to them; and then run +off with a laugh, lifted up, for that time, by your fitly spoken words of +help. + +Oh! if the world could only stop long enough for one generation of +mothers to be made all right, what a millennium could be begun in thirty +years! + +"But, mamma, you are grumbling yourself at me because I grumbled!" says a +quick-witted darling not ten years old. Ah! never shall any weak spot in +our armor escape the keen eyes of these little ones. + +"Yes, dear! And I shall grumble at you till I cure you of grumbling. +Grumblers are the only thing in this world that it is right to grumble +at." + + + + +"Boys Not Allowed." + + + +It was a conspicuous signboard, at least four feet long, with large black +letters on a white ground: "Boys not allowed." I looked at it for some +moments in a sort of bewildered surprise: I did not quite comprehend the +meaning of the words. At last I understood it. I was waiting in a large +railway station, where many trains connect; and most of the passengers +from the train in which I was were eating dinner in a hotel near by. I was +entirely alone in the car, with the exception of one boy, who was perhaps +eleven years old. I made an involuntary ejaculation as I read the words on +the sign, and the boy looked around at me. + +"Little boy," said I, solemnly, "do you see that sign?" + +He turned his head, and, reading the ominous warning, nodded sullenly, but +said nothing. + +"Boy, what does it mean?" said I. "Boys must be allowed to come into this +railway station. There are two now standing in the doorway directly under +the sign." + +The latent sympathy in my tone touched his heart. He left his seat, and, +coming to mine, edged in past me; and, putting his head out of the window, +read the sentence aloud in a contemptuous tone. Then he offered me a +peanut, which I took; and he proceeded to tell me what he thought of the +sign. + +"Boys not allowed!" said he. "That's just the way 'tis everywhere; but I +never saw the sign up before. It don't make any difference, though, +whether they put the sign up or not. Why, in New York (you live in New +York, don't you?) they won't even stop the horse-cars for a boy to get on. +Nobody thinks any thing'll hurt a boy; but they're glad enough to 'allow' +us when there's any errands to be done, and"-- + +"Do you live in New York?" interrupted I; for I did not wish to hear the +poor little fellow's list of miseries, which I knew by heart beforehand +without his telling me, having been hopeless knight-errant of oppressed +boyhood all my life. + +Yes, he "lived in New York," and he "went to a grammar school," and he had +"two sisters." And so we talked on in that sweet, ready, trustful talk +which comes naturally only from children's lips, until the "twenty minutes +for refreshments" were over, and the choked and crammed passengers, who +had eaten big dinners in that breath of time, came hurrying back to their +seats. Among them came the father and mother of my little friend. In angry +surprise at not finding him in the seat where they left him, they +exclaimed,-- + +"Now, where _is_ that boy? Just like him! We might have lost every one of +these bags." + +"Here I am, mamma," he called out, pleasantly. "I could see the bags all +the time. Nobody came into the car." + +"I told you not to leave the seat, sir. What do you mean by such conduct?" +said the father. + +"Oh, no, papa," said poor Boy, "you only told me to take care of the +bags." And an anxious look of terror came into his face, which told only +too well under how severe a _régime_ he lived. I interposed hastily with-- + +"I am afraid I am the cause of your little son's leaving his seat. He had +sat very still till I spoke to him; and I believe I ought to take all the +blame." + +The parents were evidently uncultured, shallow people. Their irritation +with him was merely a surface vexation, which had no real foundation in a +deep principle. They became complaisant and smiling at my first word, and +Boy escaped with a look of great relief to another seat, where they gave +him a simple luncheon of saleratus gingerbread. "Boys not allowed" to go +in to dinner at the Massasoit, thought I to myself; and upon that text I +sat sadly meditating all the way from Springfield to Boston. + +How true it was, as the little fellow had said, that "it don't make any +difference whether they put the sign up or not!" No one can watch +carefully any average household where there are boys, and not see that +there are a thousand little ways in which the boys' comfort, freedom, +preference will be disregarded, when the girls' will be considered. This +is partly intentional, partly unconscious. Something is to be said +undoubtedly on the advantage of making the boy realize early and keenly +that manhood is to bear and to work, and womanhood is to be helped and +sheltered. But this should be inculcated, not inflicted; asked, not +seized; shown and explained, not commanded. Nothing can be surer than the +growth in a boy of tender, chivalrous regard for his sisters and for all +women, if the seeds of it be rightly sown and gently nurtured. But the +common method is quite other than this. It begins too harshly and at once +with assertion or assumption. + +"Mother never thinks I am of any consequence," said a dear boy to me, the +other day. "She's all for the girls." + +This was not true; but there was truth in it. And I am very sure that the +selfishness, the lack of real courtesy, which we see so plainly and +pitiably in the behavior of the average young man to-day is the slow, +certain result of years of just such feelings as this child expressed. The +boy has to scramble for his rights. Naturally he is too busy to think much +about the rights of others. The man keeps up the habit, and is negatively +selfish without knowing it. + +Take, for instance, the one point of the minor courtesies (if we can dare +to call any courtesies minor) of daily intercourse. How many people are +there who habitually speak to a boy of ten, twelve, or fourteen with the +same civility as to his sister, a little younger or older? + +"I like Miss----," said this same dear boy to me, one day; "for she +always bids me good-morning." + +Ah! never is one such word thrown away on a loving, open-hearted boy. Men +know that safe through all the wear and tear of life they keep far greener +the memory of some woman or some man who was kind to them in their boyhood +than of the friend who helped or cheered them yesterday. + +Dear, blessed, noisy, rollicking, tormenting, comforting Boy! What should +we do without him? How much we like, without suspecting it, his breezy +presence in the house! Except for him, how would errands be done, chairs +brought, nails driven, cows stoned out of our way, letters carried, twine +and knives kept ready, lost things found, luncheon carried to picnics, +three-year-olds that cry led out of meeting, butterflies and birds' nests +and birch-bark got, the horse taken round to the stable, borrowed things +sent home,--and all with no charge for time? + +Dear, patient, busy Boy! Shall we not sometimes answer his questions? Give +him a comfortable seat? Wait and not reprove him till after the company +has gone? Let him wear his best jacket, and buy him half as many neckties +as his sister has? Give him some honey, even if there is not enough to go +round? Listen tolerantly to his little bragging, and help him "do" his +sums? + +With a sudden shrill scream the engine slipped off on a side-track, and +the cars glided into the great, grim city-station, looking all the grimmer +for its twinkling lights. The masses of people who were waiting and the +masses of people who had come surged toward each other like two great +waves, and mingled in a moment. I caught sight of my poor little friend, +Boy, following his father, struggling along in the crowd, carrying two +heavy carpet-bags, a strapped bundle, and two umbrellas, and being sharply +told to "Keep up close there." + +"Ha!" said I, savagely, to myself, "doing porters' work is not one of the +things which 'boys' are 'not allowed.'" + + + + +Half an Hour in a Railway Station. + + + +It was one of those bleak and rainy days which mark the coming of spring +on New England sea-shores. The rain felt and looked as if it might at any +minute become hail or snow; the air pricked like needles when it blew +against flesh. Yet the huge railway station was as full of people as ever. +One could see no difference between this dreariest of days and the +sunniest, so far as the crowd was concerned, except that fewer of the +people wore fine clothes; perhaps, also, that their faces looked a little +more sombre and weary than usual. + +There is no place in the world where human nature shows to such sad +disadvantage as in waiting-rooms at railway stations, especially in the +"Ladies' Room." In the "Gentlemen's Room" there is less of that ghastly, +apathetic silence which seems only explainable as an interval between two +terrible catastrophes. Shall we go so far as to confess that even the +unsightly spittoons, and the uncleanly and loquacious fellowship resulting +from their common use, seem here, for the moment, redeemed from a little +of their abominableness,--simply because almost any action is better than +utter inaction, and any thing which makes the joyless, taciturn American +speak to his fellow whom he does not know, is for the time being a +blessing. But in the "Ladies' Room" there is not even a community of +interest in a single bad habit, to break the monotone of weary stillness. +Who has not felt the very soul writhe within her as she has first crossed +the threshold of one of these dismal antechambers of journey? Carpetless, +dingy, dusty; two or three low sarcophagi of greenish-gray iron in open +spaces, surrounded by blue-lipped women, in different angles and attitudes +of awkwardness, trying to keep the soles of their feet in a perpendicular +position, to be warmed at what they have been led to believe is a +steam-heating apparatus; a few more women, equally listless and +weary-looking, standing in equally difficult and awkward positions before +a counter, holding pie in one hand, and tea in a cup and saucer in the +other, taking alternate mouthfuls of each, and spilling both; the rest +wedged bolt upright against the wall in narrow partitioned seats, which +only need a length of perforated foot-board in front to make them fit to +be patented as the best method of putting whole communities of citizens +into the stocks at once. All, feet warmers, pie-eaters, and those who sit +in the red-velvet stocks, wear so exactly the same expression of vacuity +and fatigue that they might almost be taken for one gigantic and unhappy +family connection, on its way to what is called in newspapers "a sad +event." The only wonder is that this stiffened, desiccated crowd retains +vitality enough to remember the hours at which its several trains depart, +and to rise up and shake itself alive and go on board. One is haunted +sometimes by the fancy that some day, when the air in the room is +unusually bad and the trains are delayed, a curious phenomenon will be +seen. The petrifaction will be carried a little farther than usual, and, +when the bell rings and the official calls out, "Train made up for Babel, +Hinnom, and way stations?" no women will come forth from the "Ladies' +Room," no eye will move, no muscle will stir. Husbands and brothers will +wait and search vainly for those who should have met them at the station, +with bundles of the day's shopping to be carried out; homes will be +desolate; and the history of rare fossils and petrifactions will have a +novel addition. Or, again, that, if some sudden convulsion of Nature, like +those which before now have buried wicked cities and the dwellers in them, +were to-day to swallow up the great city of New Sodom in America, and keep +it under ground for a few thousand years, nothing in all its circuit would +so puzzle the learned archaeologists of A.D. 5873 as the position of the +skeletons in these same waiting-rooms of railway stations. + +Thinking such thoughts as these, sinking slowly and surely to the level of +the place, I waited, on this bleak, rainy day, in just such a "Ladies' +Room" as I have described. I sat in the red-velvet stocks, with my eyes +fixed on the floor. + +"Please, ma'am, won't you buy a basket?" said a cheery little voice. So +near me, without my knowing it, had the little tradesman come that I was +as startled as if the voice had spoken out of the air just above my head. + +He was a sturdy little fellow, ten years old, Irish, dirty, ragged; but he +had honest, kind gray eyes, and a smile which ought to have sold more +baskets than he could carry. A few kind words unsealed the fountain of his +childish confidences. There were four children younger than he; the mother +took in washing, and the father, who was a cripple from rheumatism, made +these baskets, which he carried about to sell. + +"Where do you sell the most?" + +"Round the depots. That's the best place." + +"But the baskets are rather clumsy to carry. Almost everybody has his +hands full, when he sets out on a journey." + +"Yis'm; but mostly they doesn't take the baskets. But they gives me a +little change," said he, with a smile; half roguish, half sad. + +I watched him on in his pathetic pilgrimage round that dreary room, +seeking help from that dreary circle of women. + +My heart aches to write down here the true record that out of those scores +of women only three even smiled or spoke to the little fellow. Only one +gave him money. My own sympathies had been so won by his face and manner +that I found myself growing hot with resentment as I watched woman after +woman wave him off with indifferent or impatient gesture. His face was a +face which no mother ought to have been able to see without a thrill of +pity and affection. God forgive me! As if any mother ought to be able to +see any child, ragged, dirty, poor, seeking help and finding none! But his +face was so honest, and brave, and responsive that it added much to the +appeal of his poverty. + +One woman, young and pretty, came into the room, bringing in her arms a +large toy horse, and a little violin. "Oh," I said to myself, "she has a +boy of her own, for whom she can buy gifts freely. She will surely give +this poor child a penny." He thought so, too; for he went toward her with +a more confident manner than he had shown to some of the others. No! She +brushed by him impatiently, without a word, and walked to the +ticket-office. He stood looking at the violin and the toy horse till she +came back to her seat. Then he lifted his eyes to her face again; but she +apparently did not see him, and he went away. Ah, she is only half mother +who does not see her own child in every child!--her own child's grief in +every pain which makes another child weep! + +Presently the little basket-boy went out into the great hall. I watched +him threading his way in and out among the groups of men. I saw one +man--bless him!--pat the little fellow on the head; then I lost sight of +him. + +After ten minutes he came back into the Ladies' Room, with only one basket +in his hand, and a very happy little face. The "sterner sex" had been +kinder to him than we. The smile which he gave me in answer to my glad +recognition of his good luck was the sunniest sunbeam I have seen on a +human face for many a day. He sank down into the red-velvet stocks, and +twirled his remaining basket, and swung his shabby little feet, as idle +and unconcerned as if he were some rich man's son, waiting for the train +to take him home. So much does a little lift help the heart of a child, +even of a beggar child. It is a comfort to remember him, with that look on +his face, instead of the wistful, pleading one which I saw at first. I +left him lying back on the dusty velvet, which no doubt seemed to him +unquestionable splendor. In the cars I sat just behind the woman with the +toy-horse and the violin. I saw her glance rest lovingly on them many +times, as she thought of her boy at home; and I wondered if the little +basket-seller had really produced no impression whatever on her heart. I +shall remember him long after (if he lives) he is a man! + + + + +A Genius For Affection. + + +The other day, speaking superficially and uncharitably, I said of a woman, +whom I knew but slightly, "She disappoints me utterly. How could her +husband have married her? She is commonplace and stupid." + +"Yes," said my friend, reflectively; "it is strange. She is not a +brilliant woman; she is not even an intellectual one; but there is such a +thing as a genius for affection, and she has it. It has been good for her +husband that he married her." + +The words sank into my heart like a great spiritual plummet They dropped +down to depths not often stirred. And from those depths came up some +shining sands of truth, worth keeping among treasures; having a +phosphorescent light in them, which can shine in dark places, and, making +them light as day, reveal their beauty. + +"A genius for affection." Yes; there is such a thing, and no other genius +is so great. The phrase means something more than a capacity, or even a +talent for loving. That is common to all human beings, more or less. A man +or woman without it would be a monster, such as has probably never been on +the earth. All men and women, whatever be their shortcomings in other +directions, have this impulse, this faculty, in a degree. It takes shape +in family ties: makes clumsy and unfortunate work of them in perhaps two +cases out of three,--wives tormenting husbands, husbands neglecting and +humiliating wives, parents maltreating and ruining children, children +disobeying and grieving parents, and brothers and sisters quarrelling to +the point of proverbial mention; but under all this, in spite of all this, +the love is there. A great trouble or a sudden emergency will bring it +out. In any common danger, hands clasp closely and quarrels are forgotten; +over a sick-bed hard ways soften into yearning tenderness; and by a grave, +alas! what hot tears fall! The poor, imperfect love which had let itself +be wearied and harassed by the frictions of life, or hindered and warped +by a body full of diseased nerves, comes running, too late, with its +effort to make up lost opportunities. It has been all the while alive, but +in a sort of trance; little good has come of it, but it is something that +it was there. It is the divine germ of a flower and fruit too precious to +mature in the first years after grafting; in other soils, by other waters, +when the healing of the nations is fulfilled, we shall see its perfection. +Oh! what atonement will be there! What allowances we shall make for each +other, then! with what love we shall love! + +But the souls who have what my friend meant by a "genius for affection" +are in another atmosphere than that which common men breathe. Their "upper +air" is clearer, more rarefied than any to which mere intellectual genius +can soar. Because, to this last, always remain higher heights which it +cannot grasp, see, nor comprehend. + +Michel Angelo may build his dome of marble, and human intellect may see as +clearly as if God had said it that no other dome can ever be built so +grand, so beautiful. But above St. Peter's hangs the blue tent-dome of the +sky, vaster, rounder, elastic, unfathomable, making St. Peter's look small +as a drinking-cup, shutting it soon out of sight to north, east, south, +and west, by the mysterious horizon-fold which no man can lift. And beyond +this horizon-fold of our sky shut down again other domes, which the wisest +astronomer may not measure, in whose distances our little ball and we, +with all our spinning, can hardly show like a star. If St. Peter's were +swallowed up to-morrow, it would make no real odds to anybody but the +Pope. The probabilities are that Michel Angelo himself has forgotten all +about it. + +Titian and Raphael, and all the great brotherhood of painters, may kneel +reverently as priests before Nature's face, and paint pictures at sight of +which all men's eyes shall fill with grateful tears; and yet all men shall +go away, and find that the green shade of a tree, the light on a young +girl's face, the sleep of a child, the flowering of a flower, are to their +pictures as living life to beautiful death. + +Coming to Art's two highest spheres,--music of sound and music of +speech,--we find that Beethoven and Mozart, and Milton and Shakespeare, +have written. But the symphony is sacred only because, and only so far as, +it renders the joy or the sorrow which we have felt. Surely, the +interpretation is less than the thing interpreted. Face to face with a +joy, a sorrow, would a symphony avail us? And, as for words, who shall +express their feebleness in midst of strength? The fettered helplessness +in spite of which they soar to such heights? The most perfect sentence +ever written bears to the thing it meant to say the relation which the +chemist's formula does to the thing he handles, names, analyzes, can +destroy, perhaps, but cannot make. Every element in the crystal, the +liquid, can be weighed, assigned, and rightly called; nothing in all +science is more wonderful than an exact chemical formula; but, after all +is done, will remain for ever unknown the one subtle secret, the vital +centre of the whole. + +But the souls who have a "genius for affection" have no outer dome, no +higher and more vital beauty; no subtle secret of creative motive force to +elude their grasp, mock their endeavor, overshadow their lives. The +subtlest essence of the thing they worship and desire, they have in their +own nature,--they are. No schools, no standards, no laws can help or +hinder them. + +To them the world is as if it were not. Work and pain and loss are as if +they were not. These are they to whom it is easy to die any death, if good +can come that way to one they love. These are they who do die daily +unnoted on our right hand and on our left,--fathers and mothers for +children, husbands and wives for each other. These are they, also, who +live,--which is often far harder than it is to die,--long lives, into +whose being never enters one thought of self from the rising to the going +down of the sun. Year builds on year with unvarying steadfastness the +divine temple of their beauty and their sacrifice. They create, like God. +The universe which science sees, studies, and explains, is small, is +petty, beside the one which grows under their spiritual touch; for love +begets love. The waves of eternity itself ripple out in immortal circles +under the ceaseless dropping of their crystal deeds. + +Angels desire to look, but cannot, into the mystery of holiness and beauty +which such human lives reveal. Only God can see them clearly. God is their +nearest of kin; for He is love. + + + + +Rainy Days. + + +With what subtle and assured tyranny they take possession of the world! +Stoutest hearts are made subject, plans of conquerors set aside,--the +heavens and the earth and man,--all alike at the mercy of the rain. Come +when they may, wait long as they will, give what warnings they can, rainy +days are always interruptions. No human being has planned for them then +and there. "If it had been but yesterday," "If it were only to-morrow," is +the cry from all lips. Ah! a lucky tyranny for us is theirs. Were the +clouds subject to mortal call or prohibition, the seasons would fail and +death get upper hand of all things before men agreed on an hour of common +convenience. + +What tests they are of people's souls! Show me a dozen men and women in +the early morning of a rainy day, and I will tell by their words and their +faces who among them is rich and who is poor,--who has much goods laid up +for just such times of want, and who has been spend-thrift and foolish. +That curious, shrewd, underlying instinct, common to all ages, which takes +shape in proverbs recognized this long ago. Who knows when it was first +said of a man laying up money, "He lays by for a rainy day"? How close +the parallel is between the man who, having spent on each day's living the +whole of each day's income, finds himself helpless in an emergency of +sickness whose expenses he has no money to meet, and the man who, having +no intellectual resources, no self-reliant habit of occupation, finds +himself shut up in the house idle and wretched for a rainy day. I confess +that on rainy mornings in country houses, among well-dressed and so-called +intelligent and Christian people, I have been seized with stronger +disgusts and despairs about the capacity and worth of the average human +creature, than I have ever felt in the worst haunts of ignorant +wickedness. + +"What is there to do to-day?" is the question they ask. I know they are +about to ask it before they speak. I have seen it in their listless and +disconcerted eyes at breakfast. It is worse to me than the tolling of a +bell; for saddest dead of all are they who have only a "name to live." + +The truth is, there is more to do on a rainy day than on any other. In +addition to all the sweet, needful, possible business of living and +working, and learning and helping, which is for all days, there is the +beauty of the rainy day to see, the music of the rainy day to hear. It +drums on the window-panes, chuckles and gurgles at corners of houses, +tinkles in spouts, makes mysterious crescendoes and arpeggio chords +through the air; and all the while drops from the eaves and upper +window-ledges are beating time as rhythmical and measured as that of a +metronome,--time to which our own souls furnish tune, sweet or sorrowful, +inspiriting or saddening, as we will. It is a curious experiment to try +repeating or chanting lines in time and cadence following the patter of +raindrops on windows. It will sometimes be startling in its effect: no +metre, no accent fails of its response in the low, liquid stroke of the +tender drops,--there seems an uncanny _rapport_ between them at once. + +And the beauty of the rain, not even love can find words to tell it. If it +left but one trace, the exquisite shifting sheen of pearls on the outer +side of the window glass, that alone one might watch for a day. In all +times it has been thought worthy of kings, of them who are royally rich, +to have garments sown thick in dainty lines and shapes with fine seed +pearls. Who ever saw any such embroidery which could compare with the +beauty of one pane of glass wrought on a single side with the shining +white transparent globulets of rain? They are millions; they crowd; they +blend; they become a silver stream; they glide slowly down, leaving +tiniest silver threads behind; they make of themselves a silver bank of +miniature sea at the bottom of the pane; and, while they do this, other +millions are set pearl-wise at the top, to crowd, blend, glide down in +their turn, and overflow the miniature sea. This is one pane, a few inches +square; and rooms have many windows of many panes. And looking past this +spectacle, out of our windows, how is it that we do not each rainy day +weep with pleasure at sight of the glistening show? Every green thing, +from tiniest grass-blade lying lowest, to highest waving tips of elms, +also set thick with the water-pearls; all tossing and catching, and +tossing and catching, in fairy game with the wind, and with the rain +itself, always losing, always gaining, changing shape and place and number +every moment, till the twinkling and shifting dazzle all eyes. + +Then at the end comes the sun, like a magician for whom all had been made +ready; at sunset, perhaps, or at sunrise, if the storm has lasted all +night. In one instant the silver balls begin to disappear. By countless +thousands at a time he tosses them back whence they came; but as they go, +he changes them, under our eyes, into prismatic globes, holding very light +of very light in their tiny circles, shredding and sorting it into blazing +lines of rainbow color. + +All the little children shout with delight, seeing these things; and call +dull, grown-up people to behold. They reply, "Yes, the storm is over;" and +this is all it means to most of them. This kingdom of heaven they cannot +enter, not being "as a little child." + +It would be worth while to know, if we only could, just what our +betters--the birds and insects and beasts--do on rainy days. But we cannot +find out much. It would be a great thing to look inside of an ant-hill in +a long rain. All we know is that the doors are shut tight, and a few +sentinels, who look as if India-rubber coats would be welcome, stand +outside. The stillness and look of intermission in the woods on a really +rainy day is something worth getting wet to observe. It is like Sunday in +London, or Fourth of July in a country town which has gone bodily to a +picnic in the next village. The strays who are out seem like accidentally +arrived people, who have lost their way. One cannot fancy a caterpillar's +being otherwise than very uncomfortable in wet hair; and what can there be +for butterflies and dragon-flies to do, in the close corners into which +they creep, with wings shut up as tight as an umbrella? The beasts fare +better, being clothed in hides. Those whom we oftenest see out in rains +(cows and oxen and horses) keep straight on with their perpetual munching, +as content wet as dry, though occasionally we see them accept the partial +shelter of a tree from a particularly hard shower. + +Hens are the forlornest of all created animals when it rains. Who can help +laughing at sight of a flock of them huddled up under lee of a barn, limp, +draggled, spiritless, shifting from one leg to the other, with their silly +heads hanging inert to right or left, looking as if they would die for +want of a yawn? One sees just such groups of other two-legged creatures in +parlors, under similar circumstances. The truth is, a hen's life at best +seems poorer than that of any other known animal. Except when she is +setting, I cannot help having a contempt for her. This also has been +recognized by that common instinct of people which goes to the making of +proverbs; for "Hen's time ain't worth much" is a common saying among +farmers' wives. How she dawdles about all day, with her eyes not an inch +from the ground, forever scratching and feeding in dirtiest places,--a +sort of animated muck-rake, with a mouth and an alimentary canal! No +wonder such an inane creature is wretched when it rains, and her soulless +business is interrupted. She is, I think, likest of all to the human +beings, men or women, who do not know what to do with themselves on rainy +days. + + + + +Friends of the Prisoners. + + + +In many of the Paris prisons is to be seen a long, dreary room, through +the middle of which are built two high walls of iron grating, enclosing a +space of some three feet in width. + +A stranger visiting the prison for the first time would find it hard to +divine for what purpose these walls of grating had been built. But on the +appointed days when the friends of the prisoners are allowed to enter the +prison, their use is sadly evident. It would not be safe to permit wives +and husbands, and mothers and sons, to clasp hands in unrestrained +freedom. A tiny file, a skein of silk, can open prison-doors and set +captives free; love's ingenuity will circumvent tyranny and fetters, in +spite of all possible precautions. Therefore the vigilant authority says, +"You may see, but not touch; there shall be no possible opportunity for an +instrument of escape to be given; at more than arm's length the wife, the +mother must be held." The prisoners are led in and seated on a bench upon +one side of these gratings; the friends are led in and seated on a similar +bench on the other side; jailers are in attendance in both rooms; no words +can be spoken which the jailers do not hear. Yearningly eyes meet eyes; +faces are pressed against the hard wires; loving words are exchanged; the +poor prisoned souls ask eagerly for news from the outer world,--the world +from which they are as much hidden as if they were dead. Fathers hear how +the little ones have grown; sometimes, alas! how the little ones have +died. Small gifts of fruit or clothing are brought; but must be given +first into the hands of the jailers. Even flowers cannot be given from +loving hand to hand; for in the tiniest flower might be hidden the secret +poison which would give to the weary prisoner surest escape of all. All +day comes and goes the sad train of friends; lingering and turning back +after there is no more to be said; weeping when they meant and tried to +smile; more hungry for closer sight and voice, and for touch, with every +moment that they gaze through the bars; and going away, at last, with a +new sense of loss and separation, which time, with its merciful healing, +will hardly soften before the visiting-day will come again, and the same +heart-rending experience of mingled torture and joy will again be borne. +But to the prisoners these glimpses of friends' faces are like manna from +heaven. Their whole life, physical and mental, receives a new impetus from +them. Their blood flows more quickly, their eyes light up, they live from +one day to the next on a memory and a hope. No punishment can be invented +so terrible as the deprivation of the sight of their friends on the +visiting-day. Men who are obstinate and immovable before any sort or +amount of physical torture are subdued by mere threat of this. + +A friend who told me of a visit he paid to the Prison Mazas, on one of the +days, said, with tears in his eyes, "It was almost more than I could bear +to see these poor souls reaching out toward each other from either side of +the iron railings. Here a poor, old woman, tottering and weak, bringing a +little fruit in a basket for her son; here a wife, holding up a baby to +look through the gratings at its father, and the father trying in an agony +of earnestness to be sure that the baby knew him; here a little girl, +looking half reproachfully at her brother, terror struggling with +tenderness in her young face; on the side of the friends, love and +yearning and pity beyond all words to describe; on the side of the +prisoners, love and yearning just as great, but with a misery of shame +added, which gave to many faces a look of attempt at dogged indifference +on the surface, constantly betrayed and contradicted, however, by the +flashing of the eyes and the red of the cheeks." + +The story so impressed me that I could not for days lose sight of the +picture it raised; the double walls of iron grating; the cruel, +inexorable, empty space between them,--empty, yet crowded with words and +looks; the lines of anxious, yearning faces on either side. But presently +I said to myself, It is, after all, not so unlike the life we all live. +Who of us is not in prison? Who of us is not living out his time of +punishment? Law holds us all in its merciless fulfilment of penalty for +sin; disease, danger, work separate us, wall us, bury us. That we are not +numbered with the number of a cell, clothed in the uniform of a prison, +locked up at night, and counted in the morning, is only an apparent +difference, and not so real a one. Our jailers do not know us; but we know +them. There is no fixed day gleaming for us in the future when our term of +sentence will expire and we shall regain freedom. It may be to-morrow; but +it may be threescore years away. Meantime, we bear ourselves as if we were +not in prison. We profess that we choose, we keep our fetters out of +sight, we smile, we sing, we contrive to be glad of being alive, and we +take great interest in the changing of our jails. But no man knows where +his neighbor's prison lies. How bravely and cheerily most eyes look up! +This is one of the sweetest mercies of life, that "the heart knoweth its +own bitterness," and, knowing it, can hide it. Hence, we can all be +friends for other prisoners, standing separated from them by the +impassable iron gratings and the fixed gulf of space, which are not +inappropriate emblems of the unseen barriers between all human souls. We +can show kindly faces, speak kindly words, bear to them fruits and food, +and moral help, greater than fruit or food. We need not aim at +philanthropies; we need not have a visiting-day, nor seek a prison-house +built of stone. On every road each man we meet is a prisoner; he is dying +at heart, however sound he looks; he is only waiting, however well he +works. If we stop to ask whether he be our brother, he is gone. Our one +smile would have lit up his prison-day. Alas for us if we smiled not as we +passed by! Alas for us if, face to face, at last, with our Elder Brother, +we find ourselves saying, "Lord, when saw we thee sick and in prison!" + + + + +A Companion for the Winter. + + + +I have engaged a companion for the winter. It would be simply a +superfluous egotism to say this to the public, except that I have a +philanthropic motive for doing so. There are many lonely people who are in +need of a companion possessing just such qualities as his; and he has +brothers singularly like himself, whose services can be secured. I despair +of doing justice to him by any description. In fact, thus far, I discover +new perfections in him daily, and believe that I am yet only on the +threshold of our friendship. + +In conversation he is more suggestive than any person I have ever known. +After two or three hours alone with him, I am sometimes almost startled to +look back and see through what a marvellous train of fancy and reflection +he has led me. Yet he is never wordy, and often conveys his subtlest +meaning by a look. + +He is an artist, too, of the rarest sort. You watch the process under +which his pictures grow with incredulous wonder. The Eastern magic which +drops the seed in the mould, and bids it shoot up before your eyes, +blossom, and bear its fruit in an hour, is tardy and clumsy by side of the +creative genius of my companion. His touch is swift as air; his coloring +is vivid as light; he has learned, I know not how, the secrets of hidden +places in all lands; and he paints, now a tufted clump of soft cocoa +palms; now the spires and walls of an iceberg, glittering in yellow +sunlight; now a desolate, sandy waste, where black rocks and a few +crumbling ruins are lit up by a lurid glow; then a cathedral front, with +carvings like lace; then the skeleton of a wrecked ship, with bare ribs +and broken masts,--and all so exact, so minute, so life-like, that you +believe no man could paint thus any thing which he had not seen. + +He has a special love for mosaics, and a marvellous faculty for making +drawings of curious old patterns. Nothing is too complicated for his +memory, and he revels in the most fantastic and intricate shapes. I have +known him in a single evening throw off a score of designs, all beautiful, +and many of them rare: fiery scorpions on a black ground; pale lavender +filagrees over scarlet; white and black squares blocked out as for tiles +of a pavement, and crimson and yellow threads interlaced over them; odd +Chinese patterns in brilliant colors, all angles and surprises, with no +likeness to any thing in nature; and exquisite little bits of landscape in +soft grays and whites. Last night was one of his nights of reminiscences +of the mosaic-workers. A furious snow-storm was raging, and, as the flaky +crystals piled up in drifts on the window-ledges, he seemed to catch the +inspiration of their law of structure, and drew sheet after sheet of +crystalline shapes; some so delicate and filmy that it seemed as if a jar +might obliterate them; some massive and strong, like those in which the +earth keeps her mineral treasures; then, at last, on a round charcoal +disk, he traced out a perfect rose, in a fragrant white powder, which +piled up under his fingers, petal after petal, circle after circle, till +the feathery stamens were buried out of sight. Then, as we held our breath +for fear of disturbing it, with a good-natured little chuckle, he shook it +off into the fire, and by a few quick strokes of red turned the black +charcoal disk into a shield gay enough for a tournament. + +He has talent for modelling, but this he exercises more rarely. Usually, +his figures are grotesque rather than beautiful, and he never allows them +to remain longer than for a few moments, often changing them so rapidly +under your eye that it seems like jugglery. He is fondest of doing this at +twilight, and loves the darkest corner of the room. From the half-light he +will suddenly thrust out before you a grinning gargoyle head, to which he +will give in an instant more a pair of spider legs, and then, with one +roll, stretch it out into a crocodile, whose jaws seem so near snapping +that you involuntarily draw your chair further back. Next, in a freak of +ventriloquism, he startles you still more by bringing from the crocodile's +mouth a sigh, so long drawn, so human, that you really shudder, and are +ready to implore him to play no more tricks. He knows when he has reached +this limit, and soothes you at once by a tender, far-off whisper, like the +wind through pines, sometimes almost like an Aeolian harp; then he rouses +you from your dreams by what you are sure is a tap at the door. You turn, +speak, listen; no one enters; the tap again. Ah! it is only a little more +of the ventriloquism of this wonderful creature. You are alone with him, +and there was no tap at the door. + +But when there is, and the friend comes in, then my companion's genius +shines out. Almost always in life the third person is a discord, or at +least a burden; but he is so genial, so diffusive, so sympathetic, that, +like some tints by which painters know how to bring out all the other +colors in a picture, he forces every one to do his best. I am indebted to +him already for a better knowledge of some men and women with whom I had +talked for years before to little purpose. It is most wonderful that he +produces this effect, because he himself is so silent; but there is some +secret charm in his very smile which puts people _en rapport_ with each +other, and with him at once. + +I am almost afraid to go on with the list of the things my companion can +do. I have not yet told the half, nor the most wonderful; and I believe I +have already overtaxed credulity. I will mention only one more,--but that +is to me far more inexplicable than all the rest. I am sure that it +belongs, with mesmerism and clairvoyance, to the domain of the higher +psychological mysteries. He has in rare hours the power of producing the +portraits of persons whom you have loved, but whom he has never seen. For +this it is necessary that you should concentrate your whole attention on +him, as is always needful to secure the best results of mesmeric power. It +must also be late and still. In the day, or in a storm, I have never +known him to succeed in this. For these portraits he uses only shadowy +gray tints. He begins with a hesitating outline. If you are not tenderly +and closely in attention, he throws it aside; he can do nothing. But if +you are with him, heart and soul, and do not take your eyes from his, he +will presently fill out the dear faces, full, life-like, and wearing a +smile, which makes you sure that they too must have been summoned from the +other side, as you from this, to meet on the shadowy boundary between +flesh and spirit. He must see them as clearly as he sees you; and it would +be little more for his magic to do if he were at the same moment showing +to their longing eyes your face and answering smile. + +But I delay too long the telling of his name. A strange hesitancy seizes +me. I shall never be believed by any one who has not sat as I have by his +side. But, if I can only give to one soul the good-cheer and strength of +such a presence, I shall be rewarded. + +His name is Maple Wood-fire, and his terms are from eight to twelve +dollars a month, according to the amount of time he gives. This price is +ridiculously low, but it is all that any member of the family asks; in +fact, in some parts of the country, they can be hired for much less. They +have connections by the name of Hickory, whose terms are higher; but I +cannot find out that they are any more satisfactory. There are also some +distant relations, named Chestnut and Pine, who can be employed in the +same way, at a much lower rate; but they are all snappish and uncertain in +temper. + +To the whole world I commend the good brotherhood of Maple, and pass on +the emphatic indorsement of a blessed old black woman who came to my room +the other day, and, standing before the rollicking blaze on my hearth, +said, "Bless yer, honey, yer's got a wood-fire. I'se allers said that, if +yer's got a wood-fire, yer's got meat, an' drink, an' clo'es." + + + + +Choice of Colors. + + + +The other day, as I was walking on one of the oldest and most picturesque +streets of the old and picturesque town of Newport, R.I., I saw a little +girl standing before the window of a milliner's shop. + +It was a very rainy day. The pavement of the side-walks on this street is +so sunken and irregular that in wet weather, unless one walks with very +great care, he steps continually into small wells of water. Up to her +ankles in one of these wells stood the little girl, apparently as +unconscious as if she were high and dry before a fire. It was a very cold +day too. I was hurrying along, wrapped in furs, and not quite warm enough +even so. The child was but thinly clothed. She wore an old plaid shawl and +a ragged knit hood of scarlet worsted. One little red ear stood out +unprotected by the hood, and drops of water trickled down over it from her +hair. She seemed to be pointing with her finger at articles in the window, +and talking to some one inside. I watched her for several moments, and +then crossed the street to see what it all meant. I stole noiselessly up +behind her, and she did not hear me. The window was full of artificial +flowers, of the cheapest sort, but of very gay colors. Here and there a +knot of ribbon or a bit of lace had been tastefully added, and the whole +effect was really remarkably gay and pretty. Tap, tap, tap, went the small +hand against the window-pane; and with every tap the unconscious little +creature murmured, in a half-whispering, half-singing voice, "I choose +_that_ color." "I choose _that_ color." "I choose _that_ color." + +I stood motionless. I could not see her face; but there was in her whole +attitude and tone the heartiest content and delight. I moved a little to +the right, hoping to see her face, without her seeing me; but the slight +movement caught her ear, and in a second she had sprung aside and turned +toward me. The spell was broken. She was no longer the queen of an +air-castle, decking herself in all the rainbow hues which pleased her eye. +She was a poor beggar child, out in the rain, and a little frightened at +the approach of a stranger. She did not move away, however; but stood +eying me irresolutely, with that pathetic mixture of interrogation and +defiance in her face which is so often seen in the prematurely developed +faces of poverty-stricken children. + +"Aren't the colors pretty?" I said. She brightened instantly. + +"Yes'm. I'd like a goon av thit blue." + +"But you will take cold standing in the wet," said I. "Won't you come +under my umbrella?" + +She looked down at her wet dress suddenly, as if it had not occurred to +her before that it was raining. Then she drew first one little foot and +then the other out of the muddy puddle in which she had been standing, +and, moving a little closer to the window, said, "I'm not jist goin' home, +mem. I'd like to stop here a bit." + +So I left her. But, after I had gone a few blocks, the impulse seized me +to return by a cross street, and see if she were still there. Tears sprang +to my eyes as I first caught sight of the upright little figure, standing +in the same spot, still pointing with the rhythmic finger to the blues and +reds and yellows, and half chanting under her breath, as before, "I choose +_that_ color." "I choose _that_ color." "I choose _that_ color." + +I went quietly on my way, without disturbing her again. But I said in my +heart, "Little Messenger, Interpreter, Teacher! I will remember you all my +life." + +Why should days ever be dark, life ever be colorless? There is always sun; +there are always blue and scarlet and yellow and purple. We cannot reach +them, perhaps, but we can see them, if it is only "through a glass," and +"darkly,"--still we can see them. We can "choose" our colors. It rains, +perhaps; and we are standing in the cold. Never mind. If we look earnestly +enough at the brightness which is on the other side of the glass, we shall +forget the wet and not feel the cold. And now and then a passer-by, who +has rolled himself up in furs to keep out the cold, but shivers +nevertheless,--who has money in his purse to buy many colors, if he likes, +but, nevertheless, goes grumbling because some colors are too dear for +him,--such a passer-by, chancing to hear our voice, and see the +atmosphere of our content, may learn a wondrous secret,--that +pennilessness is not poverty, and ownership is not possession; that to be +without is not always to lack, and to reach is not to attain; that +sunlight is for all eyes that look up, and color for those who "choose." + + + + +The Apostle of Beauty. + + + +He is not of the twelve, any more than the golden rule is of the ten. "A +greater commandment I give unto you," was said of that. Also it was called +the "new commandment." Yet it was really older than the rest, and greater +only because it included them all. There were those who kept it ages +before Moses went up Sinai: Joseph, for instance, his ancestor; and the +king's daughter, by whose goodness he lived. So stands the Apostle of +Beauty, greater than the twelve, newer and older; setting Gospel over +against law, having known law before its beginning; living triumphantly +free and unconscious of penalty. + +He has had martyrdom, and will have. His church is never established; the +world does not follow him; only of Wisdom is he known, and of her +children, who are children of light. He never speaks by their mouths who +say "Shalt not." He knows that "shalt not" is illegitimate, puny, trying +always to usurp the throne of the true king, "Thou shalt." + +"This is delight," "this is good to see," he says of a purity, of a fair +thing. It needs not to speak of the impurity, of the ugliness. Left +unmentioned, unforbidden, who knows how soon they might die out of men's +lives, perhaps even from the earth's surface? Men hedging gardens have for +centuries set plants under that "letter of law" which "killeth," until the +very word hedge has become a pain and an offence; and all the while there +have been standing in every wild country graceful walls of unhindered +brier and berry, to which the apostles of beauty have been silently +pointing. By degrees gardeners have learned something. The best of them +now call themselves "landscape gardeners;" and that is a concession, if it +means, as I suppose it does, that they will try to copy Nature's +landscapes in their enclosures. I have seen also of late that on rich +men's estates tangled growths of native bushes are being more let alone, +and hedges seem to have had some of the weights and harness taken off of +them. + +This is but one little matter among millions with which the Apostle of +Beauty has to do; but it serves for instance of the first requisite he +demands, which is freedom. "Let use take care of itself." "It will," he +says. "There is no beauty without freedom." + +Nothing is too high for him, nothing too low or small. To speak more +truly, in his eyes there is no small, no low. From a philanthropy down to +a gown, one catholic necessity, one catholic principle; gowns can be +benefactions or injuries; philanthropies can be well or ill clad. + +He has a ministry of co-workers,--men, women, and guileless little +children. Many of them serve him without knowing him by name. Some who +serve him best, who spread his creeds most widely, who teach them most +eloquently, die without dreaming that they have been missionaries to +Gentiles. Others there are who call him "Lord, Lord," build temples to him +and teach in them, who never know him. These are they who give their goods +to the poor, their bodies to be burned; but are each day ungracious, +unloving, hard, cruel to men and women about them. These are they also who +make bad statues, bad pictures, invent frightful fashions of things to be +worn, and make the houses and the rooms in which they live hideous with +unsightly adornments. The centuries fight such,--now with a Titian, a +Michel Angelo; now with a great philanthropist, who is also peaceable and +easy to be entreated; now with a Florence Nightingale, knowing no sect; +now with a little child by a roadside, holding up a marigold in the sun; +now with a sweet-faced old woman, dying gracefully in some almshouse. Who +has not heard voice from such apostles? + +To-day my nearest, most eloquent apostle of beauty is a poor shoemaker, +who lives in the house where I lodge. How poor he must be I dare not even +try to understand. He has six children: the oldest not more than thirteen, +the third a deaf-mute, the baby puny and ill,--sure, I think (and hope), +to die soon. + +They live in two rooms, on the ground-floor. His shop is the right-hand +corner of the front room; the rest is bedroom and sitting-room; behind are +the bedroom and kitchen. I have never seen so much as I might of their way +of living; for I stand before his window with more reverent fear of +intruding by a look than I should have at the door of a king's chamber. A +narrow rough ledge added to the window-sill is his bench. Behind this he +sits from six in the morning till seven at night, bent over, sewing slowly +and painfully on the coarsest shoes. His face looks old enough for sixty +years; but he cannot be so old. Yet he wears glasses and walks feebly; he +has probably never had in any one day of his life enough to eat. But I do +not know any man, and I know only one woman, who has such a look of +radiant good-cheer and content as has this poor shoemaker, Anton Grasl. + +In his window are coarse wooden boxes, in which are growing the common +mallows. They are just now in full bloom,--row upon row of gay-striped +purple and white bells. The window looks to the east, and is never shut. +When I go out to my breakfast the sun is streaming in on the flowers and +Anton's face. He looks up, smiles, bows low, and says, "Good-day, good my +lady," sometimes holding the mallow-stalks back with one hand, to see me +more plainly. I feel as if the day and I had had benediction. It is always +a better day because Anton has said it is good; and I am a better woman +for sight of his godly contentment. Almost every day he has beside the +mallows in the boxes a white mug with flowers in it,--nasturtiums, +perhaps, or a few pinks. This he sets carefully in shade of the thickest +mallows; and this I have often seen him hold down tenderly, for the little +ones to see and to smell. + +When I come home in the evenings, between eight and nine o'clock, Anton +is always sifting in front of the door, resting his head against the wall. +This is his recreation, his one blessed hour of out-door air and rest. He +stands with his cap in his hand while I pass, and his face shines as if +all the concentrated enjoyment of my walk in the woods had descended upon +him in my first look. If I give him a bunch of ferns to add to his +nasturtiums and pinks, he is so grateful and delighted that I have to go +into the house quickly for fear I shall cry. Whenever I am coming back +from a drive, I begin to think, long before I reach the house, how glad +Anton will look when he sees the carriage stop. I am as sure as if I had +omniscient sight into the depths of his good heart that he has distinct +and unenvious joy in every pleasure that he sees other people taking. + +Never have I, heard one angry or hasty word, one petulant or weary cry +from the rooms in which this father and mother and six children are +struggling to live. All day long the barefooted and ragged little ones +play under my south windows, and do not quarrel. I amuse myself by +dropping grapes or plums on their heads, and then watching them at their +feast; never have I seen them dispute or struggle in the division. Once I +purposely threw a large bunch of grapes to the poor little mute, and only +a few plums to the others. I am sorry to say that voiceless Carl ate all +his grapes himself; but not a selfish or discontented look could I see on +the faces of the others,--they all smiled and beamed up at me like suns. + +It is Anton who creates and sustains this rare atmosphere. The wife is +only a common and stupid woman; he is educating her, as he is the +children. She is very thin and worn and hungry-looking, but always smiles. +Being Anton's wife, she could not do otherwise. + +Sometimes I see people passing the house, who give a careless glance of +contemptuous pity at Anton's window of mallows and nasturtiums. Then I +remember that an apostle wrote:-- + +"There are, it may be, so many kinds of voices in the world, and none of +them is without signification. + +"Therefore, if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be unto him +that speaketh a barbarian, and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto +me." + +And I long to call after them, as they go groping their way down the +beautiful street,-- + +"Oh, ye barbarians, blind and deaf! How dare you think you can pity Anton? +His soul would melt in compassion for you, if he were able to comprehend +that lives could be so poor as yours. He is the rich man, and you are +poor. Eating only the husks on which you feed, he would starve to death." + + + + +English Lodging-Houses. + + + +Somebody who has written stories (is it Dickens?) has given us very wrong +ideas of the English lodging-house. What good American does not go into +London with the distinct impression that, whatever else he does or does +not do, he will upon no account live in lodgings? That he will even be +content with the comfortless coffee-room of a second-rate hotel, and +fraternize with commercial travellers from all quarters of the globe, +rather than come into relations with that mixture of vulgarity and +dishonesty, the lodging-house keeper? + +It was with more than such misgiving that I first crossed the threshold of +Mrs. ----'s house in Bedford Place, Bloomsbury. At this distance I smile +to remember how welcome would have been any alternative rather than the +remaining under her roof for a month; how persistently for several days I +doubted and resisted the evidence of all my senses, and set myself at work +to find the discomforts and shortcomings which I believed must belong to +that mode of life. To confess the stupidity and obstinacy of my ignorance +is small reparation, and would be little worth while, except for the hope +that my account of the comfort and economy in living on the English +lodging-house system may be a seed dropped in due season, which shall +spring up sooner or later in the introduction of a similar system in +America. The gain which it would be to great numbers of our men and women +who must live on small incomes cannot be estimated. It seems hardly too +much to say that in the course of one generation it might work in the +average public health a change which would be shown in statistics, and rid +us of the stigma of a "national disease" of dyspepsia. For the men and +women whose sufferings and ill-health have made of our name a by-word +among the nations are not, as many suppose, the rich men and women, +tempted by their riches to over-indulgence of their stomachs, and paying +in their dyspepsia simply the fair price of their folly; they are the +moderately poor men and women, who are paying cruel penalty for not having +been richer,--not having been rich enough to avoid the poisons which are +cooked and served in American restaurants and in the poorer class of +American homes. + +Mrs. ----'s lodging-house was not, so far as I know, any better than the +average lodging-houses of its grade. It was well situated, well furnished, +well kept, and its scale of prices was moderate. For instance, the rent of +a pleasant parlor and bedroom on the second floor was thirty-four +shillings a week, including fire and gas,--$8.50, gold. Then there was a +charge of two shillings a week for the use of the kitchen-fire, and three +shillings a week for service; and these were the only charges in addition +to the rent. Thus for $9.75 a week one had all the comforts that can be +had in housekeeping, so far as room and service are concerned. There were +four good servants,--cook, scullery maid, and two housemaids. Oh, the +pleasant voices and gentle fashions of behavior of those housemaids! They +were slow, it must be owned; but their results were admirable. In spite of +London smoke and grime, Mrs. ----'s floors and windows were clean; the +grates shone every morning like mirrors, and the glass and silver were +bright. Each morning the smiling cook came up to take our orders for the +meals of the day; each day the grocer and the baker and the butcher +stopped at the door and left the sugar for the "first floor front," the +beef for the "drawing-room," and so on. The smallest article which could +be required in housekeeping was not overlooked. The groceries of the +different floors never got mixed, though how this separateness of stores +was accomplished will for ever remain a mystery to me; but that it was +successfully accomplished the smallness of our bill was the best of +proof,--unless, indeed, as we were sometimes almost afraid, we did now and +then eat up Dr. A----'s cheese, or drink the milk belonging to the B's +below us. We were a party of four; our fare was of the plain, substantial +sort, but of sufficient variety and abundance; and yet our living never +cost us, including rent, service, fires, and food, over $60 a week. If we +had chosen to practise closer economies, we might have lived on less. +Compare for one instant the comfort of such an arrangement as this, which +really gave us every possible advantage to be secured by housekeeping, and +with almost none of the trouble, with any boarding or lodging possible in +New York. We had two parlors and two bedrooms; our meals served promptly +and neatly, in our own parlor. The same amount of room, and service, and +such a table, for four people, cannot be had in New York for less than +$150 or $200 a week; in fact, they cannot be had in New York for any sum +of money. The quiet respectfulness of behavior and faithful interest in +work of English servants on English soil are not to be found elsewhere. We +afterward lived for some weeks in another lodging-house in Great Malvern, +Worcestershire, at about the same price per week. This house was even +better than the London one in some respects. The system was precisely the +same; but the cooking was almost faultless, and the table appointments +were more than satisfactory,--they were tasteful. The china was a +pleasure, and there were silver and linen and glass which one would be +glad to have in one's own home. + +It may be asked, and not unnaturally, how does this lodging-house system +work for those who keep the houses? Can it be possible that all this +comfort and economy for lodgers are compatible with profits for landlords? +I can judge only from the results in these two cases which came under my +own observation. In each of these cases the family who kept the house +lived comfortably and pleasantly in their own apartment, which was, in the +London house, almost as good a suite of rooms as any which they rented. +They certainly had far more apparent quiet, comfort, and privacy than is +commonly seen in the arrangements of the keepers of average +boarding-houses. In the Malvern house, one whole floor, which was less +pleasant than the others, but still comfortable and well furnished, was +occupied by the family. There were three little boys, under ten years of +age, who had their nursery governess, said lessons to her regularly, and +were led out decorously to walk by her at appointed seasons, like all the +rest of good little English boys in well-regulated families; and yet the +mother of these children came to the door of our parlor each morning, with +the respectful air of an old family housekeeper, to ask what we would have +for dinner, and was careful and exact in buying "three penn'orth" of herbs +at a time for us, to season our soup. I ought to mention that in both +these places we made the greater part of our purchases ourselves, having +weekly bills sent in from the shops, and in our names, exactly as if we +were living in our own house. All honest lodging-house keepers, we were +told, preferred this method, as leaving no opening for any unjust +suspicions of their fairness in providing. But, if one chooses to be as +absolutely free from trouble as in boarding, the marketing can all be done +by the family, and the bills still made out in the lodgers' names. I have +been thus minute in my details because I think there may be many to whom +this system of living is as unknown as it was to me; and I cannot but hope +that it may yet be introduced in America. + + + + +Wet the Clay. + + +Once I stood in Miss Hosmer's studio, looking at a statue which she was +modelling of the ex-queen of Naples. Face to face with the clay model, I +always feel the artist's creative power far more than when I am looking at +the immovable marble. + +A touch here--there--and all is changed. Perhaps, under my eyes, in the +twinkling of an eye, one trait springs into life and another disappears. + +The queen, who is a very beautiful woman, was represented in Miss Hosmer's +statue as standing, wearing the picturesque cloak that she wore during +those hard days of garrison life at Gaeta, when she showed herself so +brave and strong that the world said if she, instead of that very stupid +young man her husband, had been king, the throne need not have been lost. +The very cloak, made of light cloth showily faced with scarlet, was draped +over a lay figure in one corner of the room. In the statue the folds of +drapery over the right arm were entirely disarranged, simply rough clay. +The day before they had been apparently finished; but that morning Miss +Hosmer had, as she laughingly told us, "pulled it all to pieces again." + +As she said this, she took up a large syringe and showered the statue +from head to foot with water, till it dripped and shone as if it had been +just plunged into a bath. Now it was in condition to be moulded. Many +times a day this process must be repeated, or the clay becomes so dry and +hard that it cannot be worked. + +I had known this before; but never did I so realize the significant +symbolism of the act as when I looked at this lifeless yet lifelike thing, +to be made into the beauty of a woman, called by her name, and cherished +after her death,--and saw that only through this chrysalis of the clay, so +cared for, moistened, and moulded, could the marble obtain its soul. + +And, as all things I see in life seem to me to have a voice either for or +of children, so did this instantly suggest to me that most of the failures +of mothers come from their not keeping the clay wet. + +The slightest touch tells on the clay when it is soft and moist, and can +produce just the effect which is desired; but when the clay is too dry it +will not yield, and often it breaks and crumbles beneath the unskilful +hand. How perfect the analogy between these two results, and the two +atmospheres which one often sees in the space of one half-hour in the +management of the same child! One person can win from it instantly a +gentle obedience: that person's smile is a reward, that person's +displeasure is a grief it cannot bear, that person's opinions have utmost +weight with it, that person's presence is a controlling and subduing +influence. Another, alas! the mother, produces such an opposite effect +that it is hard to believe the child can be the same child. Her simplest +command is met by antagonism or sullen compliance; her pleasure and +displeasure are plainly of no account to the child, and its great desire +is to get out of her presence. + +What shape will she make of that child's soul? She does not wet the clay. +She does not stop to consider before each command whether it be wholly +just, whether it be the best time to make it, and whether she can explain +its necessity. Oh! the sweet reasonableness of children when disagreeable +necessities are explained to them, instead of being enforced as arbitrary +tyrannies! She does not make them so feel that she shares all their +sorrows and pleasures that they cannot help being in turn glad when she is +glad, and sorry when she is sorry. She does not so take them into constant +companionship in her interests, each day,--the books, the papers she +reads, the things she sees,--that they learn to hold her as the +representative of much more than nursery discipline, clothes, and bread +and butter. She does not kiss them often enough, put her arms around them, +warm, soften, bathe them in the ineffable sunshine of loving ways. "I +can't imagine why children are so much better with you than with me," +exclaims such a mother. No, she cannot imagine; and that is the trouble. +If she could, all would be righted. It is quite probable that she is a far +more anxious, self-sacrificing, hard-working mother than the neighbor, +whose children are rosy and frolicking and affectionate and obedient; +while hers are pale and fretful and selfish and sullen. + +She is all the time working, working, with endless activity, on hard, dry +clay; and the neighbor, who, perhaps half-unconsciously, keeps the clay +wet, is with one-half the labor modelling sweet creatures of Nature's own +loveliest shapes. + +Then she says, this poor, tired mother, discouraged because her children +tell lies, and irritated because they seem to her thankless, "After all, +children are pretty much alike, I suppose. I believe most children tell +lies when they are little; and they never realize until they are grown up +what parents do for them." + +Here again I find a similitude among the artists who paint or model. +Studios are full of such caricatures, and the hard-working, honest souls +who have made them believe that they are true reproductions of nature and +life. + +"See my cherub. Are not all cherubs such as he?" and "Behold these trees +and this water; and how the sun glowed on the day when I walked there!" +and all the while the cherub is like a paper doll, and the trees and the +water never had any likeness to any thing that is in this beautiful earth. +But, after all, this similitude is short and paltry, for it is of +comparatively small moment that so many men and women spend their lives in +making bad cherubs in marble, and hideous landscapes in oil. It is +industry, and it keeps them in bread; in butter, too, if their cherubs and +trees are very bad. But, when it is a human being that is to be moulded, +how do we dare, even with all the help which we can ask and find in earth +and in heaven, to shape it by our touch! + +Clay in the hands of the potter is not more plastic than is the little +child's soul in the hands of those who tend it. Alas! how many shapeless, +how many ill-formed, how many broken do we see! Who does not believe that +the image of God could have been beautiful on all? Sooner or later it will +be, thank Christ! But what a pity, what a loss, not to have had the sweet +blessedness of being even here fellow-workers with him in this glorious +modelling for eternity! + + + + +The King's Friend. + + + +We are a gay party, summering among the hills. New-comers into the little +boarding-house where we, by reason of prior possession, hold a kind of +sway are apt to fare hardly at our hands unless they come up to our +standard. We are not exacting in the matter of clothes; we are liberal on +creeds; but we have our shibboleths. And, though we do not drown unlucky +Ephraimites, whose tongues make bad work with S's, I fear we are not quite +kind to them; they never stay long, and so we go on having it much our own +way. + +Week before last a man appeared at dinner, of whom our good little +landlady said, deprecatingly, that he would stay only a few days. She knew +by instinct that his presence would not be agreeable to us. He was not in +the least an intrusive person,--on the contrary, there was a sort of mute +appeal to our humanity in the very extent of his quiet inoffensiveness; +but his whole atmosphere was utterly uninteresting. He was untrained in +manner, awkwardly ill at ease in the table routine; and, altogether, it +was so uncomfortable to make any attempt to include him in our circle that +in a few days he was ignored by every one, to a degree which was neither +courteous nor Christian. + +In all families there is a leader. Ours is a charming and brilliant +married woman, whose ready wit and never-failing spirits make her the best +of centres for a country party of pleasure-seekers. Her keen sense of +humor had not been able entirely to spare this unfortunate man, whose +attitudes and movements were certainly at times almost irresistible. + +But one morning such a change was apparent in her manner toward him that +we all looked up in surprise. No more gracious and gentle greeting could +she have given him if he had been a prince of royal line. Our astonishment +almost passed bounds when we heard her continue with a kindly inquiry +after his health, and, undeterred by his evident readiness to launch into +detailed symptoms, listen to him with the most respectful attention. Under +the influence of this new and sweet recognition his plain and common face +kindled into something almost manly and individual. He had never before +been so spoken to by a well-bred and beautiful woman. + +We were sobered, in spite of ourselves, by an indefinable something in her +manner; and it was with subdued whispers that we crowded around her on the +piazza, and begged to know what it all meant. It was a rare thing to see +Mrs. ---- hesitate for a reply. The color rose in her face, and, with a +half-nervous attempt at a smile, she finally said, "Well, girls, I suppose +you will all laugh at me; but the truth is, I heard that man say his +prayers this morning. You know his room is next to mine, and there is a +great crack in the door. I heard him praying, this morning, for ten +minutes, just before breakfast; and I never heard such tones in my life. I +don't pretend to be religious; but I must own it was a wonderful thing to +hear a man talking with God as he did. And when I saw him at table, I felt +as if I were looking in the face of some one who had just come out of the +presence of the King of kings, and had the very air of heaven about him. I +can't help what the rest of you do or say; _I_ shall always have the same +feeling whenever I see him." + +There was a magnetic earnestness in her tone and look, which we all felt, +and which some of us will never forget. + +During the few remaining days of his stay with us, that untutored, +uninteresting, stupid man knew no lack of friendly courtesy at our hands. +We were the better for his homely presence; unawares, he ministered unto +us. When we knew that he came directly from speaking to the Master to +speak to us, we felt that he was greater than we, and we remembered that +it is written, "If any man serve me, him will my Father honor." + + + + +Learning to Speak. + + + +With what breathless interest we listen for the baby's first word! What a +new bond is at once and for ever established between its soul and ours by +this mysterious, inexplicable, almost incredible fact! That is the use of +the word. That is its only use, so far as mere gratification of the ear +goes. Many other sounds are more pleasurable,--the baby's laugh, for +instance, or its inarticulate murmurs of content or sleepiness. + +But the word is a revelation, a sacred sign. Now we shall know what our +beloved one wants; now we shall know when and why the dear heart sorrows +or is glad. How reassured we feel, how confident! Now we cannot make +mistakes; we shall do all for the best; we can give happiness; we can +communicate wisdom; relation is established; the perplexing gulf of +silence is bridged. The baby speaks! + +But it is not of the baby's learning to speak that we propose to write +here. All babies learn to speak; or, if they do not, we know that it means +a terrible visitation,--a calamity rare, thank God! but bitter almost +beyond parents' strength to bear. + +But why, having once learned to speak, does the baby leave off speaking +when it becomes a man or a woman? Many of our men and women to-day need, +almost as much as when they were twenty-four months old, to learn to +speak. We do not mean learning to speak in public. We do not mean even +learning to speak well,--to pronounce words clearly and accurately; though +there is need enough of that in this land! But that is not the need at +which we are aiming now. We mean something so much simpler, so much +further back, that we hardly know how to say it in words which shall be +simple enough and also sufficiently strong. We mean learning to speak at +all! In spite of all which satirical writers have said and say of the +loquacious egotism, the questioning curiosity of our people, it is true +to-day that the average American is a reticent, taciturn, speechless +creature, who, for his own sake, and still more for the sake of all who +love him, needs, more than he needs any thing else under heaven, to learn +to speak. + +Look at our silent railway and horse-cars, steamboat-cabins, hotel-tables, +in short, all our public places where people are thrown together +incidentally, and where good-will and the habit of speaking combined would +create an atmosphere of human vitality, quite unlike what we see now. But +it is not of so much consequence, after all, whether people speak in these +public places or not. If they did, one very unpleasant phase of our +national life would be greatly changed for the better. But it is in our +homes that this speechlessness tells most fearfully,--on the breakfast and +dinner and tea-tables, at which a silent father and mother sit down in +haste and gloom to feed their depressed children. This is especially true +of men and women in the rural districts. They are tired; they have more +work to do in a year than it is easy to do. Their lives are +monotonous,--too much so for the best health of either mind or body. If +they dreamed how much this monotony could be broken and cheered by the +constant habit of talking with each other, they would grasp at the +slightest chance of a conversation. Sometimes it almost seems as if +complaints and antagonism were better than such stagnant quiet. But there +need not be complaint and antagonism; there is no home so poor, so remote +from affairs, that each day does not bring and set ready, for family +welcome and discussion, beautiful sights and sounds, occasions for +helpfulness and gratitude, questions for decision, hopes, fears, regrets! +The elements of human life are the same for ever; any one heart holds in +itself the whole, can give all things to another, can bear all things for +another; but no giving, no bearing, no, not even if it is the giving up of +a life, if it is done without free, full, loving interchange of speech, is +half the blessing it might be. + +Many a wife goes down to her grave a dulled and dispirited woman simply +because her good and faithful husband has lived by her side without +talking to her! There have been days when one word of praise, or one word +even of simple good cheer, would have girded her up with new strength. She +did not know, very likely, what she needed, or that she needed any thing; +but she drooped. + +Many a child grows up a hard, unimpressionable, unloving man or woman +simply from the uncheered silence in which the first ten years of life +were passed. Very few fathers and mothers, even those who are fluent, +perhaps, in society, habitually _talk_ with their children. + +It is certain that this is one of the worst shortcomings of our homes. +Perhaps no other single change would do so much to make them happier, and, +therefore, to make our communities better, as for men and women to learn +to speak. + + + + +Private Tyrants. + + + +We recognize tyranny when it wears a crown and sits on an hereditary +throne. We sympathize with nations that overthrow the thrones, and in our +secret hearts we almost canonize individuals who slay the tyrants. From +the days of Ehud and Eglon down to those of Charlotte Corday and Marat, +the world has dealt tenderly with their names whose hands have been red +with the blood of oppressors. On moral grounds it would be hard to justify +this sentiment, murder being murder all the same, however great gain it +may be to this world to have the murdered man put out of it; but that +there is such a sentiment, instinctive and strong in the human soul, there +is no denying. It is so instinctive and so strong that, if we watch +ourselves closely, we shall find it giving alarming shape sometimes to our +secret thoughts about our neighbors. + +How many communities, how many households even, are without a tyrant? If +we could "move for returns of suffering," as that tender and thoughtful +man, Arthur Helps, says, we should find a far heavier aggregate of misery +inflicted by unsuspected, unresisted tyrannies than by those which are +patent to everybody, and sure to be overthrown sooner or later. + +An exhaustive sermon on this subject should be set off in three divisions, +as follows:-- + + PRIVATE TYRANTS. + + _1st._ Number of-- + _2d._ Nature of-- + _3d._ Longevity of-- + +_First_. Their number. They are not enumerated in any census. Not even the +most painstaking statistician has meddled with the topic. Fancy takes bold +leaps at the very suggestion of such an estimate, and begins to think at +once of all things in the universe which are usually mentioned as beyond +numbering. Probably one good way of getting at a certain sort of result +would be to ask each person of one's acquaintance, "Do you happen to know +a private tyrant?" + +How well we know beforehand the replies we should get from _some_ beloved +men and women,--that is, if they spoke the truth! + +But they would not. That is the saddest thing about these private +tyrannies. They are in many cases borne in such divine and uncomplaining +silence by their victims, perhaps for long years, the world never dreams +that they exist. But at last the fine, subtle writing, which no control, +no patience, no will can thwart, becomes set on the man's or the woman's +face, and tells the whole record. Who does not know such faces? Cheerful +usually, even gay, brave, and ready with lines of smile; but in repose so +marked, so scarred with unutterable weariness and disappointment, that +tears spring in the eyes and love in the hearts of all finely organized +persons who meet them. + +_Secondly_. Nature of private tyrants. Here also the statistician has not +entered. The field is vast; the analysis difficult. + +Selfishness is, of course, their leading characteristic; in fact, the very +sum and substance of their natures. But selfishness is Protean. It has as +many shapes as there are minutes, and as many excuses and wraps of sheep's +clothing as ever ravening wolf possessed. + +One of its commonest pleas is that of weakness. Here it often is so +inextricably mixed with genuine need and legitimate claim that one grows +bewildered between sympathy and resentment. In this shape, however, it +gets its cruelest dominion over strong and generous and tender people. +This kind of tyranny builds up and fortifies its bulwarks on and out of +the very virtues of its victims; it gains strength hourly from the very +strength of the strength to which it appeals; each slow and fatal +encroachment never seems at first so much a thing required as a thing +offered; but, like the slow sinking inch by inch of that great, beautiful +city of stone into the relentless Adriatic, so is the slow, sure going +down and loss of the freedom of a strong, beautiful soul, helpless in the +omnipresent circumference of the selfish nature to which it is or believes +itself bound. + +That the exactions never or rarely take shape in words is, to the +unbiassed looker-on, only an exasperating feature in their tyranny. While +it saves the conscience of the tyrant,--if such tyrants have any,--it +makes doubly sure the success of their tyranny. And probably nothing short +of revelation from Heaven, in shape of blinding light, would ever open +their eyes to the fact that it is even more selfish to hold a generous +spirit fettered hour by hour by a constant fear of giving pain than to +coerce or threaten or scold them into the desired behavior. Invalids, all +invalids, stand in deadly peril of becoming tyrants of this order. A +chronic invalid who entirely escapes it must be so nearly saint or angel +that one instinctively feels as if their invalidism would soon end in the +health of heaven. We know of one invalid woman, chained to her bed for +long years by an incurable disease, who has had the insight and strength +to rise triumphant above this danger. Her constant wish and entreaty is +that her husband should go freely into all the work and the pleasure of +life. Whenever he leaves her, her farewell is not, "How soon do you think +you shall come back? At what hour, or day, may I look for you?" but, "Now, +pray stay just as long as you enjoy it. If you hurry home one hour sooner +for the thought of me, I shall be wretched." It really seems almost as if +the longer he stayed away,--hours, days, weeks even,--the happier she +were. By this sweet and wise unselfishness she has succeeded in realizing +the whole blessedness of wifehood far more than most women who have +health. But we doubt if any century sees more than one such woman as she +is. + +Another large class, next to that of invalids the most difficult to deal +with, is made up of people who are by nature or by habit uncomfortably +sensitive or irritable. Who has not lived at one time or other in his life +in daily contact with people of this sort,--persons whose outbreaks of +temper, or of wounded feeling still worse than temper, were as +incalculable as meteoric showers? The suppressed atmosphere, the chronic +state of alarm and misgiving, in which the victims of this species of +tyranny live are withering and exhausting to the stoutest hearts. They are +also hardening; perpetually having to wonder and watch how people will +"take" things is apt sooner or later to result in indifference as to +whether they take them well or ill. + +But to define all the shapes of private tyranny would require whole +histories; it is safe, however, to say that so far as any human being +attempts to set up his own individual need or preference as law to +determine the action of any other human being, in small matters or great, +so far forth he is a tyrant. The limit of his tyranny may be narrowed by +lack of power on his part, or of response on the part of his fellows; but +its essence is as purely tyrannous as if he sat on a throne with an +executioner within call. + +_Thirdly._ Longevity of private tyrants. We have not room under this head +to do more--nor, if we had all room, could we do better--than to quote a +short paragraph from George Eliot's immortal Mrs. Poyser: "It seems as if +them as aren't wanted here are th' only folks as aren't wanted i' th' +other world." + + + + +Margin. + + + +Wide-margined pages please us at first sight. We do not stop to ask why. +It has passed into an accepted rule that all elegant books must have +broad, clear margins to their pages. We as much recognize such margins +among the indications of promise in a book, as we do fineness of paper, +clearness of type, and beauty of binding. All three of these last, even in +perfection, could not make any book beautiful, or sightly, whose pages had +been left narrow-margined and crowded. This is no arbitrary decree of +custom, no chance preference of an accredited authority. It would be +dangerous to set limit to the power of fashion in any thing; and yet it +seems almost safe to say that not even fashion itself can ever make a +narrow-margined page look other than shabby and mean. This inalienable +right of the broad margin to our esteem is significant. It lies deep. The +broad margin means something which is not measured by inches, has nothing +to do with fashions of shape. It means room for notes, queries, added by +any man's hand who reads. Meaning this, it means also much more than +this,--far more than the mere letter of "right of way." It is a fine +courtesy of recognition that no one page shall ever say the whole of its +own message; be exhaustive, or ultimate, even of its own topic; determine +or enforce its own opinion, to the shutting out of others. No matter if +the book live and grow old, without so much as an interrogation point or a +line of enthusiastic admiration drawn in it by human hand, still the +gracious import and suggestion of its broad white spaces are the same. +Each thought invites its neighbor, stands fairly to right or left of its +opponent, and wooes its friend. + +Thinking on this, we presently discover that margin means a species of +freedom. No wonder the word, and the thing it represents, wherever we find +them, delight us. + +We use the word constantly in senses which, speaking carelessly, we should +have called secondary and borrowed. Now we see that its application to +pages, or pictures, or decorations, and so forth, was the borrowed and +secondary use; and that primarily its meaning is spiritual. + +We must have margin, or be uncomfortable in every thing in life. Our plan +for a day, for a week, for our lifetime, must have it,--margin for change +of purpose, margin for interruption, margin for accident. Making no +allowance for these, we are fettered, we are disturbed, we are thwarted. + +Is there a greater misery than to be hurried? If we leave ourselves proper +margin, we never need to be hurried. We always shall be, if we crowd our +plan. People pant, groan, and complain as if hurry were a thing outside +of themselves,--an enemy, a monster, a disease which overtook them, and +against which they had no shelter. It is hard to be patient with such +nonsense. Hurry is almost the only known misery which it is impossible to +have brought upon one by other people's fault. + +If our plan of action for an hour or a day be so fatally spoiled by lack +of margin, what shall we say of the mistake of the man who leaves himself +no margin in matters of belief? No room for a wholesome, healthy doubt? No +provision for an added enlightenment? No calculation for the inevitable +progress of human knowledge? This is, in our eyes, the crying sin and +danger of elaborate creeds, rigid formulas of exact statement on difficult +and hidden mysteries. + +The man who is ready to give pledge that the opinion he will hold +to-morrow will be precisely the opinion he holds to-day has either thought +very little, or to little purpose, or has resolved to quit thinking +altogether. + + + + +The Fine Art of Smiling. + + +Some theatrical experiments are being made at this time to show that all +possible emotions and all shades and gradations of emotion can be +expressed by facial action, and that the method of so expressing them can +be reduced to a system, and taught in a given number of lessons. It seems +a matter of question whether one would be likely to make love or evince +sorrow any more successfully by keeping in mind all the while the detailed +catalogue of his flexors and extensors, and contracting and relaxing No. +1, 2, or 3, according to rule. The human memory is a treacherous thing, +and what an enormous disaster would result from a very slight +forgetfulness in such a nicely adjusted system! The fatal effect of +dropping the superior maxillary when one intended to drop the inferior, or +of applying nervous stimuli to the up track, instead of the down, can +easily be conceived. Art is art, after all, be it ever so skilful and +triumphant, and science is only a slow reading of hieroglyphs. Nature sits +high and serene above both, and smiles compassionately on their efforts +to imitate and understand. And this brings us to what we have to say about +smiling. Do many people feel what a wonderful thing it is that each human +being is born into the world with his own smile? Eyes, nose, mouth, may be +merely average commonplace features; may look, taken singly, very much +like anybody's else eyes, nose, or mouth. Let whoever doubts this try the +simple but endlessly amusing experiment of setting half a dozen people +behind a perforated curtain, and making them put their eyes at the holes. +Not one eye in a hundred can be recognized, even by most familiar and +loving friends. But study smiles; observe, even in the most casual way, +the variety one sees in a day, and it will soon be felt what subtle +revelation they make, what infinite individuality they possess. + +The purely natural smile, however, is seldom seen in adults; and it is on +this point that we wish to dwell. Very early in life people find out that +a smile is a weapon, mighty to avail in all sorts of crises. Hence, we see +the treacherous smile of the wily; the patronizing smile of the pompous; +the obsequious smile of the flatterer; the cynical smile of the satirist. +Very few of these have heard of Delsarte; but they outdo him on his own +grounds. Their smile is four-fifths of their social stock in trade. All +such smiles are hideous. The gloomiest, blankest look which a human face +can wear is welcomer than a trained smile or a smile which, if it is not +actually and consciously methodized by its perpetrator, has become, by +long repetition, so associated with tricks and falsities that it partakes +of their quality. + +What, then, is the fine art of smiling? + +If smiles may not be used for weapons or masks, of what use are they? That +is the shape one would think the question took in most men's minds, if we +may judge by their behavior! There are but two legitimate purposes of the +smile; but two honest smiles. On all little children's faces such smiles +are seen. Woe to us that we so soon waste and lose them! + +The first use of the smile is to express affectionate good-will; the +second, to express mirth. + +Why do we not always smile whenever we meet the eye of a fellow-being? +That is the true, intended recognition which ought to pass from soul to +soul constantly. Little children, in simple communities, do this +involuntarily, unconsciously. The honest-hearted German peasant does it. +It is like magical sunlight all through that simple land, the perpetual +greeting on the right hand and on the left, between strangers, as they +pass by each other, never without a smile. This, then, is "the fine art of +smiling;" like all fine art, true art, perfection of art, the simplest +following of Nature. + +Now and then one sees a face which has kept its smile pure and undefiled. +It is a woman's face usually; often a face which has trace of great sorrow +all over it, till the smile breaks. Such a smile transfigures; such a +smile, if the artful but knew it, is the greatest weapon a face can have. +Sickness and age cannot turn its edge; hostility and distrust cannot +withstand its spell; little children know it, and smile back; even dumb +animals come closer, and look up for another. + +If one were asked to sum up in one single rule what would most conduce to +beauty in the human face, one might say therefore, "Never tamper with your +smile; never once use it for a purpose. Let it be on your face like the +reflection of the sunlight on a lake. Affectionate good-will to all men +must be the sunlight, and your face is the lake. But, unlike the sunlight, +your good-will must be perpetual, and your face must never be overcast." + +"What! smile perpetually?" says the realist. "How silly!" + +Yes, smile perpetually! Go to Delsarte here, and learn even from the +mechanician of smiles that a smile can be indicated by a movement of +muscles so slight that neither instruments nor terms exist to measure or +state it; in fact, that the subtlest smile is little more than an added +brightness to the eye and a tremulousness of the mouth. One second of time +is more than long enough for it; but eternity does not outlast it. + +In that wonderfully wise and tender and poetic book, the "Layman's +Breviary," Leopold Schefer says,-- + + "A smile suffices to smile death away; + And love defends thee e'en from wrath divine! + Then let what may befall thee,--still smile on! + And howe'er Death may rob thee,--still smile on! + Love never has to meet a bitter thing; + A paradise blooms around him who smiles." + + + + +Death-Bed Repentance. + + +Not long since, a Congregationalist clergyman, who had been for forty-one +years in the ministry, said in my hearing, "I have never, in all my +experience as a pastor, known of a single instance in which a repentance +on what was supposed to be a death-bed proved to be of any value whatever +after the person recovered." + +This was strong language. I involuntarily exclaimed, "Have you known many +such cases?" + +"More than I dare to remember." + +"And as many more, perhaps, where the person died." + +"Yes, fully as many more." + +"Then did not the bitter failure of these death-bed repentances to bear +the tests of time shake your confidence in their value under the tests of +eternity?" + +"It did,--it does," said the clergyman, with tears in his eyes. The +conversation made a deep impression on my mind. It was strong evidence, +from a quarter in which I least looked for it, of the utter paltriness and +insufficiency of fear as a motive when brought to bear upon decisions in +spiritual things. There seem to be no words strong enough to stigmatize it +in all other affairs except spiritual. All ages, all races, hold cowardice +chief among vices; noble barbarians punished it with death. Even +civilization the most cautiously legislated for, does the same thing when +a soldier shows it "in face of the enemy." Language, gathering itself up +and concentrating its force to describe base behavior, can do no more than +call it "cowardly." No instinct of all the blessed body-guard of instincts +born with us seems in the outset a stronger one than the instinct that to +be noble, one must be brave. Almost in the cradle the baby taunts or is +taunted by the accusation of being "afraid." And the sting of the taunt +lies in the probability of its truth. For in all men, alas! is born a +certain selfish weakness, to which fear can address itself. But how +strange does it appear that they who wish to inculcate noblest action, +raise to most exalted spiritual conditions, should appeal to this lowest +of motives to help them! We believe that there are many "death-bed +repentances" among hale, hearty sinners, who are approached by the same +methods, stimulated by the same considerations, frightened by the same +conceptions of possible future suffering, which so often make the chambers +of dying men dark with terrors. Fear is fear all the same whether its +dread be for the next hour or the next century. The closer the enemy, the +swifter it runs. That is all the difference. Let the enemy be surely and +plainly removed, and in one instance it is no more,--is as if it had +never been. Every thought, word, and action based upon it has come to end. + +I was forcibly reminded of the conversation above quoted by some +observations I once had opportunity of making at a Methodist camp-meeting. +Much of the preaching and exhortation consisted simply and solely of +urgent, impassioned appeals to the people to repent,--not because +repentance is right; not because God is love, and it is base not to love +and obey him; not even because godliness is in itself great gain, and +sinfulness is, even temporarily, loss and ruin; but because there is a +wrath to come, which will inflict terrible and unending suffering on the +sinner. He is to "flee" for his life from torments indescribable and +eternal; he is to call on Jesus, not to make him holy, but to save him +from woe, to rescue him from frightful danger; all and every thing else is +subordinate to the one selfish idea of escaping future misery. The effect +of these appeals, of these harrowing pictures, on some of the young men +and women and children was almost too painful to be borne. They were in an +hysterical condition,--weeping from sheer nervous terror. When the +excitement had reached its highest pitch, an elder rose and told the story +of a wicked and impenitent man whom he had visited a few weeks before. The +man had assented to all that he told him of the necessity of repentance; +but said that he was not at leisure that day to attend the class meeting. +He resolved and promised, however, to do so the next week. That very +night he was taken ill with a disease of the brain, and, after three days +of unconsciousness, died. I would not like to quote here the emphasis of +application which was made of this story to the terrors of the weeping +young people. Under its influence several were led, almost carried by +force, into the anxious seats. + +It was hard not to fancy the gentle Christ looking down upon the scene +with a pain as great as that with which he yearned over Jerusalem. I +longed for some instant miracle to be wrought on the spot, by which there +should come floating down from the peaceful blue sky, through the sweet +tree-tops, some of the loving and serene words of balm from his Gospel. + +Theologians may theorize, and good Christians may differ (they always +will) as to the existence, extent, and nature of future punishment; but +the fact remains indisputably clear that, whether there be less or more of +it, whether it be of this sort or of that, fear of it is a base motive to +appeal to, a false motive to act from, and a worthless motive to trust in. +Perfect love does not know it; spiritual courage resents it; the true +Kingdom of Heaven is never taken by its "violence." + +Somewhere (I wish I knew where, and I wish I knew from whose lips) I once +found this immortal sentence: "A woman went through the streets of +Alexandria, bearing a jar of water and a lighted torch, and crying aloud, +'With this torch I will burn up Heaven, and with this water I will put out +Hell, that God may be loved for himself alone.'" + + + + +The Correlation of Moral Forces. + + + +Science has dealt and delved patiently with the laws of matter. From +Cuvier to Huxley, we have a long line of clear-eyed workers. The +gravitating force between all molecules; the law of continuity; the +inertial force of matter; the sublime facts of organic co-ordination and +adaptation,--all these are recognized, analyzed, recorded, taught. We have +learned that the true meaning of the word law, as applied to Nature, is +not decree, but formula of invariable order, immutable as the constitution +of ultimate units of matter. Order is not imposed upon Nature. Order is +result. Physical science does not confuse these; it never mistakes nor +denies specific function, organic progression, cyclical growth. It knows +that there is no such thing as evasion, interruption, substitution. + +When shall we have a Cuvier, a Huxley, a Tyndall for the immaterial +world,--the realm of spiritual existence, moral growth? Nature is one. The +things which we have clumsily and impertinently dared to set off by +themselves, and label as "immaterial," are no less truly component parts +or members of the real frame of natural existence than are molecules of +oxygen or crystals of diamond. We believe in the existence of one as much +as in the existence of the other. In fact, if there be balance of proof in +favor of either, it is not in favor of the existence of what we call +matter. All the known sensible qualities of matter are ultimately +referable to immaterial forces,--"forces acting from points or volumes;" +and whether these points are occupied by positive substance, or "matter" +as it is usually conceived, cannot to-day be proved. Yet many men have +less absolute belief in a soul than in nitric acid; many men achieve +lifetimes of triumph by the faithful use and application of Nature's +law--that is, formula of uniform occurrence--in light, sound, motion, +while they all the while outrage and violate and hinder every one of those +sweet forces equally hers, equally immutable, called by such names as +truth, sobriety, chastity, courage, and good-will. + +The suggestions of this train of thought are too numerous to be followed +out in the limits of a single article. Take, for instance, the fact of the +identity of molecules, and look for its correlative truth in the spiritual +universe. Shall we not thence learn charity, and the better understand the +full meaning of some who have said that vices were virtues in excess or +restraint? Taking the lists of each, and faithfully comparing them from +beginning to end, not one shall be found which will not confirm this +seemingly paradoxical statement. + +Take the great fact of continuous progressive development which applies +to all organisms, vegetable or animal, and see how it is one with the law +that "the holy shall be holy still, the wicked shall be wicked still." + +Dare we think what would be the formula in statement of spiritual life +which would be correlative to the "law of continuity"? Having dared to +think, then shall we use the expression "little sins," or doubt the +terrible absoluteness of exactitude with which "every idle word which men +speak" shall enter upon eternity of reckoning. + +On the other hand, looking at all existences as organisms, shall we be +disturbed at seeming failure?