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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Studies of childhood - -Author: James Sully - -Release Date: May 18, 2020 [EBook #62175] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STUDIES OF CHILDHOOD *** - - - - -Produced by KD Weeks, Turgut Dincer and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note: - -This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects. -Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. A carat (‘^’) -is used to mark superscripted characters. - -Footnotes have been moved to follow the paragraphs in which they are -referenced. - -Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please -see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding -the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - STUDIES OF CHILDHOOD - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - STUDIES - OF CHILDHOOD - - BY - - JAMES SULLY, M. A., LL. D. - - GROTE PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY OF MIND AND LOGIC, - UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON - AUTHOR OF OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY, ETC. - - - - - NEW YORK - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - 1896 - - COPYRIGHT, 1895, - BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. - - - - - PREFACE. - - -The following Studies are not a complete treatise on child-psychology, -but merely deal with certain aspects of children’s minds which happen to -have come under my notice, and to have had a special interest for me. In -preparing them I have tried to combine with the needed measure of -exactness a manner of presentation which should attract other readers -than students of psychology, more particularly parents and young -teachers. - -A part of these Studies has already appeared elsewhere. The Introductory -Chapter was published in the _Fortnightly Review_ for November, 1895. -The substance of those from II. to VIII. has been printed in the -_Popular Science Monthly_ of New York. Portions of the “Extracts from a -Father’s Diary” appeared in the form of two essays, one on “Babies and -Science” in the _Cornhill Magazine_ in 1881, and the other on “Baby -Linguistics” in the _English Illustrated Magazine_ in 1884. The original -form of these, involving a certain disguise—though hardly one of -impenetrable thickness—has been retained. The greater part of the study -on “George Sand’s Childhood” was published as two articles in _Longmans’ -Magazine_ in 1889 and 1890. - -Like all others who have recently worked at child-psychology I am much -indebted to the pioneers in the field, more particularly to Professor W. -Preyer. In addition to these I wish to express my obligations to my -colleague, Dr. Postgate, of Trinity College, Cambridge, for kindly -reading through my essay on children’s language, and giving me many -valuable suggestions; to Lieutenant-General Pitt Rivers, F.R.S., and Mr. -H. Balfour, of the Museum, Oxford, for the friendly help they rendered -me in studying the drawings of savages, and to Mr. E. Cooke for many -valuable facts and suggestions bearing on children’s modes of drawing. -Lastly, I would tender my warm acknowledgments to the parents who have -sent me notes on their children’s mental development. To some few of -these sets of observations, drawn up with admirable care, I feel -peculiarly indebted, for without them I should probably not have written -my book. - - J. S. - - HAMPSTEAD, -November, 1895. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - - - PAGE - I. INTRODUCTORY, 1 - - II. THE AGE OF IMAGINATION, 25 - Why we call Children Imaginative, 25 - Imaginative Transformation of Objects, 28 - Imagination and Play, 35 - Free Projection of Fancies, 51 - Imagination and Storyland, 54 - - III. THE DAWN OF REASON, 64 - The Process of Thought, 64 - The Questioning Age, 75 - - IV. PRODUCTS OF CHILD-THOUGHT, 91 - The Child’s Thoughts about Nature, 91 - Psychological Ideas, 109 - Theological Ideas, 120 - - V. THE LITTLE LINGUIST, 133 - Prelinguistic Babblings, 133 - Transition to Articulate Speech, 138 - Beginnings of Linguistic Imitation, 147 - Transformation of our Words, 148 - Logical Side of Children’s Language, 160 - Sentence-building, 170 - Getting at our Meanings, 183 - - VI. SUBJECT TO FEAR, 191 - Children’s Sensibility, 191 - Startling Effect of Sounds, 194 - Fear of Visible Things, 198 - The Fear of Animals, 207 - Fear of the Dark, 211 - Fears and their Palliatives, 219 - - VII. RAW MATERIAL OF MORALITY, 228 - Primitive Egoism, 228 - Germs of Altruism, 242 - Children’s Lies, 251 - - VIII. UNDER LAW, 267 - The Struggle with Law, 267 - On the Side of Law, 277 - The Wise Law-giver, 290 - - IX. THE CHILD AS ARTIST, 298 - First Responses to Natural Beauty, 300 - Early Attitude Towards Art, 307 - Beginnings of Art-production, 