--long periods of apparent inactivity? Shall +we believe, for instance, that Christ's great church can be really +hindered in its appropriate cycle of progressive change and adaptation? +That any true membership of this organic body can be formed or annulled by +mere human interference? That the lopping or burning of branches of the +tree, even the uprooting and burning of the tree itself, this year, next +year, nay, for hundreds of years, shall have power to annihilate or even +defer the ultimate organic result? + +The soul of man is not outcast from this glory, this freedom, this safety +of law. We speak as if we might break it, evade it; we forget it; we deny +it: but it never forgets us, it never refuses us a morsel of our estate. +In spite of us, it protects our growth, makes sure of our development. In +spite of us, it takes us whithersoever we tend, and not whithersoever we +like; in spite of us, it sometimes saves what we have carelessly perilled, +and always destroys what we wilfully throw away. + + + + +A Simple Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner. + + +All good recipe-books give bills of fare for different occasions, bills of +fare for grand dinners, bills of fare for little dinners; dinners to cost +so much per head; dinners "which can be easily prepared with one servant," +and so on. They give bills of fare for one week; bills of fare for each +day in a month, to avoid too great monotony in diet. There are bills of +fare for dyspeptics; bills of fare for consumptives; bills of fare for fat +people, and bills of fare for thin; and bills of fare for hospitals, +asylums, and prisons, as well as for gentlemen's houses. But among them +all, we never saw the one which we give below. It has never been printed +in any book; but it has been used in families. We are not drawing on our +imagination for its items. We have sat at such dinners; we have helped +prepare such dinners; we believe in such dinners; they are within +everybody's means. In fact, the most marvellous thing about this bill of +fare is that the dinner does not cost a cent. Ho! all ye that are hungry +and thirsty, and would like so cheap a Christmas dinner, listen to this + + +BILL OF FARE FOR A CHRISTMAS DINNER. + +_First Course._.--GLADNESS. + +This must be served hot. No two housekeepers make it alike; no fixed rule +can be given for it. It depends, like so many of the best things, chiefly +on memory; but, strangely enough, it depends quite as much on proper +forgetting as on proper remembering. Worries must be forgotten. Troubles +must be forgotten. Yes, even sorrow itself must be denied and shut out. +Perhaps this is not quite possible. Ah! we all have seen Christmas days on +which sorrow would not leave our hearts nor our houses. But even sorrow +can be compelled to look away from its sorrowing for a festival hour which +is so solemnly joyous as Christ's Birthday. Memory can be filled full of +other things to be remembered. No soul is entirely destitute of blessings, +absolutely without comfort. Perhaps we have but one. Very well; we can +think steadily of that one, if we try. But the probability is that we have +more than we can count. No man has yet numbered the blessings, the +mercies, the joys of God. We are all richer than we think; and if we once +set ourselves to reckoning up the things of which we are glad, we shall be +astonished at their number. + +Gladness, then, is the first item, the first course on our bill of fare +for a Christmas dinner. + +_Entrées_.--LOVE garnished with Smiles. + +GENTLENESS, with sweet-wine sauce of Laughter. + +GRACIOUS SPEECH, cooked with any fine, savory herbs, such as Drollery, +which is always in season, or Pleasant Reminiscence, which no one need be +without, as it keeps for years, sealed or unsealed. + +_Second Course_.--HOSPITALITY. + +The precise form of this also depends on individual preferences. We are +not undertaking here to give exact recipes, only a bill of fare. + +In some houses Hospitality is brought on surrounded with Relatives. This +is very well. In others, it is dished up with Dignitaries of all sorts; +men and women of position and estate for whom the host has special likings +or uses. This gives a fine effect to the eye, but cools quickly, and is +not in the long-run satisfying. + +In a third class, best of all, it is served in simple shapes, but with a +great variety of Unfortunate Persons,--such as lonely people from +lodging-houses, poor people of all grades, widows and childless in their +affliction. This is the kind most preferred; in fact, never abandoned by +those who have tried it. + +_For Dessert_.--MIRTH, in glasses. + +GRATITUDE and FAITH beaten together and piled up in snowy shapes. These +will look light if run over night in the moulds of Solid Trust and +Patience. + +A dish of the bonbons Good Cheer and Kindliness with every-day mottoes; +Knots and Reasons in shape of Puzzles and Answers; the whole ornamented +with Apples of Gold in Pictures of Silver, of the kind mentioned in the +Book of Proverbs. + +This is a short and simple bill of fare. There is not a costly thing in +it; not a thing which cannot be procured without difficulty. + +If meat is desired, it can be added. That is another excellence about our +bill of fare. It has nothing in it which makes it incongruous with the +richest or the plainest tables. It is not overcrowded by the addition of +roast goose and plum-pudding; it is not harmed by the addition of herring +and potatoes. Nay, it can give flavor and richness to broken bits of stale +bread served on a doorstep and eaten by beggars. + +We might say much more about this bill of fare. We might, perhaps, confess +that it has an element of the supernatural; that its origin is lost in +obscurity; that, although, as we said, it has never been printed before, +it has been known in all ages; that the martyrs feasted upon it; that +generations of the poor, called blessed by Christ, have laid out banquets +by it; that exiles and prisoners have lived on it; and the despised and +forsaken and rejected in all countries have tasted it. It is also true +that when any great king ate well and throve on his dinner, it was by the +same magic food. The young and the free and the glad, and all rich men in +costly houses, even they have not been well fed without it. + +And though we have called it a Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner, that +is only that men's eyes may be caught by its name, and that they, thinking +it a specialty for festival, may learn and understand its secret, and +henceforth, laying all their dinners according to its magic order, may +"eat unto the Lord." + + + + +Children's Parties. + + +"From six till half-past eleven." + +"German at seven, precisely." + +These were the terms of an invitation which we saw last week. It was sent +to forty children, between the ages of ten and sixteen. + +"Will you allow your children to stay at this party until half-past +eleven?" we said to a mother whose children were invited. "What can I do?" +she replied. "If I send the carriage for them at half-past ten, the +chances are that they will not be allowed to come away. It is impossible +to break up a set. And as for that matter, half-past ten is two hours and +a half past their bed-time; they might as well stay an hour longer. I wish +nobody would ever ask my children to a party. I cannot keep them at home, +if they are asked. Of course, I _might_; but I have not the moral courage +to see them so unhappy. All the other children go; and what can I do?" + +This is a tender, loving mother, whose sweet, gentle, natural methods with +her children have made them sweet, gentle, natural little girls, whom it +is a delight to know. But "what can she do?" The question is by no means +one which can be readily answered. It is very easy for off-hand severity, +sweeping condemnation, to say, "Do! Why, nothing is plainer. Keep her +children away from such places. Never let them go to any parties which +will last later than nine o'clock." This is the same thing as saying, +"Never let them go to parties at all." There are no parties which break up +at nine o'clock; that is, there are not in our cities. We hope there are +such parties still in country towns and villages,--such parties as we +remember to this day with a vividness which no social enjoyments since +then have dimmed; Saturday-afternoon parties,--_matinées_ they would have +been called if the village people had known enough; parties which began at +three in the afternoon and ended in the early dusk, while little ones +could see their way home; parties at which there was no "German," only the +simplest of dancing, if any, and much more of blind-man's-buff; parties at +which "mottoes" in sugar horns were the luxurious novelty, caraway cookies +the staple, and lemonade the only drink besides pure water. Fancy offering +to the creature called child in cities to-day, lemonade and a caraway +cooky and a few pink sugar horns and some walnuts and raisins to carry +home in its pocket! One blushes at thought of the scornful contempt with +which such simples would be received,--we mean rejected! + +From the party whose invitation we have quoted above the little girls came +home at midnight, radiant, flushed, joyous, looking in their floating +white muslin dresses like fairies, their hands loaded with bouquets of +hot-house flowers and dainty little "favors" from the German. At eleven +they had had for supper champagne and chicken salad, and all the other +unwholesome abominations which are set out and eaten in American evening +entertainments. + +Next morning there were no languid eyes, pale cheeks. Each little face was +eager, bright, rosy, though the excited brain had had only five or six +hours of sleep. + +"If they only would feel tired the next day, that would be something of an +argument to bring up with them," said the poor mother. "But they always +declare that they feel better than ever." + +And so they do. But the "better" is only a deceitful sham, kept up by +excited and overwrought nerves,--the same thing that we see over and over +and over again in all lives which are temporarily kindled and stimulated +by excitement of any kind. + +This is the worst thing, this is the most fatal thing in all our +mismanagements and perversions of the physical life of our children. Their +beautiful elasticity and strength rebound instantly to an apparently +uninjured fulness; and so we go on, undermining, undermining at point +after point, until suddenly some day there comes a tragedy, a catastrophe, +for which we are as unprepared as if we had been working to avert, instead +of to hasten it. Who shall say when our boys die at eighteen, twenty, +twenty-two, our girls either in their girlhood or in the first strain of +their womanhood,--who shall say that they might not have passed safely +through the dangers, had no vital force been unnecessarily wasted in their +childhood, their infancy? + +Every hour that a child sleeps is just so much investment of physical +capital for years to come. Every hour after dark that a child is awake is +just so much capital withdrawn. Every hour that a child lives a quiet, +tranquil, joyous life of such sort as kittens live on hearths, squirrels +in sunshine, is just so much investment in strength and steadiness and +growth of the nervous system. Every hour that a child lives a life of +excited brain-working, either in a school-room or in a ball-room, is just +so much taken away from the reserved force which enables nerves to triumph +through the sorrows, through the labors, through the diseases of later +life. Every mouthful of wholesome food that a child eats, at seasonable +hours, may be said to tell on every moment of his whole life, no matter +how long it may be. Victor Hugo, the benevolent exile, has found out that +to be well fed once in seven days at one meal has been enough to transform +the apparent health of all the poor children in Guernsey. Who shall say +that to take once in seven days, or even once in thirty days, an +unwholesome supper of chicken salad and champagne may not leave as lasting +effects on the constitution of a child? + +If Nature would only "execute" her "sentences against evil works" more +"speedily," evil works would not so thrive. The law of continuity is the +hardest one for average men and women to comprehend,--or, at any rate, to +obey. Seed-time and harvest in gardens and fields they have learned to +understand and profit by. When we learn, also, that in the precious lives +of these little ones we cannot reap what we do not sow, and we must reap +all which we do sow, and that the emptiness or the richness of the harvest +is not so much for us as for them, one of the first among the many things +which we shall reform will be "children's parties." + + + + +After-Supper Talk. + + +"After-dinner talk" has been thought of great importance. The expression +has passed into literature, with many records of the good sayings it +included. Kings and ministers condescend to make efforts at it; poets and +philosophers--greater than kings and ministers--do not disdain to attempt +to shine in it. + +But nobody has yet shown what "after-supper talk" ought to be. We are not +speaking now of the formal entertainment known as "a supper;" we mean the +every-day evening meal in the every-day home,--the meal known heartily and +commonly as "supper," among people who are neither so fashionable nor so +foolish as to take still a fourth meal at hours when they ought to be +asleep in bed. + +This ought to be the sweetest and most precious hour of the day. It is too +often neglected and lost in families. It ought to be the mother's hour; +the mother's opportunity to undo any mischief the day may have done, to +forestall any mischief the morrow may threaten. There is an instinctive +disposition in most families to linger about the supper-table, quite +unlike the eager haste which is seen at breakfast and at dinner. Work is +over for the day; everybody is tired, even the little ones who have done +nothing but play. The father is ready for slippers and a comfortable +chair; the children are ready and eager to recount the incidents of the +day. This is the time when all should be cheered, rested, and also +stimulated by just the right sort of conversation, just the right sort of +amusement. + +The wife and mother must supply this need, must create this atmosphere. We +do not mean that the father does not share the responsibility of this, as +of every other hour. But this particular duty is one requiring qualities +which are more essentially feminine than masculine. It wants a light touch +and an _undertone_ to bring out the full harmony of the ideal home +evening. It must not be a bore. It must not be empty; it must not be too +much like preaching; it must not be wholly like play; more than all +things, it must not be always--no, not if it could be helped, not even +twice--the same! It must be that most indefinable, most recognizable +thing, "a good time." Bless the children for inventing the phrase! It has, +like all their phrases, an unconscious touch of sacred inspiration in it, +in the selection of the good word "good," which lays peculiar benediction +on all things to which it is set. + +If there were no other reason against children's having lessons assigned +them to study at home, we should consider this a sufficient one, that it +robs them of the after-supper hour with their parents. Even if their +brains could bear without injury the sixth, seventh, or eighth hour, as +it may be, of study, their hearts cannot bear the being starved. + +In the average family, this is the one only hour of the day when father, +mother, and children can be together, free of cares and unhurried. Even to +the poorest laborer's family comes now something like peace and rest +forerunning the intermission of the night. + +Everybody who has any artistic sense recognizes this instinctively when +they see through the open doors of humble houses the father and mother and +children gathered around their simple supper. Its mention has already +passed into triteness in verse, so inevitably have poets felt the sacred +charm of the hour. + +Perhaps there is something deeper than on first thoughts would appear in +the instant sense of pleasure one has in this sight; also, in the +universal feeling that the evening gathering of the family is the most +sacred one. Perhaps there is unconscious recognition that dangers are near +at hand when night falls, and that in this hour lies, or should lie, the +spell to drive them all away. + +There is something almost terrible in the mingling of danger and +protection, of harm and help, of good and bad, in that one thing, +darkness. God "giveth his beloved sleep" in it; and in it the devil sets +his worst lures, by help of it gaining many a soul which he could never +get possession of in sunlight. + +Mothers, fathers! cultivate "after-supper talk;" play "after-supper +games;" keep "after-supper books;" take all the good newspapers and +magazines you can afford, and read them aloud "after supper." Let boys and +girls bring their friends home with them at twilight, sure of a pleasant +and hospitable welcome and of a good time "after supper," and parents may +laugh to scorn all the temptations which town or village can set before +them to draw them away from home for their evenings. + +These are but hasty hints, bare suggestions. But if they rouse one heart +to a new realization of what evenings at home _ought_ to be, and what +evenings at home too often are, they have not been spoken in vain nor out +of season. + + + + +Hysteria In Literature. + + + +Physicians tell us that there is no known disease, no known symptom of +disease, which hysteria cannot and does not counterfeit. Most skilful +surgeons are misled by its cunning into believing and pronouncing +able-bodied young women to be victims of spinal disease, "stricture of the +oesophagus," "gastrodynia," "paraplegia," "hemiplegia," and hundreds of +other affections, with longer or shorter names. Families are thrown into +disorder and distress; friends suffer untold pains of anxiety and +sympathy; doctors are summoned from far and near; and all this while the +vertebra, or the membrane, or the muscle, as it may be, which is so +honestly believed to be diseased, and which shows every symptom of +diseased action or inaction, is sound and strong, and as well able as ever +it was to perform its function. + +The common symptoms of hysteria everybody is familiar with,--the crying +and laughing in inappropriate places, the fancied impossibility of +breathing, and so forth,--which make such trouble and mortification for +the embarrassed companions of hysterical persons; and which, moreover, can +be very easily suppressed by a little wholesome severity, accompanied by +judicious threats or sudden use of cold water. But few people know or +suspect the number of diseases and conditions, supposed to be real, +serious, often incurable, which are simply and solely, or in a great part, +undetected hysteria. This very ignorance on the part of friends and +relatives makes it almost impossible for surgeons and physicians to treat +such cases properly. The probabilities are, in nine cases out of ten, that +the indignant family will dismiss, as ignorant or hard-hearted, any +practitioner who tells them the unvarnished truth, and proposes to treat +the sufferer in accordance with it. + +In the field of literature we find a hysteria as widespread, as +undetected, as unmanageable as the hysteria which skulks and conquers in +the field of disease. + +Its commoner outbreaks everybody knows by sight and sound, and everybody +except the miserably ignorant and silly despises. Yet there are to be +found circles which thrill and weep in sympathetic unison with the +ridiculous joys and sorrows, grotesque sentiments, and preposterous +adventures of the heroes and heroines of the "Dime Novels" and novelettes, +and the "Flags" and "Blades" and "Gazettes" among the lowest newspapers. +But in well-regulated and intelligent households, this sort of writing is +not tolerated, any more than the correlative sort of physical phenomenon +would be,--the gasping, shrieking, sobbing, giggling kind of behavior in a +man or woman. + +But there is another and more dangerous working of the same thing; deep, +unsuspected, clothing itself with symptoms of the most defiant +genuineness, it lurks and does its business in every known field of +composition. Men and women are alike prone to it, though its shape is +somewhat affected by sex. + +Among men it breaks out often, perhaps oftenest, in violent illusions on +the subject of love. They assert, declare, shout, sing, scream that they +love, have loved, are loved, do and for ever will love, after methods and +in manners which no decent love ever thought of mentioning. And yet, so +does their weak violence ape the bearing of strength, so much does their +cheat look like truth, that scores, nay, shoals of human beings go about +repeating and echoing their noise, and saying, gratefully, "Yes, this is +love; this is, indeed, what all true lovers must know." + +These are they who proclaim names of beloved on house-tops; who strip off +veils from sacred secrets and secret sacrednesses, and set them up naked +for the multitude to weigh and compare. What punishment is for such +beloved, Love himself only knows. It must be in store for them somewhere. +Dimly one can suspect what it might be; but it will be like all Love's +true secrets,--secret for ever. + +These men of hysteria also take up specialties of art or science; and in +their behoof rant, and exaggerate, and fabricate, and twist, and lie in +such stentorian voices that reasonable people are deafened and bewildered. + +They also tell common tales in such enormous phrases, with such gigantic +structure of rhetorical flourish, that the mere disproportion amounts to +false-hood; and, the diseased appetite in listeners growing more and more +diseased, feeding on such diseased food, it is impossible to predict what +it will not be necessary for story-mongers to invent at the end of a +century or so more of this. + +But the worst manifestations of this disease are found in so-called +religious writing. Theology, biography, especially autobiography, didactic +essays, tales with a moral,--under every one of these titles it lifts up +its hateful head. It takes so successfully the guise of genuine religious +emotion, religious experience, religious zeal, that good people on all +hands weep grateful tears as they read its morbid and unwholesome +utterances. Of these are many of the long and short stories setting forth +in melodramatic pictures exceptionally good or exceptionally bad children; +or exceptionally pathetic and romantic careers of sweet and refined +Magdalens; minute and prolonged dissections of the processes of spiritual +growth; equally minute and authoritative formulas for spiritual exercises +of all sorts,--"manuals of drill," so to speak, or "field tactics" for +souls. Of these sorts of books, the good and the bad are almost +indistinguishable from each other, except by the carefulest attention and +the finest insight; overwrought, unnatural atmosphere and meaningless, +shallow routine so nearly counterfeit the sound and shape of warm, true +enthusiasm and wise precepts. + +Where may be the remedy for this widespread and widely spreading disease +among writers we do not know. It is not easy to keep up courageous faith +that there is any remedy. Still Nature abhors noise and haste, and shams +of all sorts. Quiet and patience are the great secrets of her force, +whether it be a mountain or a soul that she would fashion. We must believe +that sooner or later there will come a time in which silence shall have +its dues, moderation be crowned king of speech, and melodramatic, +spectacular, hysterical language be considered as disreputable as it is +silly. But the most discouraging feature of the disease is its extreme +contagiousness. All physicians know what a disastrous effect one +hysterical patient will produce upon a whole ward in a hospital. We +remember hearing a young physician once give a most amusing account of a +woman who was taken to Bellevue Hospital for a hysterical cough. Her +lungs, bronchia, throat, were all in perfect condition; but she coughed +almost incessantly, especially on the approach of the hour for the +doctor's visit to the ward. In less than one week half the women in the +ward had similar coughs. A single--though it must be confessed rather +terrific--application of cold water to the original offender worked a +simultaneous cure upon her and all of her imitators. + +Not long ago a very parallel thing was to be observed in the field of +story-writing. A clever, though morbid and melodramatic writer published a +novel, whose heroine, having once been an inmate of a house of ill-fame, +escaped, and, finding shelter and Christian training in the home of a +benevolent woman, became a model of womanly delicacy, and led a life of +exquisite and artistic refinement. As to the animus and intent of this +story there could be no doubt; both were good, but in atmosphere and +execution it was essentially unreal, overwrought, and melodramatic. For +three or four months after its publication there was a perfect outburst +and overflow in newspapers and magazines of the lower order of stories, +all more or less bad, some simply outrageous, and all treating, or rather +pretending to treat, the same problem which had furnished theme for that +novel. + +Probably a close observation and collecting of the dreary statistics would +bring to light a curious proof of the extent and certainty of this sort of +contagion. + +Reflecting on it, having it thrust in one's face at every book-counter, +railway-stand, Sunday-school library, and parlor centre-table, it is hard +not to wish for some supernatural authority to come sweeping through the +wards, and prescribe sharp cold-water treatment all around to half drown +all such writers and quite drown all their books! + + + + +Jog Trot. + + +There is etymological uncertainty about the phrase. But there is no doubt +about its meaning; no doubt that it represents a good, comfortable gait, +at which nobody goes nowadays. + +A hundred years ago it was the fashion: in the days when railroads were +not, nor telegraphs; when citizens journeyed in stages, putting up prayers +in church if their journey were to be so long as from Massachusetts into +Connecticut; when evil news travelled slowly by letter, and good news was +carried about by men on horses; when maidens spun and wove for long, +quiet, silent years at their wedding _trousseaux_, and mothers spun and +wove all which sons and husbands wore; when newspapers were small and +infrequent, dingy-typed and wholesomely stupid, so that no man could or +would learn from them more about other men's opinions, affairs, or +occupations than it concerned his practical convenience to know; when even +wars were waged at slow pace,--armies sailing great distances by chance +winds, or plodding on foot for thousands of miles, and fighting doggedly +hand to hand at sight; when fortunes also were slowly made by simple, +honest growths,--no men excepting freebooters and pirates becoming rich +in a day. + +It would seem treason or idiocy to sigh for these old days,--treason to +ideas of progress, stupid idiocy unaware that it is well off. Is not +to-day brilliant, marvellous, beautiful? Has not living become subject to +a magician's "presto"? Are we not decked in the whole of color, feasted on +all that shape and sound and flavor can give? Are we not wiser each moment +than we were the moment before? Do not the blind see, the deaf hear, and +the crippled dance? Has not Nature surrendered to us? Art and science, are +they not our slaves,--coining money and running mills? Have we not built +and multiplied religions, till each man, even the most irreligious, can +have his own? Is not what is called the "movement of the age" going on at +the highest rate of speed and of sound? Shall we complain that we are +maddened by the racket, out of breath with the spinning and whirling, and +dying of the strain of it all? What is a man, more or less? What are one +hundred and twenty millions of men, more or less? What is quiet in +comparison with riches? or digestion and long life in comparison with +knowledge? When we are added up in the universal reckoning of races, there +will be small mention of individuals. Let us be disinterested. Let us +sacrifice ourselves, and, above all, our children, to raise the general +average of human invention and attainment to the highest possible mark. To +be sure, we are working in the dark. We do not know, not even if we are +Huxley do we know, at what point in the grand, universal scale we shall +ultimately come in. We know, or think we know, about how far below us +stand the gorilla and the seal. We patronize them kindly for learning to +turn hand-organs or eat from porringers. Let us hope that, if we have +brethren of higher races on other planets, they will be as generously +appreciative of our little all when we have done it; but, meanwhile, let +us never be deterred from our utmost endeavor by any base and envious +misgivings that possibly we may not be the last and highest work of the +Creator, and in a fair way to reach very soon the final climax of all +which created intelligences can be or become. Let us make the best of +dyspepsia, paralysis, insanity, and the death of our children. Perhaps we +can do as much in forty years, working night and day, as we could in +seventy, working only by day; and the five out of twelve children that +live to grow up can perpetuate the names and the methods of their fathers. +It is a comfort to believe, as we are told, that the world can never lose +an iota that it has gained; that progress is the great law of the +universe. It is consoling to verify this truth by looking backward, and +seeing how each age has made use of the wrecks of the preceding one as +material for new structures on different plans. What are we that we should +mention our preference for being put to some other use, more immediately +remunerative to ourselves! + +We must be all wrong if we are not in sympathy with the age in which we +live. We might as well be dead as not keep up with it. But which of us +does not sometimes wish in his heart of hearts, that he had been born long +enough ago to have been boon companion of his great-grandfather, and have +gone respectably and in due season to his grave at a good jog trot? + + + + +The Joyless American. + + +It is easy to fancy that a European, on first reaching these shores, might +suppose that he had chanced to arrive upon a day when some great public +calamity had saddened the heart of the nation. It would be quite safe to +assume that out of the first five hundred faces which he sees there will +not be ten wearing a smile, and not fifty, all told, looking as if they +ever could smile. If this statement sounds extravagant to any man, let him +try the experiment, for one week, of noting down, in his walks about town, +every face he sees which has a radiantly cheerful expression. The chances +are that at the end of his seven days he will not have entered seven faces +in his note-book without being aware at the moment of some conscientious +difficulty in permitting himself to call them positively and unmistakably +cheerful. + +The truth is, this wretched and joyless expression on the American face is +so common that we are hardened to seeing it, and look for nothing better. +Only when by chance some blessed, rollicking, sunshiny boy or girl or man +or woman flashes the beam of a laughing countenance into the level gloom +do we even know that we are in the dark. Witness the instant effect of +the entrance of such a person into an omnibus or a car. Who has not +observed it? Even the most stolid and apathetic soul relaxes a little. The +unconscious intruder, simply by smiling, has set the blood moving more +quickly in the veins of every human being who sees him. He is, for the +moment, the personal benefactor of every one; if he had handed about money +or bread, it would have been a philanthropy of less value. + +What is to be done to prevent this acrid look of misery from becoming an +organic characteristic of our people? "Make them play more," says one +philosophy. No doubt they need to "play more;" but, when one looks at the +average expression of a Fourth of July crowd, one doubts if ever so much +multiplication of that kind of holiday would mend the matter. No doubt we +work for too many days in the year, and play for too few; but, after all, +it is the heart and the spirit and the expression that we bring to our +work, and not those that we bring to our play, by which our real vitality +must be tested and by which our faces will be stamped. If we do not work +healthfully, reasoningly, moderately, thankfully, joyously, we shall have +neither moderation nor gratitude nor joy in our play. And here is the +hopelessness, here is the root of the trouble, of the joyless American +face. The worst of all demons, the demon of unrest and overwork, broods in +the very sky of this land. Blue and clear and crisp and sparkling as our +atmosphere is, it cannot or does not exorcise the spell. Any old man can +count on the fingers of one hand the persons he has known who led lives of +serene, unhurried content, made for themselves occupations and not tasks, +and died at last what might be called natural deaths. + +"What, then?" says the congressional candidate from Mettibemps; the "new +contributor" to the oceanic magazine; Mrs. Potiphar, from behind her +liveries; and poor Dives, senior, from Wall Street; "Are we to give up all +ambition?" God forbid. But, because one has a goal, must one be torn by +poisoned spurs? We see on the Corso, in the days of the Carnival, what +speed can be made by horses under torture. Shall we try those methods and +that pace on our journeys? + +So long as the American is resolved to do in one day the work of two, to +make in one year the fortune of his whole life and his children's, to earn +before he is forty the reputation which belongs to threescore and ten, so +long he will go about the streets wearing his present abject, pitiable, +overwrought, joyless look. But, even without a change of heart or a reform +of habits, he might better his countenance a little, if he would. Even if +he does not feel like smiling, he might smile, if he tried; and that would +be something. The muscles are all there; they count the same in the +American as in the French or the Irish face; they relax easily in youth; +the trick can be learned. And even a trick of it is better than none of +it. Laughing masters might be as well paid as dancing masters to help on +society! "Smiling made Easy" or the "Complete Art of Looking +Good-natured" would be as taking titles on book-sellers' shelves as "The +Complete Letter-writer" or "Handbook of Behavior." And nobody can +calculate what might be the moral and spiritual results if it could only +become the fashion to pursue this branch of the fine arts. Surliness of +heart must melt a little under the simple effort to smile. A man will +inevitably be a little less of a bear for trying to wear the face of a +Christian. + +"He who laughs can commit no deadly sin," said the wise and sweet-hearted +woman who was mother of Goethe. + + + + +Spiritual Teething + + +Milk for babes; but, when they come to the age for meat of doctrine, teeth +must be cut. It is harder work for souls than for bodies; but the +processes are wonderfully parallel,--the results too, alas! If clergymen +knew the symptoms of spiritual disease and death, as well as doctors do of +disease and death of the flesh, and if the lists were published at end of +each year and month and week, what a record would be shown! "Mortality in +Brooklyn, or New York, or Philadelphia for the week ending July 7th." We +are so used to the curt heading of the little paragraph that our eye +glances idly away from it, and we do not realize its sadness. By tens and +by scores they have gone,--the men, the women, the babies; in hundreds new +mourners are going about the streets, week by week. We are as familiar +with black as with scarlet, with the hearse as with the pleasure-carriage; +and yet "so dies in human hearts the thought of death" that we can be +merry. + +But, if we knew as well the record of sick and dying and dead souls, our +hearts would break. The air would be dark and stifling. We should be +afraid to move,--lest we might hasten the last hour of some neighbor's +spiritual breath. Ah, how often have we unconsciously spoken the one word +which was poison to his fever! + +Of the spiritual deaths, as of the physical, more than half take place in +the period of teething. The more one thinks of the parallelism, the closer +it looks, until the likeness seems as droll as dismal. Oh, the sweet, +unquestioning infancy which takes its food from the nearest breast; which +knows but three things,--hunger and food and sleep! There is only a little +space for this delight. In our seventh month we begin to be wretched. We +drink our milk, but we are aware of a constant desire to bite; doubts +which we do not know by name, needs for which there is no ready supply, +make us restless. Now comes the old-school doctor, and thrusts in his +lancet too soon. We suffer, we bleed; we are supposed to be relieved. The +tooth is said to be "through." + +Through! Oh, yes; through before its time. Through to no purpose. In a +week, or a year, the wounded flesh, or soul, has reasserted its right, +shut down on the tooth, making a harder surface than ever, a cicatrized +crust, out of which it will take double time and double strength for the +tooth to break. + +The gentle doctor gives us a rubber ring, it has a bad taste; or an ivory +one, it is too hard and hurts us. But we gnaw and gnaw, and fancy the new +pain a little easier to bear than the old. Probably it is; probably the +tooth gets through a little quicker for the days and nights of gnawing. +But what a picture of patient misery is a baby with its rubber ring! +Really one sees sometimes in the little puckered, twisting face such +grotesque prophecy of future conflicts, such likeness to the soul's +processes of grappling with problems, that it is uncanny. + +When we come to the analysis of the diseases incident to the teething +period, and the treatment of them, the similitude is as close. + +We have sharp, sudden inflammations; we have subtle and more deadly +things, which men do not detect till it is, in nine cases out of ten, too +late to cure them,--like water on the brain; and we have slow wastings +away; atrophies, which are worse than death, leaving life enough to +prolong death indefinitely, being as it were living deaths. + +Who does not know poor souls in all stages of all these,--outbreaks of +rebellion against all forms, all creeds, all proprieties; secret adoptions +of perilous delusions, fatal errors; and slow settling down into +indifferentism or narrow dogmatism, the two worst living deaths? + +These are they who live. Shall we say any thing of those of us who die +between our seventh and eighteenth spiritual month? They never put on +babies' tombstones "Died of teething." There is always a special name for +the special symptom or set of symptoms which characterized the last days. +But the mother believes and the doctor knows that, if it had not been for +the teeth that were coming just at that time, the fever or the croup would +not have killed the child. + +Now we come to the treatments; and here again the parallelism is so close +as to be ludicrous. The lancet and the rubber ring fail. We are still +restless, and scream and cry. Then our self-sacrificing nurses walk with +us; they rock us, they swing us, they toss us up and down, they jounce us +from top to bottom, till the wonder is that every organ in our bodies is +not displaced. They beat on glass and tin and iron to distract our +attention and drown out our noise by a bigger one; they shake back and +forth before our eyes all things that glitter and blaze; they shout and +sing songs; the house and the neighborhood are searched and racked for +something which will "amuse" the baby. Then, when we will no longer be +"amused," and when all this restlessness outside and around us, added to +the restlessness inside us, has driven us more than frantic, and the day +or the night of their well-meant clamor is nearly over, their strength +worn out, and their wits at end,--then comes the "soothing syrup," +deadliest weapon of all. This we cannot resist. If there be they who are +mighty enough to pour it down our throats, physically or spiritually, to +sleep we must go, and asleep we must stay so long as the effect of the +dose lasts. + +It is of this, we oftenest die,--not in a day or a year, but after many +days and many years; when in some sharp crisis we need for our salvation +the force which should have been developing in our infancy, the muscle or +the nerve which should have been steadily growing strong till that moment. +But the force is not there; the muscle is weak; the nerve paralyzed; and +we die at twenty of a light fever, we fall down at twenty, under sudden +grief or temptation, because of our long sleeps under soothing syrups when +we were babies. + +Oh, good nurses and doctors of souls, let them cut their own teeth, in the +natural ways. Let them scream if they must, but keep you still on one +side; give them no false helps; let them alone so far as it is possible +for love and sympathy to do so. Man is the only animal that has trouble +from the growing of the teeth in his body. It must be his own fault +somehow that he has that; and he has evidently been always conscious of a +likeness between this difficulty and perversion of a process natural to +his body, and the difficulty and perversion of his getting sensible and +just opinions; for it has passed into the immortality of a proverb that a +shrewd man is a man who has "cut his eye-teeth;" and the four last teeth, +which we get late in life, and which cost many people days of real +illness, are called in all tongues, all countries, "wisdom teeth!" + + + + +Glass Houses. + + +Who would live in one, if he could help it? And who wants to throw stones? + +But who lives in any thing else, nowadays? And how much better off are +they who never threw a stone in their lives than the rude mob who throw +them all the time? + +Really, the proverb might as well be blotted out from our books and +dropped from our speech. It has no longer use or meaning. + +It is becoming a serious question what shall be done, or rather what can +be done, to secure to fastidious people some show and shadow of privacy in +their homes. The silly and vulgar passion of people for knowing all about +their neighbors' affairs, which is bad enough while it takes shape merely +in idle gossip of mouth, is something terrible when it is exalted into a +regular market demand of the community, and fed by a regular market supply +from all who wish to print what the community will read. + +We do not know which is worse in this traffic, the buyer or the seller; we +think, on the whole, the buyer. But then he is again a seller; and so +there it is,--wheel within wheel, cog upon cog. And, since all these +sellers must earn their bread and butter, the more one searches for a fair +point of attacking the evil, the more he is perplexed. + +The man who writes must, if he needs pay for his work, write what the man +who prints will buy. The man who prints must print what the people who +read will buy. Upon whom, then, shall we lay earnest hands? Clearly, upon +the last buyer,--upon him who reads. But things have come to such a pass +already that to point out to the average American that it is vulgar and +also unwholesome to devour with greedy delight all sorts of details about +his neighbors' business seems as hopeless and useless as to point out to +the currie-eater or the whiskey-drinker the bad effects of fire and +strychnine upon mucous membranes. The diseased palate craves what has made +it diseased,--craves it more, and more, and more. In case of stomachs, +Nature has a few simple inventions of her own for bringing reckless abuses +to a stand-still,--dyspepsia, and delirium-tremens, and so on. + +But she takes no account, apparently, of the diseased conditions of brains +incident to the long use of unwholesome or poisonous intellectual food. +Perhaps she never anticipated this class of excesses. And, if there were +to be a precisely correlative punishment, it is to be feared it would fall +more heavily on the least guilty offender. It is not hard to fancy a poor +soul who, having been condemned to do reporters' duty for some years, and +having been forced to dwell and dilate upon scenes and details which his +very soul revolted from mentioning,--it is not hard to fancy such a soul +visited at last by a species of delirium-tremens, in which the speeches of +men who had spoken, the gowns of women who had danced, the faces, the +figures, the furniture of celebrities, should all be mixed up in a +grotesque phantasmagoria of torture, before which he should writhe as +helplessly and agonizingly as the poor whiskey-drinker before his snakes. +But it would be a cruel misplacement of punishment. All the while the true +guilty would be placidly sitting down at still further unsavory banquets, +which equally helpless providers were driven to furnish! + +The evil is all the harder to deal with, also, because it is like so many +evils,--all, perhaps,--only a diseased outgrowth, from a legitimate and +justifiable thing. It is our duty to sympathize; it is our privilege and +pleasure to admire. No man lives to himself alone; no man can; no man +ought. It is right that we should know about our neighbors all which will +help us to help them, to be just to them, to avoid them, if need be; in +short, all which we need to know for their or our reasonable and fair +advantage. It is right, also, that we should know about men who are or +have been great all which can enable us to understand their greatness; to +profit, to imitate, to revere; all that will help us to remember whatever +is worth remembering. There is education in this; it is experience, it is +history. + +But how much of what is written, printed, and read to-day about the men +and women of to-day comes under these heads? It is unnecessary to do more +than ask the question. It is still more unnecessary to do more than ask +how many of the men and women of to-day, whose names have become almost as +stereotyped a part of public journals as the very titles of the journals +themselves, have any claim to such prominence. But all these +considerations seem insignificant by side of the intrinsic one of the +vulgarity of the thing, and its impudent ignoring of the most sacred +rights of individuals. That there are here and there weak fools who like +to see their names and most trivial movements chronicled in newspapers +cannot be denied. But they are few. And their silly pleasure is very small +in the aggregate compared with the annoyance and pain suffered by +sensitive and refined people from these merciless invasions of their +privacy. No precautions can forestall them, no reticence prevent; nothing, +apparently, short of dying outright, can set one free. And even then it is +merely leaving the torture behind, a harrowing legacy to one's friends; +for tombs are even less sacred than houses. Memory, friendship, +obligation,--all are lost sight of in the greed of desire to make an +effective sketch, a surprising revelation, a neat analysis, or perhaps an +adroit implication of honor to one's self by reason of an old association +with greatness. Private letters and private conversations, which may touch +living hearts in a thousand sore spots, are hawked about as coolly as if +they had been old clothes, left too long unredeemed in the hands of the +pawn-broker! "Dead men tell no tales," says the proverb. One wishes they +could! We should miss some spicy contributions to magazine and newspaper +literature; and a sudden silence would fall upon some loud-mouthed living. + +But we despair of any cure for this evil. No ridicule, no indignation +seems to touch it. People must make the best they can of their glass +houses; and, if the stones come too fast, take refuge in the cellars. + + + + +The Old-Clothes Monger in Journalism. + + + +The old-clothes business has never been considered respectable. It is +supposed to begin and to end with cheating; it deals with very dirty +things. It would be hard to mention a calling of lower repute. From the +men who come to your door with trays of abominable china vases on their +heads, and are ready to take any sort of rags in payment for them, +down--or up?--to the bigger wretches who advertise that "ladies and +gentlemen can obtain the highest price for their cast-off clothing by +calling at No. so and so, on such a street," they are all alike odious and +despicable. + +We wonder when we find anybody who is not an abject Jew, engaged in the +business. We think we can recognize the stamp of the disgusting traffic on +their very faces. It is by no means uncommon to hear it said of a sorry +sneak, "He looks like an old-clothes dealer." + +But what shall we say of the old-clothes mongers in journalism? By the +very name we have defined, described them, and pointed them out. If only +we could make the name such a badge of disgrace that every member of the +fraternity should forthwith betake him or herself to some sort of honest +labor! + +These are they who crowd the columns of our daily newspapers with the +dreary, monotonous, worthless, scandalous tales of what other men and +women did, are doing, or will do, said, say, or will say, wore, wear, or +will wear, thought, think, or will think, ate, eat, or will eat, drank, +drink, or will drink: and if there be any other verb coming under the head +of "to do, to be, to suffer," add that to the list, and the old-clothes +monger will furnish you with something to fill out the phrase. + +These are they who patch out their miserable, little, sham "properties" +for mock representations of life, by scraps from private letters, bits of +conversation overheard on piazzas, in parlors, in bedrooms, by odds and +ends of untrustworthy statements picked up at railway-stations, +church-doors, and offices of all sorts, by impudent inferences and +suppositions, and guesses about other people's affairs, by garblings and +partial quotings, and, if need be, by wholesale lyings. + +The trade is on the increase,--rapidly, fearfully on the increase. Every +large city, every summer watering-place, is more or less infested with +this class of dealers. The goods they have to furnish are more and more in +demand. There is hardly a journal in the country but has column after +column full of their tattered wares; there is hardly a man or woman in the +country but buys them. + +There is, perhaps, no remedy. Human nature has not yet shed all the +monkey. A lingering and grovelling baseness in the average heart delights +in this sort of cast-off clothes of fellow-worms. But if the trade must +continue, can we not insist that the profits be shared? If A is to receive +ten dollars for quoting B's remarks at a private dinner yesterday, shall +not B have a small percentage on the sale? Clearly, this is only justice. +And in cases where the wares are simply stolen, shall there be no redress? +Here is an opening for a new Bureau. How well its advertisements would +read:-- + +"Ladies and gentlemen wishing to dispose of their old opinions, +sentiments, feelings, and so forth, and also of the more interesting facts +in their personal history, can obtain good prices for the same at No.-- +Tittle-tattle street. Inquire at the door marked 'Regular and Special +Correspondence.' + +"N. B.--Persons willing to be reported _verbatim_ will receive especial +consideration." + +We commend this brief suggestion of a new business to all who are anxious +to make a living and not particular how they make it. Perhaps the class of +whom we have been speaking would find it profitable to set it up as a +branch of their own calling. It is quite possible that nobody else in the +country would like to meddle with it. + + + + +The Country Landlord's Side. + + + +It is only one side, to be sure. But it is the side of which we hear +least. The quarrel is like all quarrels,--it takes two to make it; but +as, of those two, one is only one, and the other is from ten to a hundred, +it is easy to see which side will do most talking in setting forth its +grievances. + +"It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer; and when he is gone his way +then he boasteth." We are oftener reminded of this text of Scripture than +of any other when we listen to conversations in regard to boarders in +country houses. + +"Oh, let me tell you of such a nice place we have found to board in the +country. It is only--miles from Mt.--or--Lake; the drives are delightful, +and board is only $7 a week." + +"Is the table a good one?" + +"Oh, yes; very good for the country. We had good butter and milk, and eggs +in abundance. Meats, of course, are never very good in the country. But +everybody gained a pound a week; and we are going again this year, if they +have not raised their prices." + +Then this model of a city woman, in search of country lodgings, sits down +and writes to the landlord:-- + +"Dear Sir,--We would like to secure our old rooms in your house for the +whole of July and August. As we shall remain so long a time, we hope you +may be willing to count all the children at half-price. Last year, you may +remember, we paid full price for the two eldest, the twins, who are not +yet quite fourteen. I hope, also, that Mrs. ---- has better arrangements +for washing this summer, and will allow us to have our own servant to do +the washing for the whole family. If these terms suit you, the price for +my family--eight children, myself, and servant--would be $38.50 a week. +Perhaps, if the servant takes the entire charge of my rooms, you would +call it $37; as, of course, that would save the time of your own +servants." + +Then the country landlord hesitates. He is not positively sure of filling +all his rooms for the season. Thirty-seven dollars a week would be, he +thinks, better than nothing. In his simplicity, he supposes that, if he +confers, as he certainly does, a favor on Mrs.----, by receiving her great +family on such low terms, she will be thoroughly well disposed toward him +and his house, and will certainly not be over-exacting in matter of +accommodations. In an evil hour, he consents; they come, and he begins to +reap his reward. The twins are stout boys, as large as men, and much +hungrier. The baby is a sickly child of eighteen months, and requires +especial diet, which must be prepared at especial and inconvenient hours, +in the crowded little kitchen. The other five children are average boys +and girls, between the ages of three and twelve, eat certainly as much as +five grown people, and make twice as much trouble. The servant is a slow, +inefficient, impudent Irish girl, who spends the greater part of four days +in doing the family washing, and makes the other servants uncomfortable +and cross. + +If this were all; but this is not. Mrs.----, who writes to all her friends +boastingly of the cheap summer quarters that she has found, and who gains +by the village shop-keeper's scales a pound of flesh a week, habitually +finds fault with the food, with the mattresses, with the chairs, with the +rag-carpets, with every thing, in short, down to the dust and the flies, +for neither of which last the poor landlord could be legitimately held +responsible. This is not an exaggerated picture. Everybody who has boarded +in country places in the summer has known dozens of such women. Every +country landlord can produce dozens of such letters, and of letters still +more exacting and unreasonable. + +The average city man or woman who goes to a country house to board, goes +expecting what it is in the nature of things impossible that they should +have. The man expects to have boots blacked and hot water ready, and a +bell to ring for both. What experienced country boarder has not laughed in +his sleeve to see such an one, newly arrived, putting his head out +snappingly, like a turtle, from his doorway, and calling to chance +passers, "How d'ye get at anybody in this house?" + +If it is a woman, she expects that the tea will be of the finest flavor, +and never boiled; that steaks will be porter-house steaks; that green peas +will be in plenty; and that the American girl, who is chambermaid for the +summer, and school-teacher in the winter, and who, ten to one, could put +her to the blush in five minutes by superior knowledge on many subjects, +will enter and leave her room and wait upon her at the table with the +silent respectfulness of a trained city servant. + +This is all very silly. But it happens. At the end of every summer +hundreds of disappointed city people go back to their homes grumbling +about country food and country ways. Hundreds of tired and discouraged +wives of country landlords sit down in their houses, at last emptied, and +vow a vow that never again will they take "city folks to board." But the +great law of supply and demand is too strong for them. The city must come +out of itself for a few weeks, and get oxygen for its lungs, sunlight for +its eyes, and rest for its overworked brain. The country must open its +arms, whether it will or not, and share its blessings. And so the summers +and the summerings go on, and there are always to be heard in the land the +voices of murmuring boarders, and of landlords deprecating, vindicating. +We confess that our sympathies are with the landlords. The average country +landlord is an honest, well-meaning man, whose idea of the profit to be +made "off boarders" is so moderate and simple that the keepers of city +boarding-houses would laugh it and him to scorn. If this were not so, +would he be found undertaking to lodge and feed people for one dollar or a +dollar and a half a day? Neither does he dream of asking them, even at +this low price, to fare as he fares. The "Excelsior" mattresses, at which +they cry out in disgust, are beds of down in comparison with the straw +"tick" on which he and his wife sleep soundly and contentedly. He has paid +$4.50 for each mattress, as a special concession to what he understands +city prejudice to require. The cheap painted chamber-sets are holiday +adorning by the side of the cherry and pine in the bedrooms of his family. +He buys fresh meat every day for dinner; and nobody can understand the +importance of this fact who is not familiar with the habit of salt-pork +and codfish in our rural districts. That the meat is tough, pale, stringy +is not his fault; no other is to be bought. Stetson, himself, if he dealt +with this country butcher, could do no better. Vegetables? Yes, he has +planted them. If we look out of our windows, we can see them on their +winding way. They will be ripe by and by. He never tasted peas in his life +before the Fourth of July, or cucumbers before the middle of August. He +hears that there are such things; but he thinks they must be "dreadful +unhealthy, them things forced out of season,"--and, whether healthy or +not, he can't get them. We couldn't ourselves, if we were keeping house in +the same township. To be sure, we might send to the cities for them, and +be served with such as were wilted to begin with, and would arrive utterly +unfit to be eaten at end of their day's journey, costing double their +market price in the added express charge. We should not do any such thing. +We should do just as he does, make the best of "plum sauce," or even dried +apples. We should not make our sauce with molasses, probably; but he does +not know that sugar is better; he honestly likes molasses best. As for +saleratus in the bread, as for fried meat, and fried doughnuts, and +ubiquitous pickles,--all those things have he, and his fathers before him, +eaten, and, he thinks, thriven on from time immemorial. He will listen +incredulously to all we say about the effects of alkalies, the change of +fats to injurious oils by frying, the indigestibility of pickles, &c.; +for, after all, the unanswerable fact remains on his side, though he may +be too polite or too slow to make use of it in the argument, that, having +fed on these poisons all his life, he can easily thrash us to-day, and his +wife and daughters can and do work from morning till night, while ours +must lie down and rest by noon. In spite of all this, he will do what he +can to humor our whims. Never yet have we seen the country boarding-house +where kindly and persistent remonstrance would not introduce the gridiron +and banish the frying-pan, and obtain at least an attempt at yeast-bread. +Good, patient, long-suffering country people! The only wonder to us is +that they tolerate so pleasantly, make such effort to gratify, the +preferences and prejudices of city men and women, who come and who remain +strangers among them; and who, in so many instances, behave from first to +last as if they were of a different race, and knew nothing of any common +bonds of humanity and Christianity. + + + + +The Good Staff of Pleasure. + + + +In an inn in Berchtesgaden, Bavaria, where I dined every day for three +weeks, one summer, I made the acquaintance of a little maid called +Gretchen. She stood all day long washing dishes, in a dark passageway +which communicated in some mysterious fashion with cellar, kitchen, +dining-room, and main hall of the inn. From one or other of these quarters +Gretchen was sharply called so often that it was a puzzle to know how she +contrived to wash so much as a cup or a plate in the course of the day. +Poor child! I am afraid she did most of her work after dark; for I +sometimes left her standing there at ten o'clock at night. She was +blanched and shrunken from fatigue and lack of sunlight. I doubt if ever, +unless perhaps on some exceptional Sunday, she knew the sensation of a +full breath of pure air or a warm sunbeam on her face. + +But whenever I passed her she smiled, and there was never-failing +good-cheer in her voice when she said "Good-morning." Her uniform +atmosphere of contentedness so impressed and surprised me that, at last, I +said to Franz, the head waiter,-- + +"What makes Gretchen so happy? She has a hard life, always standing in +that narrow dark place, washing dishes." + +Franz was phlegmatic, and spoke very little English. He shrugged his +shoulders, in sign of assent that Gretchen's life was a hard one, and +added,-- + +"Ja, ja. She likes because all must come at her door. There will be no one +which will say not nothing if they go by." + +That was it. Almost every hour some human voice said pleasantly to her, +"Good-morning, Gretchen," or "It is a fine day;" or, if no word were +spoken, there would be a friendly nod and smile. For nowhere in +kind-hearted, simple Germany do human beings pass by other human beings, +as we do in America, without so much as a turn of the head to show +recognition of humanity in common. + +This one little pleasure kept Gretchen not only alive, but comparatively +glad. Her body suffered for want of sun and air. There was no helping +that, by any amount of spiritual compensation, so long as she must stand, +year in and year out, in a close, dark corner, and do hard drudgery. But, +if she had stood in that close, dark corner, doing that hard drudgery, and +had had no pleasure to comfort her, she would have been dead in three +months. + +If all men and women could realize the power, the might of even a small +pleasure, how much happier the world would be! and how much longer bodies +and souls both would bear up under living! Sensitive people realize it to +the very core of their being. They know that often and often it happens +to them to be revived, kindled, strengthened, to a degree which they could +not describe, and which they hardly comprehend, by some little +thing,--some word of praise, some token of remembrance, some proof of +affection or recognition. They know, too, that strength goes out of them, +just as inexplicably, just as fatally, when for a space, perhaps even a +short space, all these are wanting. + +People who are not sensitive also come to find this out, if they are +tender. They are by no means inseparable,--tenderness and sensitiveness; +if they were, human nature would be both more comfortable and more +agreeable. But tender people alone can be just to sensitive ones; living +in close relations with them, they learn what they need, and, so far as +they can, supply it, even when they wonder a little, and perhaps grow a +little weary. + +We see a tender and just mother sometimes sighing because one +over-sensitive child must be so much more gently restrained or admonished +than the rest. But she has her reward for every effort to adjust her +methods to the instrument she does not quite understand. If she doubts +this, she has only to look on the right hand and the left, and see the +effect of careless, brutal dealing with finely strung, sensitive natures. + +We see, also, many men,--good, generous, kindly, but not +sensitive-souled,--who have learned that the sunshine of their homes all +depends on little things, which it would never have entered into their +busy and composed hearts to think of doing, or saying, or providing, if +they had not discovered that without them their wives droop, and with them +they keep well. + +People who are neither tender nor sensitive can neither comprehend nor +meet these needs. Alas! that there are so many such people; or that, if +there must be just so many, as I suppose there must, they are not +distinguishable at first sight, by some mark of color, or shape, or sound, +so that one might avoid them, or at least know what to expect in entering +into relation with them. Woe be to any sensitive soul whose life must, in +spite of itself, take tone and tint from daily and intimate intercourse +with such! No bravery, no philosophy, no patience can save it from a slow +death. But, while the subtlest and most stimulating pleasures which the +soul knows come to it through its affections, and are, therefore, so to +speak, at every man's mercy, there is still left a world of possibility of +enjoyment, to which we can help ourselves, and which no man can hinder. + +And just here it is, I think, that many persons, especially those who are +hard-worked, and those who have some special trouble to bear, make great +mistake. They might, perhaps, say at hasty first sight that it would be +selfish to aim at providing themselves with pleasures. Not at all. Not one +whit more than it is for them to buy a bottle of Ayer's Sarsaparilla (if +they do not know better) to "cleanse their blood" in the spring! Probably +a dollar's worth of almost any thing out of any other shop than a +druggist's would "cleanse their blood" better,--a geranium, for instance, +or a photograph, or a concert, or a book, or even fried oysters,--any +thing, no matter what, so it is innocent, which gives them a little +pleasure, breaks in on the monotony of their work or their trouble, and +makes them have for one half-hour a "good time." Those who have near and +dear ones to remember these things for them need no such words as I am +writing here. Heaven forgive them if, being thus blessed, they do not +thank God daily and take courage. + +But lonely people, and people whose kin are not kind or wise in these +things, must learn to minister even in such ways to themselves. It is not +selfish. It is not foolish. It is wise. It is generous. Each contented +look on a human face is reflected in every other human face which sees it; +each growth in a human soul is a blessing to every other human soul which +comes in contact with it. + +Here will come in, for many people, the bitter restrictions of poverty. +There are so many men and women to whom it would seem simply a taunt to +advise them to spend, now and then, a dollar for a pleasure. That the poor +must go cold and hungry has never seemed to me the hardest feature in +their lot; there are worse deprivations than that of food or raiment, and +this very thing is one of them. This is a point for charitable people to +remember, even more than they do. + +We appreciate this when we give some plum-pudding and turkey at Christmas, +instead of all coal and flannel. But, any day in the year, a picture on +the wall might perhaps be as comforting as a blanket on the bed; and, at +any rate, would be good for twelve months, while the blanket would help +but six. I have seen an Irish mother, in a mud hovel, turn red with +delight at a rattle for her baby, when I am quite sure she would have been +indifferently grateful for a pair of socks. + +Food and physicians and money are and always will be on the earth. But a +"merry heart" is a "continual feast," and "doeth good like-a medicine;" +and "loving favor" is "chosen," "rather than gold and silver." + + + + +Wanted.--A Home. + + + +Nothing can be meaner than that "Misery should love company." But the +proverb is founded on an original principle in human nature, which it is +no use to deny and hard work to conquer. I have been uneasily conscious of +this sneaking sin in my own soul, as I have read article after article in +the English newspapers and magazines on the "decadence of the home spirit +in English family life, as seen in the large towns and the metropolis." It +seems that the English are as badly off as we. There, also, men are +wide-awake and gay at clubs and races, and sleepy and morose in their own +houses; "sons lead lives independent of their fathers and apart from their +sisters and mothers;" "girls run about as they please, without care or +guidance." This state of things is "a spreading social evil," and men are +at their wit's end to know what is to be done about it. They are +ransacking "national character and customs, religion, and the particular +tendency of the present literary and scientific thought, and the teaching +and preaching of the public press," to find out the root of the trouble. +One writer ascribes it to the "exceeding restlessness and the desire to be +doing something which are predominant and indomitable in the Anglo-Saxon +race;" another to the passion which almost all families have for seeming +richer and more fashionable than their means will allow. In these, and in +most of their other theories, they are only working round and round, as +doctors so often do, in the dreary circle of symptomatic results, without +so much as touching or perhaps suspecting their real centre. How many +people are blistered for spinal disease, or blanketed for rheumatism, when +the real trouble is a little fiery spot of inflammation in the lining of +the stomach! and all these difficulties in the outworks are merely the +creaking of the machinery, because the central engine does not work +properly. Blisters and blankets may go on for seventy years coddling the +poor victim; but he will stay ill to the last if his stomach be not set +right. + +There is a close likeness between the doctor's high-sounding list of +remote symptoms, which he is treating as primary diseases, and the hue and +outcry about the decadence of the home spirit, the prevalence of excessive +and improper amusements, club-houses, billiard-rooms, theatres, and so +forth, which are "the banes of homes." + +The trouble is in the homes. Homes are stupid, homes are dreary, homes are +insufferable. If one can be pardoned for the Irishism of such a saying, +homes are their own worst "banes." If homes were what they should be, +nothing under heaven could be invented which could be bane to them, which +would do more than serve as useful foil to set off their better cheer, +their pleasanter ways, their wholesomer joys. + +Whose fault is it that they are not so? Fault is a heavy word. It +includes generations in its pitiless entail. Sufficient for the day is the +evil thereof is but one side of the truth. No day is sufficient unto the +evil thereof is the other. Each day has to bear burdens passed down from +so many other days; each person has to bear burdens so complicated, so +interwoven with the burdens of others; each person's fault is so fevered +and swollen by faults of others, that there is no disentangling the +question of responsibility. Every thing is everybody's fault is the +simplest and fairest way of putting it. It is everybody's fault that the +average home is stupid, dreary, insufferable,--a place from which fathers +fly to clubs, boys and girls to streets. But when we ask who can do most +to remedy this,--in whose hands it most lies to fight the fight against +the tendencies to monotony, stupidity, and instability which are inherent +in human nature,--then the answer is clear and loud. It is the work of +women; this is the true mission of women, their "right" divine and +unquestionable, and including most emphatically the "right to labor." + +To create and sustain the atmosphere of a home,--it is easily said in a +very few words; but how many women have done it? How many women can say to +themselves or others that this is their aim? To keep house well women +often say they desire. But keeping house well is another affair,--I had +almost said it has nothing to do with creating a home. That is not true, +of course; comfortable living, as regards food and fire and clothes, can +do much to help on a home. Nevertheless, with one exception, the best +homes I have ever seen were in houses which were not especially well kept; +and the very worst I have ever known were presided (I mean tyrannized) +over by "perfect housekeepers." + +All creators are single-aimed. Never will the painter, sculptor, writer +lose sight of his art. Even in the intervals of rest and diversion which +are necessary to his health and growth, every thing he sees ministers to +his passion. Consciously or unconsciously, he makes each shape, color, +incident his own; sooner or later it will enter into his work. + +So it must be with the woman who will create a home. There is an evil +fashion of speech which says it is a narrowing and narrow life that a +woman leads who cares only, works only for her husband and children; that +a higher, more imperative thing is that she herself be developed to her +utmost. Even so clear and strong a writer as Frances Cobbe, in her +otherwise admirable essay on the "Final Cause of Woman," falls into this +shallowness of words, and speaks of women who live solely for their +families as "adjectives." + +In the family relation so many women are nothing more, so many women +become even less, that human conception may perhaps be forgiven for losing +sight of the truth, the ideal. Yet in women it is hard to forgive it. +Thinking clearly, she should see that a creator can never be an adjective; +and that a woman who creates and sustains a home, and under whose hands +children grow up to be strong and pure men and women, is a creator, second +only to God. + +Before she can do this, she must have development; in and by the doing of +this comes constant development; the higher her development, the more +perfect her work; the instant her own development is arrested, her +creative power stops. All science, all art, all religion, all experience +of life, all knowledge of men--will help her; the stars in their courses +can be won to fight for her. Could she attain the utmost of knowledge, +could she have all possible human genius, it would be none too much. +Reverence holds its breath and goes softly, perceiving what it is in this +woman's power to do; with what divine patience, steadfastness, and +inspiration she must work. + +Into the home she will create, monotony, stupidity, antagonisms cannot +come. Her foresight will provide occupations and amusements; her loving +and alert diplomacy will fend off disputes. Unconsciously, every member of +her family will be as clay in her hands. More anxiously than any statesman +will she meditate on the wisdom of each measure, the bearing of each word. +The least possible governing which is compatible with order will be her +first principle; her second, the greatest possible influence which is +compatible with the growth of individuality. Will the woman whose brain +and heart are working these problems, as applied to a household, be an +adjective? be idle? + +She will be no more an adjective than the sun is an adjective in the +solar system; no more idle than Nature is idle. She will be perplexed; she +will be weary; she will be disheartened, sometimes. All creators, save +One, have known these pains and grown strong by them. But she will never +withdraw her hand for one instant. Delays and failures will only set her +to casting about for new instrumentalities. She will press all things into +her service. She will master sciences, that her boys' evenings need not be +dull. She will be worldly wise, and render to Caesar his dues, that her +husband and daughters may have her by their side in all their pleasures. +She will invent, she will surprise, she will forestall, she will remember, +she will laugh, she will listen, she will be young, she will be old, and +she will be three times loving, loving, loving. + +This is too hard? There is the house to be kept? And there are poverty and +sickness, and there is not time? + +Yes, it is hard. And there is the house to be kept; and there are poverty +and sickness; but, God be praised, there is time. A minute is time. In one +minute may live the essence of all. I have seen a beggar-woman make half +an hour of home on a doorstep, with a basket of broken meat! And the most +perfect home I ever saw was in a little house into the sweet incense of +whose fires went no costly things. A thousand dollars served for a year's +living of father, mother, and three children. But the mother was a creator +of a home; her relation with her children was the most beautiful I have +ever seen; even a dull and commonplace man was lifted up and enabled to +do good work for souls, by the atmosphere which this woman created; every +inmate of her house involuntarily looked into her face for the key-note of +the day; and it always rang clear. From the rose-bud or clover-leaf which, +in spite of her hard housework, she always found time to put by our plates +at breakfast, down to the essay or story she had on hand to be read or +discussed in the evening, there was no intermission of her influence. She +has always been and always will be my ideal of a mother, wife, home-maker. +If to her quick brain, loving heart, and exquisite tact had been added the +appliances of wealth and the enlargements of a wider culture, hers would +have been absolutely the ideal home. As it was, it was the best I have +ever seen. It is more than twenty years since I crossed its threshold. I +do not know whether she is living or not. But, as I see house after house +in which fathers and mothers and children are dragging out their lives in +a hap-hazard alternation of listless routine and unpleasant collision, I +always think with a sigh of that poor little cottage by the seashore, and +of the woman who was "the light thereof;" and I find in the faces of many +men and children, as plainly written and as sad to see as in the newspaper +columns of "Personals," "Wanted,--a home." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Bits About Home Matters, by Helen Hunt Jackson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BITS ABOUT HOME MATTERS *** + +***** This file should be named 10516-8.txt or 10516-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/1/10516/ + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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H.</title> + + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- +body { + margin .5em; + font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4 { + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; + font-variant: small-caps +} + +.smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps } + +a { text-decoration: none; } + +a:hover { background-color: #ffffcc } + +div.chapter { + margin-top: 4em; +} + +ul { + list-style-type: none; +} + + + --> +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bits about Home Matters, by Helen Hunt Jackson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bits About Home Matters + +Author: Helen Hunt Jackson + +Release Date: December 23, 2003 [EBook #10516] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BITS ABOUT HOME MATTERS *** + + + + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1 class="title">Bits About Home Matters.</h1> + +<h2 class="author">By H. H.,</h2> + +<h3>Author of "Verses" and "Bits of Travel."</h3> + +<h4><br /> +<br /> +1873</h4> + + + +<div class="chapter" id="toc"> +<h2>Contents.</h2> + + +<ul> + <li><a href="#ch-01">The Inhumanities of Parents--Corporal Punishment</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-02">The Inhumanities of Parents--Needless Denials</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-03">The Inhumanities of Parents--Rudeness</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-04">Breaking the Will</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-05">The Reign of Archelaus</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-06">The Awkward Age</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-07">A Day with a Courteous Mother</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-08">Children in Nova Scotia</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-09">The Republic of the Family</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-10">The Ready-to-Halts</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-11">The Descendants of Nabal</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-12">"Boys not allowed"</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-13">Half an Hour in a Railway Station</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-14">A Genius for Affection</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-15">Rainy Days</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-16">Friends of the Prisoners</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-17">A Companion for the Winter</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-18">Choice of Colors</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-19">The Apostle of Beauty</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-20">English Lodging-Houses</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-21">Wet the Clay</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-22">The King's Friend</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-23">Learning to speak</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-24">Private Tyrants</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-25">Margin</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-26">The Fine Art of Smiling</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-27">Death-bed Repentance</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-28">The Correlation of Moral Forces</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-29">A Simple Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-30">Children's Parties</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-31">After-supper Talk</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-32">Hysteria in Literature</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-33">Jog Trot</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-34">The Joyless American</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-35">Spiritual Teething</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-36">Glass Houses</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-37">The Old-Clothes Monger in Journalism</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-38">The Country Landlord's Side</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-39">The Good Staff of Pleasure</a></li> + <li><a href="#ch-40">Wanted--a Home</a></li> +</ul> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-01"> +<h2>The Inhumanities of Parents--Corporal Punishment.</h2> + +<p>Not long ago a Presbyterian minister in Western New York whipped his +three-year-old boy to death, for refusing to say his prayers. The little +fingers were broken; the tender flesh was bruised and actually mangled; +strong men wept when they looked on the body; and the reverend murderer, +after having been set free on bail, was glad to return and take refuge +within the walls of his prison, to escape summary punishment at the hands +of an outraged community. At the bare mention of such cruelty, every heart +grew sick and faint; men and women were dumb with horror: only tears and a +hot demand for instant retaliation availed.</p> + +<p>The question whether, after all, that baby martyr were not fortunate among +his fellows, would, no doubt, be met by resentful astonishment. But it is +a question which may well be asked, may well be pondered. Heart-rending as +it is to think for an instant of the agonies which the poor child must +have borne for some hours after his infant brain was too bewildered by +terror and pain to understand what was required of him, it still cannot +fail to occur to deeper reflection that the torture was short and small in +comparison with what the next ten years might have held for him if he had +lived. To earn entrance on the spiritual life by the briefest possible +experience of the physical, is always "greater gain;" but how emphatically +is it so when the conditions of life upon earth are sure to be +unfavorable!</p> + +<p>If it were possible in any way to get a statistical summing-up and a +tangible presentation of the amount of physical pain inflicted by parents +on children under twelve years of age, the most callous-hearted would be +surprised and shocked. If it were possible to add to this estimate an +accurate and scientific demonstration of the extent to which such pain, by +weakening the nervous system and exhausting its capacity to resist +disease, diminishes children's chances for life, the world would stand +aghast.</p> + +<p>Too little has been said upon this point. The opponents of corporal +punishment usually approach the subject either from the sentimental or the +moral standpoint. The argument on either of these grounds can be made +strong enough, one would suppose, to paralyze every hand lifted to strike +a child. But the question of the direct and lasting physical effect of +blows--even of one blow on the delicate tissues of a child's body, on the +frail and trembling nerves, on the sensitive organization which is trying, +under a thousand unfavoring conditions, to adjust itself to the hard work +of both living and growing--has yet to be properly considered.</p> + +<p>Every one knows the sudden sense of insupportable pain, sometimes +producing even dizziness and nausea, which follows the accidental hitting +of the ankle or elbow against a hard substance. It does not need that the +blow be very hard to bring involuntary tears to adult eyes. But what is +such a pain as this, in comparison with the pain of a dozen or more quick +tingling blows from a heavy hand on flesh which is, which must be as much +more sensitive than ours, as are the souls which dwell in it purer than +ours. Add to this physical pain the overwhelming terror which only utter +helplessness can feel, and which is the most recognizable quality in the +cry of a very young child under whipping; add the instinctive sense of +disgrace, of outrage, which often keeps the older child stubborn and still +through-out,--and you have an amount and an intensity of suffering from +which even tried nerves might shrink. Again, who does not know--at least, +what woman does not know--that violent weeping, for even a very short +time, is quite enough to cause a feeling of languor and depression, of +nervous exhaustion for a whole day? Yet it does not seem to occur to +mothers that little children must feel this, in proportion to the length +of time and violence of their crying, far more than grown people. Who has +not often seen a poor child receive, within an hour or two of the first +whipping, a second one, for some small ebullition of nervous +irritability, which was simply inevitable from its spent and worn +condition?</p> + +<p>It is safe to say that in families where whipping is regularly recognized +as a punishment, few children under ten years of age, and of average +behavior, have less than one whipping a week. Sometimes they have more, +sometimes the whipping is very severe. Thus you have in one short year +sixty or seventy occasions on which for a greater or less time, say from +one to three hours, the child's nervous system is subjected to a +tremendous strain from the effect of terror and physical pain combined +with long crying. Will any physician tell us that this fact is not an +element in that child's physical condition at the end of that year? Will +any physician dare to say that there may not be, in that child's life, +crises when the issues of life and death will be so equally balanced that +the tenth part of the nervous force lost in such fits of crying, and in +the endurance of such pain, could turn the scale?</p> + +<p>Nature's retributions, like her rewards, are cumulative. Because her +sentences against evil works are not executed speedily, therefore the +hearts of the sons of men are fully set in them to do evil. But the +sentence always is executed, sooner or later, and that inexorably. Your +son, O unthinking mother! may fall by the way in the full prime of his +manhood, for lack of that strength which his infancy spent in enduring +your hasty and severe punishments.</p> + +<p>It is easy to say,--and universally is said,--by people who cling to the +old and fight against the new, "All this outcry about corporal punishment +is sentimental nonsense. The world is full of men and women, who have +grown up strong and good, in spite of whippings; and as for me, I know I +never had any more whipping than I deserved, or than was good for me."</p> + +<p>Are you then so strong and clear and pure in your physical and spiritual +nature and life, that you are sure no different training could have made +either your body or your soul better? Are these men and women, of whom the +world is full, so able-bodied, whole-souled, strong-minded, that you think +it needless to look about for any method of making the next generation +better? Above all, do you believe that it is a part of the legitimate +outworking of God's plan and intent in creating human beings to have more +than one-half of them die in childhood? If we are not to believe that this +fearful mortality is a part of God's plan, is it wise to refuse to +consider all possibilities, even those seemingly most remote, of +diminishing it?</p> + +<p>No argument is so hard to meet (simply because it is not an argument) as +the assumption of the good and propriety of "the thing that hath been." It +is one of the devil's best sophistries, by which he keeps good people +undisturbed in doing the things he likes. It has been in all ages the +bulwark behind which evils have made stand, and have slain their +thousands. It is the last enemy which shall be destroyed. It is the only +real support of the cruel evil of corporal punishment.</p> + +<p>Suppose that such punishment of children had been unheard of till now. +Suppose that the idea had yesterday been suggested for the first time that +by inflicting physical pain on a child's body you might make him recollect +certain truths; and suppose that instead of whipping, a very moderate and +harmless degree of pricking with pins or cutting with knives or burning +with fire had been suggested. Would not fathers and mothers have cried out +all over the land at the inhumanity of the idea?</p> + +<p>Would they not still cry out at the inhumanity of one who, as things are +to-day, should propose the substitution of pricking or cutting or burning +for whipping? But I think it would not be easy to show in what wise small +pricks or cuts are more inhuman than blows; or why lying may not be as +legitimately cured by blisters made with a hot coal as by black and blue +spots made with a ruler. The principle is the same; and if the principle +be right, why not multiply methods?</p> + +<p>It seems as if this one suggestion, candidly considered, might be enough +to open all parents' eyes to the enormity of whipping. How many a loving +mother will, without any thought of cruelty, inflict half-a-dozen quick +blows on the little hand of her child, when she could no more take a pin +and make the same number of thrusts into the tender flesh, than she could +bind the baby on a rack. Yet the pin-thrusts would hurt far less, and +would probably make a deeper impression on the child's mind.</p> + +<p>Among the more ignorant classes, the frequency and severity of corporal +punishment of children, are appalling. The facts only need to be held up +closely and persistently before the community to be recognized as horrors +of cruelty far greater than some which have been made subjects of +legislation.</p> + +<p>It was my misfortune once to be forced to spend several of the hottest +weeks of a hot summer in New York. In near neighborhood to my rooms were +blocks of buildings which had shops on the first floor and tenements +above. In these lived the families of small tradesmen, and mechanics of +the better sort. During those scorching nights every window was thrown +open, and all sounds were borne with distinctness through the hot still +air. Chief among them were the shrieks and cries of little children, and +blows and angry words from tired, overworked mothers. At times it became +almost unbearable: it was hard to refrain from an attempt at rescue. Ten, +twelve, twenty quick, hard blows, whose sound rang out plainly, I counted +again and again; mingling with them came the convulsive screams of the +poor children, and that most piteous thing of all, the reiteration of "Oh, +mamma! oh, mamma!" as if, through all, the helpless little creatures had +an instinct that this word ought to be in itself the strongest appeal. +These families were all of the better class of work people, comfortable +and respectable. What sounds were to be heard in the more wretched haunts +of the city, during those nights, the heart struggled away from fancying. +But the shrieks of those children will never wholly die out of the air. I +hear them to-day; and mingling with them, the question rings perpetually +in my ears, "Why does not the law protect children, before the point at +which life is endangered?"