317 - - X. THE YOUNG DRAUGHTSMAN, 331 - First Attempts to Draw, 331 - First Drawings of the Human Figure, 335 - Front and Side View of Human Figure, 356 - First Drawings of Animals, 372 - Men on Horseback, etc., 377 - Résumé of Facts, 382 - Explanation of Facts, 385 - - XI. EXTRACTS FROM A FATHER’S DIARY, 399 - First Year, 400 - Second Year, 416 - Third Year, 436 - Fourth Year, 452 - Fifth Year, 464 - Sixth Year, 480 - - XII. GEORGE SAND’S CHILDHOOD, 489 - The First Years, 489 - A Self-evolved Religion, 506 - - Bibliography, 515 - Index, 519 - - - STUDIES OF CHILDHOOD. - - - - - I. - INTRODUCTORY. - - -Man has always had the child with him, and one might be sure that since -he became gentle and alive to the beauty of things he must have come -under the spell of the baby. We have evidence beyond the oft-quoted -departure of Hector and other pictures of childish grace in early -literature that baby-worship and baby-subjection are not wholly things -of modern times. There is a pretty story taken down by Mr. Leland from -the lips of an old Indian woman, which relates how Glooskap the -hero-god, after conquering all his enemies, rashly tried his hand at -managing a certain mighty baby, Wasis by name, and how he got punished -for his rashness.[1] - ------ - -Footnote 1: - - Quoted by Miss Shinn. _Overland Monthly._ January, 1894. - ------ - -Yet there is good reason to suppose that it is only within comparatively -recent times that the more subtle charm and the deeper significance of -infancy have been discerned. We have come to appreciate babyhood as we -have come to appreciate the finer lineaments of nature as a whole. This -applies, of course, more especially to the ruder sex. The man has in him -much of the boy’s contempt for small things, and he needed ages of -education at the hands of the better-informed woman before he could -perceive the charm of infantile ways. - -One of the first males to do justice to this attractive subject was -Rousseau. He made short work with the theological dogma that the child -is born morally depraved, and can only be made good by miraculous -appliances. His watchword, return to nature, included a reversion to the -infant as coming virginal and unspoilt by man’s tinkering from the hands -of its Maker. To gain a glimpse of this primordial beauty before it was -marred by man’s awkward touch was something, and so Rousseau set men in -the way of sitting reverently at the feet of infancy, watching and -learning. - -For us of to-day, who have learned to go to the pure springs of nature -for much of our spiritual refreshment, the child has acquired a high -place among the things of beauty. Indeed, the grace of childhood may -almost be said to have been discovered by the modern poet. Wordsworth -has stooped over his cradle intent on catching, ere they passed, the -‘visionary gleams’ of ‘the glories he hath known’. Blake, R. L. -Stevenson, and others, have tried to put into language his -day-dreamings, his quaint fancyings. Dickens and Victor Hugo have shown -us something of his delicate quivering heart-strings; Swinburne has -summed up the divine charm of “children’s ways and wiles”. The page of -modern literature is, indeed, a monument of our child-love and our -child-admiration. - -Nor is it merely as to a pure untarnished nature that we go back -admiringly to childhood. The æsthetic charm of the infant which draws us -so potently to its side and compels us to watch its words and actions -is, like everything else which moves the modern mind, highly complex. -Among other sources of this charm we may discern the perfect serenity, -the happy ‘insouciance’ of the childish mind. The note of -world-complaint in modern life has penetrated into most domains, yet it -has not, one would hope, penetrated into the charmed circle of childish -experience. Childhood has, no doubt, its sad aspect:— - - Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of woe, - Tutored by pain each source of pain to know: - -neglect and cruelty may bring much misery into the first bright years. -Yet the very instinct of childhood to be glad in its self-created world, -an instinct which with consummate art Victor Hugo keeps warm and quick -in the breast of the half-starved ill-used child Cosette, secures for it -a peculiar blessedness. The true nature-child, who has not become -_blasé_, is happy, untroubled with the future, knowing nothing of the -misery of disillusion. As, with hearts chastened by many experiences, we -take a peep over the wall of his fancy-built pleasance, we seem to be -taken back to a real golden age. With Amiel, we say: “Le peu de paradis -que nous aperçevons encore sur la terre est du à sa présence”. Yet the -thought, which the same moment brings, of the flitting of the nursery -visions, of the coming storm and stress, adds a pathos to the spectacle, -and we feel as