</p> + +<p>A cartman may be arrested in the streets for the brutal beating of a horse +which is his own, and which he has the right to kill if he so choose. +Should not a man be equally withheld from the brutal beating of a child +who is not his own, but God's, and whom to kill is murder?</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-02"> +<h2>The Inhumanities of Parents--Needless Denials.</h2> + +<p>Webster's Dictionary, which cannot be accused of any leaning toward +sentimentalism, defines "inhumanity" as "cruelty in action;" and "cruelty" +as "an act of a human being which inflicts unnecessary pain." The word +inhumanity has an ugly sound, and many inhuman people are utterly and +honestly unconscious of their own inhumanities; it is necessary therefore +to entrench one's self behind some such bulwark as the above definitions +afford, before venturing the accusation that fathers and mothers are +habitually guilty of inhuman conduct in inflicting "unnecessary pain" on +their children, by needless denials of their innocent wishes and impulses.</p> + +<p>Most men and a great many women would be astonished at being told that +simple humanity requires them to gratify every wish, even the smallest, of +their children, when the pain of having that wish denied is not made +necessary, either for the child's own welfare, physical or mental, or by +circumstances beyond the parent's control. The word "necessary" is a very +authoritative one; conscience, if left free, soon narrows down its +boundaries; inconvenience, hindrance, deprivation, self-denial, one or +all, or even a great deal of all, to ourselves, cannot give us a shadow of +right to say that the pain of the child's disappointment is "necessary." +Selfishness grasps at help from the hackneyed sayings, that it is "best +for children to bear the yoke in their youth;" "the sooner they learn that +they cannot have their own way the better;" "it is a good discipline for +them to practise self-denial," &c. But the yoke that they <i>must</i> bear, in +spite of our lightening it all we can, is heavy enough; the instances in +which it is, for good and sufficient reasons, impossible for them to have +their own way are quite numerous enough to insure their learning the +lesson very early; and as for the discipline of self-denial,--God bless +their dear, patient souls!--if men and women brought to bear on the +thwartings and vexations of their daily lives, and their relations with +each other, one hundredth part of the sweet acquiescence and brave +endurance which average children show, under the average management of +average parents, this world would be a much pleasanter place to live in +than it is.</p> + +<p>Let any conscientious and tender mother, who perhaps reads these words +with tears half of resentment, half of grief in her eyes, keep for three +days an exact record of the little requests which she refuses, from the +baby of five, who begged to stand on a chair and look out of the window, +and was hastily told, "No, it would, hurt the chair," when one minute +would have been enough time to lay a folded newspaper over the +upholstery, and another minute enough to explain to him, with a kiss and +a hug, "that that was to save his spoiling mamma's nice chair with his +boots;" and the two minutes together would probably have made sure that +another time the dear little fellow would look out for a paper himself, +when he wished to climb up to the window,--from this baby up to the pretty +girl of twelve, who, with as distinct a perception of the becoming as her +mother had before her, went to school unhappy because she was compelled to +wear the blue necktie instead of the scarlet one, and surely for no +especial reason! At the end of the three days, an honest examination of +the record would show that full half of these small denials, all of which +had involved pain, and some of which had brought contest and punishment, +had been needless, had been hastily made, and made usually on account of +the slight interruption or inconvenience which would result from yielding +to the request. I am very much mistaken if the honest keeping and honest +study of such a three days' record would not wholly change the atmosphere +in many a house to what it ought to be, and bring almost constant sunshine +and bliss where now, too often, are storm and misery.</p> + +<p>With some parents, although they are neither harsh nor hard in manner, nor +yet unloving in nature, the habitual first impulse seems to be to refuse: +they appear to have a singular obtuseness to the fact that it is, or can +be, of any consequence to a child whether it does or does not do the thing +it desires. Often the refusal is withdrawn on the first symptom of grief +or disappointment on the child's part; a thing which is fatal to all real +control of a child, and almost as unkind as the first unnecessary +denial,--perhaps even more so, as it involves double and treble pains, in +future instances, where there cannot and must not be any giving way to +entreaties. It is doubtless this lack of perception,--akin, one would +think, to color-blindness,--which is at the bottom of this great and +common inhumanity among kind and intelligent fathers and mothers: an +inhumanity so common that it may almost be said to be universal; so common +that, while we are obliged to look on and see our dearest friends guilty +of it, we find it next to impossible to make them understand what we mean +when we make outcry over some of its glaring instances.</p> + +<p>You, my dearest of friends,--or, rather, you who would be, but for this +one point of hopeless contention between us,--do you remember a certain +warm morning, last August, of which I told you then you had not heard the +last? Here it is again: perhaps in print I can make it look blacker to you +than I could then; part of it I saw, part of it you unwillingly confessed +to me, and part of it little Blue Eyes told me herself.</p> + +<p>It was one of those ineffable mornings, when a thrill of delight and +expectancy fills the air; one felt that every appointment of the day must +be unlike those of other days,--must be festive, must help on the "white +day" for which all things looked ready. I remember how like the morning +itself you looked as you stood in the doorway, in a fresh white muslin +dress, with lavender ribbons. I said, "Oh, extravagance! For breakfast!"</p> + +<p>"I know," you said; "but the day was so enchanting, I could not make up my +mind to wear any thing that had been worn before." Here an uproar from the +nursery broke out, and we both ran to the spot. There stood little Blue +Eyes, in a storm of temper, with one small foot on a crumpled mass of pink +cambric on the floor; and nurse, who was also very red and angry, +explained that Miss would not have on her pink frock because it was not +quite clean. "It is all dirty, mamma, and I don't want to put it on! +You've got on a nice white dress: why can't I?"</p> + +<p>You are in the main a kind mother, and you do not like to give little Blue +Eyes pain; so you knelt down beside her, and told her that she must be a +good girl, and have on the gown Mary had said, but that she should have on +a pretty white apron, which would hide the spots. And Blue Eyes, being +only six years old, and of a loving, generous nature, dried her tears, +accepted the very questionable expedient, tried to forget the spots, and +in a few moments came out on the piazza, chirping like a little bird. By +this time the rare quality of the morning had stolen like wine into our +brains, and you exclaimed, "We will have breakfast out here, under the +vines! How George will like it!" And in another instant you were flitting +back and forth, helping the rather ungracious Bridget move out the +breakfast-table, with its tempting array.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, mamma," cried Blue Eyes, "can't I have my little tea-set on a +little table beside your big table? Oh, let me, let me!" and she fairly +quivered with excitement. You hesitated. How I watched you! But it was a +little late. Bridget was already rather cross; the tea-set was packed in a +box, and up on a high shelf.</p> + +<p>"No, dear. There is not time, and we must not make Bridget any more +trouble; but"--seeing the tears coming again--"you shall have some real +tea in papa's big gilt cup, and another time you shall have your tea-set +when we have breakfast out here again." As I said before, you are a kind +mother, and you made the denial as easy to be borne as you could, and Blue +Eyes was again pacified, not satisfied, only bravely making the best of +it. And so we had our breakfast; a breakfast to be remembered, too. But as +for the "other time" which you had promised to Blue Eyes; how well I knew +that not many times a year did such mornings and breakfasts come, and that +it was well she would forget all about it! After breakfast,--you remember +how we lingered,--George suddenly started up, saying, "How hard it is to +go to town! I say, girls, walk down to the station with me, both of you."</p> + +<p>"And me too, me too, papa!" said Blue Eyes. You did not hear her; but I +did, and she had flown for her hat. At the door we found her, saying +again, "Me too, mamma!" Then you remembered her boots: "Oh, my darling," +you said, kissing her, for you are a kind mother, "you cannot go in those +nice boots: the dew will spoil them; and it is not worth while to change +them, we shall be back in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>A storm of tears would have burst out in an instant at this the third +disappointment, if I had not sat down on the door-step, and, taking her in +my lap, whispered that auntie was going to stay too.</p> + +<p>"Oh, put the child down, and come along," called the great, strong, +uncomprehending man--Blue Eyes' dear papa. "Pussy won't mind. Be a good +girl, pussy; I'll bring you a red balloon to-night."</p> + +<p>You are both very kind, you and George, and you both love little Blue Eyes +dearly.</p> + +<p>"No, I won't come. I believe my boots are too thin," said I; and for the +equivocation there was in my reply I am sure of being forgiven. You both +turned back twice to look at the child, and kissed your hands to her; and +I wondered if you did not see in her face, what I did, real grief and +patient endurance. Even "The King of the Golden River" did not rouse her: +she did not want a story; she did not want me; she did not want a red +balloon at night; she wanted to walk between you, to the station, with her +little hands in yours! God grant the day may not come when you will be +heart-broken because you can never lead her any more!</p> + +<p>She asked me some questions, while you were gone, which you remember I +repeated to you. She asked me if I did not hate nice new shoes; and why +little girls could not put on the dresses they liked best; and if mamma +did not look beautiful in that pretty white dress; and said that, if she +could only have had her own tea-set, at breakfast, she would have let me +have my coffee in one of her cups. Gradually she grew happier, and began +to tell me about her great wax-doll, which had eyes that could shut; which +was kept in a trunk because she was too little, mamma said, to play very +much with it now; but she guessed mamma would let her have it to-day; did +I not think so? Alas! I did, and I said so; in fact, I felt sure that it +was the very thing you would be certain to do, to sweeten the day, which +had begun so sadly for poor little Blue Eyes.</p> + +<p>It seemed very long to her before you came back, and she was on the point +of asking for her dolly as soon as you appeared; but I whispered to her to +wait till you were rested. After a few minutes I took her up to your +room,--that lovely room with the bay window to the east; there you sat, in +your white dress, surrounded with gay worsteds, all looking like a +carnival of humming-birds. "Oh, how beautiful!" I exclaimed, in +involuntary admiration; "what are you doing?" You said that you were going +to make an affghan, and that the morning was so enchanting you could not +bear the thought of touching your mending, but were going to luxuriate in +the worsteds. Some time passed in sorting the colors, and deciding on the +contrasts, and I forgot all about the doll. Not so little Blue Eyes. I +remembered afterward how patiently she stood still, waiting and waiting +for a gap between our words, that she need not break the law against +interrupting, with her eager--</p> + +<p>"Please, mamma, let me have my wax dolly to play with this morning! I'll +sit right here on the floor, by you and auntie, and not hurt her one bit. +Oh, please do, mamma!"</p> + +<p>You mean always to be a very kind mother, and you spoke as gently and +lovingly as it is possible to speak when you replied:--</p> + +<p>"Oh, Pussy, mamma is too busy to get it; she can't get up now. You can +play with your blocks, and with your other dollies, just as well; that's a +good little girl."</p> + +<p>Probably, if Blue Eyes had gone on imploring, you would have laid your +worsteds down, and given her the dolly; for you love her dearly, and never +mean to make her unhappy. But neither you nor I were prepared for what +followed.</p> + +<p>"You're a naughty, ugly, hateful mamma! You never let me do <i>any</i> thing, +and I wish you were dead!" with such a burst of screaming and tears that +we were both frightened. You looked, as well you might, heart-broken at +such words from your only child. You took her away; and when you came +back, you cried, and said you had whipped her severely, and you did not +know what you should do with a child of such a frightful temper.</p> + +<p>"Such an outburst as that, just because I told her, in the gentlest way +possible, that she could not have a plaything! It is terrible!"</p> + +<p>Then I said some words to you, which you thought were unjust. I asked you +in what condition your own nerves would have been by ten o'clock that +morning if your husband (who had, in one view, a much better right to +thwart your harmless desires than you had to thwart your child's, since +you, in the full understanding of maturity, gave yourself into his hands) +had, instead of admiring your pretty white dress, told you to be more +prudent, and not put it on; had told you it would be nonsense to have +breakfast out on the piazza; and that he could not wait for you to walk to +the station with him. You said that the cases were not at all parallel; +and I replied hotly that that was very true, for those matters would have +been to you only the comparative trifles of one short day, and would have +made you only a little cross and uncomfortable; whereas to little Blue +Eyes they were the all-absorbing desires of the hour, which, to a child in +trouble, always looks as if it could never come to an end, and would never +be followed by any thing better.</p> + +<p>Blue Eyes cried herself to sleep, and slept heavily till late in the +afternoon. When her father came home, you said that she must not have the +red balloon, because she had been such a naughty girl. I have wondered +many times since why she did not cry again, or look grieved when you said +that, and laid the balloon away. After eleven o'clock at night, I went to +look at her, and found her sobbing in her sleep, and tossing about. I +groaned as I thought, "This is only one day, and there are three hundred +and sixty-five in a year!" But I never recall the distorted face of that +poor child, as, in her fearful passion, she told you she wished you were +dead, without also remembering that even the gentle Christ said of him who +should offend one of these little ones, "It were better for him that a +mill-stone were hanged about his neck, and he were drowned in the depths +of the sea!"</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-03"> +<h2>The Inhumanities of Parents--Rudeness.</h2> + +<blockquote><p> + "<i>Inhumanity</i>--Cruelty. <i>Cruelty</i>--The disposition to give unnecessary pain."--<i>Webster's Dict</i>.</p></blockquote> + + +<p>I had intended to put third on the list of inhumanities of parents +"needless requisitions;" but my last summer's observations changed my +estimate, and convinced me that children suffer more pain from the +rudeness with which they are treated than from being forced to do needless +things which they dislike. Indeed, a positively and graciously courteous +manner toward children is a thing so rarely seen in average daily life, +the rudenesses which they receive are so innumerable, that it is hard to +tell where to begin in setting forth the evil. Children themselves often +bring their sharp and unexpected logic to bear on some incident +illustrating the difference in this matter of behavior between what is +required from them and what is shown to them: as did a little boy I knew, +whose father said crossly to him one morning, as he came into the +breakfast-room, "Will you ever learn to shut that door after you?" and a +few seconds later, as the child was rather sulkily sitting down in his +chair, "And do you mean to bid anybody 'good-morning,' or not?" "I don't +think you gave <i>me</i> a very nice 'good-morning,' anyhow," replied satirical +justice, aged seven. Then, of course, he was reproved for speaking +disrespectfully; and so in the space of three minutes the beautiful +opening of the new day, for both parents and children, was jarred and +robbed of its fresh harmony by the father's thoughtless rudeness.</p> + +<p>Was the breakfast-room door much more likely to be shut the next morning? +No. The lesson was pushed aside by the pain, the motive to resolve was +dulled by the antagonism. If that father had called his son, and, putting +his arm round him, (oh! the blessed and magic virtue of putting your arm +round a child's neck!) had said, "Good-morning, my little man;" and then, +in a confidential whisper in his ear, "What shall we do to make this +forgetful little boy remember not to leave that door open, through which +the cold wind blows in on all of us?"--can any words measure the +difference between the first treatment and the second? between the success +of the one and the failure of the other?</p> + +<p>Scores of times in a day, a child is told, in a short, authoritative way, +to do or not to do such little things as we ask at the hands of older +people, as favors, graciously, and with deference to their choice. "Would +you be so very kind as to close that window?" "May I trouble you for that +cricket?" "If you would be as comfortable in this chair as in that, I +would like to change places with you." "Oh, excuse me, but your head is +between me and the light: could you see as well if you moved a little?" +"Would it hinder you too long to stop at the store for me? I would be very +much obliged to you, if you would." "Pray, do not let me crowd you," &c. +In most people's speech to children, we find, as synonyms for these polite +phrases: "Shut that window down, this minute." "Bring me that cricket." "I +want that chair; get up. You can sit in this." "Don't you see that you are +right in my light? Move along." "I want you to leave off playing, and go +right down to the store for me." "Don't crowd so. Can't you see that there +is not room enough for two people here?" and so on. As I write, I feel an +instinctive consciousness that these sentences will come like home-thrusts +to some surprised people. I hope so. That is what I want. I am sure that +in more than half the cases where family life is marred in peace, and +almost stripped of beauty, by just these little rudenesses, the parents +are utterly unconscious of them. The truth is, it has become like an +established custom, this different and less courteous way of speaking to +children on small occasions and minor matters. People who are generally +civil and of fair kindliness do it habitually, not only to their own +children, but to all children. We see it in the cars, in the stages, in +stores, in Sunday schools, everywhere.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, let a child ask for any thing without saying "please," +receive any thing without saying "thank you," sit still in the most +comfortable seat without offering to give it up, or press its own +preference for a particular book, chair, or apple, to the inconveniencing +of an elder, and what an outcry we have: "Such rudeness!" "Such an +ill-mannered child!" "His parents must have neglected him strangely." Not +at all: they have been steadily telling him a great many times every day +not to do these precise things which you dislike. But they themselves have +been all the while doing those very things to him; and there is no proverb +which strikes a truer balance between two things than the old one which +weighs example over against precept.</p> + +<p>However, that it is bad policy to be rude to children is the least of the +things to be said against it. Over this they will triumph, sooner or +later. The average healthy child has a native bias towards gracious good +behavior and kindly affections. He will win and be won in the long run, +and, the chances are, have better manners than his father. But the pain +that we give these blessed little ones when we wound their +tenderness,--for that there is no atoning. Over that they can never +triumph, either now or hereafter. Why do we dare to be so sure that they +are not grieved by ungracious words and tones? that they can get used to +being continually treated as if they were "in the way"? Who has not heard +this said? I have, until I have longed for an Elijah and for fire, that +the grown-up cumberers of the ground, who are the ones really in the way, +might be burned up, to make room for the children. I believe that, if it +were possible to count up in any one month, and show in the aggregate, all +of this class of miseries borne by children, the world would cry out +astonished. I know a little girl, ten years old, of nervous temperament, +whose whole physical condition is disordered, and seriously, by her +mother's habitual atmosphere of rude fault-finding. She is a sickly, +fretful, unhappy, almost unbearable child. If she lives to grow up, she +will be a sickly, fretful, unhappy, unlovely woman. But her mother is just +as much responsible for the whole as if she had deranged her system by +feeding her on poisonous drugs. Yet she is a most conscientious, devoted, +and anxious mother, and, in spite of this manner, a loving one. She does +not know that there is any better way than hers. She does not see that her +child is mortified and harmed when she says to her, in the presence of +strangers, "How do you suppose you <i>look</i> with your mouth open like that?" +"Do you want me to show you how you are sitting?"--and then a grotesque +imitation of her stooping shoulders. "<i>Will</i> you sit still for one +minute?" "<i>Do</i> take your hands off my dress." "Was there ever such an +awkward child?" When the child replies fretfully and disagreeably, she +does not see that it is only an exact reflection of her own voice and +manners. She does not understand any of the things that would make for her +own peace, as well as for the child's. Matters grow worse, instead of +better, as the child grows older and has more will; and the chances are +that the poor little soul will be worried into her grave.</p> + +<p>Probably most parents, even very kindly ones, would be a little startled +at the assertion that a child ought never to be reproved in the presence +of others. This is so constant an occurrence that nobody thinks of +noticing it; nobody thinks of considering whether it be right and best, or +not. But it is a great rudeness to a child. I am entirely sure that it +ought never to be done. Mortification is a condition as unwholesome as it +is uncomfortable. When the wound is inflicted by the hand of a parent, it +is all the more certain to rankle and do harm. Let a child see that his +mother is so anxious that he should have the approbation and good-will of +her friends that she will not call their attention to his faults; and +that, while she never, under any circumstances, allows herself to forget +to tell him afterward, alone, if he has behaved improperly, she will spare +him the additional pain and mortification of public reproof; and, while +that child will lay these secret reproofs to heart, he will still be +happy.</p> + +<p>I know a mother who had the insight to see this, and the patience to make +it a rule; for it takes far more patience, far more time, than the common +method.</p> + +<p>She said sometimes to her little boy, after visitors had left the parlor, +"Now, dear, I am going to be your little girl, and you are to be my papa. +And we will play that a gentleman has just come in to see you, and I will +show you exactly how you have been behaving while this lady has been +calling to see me. And you can see if you do not feel very sorry to have +your little girl behave so."</p> + +<p>Here is a dramatic representation at once which that boy does not need to +see repeated many times before he is forever cured of interrupting, of +pulling his mother's gown, of drumming on the piano, &c.,--of the thousand +and one things which able-bodied children can do to make social visiting +where they are a martyrdom and a penance.</p> + +<p>Once I saw this same little boy behave so boisterously and rudely at the +dinner-table, in the presence of guests, that I said to myself, "Surely, +this time she will have to break her rule, and reprove him publicly." I +saw several telegraphic signals of rebuke, entreaty, and warning flash +from her gentle eyes to his; but nothing did any good. Nature was too much +for him; he could not at that minute force himself to be quiet. Presently +she said, in a perfectly easy and natural tone, "Oh, Charley, come here a +minute; I want to tell you something." No one at the table supposed that +it had any thing to do with his bad behavior. She did not intend that they +should. As she whispered to him, I alone saw his cheek flush, and that he +looked quickly and imploringly into her face; I alone saw that tears were +almost in her eyes. But she shook her head, and he went back to his seat +with a manful but very red little face. In a few moments he laid down his +knife and fork, and said, "Mamma, will you please to excuse me?" +"Certainly, my dear," said she. Nobody but I understood it, or observed +that the little fellow had to run very fast to get out of the room without +crying. Afterward she told me that she never sent a child away from the +table in any other way. "But what would you do," said I, "if he were to +refuse to ask to be excused?" Then the tears stood full in her eyes. "Do +you think he could," she replied, "when he sees that I am only trying to +save him from pain?" In the evening, Charley sat in my lap, and was very +sober. At last he whispered to me, "I'll tell you an awful secret, if you +won't tell. Did you think I had done my dinner this afternoon when I got +excused? Well, I hadn't. Mamma made me, because I acted so. That's the way +she always does. But I haven't had to have it done to me before for ever +so long,--not since I was a little fellow" (he was eight now); "and I +don't believe I ever shall again till I'm a man." Then he added, +reflectively, "Mary brought me all the rest of my dinner upstairs; but I +wouldn't touch it, only a little bit of the ice-cream. I don't think I +deserved any at all; do you?"</p> + +<p>I shall never, so long as I live, forget a lesson of this sort which my +own mother once gave me. I was not more than seven years old; but I had a +great susceptibility to color and shape in clothes, and an insatiable +admiration for all people who came finely dressed. One day, my mother said +to me, "Now I will play 'house' with you." Who does not remember when to +"play house" was their chief of plays? And to whose later thought has it +not occurred that in this mimic little show lay bound up the whole of +life? My mother was the liveliest of playmates, she took the worst doll, +the broken tea-set, the shabby furniture, and the least convenient corner +of the room for her establishment. Social life became a round of +festivities when she kept house as my opposite neighbor. At last, after +the washing-day, and the baking-day, and the day when she took dinner with +me, and the day when we took our children and walked out together, came +the day for me to take my oldest child and go across to make a call at her +house. Chill discomfort struck me on the very threshold of my visit. Where +was the genial, laughing, talking lady who had been my friend up to that +moment? There she sat, stock-still, dumb, staring first at my bonnet, then +at my shawl, then at my gown, then at my feet; up and down, down and up, +she scanned me, barely replying in monosyllables to my attempts at +conversation; finally getting up, and coming nearer, and examining my +clothes, and my child's still more closely. A very few minutes of this +were more than I could bear; and, almost crying, I said, "Why, mamma, what +makes you do so?" Then the play was over; and she was once more the wise +and tender mother, telling me playfully that it was precisely in such a +way I had stared, the day before, at the clothes of two ladies who had +come in to visit her. I never needed that lesson again. To this day, if I +find myself departing from it for an instant, the old tingling shame burns +in my cheeks.</p> + +<p>To this day, also, the old tingling pain burns my cheeks as I recall +certain rude and contemptuous words which were said to me when I was very +young, and stamped on my memory forever. I was once called a "stupid +child" in the presence of strangers. I had brought the wrong book from my +father's study. Nothing could be said to me to-day which would give me a +tenth part of the hopeless sense of degradation which came from those +words. Another time, on the arrival of an unexpected guest to dinner, I +was sent, in a great hurry, away from the table, to make room, with the +remark that "it was not of the least consequence about the child; she +could just as well have her dinner afterward." "The child" would have been +only too happy to help on the hospitality of the sudden emergency, if the +thing had been differently put; but the sting of having it put in that way +I never forgot. Yet in both these instances the rudeness was so small, in +comparison with what we habitually see, that it would be too trivial to +mention, except for the bearing of the fact that the pain it gave has +lasted till now.</p> + +<p>When we consider seriously what ought to be the nature of a reproof from a +parent to a child, and what is its end, the answer is simple enough. It +should be nothing but the superior wisdom and strength, explaining to +inexperience and feebleness wherein they have made a mistake, to the end +that they may avoid such mistakes in future. If personal annoyance, +impatience, antagonism enter in, the relation is marred and the end +endangered. Most sacred and inalienable of all rights is the right of +helplessness to protection from the strong, of ignorance to counsel from +the wise. If we give our protection and counsel grudgingly, or in a +churlish, unkind manner, even to the stranger that is in our gates, we are +no Christians, and deserve to be stripped of what little wisdom and +strength we have hoarded. But there are no words to say what we are or +what we deserve if we do thus to the little children whom we have dared, +for our own pleasure, to bring into the perils of this life, and whose +whole future may be blighted by the mistakes of our careless hands.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-04"> +<h2>Breaking the Will.</h2> + +<p>This phrase is going out of use. It is high time it did. If the thing it +represents would also cease, there would be stronger and freer men and +women. But the phrase is still sometimes heard; and there are still +conscientious fathers and mothers who believe they do God service in +setting about the thing.</p> + +<p>I have more than once said to a parent who used these words, "Will you +tell me just what you mean by that? Of course you do not mean exactly what +you say."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do. I mean that the child's will is to be once for all +broken!--that he is to learn that my will is to be his law. The sooner he +learns this the better."</p> + +<p>"But is it to your will simply <i>as</i> will that he is to yield? Simply as +the weaker yields to the stronger,--almost as matter yields to force? For +what reason is he to do this?"</p> + +<p>"Why, because I know what is best for him, and what is right; and he does +not."</p> + +<p>"Ah! that is a very different thing. He is, then, to do the thing that you +tell him to do, because that thing is right and is needful for him; you +are his guide on a road over which you have gone, and he has not; you are +an interpreter, a helper; you know better than he does about all things, +and your knowledge is to teach his ignorance."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, that is what I mean. A pretty state of things it would be if +children were to be allowed to think they know as much as their parents. +There is no way except to break their wills in the beginning."</p> + +<p>"But you have just said that it is not to your will as will that he is to +yield, but to your superior knowledge and experience. That surely is not +'breaking his will.' It is of all things furthest removed from it. It is +educating his will. It is teaching him how to will."</p> + +<p>This sounds dangerous; but the logic is not easily turned aside, and there +is little left for the advocate of will-breaking but to fall back on some +texts in the Bible, which have been so often misquoted in this connection +that one can hardly hear them with patience. To "Children, obey your +parents," was added "in the Lord," and "because it is right," not "because +they are your parents." "Spare the rod" has been quite gratuitously +assumed to mean "spare blows." "Rod" means here, as elsewhere, simply +punishment. We are not told to "train up a child" to have no will but our +own, but "in the way in which he should go," and to the end that "when he +is old" he should not "depart from it,"--i.e., that his will should be so +educated that he will choose to walk in the right way still. Suppose a +child's will to be actually "broken;" suppose him to be so trained that he +has no will but to obey his parents. What is to become of this helpless +machine, which has no central spring of independent action? Can we stand +by, each minute of each hour of each day, and say to the automata, Go +here, or Go there? Can we be sure of living as long as they live? Can we +wind them up like seventy-year clocks, and leave them?</p> + +<p>But this is idle. It is not, thank God, in the power of any man or any +woman to "break" a child's "will." They may kill the child's body, in +trying, like that still unhung clergyman in Western New York, who whipped +his three-year-old son to death for refusing to repeat a prayer to his +step-mother.</p> + +<p>Bodies are frail things; there are more child-martyrs than will be known +until the bodies terrestrial are done with.</p> + +<p>But, by one escape or another, the will, the soul, goes free. Sooner or +later, every human being comes to know and prove in his own estate that +freedom of will is the only freedom for which there are no chains +possible, and that in Nature's whole reign of law nothing is so largely +provided for as liberty. Sooner or later, all this must come. But, if it +comes later, it comes through clouds of antagonism, and after days of +fight, and is hard-bought.</p> + +<p>It should come sooner, like the kingdom of God, which it is,--"without +observation," gracious as sunshine, sweet as dew; it should begin with the +infant's first dawning of comprehension that there are two courses of +action, two qualities of conduct: one wise, the other foolish; one right, +the other wrong.</p> + +<p>I am sure; for I have seen, that a child's moral perceptions can be so +made clear, and his will so made strong and upright, that before he is ten +years old he will see and take his way through all common days rightly and +bravely.</p> + +<p>Will he always act up to his highest moral perceptions? No. Do we? But one +right decision that he makes voluntarily, unbiassed by the assertion of +authority or the threat of punishment, is worth more to him in development +of moral character than a thousand in which he simply does what he is +compelled to do by some sort of outside pressure.</p> + +<p>I read once, in a book intended for the guidance of mothers, a story of a +little child who, in repeating his letters one day, suddenly refused to +say A. All the other letters he repeated again and again, unhesitatingly; +but A he would not, and persisted in declaring that he could not say. He +was severely whipped, but still persisted. It now became a contest of +wills. He was whipped again and again and again. In the intervals between +the whippings the primer was presented to him, and he was told that he +would be whipped again if he did not mind his mother and say A. I forget +how many times he was whipped; but it was almost too many times to be +believed. The fight was a terrible one. At last, in a paroxysm of his +crying under the blows, the mother thought she heard him sob out "A," and +the victory was considered to be won.</p> + +<p>A little boy whom I know once had a similar contest over a letter of the +alphabet; but the contest was with himself, and his mother was the +faithful Great Heart who helped him through. The story is so remarkable +that I have long wanted all mothers to know it. It is as perfect an +illustration of what I mean by "educating" the will as the other one is of +what is called "breaking" it.</p> + +<p>Willy was about four years old. He had a large, active brain, sensitive +temperament, and indomitable spirit. He was and is an uncommon child. +Common methods of what is commonly supposed to be "discipline" would, if +he had survived them, have made a very bad boy of him. He had great +difficulty in pronouncing the letter G,--so much that he had formed almost +a habit of omitting it. One day his mother said, not dreaming of any +special contest, "This time you must say G." "It is an ugly old letter, +and I ain't ever going to try to say it again," said Willy, repeating the +alphabet very rapidly from beginning to end, without the G. Like a wise +mother, she did not open at once on a struggle; but said, pleasantly, "Ah! +you did not get it in that time. Try again; go more slowly, and we will +have it." It was all in vain; and it soon began to look more like real +obstinacy on Willy's part than any thing she had ever seen in him. She has +often told me how she hesitated before entering on the campaign. "I always +knew," she said, "that Willy's first real fight with himself would be no +matter of a few hours; and it was a particularly inconvenient time for me, +just then, to give up a day to it. But it seemed, on the whole, best not +to put it off."</p> + +<p>So she said, "Now, Willy, you can't get along without the letter G. The +longer you put off saying it, the harder it will be for you to say it at +last; and we will have it settled now, once for all. You are never going +to let a little bit of a letter like that be stronger than Willy. We will +not go out of this room till you have said it."</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, Willy's will had already taken its stand. However, the +mother made no authoritative demand that he should pronounce the letter as +a matter of obedience to her. Because it was a thing intrinsically +necessary for him to do, she would see, at any cost to herself or to him, +that he did it; but he must do it voluntarily, and she would wait till he +did.</p> + +<p>The morning wore on. She busied herself with other matters, and left Willy +to himself; now and then asking, with a smile, "Well, isn't my little boy +stronger than that ugly old letter yet?"</p> + +<p>Willy was sulky. He understood in that early stage all that was involved. +Dinner-time came.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to dinner, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! no, dear; not unless you say G, so that you can go too. Mamma will +stay by her little boy until he is out of this trouble."</p> + +<p>The dinner was brought up, and they ate it together. She was cheerful and +kind, but so serious that he felt the constant pressure of her pain.</p> + +<p>The afternoon dragged slowly on to night. Willy cried now and then, and +she took him in her lap, and said, "Dear, you will be happy as soon as you +say that letter, and mamma will be happy too, and we can't either of us be +happy until you do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma! why don't you <i>make</i> me say it?"</p> + +<p>(This he said several times before the affair was over.)</p> + +<p>"Because, dear, you must make yourself say it. I am helping you make +yourself say it, for I shall not let you go out of this room, nor go out +myself, till you do say it; but that is all I shall do to help you. I am +listening, listening all the time, and if you say it, in ever so little a +whisper, I shall hear you. That is all mamma can do for you."</p> + +<p>Bed-time came. Willy went to bed, unkissed and sad. The next morning, when +Willy's mother opened her eyes, she saw Willy sitting up in his crib, and +looking at her steadfastly. As soon as he saw that she was awake, he +exclaimed, "Mamma, I can't say it; and you know I can't say it. You're a +naughty mamma, and you don't love me." Her heart sank within her; but she +patiently went again and again over yesterday's ground. Willy cried. He +ate very little breakfast. He stood at the window in a listless attitude +of discouraged misery, which she said cut her to the heart. Once in a +while he would ask for some plaything which he did not usually have. She +gave him whatever he asked for; but he could not play. She kept up an +appearance of being busy with her sewing, but she was far more unhappy +than Willy.</p> + +<p>Dinner was brought up to them. Willy said, "Mamma, this ain't a bit good +dinner."</p> + +<p>She replied, "Yes, it is, darling; just as good as we ever have. It is +only because we are eating it alone. And poor papa is sad, too, taking +his all alone downstairs."</p> + +<p>At this Willy burst out into an hysterical fit of crying and sobbing.</p> + +<p>"I shall never see my papa again in this world."</p> + +<p>Then his mother broke down, too, and cried as hard as he did; but she +said, "Oh! yes, you will, dear. I think you will say that letter before +tea-time, and we will have a nice evening downstairs together."</p> + +<p>"I can't say it. I try all the time, and I can't say it; and, if you keep +me here till I die, I shan't ever say it."</p> + +<p>The second night settled down dark and gloomy, and Willy cried himself to +sleep. His mother was ill from anxiety and confinement; but she never +faltered. She told me she resolved that night that, if it were necessary, +she would stay in that room with Willy a month. The next morning she said +to him, more seriously than before, "Now, Willy, you are not only a +foolish little boy, you are unkind; you are making everybody unhappy. +Mamma is very sorry for you, but she is also very much displeased with +you. Mamma will stay here with you till you say that letter, if it is for +the rest of your life; but mamma will not talk with you, as she did +yesterday. She tried all day yesterday to help you, and you would not help +yourself; to-day you must do it all alone."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, are you sure I shall ever say it?" asked Willy.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear; perfectly sure. You will say it some day or other."</p> + +<p>"Do you think I shall say it to-day?"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell. You are not so strong a little boy as I thought. I believed +you would say it yesterday. I am afraid you have some hard work before +you."</p> + +<p>Willy begged her to go down and leave him alone. Then he begged her to +shut him up in the closet, and "see if that wouldn't make him good." Every +few minutes he would come and stand before her, and say very earnestly, +"Are you sure I shall say it?"</p> + +<p>He looked very pale, almost as if he had had a fit of illness. No wonder. +It was the whole battle of life fought at the age of four.</p> + +<p>It was late in the afternoon of this the third day. Willy had been sitting +in his little chair, looking steadily at the floor, for so long a time +that his mother was almost frightened. But she hesitated to speak to him, +for she felt that the crisis had come. Suddenly he sprang up, and walked +toward her with all the deliberate firmness of a man in his whole bearing. +She says there was something in his face which she has never seen since, +and does not expect to see till he is thirty years old.</p> + +<p>"Mamma!" said he.</p> + +<p>"Well, dear?" said his mother, trembling so that she could hardly speak.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," he repeated, in a loud, sharp tone, "G! G! G! G!" And then he +burst into a fit of crying, which she had hard work to stop. It was over.</p> + +<p>Willy is now ten years old. From that day to this his mother has never had +a contest with him; she has always been able to leave all practical +questions affecting his behavior to his own decision, merely saying, +"Willy, I think this or that will be better."</p> + +<p>His self-control and gentleness are wonderful to see; and the blending in +his face of childlike simplicity and purity with manly strength is +something which I have only once seen equalled.</p> + +<p>For a few days he went about the house, shouting "G! G! G!" at the top of +his voice. He was heard asking playmates if they could "say G," and "who +showed them how." For several years he used often to allude to the affair, +saying, "Do you remember, mamma, that dreadful time when I wouldn't say +G?" He always used the verb "wouldn't" in speaking of it. Once, when he +was sick, he said, "Mamma, do you think I could have said G any sooner +than I did?"</p> + +<p>"I have never felt certain about that, Willy," she said. "What do <i>you</i> +think?"</p> + +<p>"I think I could have said it a few minutes sooner. I was saying it to +<i>myself</i> as long as that!" said Willy.</p> + +<p>It was singular that, although up to that time he had never been able to +pronounce the letter with any distinctness, when he first made up his mind +in this instance to say it, he enunciated it with perfect clearness, and +never again went back to the old, imperfect pronunciation.</p> + +<p>Few mothers, perhaps, would be able to give up two whole days to such a +battle as this; other children, other duties, would interfere. But the +same principle could be carried out without the mother's remaining +herself by the child's side all the time. Moreover, not one child in a +thousand would hold out as Willy did. In all ordinary cases a few hours +would suffice. And, after all, what would the sacrifice of even two days +be, in comparison with the time saved in years to come? If there were no +stronger motive than one of policy, of desire to take the course easiest +to themselves, mothers might well resolve that their first aim should be +to educate their children's wills and make them strong, instead of to +conquer and "break" them.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-05"> +<h2>The Reign of Archelaus.</h2> + +<p>Herod's massacre had, after all, a certain mercy in it: there were no +lingering tortures. The slayers of children went about with naked and +bloody swords, which mothers could see, and might at least make effort to +flee from. Into Rachel's refusal to be comforted there need enter no +bitter agonies of remorse. But Herod's death, it seems, did not make Judea +a safe place for babies. When Joseph "heard that Archelaus did reign in +the room of his father, Herod, he was afraid to return thither with the +infant Jesus," and only after repeated commands and warnings from God +would he venture as far as Nazareth. The reign of Archelaus is not yet +over; he has had many names, and ruled over more and more countries, but +the spirit of his father, Herod, is still in him. To-day his power is at +its zenith. He is called Education; and the safest place for the dear, +holy children is still Egypt, or some other of the fortunate countries +called unenlightened.</p> + +<p>Some years ago there were symptoms of a strong rebellion against his +tyranny. Horace Mann lifted up his strong hands and voice against it; +physicians and physiologists came out gravely and earnestly, and fortified +their positions with statistics from which there was no appeal. Thomas +Wentworth Higginson, whose words have with the light, graceful beauty of +the Damascus blade its swift sureness in cleaving to the heart of things, +wrote an article for the "Atlantic Monthly" called "The Murder of the +Innocents," which we wish could be put into every house in the United +States. Some changes in school organizations resulted from these protests; +in the matter of ventilation of school-rooms some real improvement was +probably effected; though we shudder to think how much room remains for +further improvement, when we read in the report of the superintendent of +public schools in Brooklyn that in the primary departments of the grammar +schools "an average daily number of 33,275 pupils are crowded into +one-half the space provided in the upper departments for an average daily +attendance of 26,359; or compelled to occupy badly lighted, inconvenient, +and ill-ventilated galleries, or rooms in the basement stories."</p> + +<p>But in regard to the number of hours of confinement, and amount of study +required of children, it is hard to believe that schools have ever been +much more murderously exacting than now.</p> + +<p>The substitution of the single session of five hours for the old +arrangement of two sessions of three hours each, with a two-hours interval +at noon, was regarded as a great gain. So it would be, if all the +brain-work of the day were done in that time; but in most schools with +the five-hours session, there is next to no provision for studying in +school-hours, and the pupils are required to learn two, three, or four +lessons at home. Now, when is your boy to learn these lessons? Not in the +morning, before school; that is plain. School ends at two. Few children +live sufficiently near their schools to get home to dinner before half +past two o'clock. We say nothing of the undesirableness of taking the +hearty meal of the day immediately after five hours of mental fatigue; it +is probably a less evil than the late dinner at six, and we are in a +region where we are grateful for <i>less</i> evils! Dinner is over at quarter +past three; we make close estimates. In winter there is left less than two +hours before dark. This is all the time the child is to have for out-door +play; two hours and a half (counting in his recess) out of twenty-four. +Ask any farmer, even the stupidest, how well his colt or his lamb would +grow if it had but two hours a day of absolute freedom and exercise in the +open air, and that in the dark and the chill of a late afternoon! In spite +of the dark and the chill, however, your boy skates or slides on until he +is called in by you, who, if you are an American mother, care a great deal +more than he does for the bad marks which will stand on his week's report +if those three lessons are not learned before bed-time. He is tired and +cold; he does not want to study--who would? It is six o'clock before he is +fairly at it. You work harder than he does, and in half an hour one lesson +is learned; then comes tea. After tea half an hour, or perhaps an hour, +remains before bed-time; in this time, which ought to be spent in light, +cheerful talk or play, the rest of the lessons must be learned. He is +sleepy and discouraged. Words which in the freshness of the morning he +would have learned in a very few moments with ease, it is now simply out +of his power to commit to memory. You, if you are not superhuman, grow +impatient. At eight o'clock he goes to bed, his brain excited and wearied, +in no condition for healthful sleep; and his heart oppressed with the fear +of "missing" in the next day's recitations. And this is one out of the +school-year's two hundred and sixteen days--all of which will be like +this, or worse. One of the most pitiful sights we have seen for months was +a little group of four dear children, gathered round the library lamp, +trying to learn the next day's lessons in time to have a story read to +them before going to bed. They had taken the precaution to learn one +lesson immediately after dinner, before going out, cutting their out-door +play down by half an hour. The two elder were learning a long +spelling-lesson; the third was grappling with geographical definitions of +capes, promontories, and so forth; and the youngest was at work on his +primer. In spite of all their efforts, bed-time came before the lessons +were learned. The little geography student had been nodding over her book +for some minutes, and she had the philosophy to say, "I don't care; I'm so +sleepy. I had rather go to bed than hear any kind of a story." But the +elder ones were grieved and unhappy, and said, "There won't <i>ever</i> be any +time; we shall have just as much more to learn to-morrow night." The next +morning, however, there was a sight still more pitiful: the baby of seven, +with a little bit of paper and a pencil, and three sums in addition to be +done, and the father vainly endeavoring, to explain them to him in the +hurried moments before breakfast. It would be easy to show how fatal to +all real mental development, how false to all Nature's laws of growth, +such a system must be; but that belongs to another side of the question. +We speak now simply of the effect of it on the body; and here we quote +largely from the admirable article of Col. Higginson's, above referred to. +No stronger, more direct, more conclusive words can be written:--</p> + +<p>"Sir Walter Scott, according to Carlyle, was the only perfectly healthy +literary man who ever lived. He gave it as his deliberate opinion, in +conversation with Basil Hall, that five and a half hours form the limit of +healthful mental labor for a mature person. 'This I reckon very good work +for a man,' he said. 'I can very seldom work six hours a day.' Supposing +his estimate to be correct, and five and a half hours the reasonable limit +for the day's work of a mature intellect, it is evident that even this +must be altogether too much for an immature one. 'To suppose the youthful +brain,' says the recent admirable report, by Dr. Ray, of the Providence +Insane Hospital, 'to be capable of an amount of work which is considered +an ample allowance to an adult brain is simply absurd.' 'It would be +wrong, therefore, to deduct less than a half-hour from Scott's estimate, +for even the oldest pupils in our highest schools, leaving five hours as +the limit of real mental effort for them, and reducing this for all +younger pupils very much further.'</p> + +<p>"But Scott is not the only authority in the case; let us ask the +physiologists. So said Horace Mann before us, in the days when the +Massachusetts school system was in process of formation. He asked the +physicians in 1840, and in his report printed the answers of three of the +most eminent. The late Dr. Woodward, of Worcester, promptly said that +children under eight should never be confined more than one hour at a +time, nor more than four hours a day.</p> + +<p>"Dr. James Jackson, of Boston, allowed the children four hours schooling +in winter and five in summer, but only one hour at a time; and heartily +expressed his detestation of giving young children lessons to learn at +home.</p> + +<p>"Dr. S.G. Howe, reasoning elaborately on the whole subject, said that +children under eight years of age should never be confined more than half +an hour at a time; by following which rule, with long recesses, they can +study four hours daily. Children between eight and fourteen should not be +confined more than three-quarters of an hour at a time, having the last +quarter of each hour for exercise on the play-ground.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, the one thing about which doctors do <i>not</i> disagree is the +destructive effect of premature or excessive mental labor. I can quote +you medical authority for and against every maxim of dietetics beyond the +very simplest; but I defy you to find one man who ever begged, borrowed, +or stole the title of M.D., and yet abused those two honorary letters by +asserting under their cover that a child could safely study as much as a +man, or that a man could safely study more than six hours a day."</p> + +<p>"The worst danger of it is that the moral is written at the end of the +fable, not at the beginning. The organization in youth is so dangerously +elastic that the result of these intellectual excesses is not seen until +years after. When some young girl incurs spinal disease from some slight +fall, which she ought not to have felt for an hour, or some business man +breaks down in the prime of his years from some trifling over-anxiety, +which should have left no trace behind, the popular verdict may be +'Mysterious Providence;' but the wiser observer sees the retribution for +the folly of those misspent days which enfeebled the childish constitution +instead of ripening it. One of the most striking passages in the report of +Dr. Ray, before mentioned, is that in which he explains that, 'though +study at school is rarely the immediate cause of insanity, it is the most +frequent of its ulterior causes, except hereditary tendencies.' <i>It +diminishes the conservative power of the animal economy to such a degree +that attacks of disease which otherwise would have passed off safely +destroy life almost before danger is anticipated</i>."</p> + +<p>It would be easy to multiply authorities on these points. It is hard to +stop. But our limits forbid any thing like a full treatment of the +subject. Yet discussion on this question ought never to cease in the land +until a reform is brought about. Teachers are to blame only in part for +the present wrong state of things. They are to blame for yielding, for +acquiescing; but the real blame rests on parents. Here and there, +individual fathers and mothers, taught, perhaps, by heart-rending +experience, try to make stand against the current of false ambitions and +unhealthy standards. But these are rare exceptions. Parents, as a class, +not only help on, but create the pressure to which teachers yield, and +children are sacrificed. The whole responsibility is really theirs. They +have in their hands the power to regulate the whole school routine to +which their children are to be subjected. This is plain, when we once +consider what would be the immediate effect in any community, large or +small, if a majority of parents took action together, and persistently +refused to allow any child under fourteen to be confined in school more +than four hours out of the twenty-four, more than one hour at a time, or +to do more than five hours' brain-work in a day. The law of supply and +demand is a first principle. In three months the schools in that community +would be entirely reorganized, to accord with the parents' wishes; in +three years the improved average health of the children in that community +would bear its own witness in ruddy bloom along the streets; and perhaps +even in one generation so great gain of vigor might be made that the +melancholy statistics of burial would no longer have to record the death +under twelve years of age of more than two-fifths of the children who are +born. </p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-06"> +<h2>The Awkward Age.</h2> + +<p>The expression defines itself. At the first sound of the words, we all +think of some one unhappy soul we know just now, whom they suggest. Nobody +is ever without at least one brother, sister, cousin, or friend on hand, +who is struggling through this social slough of despond; and nobody ever +will be, so long as the world goes on taking it for granted that the +slough is a necessity, and that the road must go through it. Nature never +meant any such thing. Now and then she blunders or gets thwarted of her +intent, and turns out a person who is awkward, hopelessly and forever +awkward; body and soul are clumsy together, and it is hard to fancy them +translated to the spiritual world without too much elbow and ankle. +However, these are rare cases, and come in under the law of variation. But +an awkward age,--a necessary crisis or stage of uncouthness, through which +all human beings must pass,--Nature was incapable of such a conception; +law has no place for it; development does not know it; instinct revolts +from it; and man is the only animal who has been silly and wrong-headed +enough to stumble into it. The explanation and the remedy are so simple, +so close at hand, that we have not seen them. The whole thing lies in a +nutshell. Where does this abnormal, uncomfortable period come in? Between +childhood, we say, and maturity; it is the transition from one to the +other. When human beings, then, are neither boys nor men, girls nor women, +they must be for a few years anomalous creatures, must they? We might, +perhaps, find a name for the individual in this condition as well as for +the condition. We must look to Du Chaillu for it, if we do; but it is too +serious a distress to make light of, even for a moment. We have all felt +it, and we know how it feels; we all see it every day, and we know how it +looks.</p> + +<p>What is it which the child has and the adult loses, from the loss of which +comes this total change of behavior? Or is it something which the adult +has and the child had not? It is both; and until the loss and the gain, +the new and the old, are permanently separated and balanced, the awkward +age lasts. The child was overlooked, contradicted, thwarted, snubbed, +insulted, whipped; not constantly, not often,--in many cases, thank God, +very seldom. But the liability was there, and he knew it; he never forgot +it, if you did. One burn is enough to make fire dreaded. The adult, once +fairly recognized as adult, is not overlooked, contradicted, thwarted, +snubbed, insulted, whipped; at least, not with impunity. To this +gratifying freedom, these comfortable exemptions, when they are once +established in our belief, we adjust ourselves, and grow contentedly +good-mannered. To the other <i>régime</i>, while we were yet children, we also +somewhat adjusted ourselves, were tolerably well behaved, and made the +best of it. But who could bear a mixture of both? What genius could rise +superior to it, could be itself, surrounded by such uncertainties?</p> + +<p>No wonder that your son comes into the room with a confused expression of +uncomfortable pain on every feature, when he does not in the least know +whether he will be recognized as a gentleman, or overlooked as a little +boy. No wonder he sits down in his chair with movements suggestive of +nothing but rheumatism and jack-knives, when he is thinking that perhaps +there may be some reason why he should not take that particular chair, and +that, if there is, he will be ordered up.</p> + +<p>No wonder that your tall daughter turns red, stammers, and says foolish +things on being courteously spoken to by strangers at dinner, when she is +afraid that she may be sharply contradicted or interrupted, and remembers +that day before yesterday she was told that children should be seen and +not heard.</p> + +<p>I knew a very clever girl, who had the misfortune to look at fourteen as +if she were twenty. At home, she was the shyest and most awkward of +creatures; away from her mother and sisters, she was self-possessed and +charming. She said to me, once, "Oh! I have such a splendid time away from +home. I'm so tall, everybody thinks I am grown up, and everybody is civil +to me."</p> + +<p>I know, also, a man of superb physique, charming temperament, and uncommon +talent, who is to this day--and he is twenty-five years old--nervous and +ill at ease in talking with strangers, in the presence of his own family. +He hesitates, stammers, and never does justice to his thoughts. He says +that he believes he shall never be free from this distress; he cannot +escape from the recollections of the years between fourteen and twenty, +during which he was so systematically snubbed that his mother's parlor was +to him worse than the chambers of the Inquisition. He knows that he is now +sure of courteous treatment; that his friends are all proud of him; but +the old cloud will never entirely disappear. Something has been lost which +can never be regained. And the loss is not his alone, it is theirs too; +they are all poorer for life, by reason of the unkind days which are gone.</p> + +<p>This, then, is the explanation of the awkward age. I am not afraid of any +dissent from my definition of the source whence its misery springs. +Everybody's consciousness bears witness. Everybody knows, in the bottom of +his heart, that, however much may be said about the change of voice, the +thinness of cheeks, the sharpness of arms, the sudden length in legs and +lack of length in trousers and frocks,--all these had nothing to do with +the real misery. The real misery was simply and solely the horrible +feeling of not belonging anywhere; not knowing what a moment might bring +forth in the way of treatment from others; never being sure which impulse +it would be safer to follow, to retreat or to advance, to speak or to be +silent, and often overwhelmed with unspeakable mortification at the rebuff +of the one or the censure of the other. Oh! how dreadful it all was! How +dreadful it all is, even to remember! It would be malicious even to refer +to it, except to point out the cure.</p> + +<p>The cure is plain. It needs no experiment to test it. Merely to mention it +ought to be enough. If human beings are so awkward at this unhappy age, +and so unhappy at this awkward age, simply because they do not know +whether they are to be treated as children or as adults, suppose we make a +rule that children are always to be treated, in point of courtesy, as if +they were adults? Then this awkward age--this period of transition from an +atmosphere of, to say the least, negative rudeness to one of gracious +politeness--disappears. There cannot be a crisis of readjustment of social +relations: there is no possibility of such a feeling; it would be hard to +explain to a young person what it meant. Now and then we see a young man +or young woman who has never known it. They are usually only children, and +are commonly spoken of as wonders. I know such a boy to-day. At seventeen +he measures six feet in height; he has the feet and the hands of a still +larger man; and he comes of a blood which had far more strength than +grace. But his manner is, and always has been, sweet, gentle, +composed,--the very ideal of grave, tender, frank young manhood. People +say, "How strange! He never seemed to have any awkward age at all." It +would have been stranger if he had. Neither his father nor his mother ever +departed for an instant, in their relations with him, from the laws of +courtesy and kindliness of demeanor which governed their relations with +others.</p> + +<p>He knew but one atmosphere, and that a genial one, from his babyhood up; +and in and of this atmosphere has grown up a sweet, strong, pure soul, for +which the quiet, self-possessed manner is but the fitting garb.</p> + +<p>This is part of the kingdom that cometh unobserved. In this kingdom we are +all to be kings and priests, if we choose; and all its ways are +pleasantness. But we are not ready for it till we have become peaceable +and easy to be entreated, and have learned to understand why it was that +one day, when Jesus called his disciples together, he set a little child +in their midst.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-07"> +<h2>A Day with a Courteous Mother.</h2> + +<p>During the whole of one of last summer's hottest days I had the good +fortune to be seated in a railway car near a mother and four children, +whose relations with each other were so beautiful that the pleasure of +watching them was quite enough to make one forget the discomforts of the +journey.</p> + +<p>It was plain that they were poor; their clothes were coarse and old, and +had been made by inexperienced hands. The mother's bonnet alone would have +been enough to have condemned the whole party on any of the world's +thoroughfares. I remembered afterward, with shame, that I myself had +smiled at the first sight of its antiquated ugliness; but her face was one +which it gave you a sense of rest to look upon,--it was so earnest, +tender, true, and strong. It had little comeliness of shape or color in +it, it was thin, and pale; she was not young; she had worked hard; she had +evidently been much ill; but I have seen few faces which gave me such +pleasure. I think that she was the wife of a poor clergyman; and I think +that clergyman must be one of the Lord's best watchmen of souls. The +children--two boys and two girls--were all under the age of twelve, and +the youngest could not speak plainly. They had had a rare treat; they had +been visiting the mountains, and they were talking over all the wonders +they had seen with a glow of enthusiastic delight which was to be envied. +Only a word-for-word record would do justice to their conversation; no +description could give any idea of it,--so free, so pleasant, so genial, +no interruptions, no contradictions; and the mother's part borne all the +while with such equal interest and eagerness that no one not seeing her +face would dream that she was any other than an elder sister. In the +course of the day there were many occasions when it was necessary for her +to deny requests, and to ask services, especially from the eldest boy; but +no young girl, anxious to please a lover, could have done either with a +more tender courtesy. She had her reward; for no lover could have been +more tender and manly than was this boy of twelve. Their lunch was simple +and scanty; but it had the grace of a royal banquet. At the last, the +mother produced with much glee three apples and an orange, of which the +children had not known. All eyes fastened on the orange. It was evidently +a great rarity. I watched to see if this test would bring out selfishness. +There was a little silence; just the shade of a cloud. The mother said, +"How shall I divide this? There is one for each of you; and I shall be +best off of all, for I expect big tastes from each of you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, give Annie the orange. Annie loves oranges," spoke out the oldest +boy, with a sudden air of a conqueror, and at the same time taking the +smallest and worst apple himself.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, let Annie have the orange," echoed the second boy, nine years +old.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Annie may have the orange, because that is nicer than the apple, and +she is a lady, and her brothers are gentlemen," said the mother, quietly. +Then there was a merry contest as to who should feed the mother with +largest and most frequent mouthfuls; and so the feast went on. Then Annie +pretended to want apple, and exchanged thin golden strips of orange for +bites out of the cheeks of Baldwins; and, as I sat watching her intently, +she suddenly fancied she saw longing in my face, and sprang over to me, +holding out a quarter of her orange, and saying, "Don't you want a taste, +too?" The mother smiled, understandingly, when I said, "No, I thank you, +you dear, generous little girl; I don't care about oranges."</p> + +<p>At noon we had a tedious interval of waiting at a dreary station. We sat +for two hours on a narrow platform, which the sun had scorched till it +smelt of heat. The oldest boy--the little lover--held the youngest child, +and talked to her, while the tired mother closed her eyes and rested. Now +and then he looked over at her, and then back at the baby; and at last he +said confidentially to me (for we had become fast friends by this time), +"Isn't it funny, to think that I was ever so small as this baby? And papa +says that then mamma was almost a little girl herself."</p> + +<p>The two other children were toiling up and down the banks of the +railroad-track, picking ox-eye daisies, buttercups, and sorrel. They +worked like beavers, and soon the bunches were almost too big for their +little hands. Then they came running to give them to their mother. "Oh +dear," thought I, "how that poor, tired woman will hate to open her eyes! +and she never can take those great bunches of common, fading flowers, in +addition to all her bundles and bags." I was mistaken.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you, my darlings! How kind you were! Poor, hot, tired little +flowers, how thirsty they look! If they will only try and keep alive till +we get home, we will make them very happy in some water; won't we? And you +shall put one bunch by papa's plate, and one by mine."</p> + +<p>Sweet and happy, the weary and flushed little children stood looking up in +her face while she talked, their hearts thrilling with compassion for the +drooping flowers and with delight in the giving of their gift. Then she +took great trouble to get a string and tie up the flowers, and then the +train came, and we were whirling along again. Soon it grew dark, and +little Annie's head nodded. Then I heard the mother say to the oldest boy, +"Dear, are you too tired to let little Annie put her head on your shoulder +and take a nap? We shall get her home in much better case to see papa if +we can manage to give her a little sleep." How many boys of twelve hear +such words as these from tired, overburdened mothers?</p> + +<p>Soon came the city, the final station, with its bustle and noise. I +lingered to watch my happy family, hoping to see the father. "Why, papa +isn't here!" exclaimed one disappointed little voice after another. "Never +mind," said the mother, with a still deeper disappointment in her own +tone; "perhaps he had to go to see some poor body who is sick." In the +hurry of picking up all the parcels, and the sleepy babies, the poor +daisies and buttercups were left forgotten in a corner of the rack. I +wondered if the mother had not intended this. May I be forgiven for the +injustice! A few minutes after I passed the little group, standing still +just outside the station, and heard the mother say, "Oh, my darlings, I +have forgotten your pretty bouquets. I am so sorry! I wonder if I could +find them if I went back. Will you all stand still and not stir from this +spot if I go?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, don't go, don't go. We will get you some more. Don't go," +cried all the children.</p> + +<p>"Here are your flowers, madam," said I. "I saw that you had forgotten +them, and I took them as mementoes of you and your sweet children." She +blushed and looked disconcerted. She was evidently unused to people, and +shy with all but her children. However, she thanked me sweetly, and +said,--</p> + +<p>"I was very sorry about them. The children took such trouble to get them; +and I think they will revive in water. They cannot be quite dead."</p> + +<p>"They will <i>never</i> die!" said I, with an emphasis which went from my heart +to hers. Then all her shyness fled. She knew me; and we shook hands, and +smiled into each other's eyes with the smile of kindred as we parted.</p> + +<p>As I followed on, I heard the two children, who were walking behind, +saying to each other, "Wouldn't that have been too bad? Mamma liked them +so much, and we never could have got so many all at once again."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we could, too, next summer," said the boy, sturdily.</p> + +<p>They are sure of their "next summers," I think, all six of those +souls,--children, and mother, and father. They may never again gather so +many ox-eye daisies and buttercups "all at once." Perhaps some of the +little hands have already picked their last flowers. Nevertheless, their +summers are certain. To such souls as these, all trees, either here or in +God's larger country, are Trees of Life, with twelve manner of fruits and +leaves for healing; and it is but little change from the summers here, +whose suns burn and make weary, to the summers there, of which "the Lamb +is the light."</p> + +<p>Heaven bless them all, wherever they are.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-08"> +<h2>Children in Nova Scotia.</h2> + +<p>Nova Scotia is a country of gracious surprises. Instead of the stones +which are what strangers chiefly expect at her hands, she gives us a +wealth of fertile meadows; instead of stormy waves breaking on a frowning +coast, she shows us smooth basins whose shores are soft and wooded to the +water's edge, and into which empty wonderful tidal rivers, whose courses, +where the tide-water has flowed out, lie like curving bands of bright +brown satin among the green fields. She has no barrenness, no +unsightliness, no poverty; everywhere beauty, everywhere riches. She is +biding her time.</p> + +<p>But most beautiful among her beauties, most wonderful among her wonders, +are her children. During two weeks' travel in the provinces, I have been +constantly more and more impressed by their superiority in appearance, +size, and health to the children of the New England and Middle States. In +the outset of our journey I was struck by it; along all the roadsides they +looked up, boys and girls, fair, broad-cheeked, sturdy-legged, such as +with us are seen only now and then. I did not, however, realize at first +that this was the universal law of the land, and that it pointed to +something more than climate as a cause. But the first school that I saw, +<i>en masse</i>, gave a startling impetus to the train of observation and +inference into which I was unconsciously falling. It was a Sunday school +in the little town of Wolfville, which lies between the Gaspcreau and +Cornwallis rivers, just beyond the meadows of the Grand Pré, where lived +Gabriel Lajeunesse, and Benedict Bellefontaine, and the rest of the +"simple Acadian farmers."</p> + +<p>"Mists from the mighty Atlantic" more than "looked on the happy valley" +that Sunday morning. Convicting Longfellow of a mistake, they did descend +"from their stations," on solemn Blomidon, and fell in a slow, unpleasant +drizzle in the streets of Wolfville and Horton. I arrived too early at one +of the village churches, and while I was waiting for a sexton a door +opened, and out poured the Sunday school, whose services had just ended. +On they came, dividing in the centre, and falling to the right and left +about me, thirty or forty boys and girls, between the ages of seven and +fifteen. I looked at them in astonishment. They all had fair skins, red +cheeks, and clear eyes; they were all broad-shouldered, straight, and +sturdy; the younger ones were more than sturdy,--they were fat, from the +ankles up. But perhaps the most noticeable thing of all was the quiet, +sturdy, unharassed expression which their faces wore; a look which is the +greatest charm of a child's face, but which we rarely see in children over +two or three years old. Boys of eleven or twelve were there, with +shoulders broader than the average of our boys at sixteen, and yet with +the pure, childlike look on their faces. Girls of ten or eleven were there +who looked almost like women,--that is, like ideal women,--simply because +they looked so calm and undisturbed. The Saxon coloring prevailed; +three-fourths of the eyes were blue, with hair of that pale ash-brown +which the French call "<i>blonde cendrée</i>" Out of them all there was but one +child who looked sickly. He had evidently met with some accident, and was +lame. Afterward, as the congregation assembled, I watched the fathers and +mothers of these children. They, too, were broad-shouldered, tall, and +straight, especially the women. Even old women were straight, like the +negroes one sees at the South, walking with burdens on their heads.</p> + +<p>Five days later I saw in Halifax the celebration of the anniversary of the +settlement of the province. The children of the city and of some of the +neighboring towns marched in "bands of hope" and processions, such as we +see in the cities of the States on the Fourth of July. This was just the +opportunity I wanted. It was the same here as in the country. I counted on +that day just eleven sickly-looking children; no more! Such brilliant +cheeks, such merry eyes, such evident strength; it was a scene to kindle +the dullest soul. There were scores of little ones there, whose droll, fat +legs would have drawn a crowd in Central Park; and they all had that same, +quiet, composed, well-balanced expression of countenance of which I spoke +before, and of which it would be hard to find an instance in all Central +Park.</p> + +<p>Climate undoubtedly has something to do with this. The air is moist, and +the mercury rarely rises above 80° or falls below 10°. Also the +comparative quiet of their lives helps to make them so beautiful and +strong. But the most significant fact to my mind is that, until the past +year, there have been in Nova Scotia no public schools, comparatively few +private ones; and in these there is no severe pressure brought to bear on +the pupils. The private schools have been expensive, consequently it has +been very unusual for children to be sent to school before they were +<i>eight or nine</i> years of age; I could not find a person who had ever known +of a child's being sent to school <i>under seven!</i> The school sessions are +on the old plan of six hours per day,--from nine till twelve, and from one +till four; but no learning of lessons out of school has been allowed. +Within the last year a system of free public schools has been introduced, +"and the people are grumbling terribly about it," said my informant. +"Why?" I asked; "because they do not wish to have their children +educated?" "Oh, no," said he; "because they do not like to pay the taxes!" +"Alas!" I thought, "if it were only their silver which would be taxed!"</p> + +<p>I must not be understood to argue from the health of the children of Nova +Scotia, as contrasted with the lack of health among our children, that it +is best to have no public schools; only that it is better to have no +public schools than to have such public schools as are now killing off our +children.</p> + +<p>The registration system of Nova Scotia is as yet imperfectly carried out. +It is almost impossible to obtain exact returns from all parts of so +thinly settled a country. But such statistics as have been already +established give sufficient food for reflection in this connection. In +Massachusetts more than two-fifths of all the children born die before +they are twelve years old. In Nova Scotia the proportion is less than +one-third. In Nova Scotia one out of every fifty-six lives to be over +ninety years of age; and one-twelfth of the entire number of deaths is +between the ages of eighty and ninety. In Massachusetts one person out of +one hundred and nine lives to be over ninety.</p> + +<p>In Massachusetts the mortality from diseases of the brain and nervous +system is eleven per cent. In Nova Scotia it is only eight per cent.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-09"> +<h2>The Republic of the Family.</h2> + +<p>"He is lover and friend and son, all in one," said a friend, the other +day, telling me of a dear boy who, out of his first earnings, had just +sent to his mother a beautiful gift, costing much more than he could +really afford for such a purpose.</p> + +<p>That mother is the wisest, sweetest, most triumphant mother I have ever +known. I am restrained by feelings of deepest reverence for her from +speaking, as I might speak, of the rare and tender methods by which her +motherhood has worked, patiently and alone, for nearly twenty years, and +made of her two sons "lovers and friends." I have always felt that she +owed it to the world to impart to other mothers all that she could of her +divine secret; to write out, even in detail, all the processes by which +her boys have grown to be so strong, upright, loving, and manly.</p> + +<p>But one of her first principles has so direct a bearing on the subject +that I wish to speak of here that I venture to attempt an explanation of +it. She has told me that she never once, even in their childish days, took +the ground that she had right to require any thing from them simply +<i>because</i> she was their mother. This is a position very startling to the +average parent. It is exactly counter to traditions.</p> + +<p>"Why must I?" or "Why cannot I?" says the child. "Because I say so, and I +am your father," has been the stern, authoritative reply ever since we can +any of us remember; and, I presume, ever since the Christian era, since +that good Apostle Paul saw enough in the Ephesian families where he +visited to lead him to write to them from Rome, "Fathers, provoke not your +children to wrath."</p> + +<p>It seems to me that there are few questions of practical moment in +every-day living on which a foregone and erroneous conclusion has been +adopted so generally and so undoubtingly. How it first came about it is +hard to see. Or, rather, it is easy to see, when one reflects; and the +very clearness of the surface explanation of it only makes its injustice +more odious. It came about because the parent was strong and the child +weak. Helplessness in the hands of power,--that is the whole story. +Suppose for an instant (and, absurd as the supposition is practically, it +is not logically absurd), that the child at six were strong enough to whip +his father; let him have the intellect of an infant, the mistakes and the +faults of an infant,--which the father would feel himself bound and <i>would +be</i> bound to correct,--but the body of a man; and then see in how +different fashion the father would set himself to work to insure good +behavior. I never see the heavy, impatient hand of a grown man or woman +laid with its brute force, even for the smallest purpose, on a little +child, without longing for a sudden miracle to give the baby an equal +strength to resist.</p> + +<p>When we realize what it is for us to dare, for our own pleasure, even with +solemnest purpose of the holiest of pleasures, parenthood, to bring into +existence a soul, which must take for our sake its chance of joy or +sorrow, how monstrous it seems to assume that the fact that we have done +this thing gives us arbitrary right to control that soul; to set our will, +as will, in place of its will; to be law unto its life; to try to make of +it what it suits our fancy or our convenience to have it; to claim that it +is under obligation to us!</p> + +<p>The truth is, all the obligation, in the outset, is the other way. We owe +all to them. All that we can do to give them happiness, to spare them +pain; all that we can do to make them wise and good and safe,--all is too +little! All and more than all can never repay them for the sweetness, the +blessedness, the development that it has been to us to call children ours. +If we can also so win their love by our loving, so deserve their respect +by our honorableness, so earn their gratitude by our helpfulness, that +they come to be our "lovers and friends," then, ah! then we have had +enough of heaven here to make us willing to postpone the more for which we +hope beyond!</p> + +<p>But all this comes not of authority, not by command; all this is perilled +always, always impaired, and often lost, by authoritative, arbitrary +ruling, substitution of law and penalty for influence.</p> + +<p>It will be objected by parents who disagree with this theory that only +authority can prevent license; that without command there will not be +control. No one has a right to condemn methods he has not tried. I know, +for I have seen, I know, for I have myself tested, that command and +authority are short-lived; that they do not insure the results they aim +at; that real and permanent control of a child's behavior, even in little +things, is gained only by influence, by a slow, sure educating, +enlightening, and strengthening of a child's will. I know, for I have +seen, that it is possible in this way to make a child only ten years old +quite as intelligent and trustworthy a free agent as his mother; to make +him so sensible, so gentle, so considerate that to say "must" or "must +not" to him would be as unnecessary and absurd as to say it to her.</p> + +<p>But, if it be wiser and better to surround even little children with this +atmosphere of freedom, how much more essential is it for those who remain +under the parental roof long after they have ceased to be children! Just +here seems to me to be the fatal rock upon which many households make +utter shipwreck of their peace. Fathers and mothers who have ruled by +authority (let it be as loving as you please, it will still remain an +arbitrary rule) in the beginning, never seem to know when their children +are children no longer, but have become men and women. In any average +family, the position of an unmarried daughter after she is twenty years +old becomes less and less what it should be. In case of sons, the question +is rarely a practical one; in those exceptional instances where invalidism +or some other disability keeps a man helpless for years under his father's +roof, his very helplessness is at once his vindication and his shield, and +also prevents his feeling manly revolt against the position of unnatural +childhood. But in the case of daughters it is very different. Who does not +number in his circle of acquaintance many unmarried women, between the +ages of thirty and forty, perhaps even older, who have practically little +more freedom in the ordering of their own lives than they had when they +were eleven? The mother or the father continues just as much the +autocratic centre of the family now as of the nursery, thirty years +before. Taking into account the chance--no, the certainty--of great +differences between parents and children in matters of temperament and +taste, it is easy to see that great suffering must result from this; +suffering, too, which involves real loss and hindrance to growth. It is +really a monstrous wrong; but it seems to be rarely observed by the world, +and never suspected by those who are most responsible for it. It is +perhaps a question whether the real tyrannies in this life are those that +are accredited as such. There are certainly more than even tyrants know!</p> + +<p>Every father and mother has it within easy reach to become the intimate +friend of the child. Closest, holiest, sweetest of all friendships is this +one, which has the closest, holiest tie of blood to underlie the bond of +soul. We see it in rare cases, proving itself divine by rising above even +the passion of love between man and woman, and carrying men and women +unwedded to their graves for sake of love of mother or father. When we +realize what such friendship is, it seems incredible that parents can +forego it, or can risk losing any shade of its perfectness, for the sake +of any indulgence of the habit of command or of gratifying of selfish +preference.</p> + +<p>In the ideal household of father and mother and adult children, the one +great aim of the parents ought to be to supply, as far as possible to each +child, that freedom and independence which they have missed the +opportunity of securing in homes of their own. The loss of this one thing +alone is a bitterer drop in the loneliness of many an unmarried woman than +parents, especially fathers, are apt even to dream,--food and clothes and +lodgings are so exalted in unthinking estimates. To be without them would +be distressingly inconvenient, no doubt; but one can have luxurious +provision of both and remain very wretched. Even the body itself cannot +thrive if it has no more than these three pottage messes! Freedom to come, +go, speak, work, play,--in short, to be one's self,--is to the body more +than meat and gold, and to the soul the whole of life.</p> + +<p>Just so far as any parent interferes with this freedom of adult children, +even in the little things of a single day or a single hour, just so far it +is tyranny, and the children are wronged. But just so far as parents +help, strengthen, and bestow this freedom on their children, just so far +it is justice and kindness, and their relation is cemented into a supreme +and unalterable friendship, whose blessedness and whose comfort no words +can measure.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-10"> +<h2>The Ready-to-Halts.</h2> + +<p>Mr. Ready-to-Halt must have been the most exasperating pilgrim that Great +Heart ever dragged over the road to the Celestial City. Mr. Feeble Mind +was bad enough; but genuine weakness and organic incapacity appeal all the +while to charity and sympathy. If people really cannot walk, they must be +carried. Everybody sees that; and all strong people are, or ought to be, +ready to lift babies and cripples. There are plenty of such in every +parish. The Feeble Minds are unfortunately predisposed to intermarry; and +our schools are overrun with the little Masters and Misses Feeble Mind. +But, heavy as they are (and they are apt to be fat), they are precious and +pleasant friends and neighbors in comparison with the Ready-to-Halts.</p> + +<p>The Ready-to-Halts are never ready for any thing else. They can walk as +well as anybody else, if they only would; but they are never quite sure on +which road they would better go. Great Hearts have to go back, and go +back, to look them up. They are found standing still, helpless and +bewildered, on all sorts of absurd side-paths, which lead nowhere; and +they never will confess, either, that they need help. They always think +they are doing what they call "making up their mind." But, whichever way +they make it, they wish they had made it the other; so they unmake it +directly. And by this time the crisis of the first hour which they lost +has become complicated with that of the second hour, for which they are in +no wise ready; and so the hours stumble on, one after another, and the day +is only a tangle of ineffective cross purposes. Hundreds of such days +drift on, with their sad burden of wasted time. Year after year their +lives fail of growth, of delight, of blessing to others. Opportunity's +great golden doors, which never stay long open for any man, have always +just closed when they reach the threshold of a deed; and it is hard, very +hard, to see why it would not have been better for them if they had never +been born.</p> + +<p>After all, it is not right to be impatient with them; for, in nine cases +out of ten, they are no more responsible for their mental limp than the +poor Chinese woman is for her feeble feet. From their infancy up to what +in our comic caricature of words we call "maturity," they have been +bandaged. How should their muscles be good for any thing? From the day +when we give, and take, and arrange the baby's playthings for him, hour by +hour, without ever setting before him to choose one of two and give up the +other, to the day when we take it upon ourselves to decide whether he +shall be an engineer or a lawyer, we persist in doing for him the work +which he should do for himself. This is because we love him more than we +love our own lives. Oh! if love could but have its eyes opened and see! +If we were not blind, we should know that whenever a child decides for +himself deliberately, and without bias from others, any question, however +small, he has had just so many minutes of mental gymnastics,--just so much +strengthening of the one faculty on whose health and firmness his success +in life will depend more than upon any other thing.</p> + +<p>So many people do not know the difference between obstinacy and +clear-headed firmness of will, that it is hardly safe to say much in +praise or blame of either without expressly stating that you do not mean +the other. They are as unlike as digestion and indigestion, and one would +suppose could not be much more easily confounded; but it is constantly +done. It has not yet ceased to be said among fathers and mothers that it +is necessary to "break the will" of children; and it has not yet ceased to +be seen in the land that men by virtue of simple obstinacy are called men +of strong character. The truth is that the stronger, better-trained will a +man has, the less obstinate he will be. Will is of reason; obstinacy, of +temper. What have they in common?</p> + +<p>For want of strong will kingdoms and souls have been lost. Without it +there is no kingdom for any man,--no, not even in his own soul. It is the +one attribute of all we possess which is most God-like. By it, we say, +under his laws, as he says, enacting those laws, "So far and no further." +It is not enough that we do not "break" this grand power. It should be +strengthened, developed, trained. And, as the good teacher of gymnastics +gives his beginners light weights to lift and swing, so should we bring to +the children small points to decide; to the very little children, very +little points. "Will you have the apple, or the orange? You cannot have +both. Choose; but after you have chosen you cannot change." "Will you have +the horseback ride to-day, or the opera to-morrow night? You can have but +one."</p> + +<p>Every day, many times a day, a child should decide for himself points +involving pros and cons,--substantial ones too. Let him even decide +unwisely, and take the consequences; that too is good for him. No amount +of Blackstone can give such an idea of law as a month of prison. Tell him +as much as you please of what you know on both sides; but compel him to +decide, and also compel him not to be too long about it. "Choose ye this +day whom ye will serve" is a text good for every morning.</p> + +<p>If men and women had in their childhood such training of their wills as +this, we should not see so many putting their hands to the plough and +looking back, and "not fit for the kingdom of heaven." Nor for any kingdom +of earth, either, unless it be for the wicked little kingdom of the Prince +of Monaco, where there are but two things to be done,--gamble, or drown +yourself.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-11"> +<h2>The Descendants of Nabal.</h2> + +<p>The line has never been broken, and they have married into respectable +families, right and left, until to-day there can hardly be found a +household which has not at least one to worry it.</p> + +<p>They are not men and women of great passionate natures, who flame out now +and then in an outbreak like a volcano, from which everybody runs. This, +though terrible while it lasts, is soon over, and there are great +compensations in such souls. Their love is worth having. Their tenderness +is great. One can forgive them "seventy times seven," for the hasty words +and actions of which they repent immediately with tears.</p> + +<p>But the Nabals are sullen; they are grumblers; they are never done. Such +sons of Belial are they to this day that no man can speak peaceably unto +them. They are as much worse than passionate people as a slow drizzle of +rain is than a thunder-storm. For the thunder-storm, you stay in-doors, +and you cannot help having pleasure in its sharp lights and darks and +echoes; and when it is over, what clear air, what a rainbow! But in the +drizzle, you go out; you think that with a waterproof, an umbrella, and +overshoes, you can manage to get about in spite of it, and attend to your +business. What a state you come home in,--muddy, limp, chilled, +disheartened! The house greets you, looking also muddy and cold,--for the +best of front halls gives up in despair and cannot look any thing but +forlorn in a long, drizzling rain; all the windows are bleared with +trickling, foggy wet on the outside, which there is no wiping off nor +seeing through, and if one could see through there is no gain. The street +is more gloomy than the house; black, slimy mud, inches deep on crossings; +the same black, slimy mud in footprints on side-walks; hopeless-looking +people hurrying by, so unhappy by reason of the drizzle that a weird sort +of family likeness is to be seen in all their faces. This is all that can +be seen outside. It is better not to look. For the inside is no redemption +except a wood-fire,--a good, generous wood-fire,--not in any of the modern +compromises called open stoves, but on a broad stone hearth, with a big +background of chimney, up which the sparks can go skipping and creeping.</p> + +<p>This can redeem a drizzle; but this cannot redeem a grumbler. Plump he +sits down in the warmth of its very blaze, and complains that it snaps, +perhaps, or that it is oak and maple, when he paid for all hickory. You +can trust him to put out your wood-fire for you as effectually as a +water-spout. And, if even a wood-fire, bless it! cannot outshine the gloom +of his presence, what is to happen in the places where there is no +wood-fire, on the days when real miseries, big and little, are on hand, to +be made into mountains of torture by his grumbling? Oh, who can describe +him? There is no language which can do justice to him; no supernatural +foresight which can predict where his next thrust will fall, from what +unsuspected corner he will send his next arrow. Like death, he has all +seasons for his own; his ingenuity is infernal. Whoever tries to forestall +or appease him might better be at work in Augean stables; because, after +all, we must admit that the facts of life are on his side. It is not +intended that we shall be very comfortable. There is a terrible amount of +total depravity in animate and inanimate things. From morning till night +there is not an hour without its cross to carry. The weather thwarts us; +servants, landlords, drivers, washerwomen, and bosom friends misbehave; +clothes don't fit; teeth ache; stomachs get out of order; newspapers are +stupid; and children make too much noise. If there are not big troubles, +there are little ones. If they are not in sight, they are hiding. I have +wondered whether the happiest mortal could point to one single moment and +say, "At that moment there was nothing in my life which I would have had +changed." I think not.</p> + +<p>In argument, therefore, the grumbler has the best of it. It is more than +probable that things are as he says. But why say it? Why make four +miseries out of three? If the three be already unbearable, so much the +worse. If he is uncomfortable, it is a pity; we are sorry, but we cannot +change the course of Nature. We shall soon have our own little turn of +torments, and we do not want to be worn out before it comes by having +listened to his; probably, too, the very things of which he complains are +pressing just as heavily on us as on him,--are just as unpleasant to +everybody as to him. Suppose everybody did as he does. Imagine, for +instance, a chorus of grumble from ten people at a breakfast-table, all +saying at once, or immediately after each other, "This coffee is not fit +to drink." "Really, the attendance in this house is insufferably poor." I +have sometimes wished to try this homoeopathic treatment in a bad case of +grumble. It sounds as if it might work a cure.</p> + +<p>If you lose your temper with the grumbler, and turn upon him suddenly, +saying, "Oh, do not spoil all our pleasure. Do make the best of things: +or, at least, keep quiet!" then how aggrieved he is! how unjust he thinks +you are to "make a personal matter of it"! "You do not, surely, suppose I +think you are responsible for it, do you?" he says, with a lofty air of +astonishment at your unreasonable sensitiveness. Of course, we do not +suppose he thinks we are to blame; we do not take him to be a fool as well +as a grumbler. But he speaks to us, at us, before us, about the cause of +his discomfort, whatever it may be, precisely as he would if we were to +blame; and that is one thing which makes his grumbling so insufferable. +But this he can never be made to see. And the worst of it is that +grumbling is contagious. If we live with him, we shall, sooner or later, +in spite of our dislike of his ways, fall into them; even sinking so low, +perhaps, before the end of a single summer, as to be heard complaining of +butter at boarding-house tables, which is the lowest deep of vulgarity of +grumbling. There is no help for this; I have seen it again and again. I +have caught it myself. One grumbler in a family is as pestilent a thing as +a diseased animal in a herd: if he be not shut up or killed, the herd is +lost.</p> + +<p>But the grumbler cannot be shut up or killed, since grumbling is not held +to be a proof of insanity, nor a capital offence,--more's the pity.</p> + +<p>What, then, is to be done? Keep out of his way, at all costs, if he be +grown up. If it be a child, labor day and night, as you would with a +tendency to paralysis, or distortion of limb, to prevent this blight on +its life.</p> + +<p>It sounds extreme to say that a child should never be allowed to express a +dislike of any thing which cannot be helped; but I think it is true. I do +not mean that it should be positively forbidden or punished, but that it +should never pass unnoticed; his attention should be invariably called to +its uselessness, and to the annoyance it gives to other people. Children +begin by being good-natured little grumblers at every thing which goes +wrong, simply from the outspokenness of their natures. All they think they +say and act. The rudiments of good behavior have to be chiefly negative at +the outset, like Punch's advice to those about to marry,--"Don't."</p> + +<p>The race of grumblers would soon die out if all children were so trained +that never, between the ages of five and twelve, did they utter a needless +complaint without being gently reminded that it was foolish and +disagreeable. How easy for a good-natured and watchful mother to do this! +It takes but a word.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! I wish it had not rained to-day. It is too bad!"</p> + +<p>"You do not really mean what you say, my darling. It is of much more +consequence that the grass should grow than that you should go out to +play. And it is so silly to complain, when we cannot stop its raining."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, I hate this pie."</p> + +<p>"Oh! hush, dear! Don't say so, if you do. You can leave it. You need not +eat it. But think how disagreeable it sounds to hear you say such a +thing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I am too cold."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, I know you are. So is mamma. But we shall not feel any warmer +for saying so. We must wait till the fire burns better; and the time will +seem twice as long if we grumble."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma! mamma! My steam-engine is all spoiled. It won't run. I hate +things that wind up!"</p> + +<p>"But, my dear little boy, don't grumble so! What would you think if mamma +were to say, 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! My little boy's stockings are full of +holes. How I hate to mend stockings!' and, 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! My little +boy has upset my work-box! I hate little boys'?"</p> + +<p>How they look steadily into your eyes for a minute,--the honest, +reasonable little souls!--when you say such things to them; and then run +off with a laugh, lifted up, for that time, by your fitly spoken words of +help.</p> + +<p>Oh! if the world could only stop long enough for one generation of +mothers to be made all right, what a millennium could be begun in thirty +years!</p> + +<p>"But, mamma, you are grumbling yourself at me because I grumbled!" says a +quick-witted darling not ten years old. Ah! never shall any weak spot in +our armor escape the keen eyes of these little ones.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear! And I shall grumble at you till I cure you of grumbling. +Grumblers are the only thing in this world that it is right to grumble +at."</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-12"> +<h2>"Boys Not Allowed."</h2> + +<p>It was a conspicuous signboard, at least four feet long, with large black +letters on a white ground: "Boys not allowed." I looked at it for some +moments in a sort of bewildered surprise: I did not quite comprehend the +meaning of the words. At last I understood it. I was waiting in a large +railway station, where many trains connect; and most of the passengers +from the train in which I was were eating dinner in a hotel near by. I was +entirely alone in the car, with the exception of one boy, who was perhaps +eleven years old. I made an involuntary ejaculation as I read the words on +the sign, and the boy looked around at me.</p> + +<p>"Little boy," said I, solemnly, "do you see that sign?"</p> + +<p>He turned his head, and, reading the ominous warning, nodded sullenly, but +said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Boy, what does it mean?" said I. "Boys must be allowed to come into this +railway station. There are two now standing in the doorway directly under +the sign."</p> + +<p>The latent sympathy in my tone touched his heart. He left his seat, and, +coming to mine, edged in past me; and, putting his head out of the window, +read the sentence aloud in a contemptuous tone. Then he offered me a +peanut, which I took; and he proceeded to tell me what he thought of the +sign.</p> + +<p>"Boys not allowed!" said he. "That's just the way 'tis everywhere; but I +never saw the sign up before. It don't make any difference, though, +whether they put the sign up or not. Why, in New York (you live in New +York, don't you?) they won't even stop the horse-cars for a boy to get on. +Nobody thinks any thing'll hurt a boy; but they're glad enough to 'allow' +us when there's any errands to be done, and"--</p> + +<p>"Do you live in New York?" interrupted I; for I did not wish to hear the +poor little fellow's list of miseries, which I knew by heart beforehand +without his telling me, having been hopeless knight-errant of oppressed +boyhood all my life.</p> + +<p>Yes, he "lived in New York," and he "went to a grammar school," and he had +"two sisters." And so we talked on in that sweet, ready, trustful talk +which comes naturally only from children's lips, until the "twenty minutes +for refreshments" were over, and the choked and crammed passengers, who +had eaten big dinners in that breath of time, came hurrying back to their +seats. Among them came the father and mother of my little friend. In angry +surprise at not finding him in the seat where they left him, they +exclaimed,--</p> + +<p>"Now, where <i>is</i> that boy? Just like him! We might have lost every one of +these bags."</p> + +<p>"Here I am, mamma," he called out, pleasantly. "I could see the bags all +the time. Nobody came into the car."</p> + +<p>"I told you not to leave the seat, sir. What do you mean by such conduct?" +said the father.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, papa," said poor Boy, "you only told me to take care of the +bags." And an anxious look of terror came into his face, which told only +too well under how severe a <i>régime</i> he lived. I interposed hastily with--</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I am the cause of your little son's leaving his seat. He had +sat very still till I spoke to him; and I believe I ought to take all the +blame."</p> + +<p>The parents were evidently uncultured, shallow people. Their irritation +with him was merely a surface vexation, which had no real foundation in a +deep principle. They became complaisant and smiling at my first word, and +Boy escaped with a look of great relief to another seat, where they gave +him a simple luncheon of saleratus gingerbread. "Boys not allowed" to go +in to dinner at the Massasoit, thought I to myself; and upon that text I +sat sadly meditating all the way from Springfield to Boston.</p> + +<p>How true it was, as the little fellow had said, that "it don't make any +difference whether they put the sign up or not!" No one can watch +carefully any average household where there are boys, and not see that +there are a thousand little ways in which the boys' comfort, freedom, +preference will be disregarded, when the girls' will be considered. This +is partly intentional, partly unconscious. Something is to be said +undoubtedly on the advantage of making the boy realize early and keenly +that manhood is to bear and to work, and womanhood is to be helped and +sheltered. But this should be inculcated, not inflicted; asked, not +seized; shown and explained, not commanded. Nothing can be surer than the +growth in a boy of tender, chivalrous regard for his sisters and for all +women, if the seeds of it be rightly sown and gently nurtured. But the +common method is quite other than this. It begins too harshly and at once +with assertion or assumption.</p> + +<p>"Mother never thinks I am of any consequence," said a dear boy to me, the +other day. "She's all for the girls."</p> + +<p>This was not true; but there was truth in it. And I am very sure that the +selfishness, the lack of real courtesy, which we see so plainly and +pitiably in the behavior of the average young man to-day is the slow, +certain result of years of just such feelings as this child expressed. The +boy has to scramble for his rights. Naturally he is too busy to think much +about the rights of others. The man keeps up the habit, and is negatively +selfish without knowing it.</p> + +<p>Take, for instance, the one point of the minor courtesies (if we can dare +to call any courtesies minor) of daily intercourse. How many people are +there who habitually speak to a boy of ten, twelve, or fourteen with the +same civility as to his sister, a little younger or older?</p> + +<p>"I like Miss----," said this same dear boy to me, one day; "for she +always bids me good-morning."</p> + +<p>Ah! never is one such word thrown away on a loving, open-hearted boy. Men +know that safe through all the wear and tear of life they keep far greener +the memory of some woman or some man who was kind to them in their boyhood +than of the friend who helped or cheered them yesterday.</p> + +<p>Dear, blessed, noisy, rollicking, tormenting, comforting Boy! What should +we do without him? How much we like, without suspecting it, his breezy +presence in the house! Except for him, how would errands be done, chairs +brought, nails driven, cows stoned out of our way, letters carried, twine +and knives kept ready, lost things found, luncheon carried to picnics, +three-year-olds that cry led out of meeting, butterflies and birds' nests +and birch-bark got, the horse taken round to the stable, borrowed things +sent home,--and all with no charge for time?</p> + +<p>Dear, patient, busy Boy! Shall we not sometimes answer his questions? Give +him a comfortable seat? Wait and not reprove him till after the company +has gone? Let him wear his best jacket, and buy him half as many neckties +as his sister has? Give him some honey, even if there is not enough to go +round? Listen tolerantly to his little bragging, and help him "do" his +sums?</p> + +<p>With a sudden shrill scream the engine slipped off on a side-track, and +the cars glided into the great, grim city-station, looking all the grimmer +for its twinkling lights. The masses of people who were waiting and the +masses of people who had come surged toward each other like two great +waves, and mingled in a moment. I caught sight of my poor little friend, +Boy, following his father, struggling along in the crowd, carrying two +heavy carpet-bags, a strapped bundle, and two umbrellas, and being sharply +told to "Keep up close there."</p> + +<p>"Ha!" said I, savagely, to myself, "doing porters' work is not one of the +things which 'boys' are 'not allowed.'"</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-13"> +<h2>Half an Hour in a Railway Station.</h2> + +<p>It was one of those bleak and rainy days which mark the coming of spring +on New England sea-shores. The rain felt and looked as if it might at any +minute become hail or snow; the air pricked like needles when it blew +against flesh. Yet the huge railway station was as full of people as ever. +One could see no difference between this dreariest of days and the +sunniest, so far as the crowd was concerned, except that fewer of the +people wore fine clothes; perhaps, also, that their faces looked a little +more sombre and weary than usual.</p> + +<p>There is no place in the world where human nature shows to such sad +disadvantage as in waiting-rooms at railway stations, especially in the +"Ladies' Room." In the "Gentlemen's Room" there is less of that ghastly, +apathetic silence which seems only explainable as an interval between two +terrible catastrophes. Shall we go so far as to confess that even the +unsightly spittoons, and the uncleanly and loquacious fellowship resulting +from their common use, seem here, for the moment, redeemed from a little +of their abominableness,--simply because almost any action is better than +utter inaction, and any thing which makes the joyless, taciturn American +speak to his fellow whom he does not know, is for the time being a +blessing. But in the "Ladies' Room" there is not even a community of +interest in a single bad habit, to break the monotone of weary stillness. +Who has not felt the very soul writhe within her as she has first crossed +the threshold of one of these dismal antechambers of journey? Carpetless, +dingy, dusty; two or three low sarcophagi of greenish-gray iron in open +spaces, surrounded by blue-lipped women, in different angles and attitudes +of awkwardness, trying to keep the soles of their feet in a perpendicular +position, to be warmed at what they have been led to believe is a +steam-heating apparatus; a few more women, equally listless and +weary-looking, standing in equally difficult and awkward positions before +a counter, holding pie in one hand, and tea in a cup and saucer in the +other, taking alternate mouthfuls of each, and spilling both; the rest +wedged bolt upright against the wall in narrow partitioned seats, which +only need a length of perforated foot-board in front to make them fit to +be patented as the best method of putting whole communities of citizens +into the stocks at once. All, feet warmers, pie-eaters, and those who sit +in the red-velvet stocks, wear so exactly the same expression of vacuity +and fatigue that they might almost be taken for one gigantic and unhappy +family connection, on its way to what is called in newspapers "a sad +event." The only wonder is that this stiffened, desiccated crowd retains +vitality enough to remember the hours at which its several trains depart, +and to rise up and shake itself alive and go on board. One is haunted +sometimes by the fancy that some day, when the air in the room is +unusually bad and the trains are delayed, a curious phenomenon will be +seen. The petrifaction will be carried a little farther than usual, and, +when the bell rings and the official calls out, "Train made up for Babel, +Hinnom, and way stations?" no women will come forth from the "Ladies' +Room," no eye will move, no muscle will stir. Husbands and brothers will +wait and search vainly for those who should have met them at the station, +with bundles of the day's shopping to be carried out; homes will be +desolate; and the history of rare fossils and petrifactions will have a +novel addition. Or, again, that, if some sudden convulsion of Nature, like +those which before now have buried wicked cities and the dwellers in them, +were to-day to swallow up the great city of New Sodom in America, and keep +it under ground for a few thousand years, nothing in all its circuit would +so puzzle the learned archaeologists of A.D. 5873 as the position of the +skeletons in these same waiting-rooms of railway stations.</p> + +<p>Thinking such thoughts as these, sinking slowly and surely to the level of +the place, I waited, on this bleak, rainy day, in just such a "Ladies' +Room" as I have described. I sat in the red-velvet stocks, with my eyes +fixed on the floor.</p> + +<p>"Please, ma'am, won't you buy a basket?" said a cheery little voice. So +near me, without my knowing it, had the little tradesman come that I was +as startled as if the voice had spoken out of the air just above my head.</p> + +<p>He was a sturdy little fellow, ten years old, Irish, dirty, ragged; but he +had honest, kind gray eyes, and a smile which ought to have sold more +baskets than he could carry. A few kind words unsealed the fountain of his +childish confidences. There were four children younger than he; the mother +took in washing, and the father, who was a cripple from rheumatism, made +these baskets, which he carried about to sell.</p> + +<p>"Where do you sell the most?"</p> + +<p>"Round the depots. That's the best place."</p> + +<p>"But the baskets are rather clumsy to carry. Almost everybody has his +hands full, when he sets out on a journey."</p> + +<p>"Yis'm; but mostly they doesn't take the baskets. But they gives me a +little change," said he, with a smile; half roguish, half sad.</p> + +<p>I watched him on in his pathetic pilgrimage round that dreary room, +seeking help from that dreary circle of women.</p> + +<p>My heart aches to write down here the true record that out of those scores +of women only three even smiled or spoke to the little fellow. Only one +gave him money. My own sympathies had been so won by his face and manner +that I found myself growing hot with resentment as I watched woman after +woman wave him off with indifferent or impatient gesture. His face was a +face which no mother ought to have been able to see without a thrill of +pity and affection. God forgive me! As if any mother ought to be able to +see any child, ragged, dirty, poor, seeking help and finding none! But his +face was so honest, and brave, and responsive that it added much to the +appeal of his poverty.</p> + +<p>One woman, young and pretty, came into the room, bringing in her arms a +large toy horse, and a little violin. "Oh," I said to myself, "she has a +boy of her own, for whom she can buy gifts freely. She will surely give +this poor child a penny." He thought so, too; for he went toward her with +a more confident manner than he had shown to some of the others. No! She +brushed by him impatiently, without a word, and walked to the +ticket-office. He stood looking at the violin and the toy horse till she +came back to her seat. Then he lifted his eyes to her face again; but she +apparently did not see him, and he went away. Ah, she is only half mother +who does not see her own child in every child!--her own child's grief in +every pain which makes another child weep!</p> + +<p>Presently the little basket-boy went out into the great hall. I watched +him threading his way in and out among the groups of men. I saw one +man--bless him!--pat the little fellow on the head; then I lost sight of +him.</p> + +<p>After ten minutes he came back into the Ladies' Room, with only one basket +in his hand, and a very happy little face. The "sterner sex" had been +kinder to him than we. The smile which he gave me in answer to my glad +recognition of his good luck was the sunniest sunbeam I have seen on a +human face for many a day. He sank down into the red-velvet stocks, and +twirled his remaining basket, and swung his shabby little feet, as idle +and unconcerned as if he were some rich man's son, waiting for the train +to take him home. So much does a little lift help the heart of a child, +even of a beggar child. It is a comfort to remember him, with that look on +his face, instead of the wistful, pleading one which I saw at first. I +left him lying back on the dusty velvet, which no doubt seemed to him +unquestionable splendor. In the cars I sat just behind the woman with the +toy-horse and the violin. I saw her glance rest lovingly on them many +times, as she thought of her boy at home; and I wondered if the little +basket-seller had really produced no impression whatever on her heart. I +shall remember him long after (if he lives) he is a man!</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-14"> +<h2>A Genius For Affection.</h2> + +<p>The other day, speaking superficially and uncharitably, I said of a woman, +whom I knew but slightly, "She disappoints me utterly. How could her +husband have married her? She is commonplace and stupid."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said my friend, reflectively; "it is strange. She is not a +brilliant woman; she is not even an intellectual one; but there is such a +thing as a genius for affection, and she has it. It has been good for her +husband that he married her."</p> + +<p>The words sank into my heart like a great spiritual plummet They dropped +down to depths not often stirred. And from those depths came up some +shining sands of truth, worth keeping among treasures; having a +phosphorescent light in them, which can shine in dark places, and, making +them light as day, reveal their beauty.</p> + +<p>"A genius for affection." Yes; there is such a thing, and no other genius +is so great. The phrase means something more than a capacity, or even a +talent for loving. That is common to all human beings, more or less. A man +or woman without it would be a monster, such as has probably never been on +the earth. All men and women, whatever be their shortcomings in other +directions, have this impulse, this faculty, in a degree. It takes shape +in family ties: makes clumsy and unfortunate work of them in perhaps two +cases out of three,--wives tormenting husbands, husbands neglecting and +humiliating wives, parents maltreating and ruining children, children +disobeying and grieving parents, and brothers and sisters quarrelling to +the point of proverbial mention; but under all this, in spite of all this, +the love is there. A great trouble or a sudden emergency will bring it +out. In any common danger, hands clasp closely and quarrels are forgotten; +over a sick-bed hard ways soften into yearning tenderness; and by a grave, +alas! what hot tears fall! The poor, imperfect love which had let itself +be wearied and harassed by the frictions of life, or hindered and warped +by a body full of diseased nerves, comes running, too late, with its +effort to make up lost opportunities. It has been all the while alive, but +in a sort of trance; little good has come of it, but it is something that +it was there. It is the divine germ of a flower and fruit too precious to +mature in the first years after grafting; in other soils, by other waters, +when the healing of the nations is fulfilled, we shall see its perfection. +Oh! what atonement will be there! What allowances we shall make for each +other, then! with what love we shall love!</p> + +<p>But the souls who have what my friend meant by a "genius for affection" +are in another atmosphere than that which common men breathe. Their "upper +air" is clearer, more rarefied than any to which mere intellectual genius +can soar. Because, to this last, always remain higher heights which it +cannot grasp, see, nor comprehend.</p> + +<p>Michel Angelo may build his dome of marble, and human intellect may see as +clearly as if God had said it that no other dome can ever be built so +grand, so beautiful. But above St. Peter's hangs the blue tent-dome of the +sky, vaster, rounder, elastic, unfathomable, making St. Peter's look small +as a drinking-cup, shutting it soon out of sight to north, east, south, +and west, by the mysterious horizon-fold which no man can lift. And beyond +this horizon-fold of our sky shut down again other domes, which the wisest +astronomer may not measure, in whose distances our little ball and we, +with all our spinning, can hardly show like a star. If St. Peter's were +swallowed up to-morrow, it would make no real odds to anybody but the +Pope. The probabilities are that Michel Angelo himself has forgotten all +about it.</p> + +<p>Titian and Raphael, and all the great brotherhood of painters, may kneel +reverently as priests before Nature's face, and paint pictures at sight of +which all men's eyes shall fill with grateful tears; and yet all men shall +go away, and find that the green shade of a tree, the light on a young +girl's face, the sleep of a child, the flowering of a flower, are to their +pictures as living life to beautiful death.</p> + +<p>Coming to Art's two highest spheres,--music of sound and music of +speech,--we find that Beethoven and Mozart, and Milton and Shakespeare, +have written. But the symphony is sacred only because, and only so far as, +it renders the joy or the sorrow which we have felt. Surely, the +interpretation is less than the thing interpreted. Face to face with a +joy, a sorrow, would a symphony avail us? And, as for words, who shall +express their feebleness in midst of strength? The fettered helplessness +in spite of which they soar to such heights? The most perfect sentence +ever written bears to the thing it meant to say the relation which the +chemist's formula does to the thing he handles, names, analyzes, can +destroy, perhaps, but cannot make. Every element in the crystal, the +liquid, can be weighed, assigned, and rightly called; nothing in all +science is more wonderful than an exact chemical formula; but, after all +is done, will remain for ever unknown the one subtle secret, the vital +centre of the whole.</p> + +<p>But the souls who have a "genius for affection" have no outer dome, no +higher and more vital beauty; no subtle secret of creative motive force to +elude their grasp, mock their endeavor, overshadow their lives. The +subtlest essence of the thing they worship and desire, they have in their +own nature,--they are. No schools, no standards, no laws can help or +hinder them.</p> + +<p>To them the world is as if it were not. Work and pain and loss are as if +they were not. These are they to whom it is easy to die any death, if good +can come that way to one they love. These are they who do die daily +unnoted on our right hand and on our left,--fathers and mothers for +children, husbands and wives for each other. These are they, also, who +live,--which is often far harder than it is to die,--long lives, into +whose being never enters one thought of self from the rising to the going +down of the sun. Year builds on year with unvarying steadfastness the +divine temple of their beauty and their sacrifice. They create, like God. +The universe which science sees, studies, and explains, is small, is +petty, beside the one which grows under their spiritual touch; for love +begets love. The waves of eternity itself ripple out in immortal circles +under the ceaseless dropping of their crystal deeds.</p> + +<p>Angels desire to look, but cannot, into the mystery of holiness and beauty +which such human lives reveal. Only God can see them clearly. God is their +nearest of kin; for He is love.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-15"> +<h2>Rainy Days.</h2> + +<p>With what subtle and assured tyranny they take possession of the world! +Stoutest hearts are made subject, plans of conquerors set aside,--the +heavens and the earth and man,--all alike at the mercy of the rain. Come +when they may, wait long as they will, give what warnings they can, rainy +days are always interruptions. No human being has planned for them then +and there. "If it had been but yesterday," "If it were only to-morrow," is +the cry from all lips. Ah! a lucky tyranny for us is theirs. Were the +clouds subject to mortal call or prohibition, the seasons would fail and +death get upper hand of all things before men agreed on an hour of common +convenience.</p> + +<p>What tests they are of people's souls! Show me a dozen men and women in +the early morning of a rainy day, and I will tell by their words and their +faces who among them is rich and who is poor,--who has much goods laid up +for just such times of want, and who has been spend-thrift and foolish. +That curious, shrewd, underlying instinct, common to all ages, which takes +shape in proverbs recognized this long ago. Who knows when it was first +said of a man laying up money, "He lays by for a rainy day"? How close +the parallel is between the man who, having spent on each day's living the +whole of each day's income, finds himself helpless in an emergency of +sickness whose expenses he has no money to meet, and the man who, having +no intellectual resources, no self-reliant habit of occupation, finds +himself shut up in the house idle and wretched for a rainy day. I confess +that on rainy mornings in country houses, among well-dressed and so-called +intelligent and Christian people, I have been seized with stronger +disgusts and despairs about the capacity and worth of the average human +creature, than I have ever felt in the worst haunts of ignorant +wickedness.</p> + +<p>"What is there to do to-day?" is the question they ask. I know they are +about to ask it before they speak. I have seen it in their listless and +disconcerted eyes at breakfast. It is worse to me than the tolling of a +bell; for saddest dead of all are they who have only a "name to live."</p> + +<p>The truth is, there is more to do on a rainy day than on any other. In +addition to all the sweet, needful, possible business of living and +working, and learning and helping, which is for all days, there is the +beauty of the rainy day to see, the music of the rainy day to hear. It +drums on the window-panes, chuckles and gurgles at corners of houses, +tinkles in spouts, makes mysterious crescendoes and arpeggio chords +through the air; and all the while drops from the eaves and upper +window-ledges are beating time as rhythmical and measured as that of a +metronome,--time to which our own souls furnish tune, sweet or sorrowful, +inspiriting or saddening, as we will. It is a curious experiment to try +repeating or chanting lines in time and cadence following the patter of +raindrops on windows. It will sometimes be startling in its effect: no +metre, no accent fails of its response in the low, liquid stroke of the +tender drops,--there seems an uncanny <i>rapport</i> between them at once.</p> + +<p>And the beauty of the rain, not even love can find words to tell it. If it +left but one trace, the exquisite shifting sheen of pearls on the outer +side of the window glass, that alone one might watch for a day. In all +times it has been thought worthy of kings, of them who are royally rich, +to have garments sown thick in dainty lines and shapes with fine seed +pearls. Who ever saw any such embroidery which could compare with the +beauty of one pane of glass wrought on a single side with the shining +white transparent globulets of rain? They are millions; they crowd; they +blend; they become a silver stream; they glide slowly down, leaving +tiniest silver threads behind; they make of themselves a silver bank of +miniature sea at the bottom of the pane; and, while they do this, other +millions are set pearl-wise at the top, to crowd, blend, glide down in +their turn, and overflow the miniature sea. This is one pane, a few inches +square; and rooms have many windows of many panes. And looking past this +spectacle, out of our windows, how is it that we do not each rainy day +weep with pleasure at sight of the glistening show? Every green thing, +from tiniest grass-blade lying lowest, to highest waving tips of elms, +also set thick with the water-pearls; all tossing and catching, and +tossing and catching, in fairy game with the wind, and with the rain +itself, always losing, always gaining, changing shape and place and number +every moment, till the twinkling and shifting dazzle all eyes.</p> + +<p>Then at the end comes the sun, like a magician for whom all had been made +ready; at sunset, perhaps, or at sunrise, if the storm has lasted all +night. In one instant the silver balls begin to disappear. By countless +thousands at a time he tosses them back whence they came; but as they go, +he changes them, under our eyes, into prismatic globes, holding very light +of very light in their tiny circles, shredding and sorting it into blazing +lines of rainbow color.</p> + +<p>All the little children shout with delight, seeing these things; and call +dull, grown-up people to behold. They reply, "Yes, the storm is over;" and +this is all it means to most of them. This kingdom of heaven they cannot +enter, not being "as a little child."</p> + +<p>It would be worth while to know, if we only could, just what our +betters--the birds and insects and beasts--do on rainy days. But we cannot +find out much. It would be a great thing to look inside of an ant-hill in +a long rain. All we know is that the doors are shut tight, and a few +sentinels, who look as if India-rubber coats would be welcome, stand +outside. The stillness and look of intermission in the woods on a really +rainy day is something worth getting wet to observe. It is like Sunday in +London, or Fourth of July in a country town which has gone bodily to a +picnic in the next village. The strays who are out seem like accidentally +arrived people, who have lost their way. One cannot fancy a caterpillar's +being otherwise than very uncomfortable in wet hair; and what can there be +for butterflies and dragon-flies to do, in the close corners into which +they creep, with wings shut up as tight as an umbrella? The beasts fare +better, being clothed in hides. Those whom we oftenest see out in rains +(cows and oxen and horses) keep straight on with their perpetual munching, +as content wet as dry, though occasionally we see them accept the partial +shelter of a tree from a particularly hard shower.</p> + +<p>Hens are the forlornest of all created animals when it rains. Who can help +laughing at sight of a flock of them huddled up under lee of a barn, limp, +draggled, spiritless, shifting from one leg to the other, with their silly +heads hanging inert to right or left, looking as if they would die for +want of a yawn? One sees just such groups of other two-legged creatures in +parlors, under similar circumstances. The truth is, a hen's life at best +seems poorer than that of any other known animal. Except when she is +setting, I cannot help having a contempt for her. This also has been +recognized by that common instinct of people which goes to the making of +proverbs; for "Hen's time ain't worth much" is a common saying among +farmers' wives. How she dawdles about all day, with her eyes not an inch +from the ground, forever scratching and feeding in dirtiest places,--a +sort of animated muck-rake, with a mouth and an alimentary canal! No +wonder such an inane creature is wretched when it rains, and her soulless +business is interrupted. She is, I think, likest of all to the human +beings, men or women, who do not know what to do with themselves on rainy +days.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-16"> +<h2>Friends of the Prisoners.</h2> + +<p>In many of the Paris prisons is to be seen a long, dreary room, through +the middle of which are built two high walls of iron grating, enclosing a +space of some three feet in width.</p> + +<p>A stranger visiting the prison for the first time would find it hard to +divine for what purpose these walls of grating had been built. But on the +appointed days when the friends of the prisoners are allowed to enter the +prison, their use is sadly evident. It would not be safe to permit wives +and husbands, and mothers and sons, to clasp hands in unrestrained +freedom. A tiny file, a skein of silk, can open prison-doors and set +captives free; love's ingenuity will circumvent tyranny and fetters, in +spite of all possible precautions. Therefore the vigilant authority says, +"You may see, but not touch; there shall be no possible opportunity for an +instrument of escape to be given; at more than arm's length the wife, the +mother must be held." The prisoners are led in and seated on a bench upon +one side of these gratings; the friends are led in and seated on a similar +bench on the other side; jailers are in attendance in both rooms; no words +can be spoken which the jailers do not hear. Yearningly eyes meet eyes; +faces are pressed against the hard wires; loving words are exchanged; the +poor prisoned souls ask eagerly for news from the outer world,--the world +from which they are as much hidden as if they were dead. Fathers hear how +the little ones have grown; sometimes, alas! how the little ones have +died. Small gifts of fruit or clothing are brought; but must be given +first into the hands of the jailers. Even flowers cannot be given from +loving hand to hand; for in the tiniest flower might be hidden the secret +poison which would give to the weary prisoner surest escape of all. All +day comes and goes the sad train of friends; lingering and turning back +after there is no more to be said; weeping when they meant and tried to +smile; more hungry for closer sight and voice, and for touch, with every +moment that they gaze through the bars; and going away, at last, with a +new sense of loss and separation, which time, with its merciful healing, +will hardly soften before the visiting-day will come again, and the same +heart-rending experience of mingled torture and joy will again be borne. +But to the prisoners these glimpses of friends' faces are like manna from +heaven. Their whole life, physical and mental, receives a new impetus from +them. Their blood flows more quickly, their eyes light up, they live from +one day to the next on a memory and a hope. No punishment can be invented +so terrible as the deprivation of the sight of their friends on the +visiting-day. Men who are obstinate and immovable before any sort or +amount of physical torture are subdued by mere threat of this.</p> + +<p>A friend who told me of a visit he paid to the Prison Mazas, on one of the +days, said, with tears in his eyes, "It was almost more than I could bear +to see these poor souls reaching out toward each other from either side of +the iron railings. Here a poor, old woman, tottering and weak, bringing a +little fruit in a basket for her son; here a wife, holding up a baby to +look through the gratings at its father, and the father trying in an agony +of earnestness to be sure that the baby knew him; here a little girl, +looking half reproachfully at her brother, terror struggling with +tenderness in her young face; on the side of the friends, love and +yearning and pity beyond all words to describe; on the side of the +prisoners, love and yearning just as great, but with a misery of shame +added, which gave to many faces a look of attempt at dogged indifference +on the surface, constantly betrayed and contradicted, however, by the +flashing of the eyes and the red of the cheeks."</p> + +<p>The story so impressed me that I could not for days lose sight of the +picture it raised; the double walls of iron grating; the cruel, +inexorable, empty space between them,--empty, yet crowded with words and +looks; the lines of anxious, yearning faces on either side. But presently +I said to myself, It is, after all, not so unlike the life we all live. +Who of us is not in prison? Who of us is not living out his time of +punishment? Law holds us all in its merciless fulfilment of penalty for +sin; disease, danger, work separate us, wall us, bury us. That we are not +numbered with the number of a cell, clothed in the uniform of a prison, +locked up at night, and counted in the morning, is only an apparent +difference, and not so real a one. Our jailers do not know us; but we know +them. There is no fixed day gleaming for us in the future when our term of +sentence will expire and we shall regain freedom. It may be to-morrow; but +it may be threescore years away. Meantime, we bear ourselves as if we were +not in prison. We profess that we choose, we keep our fetters out of +sight, we smile, we sing, we contrive to be glad of being alive, and we +take great interest in the changing of our jails. But no man knows where +his neighbor's prison lies. How bravely and cheerily most eyes look up! +This is one of the sweetest mercies of life, that "the heart knoweth its +own bitterness," and, knowing it, can hide it. Hence, we can all be +friends for other prisoners, standing separated from them by the +impassable iron gratings and the fixed gulf of space, which are not +inappropriate emblems of the unseen barriers between all human souls. We +can show kindly faces, speak kindly words, bear to them fruits and food, +and moral help, greater than fruit or food. We need not aim at +philanthropies; we need not have a visiting-day, nor seek a prison-house +built of stone. On every road each man we meet is a prisoner; he is dying +at heart, however sound he looks; he is only waiting, however well he +works. If we stop to ask whether he be our brother, he is gone. Our one +smile would have lit up his prison-day. Alas for us if we smiled not as we +passed by! Alas for us if, face to face, at last, with our Elder Brother, +we find ourselves saying, "Lord, when saw we thee sick and in prison!"</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-17"> +<h2>A Companion for the Winter.</h2> + +<p>I have engaged a companion for the winter. It would be simply a +superfluous egotism to say this to the public, except that I have a +philanthropic motive for doing so. There are many lonely people who are in +need of a companion possessing just such qualities as his; and he has +brothers singularly like himself, whose services can be secured. I despair +of doing justice to him by any description. In fact, thus far, I discover +new perfections in him daily, and believe that I am yet only on the +threshold of our friendship.</p> + +<p>In conversation he is more suggestive than any person I have ever known. +After two or three hours alone with him, I am sometimes almost startled to +look back and see through what a marvellous train of fancy and reflection +he has led me. Yet he is never wordy, and often conveys his subtlest +meaning by a look.</p> + +<p>He is an artist, too, of the rarest sort. You watch the process under +which his pictures grow with incredulous wonder. The Eastern magic which +drops the seed in the mould, and bids it shoot up before your eyes, +blossom, and bear its fruit in an hour, is tardy and clumsy by side of the +creative genius of my companion. His touch is swift as air; his coloring +is vivid as light; he has learned, I know not how, the secrets of hidden +places in all lands; and he paints, now a tufted clump of soft cocoa +palms; now the spires and walls of an iceberg, glittering in yellow +sunlight; now a desolate, sandy waste, where black rocks and a few +crumbling ruins are lit up by a lurid glow; then a cathedral front, with +carvings like lace; then the skeleton of a wrecked ship, with bare ribs +and broken masts,--and all so exact, so minute, so life-like, that you +believe no man could paint thus any thing which he had not seen.</p> + +<p>He has a special love for mosaics, and a marvellous faculty for making +drawings of curious old patterns. Nothing is too complicated for his +memory, and he revels in the most fantastic and intricate shapes. I have +known him in a single evening throw off a score of designs, all beautiful, +and many of them rare: fiery scorpions on a black ground; pale lavender +filagrees over scarlet; white and black squares blocked out as for tiles +of a pavement, and crimson and yellow threads interlaced over them; odd +Chinese patterns in brilliant colors, all angles and surprises, with no +likeness to any thing in nature; and exquisite little bits of landscape in +soft grays and whites. Last night was one of his nights of reminiscences +of the mosaic-workers. A furious snow-storm was raging, and, as the flaky +crystals piled up in drifts on the window-ledges, he seemed to catch the +inspiration of their law of structure, and drew sheet after sheet of +crystalline shapes; some so delicate and filmy that it seemed as if a jar +might obliterate them; some massive and strong, like those in which the +earth keeps her mineral treasures; then, at last, on a round charcoal +disk, he traced out a perfect rose, in a fragrant white powder, which +piled up under his fingers, petal after petal, circle after circle, till +the feathery stamens were buried out of sight. Then, as we held our breath +for fear of disturbing it, with a good-natured little chuckle, he shook it +off into the fire, and by a few quick strokes of red turned the black +charcoal disk into a shield gay enough for a tournament.</p> + +<p>He has talent for modelling, but this he exercises more rarely. Usually, +his figures are grotesque rather than beautiful, and he never allows them +to remain longer than for a few moments, often changing them so rapidly +under your eye that it seems like jugglery. He is fondest of doing this at +twilight, and loves the darkest corner of the room. From the half-light he +will suddenly thrust out before you a grinning gargoyle head, to which he +will give in an instant more a pair of spider legs, and then, with one +roll, stretch it out into a crocodile, whose jaws seem so near snapping +that you involuntarily draw your chair further back. Next, in a freak of +ventriloquism, he startles you still more by bringing from the crocodile's +mouth a sigh, so long drawn, so human, that you really shudder, and are +ready to implore him to play no more tricks. He knows when he has reached +this limit, and soothes you at once by a tender, far-off whisper, like the +wind through pines, sometimes almost like an Aeolian harp; then he rouses +you from your dreams by what you are sure is a tap at the door. You turn, +speak, listen; no one enters; the tap again. Ah! it is only a little more +of the ventriloquism of this wonderful creature. You are alone with him, +and there was no tap at the door.</p> + +<p>But when there is, and the friend comes in, then my companion's genius +shines out. Almost always in life the third person is a discord, or at +least a burden; but he is so genial, so diffusive, so sympathetic, that, +like some tints by which painters know how to bring out all the other +colors in a picture, he forces every one to do his best. I am indebted to +him already for a better knowledge of some men and women with whom I had +talked for years before to little purpose. It is most wonderful that he +produces this effect, because he himself is so silent; but there is some +secret charm in his very smile which puts people <i>en rapport</i> with each +other, and with him at once.</p> + +<p>I am almost afraid to go on with the list of the things my companion can +do. I have not yet told the half, nor the most wonderful; and I believe I +have already overtaxed credulity. I will mention only one more,--but that +is to me far more inexplicable than all the rest. I am sure that it +belongs, with mesmerism and clairvoyance, to the domain of the higher +psychological mysteries. He has in rare hours the power of producing the +portraits of persons whom you have loved, but whom he has never seen. For +this it is necessary that you should concentrate your whole attention on +him, as is always needful to secure the best results of mesmeric power. It +must also be late and still. In the day, or in a storm, I have never +known him to succeed in this. For these portraits he uses only shadowy +gray tints. He begins with a hesitating outline. If you are not tenderly +and closely in attention, he throws it aside; he can do nothing. But if +you are with him, heart and soul, and do not take your eyes from his, he +will presently fill out the dear faces, full, life-like, and wearing a +smile, which makes you sure that they too must have been summoned from the +other side, as you from this, to meet on the shadowy boundary between +flesh and spirit. He must see them as clearly as he sees you; and it would +be little more for his magic to do if he were at the same moment showing +to their longing eyes your face and answering smile.</p> + +<p>But I delay too long the telling of his name. A strange hesitancy seizes +me. I shall never be believed by any one who has not sat as I have by his +side. But, if I can only give to one soul the good-cheer and strength of +such a presence, I shall be rewarded.</p> + +<p>His name is Maple Wood-fire, and his terms are from eight to twelve +dollars a month, according to the amount of time he gives. This price is +ridiculously low, but it is all that any member of the family asks; in +fact, in some parts of the country, they can be hired for much less. They +have connections by the name of Hickory, whose terms are higher; but I +cannot find out that they are any more satisfactory. There are also some +distant relations, named Chestnut and Pine, who can be employed in the +same way, at a much lower rate; but they are all snappish and uncertain in +temper.</p> + +<p>To the whole world I commend the good brotherhood of Maple, and pass on +the emphatic indorsement of a blessed old black woman who came to my room +the other day, and, standing before the rollicking blaze on my hearth, +said, "Bless yer, honey, yer's got a wood-fire. I'se allers said that, if +yer's got a wood-fire, yer's got meat, an' drink, an' clo'es."</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-18"> +<h2>Choice of Colors.</h2> + +<p>The other day, as I was walking on one of the oldest and most picturesque +streets of the old and picturesque town of Newport, R.I., I saw a little +girl standing before the window of a milliner's shop.</p> + +<p>It was a very rainy day. The pavement of the side-walks on this street is +so sunken and irregular that in wet weather, unless one walks with very +great care, he steps continually into small wells of water. Up to her +ankles in one of these wells stood the little girl, apparently as +unconscious as if she were high and dry before a fire. It was a very cold +day too. I was hurrying along, wrapped in furs, and not quite warm enough +even so. The child was but thinly clothed. She wore an old plaid shawl and +a ragged knit hood of scarlet worsted. One little red ear stood out +unprotected by the hood, and drops of water trickled down over it from her +hair. She seemed to be pointing with her finger at articles in the window, +and talking to some one inside. I watched her for several moments, and +then crossed the street to see what it all meant. I stole noiselessly up +behind her, and she did not hear me. The window was full of artificial +flowers, of the cheapest sort, but of very gay colors. Here and there a +knot of ribbon or a bit of lace had been tastefully added, and the whole +effect was really remarkably gay and pretty. Tap, tap, tap, went the small +hand against the window-pane; and with every tap the unconscious little +creature murmured, in a half-whispering, half-singing voice, "I choose +<i>that</i> color." "I choose <i>that</i> color." "I choose <i>that</i> color."</p> + +<p>I stood motionless. I could not see her face; but there was in her whole +attitude and tone the heartiest content and delight. I moved a little to +the right, hoping to see her face, without her seeing me; but the slight +movement caught her ear, and in a second she had sprung aside and turned +toward me. The spell was broken. She was no longer the queen of an +air-castle, decking herself in all the rainbow hues which pleased her eye. +She was a poor beggar child, out in the rain, and a little frightened at +the approach of a stranger. She did not move away, however; but stood +eying me irresolutely, with that pathetic mixture of interrogation and +defiance in her face which is so often seen in the prematurely developed +faces of poverty-stricken children.</p> + +<p>"Aren't the colors pretty?" I said. She brightened instantly.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm. I'd like a goon av thit blue."</p> + +<p>"But you will take cold standing in the wet," said I. "Won't you come +under my umbrella?"</p> + +<p>She looked down at her wet dress suddenly, as if it had not occurred to +her before that it was raining. Then she drew first one little foot and +then the other out of the muddy puddle in which she had been standing, +and, moving a little closer to the window, said, "I'm not jist goin' home, +mem. I'd like to stop here a bit."</p> + +<p>So I left her. But, after I had gone a few blocks, the impulse seized me +to return by a cross street, and see if she were still there. Tears sprang +to my eyes as I first caught sight of the upright little figure, standing +in the same spot, still pointing with the rhythmic finger to the blues and +reds and yellows, and half chanting under her breath, as before, "I choose +<i>that</i> color." "I choose <i>that</i> color." "I choose <i>that</i> color."</p> + +<p>I went quietly on my way, without disturbing her again. But I said in my +heart, "Little Messenger, Interpreter, Teacher! I will remember you all my +life."</p> + +<p>Why should days ever be dark, life ever be colorless? There is always sun; +there are always blue and scarlet and yellow and purple. We cannot reach +them, perhaps, but we can see them, if it is only "through a glass," and +"darkly,"--still we can see them. We can "choose" our colors. It rains, +perhaps; and we are standing in the cold. Never mind. If we look earnestly +enough at the brightness which is on the other side of the glass, we shall +forget the wet and not feel the cold. And now and then a passer-by, who +has rolled himself up in furs to keep out the cold, but shivers +nevertheless,--who has money in his purse to buy many colors, if he likes, +but, nevertheless, goes grumbling because some colors are too dear for +him,--such a passer-by, chancing to hear our voice, and see the +atmosphere of our content, may learn a wondrous secret,--that +pennilessness is not poverty, and ownership is not possession; that to be +without is not always to lack, and to reach is not to attain; that +sunlight is for all eyes that look up, and color for those who "choose."</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-19"> +<h2>The Apostle of Beauty.</h2> + +<p>He is not of the twelve, any more than the golden rule is of the ten. "A +greater commandment I give unto you," was said of that. Also it was called +the "new commandment." Yet it was really older than the rest, and greater +only because it included them all. There were those who kept it ages +before Moses went up Sinai: Joseph, for instance, his ancestor; and the +king's daughter, by whose goodness he lived. So stands the Apostle of +Beauty, greater than the twelve, newer and older; setting Gospel over +against law, having known law before its beginning; living triumphantly +free and unconscious of penalty.</p> + +<p>He has had martyrdom, and will have. His church is never established; the +world does not follow him; only of Wisdom is he known, and of her +children, who are children of light. He never speaks by their mouths who +say "Shalt not." He knows that "shalt not" is illegitimate, puny, trying +always to usurp the throne of the true king, "Thou shalt."</p> + +<p>"This is delight," "this is good to see," he says of a purity, of a fair +thing. It needs not to speak of the impurity, of the ugliness. Left +unmentioned, unforbidden, who knows how soon they might die out of men's +lives, perhaps even from the earth's surface? Men hedging gardens have for +centuries set plants under that "letter of law" which "killeth," until the +very word hedge has become a pain and an offence; and all the while there +have been standing in every wild country graceful walls of unhindered +brier and berry, to which the apostles of beauty have been silently +pointing. By degrees gardeners have learned something. The best of them +now call themselves "landscape gardeners;" and that is a concession, if it +means, as I suppose it does, that they will try to copy Nature's +landscapes in their enclosures. I have seen also of late that on rich +men's estates tangled growths of native bushes are being more let alone, +and hedges seem to have had some of the weights and harness taken off of +them.</p> + +<p>This is but one little matter among millions with which the Apostle of +Beauty has to do; but it serves for instance of the first requisite he +demands, which is freedom. "Let use take care of itself." "It will," he +says. "There is no beauty without freedom."</p> + +<p>Nothing is too high for him, nothing too low or small. To speak more +truly, in his eyes there is no small, no low. From a philanthropy down to +a gown, one catholic necessity, one catholic principle; gowns can be +benefactions or injuries; philanthropies can be well or ill clad.</p> + +<p>He has a ministry of co-workers,--men, women, and guileless little +children. Many of them serve him without knowing him by name. Some who +serve him best, who spread his creeds most widely, who teach them most +eloquently, die without dreaming that they have been missionaries to +Gentiles. Others there are who call him "Lord, Lord," build temples to him +and teach in them, who never know him. These are they who give their goods +to the poor, their bodies to be burned; but are each day ungracious, +unloving, hard, cruel to men and women about them. These are they also who +make bad statues, bad pictures, invent frightful fashions of things to be +worn, and make the houses and the rooms in which they live hideous with +unsightly adornments. The centuries fight such,--now with a Titian, a +Michel Angelo; now with a great philanthropist, who is also peaceable and +easy to be entreated; now with a Florence Nightingale, knowing no sect; +now with a little child by a roadside, holding up a marigold in the sun; +now with a sweet-faced old woman, dying gracefully in some almshouse. Who +has not heard voice from such apostles?</p> + +<p>To-day my nearest, most eloquent apostle of beauty is a poor shoemaker, +who lives in the house where I lodge. How poor he must be I dare not even +try to understand. He has six children: the oldest not more than thirteen, +the third a deaf-mute, the baby puny and ill,--sure, I think (and hope), +to die soon.</p> + +<p>They live in two rooms, on the ground-floor. His shop is the right-hand +corner of the front room; the rest is bedroom and sitting-room; behind are +the bedroom and kitchen. I have never seen so much as I might of their way +of living; for I stand before his window with more reverent fear of +intruding by a look than I should have at the door of a king's chamber. A +narrow rough ledge added to the window-sill is his bench. Behind this he +sits from six in the morning till seven at night, bent over, sewing slowly +and painfully on the coarsest shoes. His face looks old enough for sixty +years; but he cannot be so old. Yet he wears glasses and walks feebly; he +has probably never had in any one day of his life enough to eat. But I do +not know any man, and I know only one woman, who has such a look of +radiant good-cheer and content as has this poor shoemaker, Anton Grasl.</p> + +<p>In his window are coarse wooden boxes, in which are growing the common +mallows. They are just now in full bloom,--row upon row of gay-striped +purple and white bells. The window looks to the east, and is never shut. +When I go out to my breakfast the sun is streaming in on the flowers and +Anton's face. He looks up, smiles, bows low, and says, "Good-day, good my +lady," sometimes holding the mallow-stalks back with one hand, to see me +more plainly. I feel as if the day and I had had benediction. It is always +a better day because Anton has said it is good; and I am a better woman +for sight of his godly contentment. Almost every day he has beside the +mallows in the boxes a white mug with flowers in it,--nasturtiums, +perhaps, or a few pinks. This he sets carefully in shade of the thickest +mallows; and this I have often seen him hold down tenderly, for the little +ones to see and to smell.</p> + +<p>When I come home in the evenings, between eight and nine o'clock, Anton +is always sifting in front of the door, resting his head against the wall. +This is his recreation, his one blessed hour of out-door air and rest. He +stands with his cap in his hand while I pass, and his face shines as if +all the concentrated enjoyment of my walk in the woods had descended upon +him in my first look. If I give him a bunch of ferns to add to his +nasturtiums and pinks, he is so grateful and delighted that I have to go +into the house quickly for fear I shall cry. Whenever I am coming back +from a drive, I begin to think, long before I reach the house, how glad +Anton will look when he sees the carriage stop. I am as sure as if I had +omniscient sight into the depths of his good heart that he has distinct +and unenvious joy in every pleasure that he sees other people taking.</p> + +<p>Never have I, heard one angry or hasty word, one petulant or weary cry +from the rooms in which this father and mother and six children are +struggling to live. All day long the barefooted and ragged little ones +play under my south windows, and do not quarrel. I amuse myself by +dropping grapes or plums on their heads, and then watching them at their +feast; never have I seen them dispute or struggle in the division. Once I +purposely threw a large bunch of grapes to the poor little mute, and only +a few plums to the others. I am sorry to say that voiceless Carl ate all +his grapes himself; but not a selfish or discontented look could I see on +the faces of the others,--they all smiled and beamed up at me like suns.</p> + +<p>It is Anton who creates and sustains this rare atmosphere. The wife is +only a common and stupid woman; he is educating her, as he is the +children. She is very thin and worn and hungry-looking, but always smiles. +Being Anton's wife, she could not do otherwise.</p> + +<p>Sometimes I see people passing the house, who give a careless glance of +contemptuous pity at Anton's window of mallows and nasturtiums. Then I +remember that an apostle wrote:--</p> + +<p>"There are, it may be, so many kinds of voices in the world, and none of +them is without signification.</p> + +<p>"Therefore, if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be unto him +that speaketh a barbarian, and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto +me."</p> + +<p>And I long to call after them, as they go groping their way down the +beautiful street,--</p> + +<p>"Oh, ye barbarians, blind and deaf! How dare you think you can pity Anton? +His soul would melt in compassion for you, if he were able to comprehend +that lives could be so poor as yours. He is the rich man, and you are +poor. Eating only the husks on which you feed, he would starve to death."</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-20"> +<h2>English Lodging-Houses.</h2> + +<p>Somebody who has written stories (is it Dickens?) has given us very wrong +ideas of the English lodging-house. What good American does not go into +London with the distinct impression that, whatever else he does or does +not do, he will upon no account live in lodgings? That he will even be +content with the comfortless coffee-room of a second-rate hotel, and +fraternize with commercial travellers from all quarters of the globe, +rather than come into relations with that mixture of vulgarity and +dishonesty, the lodging-house keeper?</p> + +<p>It was with more than such misgiving that I first crossed the threshold of +Mrs. ----'s house in Bedford Place, Bloomsbury. At this distance I smile +to remember how welcome would have been any alternative rather than the +remaining under her roof for a month; how persistently for several days I +doubted and resisted the evidence of all my senses, and set myself at work +to find the discomforts and shortcomings which I believed must belong to +that mode of life. To confess the stupidity and obstinacy of my ignorance +is small reparation, and would be little worth while, except for the hope +that my account of the comfort and economy in living on the English +lodging-house system may be a seed dropped in due season, which shall +spring up sooner or later in the introduction of a similar system in +America. The gain which it would be to great numbers of our men and women +who must live on small incomes cannot be estimated. It seems hardly too +much to say that in the course of one generation it might work in the +average public health a change which would be shown in statistics, and rid +us of the stigma of a "national disease" of dyspepsia. For the men and +women whose sufferings and ill-health have made of our name a by-word +among the nations are not, as many suppose, the rich men and women, +tempted by their riches to over-indulgence of their stomachs, and paying +in their dyspepsia simply the fair price of their folly; they are the +moderately poor men and women, who are paying cruel penalty for not having +been richer,--not having been rich enough to avoid the poisons which are +cooked and served in American restaurants and in the poorer class of +American homes.</p> + +<p>Mrs. ----'s lodging-house was not, so far as I know, any better than the +average lodging-houses of its grade. It was well situated, well furnished, +well kept, and its scale of prices was moderate. For instance, the rent of +a pleasant parlor and bedroom on the second floor was thirty-four +shillings a week, including fire and gas,--$8.50, gold. Then there was a +charge of two shillings a week for the use of the kitchen-fire, and three +shillings a week for service; and these were the only charges in addition +to the rent. Thus for $9.75 a week one had all the comforts that can be +had in housekeeping, so far as room and service are concerned. There were +four good servants,--cook, scullery maid, and two housemaids. Oh, the +pleasant voices and gentle fashions of behavior of those housemaids! They +were slow, it must be owned; but their results were admirable. In spite of +London smoke and grime, Mrs. ----'s floors and windows were clean; the +grates shone every morning like mirrors, and the glass and silver were +bright. Each morning the smiling cook came up to take our orders for the +meals of the day; each day the grocer and the baker and the butcher +stopped at the door and left the sugar for the "first floor front," the +beef for the "drawing-room," and so on. The smallest article which could +be required in housekeeping was not overlooked. The groceries of the +different floors never got mixed, though how this separateness of stores +was accomplished will for ever remain a mystery to me; but that it was +successfully accomplished the smallness of our bill was the best of +proof,--unless, indeed, as we were sometimes almost afraid, we did now and +then eat up Dr. A----'s cheese, or drink the milk belonging to the B's +below us. We were a party of four; our fare was of the plain, substantial +sort, but of sufficient variety and abundance; and yet our living never +cost us, including rent, service, fires, and food, over $60 a week. If we +had chosen to practise closer economies, we might have lived on less. +Compare for one instant the comfort of such an arrangement as this, which +really gave us every possible advantage to be secured by housekeeping, and +with almost none of the trouble, with any boarding or lodging possible in +New York. We had two parlors and two bedrooms; our meals served promptly +and neatly, in our own parlor. The same amount of room, and service, and +such a table, for four people, cannot be had in New York for less than +$150 or $200 a week; in fact, they cannot be had in New York for any sum +of money. The quiet respectfulness of behavior and faithful interest in +work of English servants on English soil are not to be found elsewhere. We +afterward lived for some weeks in another lodging-house in Great Malvern, +Worcestershire, at about the same price per week. This house was even +better than the London one in some respects. The system was precisely the +same; but the cooking was almost faultless, and the table appointments +were more than satisfactory,--they were tasteful. The china was a +pleasure, and there were silver and linen and glass which one would be +glad to have in one's own home.</p> + +<p>It may be asked, and not unnaturally, how does this lodging-house system +work for those who keep the houses? Can it be possible that all this +comfort and economy for lodgers are compatible with profits for landlords? +I can judge only from the results in these two cases which came under my +own observation. In each of these cases the family who kept the house +lived comfortably and pleasantly in their own apartment, which was, in the +London house, almost as good a suite of rooms as any which they rented. +They certainly had far more apparent quiet, comfort, and privacy than is +commonly seen in the arrangements of the keepers of average +boarding-houses. In the Malvern house, one whole floor, which was less +pleasant than the others, but still comfortable and well furnished, was +occupied by the family. There were three little boys, under ten years of +age, who had their nursery governess, said lessons to her regularly, and +were led out decorously to walk by her at appointed seasons, like all the +rest of good little English boys in well-regulated families; and yet the +mother of these children came to the door of our parlor each morning, with +the respectful air of an old family housekeeper, to ask what we would have +for dinner, and was careful and exact in buying "three penn'orth" of herbs +at a time for us, to season our soup. I ought to mention that in both +these places we made the greater part of our purchases ourselves, having +weekly bills sent in from the shops, and in our names, exactly as if we +were living in our own house. All honest lodging-house keepers, we were +told, preferred this method, as leaving no opening for any unjust +suspicions of their fairness in providing. But, if one chooses to be as +absolutely free from trouble as in boarding, the marketing can all be done +by the family, and the bills still made out in the lodgers' names. I have +been thus minute in my details because I think there may be many to whom +this system of living is as unknown as it was to me; and I cannot but hope +that it may yet be introduced in America.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-21"> +<h2>Wet the Clay.</h2> + +<p>Once I stood in Miss Hosmer's studio, looking at a statue which she was +modelling of the ex-queen of Naples. Face to face with the clay model, I +always feel the artist's creative power far more than when I am looking at +the immovable marble.</p> + +<p>A touch here--there--and all is changed. Perhaps, under my eyes, in the +twinkling of an eye, one trait springs into life and another disappears.</p> + +<p>The queen, who is a very beautiful woman, was represented in Miss Hosmer's +statue as standing, wearing the picturesque cloak that she wore during +those hard days of garrison life at Gaeta, when she showed herself so +brave and strong that the world said if she, instead of that very stupid +young man her husband, had been king, the throne need not have been lost. +The very cloak, made of light cloth showily faced with scarlet, was draped +over a lay figure in one corner of the room. In the statue the folds of +drapery over the right arm were entirely disarranged, simply rough clay. +The day before they had been apparently finished; but that morning Miss +Hosmer had, as she laughingly told us, "pulled it all to pieces again."</p> + +<p>As she said this, she took up a large syringe and showered the statue +from head to foot with water, till it dripped and shone as if it had been +just plunged into a bath. Now it was in condition to be moulded. Many +times a day this process must be repeated, or the clay becomes so dry and +hard that it cannot be worked.</p> + +<p>I had known this before; but never did I so realize the significant +symbolism of the act as when I looked at this lifeless yet lifelike thing, +to be made into the beauty of a woman, called by her name, and cherished +after her death,--and saw that only through this chrysalis of the clay, so +cared for, moistened, and moulded, could the marble obtain its soul.</p> + +<p>And, as all things I see in life seem to me to have a voice either for or +of children, so did this instantly suggest to me that most of the failures +of mothers come from their not keeping the clay wet.</p> + +<p>The slightest touch tells on the clay when it is soft and moist, and can +produce just the effect which is desired; but when the clay is too dry it +will not yield, and often it breaks and crumbles beneath the unskilful +hand. How perfect the analogy between these two results, and the two +atmospheres which one often sees in the space of one half-hour in the +management of the same child! One person can win from it instantly a +gentle obedience: that person's smile is a reward, that person's +displeasure is a grief it cannot bear, that person's opinions have utmost +weight with it, that person's presence is a controlling and subduing +influence. Another, alas! the mother, produces such an opposite effect +that it is hard to believe the child can be the same child. Her simplest +command is met by antagonism or sullen compliance; her pleasure and +displeasure are plainly of no account to the child, and its great desire +is to get out of her presence.</p> + +<p>What shape will she make of that child's soul? She does not wet the clay. +She does not stop to consider before each command whether it be wholly +just, whether it be the best time to make it, and whether she can explain +its necessity. Oh! the sweet reasonableness of children when disagreeable +necessities are explained to them, instead of being enforced as arbitrary +tyrannies! She does not make them so feel that she shares all their +sorrows and pleasures that they cannot help being in turn glad when she is +glad, and sorry when she is sorry. She does not so take them into constant +companionship in her interests, each day,--the books, the papers she +reads, the things she sees,--that they learn to hold her as the +representative of much more than nursery discipline, clothes, and bread +and butter. She does not kiss them often enough, put her arms around them, +warm, soften, bathe them in the ineffable sunshine of loving ways. "I +can't imagine why children are so much better with you than with me," +exclaims such a mother. No, she cannot imagine; and that is the trouble. +If she could, all would be righted. It is quite probable that she is a far +more anxious, self-sacrificing, hard-working mother than the neighbor, +whose children are rosy and frolicking and affectionate and obedient; +while hers are pale and fretful and selfish and sullen.</p> + +<p>She is all the time working, working, with endless activity, on hard, dry +clay; and the neighbor, who, perhaps half-unconsciously, keeps the clay +wet, is with one-half the labor modelling sweet creatures of Nature's own +loveliest shapes.</p> + +<p>Then she says, this poor, tired mother, discouraged because her children +tell lies, and irritated because they seem to her thankless, "After all, +children are pretty much alike, I suppose. I believe most children tell +lies when they are little; and they never realize until they are grown up +what parents do for them."</p> + +<p>Here again I find a similitude among the artists who paint or model. +Studios are full of such caricatures, and the hard-working, honest souls +who have made them believe that they are true reproductions of nature and +life.</p> + +<p>"See my cherub. Are not all cherubs such as he?" and "Behold these trees +and this water; and how the sun glowed on the day when I walked there!" +and all the while the cherub is like a paper doll, and the trees and the +water never had any likeness to any thing that is in this beautiful earth. +But, after all, this similitude is short and paltry, for it is of +comparatively small moment that so many men and women spend their lives in +making bad cherubs in marble, and hideous landscapes in oil. It is +industry, and it keeps them in bread; in butter, too, if their cherubs and +trees are very bad. But, when it is a human being that is to be moulded, +how do we dare, even with all the help which we can ask and find in earth +and in heaven, to shape it by our touch!</p> + +<p>Clay in the hands of the potter is not more plastic than is the little +child's soul in the hands of those who tend it. Alas! how many shapeless, +how many ill-formed, how many broken do we see! Who does not believe that +the image of God could have been beautiful on all? Sooner or later it will +be, thank Christ! But what a pity, what a loss, not to have had the sweet +blessedness of being even here fellow-workers with him in this glorious +modelling for eternity!</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-22"> +<h2>The King's Friend.</h2> + +<p>We are a gay party, summering among the hills. New-comers into the little +boarding-house where we, by reason of prior possession, hold a kind of +sway are apt to fare hardly at our hands unless they come up to our +standard. We are not exacting in the matter of clothes; we are liberal on +creeds; but we have our shibboleths. And, though we do not drown unlucky +Ephraimites, whose tongues make bad work with S's, I fear we are not quite +kind to them; they never stay long, and so we go on having it much our own +way.</p> + +<p>Week before last a man appeared at dinner, of whom our good little +landlady said, deprecatingly, that he would stay only a few days. She knew +by instinct that his presence would not be agreeable to us. He was not in +the least an intrusive person,--on the contrary, there was a sort of mute +appeal to our humanity in the very extent of his quiet inoffensiveness; +but his whole atmosphere was utterly uninteresting. He was untrained in +manner, awkwardly ill at ease in the table routine; and, altogether, it +was so uncomfortable to make any attempt to include him in our circle that +in a few days he was ignored by every one, to a degree which was neither +courteous nor Christian.</p> + +<p>In all families there is a leader. Ours is a charming and brilliant +married woman, whose ready wit and never-failing spirits make her the best +of centres for a country party of pleasure-seekers. Her keen sense of +humor had not been able entirely to spare this unfortunate man, whose +attitudes and movements were certainly at times almost irresistible.</p> + +<p>But one morning such a change was apparent in her manner toward him that +we all looked up in surprise. No more gracious and gentle greeting could +she have given him if he had been a prince of royal line. Our astonishment +almost passed bounds when we heard her continue with a kindly inquiry +after his health, and, undeterred by his evident readiness to launch into +detailed symptoms, listen to him with the most respectful attention. Under +the influence of this new and sweet recognition his plain and common face +kindled into something almost manly and individual. He had never before +been so spoken to by a well-bred and beautiful woman.</p> + +<p>We were sobered, in spite of ourselves, by an indefinable something in her +manner; and it was with subdued whispers that we crowded around her on the +piazza, and begged to know what it all meant. It was a rare thing to see +Mrs. ---- hesitate for a reply. The color rose in her face, and, with a +half-nervous attempt at a smile, she finally said, "Well, girls, I suppose +you will all laugh at me; but the truth is, I heard that man say his +prayers this morning. You know his room is next to mine, and there is a +great crack in the door. I heard him praying, this morning, for ten +minutes, just before breakfast; and I never heard such tones in my life. I +don't pretend to be religious; but I must own it was a wonderful thing to +hear a man talking with God as he did. And when I saw him at table, I felt +as if I were looking in the face of some one who had just come out of the +presence of the King of kings, and had the very air of heaven about him. I +can't help what the rest of you do or say; <i>I</i> shall always have the same +feeling whenever I see him."</p> + +<p>There was a magnetic earnestness in her tone and look, which we all felt, +and which some of us will never forget.</p> + +<p>During the few remaining days of his stay with us, that untutored, +uninteresting, stupid man knew no lack of friendly courtesy at our hands. +We were the better for his homely presence; unawares, he ministered unto +us. When we knew that he came directly from speaking to the Master to +speak to us, we felt that he was greater than we, and we remembered that +it is written, "If any man serve me, him will my Father honor."</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-23"> +<h2>Learning to Speak.</h2> + +<p>With what breathless interest we listen for the baby's first word! What a +new bond is at once and for ever established between its soul and ours by +this mysterious, inexplicable, almost incredible fact! That is the use of +the word. That is its only use, so far as mere gratification of the ear +goes. Many other sounds are more pleasurable,--the baby's laugh, for +instance, or its inarticulate murmurs of content or sleepiness.</p> + +<p>But the word is a revelation, a sacred sign. Now we shall know what our +beloved one wants; now we shall know when and why the dear heart sorrows +or is glad. How reassured we feel, how confident! Now we cannot make +mistakes; we shall do all for the best; we can give happiness; we can +communicate wisdom; relation is established; the perplexing gulf of +silence is bridged. The baby speaks!</p> + +<p>But it is not of the baby's learning to speak that we propose to write +here. All babies learn to speak; or, if they do not, we know that it means +a terrible visitation,--a calamity rare, thank God! but bitter almost +beyond parents' strength to bear.</p> + +<p>But why, having once learned to speak, does the baby leave off speaking +when it becomes a man or a woman? Many of our men and women to-day need, +almost as much as when they were twenty-four months old, to learn to +speak. We do not mean learning to speak in public. We do not mean even +learning to speak well,--to pronounce words clearly and accurately; though +there is need enough of that in this land! But that is not the need at +which we are aiming now. We mean something so much simpler, so much +further back, that we hardly know how to say it in words which shall be +simple enough and also sufficiently strong. We mean learning to speak at +all! In spite of all which satirical writers have said and say of the +loquacious egotism, the questioning curiosity of our people, it is true +to-day that the average American is a reticent, taciturn, speechless +creature, who, for his own sake, and still more for the sake of all who +love him, needs, more than he needs any thing else under heaven, to learn +to speak.</p> + +<p>Look at our silent railway and horse-cars, steamboat-cabins, hotel-tables, +in short, all our public places where people are thrown together +incidentally, and where good-will and the habit of speaking combined would +create an atmosphere of human vitality, quite unlike what we see now. But +it is not of so much consequence, after all, whether people speak in these +public places or not. If they did, one very unpleasant phase of our +national life would be greatly changed for the better. But it is in our +homes that this speechlessness tells most fearfully,--on the breakfast and +dinner and tea-tables, at which a silent father and mother sit down in +haste and gloom to feed their depressed children. This is especially true +of men and women in the rural districts. They are tired; they have more +work to do in a year than it is easy to do. Their lives are +monotonous,--too much so for the best health of either mind or body. If +they dreamed how much this monotony could be broken and cheered by the +constant habit of talking with each other, they would grasp at the +slightest chance of a conversation. Sometimes it almost seems as if +complaints and antagonism were better than such stagnant quiet. But there +need not be complaint and antagonism; there is no home so poor, so remote +from affairs, that each day does not bring and set ready, for family +welcome and discussion, beautiful sights and sounds, occasions for +helpfulness and gratitude, questions for decision, hopes, fears, regrets! +The elements of human life are the same for ever; any one heart holds in +itself the whole, can give all things to another, can bear all things for +another; but no giving, no bearing, no, not even if it is the giving up of +a life, if it is done without free, full, loving interchange of speech, is +half the blessing it might be.</p> + +<p>Many a wife goes down to her grave a dulled and dispirited woman simply +because her good and faithful husband has lived by her side without +talking to her! There have been days when one word of praise, or one word +even of simple good cheer, would have girded her up with new strength. She +did not know, very likely, what she needed, or that she needed any thing; +but she drooped.</p> + +<p>Many a child grows up a hard, unimpressionable, unloving man or woman +simply from the uncheered silence in which the first ten years of life +were passed. Very few fathers and mothers, even those who are fluent, +perhaps, in society, habitually <i>talk</i> with their children.</p> + +<p>It is certain that this is one of the worst shortcomings of our homes. +Perhaps no other single change would do so much to make them happier, and, +therefore, to make our communities better, as for men and women to learn +to speak.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-24"> +<h2>Private Tyrants.</h2> + +<p>We recognize tyranny when it wears a crown and sits on an hereditary +throne. We sympathize with nations that overthrow the thrones, and in our +secret hearts we almost canonize individuals who slay the tyrants. From +the days of Ehud and Eglon down to those of Charlotte Corday and Marat, +the world has dealt tenderly with their names whose hands have been red +with the blood of oppressors. On moral grounds it would be hard to justify +this sentiment, murder being murder all the same, however great gain it +may be to this world to have the murdered man put out of it; but that +there is such a sentiment, instinctive and strong in the human soul, there +is no denying. It is so instinctive and so strong that, if we watch +ourselves closely, we shall find it giving alarming shape sometimes to our +secret thoughts about our neighbors.</p> + +<p>How many communities, how many households even, are without a tyrant? If +we could "move for returns of suffering," as that tender and thoughtful +man, Arthur Helps, says, we should find a far heavier aggregate of misery +inflicted by unsuspected, unresisted tyrannies than by those which are +patent to everybody, and sure to be overthrown sooner or later.</p> + +<p>An exhaustive sermon on this subject should be set off in three divisions, +as follows:--</p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smallcaps">Private Tyrants.</span></p> + +<p><i>1st.</i> Number of--<br /> +<i>2d.</i> Nature of--<br /> +<i>3d.</i> Longevity of--</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>First</i>. Their number. They are not enumerated in any census. Not even the +most painstaking statistician has meddled with the topic. Fancy takes bold +leaps at the very suggestion of such an estimate, and begins to think at +once of all things in the universe which are usually mentioned as beyond +numbering. Probably one good way of getting at a certain sort of result +would be to ask each person of one's acquaintance, "Do you happen to know +a private tyrant?"</p> + +<p>How well we know beforehand the replies we should get from <i>some</i> beloved +men and women,--that is, if they spoke the truth!</p> + +<p>But they would not. That is the saddest thing about these private +tyrannies. They are in many cases borne in such divine and uncomplaining +silence by their victims, perhaps for long years, the world never dreams +that they exist. But at last the fine, subtle writing, which no control, +no patience, no will can thwart, becomes set on the man's or the woman's +face, and tells the whole record. Who does not know such faces? Cheerful +usually, even gay, brave, and ready with lines of smile; but in repose so +marked, so scarred with unutterable weariness and disappointment, that +tears spring in the eyes and love in the hearts of all finely organized +persons who meet them.</p> + +<p><i>Secondly</i>. Nature of private tyrants. Here also the statistician has not +entered. The field is vast; the analysis difficult.</p> + +<p>Selfishness is, of course, their leading characteristic; in fact, the very +sum and substance of their natures. But selfishness is Protean. It has as +many shapes as there are minutes, and as many excuses and wraps of sheep's +clothing as ever ravening wolf possessed.</p> + +<p>One of its commonest pleas is that of weakness. Here it often is so +inextricably mixed with genuine need and legitimate claim that one grows +bewildered between sympathy and resentment. In this shape, however, it +gets its cruelest dominion over strong and generous and tender people. +This kind of tyranny builds up and fortifies its bulwarks on and out of +the very virtues of its victims; it gains strength hourly from the very +strength of the strength to which it appeals; each slow and fatal +encroachment never seems at first so much a thing required as a thing +offered; but, like the slow sinking inch by inch of that great, beautiful +city of stone into the relentless Adriatic, so is the slow, sure going +down and loss of the freedom of a strong, beautiful soul, helpless in the +omnipresent circumference of the selfish nature to which it is or believes +itself bound.</p> + +<p>That the exactions never or rarely take shape in words is, to the +unbiassed looker-on, only an exasperating feature in their tyranny. While +it saves the conscience of the tyrant,--if such tyrants have any,--it +makes doubly sure the success of their tyranny. And probably nothing short +of revelation from Heaven, in shape of blinding light, would ever open +their eyes to the fact that it is even more selfish to hold a generous +spirit fettered hour by hour by a constant fear of giving pain than to +coerce or threaten or scold them into the desired behavior. Invalids, all +invalids, stand in deadly peril of becoming tyrants of this order. A +chronic invalid who entirely escapes it must be so nearly saint or angel +that one instinctively feels as if their invalidism would soon end in the +health of heaven. We know of one invalid woman, chained to her bed for +long years by an incurable disease, who has had the insight and strength +to rise triumphant above this danger. Her constant wish and entreaty is +that her husband should go freely into all the work and the pleasure of +life. Whenever he leaves her, her farewell is not, "How soon do you think +you shall come back? At what hour, or day, may I look for you?" but, "Now, +pray stay just as long as you enjoy it. If you hurry home one hour sooner +for the thought of me, I shall be wretched." It really seems almost as if +the longer he stayed away,--hours, days, weeks even,--the happier she +were. By this sweet and wise unselfishness she has succeeded in realizing +the whole blessedness of wifehood far more than most women who have +health. But we doubt if any century sees more than one such woman as she +is.</p> + +<p>Another large class, next to that of invalids the most difficult to deal +with, is made up of people who are by nature or by habit uncomfortably +sensitive or irritable. Who has not lived at one time or other in his life +in daily contact with people of this sort,--persons whose outbreaks of +temper, or of wounded feeling still worse than temper, were as +incalculable as meteoric showers? The suppressed atmosphere, the chronic +state of alarm and misgiving, in which the victims of this species of +tyranny live are withering and exhausting to the stoutest hearts. They are +also hardening; perpetually having to wonder and watch how people will +"take" things is apt sooner or later to result in indifference as to +whether they take them well or ill.</p> + +<p>But to define all the shapes of private tyranny would require whole +histories; it is safe, however, to say that so far as any human being +attempts to set up his own individual need or preference as law to +determine the action of any other human being, in small matters or great, +so far forth he is a tyrant. The limit of his tyranny may be narrowed by +lack of power on his part, or of response on the part of his fellows; but +its essence is as purely tyrannous as if he sat on a throne with an +executioner within call.</p> + +<p><i>Thirdly.</i> Longevity of private tyrants. We have not room under this head +to do more--nor, if we had all room, could we do better--than to quote a +short paragraph from George Eliot's immortal Mrs. Poyser: "It seems as if +them as aren't wanted here are th' only folks as aren't wanted i' th' +other world."</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-25"> +<h2>Margin.</h2> + +<p>Wide-margined pages please us at first sight. We do not stop to ask why. +It has passed into an accepted rule that all elegant books must have +broad, clear margins to their pages. We as much recognize such margins +among the indications of promise in a book, as we do fineness of paper, +clearness of type, and beauty of binding. All three of these last, even in +perfection, could not make any book beautiful, or sightly, whose pages had +been left narrow-margined and crowded. This is no arbitrary decree of +custom, no chance preference of an accredited authority. It would be +dangerous to set limit to the power of fashion in any thing; and yet it +seems almost safe to say that not even fashion itself can ever make a +narrow-margined page look other than shabby and mean. This inalienable +right of the broad margin to our esteem is significant. It lies deep. The +broad margin means something which is not measured by inches, has nothing +to do with fashions of shape. It means room for notes, queries, added by +any man's hand who reads. Meaning this, it means also much more than +this,--far more than the mere letter of "right of way." It is a fine +courtesy of recognition that no one page shall ever say the whole of its +own message; be exhaustive, or ultimate, even of its own topic; determine +or enforce its own opinion, to the shutting out of others. No matter if +the book live and grow old, without so much as an interrogation point or a +line of enthusiastic admiration drawn in it by human hand, still the +gracious import and suggestion of its broad white spaces are the same. +Each thought invites its neighbor, stands fairly to right or left of its +opponent, and wooes its friend.</p> + +<p>Thinking on this, we presently discover that margin means a species of +freedom. No wonder the word, and the thing it represents, wherever we find +them, delight us.</p> + +<p>We use the word constantly in senses which, speaking carelessly, we should +have called secondary and borrowed. Now we see that its application to +pages, or pictures, or decorations, and so forth, was the borrowed and +secondary use; and that primarily its meaning is spiritual.</p> + +<p>We must have margin, or be uncomfortable in every thing in life. Our plan +for a day, for a week, for our lifetime, must have it,--margin for change +of purpose, margin for interruption, margin for accident. Making no +allowance for these, we are fettered, we are disturbed, we are thwarted.</p> + +<p>Is there a greater misery than to be hurried? If we leave ourselves proper +margin, we never need to be hurried. We always shall be, if we crowd our +plan. People pant, groan, and complain as if hurry were a thing outside +of themselves,--an enemy, a monster, a disease which overtook them, and +against which they had no shelter. It is hard to be patient with such +nonsense. Hurry is almost the only known misery which it is impossible to +have brought upon one by other people's fault.</p> + +<p>If our plan of action for an hour or a day be so fatally spoiled by lack +of margin, what shall we say of the mistake of the man who leaves himself +no margin in matters of belief? No room for a wholesome, healthy doubt? No +provision for an added enlightenment? No calculation for the inevitable +progress of human knowledge? This is, in our eyes, the crying sin and +danger of elaborate creeds, rigid formulas of exact statement on difficult +and hidden mysteries.</p> + +<p>The man who is ready to give pledge that the opinion he will hold +to-morrow will be precisely the opinion he holds to-day has either thought +very little, or to little purpose, or has resolved to quit thinking +altogether.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-26"> +<h2>The Fine Art of Smiling.</h2> + +<p>Some theatrical experiments are being made at this time to show that all +possible emotions and all shades and gradations of emotion can be +expressed by facial action, and that the method of so expressing them can +be reduced to a system, and taught in a given number of lessons. It seems +a matter of question whether one would be likely to make love or evince +sorrow any more successfully by keeping in mind all the while the detailed +catalogue of his flexors and extensors, and contracting and relaxing No. +1, 2, or 3, according to rule. The human memory is a treacherous thing, +and what an enormous disaster would result from a very slight +forgetfulness in such a nicely adjusted system! The fatal effect of +dropping the superior maxillary when one intended to drop the inferior, or +of applying nervous stimuli to the up track, instead of the down, can +easily be conceived. Art is art, after all, be it ever so skilful and +triumphant, and science is only a slow reading of hieroglyphs. Nature sits +high and serene above both, and smiles compassionately on their efforts +to imitate and understand. And this brings us to what we have to say about +smiling. Do many people feel what a wonderful thing it is that each human +being is born into the world with his own smile? Eyes, nose, mouth, may be +merely average commonplace features; may look, taken singly, very much +like anybody's else eyes, nose, or mouth. Let whoever doubts this try the +simple but endlessly amusing experiment of setting half a dozen people +behind a perforated curtain, and making them put their eyes at the holes. +Not one eye in a hundred can be recognized, even by most familiar and +loving friends. But study smiles; observe, even in the most casual way, +the variety one sees in a day, and it will soon be felt what subtle +revelation they make, what infinite individuality they possess.</p> + +<p>The purely natural smile, however, is seldom seen in adults; and it is on +this point that we wish to dwell. Very early in life people find out that +a smile is a weapon, mighty to avail in all sorts of crises. Hence, we see +the treacherous smile of the wily; the patronizing smile of the pompous; +the obsequious smile of the flatterer; the cynical smile of the satirist. +Very few of these have heard of Delsarte; but they outdo him on his own +grounds. Their smile is four-fifths of their social stock in trade. All +such smiles are hideous. The gloomiest, blankest look which a human face +can wear is welcomer than a trained smile or a smile which, if it is not +actually and consciously methodized by its perpetrator, has become, by +long repetition, so associated with tricks and falsities that it partakes +of their quality.</p> + +<p>What, then, is the fine art of smiling?</p> + +<p>If smiles may not be used for weapons or masks, of what use are they? That +is the shape one would think the question took in most men's minds, if we +may judge by their behavior! There are but two legitimate purposes of the +smile; but two honest smiles. On all little children's faces such smiles +are seen. Woe to us that we so soon waste and lose them!</p> + +<p>The first use of the smile is to express affectionate good-will; the +second, to express mirth.</p> + +<p>Why do we not always smile whenever we meet the eye of a fellow-being? +That is the true, intended recognition which ought to pass from soul to +soul constantly. Little children, in simple communities, do this +involuntarily, unconsciously. The honest-hearted German peasant does it. +It is like magical sunlight all through that simple land, the perpetual +greeting on the right hand and on the left, between strangers, as they +pass by each other, never without a smile. This, then, is "the fine art of +smiling;" like all fine art, true art, perfection of art, the simplest +following of Nature.</p> + +<p>Now and then one sees a face which has kept its smile pure and undefiled. +It is a woman's face usually; often a face which has trace of great sorrow +all over it, till the smile breaks. Such a smile transfigures; such a +smile, if the artful but knew it, is the greatest weapon a face can have. +Sickness and age cannot turn its edge; hostility and distrust cannot +withstand its spell; little children know it, and smile back; even dumb +animals come closer, and look up for another.</p> + +<p>If one were asked to sum up in one single rule what would most conduce to +beauty in the human face, one might say therefore, "Never tamper with your +smile; never once use it for a purpose. Let it be on your face like the +reflection of the sunlight on a lake. Affectionate good-will to all men +must be the sunlight, and your face is the lake. But, unlike the sunlight, +your good-will must be perpetual, and your face must never be overcast."</p> + +<p>"What! smile perpetually?" says the realist. "How silly!"</p> + +<p>Yes, smile perpetually! Go to Delsarte here, and learn even from the +mechanician of smiles that a smile can be indicated by a movement of +muscles so slight that neither instruments nor terms exist to measure or +state it; in fact, that the subtlest smile is little more than an added +brightness to the eye and a tremulousness of the mouth. One second of time +is more than long enough for it; but eternity does not outlast it.</p> + +<p>In that wonderfully wise and tender and poetic book, the "Layman's +Breviary," Leopold Schefer says,--</p> + +<blockquote><p> "A smile suffices to smile death away;<br /> +And love defends thee e'en from wrath divine!<br /> +Then let what may befall thee,--still smile on!<br /> +And howe'er Death may rob thee,--still smile on!<br /> +Love never has to meet a bitter thing;<br /> +A paradise blooms around him who smiles."</p></blockquote> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-27"> +<h2>Death-Bed Repentance.</h2> + +<p>Not long since, a Congregationalist clergyman, who had been for forty-one +years in the ministry, said in my hearing, "I have never, in all my +experience as a pastor, known of a single instance in which a repentance +on what was supposed to be a death-bed proved to be of any value whatever +after the person recovered."</p> + +<p>This was strong language. I involuntarily exclaimed, "Have you known many +such cases?"</p> + +<p>"More than I dare to remember."</p> + +<p>"And as many more, perhaps, where the person died."</p> + +<p>"Yes, fully as many more."</p> + +<p>"Then did not the bitter failure of these death-bed repentances to bear +the tests of time shake your confidence in their value under the tests of +eternity?"</p> + +<p>"It did,--it does," said the clergyman, with tears in his eyes. The +conversation made a deep impression on my mind. It was strong evidence, +from a quarter in which I least looked for it, of the utter paltriness and +insufficiency of fear as a motive when brought to bear upon decisions in +spiritual things. There seem to be no words strong enough to stigmatize it +in all other affairs except spiritual. All ages, all races, hold cowardice +chief among vices; noble barbarians punished it with death. Even +civilization the most cautiously legislated for, does the same thing when +a soldier shows it "in face of the enemy." Language, gathering itself up +and concentrating its force to describe base behavior, can do no more than +call it "cowardly." No instinct of all the blessed body-guard of instincts +born with us seems in the outset a stronger one than the instinct that to +be noble, one must be brave. Almost in the cradle the baby taunts or is +taunted by the accusation of being "afraid." And the sting of the taunt +lies in the probability of its truth. For in all men, alas! is born a +certain selfish weakness, to which fear can address itself. But how +strange does it appear that they who wish to inculcate noblest action, +raise to most exalted spiritual conditions, should appeal to this lowest +of motives to help them! We believe that there are many "death-bed +repentances" among hale, hearty sinners, who are approached by the same +methods, stimulated by the same considerations, frightened by the same +conceptions of possible future suffering, which so often make the chambers +of dying men dark with terrors. Fear is fear all the same whether its +dread be for the next hour or the next century. The closer the enemy, the +swifter it runs. That is all the difference. Let the enemy be surely and +plainly removed, and in one instance it is no more,--is as if it had +never been. Every thought, word, and action based upon it has come to end.</p> + +<p>I was forcibly reminded of the conversation above quoted by some +observations I once had opportunity of making at a Methodist camp-meeting. +Much of the preaching and exhortation consisted simply and solely of +urgent, impassioned appeals to the people to repent,--not because +repentance is right; not because God is love, and it is base not to love +and obey him; not even because godliness is in itself great gain, and +sinfulness is, even temporarily, loss and ruin; but because there is a +wrath to come, which will inflict terrible and unending suffering on the +sinner. He is to "flee" for his life from torments indescribable and +eternal; he is to call on Jesus, not to make him holy, but to save him +from woe, to rescue him from frightful danger; all and every thing else is +subordinate to the one selfish idea of escaping future misery. The effect +of these appeals, of these harrowing pictures, on some of the young men +and women and children was almost too painful to be borne. They were in an +hysterical condition,--weeping from sheer nervous terror. When the +excitement had reached its highest pitch, an elder rose and told the story +of a wicked and impenitent man whom he had visited a few weeks before. The +man had assented to all that he told him of the necessity of repentance; +but said that he was not at leisure that day to attend the class meeting. +He resolved and promised, however, to do so the next week. That very +night he was taken ill with a disease of the brain, and, after three days +of unconsciousness, died. I would not like to quote here the emphasis of +application which was made of this story to the terrors of the weeping +young people. Under its influence several were led, almost carried by +force, into the anxious seats.</p> + +<p>It was hard not to fancy the gentle Christ looking down upon the scene +with a pain as great as that with which he yearned over Jerusalem. I +longed for some instant miracle to be wrought on the spot, by which there +should come floating down from the peaceful blue sky, through the sweet +tree-tops, some of the loving and serene words of balm from his Gospel.</p> + +<p>Theologians may theorize, and good Christians may differ (they always +will) as to the existence, extent, and nature of future punishment; but +the fact remains indisputably clear that, whether there be less or more of +it, whether it be of this sort or of that, fear of it is a base motive to +appeal to, a false motive to act from, and a worthless motive to trust in. +Perfect love does not know it; spiritual courage resents it; the true +Kingdom of Heaven is never taken by its "violence."</p> + +<p>Somewhere (I wish I knew where, and I wish I knew from whose lips) I once +found this immortal sentence: "A woman went through the streets of +Alexandria, bearing a jar of water and a lighted torch, and crying aloud, +'With this torch I will burn up Heaven, and with this water I will put out +Hell, that God may be loved for himself alone.'"</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-28"> +<h2>The Correlation of Moral Forces.</h2> + +<p>Science has dealt and delved patiently with the laws of matter. From +Cuvier to Huxley, we have a long line of clear-eyed workers. The +gravitating force between all molecules; the law of continuity; the +inertial force of matter; the sublime facts of organic co-ordination and +adaptation,--all these are recognized, analyzed, recorded, taught. We have +learned that the true meaning of the word law, as applied to Nature, is +not decree, but formula of invariable order, immutable as the constitution +of ultimate units of matter. Order is not imposed upon Nature. Order is +result. Physical science does not confuse these; it never mistakes nor +denies specific function, organic progression, cyclical growth. It knows +that there is no such thing as evasion, interruption, substitution.</p> + +<p>When shall we have a Cuvier, a Huxley, a Tyndall for the immaterial +world,--the realm of spiritual existence, moral growth? Nature is one. The +things which we have clumsily and impertinently dared to set off by +themselves, and label as "immaterial," are no less truly component parts +or members of the real frame of natural existence than are molecules of +oxygen or crystals of diamond. We believe in the existence of one as much +as in the existence of the other. In fact, if there be balance of proof in +favor of either, it is not in favor of the existence of what we call +matter. All the known sensible qualities of matter are ultimately +referable to immaterial forces,--"forces acting from points or volumes;" +and whether these points are occupied by positive substance, or "matter" +as it is usually conceived, cannot to-day be proved. Yet many men have +less absolute belief in a soul than in nitric acid; many men achieve +lifetimes of triumph by the faithful use and application of Nature's +law--that is, formula of uniform occurrence--in light, sound, motion, +while they all the while outrage and violate and hinder every one of those +sweet forces equally hers, equally immutable, called by such names as +truth, sobriety, chastity, courage, and good-will.</p> + +<p>The suggestions of this train of thought are too numerous to be followed +out in the limits of a single article. Take, for instance, the fact of the +identity of molecules, and look for its correlative truth in the spiritual +universe. Shall we not thence learn charity, and the better understand the +full meaning of some who have said that vices were virtues in excess or +restraint? Taking the lists of each, and faithfully comparing them from +beginning to end, not one shall be found which will not confirm this +seemingly paradoxical statement.</p> + +<p>Take the great fact of continuous progressive development which applies +to all organisms, vegetable or animal, and see how it is one with the law +that "the holy shall be holy still, the wicked shall be wicked still."</p> + +<p>Dare we think what would be the formula in statement of spiritual life +which would be correlative to the "law of continuity"? Having dared to +think, then shall we use the expression "little sins," or doubt the +terrible absoluteness of exactitude with which "every idle word which men +speak" shall enter upon eternity of reckoning.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, looking at all existences as organisms, shall we be +disturbed at seeming failure?--long periods of apparent inactivity? Shall +we believe, for instance, that Christ's great church can be really +hindered in its appropriate cycle of progressive change and adaptation? +That any true membership of this organic body can be formed or annulled by +mere human interference? That the lopping or burning of branches of the +tree, even the uprooting and burning of the tree itself, this year, next +year, nay, for hundreds of years, shall have power to annihilate or even +defer the ultimate organic result?</p> + +<p>The soul of man is not outcast from this glory, this freedom, this safety +of law. We speak as if we might break it, evade it; we forget it; we deny +it: but it never forgets us, it never refuses us a morsel of our estate. +In spite of us, it protects our growth, makes sure of our development. In +spite of us, it takes us whithersoever we tend, and not whithersoever we +like; in spite of us, it sometimes saves what we have carelessly perilled, +and always destroys what we wilfully throw away.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-29"> +<h2>A Simple Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner.</h2> + +<p>All good recipe-books give bills of fare for different occasions, bills of +fare for grand dinners, bills of fare for little dinners; dinners to cost +so much per head; dinners "which can be easily prepared with one servant," +and so on. They give bills of fare for one week; bills of fare for each +day in a month, to avoid too great monotony in diet. There are bills of +fare for dyspeptics; bills of fare for consumptives; bills of fare for fat +people, and bills of fare for thin; and bills of fare for hospitals, +asylums, and prisons, as well as for gentlemen's houses. But among them +all, we never saw the one which we give below. It has never been printed +in any book; but it has been used in families. We are not drawing on our +imagination for its items. We have sat at such dinners; we have helped +prepare such dinners; we believe in such dinners; they are within +everybody's means. In fact, the most marvellous thing about this bill of +fare is that the dinner does not cost a cent. Ho! all ye that are hungry +and thirsty, and would like so cheap a Christmas dinner, listen to this</p> + + +<h3>Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner.</h3> + +<p><i>First Course.</i>.--<span class="smallcaps">Gladness</span>.</p> + +<p>This must be served hot. No two housekeepers make it alike; no fixed rule +can be given for it. It depends, like so many of the best things, chiefly +on memory; but, strangely enough, it depends quite as much on proper +forgetting as on proper remembering. Worries must be forgotten. Troubles +must be forgotten. Yes, even sorrow itself must be denied and shut out. +Perhaps this is not quite possible. Ah! we all have seen Christmas days on +which sorrow would not leave our hearts nor our houses. But even sorrow +can be compelled to look away from its sorrowing for a festival hour which +is so solemnly joyous as Christ's Birthday. Memory can be filled full of +other things to be remembered. No soul is entirely destitute of blessings, +absolutely without comfort. Perhaps we have but one. Very well; we can +think steadily of that one, if we try. But the probability is that we have +more than we can count. No man has yet numbered the blessings, the +mercies, the joys of God. We are all richer than we think; and if we once +set ourselves to reckoning up the things of which we are glad, we shall be +astonished at their number.</p> + +<p>Gladness, then, is the first item, the first course on our bill of fare +for a Christmas dinner.</p> + +<p><i>Entrées</i>.--<span class="smallcaps">Love</span> garnished with Smiles.</p> + +<p><span class="smallcaps">Gentleness</span>, with sweet-wine sauce of Laughter.</p> + +<p><span class="smallcaps">Gracious Speech</span>, cooked with any fine, savory herbs, such as Drollery, +which is always in season, or Pleasant Reminiscence, which no one need be +without, as it keeps for years, sealed or unsealed.</p> + +<p><i>Second Course</i>.--<span class="smallcaps">Hospitality</span>.</p> + +<p>The precise form of this also depends on individual preferences. We are +not undertaking here to give exact recipes, only a bill of fare.</p> + +<p>In some houses Hospitality is brought on surrounded with Relatives. This +is very well. In others, it is dished up with Dignitaries of all sorts; +men and women of position and estate for whom the host has special likings +or uses. This gives a fine effect to the eye, but cools quickly, and is +not in the long-run satisfying.</p> + +<p>In a third class, best of all, it is served in simple shapes, but with a +great variety of Unfortunate Persons,--such as lonely people from +lodging-houses, poor people of all grades, widows and childless in their +affliction. This is the kind most preferred; in fact, never abandoned by +those who have tried it.</p> + +<p><i>For Dessert</i>.--<span class="smallcaps">Mirth</span>, in glasses.</p> + +<p><span class="smallcaps">Gratitude</span> and <span class="smallcaps">Faith</span> beaten together and piled up in snowy shapes. These +will look light if run over night in the moulds of Solid Trust and +Patience.</p> + +<p>A dish of the bonbons Good Cheer and Kindliness with every-day mottoes; +Knots and Reasons in shape of Puzzles and Answers; the whole ornamented +with Apples of Gold in Pictures of Silver, of the kind mentioned in the +Book of Proverbs.</p> + +<p>This is a short and simple bill of fare. There is not a costly thing in +it; not a thing which cannot be procured without difficulty.</p> + +<p>If meat is desired, it can be added. That is another excellence about our +bill of fare. It has nothing in it which makes it incongruous with the +richest or the plainest tables. It is not overcrowded by the addition of +roast goose and plum-pudding; it is not harmed by the addition of herring +and potatoes. Nay, it can give flavor and richness to broken bits of stale +bread served on a doorstep and eaten by beggars.</p> + +<p>We might say much more about this bill of fare. We might, perhaps, confess +that it has an element of the supernatural; that its origin is lost in +obscurity; that, although, as we said, it has never been printed before, +it has been known in all ages; that the martyrs feasted upon it; that +generations of the poor, called blessed by Christ, have laid out banquets +by it; that exiles and prisoners have lived on it; and the despised and +forsaken and rejected in all countries have tasted it. It is also true +that when any great king ate well and throve on his dinner, it was by the +same magic food. The young and the free and the glad, and all rich men in +costly houses, even they have not been well fed without it.</p> + +<p>And though we have called it a Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner, that +is only that men's eyes may be caught by its name, and that they, thinking +it a specialty for festival, may learn and understand its secret, and +henceforth, laying all their dinners according to its magic order, may +"eat unto the Lord."</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-30"> +<h2>Children's Parties.</h2> + +<p>"From six till half-past eleven."</p> + +<p>"German at seven, precisely."</p> + +<p>These were the terms of an invitation which we saw last week. It was sent +to forty children, between the ages of ten and sixteen.</p> + +<p>"Will you allow your children to stay at this party until half-past +eleven?" we said to a mother whose children were invited. "What can I do?" +she replied. "If I send the carriage for them at half-past ten, the +chances are that they will not be allowed to come away. It is impossible +to break up a set. And as for that matter, half-past ten is two hours and +a half past their bed-time; they might as well stay an hour longer. I wish +nobody would ever ask my children to a party. I cannot keep them at home, +if they are asked. Of course, I <i>might</i>; but I have not the moral courage +to see them so unhappy. All the other children go; and what can I do?"</p> + +<p>This is a tender, loving mother, whose sweet, gentle, natural methods with +her children have made them sweet, gentle, natural little girls, whom it +is a delight to know. But "what can she do?" The question is by no means +one which can be readily answered. It is very easy for off-hand severity, +sweeping condemnation, to say, "Do! Why, nothing is plainer. Keep her +children away from such places. Never let them go to any parties which +will last later than nine o'clock." This is the same thing as saying, +"Never let them go to parties at all." There are no parties which break up +at nine o'clock; that is, there are not in our cities. We hope there are +such parties still in country towns and villages,--such parties as we +remember to this day with a vividness which no social enjoyments since +then have dimmed; Saturday-afternoon parties,--<i>matinées</i> they would have +been called if the village people had known enough; parties which began at +three in the afternoon and ended in the early dusk, while little ones +could see their way home; parties at which there was no "German," only the +simplest of dancing, if any, and much more of blind-man's-buff; parties at +which "mottoes" in sugar horns were the luxurious novelty, caraway cookies +the staple, and lemonade the only drink besides pure water. Fancy offering +to the creature called child in cities to-day, lemonade and a caraway +cooky and a few pink sugar horns and some walnuts and raisins to carry +home in its pocket! One blushes at thought of the scornful contempt with +which such simples would be received,--we mean rejected!</p> + +<p>From the party whose invitation we have quoted above the little girls came +home at midnight, radiant, flushed, joyous, looking in their floating +white muslin dresses like fairies, their hands loaded with bouquets of +hot-house flowers and dainty little "favors" from the German. At eleven +they had had for supper champagne and chicken salad, and all the other +unwholesome abominations which are set out and eaten in American evening +entertainments.</p> + +<p>Next morning there were no languid eyes, pale cheeks. Each little face was +eager, bright, rosy, though the excited brain had had only five or six +hours of sleep.</p> + +<p>"If they only would feel tired the next day, that would be something of an +argument to bring up with them," said the poor mother. "But they always +declare that they feel better than ever."</p> + +<p>And so they do. But the "better" is only a deceitful sham, kept up by +excited and overwrought nerves,--the same thing that we see over and over +and over again in all lives which are temporarily kindled and stimulated +by excitement of any kind.</p> + +<p>This is the worst thing, this is the most fatal thing in all our +mismanagements and perversions of the physical life of our children. Their +beautiful elasticity and strength rebound instantly to an apparently +uninjured fulness; and so we go on, undermining, undermining at point +after point, until suddenly some day there comes a tragedy, a catastrophe, +for which we are as unprepared as if we had been working to avert, instead +of to hasten it. Who shall say when our boys die at eighteen, twenty, +twenty-two, our girls either in their girlhood or in the first strain of +their womanhood,--who shall say that they might not have passed safely +through the dangers, had no vital force been unnecessarily wasted in their +childhood, their infancy?</p> + +<p>Every hour that a child sleeps is just so much investment of physical +capital for years to come. Every hour after dark that a child is awake is +just so much capital withdrawn. Every hour that a child lives a quiet, +tranquil, joyous life of such sort as kittens live on hearths, squirrels +in sunshine, is just so much investment in strength and steadiness and +growth of the nervous system. Every hour that a child lives a life of +excited brain-working, either in a school-room or in a ball-room, is just +so much taken away from the reserved force which enables nerves to triumph +through the sorrows, through the labors, through the diseases of later +life. Every mouthful of wholesome food that a child eats, at seasonable +hours, may be said to tell on every moment of his whole life, no matter +how long it may be. Victor Hugo, the benevolent exile, has found out that +to be well fed once in seven days at one meal has been enough to transform +the apparent health of all the poor children in Guernsey. Who shall say +that to take once in seven days, or even once in thirty days, an +unwholesome supper of chicken salad and champagne may not leave as lasting +effects on the constitution of a child?</p> + +<p>If Nature would only "execute" her "sentences against evil works" more +"speedily," evil works would not so thrive. The law of continuity is the +hardest one for average men and women to comprehend,--or, at any rate, to +obey. Seed-time and harvest in gardens and fields they have learned to +understand and profit by. When we learn, also, that in the precious lives +of these little ones we cannot reap what we do not sow, and we must reap +all which we do sow, and that the emptiness or the richness of the harvest +is not so much for us as for them, one of the first among the many things +which we shall reform will be "children's parties."</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-31"> +<h2>After-Supper Talk.</h2> + +<p>"After-dinner talk" has been thought of great importance. The expression +has passed into literature, with many records of the good sayings it +included. Kings and ministers condescend to make efforts at it; poets and +philosophers--greater than kings and ministers--do not disdain to attempt +to shine in it.</p> + +<p>But nobody has yet shown what "after-supper talk" ought to be. We are not +speaking now of the formal entertainment known as "a supper;" we mean the +every-day evening meal in the every-day home,--the meal known heartily and +commonly as "supper," among people who are neither so fashionable nor so +foolish as to take still a fourth meal at hours when they ought to be +asleep in bed.</p> + +<p>This ought to be the sweetest and most precious hour of the day. It is too +often neglected and lost in families. It ought to be the mother's hour; +the mother's opportunity to undo any mischief the day may have done, to +forestall any mischief the morrow may threaten. There is an instinctive +disposition in most families to linger about the supper-table, quite +unlike the eager haste which is seen at breakfast and at dinner. Work is +over for the day; everybody is tired, even the little ones who have done +nothing but play. The father is ready for slippers and a comfortable +chair; the children are ready and eager to recount the incidents of the +day. This is the time when all should be cheered, rested, and also +stimulated by just the right sort of conversation, just the right sort of +amusement.</p> + +<p>The wife and mother must supply this need, must create this atmosphere. We +do not mean that the father does not share the responsibility of this, as +of every other hour. But this particular duty is one requiring qualities +which are more essentially feminine than masculine. It wants a light touch +and an <i>undertone</i> to bring out the full harmony of the ideal home +evening. It must not be a bore. It must not be empty; it must not be too +much like preaching; it must not be wholly like play; more than all +things, it must not be always--no, not if it could be helped, not even +twice--the same! It must be that most indefinable, most recognizable +thing, "a good time." Bless the children for inventing the phrase! It has, +like all their phrases, an unconscious touch of sacred inspiration in it, +in the selection of the good word "good," which lays peculiar benediction +on all things to which it is set.</p> + +<p>If there were no other reason against children's having lessons assigned +them to study at home, we should consider this a sufficient one, that it +robs them of the after-supper hour with their parents. Even if their +brains could bear without injury the sixth, seventh, or eighth hour, as +it may be, of study, their hearts cannot bear the being starved.</p> + +<p>In the average family, this is the one only hour of the day when father, +mother, and children can be together, free of cares and unhurried. Even to +the poorest laborer's family comes now something like peace and rest +forerunning the intermission of the night.</p> + +<p>Everybody who has any artistic sense recognizes this instinctively when +they see through the open doors of humble houses the father and mother and +children gathered around their simple supper. Its mention has already +passed into triteness in verse, so inevitably have poets felt the sacred +charm of the hour.</p> + +<p>Perhaps there is something deeper than on first thoughts would appear in +the instant sense of pleasure one has in this sight; also, in the +universal feeling that the evening gathering of the family is the most +sacred one. Perhaps there is unconscious recognition that dangers are near +at hand when night falls, and that in this hour lies, or should lie, the +spell to drive them all away.</p> + +<p>There is something almost terrible in the mingling of danger and +protection, of harm and help, of good and bad, in that one thing, +darkness. God "giveth his beloved sleep" in it; and in it the devil sets +his worst lures, by help of it gaining many a soul which he could never +get possession of in sunlight.</p> + +<p>Mothers, fathers! cultivate "after-supper talk;" play "after-supper +games;" keep "after-supper books;" take all the good newspapers and +magazines you can afford, and read them aloud "after supper." Let boys and +girls bring their friends home with them at twilight, sure of a pleasant +and hospitable welcome and of a good time "after supper," and parents may +laugh to scorn all the temptations which town or village can set before +them to draw them away from home for their evenings.</p> + +<p>These are but hasty hints, bare suggestions. But if they rouse one heart +to a new realization of what evenings at home <i>ought</i> to be, and what +evenings at home too often are, they have not been spoken in vain nor out +of season.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-32"> +<h2>Hysteria In Literature.</h2> + +<p>Physicians tell us that there is no known disease, no known symptom of +disease, which hysteria cannot and does not counterfeit. Most skilful +surgeons are misled by its cunning into believing and pronouncing +able-bodied young women to be victims of spinal disease, "stricture of the +oesophagus," "gastrodynia," "paraplegia," "hemiplegia," and hundreds of +other affections, with longer or shorter names. Families are thrown into +disorder and distress; friends suffer untold pains of anxiety and +sympathy; doctors are summoned from far and near; and all this while the +vertebra, or the membrane, or the muscle, as it may be, which is so +honestly believed to be diseased, and which shows every symptom of +diseased action or inaction, is sound and strong, and as well able as ever +it was to perform its function.</p> + +<p>The common symptoms of hysteria everybody is familiar with,--the crying +and laughing in inappropriate places, the fancied impossibility of +breathing, and so forth,--which make such trouble and mortification for +the embarrassed companions of hysterical persons; and which, moreover, can +be very easily suppressed by a little wholesome severity, accompanied by +judicious threats or sudden use of cold water. But few people know or +suspect the number of diseases and conditions, supposed to be real, +serious, often incurable, which are simply and solely, or in a great part, +undetected hysteria. This very ignorance on the part of friends and +relatives makes it almost impossible for surgeons and physicians to treat +such cases properly. The probabilities are, in nine cases out of ten, that +the indignant family will dismiss, as ignorant or hard-hearted, any +practitioner who tells them the unvarnished truth, and proposes to treat +the sufferer in accordance with it.</p> + +<p>In the field of literature we find a hysteria as widespread, as +undetected, as unmanageable as the hysteria which skulks and conquers in +the field of disease.</p> + +<p>Its commoner outbreaks everybody knows by sight and sound, and everybody +except the miserably ignorant and silly despises. Yet there are to be +found circles which thrill and weep in sympathetic unison with the +ridiculous joys and sorrows, grotesque sentiments, and preposterous +adventures of the heroes and heroines of the "Dime Novels" and novelettes, +and the "Flags" and "Blades" and "Gazettes" among the lowest newspapers. +But in well-regulated and intelligent households, this sort of writing is +not tolerated, any more than the correlative sort of physical phenomenon +would be,--the gasping, shrieking, sobbing, giggling kind of behavior in a +man or woman.</p> + +<p>But there is another and more dangerous working of the same thing; deep, +unsuspected, clothing itself with symptoms of the most defiant +genuineness, it lurks and does its business in every known field of +composition. Men and women are alike prone to it, though its shape is +somewhat affected by sex.</p> + +<p>Among men it breaks out often, perhaps oftenest, in violent illusions on +the subject of love. They assert, declare, shout, sing, scream that they +love, have loved, are loved, do and for ever will love, after methods and +in manners which no decent love ever thought of mentioning. And yet, so +does their weak violence ape the bearing of strength, so much does their +cheat look like truth, that scores, nay, shoals of human beings go about +repeating and echoing their noise, and saying, gratefully, "Yes, this is +love; this is, indeed, what all true lovers must know."</p> + +<p>These are they who proclaim names of beloved on house-tops; who strip off +veils from sacred secrets and secret sacrednesses, and set them up naked +for the multitude to weigh and compare. What punishment is for such +beloved, Love himself only knows. It must be in store for them somewhere. +Dimly one can suspect what it might be; but it will be like all Love's +true secrets,--secret for ever.</p> + +<p>These men of hysteria also take up specialties of art or science; and in +their behoof rant, and exaggerate, and fabricate, and twist, and lie in +such stentorian voices that reasonable people are deafened and bewildered.</p> + +<p>They also tell common tales in such enormous phrases, with such gigantic +structure of rhetorical flourish, that the mere disproportion amounts to +false-hood; and, the diseased appetite in listeners growing more and more +diseased, feeding on such diseased food, it is impossible to predict what +it will not be necessary for story-mongers to invent at the end of a +century or so more of this.</p> + +<p>But the worst manifestations of this disease are found in so-called +religious writing. Theology, biography, especially autobiography, didactic +essays, tales with a moral,--under every one of these titles it lifts up +its hateful head. It takes so successfully the guise of genuine religious +emotion, religious experience, religious zeal, that good people on all +hands weep grateful tears as they read its morbid and unwholesome +utterances. Of these are many of the long and short stories setting forth +in melodramatic pictures exceptionally good or exceptionally bad children; +or exceptionally pathetic and romantic careers of sweet and refined +Magdalens; minute and prolonged dissections of the processes of spiritual +growth; equally minute and authoritative formulas for spiritual exercises +of all sorts,--"manuals of drill," so to speak, or "field tactics" for +souls. Of these sorts of books, the good and the bad are almost +indistinguishable from each other, except by the carefulest attention and +the finest insight; overwrought, unnatural atmosphere and meaningless, +shallow routine so nearly counterfeit the sound and shape of warm, true +enthusiasm and wise precepts.</p> + +<p>Where may be the remedy for this widespread and widely spreading disease +among writers we do not know. It is not easy to keep up courageous faith +that there is any remedy. Still Nature abhors noise and haste, and shams +of all sorts. Quiet and patience are the great secrets of her force, +whether it be a mountain or a soul that she would fashion. We must believe +that sooner or later there will come a time in which silence shall have +its dues, moderation be crowned king of speech, and melodramatic, +spectacular, hysterical language be considered as disreputable as it is +silly. But the most discouraging feature of the disease is its extreme +contagiousness. All physicians know what a disastrous effect one +hysterical patient will produce upon a whole ward in a hospital. We +remember hearing a young physician once give a most amusing account of a +woman who was taken to Bellevue Hospital for a hysterical cough. Her +lungs, bronchia, throat, were all in perfect condition; but she coughed +almost incessantly, especially on the approach of the hour for the +doctor's visit to the ward. In less than one week half the women in the +ward had similar coughs. A single--though it must be confessed rather +terrific--application of cold water to the original offender worked a +simultaneous cure upon her and all of her imitators.</p> + +<p>Not long ago a very parallel thing was to be observed in the field of +story-writing. A clever, though morbid and melodramatic writer published a +novel, whose heroine, having once been an inmate of a house of ill-fame, +escaped, and, finding shelter and Christian training in the home of a +benevolent woman, became a model of womanly delicacy, and led a life of +exquisite and artistic refinement. As to the animus and intent of this +story there could be no doubt; both were good, but in atmosphere and +execution it was essentially unreal, overwrought, and melodramatic. For +three or four months after its publication there was a perfect outburst +and overflow in newspapers and magazines of the lower order of stories, +all more or less bad, some simply outrageous, and all treating, or rather +pretending to treat, the same problem which had furnished theme for that +novel.</p> + +<p>Probably a close observation and collecting of the dreary statistics would +bring to light a curious proof of the extent and certainty of this sort of +contagion.</p> + +<p>Reflecting on it, having it thrust in one's face at every book-counter, +railway-stand, Sunday-school library, and parlor centre-table, it is hard +not to wish for some supernatural authority to come sweeping through the +wards, and prescribe sharp cold-water treatment all around to half drown +all such writers and quite drown all their books!</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-33"> +<h2>Jog Trot.</h2> + +<p>There is etymological uncertainty about the phrase. But there is no doubt +about its meaning; no doubt that it represents a good, comfortable gait, +at which nobody goes nowadays.</p> + +<p>A hundred years ago it was the fashion: in the days when railroads were +not, nor telegraphs; when citizens journeyed in stages, putting up prayers +in church if their journey were to be so long as from Massachusetts into +Connecticut; when evil news travelled slowly by letter, and good news was +carried about by men on horses; when maidens spun and wove for long, +quiet, silent years at their wedding <i>trousseaux</i>, and mothers spun and +wove all which sons and husbands wore; when newspapers were small and +infrequent, dingy-typed and wholesomely stupid, so that no man could or +would learn from them more about other men's opinions, affairs, or +occupations than it concerned his practical convenience to know; when even +wars were waged at slow pace,--armies sailing great distances by chance +winds, or plodding on foot for thousands of miles, and fighting doggedly +hand to hand at sight; when fortunes also were slowly made by simple, +honest growths,--no men excepting freebooters and pirates becoming rich +in a day.</p> + +<p>It would seem treason or idiocy to sigh for these old days,--treason to +ideas of progress, stupid idiocy unaware that it is well off. Is not +to-day brilliant, marvellous, beautiful? Has not living become subject to +a magician's "presto"? Are we not decked in the whole of color, feasted on +all that shape and sound and flavor can give? Are we not wiser each moment +than we were the moment before? Do not the blind see, the deaf hear, and +the crippled dance? Has not Nature surrendered to us? Art and science, are +they not our slaves,--coining money and running mills? Have we not built +and multiplied religions, till each man, even the most irreligious, can +have his own? Is not what is called the "movement of the age" going on at +the highest rate of speed and of sound? Shall we complain that we are +maddened by the racket, out of breath with the spinning and whirling, and +dying of the strain of it all? What is a man, more or less? What are one +hundred and twenty millions of men, more or less? What is quiet in +comparison with riches? or digestion and long life in comparison with +knowledge? When we are added up in the universal reckoning of races, there +will be small mention of individuals. Let us be disinterested. Let us +sacrifice ourselves, and, above all, our children, to raise the general +average of human invention and attainment to the highest possible mark. To +be sure, we are working in the dark. We do not know, not even if we are +Huxley do we know, at what point in the grand, universal scale we shall +ultimately come in. We know, or think we know, about how far below us +stand the gorilla and the seal. We patronize them kindly for learning to +turn hand-organs or eat from porringers. Let us hope that, if we have +brethren of higher races on other planets, they will be as generously +appreciative of our little all when we have done it; but, meanwhile, let +us never be deterred from our utmost endeavor by any base and envious +misgivings that possibly we may not be the last and highest work of the +Creator, and in a fair way to reach very soon the final climax of all +which created intelligences can be or become. Let us make the best of +dyspepsia, paralysis, insanity, and the death of our children. Perhaps we +can do as much in forty years, working night and day, as we could in +seventy, working only by day; and the five out of twelve children that +live to grow up can perpetuate the names and the methods of their fathers. +It is a comfort to believe, as we are told, that the world can never lose +an iota that it has gained; that progress is the great law of the +universe. It is consoling to verify this truth by looking backward, and +seeing how each age has made use of the wrecks of the preceding one as +material for new structures on different plans. What are we that we should +mention our preference for being put to some other use, more immediately +remunerative to ourselves!</p> + +<p>We must be all wrong if we are not in sympathy with the age in which we +live. We might as well be dead as not keep up with it. But which of us +does not sometimes wish in his heart of hearts, that he had been born long +enough ago to have been boon companion of his great-grandfather, and have +gone respectably and in due season to his grave at a good jog trot?</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-34"> +<h2>The Joyless American.</h2> + +<p>It is easy to fancy that a European, on first reaching these shores, might +suppose that he had chanced to arrive upon a day when some great public +calamity had saddened the heart of the nation. It would be quite safe to +assume that out of the first five hundred faces which he sees there will +not be ten wearing a smile, and not fifty, all told, looking as if they +ever could smile. If this statement sounds extravagant to any man, let him +try the experiment, for one week, of noting down, in his walks about town, +every face he sees which has a radiantly cheerful expression. The chances +are that at the end of his seven days he will not have entered seven faces +in his note-book without being aware at the moment of some conscientious +difficulty in permitting himself to call them positively and unmistakably +cheerful.</p> + +<p>The truth is, this wretched and joyless expression on the American face is +so common that we are hardened to seeing it, and look for nothing better. +Only when by chance some blessed, rollicking, sunshiny boy or girl or man +or woman flashes the beam of a laughing countenance into the level gloom +do we even know that we are in the dark. Witness the instant effect of +the entrance of such a person into an omnibus or a car. Who has not +observed it? Even the most stolid and apathetic soul relaxes a little. The +unconscious intruder, simply by smiling, has set the blood moving more +quickly in the veins of every human being who sees him. He is, for the +moment, the personal benefactor of every one; if he had handed about money +or bread, it would have been a philanthropy of less value.</p> + +<p>What is to be done to prevent this acrid look of misery from becoming an +organic characteristic of our people? "Make them play more," says one +philosophy. No doubt they need to "play more;" but, when one looks at the +average expression of a Fourth of July crowd, one doubts if ever so much +multiplication of that kind of holiday would mend the matter. No doubt we +work for too many days in the year, and play for too few; but, after all, +it is the heart and the spirit and the expression that we bring to our +work, and not those that we bring to our play, by which our real vitality +must be tested and by which our faces will be stamped. If we do not work +healthfully, reasoningly, moderately, thankfully, joyously, we shall have +neither moderation nor gratitude nor joy in our play. And here is the +hopelessness, here is the root of the trouble, of the joyless American +face. The worst of all demons, the demon of unrest and overwork, broods in +the very sky of this land. Blue and clear and crisp and sparkling as our +atmosphere is, it cannot or does not exorcise the spell. Any old man can +count on the fingers of one hand the persons he has known who led lives of +serene, unhurried content, made for themselves occupations and not tasks, +and died at last what might be called natural deaths.</p> + +<p>"What, then?" says the congressional candidate from Mettibemps; the "new +contributor" to the oceanic magazine; Mrs. Potiphar, from behind her +liveries; and poor Dives, senior, from Wall Street; "Are we to give up all +ambition?" God forbid. But, because one has a goal, must one be torn by +poisoned spurs? We see on the Corso, in the days of the Carnival, what +speed can be made by horses under torture. Shall we try those methods and +that pace on our journeys?</p> + +<p>So long as the American is resolved to do in one day the work of two, to +make in one year the fortune of his whole life and his children's, to earn +before he is forty the reputation which belongs to threescore and ten, so +long he will go about the streets wearing his present abject, pitiable, +overwrought, joyless look. But, even without a change of heart or a reform +of habits, he might better his countenance a little, if he would. Even if +he does not feel like smiling, he might smile, if he tried; and that would +be something. The muscles are all there; they count the same in the +American as in the French or the Irish face; they relax easily in youth; +the trick can be learned. And even a trick of it is better than none of +it. Laughing masters might be as well paid as dancing masters to help on +society! "Smiling made Easy" or the "Complete Art of Looking +Good-natured" would be as taking titles on book-sellers' shelves as "The +Complete Letter-writer" or "Handbook of Behavior." And nobody can +calculate what might be the moral and spiritual results if it could only +become the fashion to pursue this branch of the fine arts. Surliness of +heart must melt a little under the simple effort to smile. A man will +inevitably be a little less of a bear for trying to wear the face of a +Christian.</p> + +<p>"He who laughs can commit no deadly sin," said the wise and sweet-hearted +woman who was mother of Goethe.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-35"> +<h2>Spiritual Teething</h2> + +<p>Milk for babes; but, when they come to the age for meat of doctrine, teeth +must be cut. It is harder work for souls than for bodies; but the +processes are wonderfully parallel,--the results too, alas! If clergymen +knew the symptoms of spiritual disease and death, as well as doctors do of +disease and death of the flesh, and if the lists were published at end of +each year and month and week, what a record would be shown! "Mortality in +Brooklyn, or New York, or Philadelphia for the week ending July 7th." We +are so used to the curt heading of the little paragraph that our eye +glances idly away from it, and we do not realize its sadness. By tens and +by scores they have gone,--the men, the women, the babies; in hundreds new +mourners are going about the streets, week by week. We are as familiar +with black as with scarlet, with the hearse as with the pleasure-carriage; +and yet "so dies in human hearts the thought of death" that we can be +merry.</p> + +<p>But, if we knew as well the record of sick and dying and dead souls, our +hearts would break. The air would be dark and stifling. We should be +afraid to move,--lest we might hasten the last hour of some neighbor's +spiritual breath. Ah, how often have we unconsciously spoken the one word +which was poison to his fever!</p> + +<p>Of the spiritual deaths, as of the physical, more than half take place in +the period of teething. The more one thinks of the parallelism, the closer +it looks, until the likeness seems as droll as dismal. Oh, the sweet, +unquestioning infancy which takes its food from the nearest breast; which +knows but three things,--hunger and food and sleep! There is only a little +space for this delight. In our seventh month we begin to be wretched. We +drink our milk, but we are aware of a constant desire to bite; doubts +which we do not know by name, needs for which there is no ready supply, +make us restless. Now comes the old-school doctor, and thrusts in his +lancet too soon. We suffer, we bleed; we are supposed to be relieved. The +tooth is said to be "through."</p> + +<p>Through! Oh, yes; through before its time. Through to no purpose. In a +week, or a year, the wounded flesh, or soul, has reasserted its right, +shut down on the tooth, making a harder surface than ever, a cicatrized +crust, out of which it will take double time and double strength for the +tooth to break.</p> + +<p>The gentle doctor gives us a rubber ring, it has a bad taste; or an ivory +one, it is too hard and hurts us. But we gnaw and gnaw, and fancy the new +pain a little easier to bear than the old. Probably it is; probably the +tooth gets through a little quicker for the days and nights of gnawing. +But what a picture of patient misery is a baby with its rubber ring! +Really one sees sometimes in the little puckered, twisting face such +grotesque prophecy of future conflicts, such likeness to the soul's +processes of grappling with problems, that it is uncanny.</p> + +<p>When we come to the analysis of the diseases incident to the teething +period, and the treatment of them, the similitude is as close.</p> + +<p>We have sharp, sudden inflammations; we have subtle and more deadly +things, which men do not detect till it is, in nine cases out of ten, too +late to cure them,--like water on the brain; and we have slow wastings +away; atrophies, which are worse than death, leaving life enough to +prolong death indefinitely, being as it were living deaths.</p> + +<p>Who does not know poor souls in all stages of all these,--outbreaks of +rebellion against all forms, all creeds, all proprieties; secret adoptions +of perilous delusions, fatal errors; and slow settling down into +indifferentism or narrow dogmatism, the two worst living deaths?</p> + +<p>These are they who live. Shall we say any thing of those of us who die +between our seventh and eighteenth spiritual month? They never put on +babies' tombstones "Died of teething." There is always a special name for +the special symptom or set of symptoms which characterized the last days. +But the mother believes and the doctor knows that, if it had not been for +the teeth that were coming just at that time, the fever or the croup would +not have killed the child.</p> + +<p>Now we come to the treatments; and here again the parallelism is so close +as to be ludicrous. The lancet and the rubber ring fail. We are still +restless, and scream and cry. Then our self-sacrificing nurses walk with +us; they rock us, they swing us, they toss us up and down, they jounce us +from top to bottom, till the wonder is that every organ in our bodies is +not displaced. They beat on glass and tin and iron to distract our +attention and drown out our noise by a bigger one; they shake back and +forth before our eyes all things that glitter and blaze; they shout and +sing songs; the house and the neighborhood are searched and racked for +something which will "amuse" the baby. Then, when we will no longer be +"amused," and when all this restlessness outside and around us, added to +the restlessness inside us, has driven us more than frantic, and the day +or the night of their well-meant clamor is nearly over, their strength +worn out, and their wits at end,--then comes the "soothing syrup," +deadliest weapon of all. This we cannot resist. If there be they who are +mighty enough to pour it down our throats, physically or spiritually, to +sleep we must go, and asleep we must stay so long as the effect of the +dose lasts.</p> + +<p>It is of this, we oftenest die,--not in a day or a year, but after many +days and many years; when in some sharp crisis we need for our salvation +the force which should have been developing in our infancy, the muscle or +the nerve which should have been steadily growing strong till that moment. +But the force is not there; the muscle is weak; the nerve paralyzed; and +we die at twenty of a light fever, we fall down at twenty, under sudden +grief or temptation, because of our long sleeps under soothing syrups when +we were babies.</p> + +<p>Oh, good nurses and doctors of souls, let them cut their own teeth, in the +natural ways. Let them scream if they must, but keep you still on one +side; give them no false helps; let them alone so far as it is possible +for love and sympathy to do so. Man is the only animal that has trouble +from the growing of the teeth in his body. It must be his own fault +somehow that he has that; and he has evidently been always conscious of a +likeness between this difficulty and perversion of a process natural to +his body, and the difficulty and perversion of his getting sensible and +just opinions; for it has passed into the immortality of a proverb that a +shrewd man is a man who has "cut his eye-teeth;" and the four last teeth, +which we get late in life, and which cost many people days of real +illness, are called in all tongues, all countries, "wisdom teeth!"</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-36"> +<h2>Glass Houses.</h2> + +<p>Who would live in one, if he could help it? And who wants to throw stones?</p> + +<p>But who lives in any thing else, nowadays? And how much better off are +they who never threw a stone in their lives than the rude mob who throw +them all the time?</p> + +<p>Really, the proverb might as well be blotted out from our books and +dropped from our speech. It has no longer use or meaning.</p> + +<p>It is becoming a serious question what shall be done, or rather what can +be done, to secure to fastidious people some show and shadow of privacy in +their homes. The silly and vulgar passion of people for knowing all about +their neighbors' affairs, which is bad enough while it takes shape merely +in idle gossip of mouth, is something terrible when it is exalted into a +regular market demand of the community, and fed by a regular market supply +from all who wish to print what the community will read.</p> + +<p>We do not know which is worse in this traffic, the buyer or the seller; we +think, on the whole, the buyer. But then he is again a seller; and so +there it is,--wheel within wheel, cog upon cog. And, since all these +sellers must earn their bread and butter, the more one searches for a fair +point of attacking the evil, the more he is perplexed.</p> + +<p>The man who writes must, if he needs pay for his work, write what the man +who prints will buy. The man who prints must print what the people who +read will buy. Upon whom, then, shall we lay earnest hands? Clearly, upon +the last buyer,--upon him who reads. But things have come to such a pass +already that to point out to the average American that it is vulgar and +also unwholesome to devour with greedy delight all sorts of details about +his neighbors' business seems as hopeless and useless as to point out to +the currie-eater or the whiskey-drinker the bad effects of fire and +strychnine upon mucous membranes. The diseased palate craves what has made +it diseased,--craves it more, and more, and more. In case of stomachs, +Nature has a few simple inventions of her own for bringing reckless abuses +to a stand-still,--dyspepsia, and delirium-tremens, and so on.</p> + +<p>But she takes no account, apparently, of the diseased conditions of brains +incident to the long use of unwholesome or poisonous intellectual food. +Perhaps she never anticipated this class of excesses. And, if there were +to be a precisely correlative punishment, it is to be feared it would fall +more heavily on the least guilty offender. It is not hard to fancy a poor +soul who, having been condemned to do reporters' duty for some years, and +having been forced to dwell and dilate upon scenes and details which his +very soul revolted from mentioning,--it is not hard to fancy such a soul +visited at last by a species of delirium-tremens, in which the speeches of +men who had spoken, the gowns of women who had danced, the faces, the +figures, the furniture of celebrities, should all be mixed up in a +grotesque phantasmagoria of torture, before which he should writhe as +helplessly and agonizingly as the poor whiskey-drinker before his snakes. +But it would be a cruel misplacement of punishment. All the while the true +guilty would be placidly sitting down at still further unsavory banquets, +which equally helpless providers were driven to furnish!</p> + +<p>The evil is all the harder to deal with, also, because it is like so many +evils,--all, perhaps,--only a diseased outgrowth, from a legitimate and +justifiable thing. It is our duty to sympathize; it is our privilege and +pleasure to admire. No man lives to himself alone; no man can; no man +ought. It is right that we should know about our neighbors all which will +help us to help them, to be just to them, to avoid them, if need be; in +short, all which we need to know for their or our reasonable and fair +advantage. It is right, also, that we should know about men who are or +have been great all which can enable us to understand their greatness; to +profit, to imitate, to revere; all that will help us to remember whatever +is worth remembering. There is education in this; it is experience, it is +history.</p> + +<p>But how much of what is written, printed, and read to-day about the men +and women of to-day comes under these heads? It is unnecessary to do more +than ask the question. It is still more unnecessary to do more than ask +how many of the men and women of to-day, whose names have become almost as +stereotyped a part of public journals as the very titles of the journals +themselves, have any claim to such prominence. But all these +considerations seem insignificant by side of the intrinsic one of the +vulgarity of the thing, and its impudent ignoring of the most sacred +rights of individuals. That there are here and there weak fools who like +to see their names and most trivial movements chronicled in newspapers +cannot be denied. But they are few. And their silly pleasure is very small +in the aggregate compared with the annoyance and pain suffered by +sensitive and refined people from these merciless invasions of their +privacy. No precautions can forestall them, no reticence prevent; nothing, +apparently, short of dying outright, can set one free. And even then it is +merely leaving the torture behind, a harrowing legacy to one's friends; +for tombs are even less sacred than houses. Memory, friendship, +obligation,--all are lost sight of in the greed of desire to make an +effective sketch, a surprising revelation, a neat analysis, or perhaps an +adroit implication of honor to one's self by reason of an old association +with greatness. Private letters and private conversations, which may touch +living hearts in a thousand sore spots, are hawked about as coolly as if +they had been old clothes, left too long unredeemed in the hands of the +pawn-broker! "Dead men tell no tales," says the proverb. One wishes they +could! We should miss some spicy contributions to magazine and newspaper +literature; and a sudden silence would fall upon some loud-mouthed living.</p> + +<p>But we despair of any cure for this evil. No ridicule, no indignation +seems to touch it. People must make the best they can of their glass +houses; and, if the stones come too fast, take refuge in the cellars.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-37"> +<h2>The Old-Clothes Monger in Journalism.</h2> + +<p>The old-clothes business has never been considered respectable. It is +supposed to begin and to end with cheating; it deals with very dirty +things. It would be hard to mention a calling of lower repute. From the +men who come to your door with trays of abominable china vases on their +heads, and are ready to take any sort of rags in payment for them, +down--or up?--to the bigger wretches who advertise that "ladies and +gentlemen can obtain the highest price for their cast-off clothing by +calling at No. so and so, on such a street," they are all alike odious and +despicable.</p> + +<p>We wonder when we find anybody who is not an abject Jew, engaged in the +business. We think we can recognize the stamp of the disgusting traffic on +their very faces. It is by no means uncommon to hear it said of a sorry +sneak, "He looks like an old-clothes dealer."</p> + +<p>But what shall we say of the old-clothes mongers in journalism? By the +very name we have defined, described them, and pointed them out. If only +we could make the name such a badge of disgrace that every member of the +fraternity should forthwith betake him or herself to some sort of honest +labor!</p> + +<p>These are they who crowd the columns of our daily newspapers with the +dreary, monotonous, worthless, scandalous tales of what other men and +women did, are doing, or will do, said, say, or will say, wore, wear, or +will wear, thought, think, or will think, ate, eat, or will eat, drank, +drink, or will drink: and if there be any other verb coming under the head +of "to do, to be, to suffer," add that to the list, and the old-clothes +monger will furnish you with something to fill out the phrase.</p> + +<p>These are they who patch out their miserable, little, sham "properties" +for mock representations of life, by scraps from private letters, bits of +conversation overheard on piazzas, in parlors, in bedrooms, by odds and +ends of untrustworthy statements picked up at railway-stations, +church-doors, and offices of all sorts, by impudent inferences and +suppositions, and guesses about other people's affairs, by garblings and +partial quotings, and, if need be, by wholesale lyings.</p> + +<p>The trade is on the increase,--rapidly, fearfully on the increase. Every +large city, every summer watering-place, is more or less infested with +this class of dealers. The goods they have to furnish are more and more in +demand. There is hardly a journal in the country but has column after +column full of their tattered wares; there is hardly a man or woman in the +country but buys them.</p> + +<p>There is, perhaps, no remedy. Human nature has not yet shed all the +monkey. A lingering and grovelling baseness in the average heart delights +in this sort of cast-off clothes of fellow-worms. But if the trade must +continue, can we not insist that the profits be shared? If A is to receive +ten dollars for quoting B's remarks at a private dinner yesterday, shall +not B have a small percentage on the sale? Clearly, this is only justice. +And in cases where the wares are simply stolen, shall there be no redress? +Here is an opening for a new Bureau. How well its advertisements would +read:--</p> + +<p>"Ladies and gentlemen wishing to dispose of their old opinions, +sentiments, feelings, and so forth, and also of the more interesting facts +in their personal history, can obtain good prices for the same at No.-- +Tittle-tattle street. Inquire at the door marked 'Regular and Special +Correspondence.'</p> + +<p>"N. B.--Persons willing to be reported <i>verbatim</i> will receive especial +consideration."</p> + +<p>We commend this brief suggestion of a new business to all who are anxious +to make a living and not particular how they make it. Perhaps the class of +whom we have been speaking would find it profitable to set it up as a +branch of their own calling. It is quite possible that nobody else in the +country would like to meddle with it.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-38"> +<h2>The Country Landlord's Side.</h2> + +<p>It is only one side, to be sure. But it is the side of which we hear +least. The quarrel is like all quarrels,--it takes two to make it; but +as, of those two, one is only one, and the other is from ten to a hundred, +it is easy to see which side will do most talking in setting forth its +grievances.</p> + +<p>"It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer; and when he is gone his way +then he boasteth." We are oftener reminded of this text of Scripture than +of any other when we listen to conversations in regard to boarders in +country houses.</p> + +<p>"Oh, let me tell you of such a nice place we have found to board in the +country. It is only--miles from Mt.--or--Lake; the drives are delightful, +and board is only $7 a week."</p> + +<p>"Is the table a good one?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; very good for the country. We had good butter and milk, and eggs +in abundance. Meats, of course, are never very good in the country. But +everybody gained a pound a week; and we are going again this year, if they +have not raised their prices."</p> + +<p>Then this model of a city woman, in search of country lodgings, sits down +and writes to the landlord:--</p> + +<p>"Dear Sir,--We would like to secure our old rooms in your house for the +whole of July and August. As we shall remain so long a time, we hope you +may be willing to count all the children at half-price. Last year, you may +remember, we paid full price for the two eldest, the twins, who are not +yet quite fourteen. I hope, also, that Mrs. ---- has better arrangements +for washing this summer, and will allow us to have our own servant to do +the washing for the whole family. If these terms suit you, the price for +my family--eight children, myself, and servant--would be $38.50 a week. +Perhaps, if the servant takes the entire charge of my rooms, you would +call it $37; as, of course, that would save the time of your own +servants."</p> + +<p>Then the country landlord hesitates. He is not positively sure of filling +all his rooms for the season. Thirty-seven dollars a week would be, he +thinks, better than nothing. In his simplicity, he supposes that, if he +confers, as he certainly does, a favor on Mrs.----, by receiving her great +family on such low terms, she will be thoroughly well disposed toward him +and his house, and will certainly not be over-exacting in matter of +accommodations. In an evil hour, he consents; they come, and he begins to +reap his reward. The twins are stout boys, as large as men, and much +hungrier. The baby is a sickly child of eighteen months, and requires +especial diet, which must be prepared at especial and inconvenient hours, +in the crowded little kitchen. The other five children are average boys +and girls, between the ages of three and twelve, eat certainly as much as +five grown people, and make twice as much trouble. The servant is a slow, +inefficient, impudent Irish girl, who spends the greater part of four days +in doing the family washing, and makes the other servants uncomfortable +and cross.</p> + +<p>If this were all; but this is not. Mrs.----, who writes to all her friends +boastingly of the cheap summer quarters that she has found, and who gains +by the village shop-keeper's scales a pound of flesh a week, habitually +finds fault with the food, with the mattresses, with the chairs, with the +rag-carpets, with every thing, in short, down to the dust and the flies, +for neither of which last the poor landlord could be legitimately held +responsible. This is not an exaggerated picture. Everybody who has boarded +in country places in the summer has known dozens of such women. Every +country landlord can produce dozens of such letters, and of letters still +more exacting and unreasonable.</p> + +<p>The average city man or woman who goes to a country house to board, goes +expecting what it is in the nature of things impossible that they should +have. The man expects to have boots blacked and hot water ready, and a +bell to ring for both. What experienced country boarder has not laughed in +his sleeve to see such an one, newly arrived, putting his head out +snappingly, like a turtle, from his doorway, and calling to chance +passers, "How d'ye get at anybody in this house?"</p> + +<p>If it is a woman, she expects that the tea will be of the finest flavor, +and never boiled; that steaks will be porter-house steaks; that green peas +will be in plenty; and that the American girl, who is chambermaid for the +summer, and school-teacher in the winter, and who, ten to one, could put +her to the blush in five minutes by superior knowledge on many subjects, +will enter and leave her room and wait upon her at the table with the +silent respectfulness of a trained city servant.</p> + +<p>This is all very silly. But it happens. At the end of every summer +hundreds of disappointed city people go back to their homes grumbling +about country food and country ways. Hundreds of tired and discouraged +wives of country landlords sit down in their houses, at last emptied, and +vow a vow that never again will they take "city folks to board." But the +great law of supply and demand is too strong for them. The city must come +out of itself for a few weeks, and get oxygen for its lungs, sunlight for +its eyes, and rest for its overworked brain. The country must open its +arms, whether it will or not, and share its blessings. And so the summers +and the summerings go on, and there are always to be heard in the land the +voices of murmuring boarders, and of landlords deprecating, vindicating. +We confess that our sympathies are with the landlords. The average country +landlord is an honest, well-meaning man, whose idea of the profit to be +made "off boarders" is so moderate and simple that the keepers of city +boarding-houses would laugh it and him to scorn. If this were not so, +would he be found undertaking to lodge and feed people for one dollar or a +dollar and a half a day? Neither does he dream of asking them, even at +this low price, to fare as he fares. The "Excelsior" mattresses, at which +they cry out in disgust, are beds of down in comparison with the straw +"tick" on which he and his wife sleep soundly and contentedly. He has paid +$4.50 for each mattress, as a special concession to what he understands +city prejudice to require. The cheap painted chamber-sets are holiday +adorning by the side of the cherry and pine in the bedrooms of his family. +He buys fresh meat every day for dinner; and nobody can understand the +importance of this fact who is not familiar with the habit of salt-pork +and codfish in our rural districts. That the meat is tough, pale, stringy +is not his fault; no other is to be bought. Stetson, himself, if he dealt +with this country butcher, could do no better. Vegetables? Yes, he has +planted them. If we look out of our windows, we can see them on their +winding way. They will be ripe by and by. He never tasted peas in his life +before the Fourth of July, or cucumbers before the middle of August. He +hears that there are such things; but he thinks they must be "dreadful +unhealthy, them things forced out of season,"--and, whether healthy or +not, he can't get them. We couldn't ourselves, if we were keeping house in +the same township. To be sure, we might send to the cities for them, and +be served with such as were wilted to begin with, and would arrive utterly +unfit to be eaten at end of their day's journey, costing double their +market price in the added express charge. We should not do any such thing. +We should do just as he does, make the best of "plum sauce," or even dried +apples. We should not make our sauce with molasses, probably; but he does +not know that sugar is better; he honestly likes molasses best. As for +saleratus in the bread, as for fried meat, and fried doughnuts, and +ubiquitous pickles,--all those things have he, and his fathers before him, +eaten, and, he thinks, thriven on from time immemorial. He will listen +incredulously to all we say about the effects of alkalies, the change of +fats to injurious oils by frying, the indigestibility of pickles, &c.; +for, after all, the unanswerable fact remains on his side, though he may +be too polite or too slow to make use of it in the argument, that, having +fed on these poisons all his life, he can easily thrash us to-day, and his +wife and daughters can and do work from morning till night, while ours +must lie down and rest by noon. In spite of all this, he will do what he +can to humor our whims. Never yet have we seen the country boarding-house +where kindly and persistent remonstrance would not introduce the gridiron +and banish the frying-pan, and obtain at least an attempt at yeast-bread. +Good, patient, long-suffering country people! The only wonder to us is +that they tolerate so pleasantly, make such effort to gratify, the +preferences and prejudices of city men and women, who come and who remain +strangers among them; and who, in so many instances, behave from first to +last as if they were of a different race, and knew nothing of any common +bonds of humanity and Christianity.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-39"> +<h2>The Good Staff of Pleasure.</h2> + +<p>In an inn in Berchtesgaden, Bavaria, where I dined every day for three +weeks, one summer, I made the acquaintance of a little maid called +Gretchen. She stood all day long washing dishes, in a dark passageway +which communicated in some mysterious fashion with cellar, kitchen, +dining-room, and main hall of the inn. From one or other of these quarters +Gretchen was sharply called so often that it was a puzzle to know how she +contrived to wash so much as a cup or a plate in the course of the day. +Poor child! I am afraid she did most of her work after dark; for I +sometimes left her standing there at ten o'clock at night. She was +blanched and shrunken from fatigue and lack of sunlight. I doubt if ever, +unless perhaps on some exceptional Sunday, she knew the sensation of a +full breath of pure air or a warm sunbeam on her face.</p> + +<p>But whenever I passed her she smiled, and there was never-failing +good-cheer in her voice when she said "Good-morning." Her uniform +atmosphere of contentedness so impressed and surprised me that, at last, I +said to Franz, the head waiter,--</p> + +<p>"What makes Gretchen so happy? She has a hard life, always standing in +that narrow dark place, washing dishes."</p> + +<p>Franz was phlegmatic, and spoke very little English. He shrugged his +shoulders, in sign of assent that Gretchen's life was a hard one, and +added,--</p> + +<p>"Ja, ja. She likes because all must come at her door. There will be no one +which will say not nothing if they go by."</p> + +<p>That was it. Almost every hour some human voice said pleasantly to her, +"Good-morning, Gretchen," or "It is a fine day;" or, if no word were +spoken, there would be a friendly nod and smile. For nowhere in +kind-hearted, simple Germany do human beings pass by other human beings, +as we do in America, without so much as a turn of the head to show +recognition of humanity in common.</p> + +<p>This one little pleasure kept Gretchen not only alive, but comparatively +glad. Her body suffered for want of sun and air. There was no helping +that, by any amount of spiritual compensation, so long as she must stand, +year in and year out, in a close, dark corner, and do hard drudgery. But, +if she had stood in that close, dark corner, doing that hard drudgery, and +had had no pleasure to comfort her, she would have been dead in three +months.</p> + +<p>If all men and women could realize the power, the might of even a small +pleasure, how much happier the world would be! and how much longer bodies +and souls both would bear up under living! Sensitive people realize it to +the very core of their being. They know that often and often it happens +to them to be revived, kindled, strengthened, to a degree which they could +not describe, and which they hardly comprehend, by some little +thing,--some word of praise, some token of remembrance, some proof of +affection or recognition. They know, too, that strength goes out of them, +just as inexplicably, just as fatally, when for a space, perhaps even a +short space, all these are wanting.</p> + +<p>People who are not sensitive also come to find this out, if they are +tender. They are by no means inseparable,--tenderness and sensitiveness; +if they were, human nature would be both more comfortable and more +agreeable. But tender people alone can be just to sensitive ones; living +in close relations with them, they learn what they need, and, so far as +they can, supply it, even when they wonder a little, and perhaps grow a +little weary.</p> + +<p>We see a tender and just mother sometimes sighing because one +over-sensitive child must be so much more gently restrained or admonished +than the rest. But she has her reward for every effort to adjust her +methods to the instrument she does not quite understand. If she doubts +this, she has only to look on the right hand and the left, and see the +effect of careless, brutal dealing with finely strung, sensitive natures.</p> + +<p>We see, also, many men,--good, generous, kindly, but not +sensitive-souled,--who have learned that the sunshine of their homes all +depends on little things, which it would never have entered into their +busy and composed hearts to think of doing, or saying, or providing, if +they had not discovered that without them their wives droop, and with them +they keep well.</p> + +<p>People who are neither tender nor sensitive can neither comprehend nor +meet these needs. Alas! that there are so many such people; or that, if +there must be just so many, as I suppose there must, they are not +distinguishable at first sight, by some mark of color, or shape, or sound, +so that one might avoid them, or at least know what to expect in entering +into relation with them. Woe be to any sensitive soul whose life must, in +spite of itself, take tone and tint from daily and intimate intercourse +with such! No bravery, no philosophy, no patience can save it from a slow +death. But, while the subtlest and most stimulating pleasures which the +soul knows come to it through its affections, and are, therefore, so to +speak, at every man's mercy, there is still left a world of possibility of +enjoyment, to which we can help ourselves, and which no man can hinder.</p> + +<p>And just here it is, I think, that many persons, especially those who are +hard-worked, and those who have some special trouble to bear, make great +mistake. They might, perhaps, say at hasty first sight that it would be +selfish to aim at providing themselves with pleasures. Not at all. Not one +whit more than it is for them to buy a bottle of Ayer's Sarsaparilla (if +they do not know better) to "cleanse their blood" in the spring! Probably +a dollar's worth of almost any thing out of any other shop than a +druggist's would "cleanse their blood" better,--a geranium, for instance, +or a photograph, or a concert, or a book, or even fried oysters,--any +thing, no matter what, so it is innocent, which gives them a little +pleasure, breaks in on the monotony of their work or their trouble, and +makes them have for one half-hour a "good time." Those who have near and +dear ones to remember these things for them need no such words as I am +writing here. Heaven forgive them if, being thus blessed, they do not +thank God daily and take courage.</p> + +<p>But lonely people, and people whose kin are not kind or wise in these +things, must learn to minister even in such ways to themselves. It is not +selfish. It is not foolish. It is wise. It is generous. Each contented +look on a human face is reflected in every other human face which sees it; +each growth in a human soul is a blessing to every other human soul which +comes in contact with it.</p> + +<p>Here will come in, for many people, the bitter restrictions of poverty. +There are so many men and women to whom it would seem simply a taunt to +advise them to spend, now and then, a dollar for a pleasure. That the poor +must go cold and hungry has never seemed to me the hardest feature in +their lot; there are worse deprivations than that of food or raiment, and +this very thing is one of them. This is a point for charitable people to +remember, even more than they do.</p> + +<p>We appreciate this when we give some plum-pudding and turkey at Christmas, +instead of all coal and flannel. But, any day in the year, a picture on +the wall might perhaps be as comforting as a blanket on the bed; and, at +any rate, would be good for twelve months, while the blanket would help +but six. I have seen an Irish mother, in a mud hovel, turn red with +delight at a rattle for her baby, when I am quite sure she would have been +indifferently grateful for a pair of socks.</p> + +<p>Food and physicians and money are and always will be on the earth. But a +"merry heart" is a "continual feast," and "doeth good like-a medicine;" +and "loving favor" is "chosen," "rather than gold and silver."</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch-40"> +<h2>Wanted.--A Home.</h2> + +<p>Nothing can be meaner than that "Misery should love company." But the +proverb is founded on an original principle in human nature, which it is +no use to deny and hard work to conquer. I have been uneasily conscious of +this sneaking sin in my own soul, as I have read article after article in +the English newspapers and magazines on the "decadence of the home spirit +in English family life, as seen in the large towns and the metropolis." It +seems that the English are as badly off as we. There, also, men are +wide-awake and gay at clubs and races, and sleepy and morose in their own +houses; "sons lead lives independent of their fathers and apart from their +sisters and mothers;" "girls run about as they please, without care or +guidance." This state of things is "a spreading social evil," and men are +at their wit's end to know what is to be done about it. They are +ransacking "national character and customs, religion, and the particular +tendency of the present literary and scientific thought, and the teaching +and preaching of the public press," to find out the root of the trouble. +One writer ascribes it to the "exceeding restlessness and the desire to be +doing something which are predominant and indomitable in the Anglo-Saxon +race;" another to the passion which almost all families have for seeming +richer and more fashionable than their means will allow. In these, and in +most of their other theories, they are only working round and round, as +doctors so often do, in the dreary circle of symptomatic results, without +so much as touching or perhaps suspecting their real centre. How many +people are blistered for spinal disease, or blanketed for rheumatism, when +the real trouble is a little fiery spot of inflammation in the lining of +the stomach! and all these difficulties in the outworks are merely the +creaking of the machinery, because the central engine does not work +properly. Blisters and blankets may go on for seventy years coddling the +poor victim; but he will stay ill to the last if his stomach be not set +right.</p> + +<p>There is a close likeness between the doctor's high-sounding list of +remote symptoms, which he is treating as primary diseases, and the hue and +outcry about the decadence of the home spirit, the prevalence of excessive +and improper amusements, club-houses, billiard-rooms, theatres, and so +forth, which are "the banes of homes."</p> + +<p>The trouble is in the homes. Homes are stupid, homes are dreary, homes are +insufferable. If one can be pardoned for the Irishism of such a saying, +homes are their own worst "banes." If homes were what they should be, +nothing under heaven could be invented which could be bane to them, which +would do more than serve as useful foil to set off their better cheer, +their pleasanter ways, their wholesomer joys.</p> + +<p>Whose fault is it that they are not so? Fault is a heavy word. It +includes generations in its pitiless entail. Sufficient for the day is the +evil thereof is but one side of the truth. No day is sufficient unto the +evil thereof is the other. Each day has to bear burdens passed down from +so many other days; each person has to bear burdens so complicated, so +interwoven with the burdens of others; each person's fault is so fevered +and swollen by faults of others, that there is no disentangling the +question of responsibility. Every thing is everybody's fault is the +simplest and fairest way of putting it. It is everybody's fault that the +average home is stupid, dreary, insufferable,--a place from which fathers +fly to clubs, boys and girls to streets. But when we ask who can do most +to remedy this,--in whose hands it most lies to fight the fight against +the tendencies to monotony, stupidity, and instability which are inherent +in human nature,--then the answer is clear and loud. It is the work of +women; this is the true mission of women, their "right" divine and +unquestionable, and including most emphatically the "right to labor."</p> + +<p>To create and sustain the atmosphere of a home,--it is easily said in a +very few words; but how many women have done it? How many women can say to +themselves or others that this is their aim? To keep house well women +often say they desire. But keeping house well is another affair,--I had +almost said it has nothing to do with creating a home. That is not true, +of course; comfortable living, as regards food and fire and clothes, can +do much to help on a home. Nevertheless, with one exception, the best +homes I have ever seen were in houses which were not especially well kept; +and the very worst I have ever known were presided (I mean tyrannized) +over by "perfect housekeepers."</p> + +<p>All creators are single-aimed. Never will the painter, sculptor, writer +lose sight of his art. Even in the intervals of rest and diversion which +are necessary to his health and growth, every thing he sees ministers to +his passion. Consciously or unconsciously, he makes each shape, color, +incident his own; sooner or later it will enter into his work.</p> + +<p>So it must be with the woman who will create a home. There is an evil +fashion of speech which says it is a narrowing and narrow life that a +woman leads who cares only, works only for her husband and children; that +a higher, more imperative thing is that she herself be developed to her +utmost. Even so clear and strong a writer as Frances Cobbe, in her +otherwise admirable essay on the "Final Cause of Woman," falls into this +shallowness of words, and speaks of women who live solely for their +families as "adjectives."</p> + +<p>In the family relation so many women are nothing more, so many women +become even less, that human conception may perhaps be forgiven for losing +sight of the truth, the ideal. Yet in women it is hard to forgive it. +Thinking clearly, she should see that a creator can never be an adjective; +and that a woman who creates and sustains a home, and under whose hands +children grow up to be strong and pure men and women, is a creator, second +only to God.</p> + +<p>Before she can do this, she must have development; in and by the doing of +this comes constant development; the higher her development, the more +perfect her work; the instant her own development is arrested, her +creative power stops. All science, all art, all religion, all experience +of life, all knowledge of men--will help her; the stars in their courses +can be won to fight for her. Could she attain the utmost of knowledge, +could she have all possible human genius, it would be none too much. +Reverence holds its breath and goes softly, perceiving what it is in this +woman's power to do; with what divine patience, steadfastness, and +inspiration she must work.</p> + +<p>Into the home she will create, monotony, stupidity, antagonisms cannot +come. Her foresight will provide occupations and amusements; her loving +and alert diplomacy will fend off disputes. Unconsciously, every member of +her family will be as clay in her hands. More anxiously than any statesman +will she meditate on the wisdom of each measure, the bearing of each word. +The least possible governing which is compatible with order will be her +first principle; her second, the greatest possible influence which is +compatible with the growth of individuality. Will the woman whose brain +and heart are working these problems, as applied to a household, be an +adjective? be idle?</p> + +<p>She will be no more an adjective than the sun is an adjective in the +solar system; no more idle than Nature is idle. She will be perplexed; she +will be weary; she will be disheartened, sometimes. All creators, save +One, have known these pains and grown strong by them. But she will never +withdraw her hand for one instant. Delays and failures will only set her +to casting about for new instrumentalities. She will press all things into +her service. She will master sciences, that her boys' evenings need not be +dull. She will be worldly wise, and render to Caesar his dues, that her +husband and daughters may have her by their side in all their pleasures. +She will invent, she will surprise, she will forestall, she will remember, +she will laugh, she will listen, she will be young, she will be old, and +she will be three times loving, loving, loving.</p> + +<p>This is too hard? There is the house to be kept? And there are poverty and +sickness, and there is not time?</p> + +<p>Yes, it is hard. And there is the house to be kept; and there are poverty +and sickness; but, God be praised, there is time. A minute is time. In one +minute may live the essence of all. I have seen a beggar-woman make half +an hour of home on a doorstep, with a basket of broken meat! And the most +perfect home I ever saw was in a little house into the sweet incense of +whose fires went no costly things. A thousand dollars served for a year's +living of father, mother, and three children. But the mother was a creator +of a home; her relation with her children was the most beautiful I have +ever seen; even a dull and commonplace man was lifted up and enabled to +do good work for souls, by the atmosphere which this woman created; every +inmate of her house involuntarily looked into her face for the key-note of +the day; and it always rang clear. From the rose-bud or clover-leaf which, +in spite of her hard housework, she always found time to put by our plates +at breakfast, down to the essay or story she had on hand to be read or +discussed in the evening, there was no intermission of her influence. She +has always been and always will be my ideal of a mother, wife, home-maker. +If to her quick brain, loving heart, and exquisite tact had been added the +appliances of wealth and the enlargements of a wider culture, hers would +have been absolutely the ideal home. As it was, it was the best I have +ever seen. It is more than twenty years since I crossed its threshold. I +do not know whether she is living or not. But, as I see house after house +in which fathers and mothers and children are dragging out their lives in +a hap-hazard alternation of listless routine and unpleasant collision, I +always think with a sigh of that poor little cottage by the seashore, and +of the woman who was "the light thereof;" and I find in the faces of many +men and children, as plainly written and as sad to see as in the newspaper +columns of "Personals," "Wanted,--a home."</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Bits About Home Matters, by Helen Hunt Jackson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BITS ABOUT HOME MATTERS *** + +***** This file should be named 10516-h.htm or 10516-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/1/10516/ + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bits About Home Matters + +Author: Helen Hunt Jackson + +Release Date: December 23, 2003 [EBook #10516] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BITS ABOUT HOME MATTERS *** + + + + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +BITS ABOUT HOME MATTERS. + +By H. H., + +Author of "Verses" and "Bits of Travel." + + +1873 + + + +Contents. + + + +The Inhumanities of Parents--Corporal Punishment +The Inhumanities of Parents--Needless Denials +The Inhumanities of Parents--Rudeness +Breaking the Will +The Reign of Archelaus +The Awkward Age +A Day with a Courteous Mother +Children in Nova Scotia +The Republic of the Family +The Ready-to-Halts +The Descendants of Nabal +"Boys not allowed" +Half an Hour in a Railway Station +A Genius for Affection +Rainy Days +Friends of the Prisoners +A Companion for the Winter +Choice of Colors +The Apostle of Beauty +English Lodging-Houses +Wet the Clay +The King's Friend +Learning to speak +Private Tyrants +Margin +The Fine Art of Smiling +Death-bed Repentance +The Correlation of Moral Forces +A Simple Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner +Children's Parties +After-supper Talk +Hysteria in Literature +Jog Trot +The Joyless American +Spiritual Teething +Glass Houses +The Old-Clothes Monger in Journalism +The Country Landlord's Side +The Good Staff of Pleasure +Wanted--a Home + + + + +Bits of Talk. + + + +The Inhumanities of Parents--Corporal Punishment. + + +Not long ago a Presbyterian minister in Western New York whipped his +three-year-old boy to death, for refusing to say his prayers. The little +fingers were broken; the tender flesh was bruised and actually mangled; +strong men wept when they looked on the body; and the reverend murderer, +after having been set free on bail, was glad to return and take refuge +within the walls of his prison, to escape summary punishment at the hands +of an outraged community. At the bare mention of such cruelty, every heart +grew sick and faint; men and women were dumb with horror: only tears and a +hot demand for instant retaliation availed. + +The question whether, after all, that baby martyr were not fortunate among +his fellows, would, no doubt, be met by resentful astonishment. But it is +a question which may well be asked, may well be pondered. Heart-rending as +it is to think for an instant of the agonies which the poor child must +have borne for some hours after his infant brain was too bewildered by +terror and pain to understand what was required of him, it still cannot +fail to occur to deeper reflection that the torture was short and small in +comparison with what the next ten years might have held for him if he had +lived. To earn entrance on the spiritual life by the briefest possible +experience of the physical, is always "greater gain;" but how emphatically +is it so when the conditions of life upon earth are sure to be +unfavorable! + +If it were possible in any way to get a statistical summing-up and a +tangible presentation of the amount of physical pain inflicted by parents +on children under twelve years of age, the most callous-hearted would be +surprised and shocked. If it were possible to add to this estimate an +accurate and scientific demonstration of the extent to which such pain, by +weakening the nervous system and exhausting its capacity to resist +disease, diminishes children's chances for life, the world would stand +aghast. + +Too little has been said upon this point. The opponents of corporal +punishment usually approach the subject either from the sentimental or the +moral standpoint. The argument on either of these grounds can be made +strong enough, one would suppose, to paralyze every hand lifted to strike +a child. But the question of the direct and lasting physical effect of +blows--even of one blow on the delicate tissues of a child's body, on the +frail and trembling nerves, on the sensitive organization which is trying, +under a thousand unfavoring conditions, to adjust itself to the hard work +of both living and growing--has yet to be properly considered. + +Every one knows the sudden sense of insupportable pain, sometimes +producing even dizziness and nausea, which follows the accidental hitting +of the ankle or elbow against a hard substance. It does not need that the +blow be very hard to bring involuntary tears to adult eyes. But what is +such a pain as this, in comparison with the pain of a dozen or more quick +tingling blows from a heavy hand on flesh which is, which must be as much +more sensitive than ours, as are the souls which dwell in it purer than +ours. Add to this physical pain the overwhelming terror which only utter +helplessness can feel, and which is the most recognizable quality in the +cry of a very young child under whipping; add the instinctive sense of +disgrace, of outrage, which often keeps the older child stubborn and still +through-out,--and you have an amount and an intensity of suffering from +which even tried nerves might shrink. Again, who does not know--at least, +what woman does not know--that violent weeping, for even a very short +time, is quite enough to cause a feeling of languor and depression, of +nervous exhaustion for a whole day? Yet it does not seem to occur to +mothers that little children must feel this, in proportion to the length +of time and violence of their crying, far more than grown people. Who has +not often seen a poor child receive, within an hour or two of the first +whipping, a second one, for some small ebullition of nervous +irritability, which was simply inevitable from its spent and worn +condition? + +It is safe to say that in families where whipping is regularly recognized +as a punishment, few children under ten years of age, and of average +behavior, have less than one whipping a week. Sometimes they have more, +sometimes the whipping is very severe. Thus you have in one short year +sixty or seventy occasions on which for a greater or less time, say from +one to three hours, the child's nervous system is subjected to a +tremendous strain from the effect of terror and physical pain combined +with long crying. Will any physician tell us that this fact is not an +element in that child's physical condition at the end of that year? Will +any physician dare to say that there may not be, in that child's life, +crises when the issues of life and death will be so equally balanced that +the tenth part of the nervous force lost in such fits of crying, and in +the endurance of such pain, could turn the scale? + +Nature's retributions, like her rewards, are cumulative. Because her +sentences against evil works are not executed speedily, therefore the +hearts of the sons of men are fully set in them to do evil. But the +sentence always is executed, sooner or later, and that inexorably. Your +son, O unthinking mother! may fall by the way in the full prime of his +manhood, for lack of that strength which his infancy spent in enduring +your hasty and severe punishments. + +It is easy to say,--and universally is said,--by people who cling to the +old and fight against the new, "All this outcry about corporal punishment +is sentimental nonsense. The world is full of men and women, who have +grown up strong and good, in spite of whippings; and as for me, I know I +never had any more whipping than I deserved, or than was good for me." + +Are you then so strong and clear and pure in your physical and spiritual +nature and life, that you are sure no different training could have made +either your body or your soul better? Are these men and women, of whom the +world is full, so able-bodied, whole-souled, strong-minded, that you think +it needless to look about for any method of making the next generation +better? Above all, do you believe that it is a part of the legitimate +outworking of God's plan and intent in creating human beings to have more +than one-half of them die in childhood? If we are not to believe that this +fearful mortality is a part of God's plan, is it wise to refuse to +consider all possibilities, even those seemingly most remote, of +diminishing it? + +No argument is so hard to meet (simply because it is not an argument) as +the assumption of the good and propriety of "the thing that hath been." It +is one of the devil's best sophistries, by which he keeps good people +undisturbed in doing the things he likes. It has been in all ages the +bulwark behind which evils have made stand, and have slain their +thousands. It is the last enemy which shall be destroyed. It is the only +real support of the cruel evil of corporal punishment. + +Suppose that such punishment of children had been unheard of till now. +Suppose that the idea had yesterday been suggested for the first time that +by inflicting physical pain on a child's body you might make him recollect +certain truths; and suppose that instead of whipping, a very moderate and +harmless degree of pricking with pins or cutting with knives or burning +with fire had been suggested. Would not fathers and mothers have cried out +all over the land at the inhumanity of the idea? + +Would they not still cry out at the inhumanity of one who, as things are +to-day, should propose the substitution of pricking or cutting or burning +for whipping? But I think it would not be easy to show in what wise small +pricks or cuts are more inhuman than blows; or why lying may not be as +legitimately cured by blisters made with a hot coal as by black and blue +spots made with a ruler. The principle is the same; and if the principle +be right, why not multiply methods? + +It seems as if this one suggestion, candidly considered, might be enough +to open all parents' eyes to the enormity of whipping. How many a loving +mother will, without any thought of cruelty, inflict half-a-dozen quick +blows on the little hand of her child, when she could no more take a pin +and make the same number of thrusts into the tender flesh, than she could +bind the baby on a rack. Yet the pin-thrusts would hurt far less, and +would probably make a deeper impression on the child's mind. + +Among the more ignorant classes, the frequency and severity of corporal +punishment of children, are appalling. The facts only need to be held up +closely and persistently before the community to be recognized as horrors +of cruelty far greater than some which have been made subjects of +legislation. + +It was my misfortune once to be forced to spend several of the hottest +weeks of a hot summer in New York. In near neighborhood to my rooms were +blocks of buildings which had shops on the first floor and tenements +above. In these lived the families of small tradesmen, and mechanics of +the better sort. During those scorching nights every window was thrown +open, and all sounds were borne with distinctness through the hot still +air. Chief among them were the shrieks and cries of little children, and +blows and angry words from tired, overworked mothers. At times it became +almost unbearable: it was hard to refrain from an attempt at rescue. Ten, +twelve, twenty quick, hard blows, whose sound rang out plainly, I counted +again and again; mingling with them came the convulsive screams of the +poor children, and that most piteous thing of all, the reiteration of "Oh, +mamma! oh, mamma!" as if, through all, the helpless little creatures had +an instinct that this word ought to be in itself the strongest appeal. +These families were all of the better class of work people, comfortable +and respectable. What sounds were to be heard in the more wretched haunts +of the city, during those nights, the heart struggled away from fancying. +But the shrieks of those children will never wholly die out of the air. I +hear them to-day; and mingling with them, the question rings perpetually +in my ears, "Why does not the law protect children, before the point at +which life is endangered?" + +A cartman may be arrested in the streets for the brutal beating of a horse +which is his own, and which he has the right to kill if he so choose. +Should not a man be equally withheld from the brutal beating of a child +who is not his own, but God's, and whom to kill is murder? + + + + +The Inhumanities of Parents--Needless Denials. + + + +Webster's Dictionary, which cannot be accused of any leaning toward +sentimentalism, defines "inhumanity" as "cruelty in action;" and "cruelty" +as "an act of a human being which inflicts unnecessary pain." The word +inhumanity has an ugly sound, and many inhuman people are utterly and +honestly unconscious of their own inhumanities; it is necessary therefore +to entrench one's self behind some such bulwark as the above definitions +afford, before venturing the accusation that fathers and mothers are +habitually guilty of inhuman conduct in inflicting "unnecessary pain" on +their children, by needless denials of their innocent wishes and impulses. + +Most men and a great many women would be astonished at being told that +simple humanity requires them to gratify every wish, even the smallest, of +their children, when the pain of having that wish denied is not made +necessary, either for the child's own welfare, physical or mental, or by +circumstances beyond the parent's control. The word "necessary" is a very +authoritative one; conscience, if left free, soon narrows down its +boundaries; inconvenience, hindrance, deprivation, self-denial, one or +all, or even a great deal of all, to ourselves, cannot give us a shadow of +right to say that the pain of the child's disappointment is "necessary." +Selfishness grasps at help from the hackneyed sayings, that it is "best +for children to bear the yoke in their youth;" "the sooner they learn that +they cannot have their own way the better;" "it is a good discipline for +them to practise self-denial," &c. But the yoke that they _must_ bear, in +spite of our lightening it all we can, is heavy enough; the instances in +which it is, for good and sufficient reasons, impossible for them to have +their own way are quite numerous enough to insure their learning the +lesson very early; and as for the discipline of self-denial,--God bless +their dear, patient souls!--if men and women brought to bear on the +thwartings and vexations of their daily lives, and their relations with +each other, one hundredth part of the sweet acquiescence and brave +endurance which average children show, under the average management of +average parents, this world would be a much pleasanter place to live in +than it is. + +Let any conscientious and tender mother, who perhaps reads these words +with tears half of resentment, half of grief in her eyes, keep for three +days an exact record of the little requests which she refuses, from the +baby of five, who begged to stand on a chair and look out of the window, +and was hastily told, "No, it would, hurt the chair," when one minute +would have been enough time to lay a folded newspaper over the +upholstery, and another minute enough to explain to him, with a kiss and +a hug, "that that was to save his spoiling mamma's nice chair with his +boots;" and the two minutes together would probably have made sure that +another time the dear little fellow would look out for a paper himself, +when he wished to climb up to the window,--from this baby up to the pretty +girl of twelve, who, with as distinct a perception of the becoming as her +mother had before her, went to school unhappy because she was compelled to +wear the blue necktie instead of the scarlet one, and surely for no +especial reason! At the end of the three days, an honest examination of +the record would show that full half of these small denials, all of which +had involved pain, and some of which had brought contest and punishment, +had been needless, had been hastily made, and made usually on account of +the slight interruption or inconvenience which would result from yielding +to the request. I am very much mistaken if the honest keeping and honest +study of such a three days' record would not wholly change the atmosphere +in many a house to what it ought to be, and bring almost constant sunshine +and bliss where now, too often, are storm and misery. + +With some parents, although they are neither harsh nor hard in manner, nor +yet unloving in nature, the habitual first impulse seems to be to refuse: +they appear to have a singular obtuseness to the fact that it is, or can +be, of any consequence to a child whether it does or does not do the thing +it desires. Often the refusal is withdrawn on the first symptom of grief +or disappointment on the child's part; a thing which is fatal to all real +control of a child, and almost as unkind as the first unnecessary +denial,--perhaps even more so, as it involves double and treble pains, in +future instances, where there cannot and must not be any giving way to +entreaties. It is doubtless this lack of perception,--akin, one would +think, to color-blindness,--which is at the bottom of this great and +common inhumanity among kind and intelligent fathers and mothers: an +inhumanity so common that it may almost be said to be universal; so common +that, while we are obliged to look on and see our dearest friends guilty +of it, we find it next to impossible to make them understand what we mean +when we make outcry over some of its glaring instances. + +You, my dearest of friends,--or, rather, you who would be, but for this +one point of hopeless contention between us,--do you remember a certain +warm morning, last August, of which I told you then you had not heard the +last? Here it is again: perhaps in print I can make it look blacker to you +than I could then; part of it I saw, part of it you unwillingly confessed +to me, and part of it little Blue Eyes told me herself. + +It was one of those ineffable mornings, when a thrill of delight and +expectancy fills the air; one felt that every appointment of the day must +be unlike those of other days,--must be festive, must help on the "white +day" for which all things looked ready. I remember how like the morning +itself you looked as you stood in the doorway, in a fresh white muslin +dress, with lavender ribbons. I said, "Oh, extravagance! For breakfast!" + +"I know," you said; "but the day was so enchanting, I could not make up my +mind to wear any thing that had been worn before." Here an uproar from the +nursery broke out, and we both ran to the spot. There stood little Blue +Eyes, in a storm of temper, with one small foot on a crumpled mass of pink +cambric on the floor; and nurse, who was also very red and angry, +explained that Miss would not have on her pink frock because it was not +quite clean. "It is all dirty, mamma, and I don't want to put it on! +You've got on a nice white dress: why can't I?" + +You are in the main a kind mother, and you do not like to give little Blue +Eyes pain; so you knelt down beside her, and told her that she must be a +good girl, and have on the gown Mary had said, but that she should have on +a pretty white apron, which would hide the spots. And Blue Eyes, being +only six years old, and of a loving, generous nature, dried her tears, +accepted the very questionable expedient, tried to forget the spots, and +in a few moments came out on the piazza, chirping like a little bird. By +this time the rare quality of the morning had stolen like wine into our +brains, and you exclaimed, "We will have breakfast out here, under the +vines! How George will like it!" And in another instant you were flitting +back and forth, helping the rather ungracious Bridget move out the +breakfast-table, with its tempting array. + +"Oh, mamma, mamma," cried Blue Eyes, "can't I have my little tea-set on a +little table beside your big table? Oh, let me, let me!" and she fairly +quivered with excitement. You hesitated. How I watched you! But it was a +little late. Bridget was already rather cross; the tea-set was packed in a +box, and up on a high shelf. + +"No, dear. There is not time, and we must not make Bridget any more +trouble; but"--seeing the tears coming again--"you shall have some real +tea in papa's big gilt cup, and another time you shall have your tea-set +when we have breakfast out here again." As I said before, you are a kind +mother, and you made the denial as easy to be borne as you could, and Blue +Eyes was again pacified, not satisfied, only bravely making the best of +it. And so we had our breakfast; a breakfast to be remembered, too. But as +for the "other time" which you had promised to Blue Eyes; how well I knew +that not many times a year did such mornings and breakfasts come, and that +it was well she would forget all about it! After breakfast,--you remember +how we lingered,--George suddenly started up, saying, "How hard it is to +go to town! I say, girls, walk down to the station with me, both of you." + +"And me too, me too, papa!" said Blue Eyes. You did not hear her; but I +did, and she had flown for her hat. At the door we found her, saying +again, "Me too, mamma!" Then you remembered her boots: "Oh, my darling," +you said, kissing her, for you are a kind mother, "you cannot go in those +nice boots: the dew will spoil them; and it is not worth while to change +them, we shall be back in a few minutes." + +A storm of tears would have burst out in an instant at this the third +disappointment, if I had not sat down on the door-step, and, taking her in +my lap, whispered that auntie was going to stay too. + +"Oh, put the child down, and come along," called the great, strong, +uncomprehending man--Blue Eyes' dear papa. "Pussy won't mind. Be a good +girl, pussy; I'll bring you a red balloon to-night." + +You are both very kind, you and George, and you both love little Blue Eyes +dearly. + +"No, I won't come. I believe my boots are too thin," said I; and for the +equivocation there was in my reply I am sure of being forgiven. You both +turned back twice to look at the child, and kissed your hands to her; and +I wondered if you did not see in her face, what I did, real grief and +patient endurance. Even "The King of the Golden River" did not rouse her: +she did not want a story; she did not want me; she did not want a red +balloon at night; she wanted to walk between you, to the station, with her +little hands in yours! God grant the day may not come when you will be +heart-broken because you can never lead her any more! + +She asked me some questions, while you were gone, which you remember I +repeated to you. She asked me if I did not hate nice new shoes; and why +little girls could not put on the dresses they liked best; and if mamma +did not look beautiful in that pretty white dress; and said that, if she +could only have had her own tea-set, at breakfast, she would have let me +have my coffee in one of her cups. Gradually she grew happier, and began +to tell me about her great wax-doll, which had eyes that could shut; which +was kept in a trunk because she was too little, mamma said, to play very +much with it now; but she guessed mamma would let her have it to-day; did +I not think so? Alas! I did, and I said so; in fact, I felt sure that it +was the very thing you would be certain to do, to sweeten the day, which +had begun so sadly for poor little Blue Eyes. + +It seemed very long to her before you came back, and she was on the point +of asking for her dolly as soon as you appeared; but I whispered to her to +wait till you were rested. After a few minutes I took her up to your +room,--that lovely room with the bay window to the east; there you sat, in +your white dress, surrounded with gay worsteds, all looking like a +carnival of humming-birds. "Oh, how beautiful!" I exclaimed, in +involuntary admiration; "what are you doing?" You said that you were going +to make an affghan, and that the morning was so enchanting you could not +bear the thought of touching your mending, but were going to luxuriate in +the worsteds. Some time passed in sorting the colors, and deciding on the +contrasts, and I forgot all about the doll. Not so little Blue Eyes. I +remembered afterward how patiently she stood still, waiting and waiting +for a gap between our words, that she need not break the law against +interrupting, with her eager-- + +"Please, mamma, let me have my wax dolly to play with this morning! I'll +sit right here on the floor, by you and auntie, and not hurt her one bit. +Oh, please do, mamma!" + +You mean always to be a very kind mother, and you spoke as gently and +lovingly as it is possible to speak when you replied:-- + +"Oh, Pussy, mamma is too busy to get it; she can't get up now. You can +play with your blocks, and with your other dollies, just as well; that's a +good little girl." + +Probably, if Blue Eyes had gone on imploring, you would have laid your +worsteds down, and given her the dolly; for you love her dearly, and never +mean to make her unhappy. But neither you nor I were prepared for what +followed. + +"You're a naughty, ugly, hateful mamma! You never let me do _any_ thing, +and I wish you were dead!" with such a burst of screaming and tears that +we were both frightened. You looked, as well you might, heart-broken at +such words from your only child. You took her away; and when you came +back, you cried, and said you had whipped her severely, and you did not +know what you should do with a child of such a frightful temper. + +"Such an outburst as that, just because I told her, in the gentlest way +possible, that she could not have a plaything! It is terrible!" + +Then I said some words to you, which you thought were unjust. I asked you +in what condition your own nerves would have been by ten o'clock that +morning if your husband (who had, in one view, a much better right to +thwart your harmless desires than you had to thwart your child's, since +you, in the full understanding of maturity, gave yourself into his hands) +had, instead of admiring your pretty white dress, told you to be more +prudent, and not put it on; had told you it would be nonsense to have +breakfast out on the piazza; and that he could not wait for you to walk to +the station with him. You said that the cases were not at all parallel; +and I replied hotly that that was very true, for those matters would have +been to you only the comparative trifles of one short day, and would have +made you only a little cross and uncomfortable; whereas to little Blue +Eyes they were the all-absorbing desires of the hour, which, to a child in +trouble, always looks as if it could never come to an end, and would never +be followed by any thing better. + +Blue Eyes cried herself to sleep, and slept heavily till late in the +afternoon. When her father came home, you said that she must not have the +red balloon, because she had been such a naughty girl. I have wondered +many times since why she did not cry again, or look grieved when you said +that, and laid the balloon away. After eleven o'clock at night, I went to +look at her, and found her sobbing in her sleep, and tossing about. I +groaned as I thought, "This is only one day, and there are three hundred +and sixty-five in a year!" But I never recall the distorted face of that +poor child, as, in her fearful passion, she told you she wished you were +dead, without also remembering that even the gentle Christ said of him who +should offend one of these little ones, "It were better for him that a +mill-stone were hanged about his neck, and he were drowned in the depths +of the sea!" + + + + +The Inhumanities of Parents--Rudeness. + + +/# + "_Inhumanity_--Cruelty. _Cruelty_--The disposition to give unnecessary + pain."--_Webster's Dict_. +#/ + +I had intended to put third on the list of inhumanities of parents +"needless requisitions;" but my last summer's observations changed my +estimate, and convinced me that children suffer more pain from the +rudeness with which they are treated than from being forced to do needless +things which they dislike. Indeed, a positively and graciously courteous +manner toward children is a thing so rarely seen in average daily life, +the rudenesses which they receive are so innumerable, that it is hard to +tell where to begin in setting forth the evil. Children themselves often +bring their sharp and unexpected logic to bear on some incident +illustrating the difference in this matter of behavior between what is +required from them and what is shown to them: as did a little boy I knew, +whose father said crossly to him one morning, as he came into the +breakfast-room, "Will you ever learn to shut that door after you?" and a +few seconds later, as the child was rather sulkily sitting down in his +chair, "And do you mean to bid anybody 'good-morning,' or not?" "I don't +think you gave _me_ a very nice 'good-morning,' anyhow," replied satirical +justice, aged seven. Then, of course, he was reproved for speaking +disrespectfully; and so in the space of three minutes the beautiful +opening of the new day, for both parents and children, was jarred and +robbed of its fresh harmony by the father's thoughtless rudeness. + +Was the breakfast-room door much more likely to be shut the next morning? +No. The lesson was pushed aside by the pain, the motive to resolve was +dulled by the antagonism. If that father had called his son, and, putting +his arm round him, (oh! the blessed and magic virtue of putting your arm +round a child's neck!) had said, "Good-morning, my little man;" and then, +in a confidential whisper in his ear, "What shall we do to make this +forgetful little boy remember not to leave that door open, through which +the cold wind blows in on all of us?"--can any words measure the +difference between the first treatment and the second? between the success +of the one and the failure of the other? + +Scores of times in a day, a child is told, in a short, authoritative way, +to do or not to do such little things as we ask at the hands of older +people, as favors, graciously, and with deference to their choice. "Would +you be so very kind as to close that window?" "May I trouble you for that +cricket?" "If you would be as comfortable in this chair as in that, I +would like to change places with you." "Oh, excuse me, but your head is +between me and the light: could you see as well if you moved a little?" +"Would it hinder you too long to stop at the store for me? I would be very +much obliged to you, if you would." "Pray, do not let me crowd you," &c. +In most people's speech to children, we find, as synonyms for these polite +phrases: "Shut that window down, this minute." "Bring me that cricket." "I +want that chair; get up. You can sit in this." "Don't you see that you are +right in my light? Move along." "I want you to leave off playing, and go +right down to the store for me." "Don't crowd so. Can't you see that there +is not room enough for two people here?" and so on. As I write, I feel an +instinctive consciousness that these sentences will come like home-thrusts +to some surprised people. I hope so. That is what I want. I am sure that +in more than half the cases where family life is marred in peace, and +almost stripped of beauty, by just these little rudenesses, the parents +are utterly unconscious of them. The truth is, it has become like an +established custom, this different and less courteous way of speaking to +children on small occasions and minor matters. People who are generally +civil and of fair kindliness do it habitually, not only to their own +children, but to all children. We see it in the cars, in the stages, in +stores, in Sunday schools, everywhere. + +On the other hand, let a child ask for any thing without saying "please," +receive any thing without saying "thank you," sit still in the most +comfortable seat without offering to give it up, or press its own +preference for a particular book, chair, or apple, to the inconveniencing +of an elder, and what an outcry we have: "Such rudeness!" "Such an +ill-mannered child!" "His parents must have neglected him strangely." Not +at all: they have been steadily telling him a great many times every day +not to do these precise things which you dislike. But they themselves have +been all the while doing those very things to him; and there is no proverb +which strikes a truer balance between two things than the old one which +weighs example over against precept. + +However, that it is bad policy to be rude to children is the least of the +things to be said against it. Over this they will triumph, sooner or +later. The average healthy child has a native bias towards gracious good +behavior and kindly affections. He will win and be won in the long run, +and, the chances are, have better manners than his father. But the pain +that we give these blessed little ones when we wound their +tenderness,--for that there is no atoning. Over that they can never +triumph, either now or hereafter. Why do we dare to be so sure that they +are not grieved by ungracious words and tones? that they can get used to +being continually treated as if they were "in the way"? Who has not heard +this said? I have, until I have longed for an Elijah and for fire, that +the grown-up cumberers of the ground, who are the ones really in the way, +might be burned up, to make room for the children. I believe that, if it +were possible to count up in any one month, and show in the aggregate, all +of this class of miseries borne by children, the world would cry out +astonished. I know a little girl, ten years old, of nervous temperament, +whose whole physical condition is disordered, and seriously, by her +mother's habitual atmosphere of rude fault-finding. She is a sickly, +fretful, unhappy, almost unbearable child. If she lives to grow up, she +will be a sickly, fretful, unhappy, unlovely woman. But her mother is just +as much responsible for the whole as if she had deranged her system by +feeding her on poisonous drugs. Yet she is a most conscientious, devoted, +and anxious mother, and, in spite of this manner, a loving one. She does +not know that there is any better way than hers. She does not see that her +child is mortified and harmed when she says to her, in the presence of +strangers, "How do you suppose you _look_ with your mouth open like that?" +"Do you want me to show you how you are sitting?"--and then a grotesque +imitation of her stooping shoulders. "_Will_ you sit still for one +minute?" "_Do_ take your hands off my dress." "Was there ever such an +awkward child?" When the child replies fretfully and disagreeably, she +does not see that it is only an exact reflection of her own voice and +manners. She does not understand any of the things that would make for her +own peace, as well as for the child's. Matters grow worse, instead of +better, as the child grows older and has more will; and the chances are +that the poor little soul will be worried into her grave. + +Probably most parents, even very kindly ones, would be a little startled +at the assertion that a child ought never to be reproved in the presence +of others. This is so constant an occurrence that nobody thinks of +noticing it; nobody thinks of considering whether it be right and best, or +not. But it is a great rudeness to a child. I am entirely sure that it +ought never to be done. Mortification is a condition as unwholesome as it +is uncomfortable. When the wound is inflicted by the hand of a parent, it +is all the more certain to rankle and do harm. Let a child see that his +mother is so anxious that he should have the approbation and good-will of +her friends that she will not call their attention to his faults; and +that, while she never, under any circumstances, allows herself to forget +to tell him afterward, alone, if he has behaved improperly, she will spare +him the additional pain and mortification of public reproof; and, while +that child will lay these secret reproofs to heart, he will still be +happy. + +I know a mother who had the insight to see this, and the patience to make +it a rule; for it takes far more patience, far more time, than the common +method. + +She said sometimes to her little boy, after visitors had left the parlor, +"Now, dear, I am going to be your little girl, and you are to be my papa. +And we will play that a gentleman has just come in to see you, and I will +show you exactly how you have been behaving while this lady has been +calling to see me. And you can see if you do not feel very sorry to have +your little girl behave so." + +Here is a dramatic representation at once which that boy does not need to +see repeated many times before he is forever cured of interrupting, of +pulling his mother's gown, of drumming on the piano, &c.,--of the thousand +and one things which able-bodied children can do to make social visiting +where they are a martyrdom and a penance. + +Once I saw this same little boy behave so boisterously and rudely at the +dinner-table, in the presence of guests, that I said to myself, "Surely, +this time she will have to break her rule, and reprove him publicly." I +saw several telegraphic signals of rebuke, entreaty, and warning flash +from her gentle eyes to his; but nothing did any good. Nature was too much +for him; he could not at that minute force himself to be quiet. Presently +she said, in a perfectly easy and natural tone, "Oh, Charley, come here a +minute; I want to tell you something." No one at the table supposed that +it had any thing to do with his bad behavior. She did not intend that they +should. As she whispered to him, I alone saw his cheek flush, and that he +looked quickly and imploringly into her face; I alone saw that tears were +almost in her eyes. But she shook her head, and he went back to his seat +with a manful but very red little face. In a few moments he laid down his +knife and fork, and said, "Mamma, will you please to excuse me?" +"Certainly, my dear," said she. Nobody but I understood it, or observed +that the little fellow had to run very fast to get out of the room without +crying. Afterward she told me that she never sent a child away from the +table in any other way. "But what would you do," said I, "if he were to +refuse to ask to be excused?" Then the tears stood full in her eyes. "Do +you think he could," she replied, "when he sees that I am only trying to +save him from pain?" In the evening, Charley sat in my lap, and was very +sober. At last he whispered to me, "I'll tell you an awful secret, if you +won't tell. Did you think I had done my dinner this afternoon when I got +excused? Well, I hadn't. Mamma made me, because I acted so. That's the way +she always does. But I haven't had to have it done to me before for ever +so long,--not since I was a little fellow" (he was eight now); "and I +don't believe I ever shall again till I'm a man." Then he added, +reflectively, "Mary brought me all the rest of my dinner upstairs; but I +wouldn't touch it, only a little bit of the ice-cream. I don't think I +deserved any at all; do you?" + +I shall never, so long as I live, forget a lesson of this sort which my +own mother once gave me. I was not more than seven years old; but I had a +great susceptibility to color and shape in clothes, and an insatiable +admiration for all people who came finely dressed. One day, my mother said +to me, "Now I will play 'house' with you." Who does not remember when to +"play house" was their chief of plays? And to whose later thought has it +not occurred that in this mimic little show lay bound up the whole of +life? My mother was the liveliest of playmates, she took the worst doll, +the broken tea-set, the shabby furniture, and the least convenient corner +of the room for her establishment. Social life became a round of +festivities when she kept house as my opposite neighbor. At last, after +the washing-day, and the baking-day, and the day when she took dinner with +me, and the day when we took our children and walked out together, came +the day for me to take my oldest child and go across to make a call at her +house. Chill discomfort struck me on the very threshold of my visit. Where +was the genial, laughing, talking lady who had been my friend up to that +moment? There she sat, stock-still, dumb, staring first at my bonnet, then +at my shawl, then at my gown, then at my feet; up and down, down and up, +she scanned me, barely replying in monosyllables to my attempts at +conversation; finally getting up, and coming nearer, and examining my +clothes, and my child's still more closely. A very few minutes of this +were more than I could bear; and, almost crying, I said, "Why, mamma, what +makes you do so?" Then the play was over; and she was once more the wise +and tender mother, telling me playfully that it was precisely in such a +way I had stared, the day before, at the clothes of two ladies who had +come in to visit her. I never needed that lesson again. To this day, if I +find myself departing from it for an instant, the old tingling shame burns +in my cheeks. + +To this day, also, the old tingling pain burns my cheeks as I recall +certain rude and contemptuous words which were said to me when I was very +young, and stamped on my memory forever. I was once called a "stupid +child" in the presence of strangers. I had brought the wrong book from my +father's study. Nothing could be said to me to-day which would give me a +tenth part of the hopeless sense of degradation which came from those +words. Another time, on the arrival of an unexpected guest to dinner, I +was sent, in a great hurry, away from the table, to make room, with the +remark that "it was not of the least consequence about the child; she +could just as well have her dinner afterward." "The child" would have been +only too happy to help on the hospitality of the sudden emergency, if the +thing had been differently put; but the sting of having it put in that way +I never forgot. Yet in both these instances the rudeness was so small, in +comparison with what we habitually see, that it would be too trivial to +mention, except for the bearing of the fact that the pain it gave has +lasted till now. + +When we consider seriously what ought to be the nature of a reproof from a +parent to a child, and what is its end, the answer is simple enough. It +should be nothing but the superior wisdom and strength, explaining to +inexperience and feebleness wherein they have made a mistake, to the end +that they may avoid such mistakes in future. If personal annoyance, +impatience, antagonism enter in, the relation is marred and the end +endangered. Most sacred and inalienable of all rights is the right of +helplessness to protection from the strong, of ignorance to counsel from +the wise. If we give our protection and counsel grudgingly, or in a +churlish, unkind manner, even to the stranger that is in our gates, we are +no Christians, and deserve to be stripped of what little wisdom and +strength we have hoarded. But there are no words to say what we are or +what we deserve if we do thus to the little children whom we have dared, +for our own pleasure, to bring into the perils of this life, and whose +whole future may be blighted by the mistakes of our careless hands. + + + + +Breaking the Will. + + + +This phrase is going out of use. It is high time it did. If the thing it +represents would also cease, there would be stronger and freer men and +women. But the phrase is still sometimes heard; and there are still +conscientious fathers and mothers who believe they do God service in +setting about the thing. + +I have more than once said to a parent who used these words, "Will you +tell me just what you mean by that? Of course you do not mean exactly what +you say." + +"Yes, I do. I mean that the child's will is to be once for all +broken!--that he is to learn that my will is to be his law. The sooner he +learns this the better." + +"But is it to your will simply _as_ will that he is to yield? Simply as +the weaker yields to the stronger,--almost as matter yields to force? For +what reason is he to do this?" + +"Why, because I know what is best for him, and what is right; and he does +not." + +"Ah! that is a very different thing. He is, then, to do the thing that you +tell him to do, because that thing is right and is needful for him; you +are his guide on a road over which you have gone, and he has not; you are +an interpreter, a helper; you know better than he does about all things, +and your knowledge is to teach his ignorance." + +"Certainly, that is what I mean. A pretty state of things it would be if +children were to be allowed to think they know as much as their parents. +There is no way except to break their wills in the beginning." + +"But you have just said that it is not to your will as will that he is to +yield, but to your superior knowledge and experience. That surely is not +'breaking his will.' It is of all things furthest removed from it. It is +educating his will. It is teaching him how to will." + +This sounds dangerous; but the logic is not easily turned aside, and there +is little left for the advocate of will-breaking but to fall back on some +texts in the Bible, which have been so often misquoted in this connection +that one can hardly hear them with patience. To "Children, obey your +parents," was added "in the Lord," and "because it is right," not "because +they are your parents." "Spare the rod" has been quite gratuitously +assumed to mean "spare blows." "Rod" means here, as elsewhere, simply +punishment. We are not told to "train up a child" to have no will but our +own, but "in the way in which he should go," and to the end that "when he +is old" he should not "depart from it,"--i.e., that his will should be so +educated that he will choose to walk in the right way still. Suppose a +child's will to be actually "broken;" suppose him to be so trained that he +has no will but to obey his parents. What is to become of this helpless +machine, which has no central spring of independent action? Can we stand +by, each minute of each hour of each day, and say to the automata, Go +here, or Go there? Can we be sure of living as long as they live? Can we +wind them up like seventy-year clocks, and leave them? + +But this is idle. It is not, thank God, in the power of any man or any +woman to "break" a child's "will." They may kill the child's body, in +trying, like that still unhung clergyman in Western New York, who whipped +his three-year-old son to death for refusing to repeat a prayer to his +step-mother. + +Bodies are frail things; there are more child-martyrs than will be known +until the bodies terrestrial are done with. + +But, by one escape or another, the will, the soul, goes free. Sooner or +later, every human being comes to know and prove in his own estate that +freedom of will is the only freedom for which there are no chains +possible, and that in Nature's whole reign of law nothing is so largely +provided for as liberty. Sooner or later, all this must come. But, if it +comes later, it comes through clouds of antagonism, and after days of +fight, and is hard-bought. + +It should come sooner, like the kingdom of God, which it is,--"without +observation," gracious as sunshine, sweet as dew; it should begin with the +infant's first dawning of comprehension that there are two courses of +action, two qualities of conduct: one wise, the other foolish; one right, +the other wrong. + +I am sure; for I have seen, that a child's moral perceptions can be so +made clear, and his will so made strong and upright, that before he is ten +years old he will see and take his way through all common days rightly and +bravely. + +Will he always act up to his highest moral perceptions? No. Do we? But one +right decision that he makes voluntarily, unbiassed by the assertion of +authority or the threat of punishment, is worth more to him in development +of moral character than a thousand in which he simply does what he is +compelled to do by some sort of outside pressure. + +I read once, in a book intended for the guidance of mothers, a story of a +little child who, in repeating his letters one day, suddenly refused to +say A. All the other letters he repeated again and again, unhesitatingly; +but A he would not, and persisted in declaring that he could not say. He +was severely whipped, but still persisted. It now became a contest of +wills. He was whipped again and again and again. In the intervals between +the whippings the primer was presented to him, and he was told that he +would be whipped again if he did not mind his mother and say A. I forget +how many times he was whipped; but it was almost too many times to be +believed. The fight was a terrible one. At last, in a paroxysm of his +crying under the blows, the mother thought she heard him sob out "A," and +the victory was considered to be won. + +A little boy whom I know once had a similar contest over a letter of the +alphabet; but the contest was with himself, and his mother was the +faithful Great Heart who helped him through. The story is so remarkable +that I have long wanted all mothers to know it. It is as perfect an +illustration of what I mean by "educating" the will as the other one is of +what is called "breaking" it. + +Willy was about four years old. He had a large, active brain, sensitive +temperament, and indomitable spirit. He was and is an uncommon child. +Common methods of what is commonly supposed to be "discipline" would, if +he had survived them, have made a very bad boy of him. He had great +difficulty in pronouncing the letter G,--so much that he had formed almost +a habit of omitting it. One day his mother said, not dreaming of any +special contest, "This time you must say G." "It is an ugly old letter, +and I ain't ever going to try to say it again," said Willy, repeating the +alphabet very rapidly from beginning to end, without the G. Like a wise +mother, she did not open at once on a struggle; but said, pleasantly, "Ah! +you did not get it in that time. Try again; go more slowly, and we will +have it." It was all in vain; and it soon began to look more like real +obstinacy on Willy's part than any thing she had ever seen in him. She has +often told me how she hesitated before entering on the campaign. "I always +knew," she said, "that Willy's first real fight with himself would be no +matter of a few hours; and it was a particularly inconvenient time for me, +just then, to give up a day to it. But it seemed, on the whole, best not +to put it off." + +So she said, "Now, Willy, you can't get along without the letter G. The +longer you put off saying it, the harder it will be for you to say it at +last; and we will have it settled now, once for all. You are never going +to let a little bit of a letter like that be stronger than Willy. We will +not go out of this room till you have said it." + +Unfortunately, Willy's will had already taken its stand. However, the +mother made no authoritative demand that he should pronounce the letter as +a matter of obedience to her. Because it was a thing intrinsically +necessary for him to do, she would see, at any cost to herself or to him, +that he did it; but he must do it voluntarily, and she would wait till he +did. + +The morning wore on. She busied herself with other matters, and left Willy +to himself; now and then asking, with a smile, "Well, isn't my little boy +stronger than that ugly old letter yet?" + +Willy was sulky. He understood in that early stage all that was involved. +Dinner-time came. + +"Aren't you going to dinner, mamma?" + +"Oh! no, dear; not unless you say G, so that you can go too. Mamma will +stay by her little boy until he is out of this trouble." + +The dinner was brought up, and they ate it together. She was cheerful and +kind, but so serious that he felt the constant pressure of her pain. + +The afternoon dragged slowly on to night. Willy cried now and then, and +she took him in her lap, and said, "Dear, you will be happy as soon as you +say that letter, and mamma will be happy too, and we can't either of us be +happy until you do." + +"Oh, mamma! why don't you _make_ me say it?" + +(This he said several times before the affair was over.) + +"Because, dear, you must make yourself say it. I am helping you make +yourself say it, for I shall not let you go out of this room, nor go out +myself, till you do say it; but that is all I shall do to help you. I am +listening, listening all the time, and if you say it, in ever so little a +whisper, I shall hear you. That is all mamma can do for you." + +Bed-time came. Willy went to bed, unkissed and sad. The next morning, when +Willy's mother opened her eyes, she saw Willy sitting up in his crib, and +looking at her steadfastly. As soon as he saw that she was awake, he +exclaimed, "Mamma, I can't say it; and you know I can't say it. You're a +naughty mamma, and you don't love me." Her heart sank within her; but she +patiently went again and again over yesterday's ground. Willy cried. He +ate very little breakfast. He stood at the window in a listless attitude +of discouraged misery, which she said cut her to the heart. Once in a +while he would ask for some plaything which he did not usually have. She +gave him whatever he asked for; but he could not play. She kept up an +appearance of being busy with her sewing, but she was far more unhappy +than Willy. + +Dinner was brought up to them. Willy said, "Mamma, this ain't a bit good +dinner." + +She replied, "Yes, it is, darling; just as good as we ever have. It is +only because we are eating it alone. And poor papa is sad, too, taking +his all alone downstairs." + +At this Willy burst out into an hysterical fit of crying and sobbing. + +"I shall never see my papa again in this world." + +Then his mother broke down, too, and cried as hard as he did; but she +said, "Oh! yes, you will, dear. I think you will say that letter before +tea-time, and we will have a nice evening downstairs together." + +"I can't say it. I try all the time, and I can't say it; and, if you keep +me here till I die, I shan't ever say it." + +The second night settled down dark and gloomy, and Willy cried himself to +sleep. His mother was ill from anxiety and confinement; but she never +faltered. She told me she resolved that night that, if it were necessary, +she would stay in that room with Willy a month. The next morning she said +to him, more seriously than before, "Now, Willy, you are not only a +foolish little boy, you are unkind; you are making everybody unhappy. +Mamma is very sorry for you, but she is also very much displeased with +you. Mamma will stay here with you till you say that letter, if it is for +the rest of your life; but mamma will not talk with you, as she did +yesterday. She tried all day yesterday to help you, and you would not help +yourself; to-day you must do it all alone." + +"Mamma, are you sure I shall ever say it?" asked Willy. + +"Yes, dear; perfectly sure. You will say it some day or other." + +"Do you think I shall say it to-day?" + +"I can't tell. You are not so strong a little boy as I thought. I believed +you would say it yesterday. I am afraid you have some hard work before +you." + +Willy begged her to go down and leave him alone. Then he begged her to +shut him up in the closet, and "see if that wouldn't make him good." Every +few minutes he would come and stand before her, and say very earnestly, +"Are you sure I shall say it?" + +He looked very pale, almost as if he had had a fit of illness. No wonder. +It was the whole battle of life fought at the age of four. + +It was late in the afternoon of this the third day. Willy had been sitting +in his little chair, looking steadily at the floor, for so long a time +that his mother was almost frightened. But she hesitated to speak to him, +for she felt that the crisis had come. Suddenly he sprang up, and walked +toward her with all the deliberate firmness of a man in his whole bearing. +She says there was something in his face which she has never seen since, +and does not expect to see till he is thirty years old. + +"Mamma!" said he. + +"Well, dear?" said his mother, trembling so that she could hardly speak. + +"Mamma," he repeated, in a loud, sharp tone, "G! G! G! G!" And then he +burst into a fit of crying, which she had hard work to stop. It was over. + +Willy is now ten years old. From that day to this his mother has never had +a contest with him; she has always been able to leave all practical +questions affecting his behavior to his own decision, merely saying, +"Willy, I think this or that will be better." + +His self-control and gentleness are wonderful to see; and the blending in +his face of childlike simplicity and purity with manly strength is +something which I have only once seen equalled. + +For a few days he went about the house, shouting "G! G! G!" at the top of +his voice. He was heard asking playmates if they could "say G," and "who +showed them how." For several years he used often to allude to the affair, +saying, "Do you remember, mamma, that dreadful time when I wouldn't say +G?" He always used the verb "wouldn't" in speaking of it. Once, when he +was sick, he said, "Mamma, do you think I could have said G any sooner +than I did?" + +"I have never felt certain about that, Willy," she said. "What do _you_ +think?" + +"I think I could have said it a few minutes sooner. I was saying it to +_myself_ as long as that!" said Willy. + +It was singular that, although up to that time he had never been able to +pronounce the letter with any distinctness, when he first made up his mind +in this instance to say it, he enunciated it with perfect clearness, and +never again went back to the old, imperfect pronunciation. + +Few mothers, perhaps, would be able to give up two whole days to such a +battle as this; other children, other duties, would interfere. But the +same principle could be carried out without the mother's remaining +herself by the child's side all the time. Moreover, not one child in a +thousand would hold out as Willy did. In all ordinary cases a few hours +would suffice. And, after all, what would the sacrifice of even two days +be, in comparison with the time saved in years to come? If there were no +stronger motive than one of policy, of desire to take the course easiest +to themselves, mothers might well resolve that their first aim should be +to educate their children's wills and make them strong, instead of to +conquer and "break" them. + + + + +The Reign of Archelaus. + + + +Herod's massacre had, after all, a certain mercy in it: there were no +lingering tortures. The slayers of children went about with naked and +bloody swords, which mothers could see, and might at least make effort to +flee from. Into Rachel's refusal to be comforted there need enter no +bitter agonies of remorse. But Herod's death, it seems, did not make Judea +a safe place for babies. When Joseph "heard that Archelaus did reign in +the room of his father, Herod, he was afraid to return thither with the +infant Jesus," and only after repeated commands and warnings from God +would he venture as far as Nazareth. The reign of Archelaus is not yet +over; he has had many names, and ruled over more and more countries, but +the spirit of his father, Herod, is still in him. To-day his power is at +its zenith. He is called Education; and the safest place for the dear, +holy children is still Egypt, or some other of the fortunate countries +called unenlightened. + +Some years ago there were symptoms of a strong rebellion against his +tyranny. Horace Mann lifted up his strong hands and voice against it; +physicians and physiologists came out gravely and earnestly, and fortified +their positions with statistics from which there was no appeal. Thomas +Wentworth Higginson, whose words have with the light, graceful beauty of +the Damascus blade its swift sureness in cleaving to the heart of things, +wrote an article for the "Atlantic Monthly" called "The Murder of the +Innocents," which we wish could be put into every house in the United +States. Some changes in school organizations resulted from these protests; +in the matter of ventilation of school-rooms some real improvement was +probably effected; though we shudder to think how much room remains for +further improvement, when we read in the report of the superintendent of +public schools in Brooklyn that in the primary departments of the grammar +schools "an average daily number of 33,275 pupils are crowded into +one-half the space provided in the upper departments for an average daily +attendance of 26,359; or compelled to occupy badly lighted, inconvenient, +and ill-ventilated galleries, or rooms in the basement stories." + +But in regard to the number of hours of confinement, and amount of study +required of children, it is hard to believe that schools have ever been +much more murderously exacting than now. + +The substitution of the single session of five hours for the old +arrangement of two sessions of three hours each, with a two-hours interval +at noon, was regarded as a great gain. So it would be, if all the +brain-work of the day were done in that time; but in most schools with +the five-hours session, there is next to no provision for studying in +school-hours, and the pupils are required to learn two, three, or four +lessons at home. Now, when is your boy to learn these lessons? Not in the +morning, before school; that is plain. School ends at two. Few children +live sufficiently near their schools to get home to dinner before half +past two o'clock. We say nothing of the undesirableness of taking the +hearty meal of the day immediately after five hours of mental fatigue; it +is probably a less evil than the late dinner at six, and we are in a +region where we are grateful for _less_ evils! Dinner is over at quarter +past three; we make close estimates. In winter there is left less than two +hours before dark. This is all the time the child is to have for out-door +play; two hours and a half (counting in his recess) out of twenty-four. +Ask any farmer, even the stupidest, how well his colt or his lamb would +grow if it had but two hours a day of absolute freedom and exercise in the +open air, and that in the dark and the chill of a late afternoon! In spite +of the dark and the chill, however, your boy skates or slides on until he +is called in by you, who, if you are an American mother, care a great deal +more than he does for the bad marks which will stand on his week's report +if those three lessons are not learned before bed-time. He is tired and +cold; he does not want to study--who would? It is six o'clock before he is +fairly at it. You work harder than he does, and in half an hour one lesson +is learned; then comes tea. After tea half an hour, or perhaps an hour, +remains before bed-time; in this time, which ought to be spent in light, +cheerful talk or play, the rest of the lessons must be learned. He is +sleepy and discouraged. Words which in the freshness of the morning he +would have learned in a very few moments with ease, it is now simply out +of his power to commit to memory. You, if you are not superhuman, grow +impatient. At eight o'clock he goes to bed, his brain excited and wearied, +in no condition for healthful sleep; and his heart oppressed with the fear +of "missing" in the next day's recitations. And this is one out of the +school-year's two hundred and sixteen days--all of which will be like +this, or worse. One of the most pitiful sights we have seen for months was +a little group of four dear children, gathered round the library lamp, +trying to learn the next day's lessons in time to have a story read to +them before going to bed. They had taken the precaution to learn one +lesson immediately after dinner, before going out, cutting their out-door +play down by half an hour. The two elder were learning a long +spelling-lesson; the third was grappling with geographical definitions of +capes, promontories, and so forth; and the youngest was at work on his +primer. In spite of all their efforts, bed-time came before the lessons +were learned. The little geography student had been nodding over her book +for some minutes, and she had the philosophy to say, "I don't care; I'm so +sleepy. I had rather go to bed than hear any kind of a story." But the +elder ones were grieved and unhappy, and said, "There won't _ever_ be any +time; we shall have just as much more to learn to-morrow night." The next +morning, however, there was a sight still more pitiful: the baby of seven, +with a little bit of paper and a pencil, and three sums in addition to be +done, and the father vainly endeavoring, to explain them to him in the +hurried moments before breakfast. It would be easy to show how fatal to +all real mental development, how false to all Nature's laws of growth, +such a system must be; but that belongs to another side of the question. +We speak now simply of the effect of it on the body; and here we quote +largely from the admirable article of Col. Higginson's, above referred to. +No stronger, more direct, more conclusive words can be written:-- + +"Sir Walter Scott, according to Carlyle, was the only perfectly healthy +literary man who ever lived. He gave it as his deliberate opinion, in +conversation with Basil Hall, that five and a half hours form the limit of +healthful mental labor for a mature person. 'This I reckon very good work +for a man,' he said. 'I can very seldom work six hours a day.' Supposing +his estimate to be correct, and five and a half hours the reasonable limit +for the day's work of a mature intellect, it is evident that even this +must be altogether too much for an immature one. 'To suppose the youthful +brain,' says the recent admirable report, by Dr. Ray, of the Providence +Insane Hospital, 'to be capable of an amount of work which is considered +an ample allowance to an adult brain is simply absurd.' 'It would be +wrong, therefore, to deduct less than a half-hour from Scott's estimate, +for even the oldest pupils in our highest schools, leaving five hours as +the limit of real mental effort for them, and reducing this for all +younger pupils very much further.' + +"But Scott is not the only authority in the case; let us ask the +physiologists. So said Horace Mann before us, in the days when the +Massachusetts school system was in process of formation. He asked the +physicians in 1840, and in his report printed the answers of three of the +most eminent. The late Dr. Woodward, of Worcester, promptly said that +children under eight should never be confined more than one hour at a +time, nor more than four hours a day. + +"Dr. James Jackson, of Boston, allowed the children four hours schooling +in winter and five in summer, but only one hour at a time; and heartily +expressed his detestation of giving young children lessons to learn at +home. + +"Dr. S.G. Howe, reasoning elaborately on the whole subject, said that +children under eight years of age should never be confined more than half +an hour at a time; by following which rule, with long recesses, they can +study four hours daily. Children between eight and fourteen should not be +confined more than three-quarters of an hour at a time, having the last +quarter of each hour for exercise on the play-ground. + +"Indeed, the one thing about which doctors do _not_ disagree is the +destructive effect of premature or excessive mental labor. I can quote +you medical authority for and against every maxim of dietetics beyond the +very simplest; but I defy you to find one man who ever begged, borrowed, +or stole the title of M.D., and yet abused those two honorary letters by +asserting under their cover that a child could safely study as much as a +man, or that a man could safely study more than six hours a day." + +"The worst danger of it is that the moral is written at the end of the +fable, not at the beginning. The organization in youth is so dangerously +elastic that the result of these intellectual excesses is not seen until +years after. When some young girl incurs spinal disease from some slight +fall, which she ought not to have felt for an hour, or some business man +breaks down in the prime of his years from some trifling over-anxiety, +which should have left no trace behind, the popular verdict may be +'Mysterious Providence;' but the wiser observer sees the retribution for +the folly of those misspent days which enfeebled the childish constitution +instead of ripening it. One of the most striking passages in the report of +Dr. Ray, before mentioned, is that in which he explains that, 'though +study at school is rarely the immediate cause of insanity, it is the most +frequent of its ulterior causes, except hereditary tendencies.' _It +diminishes the conservative power of the animal economy to such a degree +that attacks of disease which otherwise would have passed off safely +destroy life almost before danger is anticipated_." + +It would be easy to multiply authorities on these points. It is hard to +stop. But our limits forbid any thing like a full treatment of the +subject. Yet discussion on this question ought never to cease in the land +until a reform is brought about. Teachers are to blame only in part for +the present wrong state of things. They are to blame for yielding, for +acquiescing; but the real blame rests on parents. Here and there, +individual fathers and mothers, taught, perhaps, by heart-rending +experience, try to make stand against the current of false ambitions and +unhealthy standards. But these are rare exceptions. Parents, as a class, +not only help on, but create the pressure to which teachers yield, and +children are sacrificed. The whole responsibility is really theirs. They +have in their hands the power to regulate the whole school routine to +which their children are to be subjected. This is plain, when we once +consider what would be the immediate effect in any community, large or +small, if a majority of parents took action together, and persistently +refused to allow any child under fourteen to be confined in school more +than four hours out of the twenty-four, more than one hour at a time, or +to do more than five hours' brain-work in a day. The law of supply and +demand is a first principle. In three months the schools in that community +would be entirely reorganized, to accord with the parents' wishes; in +three years the improved average health of the children in that community +would bear its own witness in ruddy bloom along the streets; and perhaps +even in one generation so great gain of vigor might be made that the +melancholy statistics of burial would no longer have to record the death +under twelve years of age of more than two-fifths of the children who are +born. + + + + +The Awkward Age. + + + +The expression defines itself. At the first sound of the words, we all +think of some one unhappy soul we know just now, whom they suggest. Nobody +is ever without at least one brother, sister, cousin, or friend on hand, +who is struggling through this social slough of despond; and nobody ever +will be, so long as the world goes on taking it for granted that the +slough is a necessity, and that the road must go through it. Nature never +meant any such thing. Now and then she blunders or gets thwarted of her +intent, and turns out a person who is awkward, hopelessly and forever +awkward; body and soul are clumsy together, and it is hard to fancy them +translated to the spiritual world without too much elbow and ankle. +However, these are rare cases, and come in under the law of variation. But +an awkward age,--a necessary crisis or stage of uncouthness, through which +all human beings must pass,--Nature was incapable of such a conception; +law has no place for it; development does not know it; instinct revolts +from it; and man is the only animal who has been silly and wrong-headed +enough to stumble into it. The explanation and the remedy are so simple, +so close at hand, that we have not seen them. The whole thing lies in a +nutshell. Where does this abnormal, uncomfortable period come in? Between +childhood, we say, and maturity; it is the transition from one to the +other. When human beings, then, are neither boys nor men, girls nor women, +they must be for a few years anomalous creatures, must they? We might, +perhaps, find a name for the individual in this condition as well as for +the condition. We must look to Du Chaillu for it, if we do; but it is too +serious a distress to make light of, even for a moment. We have all felt +it, and we know how it feels; we all see it every day, and we know how it +looks. + +What is it which the child has and the adult loses, from the loss of which +comes this total change of behavior? Or is it something which the adult +has and the child had not? It is both; and until the loss and the gain, +the new and the old, are permanently separated and balanced, the awkward +age lasts. The child was overlooked, contradicted, thwarted, snubbed, +insulted, whipped; not constantly, not often,--in many cases, thank God, +very seldom. But the liability was there, and he knew it; he never forgot +it, if you did. One burn is enough to make fire dreaded. The adult, once +fairly recognized as adult, is not overlooked, contradicted, thwarted, +snubbed, insulted, whipped; at least, not with impunity. To this +gratifying freedom, these comfortable exemptions, when they are once +established in our belief, we adjust ourselves, and grow contentedly +good-mannered. To the other _regime_, while we were yet children, we also +somewhat adjusted ourselves, were tolerably well behaved, and made the +best of it. But who could bear a mixture of both? What genius could rise +superior to it, could be itself, surrounded by such uncertainties? + +No wonder that your son comes into the room with a confused expression of +uncomfortable pain on every feature, when he does not in the least know +whether he will be recognized as a gentleman, or overlooked as a little +boy. No wonder he sits down in his chair with movements suggestive of +nothing but rheumatism and jack-knives, when he is thinking that perhaps +there may be some reason why he should not take that particular chair, and +that, if there is, he will be ordered up. + +No wonder that your tall daughter turns red, stammers, and says foolish +things on being courteously spoken to by strangers at dinner, when she is +afraid that she may be sharply contradicted or interrupted, and remembers +that day before yesterday she was told that children should be seen and +not heard. + +I knew a very clever girl, who had the misfortune to look at fourteen as +if she were twenty. At home, she was the shyest and most awkward of +creatures; away from her mother and sisters, she was self-possessed and +charming. She said to me, once, "Oh! I have such a splendid time away from +home. I'm so tall, everybody thinks I am grown up, and everybody is civil +to me." + +I know, also, a man of superb physique, charming temperament, and uncommon +talent, who is to this day--and he is twenty-five years old--nervous and +ill at ease in talking with strangers, in the presence of his own family. +He hesitates, stammers, and never does justice to his thoughts. He says +that he believes he shall never be free from this distress; he cannot +escape from the recollections of the years between fourteen and twenty, +during which he was so systematically snubbed that his mother's parlor was +to him worse than the chambers of the Inquisition. He knows that he is now +sure of courteous treatment; that his friends are all proud of him; but +the old cloud will never entirely disappear. Something has been lost which +can never be regained. And the loss is not his alone, it is theirs too; +they are all poorer for life, by reason of the unkind days which are gone. + +This, then, is the explanation of the awkward age. I am not afraid of any +dissent from my definition of the source whence its misery springs. +Everybody's consciousness bears witness. Everybody knows, in the bottom of +his heart, that, however much may be said about the change of voice, the +thinness of cheeks, the sharpness of arms, the sudden length in legs and +lack of length in trousers and frocks,--all these had nothing to do with +the real misery. The real misery was simply and solely the horrible +feeling of not belonging anywhere; not knowing what a moment might bring +forth in the way of treatment from others; never being sure which impulse +it would be safer to follow, to retreat or to advance, to speak or to be +silent, and often overwhelmed with unspeakable mortification at the rebuff +of the one or the censure of the other. Oh! how dreadful it all was! How +dreadful it all is, even to remember! It would be malicious even to refer +to it, except to point out the cure. + +The cure is plain. It needs no experiment to test it. Merely to mention it +ought to be enough. If human beings are so awkward at this unhappy age, +and so unhappy at this awkward age, simply because they do not know +whether they are to be treated as children or as adults, suppose we make a +rule that children are always to be treated, in point of courtesy, as if +they were adults? Then this awkward age--this period of transition from an +atmosphere of, to say the least, negative rudeness to one of gracious +politeness--disappears. There cannot be a crisis of readjustment of social +relations: there is no possibility of such a feeling; it would be hard to +explain to a young person what it meant. Now and then we see a young man +or young woman who has never known it. They are usually only children, and +are commonly spoken of as wonders. I know such a boy to-day. At seventeen +he measures six feet in height; he has the feet and the hands of a still +larger man; and he comes of a blood which had far more strength than +grace. But his manner is, and always has been, sweet, gentle, +composed,--the very ideal of grave, tender, frank young manhood. People +say, "How strange! He never seemed to have any awkward age at all." It +would have been stranger if he had. Neither his father nor his mother ever +departed for an instant, in their relations with him, from the laws of +courtesy and kindliness of demeanor which governed their relations with +others. + +He knew but one atmosphere, and that a genial one, from his babyhood up; +and in and of this atmosphere has grown up a sweet, strong, pure soul, for +which the quiet, self-possessed manner is but the fitting garb. + +This is part of the kingdom that cometh unobserved. In this kingdom we are +all to be kings and priests, if we choose; and all its ways are +pleasantness. But we are not ready for it till we have become peaceable +and easy to be entreated, and have learned to understand why it was that +one day, when Jesus called his disciples together, he set a little child +in their midst. + + + + +A Day with a Courteous Mother. + + + +During the whole of one of last summer's hottest days I had the good +fortune to be seated in a railway car near a mother and four children, +whose relations with each other were so beautiful that the pleasure of +watching them was quite enough to make one forget the discomforts of the +journey. + +It was plain that they were poor; their clothes were coarse and old, and +had been made by inexperienced hands. The mother's bonnet alone would have +been enough to have condemned the whole party on any of the world's +thoroughfares. I remembered afterward, with shame, that I myself had +smiled at the first sight of its antiquated ugliness; but her face was one +which it gave you a sense of rest to look upon,--it was so earnest, +tender, true, and strong. It had little comeliness of shape or color in +it, it was thin, and pale; she was not young; she had worked hard; she had +evidently been much ill; but I have seen few faces which gave me such +pleasure. I think that she was the wife of a poor clergyman; and I think +that clergyman must be one of the Lord's best watchmen of souls. The +children--two boys and two girls--were all under the age of twelve, and +the youngest could not speak plainly. They had had a rare treat; they had +been visiting the mountains, and they were talking over all the wonders +they had seen with a glow of enthusiastic delight which was to be envied. +Only a word-for-word record would do justice to their conversation; no +description could give any idea of it,--so free, so pleasant, so genial, +no interruptions, no contradictions; and the mother's part borne all the +while with such equal interest and eagerness that no one not seeing her +face would dream that she was any other than an elder sister. In the +course of the day there were many occasions when it was necessary for her +to deny requests, and to ask services, especially from the eldest boy; but +no young girl, anxious to please a lover, could have done either with a +more tender courtesy. She had her reward; for no lover could have been +more tender and manly than was this boy of twelve. Their lunch was simple +and scanty; but it had the grace of a royal banquet. At the last, the +mother produced with much glee three apples and an orange, of which the +children had not known. All eyes fastened on the orange. It was evidently +a great rarity. I watched to see if this test would bring out selfishness. +There was a little silence; just the shade of a cloud. The mother said, +"How shall I divide this? There is one for each of you; and I shall be +best off of all, for I expect big tastes from each of you." + +"Oh, give Annie the orange. Annie loves oranges," spoke out the oldest +boy, with a sudden air of a conqueror, and at the same time taking the +smallest and worst apple himself. + +"Oh, yes, let Annie have the orange," echoed the second boy, nine years +old. + +"Yes, Annie may have the orange, because that is nicer than the apple, and +she is a lady, and her brothers are gentlemen," said the mother, quietly. +Then there was a merry contest as to who should feed the mother with +largest and most frequent mouthfuls; and so the feast went on. Then Annie +pretended to want apple, and exchanged thin golden strips of orange for +bites out of the cheeks of Baldwins; and, as I sat watching her intently, +she suddenly fancied she saw longing in my face, and sprang over to me, +holding out a quarter of her orange, and saying, "Don't you want a taste, +too?" The mother smiled, understandingly, when I said, "No, I thank you, +you dear, generous little girl; I don't care about oranges." + +At noon we had a tedious interval of waiting at a dreary station. We sat +for two hours on a narrow platform, which the sun had scorched till it +smelt of heat. The oldest boy--the little lover--held the youngest child, +and talked to her, while the tired mother closed her eyes and rested. Now +and then he looked over at her, and then back at the baby; and at last he +said confidentially to me (for we had become fast friends by this time), +"Isn't it funny, to think that I was ever so small as this baby? And papa +says that then mamma was almost a little girl herself." + +The two other children were toiling up and down the banks of the +railroad-track, picking ox-eye daisies, buttercups, and sorrel. They +worked like beavers, and soon the bunches were almost too big for their +little hands. Then they came running to give them to their mother. "Oh +dear," thought I, "how that poor, tired woman will hate to open her eyes! +and she never can take those great bunches of common, fading flowers, in +addition to all her bundles and bags." I was mistaken. + +"Oh, thank you, my darlings! How kind you were! Poor, hot, tired little +flowers, how thirsty they look! If they will only try and keep alive till +we get home, we will make them very happy in some water; won't we? And you +shall put one bunch by papa's plate, and one by mine." + +Sweet and happy, the weary and flushed little children stood looking up in +her face while she talked, their hearts thrilling with compassion for the +drooping flowers and with delight in the giving of their gift. Then she +took great trouble to get a string and tie up the flowers, and then the +train came, and we were whirling along again. Soon it grew dark, and +little Annie's head nodded. Then I heard the mother say to the oldest boy, +"Dear, are you too tired to let little Annie put her head on your shoulder +and take a nap? We shall get her home in much better case to see papa if +we can manage to give her a little sleep." How many boys of twelve hear +such words as these from tired, overburdened mothers? + +Soon came the city, the final station, with its bustle and noise. I +lingered to watch my happy family, hoping to see the father. "Why, papa +isn't here!" exclaimed one disappointed little voice after another. "Never +mind," said the mother, with a still deeper disappointment in her own +tone; "perhaps he had to go to see some poor body who is sick." In the +hurry of picking up all the parcels, and the sleepy babies, the poor +daisies and buttercups were left forgotten in a corner of the rack. I +wondered if the mother had not intended this. May I be forgiven for the +injustice! A few minutes after I passed the little group, standing still +just outside the station, and heard the mother say, "Oh, my darlings, I +have forgotten your pretty bouquets. I am so sorry! I wonder if I could +find them if I went back. Will you all stand still and not stir from this +spot if I go?" + +"Oh, mamma, don't go, don't go. We will get you some more. Don't go," +cried all the children. + +"Here are your flowers, madam," said I. "I saw that you had forgotten +them, and I took them as mementoes of you and your sweet children." She +blushed and looked disconcerted. She was evidently unused to people, and +shy with all but her children. However, she thanked me sweetly, and +said,-- + +"I was very sorry about them. The children took such trouble to get them; +and I think they will revive in water. They cannot be quite dead." + +"They will _never_ die!" said I, with an emphasis which went from my heart +to hers. Then all her shyness fled. She knew me; and we shook hands, and +smiled into each other's eyes with the smile of kindred as we parted. + +As I followed on, I heard the two children, who were walking behind, +saying to each other, "Wouldn't that have been too bad? Mamma liked them +so much, and we never could have got so many all at once again." + +"Yes, we could, too, next summer," said the boy, sturdily. + +They are sure of their "next summers," I think, all six of those +souls,--children, and mother, and father. They may never again gather so +many ox-eye daisies and buttercups "all at once." Perhaps some of the +little hands have already picked their last flowers. Nevertheless, their +summers are certain. To such souls as these, all trees, either here or in +God's larger country, are Trees of Life, with twelve manner of fruits and +leaves for healing; and it is but little change from the summers here, +whose suns burn and make weary, to the summers there, of which "the Lamb +is the light." + +Heaven bless them all, wherever they are. + + + + +Children in Nova Scotia. + + + +Nova Scotia is a country of gracious surprises. Instead of the stones +which are what strangers chiefly expect at her hands, she gives us a +wealth of fertile meadows; instead of stormy waves breaking on a frowning +coast, she shows us smooth basins whose shores are soft and wooded to the +water's edge, and into which empty wonderful tidal rivers, whose courses, +where the tide-water has flowed out, lie like curving bands of bright +brown satin among the green fields. She has no barrenness, no +unsightliness, no poverty; everywhere beauty, everywhere riches. She is +biding her time. + +But most beautiful among her beauties, most wonderful among her wonders, +are her children. During two weeks' travel in the provinces, I have been +constantly more and more impressed by their superiority in appearance, +size, and health to the children of the New England and Middle States. In +the outset of our journey I was struck by it; along all the roadsides they +looked up, boys and girls, fair, broad-cheeked, sturdy-legged, such as +with us are seen only now and then. I did not, however, realize at first +that this was the universal law of the land, and that it pointed to +something more than climate as a cause. But the first school that I saw, +_en masse_, gave a startling impetus to the train of observation and +inference into which I was unconsciously falling. It was a Sunday school +in the little town of Wolfville, which lies between the Gaspcreau and +Cornwallis rivers, just beyond the meadows of the Grand Pre, where lived +Gabriel Lajeunesse, and Benedict Bellefontaine, and the rest of the +"simple Acadian farmers." + +"Mists from the mighty Atlantic" more than "looked on the happy valley" +that Sunday morning. Convicting Longfellow of a mistake, they did descend +"from their stations," on solemn Blomidon, and fell in a slow, unpleasant +drizzle in the streets of Wolfville and Horton. I arrived too early at one +of the village churches, and while I was waiting for a sexton a door +opened, and out poured the Sunday school, whose services had just ended. +On they came, dividing in the centre, and falling to the right and left +about me, thirty or forty boys and girls, between the ages of seven and +fifteen. I looked at them in astonishment. They all had fair skins, red +cheeks, and clear eyes; they were all broad-shouldered, straight, and +sturdy; the younger ones were more than sturdy,--they were fat, from the +ankles up. But perhaps the most noticeable thing of all was the quiet, +sturdy, unharassed expression which their faces wore; a look which is the +greatest charm of a child's face, but which we rarely see in children over +two or three years old. Boys of eleven or twelve were there, with +shoulders broader than the average of our boys at sixteen, and yet with +the pure, childlike look on their faces. Girls of ten or eleven were there +who looked almost like women,--that is, like ideal women,--simply because +they looked so calm and undisturbed. The Saxon coloring prevailed; +three-fourths of the eyes were blue, with hair of that pale ash-brown +which the French call "_blonde cendree_" Out of them all there was but one +child who looked sickly. He had evidently met with some accident, and was +lame. Afterward, as the congregation assembled, I watched the fathers and +mothers of these children. They, too, were broad-shouldered, tall, and +straight, especially the women. Even old women were straight, like the +negroes one sees at the South, walking with burdens on their heads. + +Five days later I saw in Halifax the celebration of the anniversary of the +settlement of the province. The children of the city and of some of the +neighboring towns marched in "bands of hope" and processions, such as we +see in the cities of the States on the Fourth of July. This was just the +opportunity I wanted. It was the same here as in the country. I counted on +that day just eleven sickly-looking children; no more! Such brilliant +cheeks, such merry eyes, such evident strength; it was a scene to kindle +the dullest soul. There were scores of little ones there, whose droll, fat +legs would have drawn a crowd in Central Park; and they all had that same, +quiet, composed, well-balanced expression of countenance of which I spoke +before, and of which it would be hard to find an instance in all Central +Park. + +Climate undoubtedly has something to do with this. The air is moist, and +the mercury rarely rises above 80 deg. or falls below 10 deg.. Also the +comparative quiet of their lives helps to make them so beautiful and +strong. But the most significant fact to my mind is that, until the past +year, there have been in Nova Scotia no public schools, comparatively few +private ones; and in these there is no severe pressure brought to bear on +the pupils. The private schools have been expensive, consequently it has +been very unusual for children to be sent to school before they were +_eight or nine_ years of age; I could not find a person who had ever known +of a child's being sent to school _under seven!_ The school sessions are +on the old plan of six hours per day,--from nine till twelve, and from one +till four; but no learning of lessons out of school has been allowed. +Within the last year a system of free public schools has been introduced, +"and the people are grumbling terribly about it," said my informant. +"Why?" I asked; "because they do not wish to have their children +educated?" "Oh, no," said he; "because they do not like to pay the taxes!" +"Alas!" I thought, "if it were only their silver which would be taxed!" + +I must not be understood to argue from the health of the children of Nova +Scotia, as contrasted with the lack of health among our children, that it +is best to have no public schools; only that it is better to have no +public schools than to have such public schools as are now killing off our +children. + +The registration system of Nova Scotia is as yet imperfectly carried out. +It is almost impossible to obtain exact returns from all parts of so +thinly settled a country. But such statistics as have been already +established give sufficient food for reflection in this connection. In +Massachusetts more than two-fifths of all the children born die before +they are twelve years old. In Nova Scotia the proportion is less than +one-third. In Nova Scotia one out of every fifty-six lives to be over +ninety years of age; and one-twelfth of the entire number of deaths is +between the ages of eighty and ninety. In Massachusetts one person out of +one hundred and nine lives to be over ninety. + +In Massachusetts the mortality from diseases of the brain and nervous +system is eleven per cent. In Nova Scotia it is only eight per cent. + + + + +The Republic of the Family. + + + +"He is lover and friend and son, all in one," said a friend, the other +day, telling me of a dear boy who, out of his first earnings, had just +sent to his mother a beautiful gift, costing much more than he could +really afford for such a purpose. + +That mother is the wisest, sweetest, most triumphant mother I have ever +known. I am restrained by feelings of deepest reverence for her from +speaking, as I might speak, of the rare and tender methods by which her +motherhood has worked, patiently and alone, for nearly twenty years, and +made of her two sons "lovers and friends." I have always felt that she +owed it to the world to impart to other mothers all that she could of her +divine secret; to write out, even in detail, all the processes by which +her boys have grown to be so strong, upright, loving, and manly. + +But one of her first principles has so direct a bearing on the subject +that I wish to speak of here that I venture to attempt an explanation of +it. She has told me that she never once, even in their childish days, took +the ground that she had right to require any thing from them simply +_because_ she was their mother. This is a position very startling to the +average parent. It is exactly counter to traditions. + +"Why must I?" or "Why cannot I?" says the child. "Because I say so, and I +am your father," has been the stern, authoritative reply ever since we can +any of us remember; and, I presume, ever since the Christian era, since +that good Apostle Paul saw enough in the Ephesian families where he +visited to lead him to write to them from Rome, "Fathers, provoke not your +children to wrath." + +It seems to me that there are few questions of practical moment in +every-day living on which a foregone and erroneous conclusion has been +adopted so generally and so undoubtingly. How it first came about it is +hard to see. Or, rather, it is easy to see, when one reflects; and the +very clearness of the surface explanation of it only makes its injustice +more odious. It came about because the parent was strong and the child +weak. Helplessness in the hands of power,--that is the whole story. +Suppose for an instant (and, absurd as the supposition is practically, it +is not logically absurd), that the child at six were strong enough to whip +his father; let him have the intellect of an infant, the mistakes and the +faults of an infant,--which the father would feel himself bound and _would +be_ bound to correct,--but the body of a man; and then see in how +different fashion the father would set himself to work to insure good +behavior. I never see the heavy, impatient hand of a grown man or woman +laid with its brute force, even for the smallest purpose, on a little +child, without longing for a sudden miracle to give the baby an equal +strength to resist. + +When we realize what it is for us to dare, for our own pleasure, even with +solemnest purpose of the holiest of pleasures, parenthood, to bring into +existence a soul, which must take for our sake its chance of joy or +sorrow, how monstrous it seems to assume that the fact that we have done +this thing gives us arbitrary right to control that soul; to set our will, +as will, in place of its will; to be law unto its life; to try to make of +it what it suits our fancy or our convenience to have it; to claim that it +is under obligation to us! + +The truth is, all the obligation, in the outset, is the other way. We owe +all to them. All that we can do to give them happiness, to spare them +pain; all that we can do to make them wise and good and safe,--all is too +little! All and more than all can never repay them for the sweetness, the +blessedness, the development that it has been to us to call children ours. +If we can also so win their love by our loving, so deserve their respect +by our honorableness, so earn their gratitude by our helpfulness, that +they come to be our "lovers and friends," then, ah! then we have had +enough of heaven here to make us willing to postpone the more for which we +hope beyond! + +But all this comes not of authority, not by command; all this is perilled +always, always impaired, and often lost, by authoritative, arbitrary +ruling, substitution of law and penalty for influence. + +It will be objected by parents who disagree with this theory that only +authority can prevent license; that without command there will not be +control. No one has a right to condemn methods he has not tried. I know, +for I have seen, I know, for I have myself tested, that command and +authority are short-lived; that they do not insure the results they aim +at; that real and permanent control of a child's behavior, even in little +things, is gained only by influence, by a slow, sure educating, +enlightening, and strengthening of a child's will. I know, for I have +seen, that it is possible in this way to make a child only ten years old +quite as intelligent and trustworthy a free agent as his mother; to make +him so sensible, so gentle, so considerate that to say "must" or "must +not" to him would be as unnecessary and absurd as to say it to her. + +But, if it be wiser and better to surround even little children with this +atmosphere of freedom, how much more essential is it for those who remain +under the parental roof long after they have ceased to be children! Just +here seems to me to be the fatal rock upon which many households make +utter shipwreck of their peace. Fathers and mothers who have ruled by +authority (let it be as loving as you please, it will still remain an +arbitrary rule) in the beginning, never seem to know when their children +are children no longer, but have become men and women. In any average +family, the position of an unmarried daughter after she is twenty years +old becomes less and less what it should be. In case of sons, the question +is rarely a practical one; in those exceptional instances where invalidism +or some other disability keeps a man helpless for years under his father's +roof, his very helplessness is at once his vindication and his shield, and +also prevents his feeling manly revolt against the position of unnatural +childhood. But in the case of daughters it is very different. Who does not +number in his circle of acquaintance many unmarried women, between the +ages of thirty and forty, perhaps even older, who have practically little +more freedom in the ordering of their own lives than they had when they +were eleven? The mother or the father continues just as much the +autocratic centre of the family now as of the nursery, thirty years +before. Taking into account the chance--no, the certainty--of great +differences between parents and children in matters of temperament and +taste, it is easy to see that great suffering must result from this; +suffering, too, which involves real loss and hindrance to growth. It is +really a monstrous wrong; but it seems to be rarely observed by the world, +and never suspected by those who are most responsible for it. It is +perhaps a question whether the real tyrannies in this life are those that +are accredited as such. There are certainly more than even tyrants know! + +Every father and mother has it within easy reach to become the intimate +friend of the child. Closest, holiest, sweetest of all friendships is this +one, which has the closest, holiest tie of blood to underlie the bond of +soul. We see it in rare cases, proving itself divine by rising above even +the passion of love between man and woman, and carrying men and women +unwedded to their graves for sake of love of mother or father. When we +realize what such friendship is, it seems incredible that parents can +forego it, or can risk losing any shade of its perfectness, for the sake +of any indulgence of the habit of command or of gratifying of selfish +preference. + +In the ideal household of father and mother and adult children, the one +great aim of the parents ought to be to supply, as far as possible to each +child, that freedom and independence which they have missed the +opportunity of securing in homes of their own. The loss of this one thing +alone is a bitterer drop in the loneliness of many an unmarried woman than +parents, especially fathers, are apt even to dream,--food and clothes and +lodgings are so exalted in unthinking estimates. To be without them would +be distressingly inconvenient, no doubt; but one can have luxurious +provision of both and remain very wretched. Even the body itself cannot +thrive if it has no more than these three pottage messes! Freedom to come, +go, speak, work, play,--in short, to be one's self,--is to the body more +than meat and gold, and to the soul the whole of life. + +Just so far as any parent interferes with this freedom of adult children, +even in the little things of a single day or a single hour, just so far it +is tyranny, and the children are wronged. But just so far as parents +help, strengthen, and bestow this freedom on their children, just so far +it is justice and kindness, and their relation is cemented into a supreme +and unalterable friendship, whose blessedness and whose comfort no words +can measure. + + + + +The Ready-to-Halts. + + + +Mr. Ready-to-Halt must have been the most exasperating pilgrim that Great +Heart ever dragged over the road to the Celestial City. Mr. Feeble Mind +was bad enough; but genuine weakness and organic incapacity appeal all the +while to charity and sympathy. If people really cannot walk, they must be +carried. Everybody sees that; and all strong people are, or ought to be, +ready to lift babies and cripples. There are plenty of such in every +parish. The Feeble Minds are unfortunately predisposed to intermarry; and +our schools are overrun with the little Masters and Misses Feeble Mind. +But, heavy as they are (and they are apt to be fat), they are precious and +pleasant friends and neighbors in comparison with the Ready-to-Halts. + +The Ready-to-Halts are never ready for any thing else. They can walk as +well as anybody else, if they only would; but they are never quite sure on +which road they would better go. Great Hearts have to go back, and go +back, to look them up. They are found standing still, helpless and +bewildered, on all sorts of absurd side-paths, which lead nowhere; and +they never will confess, either, that they need help. They always think +they are doing what they call "making up their mind." But, whichever way +they make it, they wish they had made it the other; so they unmake it +directly. And by this time the crisis of the first hour which they lost +has become complicated with that of the second hour, for which they are in +no wise ready; and so the hours stumble on, one after another, and the day +is only a tangle of ineffective cross purposes. Hundreds of such days +drift on, with their sad burden of wasted time. Year after year their +lives fail of growth, of delight, of blessing to others. Opportunity's +great golden doors, which never stay long open for any man, have always +just closed when they reach the threshold of a deed; and it is hard, very +hard, to see why it would not have been better for them if they had never +been born. + +After all, it is not right to be impatient with them; for, in nine cases +out of ten, they are no more responsible for their mental limp than the +poor Chinese woman is for her feeble feet. From their infancy up to what +in our comic caricature of words we call "maturity," they have been +bandaged. How should their muscles be good for any thing? From the day +when we give, and take, and arrange the baby's playthings for him, hour by +hour, without ever setting before him to choose one of two and give up the +other, to the day when we take it upon ourselves to decide whether he +shall be an engineer or a lawyer, we persist in doing for him the work +which he should do for himself. This is because we love him more than we +love our own lives. Oh! if love could but have its eyes opened and see! +If we were not blind, we should know that whenever a child decides for +himself deliberately, and without bias from others, any question, however +small, he has had just so many minutes of mental gymnastics,--just so much +strengthening of the one faculty on whose health and firmness his success +in life will depend more than upon any other thing. + +So many people do not know the difference between obstinacy and +clear-headed firmness of will, that it is hardly safe to say much in +praise or blame of either without expressly stating that you do not mean +the other. They are as unlike as digestion and indigestion, and one would +suppose could not be much more easily confounded; but it is constantly +done. It has not yet ceased to be said among fathers and mothers that it +is necessary to "break the will" of children; and it has not yet ceased to +be seen in the land that men by virtue of simple obstinacy are called men +of strong character. The truth is that the stronger, better-trained will a +man has, the less obstinate he will be. Will is of reason; obstinacy, of +temper. What have they in common? + +For want of strong will kingdoms and souls have been lost. Without it +there is no kingdom for any man,--no, not even in his own soul. It is the +one attribute of all we possess which is most God-like. By it, we say, +under his laws, as he says, enacting those laws, "So far and no further." +It is not enough that we do not "break" this grand power. It should be +strengthened, developed, trained. And, as the good teacher of gymnastics +gives his beginners light weights to lift and swing, so should we bring to +the children small points to decide; to the very little children, very +little points. "Will you have the apple, or the orange? You cannot have +both. Choose; but after you have chosen you cannot change." "Will you have +the horseback ride to-day, or the opera to-morrow night? You can have but +one." + +Every day, many times a day, a child should decide for himself points +involving pros and cons,--substantial ones too. Let him even decide +unwisely, and take the consequences; that too is good for him. No amount +of Blackstone can give such an idea of law as a month of prison. Tell him +as much as you please of what you know on both sides; but compel him to +decide, and also compel him not to be too long about it. "Choose ye this +day whom ye will serve" is a text good for every morning. + +If men and women had in their childhood such training of their wills as +this, we should not see so many putting their hands to the plough and +looking back, and "not fit for the kingdom of heaven." Nor for any kingdom +of earth, either, unless it be for the wicked little kingdom of the Prince +of Monaco, where there are but two things to be done,--gamble, or drown +yourself. + + + + +The Descendants of Nabal. + + + +The line has never been broken, and they have married into respectable +families, right and left, until to-day there can hardly be found a +household which has not at least one to worry it. + +They are not men and women of great passionate natures, who flame out now +and then in an outbreak like a volcano, from which everybody runs. This, +though terrible while it lasts, is soon over, and there are great +compensations in such souls. Their love is worth having. Their tenderness +is great. One can forgive them "seventy times seven," for the hasty words +and actions of which they repent immediately with tears. + +But the Nabals are sullen; they are grumblers; they are never done. Such +sons of Belial are they to this day that no man can speak peaceably unto +them. They are as much worse than passionate people as a slow drizzle of +rain is than a thunder-storm. For the thunder-storm, you stay in-doors, +and you cannot help having pleasure in its sharp lights and darks and +echoes; and when it is over, what clear air, what a rainbow! But in the +drizzle, you go out; you think that with a waterproof, an umbrella, and +overshoes, you can manage to get about in spite of it, and attend to your +business. What a state you come home in,--muddy, limp, chilled, +disheartened! The house greets you, looking also muddy and cold,--for the +best of front halls gives up in despair and cannot look any thing but +forlorn in a long, drizzling rain; all the windows are bleared with +trickling, foggy wet on the outside, which there is no wiping off nor +seeing through, and if one could see through there is no gain. The street +is more gloomy than the house; black, slimy mud, inches deep on crossings; +the same black, slimy mud in footprints on side-walks; hopeless-looking +people hurrying by, so unhappy by reason of the drizzle that a weird sort +of family likeness is to be seen in all their faces. This is all that can +be seen outside. It is better not to look. For the inside is no redemption +except a wood-fire,--a good, generous wood-fire,--not in any of the modern +compromises called open stoves, but on a broad stone hearth, with a big +background of chimney, up which the sparks can go skipping and creeping. + +This can redeem a drizzle; but this cannot redeem a grumbler. Plump he +sits down in the warmth of its very blaze, and complains that it snaps, +perhaps, or that it is oak and maple, when he paid for all hickory. You +can trust him to put out your wood-fire for you as effectually as a +water-spout. And, if even a wood-fire, bless it! cannot outshine the gloom +of his presence, what is to happen in the places where there is no +wood-fire, on the days when real miseries, big and little, are on hand, to +be made into mountains of torture by his grumbling? Oh, who can describe +him? There is no language which can do justice to him; no supernatural +foresight which can predict where his next thrust will fall, from what +unsuspected corner he will send his next arrow. Like death, he has all +seasons for his own; his ingenuity is infernal. Whoever tries to forestall +or appease him might better be at work in Augean stables; because, after +all, we must admit that the facts of life are on his side. It is not +intended that we shall be very comfortable. There is a terrible amount of +total depravity in animate and inanimate things. From morning till night +there is not an hour without its cross to carry. The weather thwarts us; +servants, landlords, drivers, washerwomen, and bosom friends misbehave; +clothes don't fit; teeth ache; stomachs get out of order; newspapers are +stupid; and children make too much noise. If there are not big troubles, +there are little ones. If they are not in sight, they are hiding. I have +wondered whether the happiest mortal could point to one single moment and +say, "At that moment there was nothing in my life which I would have had +changed." I think not. + +In argument, therefore, the grumbler has the best of it. It is more than +probable that things are as he says. But why say it? Why make four +miseries out of three? If the three be already unbearable, so much the +worse. If he is uncomfortable, it is a pity; we are sorry, but we cannot +change the course of Nature. We shall soon have our own little turn of +torments, and we do not want to be worn out before it comes by having +listened to his; probably, too, the very things of which he complains are +pressing just as heavily on us as on him,--are just as unpleasant to +everybody as to him. Suppose everybody did as he does. Imagine, for +instance, a chorus of grumble from ten people at a breakfast-table, all +saying at once, or immediately after each other, "This coffee is not fit +to drink." "Really, the attendance in this house is insufferably poor." I +have sometimes wished to try this homoeopathic treatment in a bad case of +grumble. It sounds as if it might work a cure. + +If you lose your temper with the grumbler, and turn upon him suddenly, +saying, "Oh, do not spoil all our pleasure. Do make the best of things: +or, at least, keep quiet!" then how aggrieved he is! how unjust he thinks +you are to "make a personal matter of it"! "You do not, surely, suppose I +think you are responsible for it, do you?" he says, with a lofty air of +astonishment at your unreasonable sensitiveness. Of course, we do not +suppose he thinks we are to blame; we do not take him to be a fool as well +as a grumbler. But he speaks to us, at us, before us, about the cause of +his discomfort, whatever it may be, precisely as he would if we were to +blame; and that is one thing which makes his grumbling so insufferable. +But this he can never be made to see. And the worst of it is that +grumbling is contagious. If we live with him, we shall, sooner or later, +in spite of our dislike of his ways, fall into them; even sinking so low, +perhaps, before the end of a single summer, as to be heard complaining of +butter at boarding-house tables, which is the lowest deep of vulgarity of +grumbling. There is no help for this; I have seen it again and again. I +have caught it myself. One grumbler in a family is as pestilent a thing as +a diseased animal in a herd: if he be not shut up or killed, the herd is +lost. + +But the grumbler cannot be shut up or killed, since grumbling is not held +to be a proof of insanity, nor a capital offence,--more's the pity. + +What, then, is to be done? Keep out of his way, at all costs, if he be +grown up. If it be a child, labor day and night, as you would with a +tendency to paralysis, or distortion of limb, to prevent this blight on +its life. + +It sounds extreme to say that a child should never be allowed to express a +dislike of any thing which cannot be helped; but I think it is true. I do +not mean that it should be positively forbidden or punished, but that it +should never pass unnoticed; his attention should be invariably called to +its uselessness, and to the annoyance it gives to other people. Children +begin by being good-natured little grumblers at every thing which goes +wrong, simply from the outspokenness of their natures. All they think they +say and act. The rudiments of good behavior have to be chiefly negative at +the outset, like Punch's advice to those about to marry,--"Don't." + +The race of grumblers would soon die out if all children were so trained +that never, between the ages of five and twelve, did they utter a needless +complaint without being gently reminded that it was foolish and +disagreeable. How easy for a good-natured and watchful mother to do this! +It takes but a word. + +"Oh, dear! I wish it had not rained to-day. It is too bad!" + +"You do not really mean what you say, my darling. It is of much more +consequence that the grass should grow than that you should go out to +play. And it is so silly to complain, when we cannot stop its raining." + +"Mamma, I hate this pie." + +"Oh! hush, dear! Don't say so, if you do. You can leave it. You need not +eat it. But think how disagreeable it sounds to hear you say such a +thing." + +"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I am too cold." + +"Yes, dear, I know you are. So is mamma. But we shall not feel any warmer +for saying so. We must wait till the fire burns better; and the time will +seem twice as long if we grumble." + +"Oh, mamma! mamma! My steam-engine is all spoiled. It won't run. I hate +things that wind up!" + +"But, my dear little boy, don't grumble so! What would you think if mamma +were to say, 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! My little boy's stockings are full of +holes. How I hate to mend stockings!' and, 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! My little +boy has upset my work-box! I hate little boys'?" + +How they look steadily into your eyes for a minute,--the honest, +reasonable little souls!--when you say such things to them; and then run +off with a laugh, lifted up, for that time, by your fitly spoken words of +help. + +Oh! if the world could only stop long enough for one generation of +mothers to be made all right, what a millennium could be begun in thirty +years! + +"But, mamma, you are grumbling yourself at me because I grumbled!" says a +quick-witted darling not ten years old. Ah! never shall any weak spot in +our armor escape the keen eyes of these little ones. + +"Yes, dear! And I shall grumble at you till I cure you of grumbling. +Grumblers are the only thing in this world that it is right to grumble +at." + + + + +"Boys Not Allowed." + + + +It was a conspicuous signboard, at least four feet long, with large black +letters on a white ground: "Boys not allowed." I looked at it for some +moments in a sort of bewildered surprise: I did not quite comprehend the +meaning of the words. At last I understood it. I was waiting in a large +railway station, where many trains connect; and most of the passengers +from the train in which I was were eating dinner in a hotel near by. I was +entirely alone in the car, with the exception of one boy, who was perhaps +eleven years old. I made an involuntary ejaculation as I read the words on +the sign, and the boy looked around at me. + +"Little boy," said I, solemnly, "do you see that sign?" + +He turned his head, and, reading the ominous warning, nodded sullenly, but +said nothing. + +"Boy, what does it mean?" said I. "Boys must be allowed to come into this +railway station. There are two now standing in the doorway directly under +the sign." + +The latent sympathy in my tone touched his heart. He left his seat, and, +coming to mine, edged in past me; and, putting his head out of the window, +read the sentence aloud in a contemptuous tone. Then he offered me a +peanut, which I took; and he proceeded to tell me what he thought of the +sign. + +"Boys not allowed!" said he. "That's just the way 'tis everywhere; but I +never saw the sign up before. It don't make any difference, though, +whether they put the sign up or not. Why, in New York (you live in New +York, don't you?) they won't even stop the horse-cars for a boy to get on. +Nobody thinks any thing'll hurt a boy; but they're glad enough to 'allow' +us when there's any errands to be done, and"-- + +"Do you live in New York?" interrupted I; for I did not wish to hear the +poor little fellow's list of miseries, which I knew by heart beforehand +without his telling me, having been hopeless knight-errant of oppressed +boyhood all my life. + +Yes, he "lived in New York," and he "went to a grammar school," and he had +"two sisters." And so we talked on in that sweet, ready, trustful talk +which comes naturally only from children's lips, until the "twenty minutes +for refreshments" were over, and the choked and crammed passengers, who +had eaten big dinners in that breath of time, came hurrying back to their +seats. Among them came the father and mother of my little friend. In angry +surprise at not finding him in the seat where they left him, they +exclaimed,-- + +"Now, where _is_ that boy? Just like him! We might have lost every one of +these bags." + +"Here I am, mamma," he called out, pleasantly. "I could see the bags all +the time. Nobody came into the car." + +"I told you not to leave the seat, sir. What do you mean by such conduct?" +said the father. + +"Oh, no, papa," said poor Boy, "you only told me to take care of the +bags." And an anxious look of terror came into his face, which told only +too well under how severe a _regime_ he lived. I interposed hastily with-- + +"I am afraid I am the cause of your little son's leaving his seat. He had +sat very still till I spoke to him; and I believe I ought to take all the +blame." + +The parents were evidently uncultured, shallow people. Their irritation +with him was merely a surface vexation, which had no real foundation in a +deep principle. They became complaisant and smiling at my first word, and +Boy escaped with a look of great relief to another seat, where they gave +him a simple luncheon of saleratus gingerbread. "Boys not allowed" to go +in to dinner at the Massasoit, thought I to myself; and upon that text I +sat sadly meditating all the way from Springfield to Boston. + +How true it was, as the little fellow had said, that "it don't make any +difference whether they put the sign up or not!" No one can watch +carefully any average household where there are boys, and not see that +there are a thousand little ways in which the boys' comfort, freedom, +preference will be disregarded, when the girls' will be considered. This +is partly intentional, partly unconscious. Something is to be said +undoubtedly on the advantage of making the boy realize early and keenly +that manhood is to bear and to work, and womanhood is to be helped and +sheltered. But this should be inculcated, not inflicted; asked, not +seized; shown and explained, not commanded. Nothing can be surer than the +growth in a boy of tender, chivalrous regard for his sisters and for all +women, if the seeds of it be rightly sown and gently nurtured. But the +common method is quite other than this. It begins too harshly and at once +with assertion or assumption. + +"Mother never thinks I am of any consequence," said a dear boy to me, the +other day. "She's all for the girls." + +This was not true; but there was truth in it. And I am very sure that the +selfishness, the lack of real courtesy, which we see so plainly and +pitiably in the behavior of the average young man to-day is the slow, +certain result of years of just such feelings as this child expressed. The +boy has to scramble for his rights. Naturally he is too busy to think much +about the rights of others. The man keeps up the habit, and is negatively +selfish without knowing it. + +Take, for instance, the one point of the minor courtesies (if we can dare +to call any courtesies minor) of daily intercourse. How many people are +there who habitually speak to a boy of ten, twelve, or fourteen with the +same civility as to his sister, a little younger or older? + +"I like Miss----," said this same dear boy to me, one day; "for she +always bids me good-morning." + +Ah! never is one such word thrown away on a loving, open-hearted boy. Men +know that safe through all the wear and tear of life they keep far greener +the memory of some woman or some man who was kind to them in their boyhood +than of the friend who helped or cheered them yesterday. + +Dear, blessed, noisy, rollicking, tormenting, comforting Boy! What should +we do without him? How much we like, without suspecting it, his breezy +presence in the house! Except for him, how would errands be done, chairs +brought, nails driven, cows stoned out of our way, letters carried, twine +and knives kept ready, lost things found, luncheon carried to picnics, +three-year-olds that cry led out of meeting, butterflies and birds' nests +and birch-bark got, the horse taken round to the stable, borrowed things +sent home,--and all with no charge for time? + +Dear, patient, busy Boy! Shall we not sometimes answer his questions? Give +him a comfortable seat? Wait and not reprove him till after the company +has gone? Let him wear his best jacket, and buy him half as many neckties +as his sister has? Give him some honey, even if there is not enough to go +round? Listen tolerantly to his little bragging, and help him "do" his +sums? + +With a sudden shrill scream the engine slipped off on a side-track, and +the cars glided into the great, grim city-station, looking all the grimmer +for its twinkling lights. The masses of people who were waiting and the +masses of people who had come surged toward each other like two great +waves, and mingled in a moment. I caught sight of my poor little friend, +Boy, following his father, struggling along in the crowd, carrying two +heavy carpet-bags, a strapped bundle, and two umbrellas, and being sharply +told to "Keep up close there." + +"Ha!" said I, savagely, to myself, "doing porters' work is not one of the +things which 'boys' are 'not allowed.'" + + + + +Half an Hour in a Railway Station. + + + +It was one of those bleak and rainy days which mark the coming of spring +on New England sea-shores. The rain felt and looked as if it might at any +minute become hail or snow; the air pricked like needles when it blew +against flesh. Yet the huge railway station was as full of people as ever. +One could see no difference between this dreariest of days and the +sunniest, so far as the crowd was concerned, except that fewer of the +people wore fine clothes; perhaps, also, that their faces looked a little +more sombre and weary than usual. + +There is no place in the world where human nature shows to such sad +disadvantage as in waiting-rooms at railway stations, especially in the +"Ladies' Room." In the "Gentlemen's Room" there is less of that ghastly, +apathetic silence which seems only explainable as an interval between two +terrible catastrophes. Shall we go so far as to confess that even the +unsightly spittoons, and the uncleanly and loquacious fellowship resulting +from their common use, seem here, for the moment, redeemed from a little +of their abominableness,--simply because almost any action is better than +utter inaction, and any thing which makes the joyless, taciturn American +speak to his fellow whom he does not know, is for the time being a +blessing. But in the "Ladies' Room" there is not even a community of +interest in a single bad habit, to break the monotone of weary stillness. +Who has not felt the very soul writhe within her as she has first crossed +the threshold of one of these dismal antechambers of journey? Carpetless, +dingy, dusty; two or three low sarcophagi of greenish-gray iron in open +spaces, surrounded by blue-lipped women, in different angles and attitudes +of awkwardness, trying to keep the soles of their feet in a perpendicular +position, to be warmed at what they have been led to believe is a +steam-heating apparatus; a few more women, equally listless and +weary-looking, standing in equally difficult and awkward positions before +a counter, holding pie in one hand, and tea in a cup and saucer in the +other, taking alternate mouthfuls of each, and spilling both; the rest +wedged bolt upright against the wall in narrow partitioned seats, which +only need a length of perforated foot-board in front to make them fit to +be patented as the best method of putting whole communities of citizens +into the stocks at once. All, feet warmers, pie-eaters, and those who sit +in the red-velvet stocks, wear so exactly the same expression of vacuity +and fatigue that they might almost be taken for one gigantic and unhappy +family connection, on its way to what is called in newspapers "a sad +event." The only wonder is that this stiffened, desiccated crowd retains +vitality enough to remember the hours at which its several trains depart, +and to rise up and shake itself alive and go on board. One is haunted +sometimes by the fancy that some day, when the air in the room is +unusually bad and the trains are delayed, a curious phenomenon will be +seen. The petrifaction will be carried a little farther than usual, and, +when the bell rings and the official calls out, "Train made up for Babel, +Hinnom, and way stations?" no women will come forth from the "Ladies' +Room," no eye will move, no muscle will stir. Husbands and brothers will +wait and search vainly for those who should have met them at the station, +with bundles of the day's shopping to be carried out; homes will be +desolate; and the history of rare fossils and petrifactions will have a +novel addition. Or, again, that, if some sudden convulsion of Nature, like +those which before now have buried wicked cities and the dwellers in them, +were to-day to swallow up the great city of New Sodom in America, and keep +it under ground for a few thousand years, nothing in all its circuit would +so puzzle the learned archaeologists of A.D. 5873 as the position of the +skeletons in these same waiting-rooms of railway stations. + +Thinking such thoughts as these, sinking slowly and surely to the level of +the place, I waited, on this bleak, rainy day, in just such a "Ladies' +Room" as I have described. I sat in the red-velvet stocks, with my eyes +fixed on the floor. + +"Please, ma'am, won't you buy a basket?" said a cheery little voice. So +near me, without my knowing it, had the little tradesman come that I was +as startled as if the voice had spoken out of the air just above my head. + +He was a sturdy little fellow, ten years old, Irish, dirty, ragged; but he +had honest, kind gray eyes, and a smile which ought to have sold more +baskets than he could carry. A few kind words unsealed the fountain of his +childish confidences. There were four children younger than he; the mother +took in washing, and the father, who was a cripple from rheumatism, made +these baskets, which he carried about to sell. + +"Where do you sell the most?" + +"Round the depots. That's the best place." + +"But the baskets are rather clumsy to carry. Almost everybody has his +hands full, when he sets out on a journey." + +"Yis'm; but mostly they doesn't take the baskets. But they gives me a +little change," said he, with a smile; half roguish, half sad. + +I watched him on in his pathetic pilgrimage round that dreary room, +seeking help from that dreary circle of women. + +My heart aches to write down here the true record that out of those scores +of women only three even smiled or spoke to the little fellow. Only one +gave him money. My own sympathies had been so won by his face and manner +that I found myself growing hot with resentment as I watched woman after +woman wave him off with indifferent or impatient gesture. His face was a +face which no mother ought to have been able to see without a thrill of +pity and affection. God forgive me! As if any mother ought to be able to +see any child, ragged, dirty, poor, seeking help and finding none! But his +face was so honest, and brave, and responsive that it added much to the +appeal of his poverty. + +One woman, young and pretty, came into the room, bringing in her arms a +large toy horse, and a little violin. "Oh," I said to myself, "she has a +boy of her own, for whom she can buy gifts freely. She will surely give +this poor child a penny." He thought so, too; for he went toward her with +a more confident manner than he had shown to some of the others. No! She +brushed by him impatiently, without a word, and walked to the +ticket-office. He stood looking at the violin and the toy horse till she +came back to her seat. Then he lifted his eyes to her face again; but she +apparently did not see him, and he went away. Ah, she is only half mother +who does not see her own child in every child!--her own child's grief in +every pain which makes another child weep! + +Presently the little basket-boy went out into the great hall. I watched +him threading his way in and out among the groups of men. I saw one +man--bless him!--pat the little fellow on the head; then I lost sight of +him. + +After ten minutes he came back into the Ladies' Room, with only one basket +in his hand, and a very happy little face. The "sterner sex" had been +kinder to him than we. The smile which he gave me in answer to my glad +recognition of his good luck was the sunniest sunbeam I have seen on a +human face for many a day. He sank down into the red-velvet stocks, and +twirled his remaining basket, and swung his shabby little feet, as idle +and unconcerned as if he were some rich man's son, waiting for the train +to take him home. So much does a little lift help the heart of a child, +even of a beggar child. It is a comfort to remember him, with that look on +his face, instead of the wistful, pleading one which I saw at first. I +left him lying back on the dusty velvet, which no doubt seemed to him +unquestionable splendor. In the cars I sat just behind the woman with the +toy-horse and the violin. I saw her glance rest lovingly on them many +times, as she thought of her boy at home; and I wondered if the little +basket-seller had really produced no impression whatever on her heart. I +shall remember him long after (if he lives) he is a man! + + + + +A Genius For Affection. + + +The other day, speaking superficially and uncharitably, I said of a woman, +whom I knew but slightly, "She disappoints me utterly. How could her +husband have married her? She is commonplace and stupid." + +"Yes," said my friend, reflectively; "it is strange. She is not a +brilliant woman; she is not even an intellectual one; but there is such a +thing as a genius for affection, and she has it. It has been good for her +husband that he married her." + +The words sank into my heart like a great spiritual plummet They dropped +down to depths not often stirred. And from those depths came up some +shining sands of truth, worth keeping among treasures; having a +phosphorescent light in them, which can shine in dark places, and, making +them light as day, reveal their beauty. + +"A genius for affection." Yes; there is such a thing, and no other genius +is so great. The phrase means something more than a capacity, or even a +talent for loving. That is common to all human beings, more or less. A man +or woman without it would be a monster, such as has probably never been on +the earth. All men and women, whatever be their shortcomings in other +directions, have this impulse, this faculty, in a degree. It takes shape +in family ties: makes clumsy and unfortunate work of them in perhaps two +cases out of three,--wives tormenting husbands, husbands neglecting and +humiliating wives, parents maltreating and ruining children, children +disobeying and grieving parents, and brothers and sisters quarrelling to +the point of proverbial mention; but under all this, in spite of all this, +the love is there. A great trouble or a sudden emergency will bring it +out. In any common danger, hands clasp closely and quarrels are forgotten; +over a sick-bed hard ways soften into yearning tenderness; and by a grave, +alas! what hot tears fall! The poor, imperfect love which had let itself +be wearied and harassed by the frictions of life, or hindered and warped +by a body full of diseased nerves, comes running, too late, with its +effort to make up lost opportunities. It has been all the while alive, but +in a sort of trance; little good has come of it, but it is something that +it was there. It is the divine germ of a flower and fruit too precious to +mature in the first years after grafting; in other soils, by other waters, +when the healing of the nations is fulfilled, we shall see its perfection. +Oh! what atonement will be there! What allowances we shall make for each +other, then! with what love we shall love! + +But the souls who have what my friend meant by a "genius for affection" +are in another atmosphere than that which common men breathe. Their "upper +air" is clearer, more rarefied than any to which mere intellectual genius +can soar. Because, to this last, always remain higher heights which it +cannot grasp, see, nor comprehend. + +Michel Angelo may build his dome of marble, and human intellect may see as +clearly as if God had said it that no other dome can ever be built so +grand, so beautiful. But above St. Peter's hangs the blue tent-dome of the +sky, vaster, rounder, elastic, unfathomable, making St. Peter's look small +as a drinking-cup, shutting it soon out of sight to north, east, south, +and west, by the mysterious horizon-fold which no man can lift. And beyond +this horizon-fold of our sky shut down again other domes, which the wisest +astronomer may not measure, in whose distances our little ball and we, +with all our spinning, can hardly show like a star. If St. Peter's were +swallowed up to-morrow, it would make no real odds to anybody but the +Pope. The probabilities are that Michel Angelo himself has forgotten all +about it. + +Titian and Raphael, and all the great brotherhood of painters, may kneel +reverently as priests before Nature's face, and paint pictures at sight of +which all men's eyes shall fill with grateful tears; and yet all men shall +go away, and find that the green shade of a tree, the light on a young +girl's face, the sleep of a child, the flowering of a flower, are to their +pictures as living life to beautiful death. + +Coming to Art's two highest spheres,--music of sound and music of +speech,--we find that Beethoven and Mozart, and Milton and Shakespeare, +have written. But the symphony is sacred only because, and only so far as, +it renders the joy or the sorrow which we have felt. Surely, the +interpretation is less than the thing interpreted. Face to face with a +joy, a sorrow, would a symphony avail us? And, as for words, who shall +express their feebleness in midst of strength? The fettered helplessness +in spite of which they soar to such heights? The most perfect sentence +ever written bears to the thing it meant to say the relation which the +chemist's formula does to the thing he handles, names, analyzes, can +destroy, perhaps, but cannot make. Every element in the crystal, the +liquid, can be weighed, assigned, and rightly called; nothing in all +science is more wonderful than an exact chemical formula; but, after all +is done, will remain for ever unknown the one subtle secret, the vital +centre of the whole. + +But the souls who have a "genius for affection" have no outer dome, no +higher and more vital beauty; no subtle secret of creative motive force to +elude their grasp, mock their endeavor, overshadow their lives. The +subtlest essence of the thing they worship and desire, they have in their +own nature,--they are. No schools, no standards, no laws can help or +hinder them. + +To them the world is as if it were not. Work and pain and loss are as if +they were not. These are they to whom it is easy to die any death, if good +can come that way to one they love. These are they who do die daily +unnoted on our right hand and on our left,--fathers and mothers for +children, husbands and wives for each other. These are they, also, who +live,--which is often far harder than it is to die,--long lives, into +whose being never enters one thought of self from the rising to the going +down of the sun. Year builds on year with unvarying steadfastness the +divine temple of their beauty and their sacrifice. They create, like God. +The universe which science sees, studies, and explains, is small, is +petty, beside the one which grows under their spiritual touch; for love +begets love. The waves of eternity itself ripple out in immortal circles +under the ceaseless dropping of their crystal deeds. + +Angels desire to look, but cannot, into the mystery of holiness and beauty +which such human lives reveal. Only God can see them clearly. God is their +nearest of kin; for He is love. + + + + +Rainy Days. + + +With what subtle and assured tyranny they take possession of the world! +Stoutest hearts are made subject, plans of conquerors set aside,--the +heavens and the earth and man,--all alike at the mercy of the rain. Come +when they may, wait long as they will, give what warnings they can, rainy +days are always interruptions. No human being has planned for them then +and there. "If it had been but yesterday," "If it were only to-morrow," is +the cry from all lips. Ah! a lucky tyranny for us is theirs. Were the +clouds subject to mortal call or prohibition, the seasons would fail and +death get upper hand of all things before men agreed on an hour of common +convenience. + +What tests they are of people's souls! Show me a dozen men and women in +the early morning of a rainy day, and I will tell by their words and their +faces who among them is rich and who is poor,--who has much goods laid up +for just such times of want, and who has been spend-thrift and foolish. +That curious, shrewd, underlying instinct, common to all ages, which takes +shape in proverbs recognized this long ago. Who knows when it was first +said of a man laying up money, "He lays by for a rainy day"? How close +the parallel is between the man who, having spent on each day's living the +whole of each day's income, finds himself helpless in an emergency of +sickness whose expenses he has no money to meet, and the man who, having +no intellectual resources, no self-reliant habit of occupation, finds +himself shut up in the house idle and wretched for a rainy day. I confess +that on rainy mornings in country houses, among well-dressed and so-called +intelligent and Christian people, I have been seized with stronger +disgusts and despairs about the capacity and worth of the average human +creature, than I have ever felt in the worst haunts of ignorant +wickedness. + +"What is there to do to-day?" is the question they ask. I know they are +about to ask it before they speak. I have seen it in their listless and +disconcerted eyes at breakfast. It is worse to me than the tolling of a +bell; for saddest dead of all are they who have only a "name to live." + +The truth is, there is more to do on a rainy day than on any other. In +addition to all the sweet, needful, possible business of living and +working, and learning and helping, which is for all days, there is the +beauty of the rainy day to see, the music of the rainy day to hear. It +drums on the window-panes, chuckles and gurgles at corners of houses, +tinkles in spouts, makes mysterious crescendoes and arpeggio chords +through the air; and all the while drops from the eaves and upper +window-ledges are beating time as rhythmical and measured as that of a +metronome,--time to which our own souls furnish tune, sweet or sorrowful, +inspiriting or saddening, as we will. It is a curious experiment to try +repeating or chanting lines in time and cadence following the patter of +raindrops on windows. It will sometimes be startling in its effect: no +metre, no accent fails of its response in the low, liquid stroke of the +tender drops,--there seems an uncanny _rapport_ between them at once. + +And the beauty of the rain, not even love can find words to tell it. If it +left but one trace, the exquisite shifting sheen of pearls on the outer +side of the window glass, that alone one might watch for a day. In all +times it has been thought worthy of kings, of them who are royally rich, +to have garments sown thick in dainty lines and shapes with fine seed +pearls. Who ever saw any such embroidery which could compare with the +beauty of one pane of glass wrought on a single side with the shining +white transparent globulets of rain? They are millions; they crowd; they +blend; they become a silver stream; they glide slowly down, leaving +tiniest silver threads behind; they make of themselves a silver bank of +miniature sea at the bottom of the pane; and, while they do this, other +millions are set pearl-wise at the top, to crowd, blend, glide down in +their turn, and overflow the miniature sea. This is one pane, a few inches +square; and rooms have many windows of many panes. And looking past this +spectacle, out of our windows, how is it that we do not each rainy day +weep with pleasure at sight of the glistening show? Every green thing, +from tiniest grass-blade lying lowest, to highest waving tips of elms, +also set thick with the water-pearls; all tossing and catching, and +tossing and catching, in fairy game with the wind, and with the rain +itself, always losing, always gaining, changing shape and place and number +every moment, till the twinkling and shifting dazzle all eyes. + +Then at the end comes the sun, like a magician for whom all had been made +ready; at sunset, perhaps, or at sunrise, if the storm has lasted all +night. In one instant the silver balls begin to disappear. By countless +thousands at a time he tosses them back whence they came; but as they go, +he changes them, under our eyes, into prismatic globes, holding very light +of very light in their tiny circles, shredding and sorting it into blazing +lines of rainbow color. + +All the little children shout with delight, seeing these things; and call +dull, grown-up people to behold. They reply, "Yes, the storm is over;" and +this is all it means to most of them. This kingdom of heaven they cannot +enter, not being "as a little child." + +It would be worth while to know, if we only could, just what our +betters--the birds and insects and beasts--do on rainy days. But we cannot +find out much. It would be a great thing to look inside of an ant-hill in +a long rain. All we know is that the doors are shut tight, and a few +sentinels, who look as if India-rubber coats would be welcome, stand +outside. The stillness and look of intermission in the woods on a really +rainy day is something worth getting wet to observe. It is like Sunday in +London, or Fourth of July in a country town which has gone bodily to a +picnic in the next village. The strays who are out seem like accidentally +arrived people, who have lost their way. One cannot fancy a caterpillar's +being otherwise than very uncomfortable in wet hair; and what can there be +for butterflies and dragon-flies to do, in the close corners into which +they creep, with wings shut up as tight as an umbrella? The beasts fare +better, being clothed in hides. Those whom we oftenest see out in rains +(cows and oxen and horses) keep straight on with their perpetual munching, +as content wet as dry, though occasionally we see them accept the partial +shelter of a tree from a particularly hard shower. + +Hens are the forlornest of all created animals when it rains. Who can help +laughing at sight of a flock of them huddled up under lee of a barn, limp, +draggled, spiritless, shifting from one leg to the other, with their silly +heads hanging inert to right or left, looking as if they would die for +want of a yawn? One sees just such groups of other two-legged creatures in +parlors, under similar circumstances. The truth is, a hen's life at best +seems poorer than that of any other known animal. Except when she is +setting, I cannot help having a contempt for her. This also has been +recognized by that common instinct of people which goes to the making of +proverbs; for "Hen's time ain't worth much" is a common saying among +farmers' wives. How she dawdles about all day, with her eyes not an inch +from the ground, forever scratching and feeding in dirtiest places,--a +sort of animated muck-rake, with a mouth and an alimentary canal! No +wonder such an inane creature is wretched when it rains, and her soulless +business is interrupted. She is, I think, likest of all to the human +beings, men or women, who do not know what to do with themselves on rainy +days. + + + + +Friends of the Prisoners. + + + +In many of the Paris prisons is to be seen a long, dreary room, through +the middle of which are built two high walls of iron grating, enclosing a +space of some three feet in width. + +A stranger visiting the prison for the first time would find it hard to +divine for what purpose these walls of grating had been built. But on the +appointed days when the friends of the prisoners are allowed to enter the +prison, their use is sadly evident. It would not be safe to permit wives +and husbands, and mothers and sons, to clasp hands in unrestrained +freedom. A tiny file, a skein of silk, can open prison-doors and set +captives free; love's ingenuity will circumvent tyranny and fetters, in +spite of all possible precautions. Therefore the vigilant authority says, +"You may see, but not touch; there shall be no possible opportunity for an +instrument of escape to be given; at more than arm's length the wife, the +mother must be held." The prisoners are led in and seated on a bench upon +one side of these gratings; the friends are led in and seated on a similar +bench on the other side; jailers are in attendance in both rooms; no words +can be spoken which the jailers do not hear. Yearningly eyes meet eyes; +faces are pressed against the hard wires; loving words are exchanged; the +poor prisoned souls ask eagerly for news from the outer world,--the world +from which they are as much hidden as if they were dead. Fathers hear how +the little ones have grown; sometimes, alas! how the little ones have +died. Small gifts of fruit or clothing are brought; but must be given +first into the hands of the jailers. Even flowers cannot be given from +loving hand to hand; for in the tiniest flower might be hidden the secret +poison which would give to the weary prisoner surest escape of all. All +day comes and goes the sad train of friends; lingering and turning back +after there is no more to be said; weeping when they meant and tried to +smile; more hungry for closer sight and voice, and for touch, with every +moment that they gaze through the bars; and going away, at last, with a +new sense of loss and separation, which time, with its merciful healing, +will hardly soften before the visiting-day will come again, and the same +heart-rending experience of mingled torture and joy will again be borne. +But to the prisoners these glimpses of friends' faces are like manna from +heaven. Their whole life, physical and mental, receives a new impetus from +them. Their blood flows more quickly, their eyes light up, they live from +one day to the next on a memory and a hope. No punishment can be invented +so terrible as the deprivation of the sight of their friends on the +visiting-day. Men who are obstinate and immovable before any sort or +amount of physical torture are subdued by mere threat of this. + +A friend who told me of a visit he paid to the Prison Mazas, on one of the +days, said, with tears in his eyes, "It was almost more than I could bear +to see these poor souls reaching out toward each other from either side of +the iron railings. Here a poor, old woman, tottering and weak, bringing a +little fruit in a basket for her son; here a wife, holding up a baby to +look through the gratings at its father, and the father trying in an agony +of earnestness to be sure that the baby knew him; here a little girl, +looking half reproachfully at her brother, terror struggling with +tenderness in her young face; on the side of the friends, love and +yearning and pity beyond all words to describe; on the side of the +prisoners, love and yearning just as great, but with a misery of shame +added, which gave to many faces a look of attempt at dogged indifference +on the surface, constantly betrayed and contradicted, however, by the +flashing of the eyes and the red of the cheeks." + +The story so impressed me that I could not for days lose sight of the +picture it raised; the double walls of iron grating; the cruel, +inexorable, empty space between them,--empty, yet crowded with words and +looks; the lines of anxious, yearning faces on either side. But presently +I said to myself, It is, after all, not so unlike the life we all live. +Who of us is not in prison? Who of us is not living out his time of +punishment? Law holds us all in its merciless fulfilment of penalty for +sin; disease, danger, work separate us, wall us, bury us. That we are not +numbered with the number of a cell, clothed in the uniform of a prison, +locked up at night, and counted in the morning, is only an apparent +difference, and not so real a one. Our jailers do not know us; but we know +them. There is no fixed day gleaming for us in the future when our term of +sentence will expire and we shall regain freedom. It may be to-morrow; but +it may be threescore years away. Meantime, we bear ourselves as if we were +not in prison. We profess that we choose, we keep our fetters out of +sight, we smile, we sing, we contrive to be glad of being alive, and we +take great interest in the changing of our jails. But no man knows where +his neighbor's prison lies. How bravely and cheerily most eyes look up! +This is one of the sweetest mercies of life, that "the heart knoweth its +own bitterness," and, knowing it, can hide it. Hence, we can all be +friends for other prisoners, standing separated from them by the +impassable iron gratings and the fixed gulf of space, which are not +inappropriate emblems of the unseen barriers between all human souls. We +can show kindly faces, speak kindly words, bear to them fruits and food, +and moral help, greater than fruit or food. We need not aim at +philanthropies; we need not have a visiting-day, nor seek a prison-house +built of stone. On every road each man we meet is a prisoner; he is dying +at heart, however sound he looks; he is only waiting, however well he +works. If we stop to ask whether he be our brother, he is gone. Our one +smile would have lit up his prison-day. Alas for us if we smiled not as we +passed by! Alas for us if, face to face, at last, with our Elder Brother, +we find ourselves saying, "Lord, when saw we thee sick and in prison!" + + + + +A Companion for the Winter. + + + +I have engaged a companion for the winter. It would be simply a +superfluous egotism to say this to the public, except that I have a +philanthropic motive for doing so. There are many lonely people who are in +need of a companion possessing just such qualities as his; and he has +brothers singularly like himself, whose services can be secured. I despair +of doing justice to him by any description. In fact, thus far, I discover +new perfections in him daily, and believe that I am yet only on the +threshold of our friendship. + +In conversation he is more suggestive than any person I have ever known. +After two or three hours alone with him, I am sometimes almost startled to +look back and see through what a marvellous train of fancy and reflection +he has led me. Yet he is never wordy, and often conveys his subtlest +meaning by a look. + +He is an artist, too, of the rarest sort. You watch the process under +which his pictures grow with incredulous wonder. The Eastern magic which +drops the seed in the mould, and bids it shoot up before your eyes, +blossom, and bear its fruit in an hour, is tardy and clumsy by side of the +creative genius of my companion. His touch is swift as air; his coloring +is vivid as light; he has learned, I know not how, the secrets of hidden +places in all lands; and he paints, now a tufted clump of soft cocoa +palms; now the spires and walls of an iceberg, glittering in yellow +sunlight; now a desolate, sandy waste, where black rocks and a few +crumbling ruins are lit up by a lurid glow; then a cathedral front, with +carvings like lace; then the skeleton of a wrecked ship, with bare ribs +and broken masts,--and all so exact, so minute, so life-like, that you +believe no man could paint thus any thing which he had not seen. + +He has a special love for mosaics, and a marvellous faculty for making +drawings of curious old patterns. Nothing is too complicated for his +memory, and he revels in the most fantastic and intricate shapes. I have +known him in a single evening throw off a score of designs, all beautiful, +and many of them rare: fiery scorpions on a black ground; pale lavender +filagrees over scarlet; white and black squares blocked out as for tiles +of a pavement, and crimson and yellow threads interlaced over them; odd +Chinese patterns in brilliant colors, all angles and surprises, with no +likeness to any thing in nature; and exquisite little bits of landscape in +soft grays and whites. Last night was one of his nights of reminiscences +of the mosaic-workers. A furious snow-storm was raging, and, as the flaky +crystals piled up in drifts on the window-ledges, he seemed to catch the +inspiration of their law of structure, and drew sheet after sheet of +crystalline shapes; some so delicate and filmy that it seemed as if a jar +might obliterate them; some massive and strong, like those in which the +earth keeps her mineral treasures; then, at last, on a round charcoal +disk, he traced out a perfect rose, in a fragrant white powder, which +piled up under his fingers, petal after petal, circle after circle, till +the feathery stamens were buried out of sight. Then, as we held our breath +for fear of disturbing it, with a good-natured little chuckle, he shook it +off into the fire, and by a few quick strokes of red turned the black +charcoal disk into a shield gay enough for a tournament. + +He has talent for modelling, but this he exercises more rarely. Usually, +his figures are grotesque rather than beautiful, and he never allows them +to remain longer than for a few moments, often changing them so rapidly +under your eye that it seems like jugglery. He is fondest of doing this at +twilight, and loves the darkest corner of the room. From the half-light he +will suddenly thrust out before you a grinning gargoyle head, to which he +will give in an instant more a pair of spider legs, and then, with one +roll, stretch it out into a crocodile, whose jaws seem so near snapping +that you involuntarily draw your chair further back. Next, in a freak of +ventriloquism, he startles you still more by bringing from the crocodile's +mouth a sigh, so long drawn, so human, that you really shudder, and are +ready to implore him to play no more tricks. He knows when he has reached +this limit, and soothes you at once by a tender, far-off whisper, like the +wind through pines, sometimes almost like an Aeolian harp; then he rouses +you from your dreams by what you are sure is a tap at the door. You turn, +speak, listen; no one enters; the tap again. Ah! it is only a little more +of the ventriloquism of this wonderful creature. You are alone with him, +and there was no tap at the door. + +But when there is, and the friend comes in, then my companion's genius +shines out. Almost always in life the third person is a discord, or at +least a burden; but he is so genial, so diffusive, so sympathetic, that, +like some tints by which painters know how to bring out all the other +colors in a picture, he forces every one to do his best. I am indebted to +him already for a better knowledge of some men and women with whom I had +talked for years before to little purpose. It is most wonderful that he +produces this effect, because he himself is so silent; but there is some +secret charm in his very smile which puts people _en rapport_ with each +other, and with him at once. + +I am almost afraid to go on with the list of the things my companion can +do. I have not yet told the half, nor the most wonderful; and I believe I +have already overtaxed credulity. I will mention only one more,--but that +is to me far more inexplicable than all the rest. I am sure that it +belongs, with mesmerism and clairvoyance, to the domain of the higher +psychological mysteries. He has in rare hours the power of producing the +portraits of persons whom you have loved, but whom he has never seen. For +this it is necessary that you should concentrate your whole attention on +him, as is always needful to secure the best results of mesmeric power. It +must also be late and still. In the day, or in a storm, I have never +known him to succeed in this. For these portraits he uses only shadowy +gray tints. He begins with a hesitating outline. If you are not tenderly +and closely in attention, he throws it aside; he can do nothing. But if +you are with him, heart and soul, and do not take your eyes from his, he +will presently fill out the dear faces, full, life-like, and wearing a +smile, which makes you sure that they too must have been summoned from the +other side, as you from this, to meet on the shadowy boundary between +flesh and spirit. He must see them as clearly as he sees you; and it would +be little more for his magic to do if he were at the same moment showing +to their longing eyes your face and answering smile. + +But I delay too long the telling of his name. A strange hesitancy seizes +me. I shall never be believed by any one who has not sat as I have by his +side. But, if I can only give to one soul the good-cheer and strength of +such a presence, I shall be rewarded. + +His name is Maple Wood-fire, and his terms are from eight to twelve +dollars a month, according to the amount of time he gives. This price is +ridiculously low, but it is all that any member of the family asks; in +fact, in some parts of the country, they can be hired for much less. They +have connections by the name of Hickory, whose terms are higher; but I +cannot find out that they are any more satisfactory. There are also some +distant relations, named Chestnut and Pine, who can be employed in the +same way, at a much lower rate; but they are all snappish and uncertain in +temper. + +To the whole world I commend the good brotherhood of Maple, and pass on +the emphatic indorsement of a blessed old black woman who came to my room +the other day, and, standing before the rollicking blaze on my hearth, +said, "Bless yer, honey, yer's got a wood-fire. I'se allers said that, if +yer's got a wood-fire, yer's got meat, an' drink, an' clo'es." + + + + +Choice of Colors. + + + +The other day, as I was walking on one of the oldest and most picturesque +streets of the old and picturesque town of Newport, R.I., I saw a little +girl standing before the window of a milliner's shop. + +It was a very rainy day. The pavement of the side-walks on this street is +so sunken and irregular that in wet weather, unless one walks with very +great care, he steps continually into small wells of water. Up to her +ankles in one of these wells stood the little girl, apparently as +unconscious as if she were high and dry before a fire. It was a very cold +day too. I was hurrying along, wrapped in furs, and not quite warm enough +even so. The child was but thinly clothed. She wore an old plaid shawl and +a ragged knit hood of scarlet worsted. One little red ear stood out +unprotected by the hood, and drops of water trickled down over it from her +hair. She seemed to be pointing with her finger at articles in the window, +and talking to some one inside. I watched her for several moments, and +then crossed the street to see what it all meant. I stole noiselessly up +behind her, and she did not hear me. The window was full of artificial +flowers, of the cheapest sort, but of very gay colors. Here and there a +knot of ribbon or a bit of lace had been tastefully added, and the whole +effect was really remarkably gay and pretty. Tap, tap, tap, went the small +hand against the window-pane; and with every tap the unconscious little +creature murmured, in a half-whispering, half-singing voice, "I choose +_that_ color." "I choose _that_ color." "I choose _that_ color." + +I stood motionless. I could not see her face; but there was in her whole +attitude and tone the heartiest content and delight. I moved a little to +the right, hoping to see her face, without her seeing me; but the slight +movement caught her ear, and in a second she had sprung aside and turned +toward me. The spell was broken. She was no longer the queen of an +air-castle, decking herself in all the rainbow hues which pleased her eye. +She was a poor beggar child, out in the rain, and a little frightened at +the approach of a stranger. She did not move away, however; but stood +eying me irresolutely, with that pathetic mixture of interrogation and +defiance in her face which is so often seen in the prematurely developed +faces of poverty-stricken children. + +"Aren't the colors pretty?" I said. She brightened instantly. + +"Yes'm. I'd like a goon av thit blue." + +"But you will take cold standing in the wet," said I. "Won't you come +under my umbrella?" + +She looked down at her wet dress suddenly, as if it had not occurred to +her before that it was raining. Then she drew first one little foot and +then the other out of the muddy puddle in which she had been standing, +and, moving a little closer to the window, said, "I'm not jist goin' home, +mem. I'd like to stop here a bit." + +So I left her. But, after I had gone a few blocks, the impulse seized me +to return by a cross street, and see if she were still there. Tears sprang +to my eyes as I first caught sight of the upright little figure, standing +in the same spot, still pointing with the rhythmic finger to the blues and +reds and yellows, and half chanting under her breath, as before, "I choose +_that_ color." "I choose _that_ color." "I choose _that_ color." + +I went quietly on my way, without disturbing her again. But I said in my +heart, "Little Messenger, Interpreter, Teacher! I will remember you all my +life." + +Why should days ever be dark, life ever be colorless? There is always sun; +there are always blue and scarlet and yellow and purple. We cannot reach +them, perhaps, but we can see them, if it is only "through a glass," and +"darkly,"--still we can see them. We can "choose" our colors. It rains, +perhaps; and we are standing in the cold. Never mind. If we look earnestly +enough at the brightness which is on the other side of the glass, we shall +forget the wet and not feel the cold. And now and then a passer-by, who +has rolled himself up in furs to keep out the cold, but shivers +nevertheless,--who has money in his purse to buy many colors, if he likes, +but, nevertheless, goes grumbling because some colors are too dear for +him,--such a passer-by, chancing to hear our voice, and see the +atmosphere of our content, may learn a wondrous secret,--that +pennilessness is not poverty, and ownership is not possession; that to be +without is not always to lack, and to reach is not to attain; that +sunlight is for all eyes that look up, and color for those who "choose." + + + + +The Apostle of Beauty. + + + +He is not of the twelve, any more than the golden rule is of the ten. "A +greater commandment I give unto you," was said of that. Also it was called +the "new commandment." Yet it was really older than the rest, and greater +only because it included them all. There were those who kept it ages +before Moses went up Sinai: Joseph, for instance, his ancestor; and the +king's daughter, by whose goodness he lived. So stands the Apostle of +Beauty, greater than the twelve, newer and older; setting Gospel over +against law, having known law before its beginning; living triumphantly +free and unconscious of penalty. + +He has had martyrdom, and will have. His church is never established; the +world does not follow him; only of Wisdom is he known, and of her +children, who are children of light. He never speaks by their mouths who +say "Shalt not." He knows that "shalt not" is illegitimate, puny, trying +always to usurp the throne of the true king, "Thou shalt." + +"This is delight," "this is good to see," he says of a purity, of a fair +thing. It needs not to speak of the impurity, of the ugliness. Left +unmentioned, unforbidden, who knows how soon they might die out of men's +lives, perhaps even from the earth's surface? Men hedging gardens have for +centuries set plants under that "letter of law" which "killeth," until the +very word hedge has become a pain and an offence; and all the while there +have been standing in every wild country graceful walls of unhindered +brier and berry, to which the apostles of beauty have been silently +pointing. By degrees gardeners have learned something. The best of them +now call themselves "landscape gardeners;" and that is a concession, if it +means, as I suppose it does, that they will try to copy Nature's +landscapes in their enclosures. I have seen also of late that on rich +men's estates tangled growths of native bushes are being more let alone, +and hedges seem to have had some of the weights and harness taken off of +them. + +This is but one little matter among millions with which the Apostle of +Beauty has to do; but it serves for instance of the first requisite he +demands, which is freedom. "Let use take care of itself." "It will," he +says. "There is no beauty without freedom." + +Nothing is too high for him, nothing too low or small. To speak more +truly, in his eyes there is no small, no low. From a philanthropy down to +a gown, one catholic necessity, one catholic principle; gowns can be +benefactions or injuries; philanthropies can be well or ill clad. + +He has a ministry of co-workers,--men, women, and guileless little +children. Many of them serve him without knowing him by name. Some who +serve him best, who spread his creeds most widely, who teach them most +eloquently, die without dreaming that they have been missionaries to +Gentiles. Others there are who call him "Lord, Lord," build temples to him +and teach in them, who never know him. These are they who give their goods +to the poor, their bodies to be burned; but are each day ungracious, +unloving, hard, cruel to men and women about them. These are they also who +make bad statues, bad pictures, invent frightful fashions of things to be +worn, and make the houses and the rooms in which they live hideous with +unsightly adornments. The centuries fight such,--now with a Titian, a +Michel Angelo; now with a great philanthropist, who is also peaceable and +easy to be entreated; now with a Florence Nightingale, knowing no sect; +now with a little child by a roadside, holding up a marigold in the sun; +now with a sweet-faced old woman, dying gracefully in some almshouse. Who +has not heard voice from such apostles? + +To-day my nearest, most eloquent apostle of beauty is a poor shoemaker, +who lives in the house where I lodge. How poor he must be I dare not even +try to understand. He has six children: the oldest not more than thirteen, +the third a deaf-mute, the baby puny and ill,--sure, I think (and hope), +to die soon. + +They live in two rooms, on the ground-floor. His shop is the right-hand +corner of the front room; the rest is bedroom and sitting-room; behind are +the bedroom and kitchen. I have never seen so much as I might of their way +of living; for I stand before his window with more reverent fear of +intruding by a look than I should have at the door of a king's chamber. A +narrow rough ledge added to the window-sill is his bench. Behind this he +sits from six in the morning till seven at night, bent over, sewing slowly +and painfully on the coarsest shoes. His face looks old enough for sixty +years; but he cannot be so old. Yet he wears glasses and walks feebly; he +has probably never had in any one day of his life enough to eat. But I do +not know any man, and I know only one woman, who has such a look of +radiant good-cheer and content as has this poor shoemaker, Anton Grasl. + +In his window are coarse wooden boxes, in which are growing the common +mallows. They are just now in full bloom,--row upon row of gay-striped +purple and white bells. The window looks to the east, and is never shut. +When I go out to my breakfast the sun is streaming in on the flowers and +Anton's face. He looks up, smiles, bows low, and says, "Good-day, good my +lady," sometimes holding the mallow-stalks back with one hand, to see me +more plainly. I feel as if the day and I had had benediction. It is always +a better day because Anton has said it is good; and I am a better woman +for sight of his godly contentment. Almost every day he has beside the +mallows in the boxes a white mug with flowers in it,--nasturtiums, +perhaps, or a few pinks. This he sets carefully in shade of the thickest +mallows; and this I have often seen him hold down tenderly, for the little +ones to see and to smell. + +When I come home in the evenings, between eight and nine o'clock, Anton +is always sifting in front of the door, resting his head against the wall. +This is his recreation, his one blessed hour of out-door air and rest. He +stands with his cap in his hand while I pass, and his face shines as if +all the concentrated enjoyment of my walk in the woods had descended upon +him in my first look. If I give him a bunch of ferns to add to his +nasturtiums and pinks, he is so grateful and delighted that I have to go +into the house quickly for fear I shall cry. Whenever I am coming back +from a drive, I begin to think, long before I reach the house, how glad +Anton will look when he sees the carriage stop. I am as sure as if I had +omniscient sight into the depths of his good heart that he has distinct +and unenvious joy in every pleasure that he sees other people taking. + +Never have I, heard one angry or hasty word, one petulant or weary cry +from the rooms in which this father and mother and six children are +struggling to live. All day long the barefooted and ragged little ones +play under my south windows, and do not quarrel. I amuse myself by +dropping grapes or plums on their heads, and then watching them at their +feast; never have I seen them dispute or struggle in the division. Once I +purposely threw a large bunch of grapes to the poor little mute, and only +a few plums to the others. I am sorry to say that voiceless Carl ate all +his grapes himself; but not a selfish or discontented look could I see on +the faces of the others,--they all smiled and beamed up at me like suns. + +It is Anton who creates and sustains this rare atmosphere. The wife is +only a common and stupid woman; he is educating her, as he is the +children. She is very thin and worn and hungry-looking, but always smiles. +Being Anton's wife, she could not do otherwise. + +Sometimes I see people passing the house, who give a careless glance of +contemptuous pity at Anton's window of mallows and nasturtiums. Then I +remember that an apostle wrote:-- + +"There are, it may be, so many kinds of voices in the world, and none of +them is without signification. + +"Therefore, if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be unto him +that speaketh a barbarian, and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto +me." + +And I long to call after them, as they go groping their way down the +beautiful street,-- + +"Oh, ye barbarians, blind and deaf! How dare you think you can pity Anton? +His soul would melt in compassion for you, if he were able to comprehend +that lives could be so poor as yours. He is the rich man, and you are +poor. Eating only the husks on which you feed, he would starve to death." + + + + +English Lodging-Houses. + + + +Somebody who has written stories (is it Dickens?) has given us very wrong +ideas of the English lodging-house. What good American does not go into +London with the distinct impression that, whatever else he does or does +not do, he will upon no account live in lodgings? That he will even be +content with the comfortless coffee-room of a second-rate hotel, and +fraternize with commercial travellers from all quarters of the globe, +rather than come into relations with that mixture of vulgarity and +dishonesty, the lodging-house keeper? + +It was with more than such misgiving that I first crossed the threshold of +Mrs. ----'s house in Bedford Place, Bloomsbury. At this distance I smile +to remember how welcome would have been any alternative rather than the +remaining under her roof for a month; how persistently for several days I +doubted and resisted the evidence of all my senses, and set myself at work +to find the discomforts and shortcomings which I believed must belong to +that mode of life. To confess the stupidity and obstinacy of my ignorance +is small reparation, and would be little worth while, except for the hope +that my account of the comfort and economy in living on the English +lodging-house system may be a seed dropped in due season, which shall +spring up sooner or later in the introduction of a similar system in +America. The gain which it would be to great numbers of our men and women +who must live on small incomes cannot be estimated. It seems hardly too +much to say that in the course of one generation it might work in the +average public health a change which would be shown in statistics, and rid +us of the stigma of a "national disease" of dyspepsia. For the men and +women whose sufferings and ill-health have made of our name a by-word +among the nations are not, as many suppose, the rich men and women, +tempted by their riches to over-indulgence of their stomachs, and paying +in their dyspepsia simply the fair price of their folly; they are the +moderately poor men and women, who are paying cruel penalty for not having +been richer,--not having been rich enough to avoid the poisons which are +cooked and served in American restaurants and in the poorer class of +American homes. + +Mrs. ----'s lodging-house was not, so far as I know, any better than the +average lodging-houses of its grade. It was well situated, well furnished, +well kept, and its scale of prices was moderate. For instance, the rent of +a pleasant parlor and bedroom on the second floor was thirty-four +shillings a week, including fire and gas,--$8.50, gold. Then there was a +charge of two shillings a week for the use of the kitchen-fire, and three +shillings a week for service; and these were the only charges in addition +to the rent. Thus for $9.75 a week one had all the comforts that can be +had in housekeeping, so far as room and service are concerned. There were +four good servants,--cook, scullery maid, and two housemaids. Oh, the +pleasant voices and gentle fashions of behavior of those housemaids! They +were slow, it must be owned; but their results were admirable. In spite of +London smoke and grime, Mrs. ----'s floors and windows were clean; the +grates shone every morning like mirrors, and the glass and silver were +bright. Each morning the smiling cook came up to take our orders for the +meals of the day; each day the grocer and the baker and the butcher +stopped at the door and left the sugar for the "first floor front," the +beef for the "drawing-room," and so on. The smallest article which could +be required in housekeeping was not overlooked. The groceries of the +different floors never got mixed, though how this separateness of stores +was accomplished will for ever remain a mystery to me; but that it was +successfully accomplished the smallness of our bill was the best of +proof,--unless, indeed, as we were sometimes almost afraid, we did now and +then eat up Dr. A----'s cheese, or drink the milk belonging to the B's +below us. We were a party of four; our fare was of the plain, substantial +sort, but of sufficient variety and abundance; and yet our living never +cost us, including rent, service, fires, and food, over $60 a week. If we +had chosen to practise closer economies, we might have lived on less. +Compare for one instant the comfort of such an arrangement as this, which +really gave us every possible advantage to be secured by housekeeping, and +with almost none of the trouble, with any boarding or lodging possible in +New York. We had two parlors and two bedrooms; our meals served promptly +and neatly, in our own parlor. The same amount of room, and service, and +such a table, for four people, cannot be had in New York for less than +$150 or $200 a week; in fact, they cannot be had in New York for any sum +of money. The quiet respectfulness of behavior and faithful interest in +work of English servants on English soil are not to be found elsewhere. We +afterward lived for some weeks in another lodging-house in Great Malvern, +Worcestershire, at about the same price per week. This house was even +better than the London one in some respects. The system was precisely the +same; but the cooking was almost faultless, and the table appointments +were more than satisfactory,--they were tasteful. The china was a +pleasure, and there were silver and linen and glass which one would be +glad to have in one's own home. + +It may be asked, and not unnaturally, how does this lodging-house system +work for those who keep the houses? Can it be possible that all this +comfort and economy for lodgers are compatible with profits for landlords? +I can judge only from the results in these two cases which came under my +own observation. In each of these cases the family who kept the house +lived comfortably and pleasantly in their own apartment, which was, in the +London house, almost as good a suite of rooms as any which they rented. +They certainly had far more apparent quiet, comfort, and privacy than is +commonly seen in the arrangements of the keepers of average +boarding-houses. In the Malvern house, one whole floor, which was less +pleasant than the others, but still comfortable and well furnished, was +occupied by the family. There were three little boys, under ten years of +age, who had their nursery governess, said lessons to her regularly, and +were led out decorously to walk by her at appointed seasons, like all the +rest of good little English boys in well-regulated families; and yet the +mother of these children came to the door of our parlor each morning, with +the respectful air of an old family housekeeper, to ask what we would have +for dinner, and was careful and exact in buying "three penn'orth" of herbs +at a time for us, to season our soup. I ought to mention that in both +these places we made the greater part of our purchases ourselves, having +weekly bills sent in from the shops, and in our names, exactly as if we +were living in our own house. All honest lodging-house keepers, we were +told, preferred this method, as leaving no opening for any unjust +suspicions of their fairness in providing. But, if one chooses to be as +absolutely free from trouble as in boarding, the marketing can all be done +by the family, and the bills still made out in the lodgers' names. I have +been thus minute in my details because I think there may be many to whom +this system of living is as unknown as it was to me; and I cannot but hope +that it may yet be introduced in America. + + + + +Wet the Clay. + + +Once I stood in Miss Hosmer's studio, looking at a statue which she was +modelling of the ex-queen of Naples. Face to face with the clay model, I +always feel the artist's creative power far more than when I am looking at +the immovable marble. + +A touch here--there--and all is changed. Perhaps, under my eyes, in the +twinkling of an eye, one trait springs into life and another disappears. + +The queen, who is a very beautiful woman, was represented in Miss Hosmer's +statue as standing, wearing the picturesque cloak that she wore during +those hard days of garrison life at Gaeta, when she showed herself so +brave and strong that the world said if she, instead of that very stupid +young man her husband, had been king, the throne need not have been lost. +The very cloak, made of light cloth showily faced with scarlet, was draped +over a lay figure in one corner of the room. In the statue the folds of +drapery over the right arm were entirely disarranged, simply rough clay. +The day before they had been apparently finished; but that morning Miss +Hosmer had, as she laughingly told us, "pulled it all to pieces again." + +As she said this, she took up a large syringe and showered the statue +from head to foot with water, till it dripped and shone as if it had been +just plunged into a bath. Now it was in condition to be moulded. Many +times a day this process must be repeated, or the clay becomes so dry and +hard that it cannot be worked. + +I had known this before; but never did I so realize the significant +symbolism of the act as when I looked at this lifeless yet lifelike thing, +to be made into the beauty of a woman, called by her name, and cherished +after her death,--and saw that only through this chrysalis of the clay, so +cared for, moistened, and moulded, could the marble obtain its soul. + +And, as all things I see in life seem to me to have a voice either for or +of children, so did this instantly suggest to me that most of the failures +of mothers come from their not keeping the clay wet. + +The slightest touch tells on the clay when it is soft and moist, and can +produce just the effect which is desired; but when the clay is too dry it +will not yield, and often it breaks and crumbles beneath the unskilful +hand. How perfect the analogy between these two results, and the two +atmospheres which one often sees in the space of one half-hour in the +management of the same child! One person can win from it instantly a +gentle obedience: that person's smile is a reward, that person's +displeasure is a grief it cannot bear, that person's opinions have utmost +weight with it, that person's presence is a controlling and subduing +influence. Another, alas! the mother, produces such an opposite effect +that it is hard to believe the child can be the same child. Her simplest +command is met by antagonism or sullen compliance; her pleasure and +displeasure are plainly of no account to the child, and its great desire +is to get out of her presence. + +What shape will she make of that child's soul? She does not wet the clay. +She does not stop to consider before each command whether it be wholly +just, whether it be the best time to make it, and whether she can explain +its necessity. Oh! the sweet reasonableness of children when disagreeable +necessities are explained to them, instead of being enforced as arbitrary +tyrannies! She does not make them so feel that she shares all their +sorrows and pleasures that they cannot help being in turn glad when she is +glad, and sorry when she is sorry. She does not so take them into constant +companionship in her interests, each day,--the books, the papers she +reads, the things she sees,--that they learn to hold her as the +representative of much more than nursery discipline, clothes, and bread +and butter. She does not kiss them often enough, put her arms around them, +warm, soften, bathe them in the ineffable sunshine of loving ways. "I +can't imagine why children are so much better with you than with me," +exclaims such a mother. No, she cannot imagine; and that is the trouble. +If she could, all would be righted. It is quite probable that she is a far +more anxious, self-sacrificing, hard-working mother than the neighbor, +whose children are rosy and frolicking and affectionate and obedient; +while hers are pale and fretful and selfish and sullen. + +She is all the time working, working, with endless activity, on hard, dry +clay; and the neighbor, who, perhaps half-unconsciously, keeps the clay +wet, is with one-half the labor modelling sweet creatures of Nature's own +loveliest shapes. + +Then she says, this poor, tired mother, discouraged because her children +tell lies, and irritated because they seem to her thankless, "After all, +children are pretty much alike, I suppose. I believe most children tell +lies when they are little; and they never realize until they are grown up +what parents do for them." + +Here again I find a similitude among the artists who paint or model. +Studios are full of such caricatures, and the hard-working, honest souls +who have made them believe that they are true reproductions of nature and +life. + +"See my cherub. Are not all cherubs such as he?" and "Behold these trees +and this water; and how the sun glowed on the day when I walked there!" +and all the while the cherub is like a paper doll, and the trees and the +water never had any likeness to any thing that is in this beautiful earth. +But, after all, this similitude is short and paltry, for it is of +comparatively small moment that so many men and women spend their lives in +making bad cherubs in marble, and hideous landscapes in oil. It is +industry, and it keeps them in bread; in butter, too, if their cherubs and +trees are very bad. But, when it is a human being that is to be moulded, +how do we dare, even with all the help which we can ask and find in earth +and in heaven, to shape it by our touch! + +Clay in the hands of the potter is not more plastic than is the little +child's soul in the hands of those who tend it. Alas! how many shapeless, +how many ill-formed, how many broken do we see! Who does not believe that +the image of God could have been beautiful on all? Sooner or later it will +be, thank Christ! But what a pity, what a loss, not to have had the sweet +blessedness of being even here fellow-workers with him in this glorious +modelling for eternity! + + + + +The King's Friend. + + + +We are a gay party, summering among the hills. New-comers into the little +boarding-house where we, by reason of prior possession, hold a kind of +sway are apt to fare hardly at our hands unless they come up to our +standard. We are not exacting in the matter of clothes; we are liberal on +creeds; but we have our shibboleths. And, though we do not drown unlucky +Ephraimites, whose tongues make bad work with S's, I fear we are not quite +kind to them; they never stay long, and so we go on having it much our own +way. + +Week before last a man appeared at dinner, of whom our good little +landlady said, deprecatingly, that he would stay only a few days. She knew +by instinct that his presence would not be agreeable to us. He was not in +the least an intrusive person,--on the contrary, there was a sort of mute +appeal to our humanity in the very extent of his quiet inoffensiveness; +but his whole atmosphere was utterly uninteresting. He was untrained in +manner, awkwardly ill at ease in the table routine; and, altogether, it +was so uncomfortable to make any attempt to include him in our circle that +in a few days he was ignored by every one, to a degree which was neither +courteous nor Christian. + +In all families there is a leader. Ours is a charming and brilliant +married woman, whose ready wit and never-failing spirits make her the best +of centres for a country party of pleasure-seekers. Her keen sense of +humor had not been able entirely to spare this unfortunate man, whose +attitudes and movements were certainly at times almost irresistible. + +But one morning such a change was apparent in her manner toward him that +we all looked up in surprise. No more gracious and gentle greeting could +she have given him if he had been a prince of royal line. Our astonishment +almost passed bounds when we heard her continue with a kindly inquiry +after his health, and, undeterred by his evident readiness to launch into +detailed symptoms, listen to him with the most respectful attention. Under +the influence of this new and sweet recognition his plain and common face +kindled into something almost manly and individual. He had never before +been so spoken to by a well-bred and beautiful woman. + +We were sobered, in spite of ourselves, by an indefinable something in her +manner; and it was with subdued whispers that we crowded around her on the +piazza, and begged to know what it all meant. It was a rare thing to see +Mrs. ---- hesitate for a reply. The color rose in her face, and, with a +half-nervous attempt at a smile, she finally said, "Well, girls, I suppose +you will all laugh at me; but the truth is, I heard that man say his +prayers this morning. You know his room is next to mine, and there is a +great crack in the door. I heard him praying, this morning, for ten +minutes, just before breakfast; and I never heard such tones in my life. I +don't pretend to be religious; but I must own it was a wonderful thing to +hear a man talking with God as he did. And when I saw him at table, I felt +as if I were looking in the face of some one who had just come out of the +presence of the King of kings, and had the very air of heaven about him. I +can't help what the rest of you do or say; _I_ shall always have the same +feeling whenever I see him." + +There was a magnetic earnestness in her tone and look, which we all felt, +and which some of us will never forget. + +During the few remaining days of his stay with us, that untutored, +uninteresting, stupid man knew no lack of friendly courtesy at our hands. +We were the better for his homely presence; unawares, he ministered unto +us. When we knew that he came directly from speaking to the Master to +speak to us, we felt that he was greater than we, and we remembered that +it is written, "If any man serve me, him will my Father honor." + + + + +Learning to Speak. + + + +With what breathless interest we listen for the baby's first word! What a +new bond is at once and for ever established between its soul and ours by +this mysterious, inexplicable, almost incredible fact! That is the use of +the word. That is its only use, so far as mere gratification of the ear +goes. Many other sounds are more pleasurable,--the baby's laugh, for +instance, or its inarticulate murmurs of content or sleepiness. + +But the word is a revelation, a sacred sign. Now we shall know what our +beloved one wants; now we shall know when and why the dear heart sorrows +or is glad. How reassured we feel, how confident! Now we cannot make +mistakes; we shall do all for the best; we can give happiness; we can +communicate wisdom; relation is established; the perplexing gulf of +silence is bridged. The baby speaks! + +But it is not of the baby's learning to speak that we propose to write +here. All babies learn to speak; or, if they do not, we know that it means +a terrible visitation,--a calamity rare, thank God! but bitter almost +beyond parents' strength to bear. + +But why, having once learned to speak, does the baby leave off speaking +when it becomes a man or a woman? Many of our men and women to-day need, +almost as much as when they were twenty-four months old, to learn to +speak. We do not mean learning to speak in public. We do not mean even +learning to speak well,--to pronounce words clearly and accurately; though +there is need enough of that in this land! But that is not the need at +which we are aiming now. We mean something so much simpler, so much +further back, that we hardly know how to say it in words which shall be +simple enough and also sufficiently strong. We mean learning to speak at +all! In spite of all which satirical writers have said and say of the +loquacious egotism, the questioning curiosity of our people, it is true +to-day that the average American is a reticent, taciturn, speechless +creature, who, for his own sake, and still more for the sake of all who +love him, needs, more than he needs any thing else under heaven, to learn +to speak. + +Look at our silent railway and horse-cars, steamboat-cabins, hotel-tables, +in short, all our public places where people are thrown together +incidentally, and where good-will and the habit of speaking combined would +create an atmosphere of human vitality, quite unlike what we see now. But +it is not of so much consequence, after all, whether people speak in these +public places or not. If they did, one very unpleasant phase of our +national life would be greatly changed for the better. But it is in our +homes that this speechlessness tells most fearfully,--on the breakfast and +dinner and tea-tables, at which a silent father and mother sit down in +haste and gloom to feed their depressed children. This is especially true +of men and women in the rural districts. They are tired; they have more +work to do in a year than it is easy to do. Their lives are +monotonous,--too much so for the best health of either mind or body. If +they dreamed how much this monotony could be broken and cheered by the +constant habit of talking with each other, they would grasp at the +slightest chance of a conversation. Sometimes it almost seems as if +complaints and antagonism were better than such stagnant quiet. But there +need not be complaint and antagonism; there is no home so poor, so remote +from affairs, that each day does not bring and set ready, for family +welcome and discussion, beautiful sights and sounds, occasions for +helpfulness and gratitude, questions for decision, hopes, fears, regrets! +The elements of human life are the same for ever; any one heart holds in +itself the whole, can give all things to another, can bear all things for +another; but no giving, no bearing, no, not even if it is the giving up of +a life, if it is done without free, full, loving interchange of speech, is +half the blessing it might be. + +Many a wife goes down to her grave a dulled and dispirited woman simply +because her good and faithful husband has lived by her side without +talking to her! There have been days when one word of praise, or one word +even of simple good cheer, would have girded her up with new strength. She +did not know, very likely, what she needed, or that she needed any thing; +but she drooped. + +Many a child grows up a hard, unimpressionable, unloving man or woman +simply from the uncheered silence in which the first ten years of life +were passed. Very few fathers and mothers, even those who are fluent, +perhaps, in society, habitually _talk_ with their children. + +It is certain that this is one of the worst shortcomings of our homes. +Perhaps no other single change would do so much to make them happier, and, +therefore, to make our communities better, as for men and women to learn +to speak. + + + + +Private Tyrants. + + + +We recognize tyranny when it wears a crown and sits on an hereditary +throne. We sympathize with nations that overthrow the thrones, and in our +secret hearts we almost canonize individuals who slay the tyrants. From +the days of Ehud and Eglon down to those of Charlotte Corday and Marat, +the world has dealt tenderly with their names whose hands have been red +with the blood of oppressors. On moral grounds it would be hard to justify +this sentiment, murder being murder all the same, however great gain it +may be to this world to have the murdered man put out of it; but that +there is such a sentiment, instinctive and strong in the human soul, there +is no denying. It is so instinctive and so strong that, if we watch +ourselves closely, we shall find it giving alarming shape sometimes to our +secret thoughts about our neighbors. + +How many communities, how many households even, are without a tyrant? If +we could "move for returns of suffering," as that tender and thoughtful +man, Arthur Helps, says, we should find a far heavier aggregate of misery +inflicted by unsuspected, unresisted tyrannies than by those which are +patent to everybody, and sure to be overthrown sooner or later. + +An exhaustive sermon on this subject should be set off in three divisions, +as follows:-- + + PRIVATE TYRANTS. + + _1st._ Number of-- + _2d._ Nature of-- + _3d._ Longevity of-- + +_First_. Their number. They are not enumerated in any census. Not even the +most painstaking statistician has meddled with the topic. Fancy takes bold +leaps at the very suggestion of such an estimate, and begins to think at +once of all things in the universe which are usually mentioned as beyond +numbering. Probably one good way of getting at a certain sort of result +would be to ask each person of one's acquaintance, "Do you happen to know +a private tyrant?" + +How well we know beforehand the replies we should get from _some_ beloved +men and women,--that is, if they spoke the truth! + +But they would not. That is the saddest thing about these private +tyrannies. They are in many cases borne in such divine and uncomplaining +silence by their victims, perhaps for long years, the world never dreams +that they exist. But at last the fine, subtle writing, which no control, +no patience, no will can thwart, becomes set on the man's or the woman's +face, and tells the whole record. Who does not know such faces? Cheerful +usually, even gay, brave, and ready with lines of smile; but in repose so +marked, so scarred with unutterable weariness and disappointment, that +tears spring in the eyes and love in the hearts of all finely organized +persons who meet them. + +_Secondly_. Nature of private tyrants. Here also the statistician has not +entered. The field is vast; the analysis difficult. + +Selfishness is, of course, their leading characteristic; in fact, the very +sum and substance of their natures. But selfishness is Protean. It has as +many shapes as there are minutes, and as many excuses and wraps of sheep's +clothing as ever ravening wolf possessed. + +One of its commonest pleas is that of weakness. Here it often is so +inextricably mixed with genuine need and legitimate claim that one grows +bewildered between sympathy and resentment. In this shape, however, it +gets its cruelest dominion over strong and generous and tender people. +This kind of tyranny builds up and fortifies its bulwarks on and out of +the very virtues of its victims; it gains strength hourly from the very +strength of the strength to which it appeals; each slow and fatal +encroachment never seems at first so much a thing required as a thing +offered; but, like the slow sinking inch by inch of that great, beautiful +city of stone into the relentless Adriatic, so is the slow, sure going +down and loss of the freedom of a strong, beautiful soul, helpless in the +omnipresent circumference of the selfish nature to which it is or believes +itself bound. + +That the exactions never or rarely take shape in words is, to the +unbiassed looker-on, only an exasperating feature in their tyranny. While +it saves the conscience of the tyrant,--if such tyrants have any,--it +makes doubly sure the success of their tyranny. And probably nothing short +of revelation from Heaven, in shape of blinding light, would ever open +their eyes to the fact that it is even more selfish to hold a generous +spirit fettered hour by hour by a constant fear of giving pain than to +coerce or threaten or scold them into the desired behavior. Invalids, all +invalids, stand in deadly peril of becoming tyrants of this order. A +chronic invalid who entirely escapes it must be so nearly saint or angel +that one instinctively feels as if their invalidism would soon end in the +health of heaven. We know of one invalid woman, chained to her bed for +long years by an incurable disease, who has had the insight and strength +to rise triumphant above this danger. Her constant wish and entreaty is +that her husband should go freely into all the work and the pleasure of +life. Whenever he leaves her, her farewell is not, "How soon do you think +you shall come back? At what hour, or day, may I look for you?" but, "Now, +pray stay just as long as you enjoy it. If you hurry home one hour sooner +for the thought of me, I shall be wretched." It really seems almost as if +the longer he stayed away,--hours, days, weeks even,--the happier she +were. By this sweet and wise unselfishness she has succeeded in realizing +the whole blessedness of wifehood far more than most women who have +health. But we doubt if any century sees more than one such woman as she +is. + +Another large class, next to that of invalids the most difficult to deal +with, is made up of people who are by nature or by habit uncomfortably +sensitive or irritable. Who has not lived at one time or other in his life +in daily contact with people of this sort,--persons whose outbreaks of +temper, or of wounded feeling still worse than temper, were as +incalculable as meteoric showers? The suppressed atmosphere, the chronic +state of alarm and misgiving, in which the victims of this species of +tyranny live are withering and exhausting to the stoutest hearts. They are +also hardening; perpetually having to wonder and watch how people will +"take" things is apt sooner or later to result in indifference as to +whether they take them well or ill. + +But to define all the shapes of private tyranny would require whole +histories; it is safe, however, to say that so far as any human being +attempts to set up his own individual need or preference as law to +determine the action of any other human being, in small matters or great, +so far forth he is a tyrant. The limit of his tyranny may be narrowed by +lack of power on his part, or of response on the part of his fellows; but +its essence is as purely tyrannous as if he sat on a throne with an +executioner within call. + +_Thirdly._ Longevity of private tyrants. We have not room under this head +to do more--nor, if we had all room, could we do better--than to quote a +short paragraph from George Eliot's immortal Mrs. Poyser: "It seems as if +them as aren't wanted here are th' only folks as aren't wanted i' th' +other world." + + + + +Margin. + + + +Wide-margined pages please us at first sight. We do not stop to ask why. +It has passed into an accepted rule that all elegant books must have +broad, clear margins to their pages. We as much recognize such margins +among the indications of promise in a book, as we do fineness of paper, +clearness of type, and beauty of binding. All three of these last, even in +perfection, could not make any book beautiful, or sightly, whose pages had +been left narrow-margined and crowded. This is no arbitrary decree of +custom, no chance preference of an accredited authority. It would be +dangerous to set limit to the power of fashion in any thing; and yet it +seems almost safe to say that not even fashion itself can ever make a +narrow-margined page look other than shabby and mean. This inalienable +right of the broad margin to our esteem is significant. It lies deep. The +broad margin means something which is not measured by inches, has nothing +to do with fashions of shape. It means room for notes, queries, added by +any man's hand who reads. Meaning this, it means also much more than +this,--far more than the mere letter of "right of way." It is a fine +courtesy of recognition that no one page shall ever say the whole of its +own message; be exhaustive, or ultimate, even of its own topic; determine +or enforce its own opinion, to the shutting out of others. No matter if +the book live and grow old, without so much as an interrogation point or a +line of enthusiastic admiration drawn in it by human hand, still the +gracious import and suggestion of its broad white spaces are the same. +Each thought invites its neighbor, stands fairly to right or left of its +opponent, and wooes its friend. + +Thinking on this, we presently discover that margin means a species of +freedom. No wonder the word, and the thing it represents, wherever we find +them, delight us. + +We use the word constantly in senses which, speaking carelessly, we should +have called secondary and borrowed. Now we see that its application to +pages, or pictures, or decorations, and so forth, was the borrowed and +secondary use; and that primarily its meaning is spiritual. + +We must have margin, or be uncomfortable in every thing in life. Our plan +for a day, for a week, for our lifetime, must have it,--margin for change +of purpose, margin for interruption, margin for accident. Making no +allowance for these, we are fettered, we are disturbed, we are thwarted. + +Is there a greater misery than to be hurried? If we leave ourselves proper +margin, we never need to be hurried. We always shall be, if we crowd our +plan. People pant, groan, and complain as if hurry were a thing outside +of themselves,--an enemy, a monster, a disease which overtook them, and +against which they had no shelter. It is hard to be patient with such +nonsense. Hurry is almost the only known misery which it is impossible to +have brought upon one by other people's fault. + +If our plan of action for an hour or a day be so fatally spoiled by lack +of margin, what shall we say of the mistake of the man who leaves himself +no margin in matters of belief? No room for a wholesome, healthy doubt? No +provision for an added enlightenment? No calculation for the inevitable +progress of human knowledge? This is, in our eyes, the crying sin and +danger of elaborate creeds, rigid formulas of exact statement on difficult +and hidden mysteries. + +The man who is ready to give pledge that the opinion he will hold +to-morrow will be precisely the opinion he holds to-day has either thought +very little, or to little purpose, or has resolved to quit thinking +altogether. + + + + +The Fine Art of Smiling. + + +Some theatrical experiments are being made at this time to show that all +possible emotions and all shades and gradations of emotion can be +expressed by facial action, and that the method of so expressing them can +be reduced to a system, and taught in a given number of lessons. It seems +a matter of question whether one would be likely to make love or evince +sorrow any more successfully by keeping in mind all the while the detailed +catalogue of his flexors and extensors, and contracting and relaxing No. +1, 2, or 3, according to rule. The human memory is a treacherous thing, +and what an enormous disaster would result from a very slight +forgetfulness in such a nicely adjusted system! The fatal effect of +dropping the superior maxillary when one intended to drop the inferior, or +of applying nervous stimuli to the up track, instead of the down, can +easily be conceived. Art is art, after all, be it ever so skilful and +triumphant, and science is only a slow reading of hieroglyphs. Nature sits +high and serene above both, and smiles compassionately on their efforts +to imitate and understand. And this brings us to what we have to say about +smiling. Do many people feel what a wonderful thing it is that each human +being is born into the world with his own smile? Eyes, nose, mouth, may be +merely average commonplace features; may look, taken singly, very much +like anybody's else eyes, nose, or mouth. Let whoever doubts this try the +simple but endlessly amusing experiment of setting half a dozen people +behind a perforated curtain, and making them put their eyes at the holes. +Not one eye in a hundred can be recognized, even by most familiar and +loving friends. But study smiles; observe, even in the most casual way, +the variety one sees in a day, and it will soon be felt what subtle +revelation they make, what infinite individuality they possess. + +The purely natural smile, however, is seldom seen in adults; and it is on +this point that we wish to dwell. Very early in life people find out that +a smile is a weapon, mighty to avail in all sorts of crises. Hence, we see +the treacherous smile of the wily; the patronizing smile of the pompous; +the obsequious smile of the flatterer; the cynical smile of the satirist. +Very few of these have heard of Delsarte; but they outdo him on his own +grounds. Their smile is four-fifths of their social stock in trade. All +such smiles are hideous. The gloomiest, blankest look which a human face +can wear is welcomer than a trained smile or a smile which, if it is not +actually and consciously methodized by its perpetrator, has become, by +long repetition, so associated with tricks and falsities that it partakes +of their quality. + +What, then, is the fine art of smiling? + +If smiles may not be used for weapons or masks, of what use are they? That +is the shape one would think the question took in most men's minds, if we +may judge by their behavior! There are but two legitimate purposes of the +smile; but two honest smiles. On all little children's faces such smiles +are seen. Woe to us that we so soon waste and lose them! + +The first use of the smile is to express affectionate good-will; the +second, to express mirth. + +Why do we not always smile whenever we meet the eye of a fellow-being? +That is the true, intended recognition which ought to pass from soul to +soul constantly. Little children, in simple communities, do this +involuntarily, unconsciously. The honest-hearted German peasant does it. +It is like magical sunlight all through that simple land, the perpetual +greeting on the right hand and on the left, between strangers, as they +pass by each other, never without a smile. This, then, is "the fine art of +smiling;" like all fine art, true art, perfection of art, the simplest +following of Nature. + +Now and then one sees a face which has kept its smile pure and undefiled. +It is a woman's face usually; often a face which has trace of great sorrow +all over it, till the smile breaks. Such a smile transfigures; such a +smile, if the artful but knew it, is the greatest weapon a face can have. +Sickness and age cannot turn its edge; hostility and distrust cannot +withstand its spell; little children know it, and smile back; even dumb +animals come closer, and look up for another. + +If one were asked to sum up in one single rule what would most conduce to +beauty in the human face, one might say therefore, "Never tamper with your +smile; never once use it for a purpose. Let it be on your face like the +reflection of the sunlight on a lake. Affectionate good-will to all men +must be the sunlight, and your face is the lake. But, unlike the sunlight, +your good-will must be perpetual, and your face must never be overcast." + +"What! smile perpetually?" says the realist. "How silly!" + +Yes, smile perpetually! Go to Delsarte here, and learn even from the +mechanician of smiles that a smile can be indicated by a movement of +muscles so slight that neither instruments nor terms exist to measure or +state it; in fact, that the subtlest smile is little more than an added +brightness to the eye and a tremulousness of the mouth. One second of time +is more than long enough for it; but eternity does not outlast it. + +In that wonderfully wise and tender and poetic book, the "Layman's +Breviary," Leopold Schefer says,-- + + "A smile suffices to smile death away; + And love defends thee e'en from wrath divine! + Then let what may befall thee,--still smile on! + And howe'er Death may rob thee,--still smile on! + Love never has to meet a bitter thing; + A paradise blooms around him who smiles." + + + + +Death-Bed Repentance. + + +Not long since, a Congregationalist clergyman, who had been for forty-one +years in the ministry, said in my hearing, "I have never, in all my +experience as a pastor, known of a single instance in which a repentance +on what was supposed to be a death-bed proved to be of any value whatever +after the person recovered." + +This was strong language. I involuntarily exclaimed, "Have you known many +such cases?" + +"More than I dare to remember." + +"And as many more, perhaps, where the person died." + +"Yes, fully as many more." + +"Then did not the bitter failure of these death-bed repentances to bear +the tests of time shake your confidence in their value under the tests of +eternity?" + +"It did,--it does," said the clergyman, with tears in his eyes. The +conversation made a deep impression on my mind. It was strong evidence, +from a quarter in which I least looked for it, of the utter paltriness and +insufficiency of fear as a motive when brought to bear upon decisions in +spiritual things. There seem to be no words strong enough to stigmatize it +in all other affairs except spiritual. All ages, all races, hold cowardice +chief among vices; noble barbarians punished it with death. Even +civilization the most cautiously legislated for, does the same thing when +a soldier shows it "in face of the enemy." Language, gathering itself up +and concentrating its force to describe base behavior, can do no more than +call it "cowardly." No instinct of all the blessed body-guard of instincts +born with us seems in the outset a stronger one than the instinct that to +be noble, one must be brave. Almost in the cradle the baby taunts or is +taunted by the accusation of being "afraid." And the sting of the taunt +lies in the probability of its truth. For in all men, alas! is born a +certain selfish weakness, to which fear can address itself. But how +strange does it appear that they who wish to inculcate noblest action, +raise to most exalted spiritual conditions, should appeal to this lowest +of motives to help them! We believe that there are many "death-bed +repentances" among hale, hearty sinners, who are approached by the same +methods, stimulated by the same considerations, frightened by the same +conceptions of possible future suffering, which so often make the chambers +of dying men dark with terrors. Fear is fear all the same whether its +dread be for the next hour or the next century. The closer the enemy, the +swifter it runs. That is all the difference. Let the enemy be surely and +plainly removed, and in one instance it is no more,--is as if it had +never been. Every thought, word, and action based upon it has come to end. + +I was forcibly reminded of the conversation above quoted by some +observations I once had opportunity of making at a Methodist camp-meeting. +Much of the preaching and exhortation consisted simply and solely of +urgent, impassioned appeals to the people to repent,--not because +repentance is right; not because God is love, and it is base not to love +and obey him; not even because godliness is in itself great gain, and +sinfulness is, even temporarily, loss and ruin; but because there is a +wrath to come, which will inflict terrible and unending suffering on the +sinner. He is to "flee" for his life from torments indescribable and +eternal; he is to call on Jesus, not to make him holy, but to save him +from woe, to rescue him from frightful danger; all and every thing else is +subordinate to the one selfish idea of escaping future misery. The effect +of these appeals, of these harrowing pictures, on some of the young men +and women and children was almost too painful to be borne. They were in an +hysterical condition,--weeping from sheer nervous terror. When the +excitement had reached its highest pitch, an elder rose and told the story +of a wicked and impenitent man whom he had visited a few weeks before. The +man had assented to all that he told him of the necessity of repentance; +but said that he was not at leisure that day to attend the class meeting. +He resolved and promised, however, to do so the next week. That very +night he was taken ill with a disease of the brain, and, after three days +of unconsciousness, died. I would not like to quote here the emphasis of +application which was made of this story to the terrors of the weeping +young people. Under its influence several were led, almost carried by +force, into the anxious seats. + +It was hard not to fancy the gentle Christ looking down upon the scene +with a pain as great as that with which he yearned over Jerusalem. I +longed for some instant miracle to be wrought on the spot, by which there +should come floating down from the peaceful blue sky, through the sweet +tree-tops, some of the loving and serene words of balm from his Gospel. + +Theologians may theorize, and good Christians may differ (they always +will) as to the existence, extent, and nature of future punishment; but +the fact remains indisputably clear that, whether there be less or more of +it, whether it be of this sort or of that, fear of it is a base motive to +appeal to, a false motive to act from, and a worthless motive to trust in. +Perfect love does not know it; spiritual courage resents it; the true +Kingdom of Heaven is never taken by its "violence." + +Somewhere (I wish I knew where, and I wish I knew from whose lips) I once +found this immortal sentence: "A woman went through the streets of +Alexandria, bearing a jar of water and a lighted torch, and crying aloud, +'With this torch I will burn up Heaven, and with this water I will put out +Hell, that God may be loved for himself alone.'" + + + + +The Correlation of Moral Forces. + + + +Science has dealt and delved patiently with the laws of matter. From +Cuvier to Huxley, we have a long line of clear-eyed workers. The +gravitating force between all molecules; the law of continuity; the +inertial force of matter; the sublime facts of organic co-ordination and +adaptation,--all these are recognized, analyzed, recorded, taught. We have +learned that the true meaning of the word law, as applied to Nature, is +not decree, but formula of invariable order, immutable as the constitution +of ultimate units of matter. Order is not imposed upon Nature. Order is +result. Physical science does not confuse these; it never mistakes nor +denies specific function, organic progression, cyclical growth. It knows +that there is no such thing as evasion, interruption, substitution. + +When shall we have a Cuvier, a Huxley, a Tyndall for the immaterial +world,--the realm of spiritual existence, moral growth? Nature is one. The +things which we have clumsily and impertinently dared to set off by +themselves, and label as "immaterial," are no less truly component parts +or members of the real frame of natural existence than are molecules of +oxygen or crystals of diamond. We believe in the existence of one as much +as in the existence of the other. In fact, if there be balance of proof in +favor of either, it is not in favor of the existence of what we call +matter. All the known sensible qualities of matter are ultimately +referable to immaterial forces,--"forces acting from points or volumes;" +and whether these points are occupied by positive substance, or "matter" +as it is usually conceived, cannot to-day be proved. Yet many men have +less absolute belief in a soul than in nitric acid; many men achieve +lifetimes of triumph by the faithful use and application of Nature's +law--that is, formula of uniform occurrence--in light, sound, motion, +while they all the while outrage and violate and hinder every one of those +sweet forces equally hers, equally immutable, called by such names as +truth, sobriety, chastity, courage, and good-will. + +The suggestions of this train of thought are too numerous to be followed +out in the limits of a single article. Take, for instance, the fact of the +identity of molecules, and look for its correlative truth in the spiritual +universe. Shall we not thence learn charity, and the better understand the +full meaning of some who have said that vices were virtues in excess or +restraint? Taking the lists of each, and faithfully comparing them from +beginning to end, not one shall be found which will not confirm this +seemingly paradoxical statement. + +Take the great fact of continuous progressive development which applies +to all organisms, vegetable or animal, and see how it is one with the law +that "the holy shall be holy still, the wicked shall be wicked still." + +Dare we think what would be the formula in statement of spiritual life +which would be correlative to the "law of continuity"? Having dared to +think, then shall we use the expression "little sins," or doubt the +terrible absoluteness of exactitude with which "every idle word which men +speak" shall enter upon eternity of reckoning. + +On the other hand, looking at all existences as organisms, shall we be +disturbed at seeming failure?--long periods of apparent inactivity? Shall +we believe, for instance, that Christ's great church can be really +hindered in its appropriate cycle of progressive change and adaptation? +That any true membership of this organic body can be formed or annulled by +mere human interference? That the lopping or burning of branches of the +tree, even the uprooting and burning of the tree itself, this year, next +year, nay, for hundreds of years, shall have power to annihilate or even +defer the ultimate organic result? + +The soul of man is not outcast from this glory, this freedom, this safety +of law. We speak as if we might break it, evade it; we forget it; we deny +it: but it never forgets us, it never refuses us a morsel of our estate. +In spite of us, it protects our growth, makes sure of our development. In +spite of us, it takes us whithersoever we tend, and not whithersoever we +like; in spite of us, it sometimes saves what we have carelessly perilled, +and always destroys what we wilfully throw away. + + + + +A Simple Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner. + + +All good recipe-books give bills of fare for different occasions, bills of +fare for grand dinners, bills of fare for little dinners; dinners to cost +so much per head; dinners "which can be easily prepared with one servant," +and so on. They give bills of fare for one week; bills of fare for each +day in a month, to avoid too great monotony in diet. There are bills of +fare for dyspeptics; bills of fare for consumptives; bills of fare for fat +people, and bills of fare for thin; and bills of fare for hospitals, +asylums, and prisons, as well as for gentlemen's houses. But among them +all, we never saw the one which we give below. It has never been printed +in any book; but it has been used in families. We are not drawing on our +imagination for its items. We have sat at such dinners; we have helped +prepare such dinners; we believe in such dinners; they are within +everybody's means. In fact, the most marvellous thing about this bill of +fare is that the dinner does not cost a cent. Ho! all ye that are hungry +and thirsty, and would like so cheap a Christmas dinner, listen to this + + +BILL OF FARE FOR A CHRISTMAS DINNER. + +_First Course._.--GLADNESS. + +This must be served hot. No two housekeepers make it alike; no fixed rule +can be given for it. It depends, like so many of the best things, chiefly +on memory; but, strangely enough, it depends quite as much on proper +forgetting as on proper remembering. Worries must be forgotten. Troubles +must be forgotten. Yes, even sorrow itself must be denied and shut out. +Perhaps this is not quite possible. Ah! we all have seen Christmas days on +which sorrow would not leave our hearts nor our houses. But even sorrow +can be compelled to look away from its sorrowing for a festival hour which +is so solemnly joyous as Christ's Birthday. Memory can be filled full of +other things to be remembered. No soul is entirely destitute of blessings, +absolutely without comfort. Perhaps we have but one. Very well; we can +think steadily of that one, if we try. But the probability is that we have +more than we can count. No man has yet numbered the blessings, the +mercies, the joys of God. We are all richer than we think; and if we once +set ourselves to reckoning up the things of which we are glad, we shall be +astonished at their number. + +Gladness, then, is the first item, the first course on our bill of fare +for a Christmas dinner. + +_Entrees_.--LOVE garnished with Smiles. + +GENTLENESS, with sweet-wine sauce of Laughter. + +GRACIOUS SPEECH, cooked with any fine, savory herbs, such as Drollery, +which is always in season, or Pleasant Reminiscence, which no one need be +without, as it keeps for years, sealed or unsealed. + +_Second Course_.--HOSPITALITY. + +The precise form of this also depends on individual preferences. We are +not undertaking here to give exact recipes, only a bill of fare. + +In some houses Hospitality is brought on surrounded with Relatives. This +is very well. In others, it is dished up with Dignitaries of all sorts; +men and women of position and estate for whom the host has special likings +or uses. This gives a fine effect to the eye, but cools quickly, and is +not in the long-run satisfying. + +In a third class, best of all, it is served in simple shapes, but with a +great variety of Unfortunate Persons,--such as lonely people from +lodging-houses, poor people of all grades, widows and childless in their +affliction. This is the kind most preferred; in fact, never abandoned by +those who have tried it. + +_For Dessert_.--MIRTH, in glasses. + +GRATITUDE and FAITH beaten together and piled up in snowy shapes. These +will look light if run over night in the moulds of Solid Trust and +Patience. + +A dish of the bonbons Good Cheer and Kindliness with every-day mottoes; +Knots and Reasons in shape of Puzzles and Answers; the whole ornamented +with Apples of Gold in Pictures of Silver, of the kind mentioned in the +Book of Proverbs. + +This is a short and simple bill of fare. There is not a costly thing in +it; not a thing which cannot be procured without difficulty. + +If meat is desired, it can be added. That is another excellence about our +bill of fare. It has nothing in it which makes it incongruous with the +richest or the plainest tables. It is not overcrowded by the addition of +roast goose and plum-pudding; it is not harmed by the addition of herring +and potatoes. Nay, it can give flavor and richness to broken bits of stale +bread served on a doorstep and eaten by beggars. + +We might say much more about this bill of fare. We might, perhaps, confess +that it has an element of the supernatural; that its origin is lost in +obscurity; that, although, as we said, it has never been printed before, +it has been known in all ages; that the martyrs feasted upon it; that +generations of the poor, called blessed by Christ, have laid out banquets +by it; that exiles and prisoners have lived on it; and the despised and +forsaken and rejected in all countries have tasted it. It is also true +that when any great king ate well and throve on his dinner, it was by the +same magic food. The young and the free and the glad, and all rich men in +costly houses, even they have not been well fed without it. + +And though we have called it a Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner, that +is only that men's eyes may be caught by its name, and that they, thinking +it a specialty for festival, may learn and understand its secret, and +henceforth, laying all their dinners according to its magic order, may +"eat unto the Lord." + + + + +Children's Parties. + + +"From six till half-past eleven." + +"German at seven, precisely." + +These were the terms of an invitation which we saw last week. It was sent +to forty children, between the ages of ten and sixteen. + +"Will you allow your children to stay at this party until half-past +eleven?" we said to a mother whose children were invited. "What can I do?" +she replied. "If I send the carriage for them at half-past ten, the +chances are that they will not be allowed to come away. It is impossible +to break up a set. And as for that matter, half-past ten is two hours and +a half past their bed-time; they might as well stay an hour longer. I wish +nobody would ever ask my children to a party. I cannot keep them at home, +if they are asked. Of course, I _might_; but I have not the moral courage +to see them so unhappy. All the other children go; and what can I do?" + +This is a tender, loving mother, whose sweet, gentle, natural methods with +her children have made them sweet, gentle, natural little girls, whom it +is a delight to know. But "what can she do?" The question is by no means +one which can be readily answered. It is very easy for off-hand severity, +sweeping condemnation, to say, "Do! Why, nothing is plainer. Keep her +children away from such places. Never let them go to any parties which +will last later than nine o'clock." This is the same thing as saying, +"Never let them go to parties at all." There are no parties which break up +at nine o'clock; that is, there are not in our cities. We hope there are +such parties still in country towns and villages,--such parties as we +remember to this day with a vividness which no social enjoyments since +then have dimmed; Saturday-afternoon parties,--_matinees_ they would have +been called if the village people had known enough; parties which began at +three in the afternoon and ended in the early dusk, while little ones +could see their way home; parties at which there was no "German," only the +simplest of dancing, if any, and much more of blind-man's-buff; parties at +which "mottoes" in sugar horns were the luxurious novelty, caraway cookies +the staple, and lemonade the only drink besides pure water. Fancy offering +to the creature called child in cities to-day, lemonade and a caraway +cooky and a few pink sugar horns and some walnuts and raisins to carry +home in its pocket! One blushes at thought of the scornful contempt with +which such simples would be received,--we mean rejected! + +From the party whose invitation we have quoted above the little girls came +home at midnight, radiant, flushed, joyous, looking in their floating +white muslin dresses like fairies, their hands loaded with bouquets of +hot-house flowers and dainty little "favors" from the German. At eleven +they had had for supper champagne and chicken salad, and all the other +unwholesome abominations which are set out and eaten in American evening +entertainments. + +Next morning there were no languid eyes, pale cheeks. Each little face was +eager, bright, rosy, though the excited brain had had only five or six +hours of sleep. + +"If they only would feel tired the next day, that would be something of an +argument to bring up with them," said the poor mother. "But they always +declare that they feel better than ever." + +And so they do. But the "better" is only a deceitful sham, kept up by +excited and overwrought nerves,--the same thing that we see over and over +and over again in all lives which are temporarily kindled and stimulated +by excitement of any kind. + +This is the worst thing, this is the most fatal thing in all our +mismanagements and perversions of the physical life of our children. Their +beautiful elasticity and strength rebound instantly to an apparently +uninjured fulness; and so we go on, undermining, undermining at point +after point, until suddenly some day there comes a tragedy, a catastrophe, +for which we are as unprepared as if we had been working to avert, instead +of to hasten it. Who shall say when our boys die at eighteen, twenty, +twenty-two, our girls either in their girlhood or in the first strain of +their womanhood,--who shall say that they might not have passed safely +through the dangers, had no vital force been unnecessarily wasted in their +childhood, their infancy? + +Every hour that a child sleeps is just so much investment of physical +capital for years to come. Every hour after dark that a child is awake is +just so much capital withdrawn. Every hour that a child lives a quiet, +tranquil, joyous life of such sort as kittens live on hearths, squirrels +in sunshine, is just so much investment in strength and steadiness and +growth of the nervous system. Every hour that a child lives a life of +excited brain-working, either in a school-room or in a ball-room, is just +so much taken away from the reserved force which enables nerves to triumph +through the sorrows, through the labors, through the diseases of later +life. Every mouthful of wholesome food that a child eats, at seasonable +hours, may be said to tell on every moment of his whole life, no matter +how long it may be. Victor Hugo, the benevolent exile, has found out that +to be well fed once in seven days at one meal has been enough to transform +the apparent health of all the poor children in Guernsey. Who shall say +that to take once in seven days, or even once in thirty days, an +unwholesome supper of chicken salad and champagne may not leave as lasting +effects on the constitution of a child? + +If Nature would only "execute" her "sentences against evil works" more +"speedily," evil works would not so thrive. The law of continuity is the +hardest one for average men and women to comprehend,--or, at any rate, to +obey. Seed-time and harvest in gardens and fields they have learned to +understand and profit by. When we learn, also, that in the precious lives +of these little ones we cannot reap what we do not sow, and we must reap +all which we do sow, and that the emptiness or the richness of the harvest +is not so much for us as for them, one of the first among the many things +which we shall reform will be "children's parties." + + + + +After-Supper Talk. + + +"After-dinner talk" has been thought of great importance. The expression +has passed into literature, with many records of the good sayings it +included. Kings and ministers condescend to make efforts at it; poets and +philosophers--greater than kings and ministers--do not disdain to attempt +to shine in it. + +But nobody has yet shown what "after-supper talk" ought to be. We are not +speaking now of the formal entertainment known as "a supper;" we mean the +every-day evening meal in the every-day home,--the meal known heartily and +commonly as "supper," among people who are neither so fashionable nor so +foolish as to take still a fourth meal at hours when they ought to be +asleep in bed. + +This ought to be the sweetest and most precious hour of the day. It is too +often neglected and lost in families. It ought to be the mother's hour; +the mother's opportunity to undo any mischief the day may have done, to +forestall any mischief the morrow may threaten. There is an instinctive +disposition in most families to linger about the supper-table, quite +unlike the eager haste which is seen at breakfast and at dinner. Work is +over for the day; everybody is tired, even the little ones who have done +nothing but play. The father is ready for slippers and a comfortable +chair; the children are ready and eager to recount the incidents of the +day. This is the time when all should be cheered, rested, and also +stimulated by just the right sort of conversation, just the right sort of +amusement. + +The wife and mother must supply this need, must create this atmosphere. We +do not mean that the father does not share the responsibility of this, as +of every other hour. But this particular duty is one requiring qualities +which are more essentially feminine than masculine. It wants a light touch +and an _undertone_ to bring out the full harmony of the ideal home +evening. It must not be a bore. It must not be empty; it must not be too +much like preaching; it must not be wholly like play; more than all +things, it must not be always--no, not if it could be helped, not even +twice--the same! It must be that most indefinable, most recognizable +thing, "a good time." Bless the children for inventing the phrase! It has, +like all their phrases, an unconscious touch of sacred inspiration in it, +in the selection of the good word "good," which lays peculiar benediction +on all things to which it is set. + +If there were no other reason against children's having lessons assigned +them to study at home, we should consider this a sufficient one, that it +robs them of the after-supper hour with their parents. Even if their +brains could bear without injury the sixth, seventh, or eighth hour, as +it may be, of study, their hearts cannot bear the being starved. + +In the average family, this is the one only hour of the day when father, +mother, and children can be together, free of cares and unhurried. Even to +the poorest laborer's family comes now something like peace and rest +forerunning the intermission of the night. + +Everybody who has any artistic sense recognizes this instinctively when +they see through the open doors of humble houses the father and mother and +children gathered around their simple supper. Its mention has already +passed into triteness in verse, so inevitably have poets felt the sacred +charm of the hour. + +Perhaps there is something deeper than on first thoughts would appear in +the instant sense of pleasure one has in this sight; also, in the +universal feeling that the evening gathering of the family is the most +sacred one. Perhaps there is unconscious recognition that dangers are near +at hand when night falls, and that in this hour lies, or should lie, the +spell to drive them all away. + +There is something almost terrible in the mingling of danger and +protection, of harm and help, of good and bad, in that one thing, +darkness. God "giveth his beloved sleep" in it; and in it the devil sets +his worst lures, by help of it gaining many a soul which he could never +get possession of in sunlight. + +Mothers, fathers! cultivate "after-supper talk;" play "after-supper +games;" keep "after-supper books;" take all the good newspapers and +magazines you can afford, and read them aloud "after supper." Let boys and +girls bring their friends home with them at twilight, sure of a pleasant +and hospitable welcome and of a good time "after supper," and parents may +laugh to scorn all the temptations which town or village can set before +them to draw them away from home for their evenings. + +These are but hasty hints, bare suggestions. But if they rouse one heart +to a new realization of what evenings at home _ought_ to be, and what +evenings at home too often are, they have not been spoken in vain nor out +of season. + + + + +Hysteria In Literature. + + + +Physicians tell us that there is no known disease, no known symptom of +disease, which hysteria cannot and does not counterfeit. Most skilful +surgeons are misled by its cunning into believing and pronouncing +able-bodied young women to be victims of spinal disease, "stricture of the +oesophagus," "gastrodynia," "paraplegia," "hemiplegia," and hundreds of +other affections, with longer or shorter names. Families are thrown into +disorder and distress; friends suffer untold pains of anxiety and +sympathy; doctors are summoned from far and near; and all this while the +vertebra, or the membrane, or the muscle, as it may be, which is so +honestly believed to be diseased, and which shows every symptom of +diseased action or inaction, is sound and strong, and as well able as ever +it was to perform its function. + +The common symptoms of hysteria everybody is familiar with,--the crying +and laughing in inappropriate places, the fancied impossibility of +breathing, and so forth,--which make such trouble and mortification for +the embarrassed companions of hysterical persons; and which, moreover, can +be very easily suppressed by a little wholesome severity, accompanied by +judicious threats or sudden use of cold water. But few people know or +suspect the number of diseases and conditions, supposed to be real, +serious, often incurable, which are simply and solely, or in a great part, +undetected hysteria. This very ignorance on the part of friends and +relatives makes it almost impossible for surgeons and physicians to treat +such cases properly. The probabilities are, in nine cases out of ten, that +the indignant family will dismiss, as ignorant or hard-hearted, any +practitioner who tells them the unvarnished truth, and proposes to treat +the sufferer in accordance with it. + +In the field of literature we find a hysteria as widespread, as +undetected, as unmanageable as the hysteria which skulks and conquers in +the field of disease. + +Its commoner outbreaks everybody knows by sight and sound, and everybody +except the miserably ignorant and silly despises. Yet there are to be +found circles which thrill and weep in sympathetic unison with the +ridiculous joys and sorrows, grotesque sentiments, and preposterous +adventures of the heroes and heroines of the "Dime Novels" and novelettes, +and the "Flags" and "Blades" and "Gazettes" among the lowest newspapers. +But in well-regulated and intelligent households, this sort of writing is +not tolerated, any more than the correlative sort of physical phenomenon +would be,--the gasping, shrieking, sobbing, giggling kind of behavior in a +man or woman. + +But there is another and more dangerous working of the same thing; deep, +unsuspected, clothing itself with symptoms of the most defiant +genuineness, it lurks and does its business in every known field of +composition. Men and women are alike prone to it, though its shape is +somewhat affected by sex. + +Among men it breaks out often, perhaps oftenest, in violent illusions on +the subject of love. They assert, declare, shout, sing, scream that they +love, have loved, are loved, do and for ever will love, after methods and +in manners which no decent love ever thought of mentioning. And yet, so +does their weak violence ape the bearing of strength, so much does their +cheat look like truth, that scores, nay, shoals of human beings go about +repeating and echoing their noise, and saying, gratefully, "Yes, this is +love; this is, indeed, what all true lovers must know." + +These are they who proclaim names of beloved on house-tops; who strip off +veils from sacred secrets and secret sacrednesses, and set them up naked +for the multitude to weigh and compare. What punishment is for such +beloved, Love himself only knows. It must be in store for them somewhere. +Dimly one can suspect what it might be; but it will be like all Love's +true secrets,--secret for ever. + +These men of hysteria also take up specialties of art or science; and in +their behoof rant, and exaggerate, and fabricate, and twist, and lie in +such stentorian voices that reasonable people are deafened and bewildered. + +They also tell common tales in such enormous phrases, with such gigantic +structure of rhetorical flourish, that the mere disproportion amounts to +false-hood; and, the diseased appetite in listeners growing more and more +diseased, feeding on such diseased food, it is impossible to predict what +it will not be necessary for story-mongers to invent at the end of a +century or so more of this. + +But the worst manifestations of this disease are found in so-called +religious writing. Theology, biography, especially autobiography, didactic +essays, tales with a moral,--under every one of these titles it lifts up +its hateful head. It takes so successfully the guise of genuine religious +emotion, religious experience, religious zeal, that good people on all +hands weep grateful tears as they read its morbid and unwholesome +utterances. Of these are many of the long and short stories setting forth +in melodramatic pictures exceptionally good or exceptionally bad children; +or exceptionally pathetic and romantic careers of sweet and refined +Magdalens; minute and prolonged dissections of the processes of spiritual +growth; equally minute and authoritative formulas for spiritual exercises +of all sorts,--"manuals of drill," so to speak, or "field tactics" for +souls. Of these sorts of books, the good and the bad are almost +indistinguishable from each other, except by the carefulest attention and +the finest insight; overwrought, unnatural atmosphere and meaningless, +shallow routine so nearly counterfeit the sound and shape of warm, true +enthusiasm and wise precepts. + +Where may be the remedy for this widespread and widely spreading disease +among writers we do not know. It is not easy to keep up courageous faith +that there is any remedy. Still Nature abhors noise and haste, and shams +of all sorts. Quiet and patience are the great secrets of her force, +whether it be a mountain or a soul that she would fashion. We must believe +that sooner or later there will come a time in which silence shall have +its dues, moderation be crowned king of speech, and melodramatic, +spectacular, hysterical language be considered as disreputable as it is +silly. But the most discouraging feature of the disease is its extreme +contagiousness. All physicians know what a disastrous effect one +hysterical patient will produce upon a whole ward in a hospital. We +remember hearing a young physician once give a most amusing account of a +woman who was taken to Bellevue Hospital for a hysterical cough. Her +lungs, bronchia, throat, were all in perfect condition; but she coughed +almost incessantly, especially on the approach of the hour for the +doctor's visit to the ward. In less than one week half the women in the +ward had similar coughs. A single--though it must be confessed rather +terrific--application of cold water to the original offender worked a +simultaneous cure upon her and all of her imitators. + +Not long ago a very parallel thing was to be observed in the field of +story-writing. A clever, though morbid and melodramatic writer published a +novel, whose heroine, having once been an inmate of a house of ill-fame, +escaped, and, finding shelter and Christian training in the home of a +benevolent woman, became a model of womanly delicacy, and led a life of +exquisite and artistic refinement. As to the animus and intent of this +story there could be no doubt; both were good, but in atmosphere and +execution it was essentially unreal, overwrought, and melodramatic. For +three or four months after its publication there was a perfect outburst +and overflow in newspapers and magazines of the lower order of stories, +all more or less bad, some simply outrageous, and all treating, or rather +pretending to treat, the same problem which had furnished theme for that +novel. + +Probably a close observation and collecting of the dreary statistics would +bring to light a curious proof of the extent and certainty of this sort of +contagion. + +Reflecting on it, having it thrust in one's face at every book-counter, +railway-stand, Sunday-school library, and parlor centre-table, it is hard +not to wish for some supernatural authority to come sweeping through the +wards, and prescribe sharp cold-water treatment all around to half drown +all such writers and quite drown all their books! + + + + +Jog Trot. + + +There is etymological uncertainty about the phrase. But there is no doubt +about its meaning; no doubt that it represents a good, comfortable gait, +at which nobody goes nowadays. + +A hundred years ago it was the fashion: in the days when railroads were +not, nor telegraphs; when citizens journeyed in stages, putting up prayers +in church if their journey were to be so long as from Massachusetts into +Connecticut; when evil news travelled slowly by letter, and good news was +carried about by men on horses; when maidens spun and wove for long, +quiet, silent years at their wedding _trousseaux_, and mothers spun and +wove all which sons and husbands wore; when newspapers were small and +infrequent, dingy-typed and wholesomely stupid, so that no man could or +would learn from them more about other men's opinions, affairs, or +occupations than it concerned his practical convenience to know; when even +wars were waged at slow pace,--armies sailing great distances by chance +winds, or plodding on foot for thousands of miles, and fighting doggedly +hand to hand at sight; when fortunes also were slowly made by simple, +honest growths,--no men excepting freebooters and pirates becoming rich +in a day. + +It would seem treason or idiocy to sigh for these old days,--treason to +ideas of progress, stupid idiocy unaware that it is well off. Is not +to-day brilliant, marvellous, beautiful? Has not living become subject to +a magician's "presto"? Are we not decked in the whole of color, feasted on +all that shape and sound and flavor can give? Are we not wiser each moment +than we were the moment before? Do not the blind see, the deaf hear, and +the crippled dance? Has not Nature surrendered to us? Art and science, are +they not our slaves,--coining money and running mills? Have we not built +and multiplied religions, till each man, even the most irreligious, can +have his own? Is not what is called the "movement of the age" going on at +the highest rate of speed and of sound? Shall we complain that we are +maddened by the racket, out of breath with the spinning and whirling, and +dying of the strain of it all? What is a man, more or less? What are one +hundred and twenty millions of men, more or less? What is quiet in +comparison with riches? or digestion and long life in comparison with +knowledge? When we are added up in the universal reckoning of races, there +will be small mention of individuals. Let us be disinterested. Let us +sacrifice ourselves, and, above all, our children, to raise the general +average of human invention and attainment to the highest possible mark. To +be sure, we are working in the dark. We do not know, not even if we are +Huxley do we know, at what point in the grand, universal scale we shall +ultimately come in. We know, or think we know, about how far below us +stand the gorilla and the seal. We patronize them kindly for learning to +turn hand-organs or eat from porringers. Let us hope that, if we have +brethren of higher races on other planets, they will be as generously +appreciative of our little all when we have done it; but, meanwhile, let +us never be deterred from our utmost endeavor by any base and envious +misgivings that possibly we may not be the last and highest work of the +Creator, and in a fair way to reach very soon the final climax of all +which created intelligences can be or become. Let us make the best of +dyspepsia, paralysis, insanity, and the death of our children. Perhaps we +can do as much in forty years, working night and day, as we could in +seventy, working only by day; and the five out of twelve children that +live to grow up can perpetuate the names and the methods of their fathers. +It is a comfort to believe, as we are told, that the world can never lose +an iota that it has gained; that progress is the great law of the +universe. It is consoling to verify this truth by looking backward, and +seeing how each age has made use of the wrecks of the preceding one as +material for new structures on different plans. What are we that we should +mention our preference for being put to some other use, more immediately +remunerative to ourselves! + +We must be all wrong if we are not in sympathy with the age in which we +live. We might as well be dead as not keep up with it. But which of us +does not sometimes wish in his heart of hearts, that he had been born long +enough ago to have been boon companion of his great-grandfather, and have +gone respectably and in due season to his grave at a good jog trot? + + + + +The Joyless American. + + +It is easy to fancy that a European, on first reaching these shores, might +suppose that he had chanced to arrive upon a day when some great public +calamity had saddened the heart of the nation. It would be quite safe to +assume that out of the first five hundred faces which he sees there will +not be ten wearing a smile, and not fifty, all told, looking as if they +ever could smile. If this statement sounds extravagant to any man, let him +try the experiment, for one week, of noting down, in his walks about town, +every face he sees which has a radiantly cheerful expression. The chances +are that at the end of his seven days he will not have entered seven faces +in his note-book without being aware at the moment of some conscientious +difficulty in permitting himself to call them positively and unmistakably +cheerful. + +The truth is, this wretched and joyless expression on the American face is +so common that we are hardened to seeing it, and look for nothing better. +Only when by chance some blessed, rollicking, sunshiny boy or girl or man +or woman flashes the beam of a laughing countenance into the level gloom +do we even know that we are in the dark. Witness the instant effect of +the entrance of such a person into an omnibus or a car. Who has not +observed it? Even the most stolid and apathetic soul relaxes a little. The +unconscious intruder, simply by smiling, has set the blood moving more +quickly in the veins of every human being who sees him. He is, for the +moment, the personal benefactor of every one; if he had handed about money +or bread, it would have been a philanthropy of less value. + +What is to be done to prevent this acrid look of misery from becoming an +organic characteristic of our people? "Make them play more," says one +philosophy. No doubt they need to "play more;" but, when one looks at the +average expression of a Fourth of July crowd, one doubts if ever so much +multiplication of that kind of holiday would mend the matter. No doubt we +work for too many days in the year, and play for too few; but, after all, +it is the heart and the spirit and the expression that we bring to our +work, and not those that we bring to our play, by which our real vitality +must be tested and by which our faces will be stamped. If we do not work +healthfully, reasoningly, moderately, thankfully, joyously, we shall have +neither moderation nor gratitude nor joy in our play. And here is the +hopelessness, here is the root of the trouble, of the joyless American +face. The worst of all demons, the demon of unrest and overwork, broods in +the very sky of this land. Blue and clear and crisp and sparkling as our +atmosphere is, it cannot or does not exorcise the spell. Any old man can +count on the fingers of one hand the persons he has known who led lives of +serene, unhurried content, made for themselves occupations and not tasks, +and died at last what might be called natural deaths. + +"What, then?" says the congressional candidate from Mettibemps; the "new +contributor" to the oceanic magazine; Mrs. Potiphar, from behind her +liveries; and poor Dives, senior, from Wall Street; "Are we to give up all +ambition?" God forbid. But, because one has a goal, must one be torn by +poisoned spurs? We see on the Corso, in the days of the Carnival, what +speed can be made by horses under torture. Shall we try those methods and +that pace on our journeys? + +So long as the American is resolved to do in one day the work of two, to +make in one year the fortune of his whole life and his children's, to earn +before he is forty the reputation which belongs to threescore and ten, so +long he will go about the streets wearing his present abject, pitiable, +overwrought, joyless look. But, even without a change of heart or a reform +of habits, he might better his countenance a little, if he would. Even if +he does not feel like smiling, he might smile, if he tried; and that would +be something. The muscles are all there; they count the same in the +American as in the French or the Irish face; they relax easily in youth; +the trick can be learned. And even a trick of it is better than none of +it. Laughing masters might be as well paid as dancing masters to help on +society! "Smiling made Easy" or the "Complete Art of Looking +Good-natured" would be as taking titles on book-sellers' shelves as "The +Complete Letter-writer" or "Handbook of Behavior." And nobody can +calculate what might be the moral and spiritual results if it could only +become the fashion to pursue this branch of the fine arts. Surliness of +heart must melt a little under the simple effort to smile. A man will +inevitably be a little less of a bear for trying to wear the face of a +Christian. + +"He who laughs can commit no deadly sin," said the wise and sweet-hearted +woman who was mother of Goethe. + + + + +Spiritual Teething + + +Milk for babes; but, when they come to the age for meat of doctrine, teeth +must be cut. It is harder work for souls than for bodies; but the +processes are wonderfully parallel,--the results too, alas! If clergymen +knew the symptoms of spiritual disease and death, as well as doctors do of +disease and death of the flesh, and if the lists were published at end of +each year and month and week, what a record would be shown! "Mortality in +Brooklyn, or New York, or Philadelphia for the week ending July 7th." We +are so used to the curt heading of the little paragraph that our eye +glances idly away from it, and we do not realize its sadness. By tens and +by scores they have gone,--the men, the women, the babies; in hundreds new +mourners are going about the streets, week by week. We are as familiar +with black as with scarlet, with the hearse as with the pleasure-carriage; +and yet "so dies in human hearts the thought of death" that we can be +merry. + +But, if we knew as well the record of sick and dying and dead souls, our +hearts would break. The air would be dark and stifling. We should be +afraid to move,--lest we might hasten the last hour of some neighbor's +spiritual breath. Ah, how often have we unconsciously spoken the one word +which was poison to his fever! + +Of the spiritual deaths, as of the physical, more than half take place in +the period of teething. The more one thinks of the parallelism, the closer +it looks, until the likeness seems as droll as dismal. Oh, the sweet, +unquestioning infancy which takes its food from the nearest breast; which +knows but three things,--hunger and food and sleep! There is only a little +space for this delight. In our seventh month we begin to be wretched. We +drink our milk, but we are aware of a constant desire to bite; doubts +which we do not know by name, needs for which there is no ready supply, +make us restless. Now comes the old-school doctor, and thrusts in his +lancet too soon. We suffer, we bleed; we are supposed to be relieved. The +tooth is said to be "through." + +Through! Oh, yes; through before its time. Through to no purpose. In a +week, or a year, the wounded flesh, or soul, has reasserted its right, +shut down on the tooth, making a harder surface than ever, a cicatrized +crust, out of which it will take double time and double strength for the +tooth to break. + +The gentle doctor gives us a rubber ring, it has a bad taste; or an ivory +one, it is too hard and hurts us. But we gnaw and gnaw, and fancy the new +pain a little easier to bear than the old. Probably it is; probably the +tooth gets through a little quicker for the days and nights of gnawing. +But what a picture of patient misery is a baby with its rubber ring! +Really one sees sometimes in the little puckered, twisting face such +grotesque prophecy of future conflicts, such likeness to the soul's +processes of grappling with problems, that it is uncanny. + +When we come to the analysis of the diseases incident to the teething +period, and the treatment of them, the similitude is as close. + +We have sharp, sudden inflammations; we have subtle and more deadly +things, which men do not detect till it is, in nine cases out of ten, too +late to cure them,--like water on the brain; and we have slow wastings +away; atrophies, which are worse than death, leaving life enough to +prolong death indefinitely, being as it were living deaths. + +Who does not know poor souls in all stages of all these,--outbreaks of +rebellion against all forms, all creeds, all proprieties; secret adoptions +of perilous delusions, fatal errors; and slow settling down into +indifferentism or narrow dogmatism, the two worst living deaths? + +These are they who live. Shall we say any thing of those of us who die +between our seventh and eighteenth spiritual month? They never put on +babies' tombstones "Died of teething." There is always a special name for +the special symptom or set of symptoms which characterized the last days. +But the mother believes and the doctor knows that, if it had not been for +the teeth that were coming just at that time, the fever or the croup would +not have killed the child. + +Now we come to the treatments; and here again the parallelism is so close +as to be ludicrous. The lancet and the rubber ring fail. We are still +restless, and scream and cry. Then our self-sacrificing nurses walk with +us; they rock us, they swing us, they toss us up and down, they jounce us +from top to bottom, till the wonder is that every organ in our bodies is +not displaced. They beat on glass and tin and iron to distract our +attention and drown out our noise by a bigger one; they shake back and +forth before our eyes all things that glitter and blaze; they shout and +sing songs; the house and the neighborhood are searched and racked for +something which will "amuse" the baby. Then, when we will no longer be +"amused," and when all this restlessness outside and around us, added to +the restlessness inside us, has driven us more than frantic, and the day +or the night of their well-meant clamor is nearly over, their strength +worn out, and their wits at end,--then comes the "soothing syrup," +deadliest weapon of all. This we cannot resist. If there be they who are +mighty enough to pour it down our throats, physically or spiritually, to +sleep we must go, and asleep we must stay so long as the effect of the +dose lasts. + +It is of this, we oftenest die,--not in a day or a year, but after many +days and many years; when in some sharp crisis we need for our salvation +the force which should have been developing in our infancy, the muscle or +the nerve which should have been steadily growing strong till that moment. +But the force is not there; the muscle is weak; the nerve paralyzed; and +we die at twenty of a light fever, we fall down at twenty, under sudden +grief or temptation, because of our long sleeps under soothing syrups when +we were babies. + +Oh, good nurses and doctors of souls, let them cut their own teeth, in the +natural ways. Let them scream if they must, but keep you still on one +side; give them no false helps; let them alone so far as it is possible +for love and sympathy to do so. Man is the only animal that has trouble +from the growing of the teeth in his body. It must be his own fault +somehow that he has that; and he has evidently been always conscious of a +likeness between this difficulty and perversion of a process natural to +his body, and the difficulty and perversion of his getting sensible and +just opinions; for it has passed into the immortality of a proverb that a +shrewd man is a man who has "cut his eye-teeth;" and the four last teeth, +which we get late in life, and which cost many people days of real +illness, are called in all tongues, all countries, "wisdom teeth!" + + + + +Glass Houses. + + +Who would live in one, if he could help it? And who wants to throw stones? + +But who lives in any thing else, nowadays? And how much better off are +they who never threw a stone in their lives than the rude mob who throw +them all the time? + +Really, the proverb might as well be blotted out from our books and +dropped from our speech. It has no longer use or meaning. + +It is becoming a serious question what shall be done, or rather what can +be done, to secure to fastidious people some show and shadow of privacy in +their homes. The silly and vulgar passion of people for knowing all about +their neighbors' affairs, which is bad enough while it takes shape merely +in idle gossip of mouth, is something terrible when it is exalted into a +regular market demand of the community, and fed by a regular market supply +from all who wish to print what the community will read. + +We do not know which is worse in this traffic, the buyer or the seller; we +think, on the whole, the buyer. But then he is again a seller; and so +there it is,--wheel within wheel, cog upon cog. And, since all these +sellers must earn their bread and butter, the more one searches for a fair +point of attacking the evil, the more he is perplexed. + +The man who writes must, if he needs pay for his work, write what the man +who prints will buy. The man who prints must print what the people who +read will buy. Upon whom, then, shall we lay earnest hands? Clearly, upon +the last buyer,--upon him who reads. But things have come to such a pass +already that to point out to the average American that it is vulgar and +also unwholesome to devour with greedy delight all sorts of details about +his neighbors' business seems as hopeless and useless as to point out to +the currie-eater or the whiskey-drinker the bad effects of fire and +strychnine upon mucous membranes. The diseased palate craves what has made +it diseased,--craves it more, and more, and more. In case of stomachs, +Nature has a few simple inventions of her own for bringing reckless abuses +to a stand-still,--dyspepsia, and delirium-tremens, and so on. + +But she takes no account, apparently, of the diseased conditions of brains +incident to the long use of unwholesome or poisonous intellectual food. +Perhaps she never anticipated this class of excesses. And, if there were +to be a precisely correlative punishment, it is to be feared it would fall +more heavily on the least guilty offender. It is not hard to fancy a poor +soul who, having been condemned to do reporters' duty for some years, and +having been forced to dwell and dilate upon scenes and details which his +very soul revolted from mentioning,--it is not hard to fancy such a soul +visited at last by a species of delirium-tremens, in which the speeches of +men who had spoken, the gowns of women who had danced, the faces, the +figures, the furniture of celebrities, should all be mixed up in a +grotesque phantasmagoria of torture, before which he should writhe as +helplessly and agonizingly as the poor whiskey-drinker before his snakes. +But it would be a cruel misplacement of punishment. All the while the true +guilty would be placidly sitting down at still further unsavory banquets, +which equally helpless providers were driven to furnish! + +The evil is all the harder to deal with, also, because it is like so many +evils,--all, perhaps,--only a diseased outgrowth, from a legitimate and +justifiable thing. It is our duty to sympathize; it is our privilege and +pleasure to admire. No man lives to himself alone; no man can; no man +ought. It is right that we should know about our neighbors all which will +help us to help them, to be just to them, to avoid them, if need be; in +short, all which we need to know for their or our reasonable and fair +advantage. It is right, also, that we should know about men who are or +have been great all which can enable us to understand their greatness; to +profit, to imitate, to revere; all that will help us to remember whatever +is worth remembering. There is education in this; it is experience, it is +history. + +But how much of what is written, printed, and read to-day about the men +and women of to-day comes under these heads? It is unnecessary to do more +than ask the question. It is still more unnecessary to do more than ask +how many of the men and women of to-day, whose names have become almost as +stereotyped a part of public journals as the very titles of the journals +themselves, have any claim to such prominence. But all these +considerations seem insignificant by side of the intrinsic one of the +vulgarity of the thing, and its impudent ignoring of the most sacred +rights of individuals. That there are here and there weak fools who like +to see their names and most trivial movements chronicled in newspapers +cannot be denied. But they are few. And their silly pleasure is very small +in the aggregate compared with the annoyance and pain suffered by +sensitive and refined people from these merciless invasions of their +privacy. No precautions can forestall them, no reticence prevent; nothing, +apparently, short of dying outright, can set one free. And even then it is +merely leaving the torture behind, a harrowing legacy to one's friends; +for tombs are even less sacred than houses. Memory, friendship, +obligation,--all are lost sight of in the greed of desire to make an +effective sketch, a surprising revelation, a neat analysis, or perhaps an +adroit implication of honor to one's self by reason of an old association +with greatness. Private letters and private conversations, which may touch +living hearts in a thousand sore spots, are hawked about as coolly as if +they had been old clothes, left too long unredeemed in the hands of the +pawn-broker! "Dead men tell no tales," says the proverb. One wishes they +could! We should miss some spicy contributions to magazine and newspaper +literature; and a sudden silence would fall upon some loud-mouthed living. + +But we despair of any cure for this evil. No ridicule, no indignation +seems to touch it. People must make the best they can of their glass +houses; and, if the stones come too fast, take refuge in the cellars. + + + + +The Old-Clothes Monger in Journalism. + + + +The old-clothes business has never been considered respectable. It is +supposed to begin and to end with cheating; it deals with very dirty +things. It would be hard to mention a calling of lower repute. From the +men who come to your door with trays of abominable china vases on their +heads, and are ready to take any sort of rags in payment for them, +down--or up?--to the bigger wretches who advertise that "ladies and +gentlemen can obtain the highest price for their cast-off clothing by +calling at No. so and so, on such a street," they are all alike odious and +despicable. + +We wonder when we find anybody who is not an abject Jew, engaged in the +business. We think we can recognize the stamp of the disgusting traffic on +their very faces. It is by no means uncommon to hear it said of a sorry +sneak, "He looks like an old-clothes dealer." + +But what shall we say of the old-clothes mongers in journalism? By the +very name we have defined, described them, and pointed them out. If only +we could make the name such a badge of disgrace that every member of the +fraternity should forthwith betake him or herself to some sort of honest +labor! + +These are they who crowd the columns of our daily newspapers with the +dreary, monotonous, worthless, scandalous tales of what other men and +women did, are doing, or will do, said, say, or will say, wore, wear, or +will wear, thought, think, or will think, ate, eat, or will eat, drank, +drink, or will drink: and if there be any other verb coming under the head +of "to do, to be, to suffer," add that to the list, and the old-clothes +monger will furnish you with something to fill out the phrase. + +These are they who patch out their miserable, little, sham "properties" +for mock representations of life, by scraps from private letters, bits of +conversation overheard on piazzas, in parlors, in bedrooms, by odds and +ends of untrustworthy statements picked up at railway-stations, +church-doors, and offices of all sorts, by impudent inferences and +suppositions, and guesses about other people's affairs, by garblings and +partial quotings, and, if need be, by wholesale lyings. + +The trade is on the increase,--rapidly, fearfully on the increase. Every +large city, every summer watering-place, is more or less infested with +this class of dealers. The goods they have to furnish are more and more in +demand. There is hardly a journal in the country but has column after +column full of their tattered wares; there is hardly a man or woman in the +country but buys them. + +There is, perhaps, no remedy. Human nature has not yet shed all the +monkey. A lingering and grovelling baseness in the average heart delights +in this sort of cast-off clothes of fellow-worms. But if the trade must +continue, can we not insist that the profits be shared? If A is to receive +ten dollars for quoting B's remarks at a private dinner yesterday, shall +not B have a small percentage on the sale? Clearly, this is only justice. +And in cases where the wares are simply stolen, shall there be no redress? +Here is an opening for a new Bureau. How well its advertisements would +read:-- + +"Ladies and gentlemen wishing to dispose of their old opinions, +sentiments, feelings, and so forth, and also of the more interesting facts +in their personal history, can obtain good prices for the same at No.-- +Tittle-tattle street. Inquire at the door marked 'Regular and Special +Correspondence.' + +"N. B.--Persons willing to be reported _verbatim_ will receive especial +consideration." + +We commend this brief suggestion of a new business to all who are anxious +to make a living and not particular how they make it. Perhaps the class of +whom we have been speaking would find it profitable to set it up as a +branch of their own calling. It is quite possible that nobody else in the +country would like to meddle with it. + + + + +The Country Landlord's Side. + + + +It is only one side, to be sure. But it is the side of which we hear +least. The quarrel is like all quarrels,--it takes two to make it; but +as, of those two, one is only one, and the other is from ten to a hundred, +it is easy to see which side will do most talking in setting forth its +grievances. + +"It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer; and when he is gone his way +then he boasteth." We are oftener reminded of this text of Scripture than +of any other when we listen to conversations in regard to boarders in +country houses. + +"Oh, let me tell you of such a nice place we have found to board in the +country. It is only--miles from Mt.--or--Lake; the drives are delightful, +and board is only $7 a week." + +"Is the table a good one?" + +"Oh, yes; very good for the country. We had good butter and milk, and eggs +in abundance. Meats, of course, are never very good in the country. But +everybody gained a pound a week; and we are going again this year, if they +have not raised their prices." + +Then this model of a city woman, in search of country lodgings, sits down +and writes to the landlord:-- + +"Dear Sir,--We would like to secure our old rooms in your house for the +whole of July and August. As we shall remain so long a time, we hope you +may be willing to count all the children at half-price. Last year, you may +remember, we paid full price for the two eldest, the twins, who are not +yet quite fourteen. I hope, also, that Mrs. ---- has better arrangements +for washing this summer, and will allow us to have our own servant to do +the washing for the whole family. If these terms suit you, the price for +my family--eight children, myself, and servant--would be $38.50 a week. +Perhaps, if the servant takes the entire charge of my rooms, you would +call it $37; as, of course, that would save the time of your own +servants." + +Then the country landlord hesitates. He is not positively sure of filling +all his rooms for the season. Thirty-seven dollars a week would be, he +thinks, better than nothing. In his simplicity, he supposes that, if he +confers, as he certainly does, a favor on Mrs.----, by receiving her great +family on such low terms, she will be thoroughly well disposed toward him +and his house, and will certainly not be over-exacting in matter of +accommodations. In an evil hour, he consents; they come, and he begins to +reap his reward. The twins are stout boys, as large as men, and much +hungrier. The baby is a sickly child of eighteen months, and requires +especial diet, which must be prepared at especial and inconvenient hours, +in the crowded little kitchen. The other five children are average boys +and girls, between the ages of three and twelve, eat certainly as much as +five grown people, and make twice as much trouble. The servant is a slow, +inefficient, impudent Irish girl, who spends the greater part of four days +in doing the family washing, and makes the other servants uncomfortable +and cross. + +If this were all; but this is not. Mrs.----, who writes to all her friends +boastingly of the cheap summer quarters that she has found, and who gains +by the village shop-keeper's scales a pound of flesh a week, habitually +finds fault with the food, with the mattresses, with the chairs, with the +rag-carpets, with every thing, in short, down to the dust and the flies, +for neither of which last the poor landlord could be legitimately held +responsible. This is not an exaggerated picture. Everybody who has boarded +in country places in the summer has known dozens of such women. Every +country landlord can produce dozens of such letters, and of letters still +more exacting and unreasonable. + +The average city man or woman who goes to a country house to board, goes +expecting what it is in the nature of things impossible that they should +have. The man expects to have boots blacked and hot water ready, and a +bell to ring for both. What experienced country boarder has not laughed in +his sleeve to see such an one, newly arrived, putting his head out +snappingly, like a turtle, from his doorway, and calling to chance +passers, "How d'ye get at anybody in this house?" + +If it is a woman, she expects that the tea will be of the finest flavor, +and never boiled; that steaks will be porter-house steaks; that green peas +will be in plenty; and that the American girl, who is chambermaid for the +summer, and school-teacher in the winter, and who, ten to one, could put +her to the blush in five minutes by superior knowledge on many subjects, +will enter and leave her room and wait upon her at the table with the +silent respectfulness of a trained city servant. + +This is all very silly. But it happens. At the end of every summer +hundreds of disappointed city people go back to their homes grumbling +about country food and country ways. Hundreds of tired and discouraged +wives of country landlords sit down in their houses, at last emptied, and +vow a vow that never again will they take "city folks to board." But the +great law of supply and demand is too strong for them. The city must come +out of itself for a few weeks, and get oxygen for its lungs, sunlight for +its eyes, and rest for its overworked brain. The country must open its +arms, whether it will or not, and share its blessings. And so the summers +and the summerings go on, and there are always to be heard in the land the +voices of murmuring boarders, and of landlords deprecating, vindicating. +We confess that our sympathies are with the landlords. The average country +landlord is an honest, well-meaning man, whose idea of the profit to be +made "off boarders" is so moderate and simple that the keepers of city +boarding-houses would laugh it and him to scorn. If this were not so, +would he be found undertaking to lodge and feed people for one dollar or a +dollar and a half a day? Neither does he dream of asking them, even at +this low price, to fare as he fares. The "Excelsior" mattresses, at which +they cry out in disgust, are beds of down in comparison with the straw +"tick" on which he and his wife sleep soundly and contentedly. He has paid +$4.50 for each mattress, as a special concession to what he understands +city prejudice to require. The cheap painted chamber-sets are holiday +adorning by the side of the cherry and pine in the bedrooms of his family. +He buys fresh meat every day for dinner; and nobody can understand the +importance of this fact who is not familiar with the habit of salt-pork +and codfish in our rural districts. That the meat is tough, pale, stringy +is not his fault; no other is to be bought. Stetson, himself, if he dealt +with this country butcher, could do no better. Vegetables? Yes, he has +planted them. If we look out of our windows, we can see them on their +winding way. They will be ripe by and by. He never tasted peas in his life +before the Fourth of July, or cucumbers before the middle of August. He +hears that there are such things; but he thinks they must be "dreadful +unhealthy, them things forced out of season,"--and, whether healthy or +not, he can't get them. We couldn't ourselves, if we were keeping house in +the same township. To be sure, we might send to the cities for them, and +be served with such as were wilted to begin with, and would arrive utterly +unfit to be eaten at end of their day's journey, costing double their +market price in the added express charge. We should not do any such thing. +We should do just as he does, make the best of "plum sauce," or even dried +apples. We should not make our sauce with molasses, probably; but he does +not know that sugar is better; he honestly likes molasses best. As for +saleratus in the bread, as for fried meat, and fried doughnuts, and +ubiquitous pickles,--all those things have he, and his fathers before him, +eaten, and, he thinks, thriven on from time immemorial. He will listen +incredulously to all we say about the effects of alkalies, the change of +fats to injurious oils by frying, the indigestibility of pickles, &c.; +for, after all, the unanswerable fact remains on his side, though he may +be too polite or too slow to make use of it in the argument, that, having +fed on these poisons all his life, he can easily thrash us to-day, and his +wife and daughters can and do work from morning till night, while ours +must lie down and rest by noon. In spite of all this, he will do what he +can to humor our whims. Never yet have we seen the country boarding-house +where kindly and persistent remonstrance would not introduce the gridiron +and banish the frying-pan, and obtain at least an attempt at yeast-bread. +Good, patient, long-suffering country people! The only wonder to us is +that they tolerate so pleasantly, make such effort to gratify, the +preferences and prejudices of city men and women, who come and who remain +strangers among them; and who, in so many instances, behave from first to +last as if they were of a different race, and knew nothing of any common +bonds of humanity and Christianity. + + + + +The Good Staff of Pleasure. + + + +In an inn in Berchtesgaden, Bavaria, where I dined every day for three +weeks, one summer, I made the acquaintance of a little maid called +Gretchen. She stood all day long washing dishes, in a dark passageway +which communicated in some mysterious fashion with cellar, kitchen, +dining-room, and main hall of the inn. From one or other of these quarters +Gretchen was sharply called so often that it was a puzzle to know how she +contrived to wash so much as a cup or a plate in the course of the day. +Poor child! I am afraid she did most of her work after dark; for I +sometimes left her standing there at ten o'clock at night. She was +blanched and shrunken from fatigue and lack of sunlight. I doubt if ever, +unless perhaps on some exceptional Sunday, she knew the sensation of a +full breath of pure air or a warm sunbeam on her face. + +But whenever I passed her she smiled, and there was never-failing +good-cheer in her voice when she said "Good-morning." Her uniform +atmosphere of contentedness so impressed and surprised me that, at last, I +said to Franz, the head waiter,-- + +"What makes Gretchen so happy? She has a hard life, always standing in +that narrow dark place, washing dishes." + +Franz was phlegmatic, and spoke very little English. He shrugged his +shoulders, in sign of assent that Gretchen's life was a hard one, and +added,-- + +"Ja, ja. She likes because all must come at her door. There will be no one +which will say not nothing if they go by." + +That was it. Almost every hour some human voice said pleasantly to her, +"Good-morning, Gretchen," or "It is a fine day;" or, if no word were +spoken, there would be a friendly nod and smile. For nowhere in +kind-hearted, simple Germany do human beings pass by other human beings, +as we do in America, without so much as a turn of the head to show +recognition of humanity in common. + +This one little pleasure kept Gretchen not only alive, but comparatively +glad. Her body suffered for want of sun and air. There was no helping +that, by any amount of spiritual compensation, so long as she must stand, +year in and year out, in a close, dark corner, and do hard drudgery. But, +if she had stood in that close, dark corner, doing that hard drudgery, and +had had no pleasure to comfort her, she would have been dead in three +months. + +If all men and women could realize the power, the might of even a small +pleasure, how much happier the world would be! and how much longer bodies +and souls both would bear up under living! Sensitive people realize it to +the very core of their being. They know that often and often it happens +to them to be revived, kindled, strengthened, to a degree which they could +not describe, and which they hardly comprehend, by some little +thing,--some word of praise, some token of remembrance, some proof of +affection or recognition. They know, too, that strength goes out of them, +just as inexplicably, just as fatally, when for a space, perhaps even a +short space, all these are wanting. + +People who are not sensitive also come to find this out, if they are +tender. They are by no means inseparable,--tenderness and sensitiveness; +if they were, human nature would be both more comfortable and more +agreeable. But tender people alone can be just to sensitive ones; living +in close relations with them, they learn what they need, and, so far as +they can, supply it, even when they wonder a little, and perhaps grow a +little weary. + +We see a tender and just mother sometimes sighing because one +over-sensitive child must be so much more gently restrained or admonished +than the rest. But she has her reward for every effort to adjust her +methods to the instrument she does not quite understand. If she doubts +this, she has only to look on the right hand and the left, and see the +effect of careless, brutal dealing with finely strung, sensitive natures. + +We see, also, many men,--good, generous, kindly, but not +sensitive-souled,--who have learned that the sunshine of their homes all +depends on little things, which it would never have entered into their +busy and composed hearts to think of doing, or saying, or providing, if +they had not discovered that without them their wives droop, and with them +they keep well. + +People who are neither tender nor sensitive can neither comprehend nor +meet these needs. Alas! that there are so many such people; or that, if +there must be just so many, as I suppose there must, they are not +distinguishable at first sight, by some mark of color, or shape, or sound, +so that one might avoid them, or at least know what to expect in entering +into relation with them. Woe be to any sensitive soul whose life must, in +spite of itself, take tone and tint from daily and intimate intercourse +with such! No bravery, no philosophy, no patience can save it from a slow +death. But, while the subtlest and most stimulating pleasures which the +soul knows come to it through its affections, and are, therefore, so to +speak, at every man's mercy, there is still left a world of possibility of +enjoyment, to which we can help ourselves, and which no man can hinder. + +And just here it is, I think, that many persons, especially those who are +hard-worked, and those who have some special trouble to bear, make great +mistake. They might, perhaps, say at hasty first sight that it would be +selfish to aim at providing themselves with pleasures. Not at all. Not one +whit more than it is for them to buy a bottle of Ayer's Sarsaparilla (if +they do not know better) to "cleanse their blood" in the spring! Probably +a dollar's worth of almost any thing out of any other shop than a +druggist's would "cleanse their blood" better,--a geranium, for instance, +or a photograph, or a concert, or a book, or even fried oysters,--any +thing, no matter what, so it is innocent, which gives them a little +pleasure, breaks in on the monotony of their work or their trouble, and +makes them have for one half-hour a "good time." Those who have near and +dear ones to remember these things for them need no such words as I am +writing here. Heaven forgive them if, being thus blessed, they do not +thank God daily and take courage. + +But lonely people, and people whose kin are not kind or wise in these +things, must learn to minister even in such ways to themselves. It is not +selfish. It is not foolish. It is wise. It is generous. Each contented +look on a human face is reflected in every other human face which sees it; +each growth in a human soul is a blessing to every other human soul which +comes in contact with it. + +Here will come in, for many people, the bitter restrictions of poverty. +There are so many men and women to whom it would seem simply a taunt to +advise them to spend, now and then, a dollar for a pleasure. That the poor +must go cold and hungry has never seemed to me the hardest feature in +their lot; there are worse deprivations than that of food or raiment, and +this very thing is one of them. This is a point for charitable people to +remember, even more than they do. + +We appreciate this when we give some plum-pudding and turkey at Christmas, +instead of all coal and flannel. But, any day in the year, a picture on +the wall might perhaps be as comforting as a blanket on the bed; and, at +any rate, would be good for twelve months, while the blanket would help +but six. I have seen an Irish mother, in a mud hovel, turn red with +delight at a rattle for her baby, when I am quite sure she would have been +indifferently grateful for a pair of socks. + +Food and physicians and money are and always will be on the earth. But a +"merry heart" is a "continual feast," and "doeth good like-a medicine;" +and "loving favor" is "chosen," "rather than gold and silver." + + + + +Wanted.--A Home. + + + +Nothing can be meaner than that "Misery should love company." But the +proverb is founded on an original principle in human nature, which it is +no use to deny and hard work to conquer. I have been uneasily conscious of +this sneaking sin in my own soul, as I have read article after article in +the English newspapers and magazines on the "decadence of the home spirit +in English family life, as seen in the large towns and the metropolis." It +seems that the English are as badly off as we. There, also, men are +wide-awake and gay at clubs and races, and sleepy and morose in their own +houses; "sons lead lives independent of their fathers and apart from their +sisters and mothers;" "girls run about as they please, without care or +guidance." This state of things is "a spreading social evil," and men are +at their wit's end to know what is to be done about it. They are +ransacking "national character and customs, religion, and the particular +tendency of the present literary and scientific thought, and the teaching +and preaching of the public press," to find out the root of the trouble. +One writer ascribes it to the "exceeding restlessness and the desire to be +doing something which are predominant and indomitable in the Anglo-Saxon +race;" another to the passion which almost all families have for seeming +richer and more fashionable than their means will allow. In these, and in +most of their other theories, they are only working round and round, as +doctors so often do, in the dreary circle of symptomatic results, without +so much as touching or perhaps suspecting their real centre. How many +people are blistered for spinal disease, or blanketed for rheumatism, when +the real trouble is a little fiery spot of inflammation in the lining of +the stomach! and all these difficulties in the outworks are merely the +creaking of the machinery, because the central engine does not work +properly. Blisters and blankets may go on for seventy years coddling the +poor victim; but he will stay ill to the last if his stomach be not set +right. + +There is a close likeness between the doctor's high-sounding list of +remote symptoms, which he is treating as primary diseases, and the hue and +outcry about the decadence of the home spirit, the prevalence of excessive +and improper amusements, club-houses, billiard-rooms, theatres, and so +forth, which are "the banes of homes." + +The trouble is in the homes. Homes are stupid, homes are dreary, homes are +insufferable. If one can be pardoned for the Irishism of such a saying, +homes are their own worst "banes." If homes were what they should be, +nothing under heaven could be invented which could be bane to them, which +would do more than serve as useful foil to set off their better cheer, +their pleasanter ways, their wholesomer joys. + +Whose fault is it that they are not so? Fault is a heavy word. It +includes generations in its pitiless entail. Sufficient for the day is the +evil thereof is but one side of the truth. No day is sufficient unto the +evil thereof is the other. Each day has to bear burdens passed down from +so many other days; each person has to bear burdens so complicated, so +interwoven with the burdens of others; each person's fault is so fevered +and swollen by faults of others, that there is no disentangling the +question of responsibility. Every thing is everybody's fault is the +simplest and fairest way of putting it. It is everybody's fault that the +average home is stupid, dreary, insufferable,--a place from which fathers +fly to clubs, boys and girls to streets. But when we ask who can do most +to remedy this,--in whose hands it most lies to fight the fight against +the tendencies to monotony, stupidity, and instability which are inherent +in human nature,--then the answer is clear and loud. It is the work of +women; this is the true mission of women, their "right" divine and +unquestionable, and including most emphatically the "right to labor." + +To create and sustain the atmosphere of a home,--it is easily said in a +very few words; but how many women have done it? How many women can say to +themselves or others that this is their aim? To keep house well women +often say they desire. But keeping house well is another affair,--I had +almost said it has nothing to do with creating a home. That is not true, +of course; comfortable living, as regards food and fire and clothes, can +do much to help on a home. Nevertheless, with one exception, the best +homes I have ever seen were in houses which were not especially well kept; +and the very worst I have ever known were presided (I mean tyrannized) +over by "perfect housekeepers." + +All creators are single-aimed. Never will the painter, sculptor, writer +lose sight of his art. Even in the intervals of rest and diversion which +are necessary to his health and growth, every thing he sees ministers to +his passion. Consciously or unconsciously, he makes each shape, color, +incident his own; sooner or later it will enter into his work. + +So it must be with the woman who will create a home. There is an evil +fashion of speech which says it is a narrowing and narrow life that a +woman leads who cares only, works only for her husband and children; that +a higher, more imperative thing is that she herself be developed to her +utmost. Even so clear and strong a writer as Frances Cobbe, in her +otherwise admirable essay on the "Final Cause of Woman," falls into this +shallowness of words, and speaks of women who live solely for their +families as "adjectives." + +In the family relation so many women are nothing more, so many women +become even less, that human conception may perhaps be forgiven for losing +sight of the truth, the ideal. Yet in women it is hard to forgive it. +Thinking clearly, she should see that a creator can never be an adjective; +and that a woman who creates and sustains a home, and under whose hands +children grow up to be strong and pure men and women, is a creator, second +only to God. + +Before she can do this, she must have development; in and by the doing of +this comes constant development; the higher her development, the more +perfect her work; the instant her own development is arrested, her +creative power stops. All science, all art, all religion, all experience +of life, all knowledge of men--will help her; the stars in their courses +can be won to fight for her. Could she attain the utmost of knowledge, +could she have all possible human genius, it would be none too much. +Reverence holds its breath and goes softly, perceiving what it is in this +woman's power to do; with what divine patience, steadfastness, and +inspiration she must work. + +Into the home she will create, monotony, stupidity, antagonisms cannot +come. Her foresight will provide occupations and amusements; her loving +and alert diplomacy will fend off disputes. Unconsciously, every member of +her family will be as clay in her hands. More anxiously than any statesman +will she meditate on the wisdom of each measure, the bearing of each word. +The least possible governing which is compatible with order will be her +first principle; her second, the greatest possible influence which is +compatible with the growth of individuality. Will the woman whose brain +and heart are working these problems, as applied to a household, be an +adjective? be idle? + +She will be no more an adjective than the sun is an adjective in the +solar system; no more idle than Nature is idle. She will be perplexed; she +will be weary; she will be disheartened, sometimes. All creators, save +One, have known these pains and grown strong by them. But she will never +withdraw her hand for one instant. Delays and failures will only set her +to casting about for new instrumentalities. She will press all things into +her service. She will master sciences, that her boys' evenings need not be +dull. She will be worldly wise, and render to Caesar his dues, that her +husband and daughters may have her by their side in all their pleasures. +She will invent, she will surprise, she will forestall, she will remember, +she will laugh, she will listen, she will be young, she will be old, and +she will be three times loving, loving, loving. + +This is too hard? There is the house to be kept? And there are poverty and +sickness, and there is not time? + +Yes, it is hard. And there is the house to be kept; and there are poverty +and sickness; but, God be praised, there is time. A minute is time. In one +minute may live the essence of all. I have seen a beggar-woman make half +an hour of home on a doorstep, with a basket of broken meat! And the most +perfect home I ever saw was in a little house into the sweet incense of +whose fires went no costly things. A thousand dollars served for a year's +living of father, mother, and three children. But the mother was a creator +of a home; her relation with her children was the most beautiful I have +ever seen; even a dull and commonplace man was lifted up and enabled to +do good work for souls, by the atmosphere which this woman created; every +inmate of her house involuntarily looked into her face for the key-note of +the day; and it always rang clear. From the rose-bud or clover-leaf which, +in spite of her hard housework, she always found time to put by our plates +at breakfast, down to the essay or story she had on hand to be read or +discussed in the evening, there was no intermission of her influence. She +has always been and always will be my ideal of a mother, wife, home-maker. +If to her quick brain, loving heart, and exquisite tact had been added the +appliances of wealth and the enlargements of a wider culture, hers would +have been absolutely the ideal home. As it was, it was the best I have +ever seen. It is more than twenty years since I crossed its threshold. I +do not know whether she is living or not. But, as I see house after house +in which fathers and mothers and children are dragging out their lives in +a hap-hazard alternation of listless routine and unpleasant collision, I +always think with a sigh of that poor little cottage by the seashore, and +of the woman who was "the light thereof;" and I find in the faces of many +men and children, as plainly written and as sad to see as in the newspaper +columns of "Personals," "Wanted,--a home." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Bits About Home Matters, by Helen Hunt Jackson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BITS ABOUT HOME MATTERS *** + +***** This file should be named 10516.txt or 10516.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/1/10516/ + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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