Heine felt when he wrote:— - - Ich schau’ dich an, und Wehmuth - Schleicht mir ins Herz hinein. - -Other and strangely unlike feelings mingle with this caressing, -half-pitiful admiration. We moderns are given to relieving the strained -attitude of reverence and pity by momentary outbursts of humorous -merriment. The child, while appealing to our admiration and our pity, -makes a large and many-voiced appeal also to our sense of the laughter -in things. It is indeed hard to say whether he is most amusing when -setting at naught in his quiet, lordly way, our most extolled views, our -ideas of what is true and false, of the proper uses of things, and so -forth, or when labouring in his perfectly self-conceived fashion to -overtake us and be as experienced and as conventional as ourselves. This -ever new play of droll feature in childish thought and action forms one -of the deepest sources of delight for the modern lover of childhood. - -With the growth of a poetic or sentimental interest in childhood there -has come a new and different kind of interest. Ours is a scientific age, -and science has cast its inquisitive eye on the infant. We want to know -what happens in these first all-decisive two or three years of human -life, by what steps exactly the wee amorphous thing takes shape and -bulk, both physically and mentally. And we can now speak of the -beginning of a careful and methodical investigation of child-nature, by -men trained in scientific observation. This line of inquiry, started by -physicians, as the German Sigismund, in connection with their special -professional aims, has been carried on by a number of fathers and others -having access to the infant, among whom it may be enough to name Darwin -and Preyer. A fuller list of writings on the subject will be given at -the end of the volume. - -This eagerness to know what the child is like, an eagerness illustrated -further by the number of reminiscences of early years recently -published, is the outcome of a many-sided interest which it may be worth -while to analyse. - -The most obvious source of interest in the doings of infancy lies in its -primitiveness. At the cradle we are watching the beginnings of things, -the first tentative thrustings forward into life. Our modern science is -before all things historical and genetic, going back to beginnings so as -to understand the later and more complex phases of things as the outcome -of these beginnings. The same kind of curiosity which prompts the -geologist to get back to the first stages in the building up of the -planet, or the biologist to search out the pristine forms of life, is -beginning to urge the student of man to discover by a careful study of -infancy the way in which human life begins to take its characteristic -forms. - -The appearance of Darwin’s name among those who have deemed the child -worthy of study suggests that the subject is closely connected with -natural history. However man in his proud maturity may be related to -Nature, it is certain that in his humble inception he is immersed in -Nature and saturated with her. As we all know, the lowest races of -mankind stand in close proximity to the animal world. The same is true -of the infants of civilised races. Their life is outward and visible, -forming a part of nature’s spectacle; reason and will, the noble -prerogatives of humanity, are scarce discernible; sense, appetite, -instinct, these animal functions seem to sum up the first year of human -life. - -To the evolutionist, moreover, the infant exhibits a still closer -kinship to the natural world. In the successive stages of fœtal -development he sees the gradual unfolding of human lineaments out of a -widely typical animal form. And even after birth he can discern new -evidences of this genealogical relation of the “lord” of creation to his -inferiors. How significant, for example, is the fact recently -established by a medical man, Dr. Louis Robinson, that the new-born -infant is able just like the ape to suspend his whole weight by grasping -a small horizontal rod.[2] - ------ - -Footnote 2: - - The _Nineteenth Century_ (1891). _Cf._ the somewhat fantastic and not - too serious paper by S. S. Buckman on “Babies and Monkeys” in the same - journal (1894). - ------ - -Yet even as nature-object for the biologist the child presents -distinctive attributes. Though sharing in animal instinct, he shares in -it only to a very small extent. The most striking characteristic of the -new-born offspring of man is its unpreparedness for life. Compare with -the young of other animals the infant so feeble and incapable. He can -neither use his limbs nor see the distance of objects as a new-born -chick or calf is able to do. His brain-centres are, we are told, in a -pitiable state of undevelopment—and are not even securely encased within -their bony covering. Indeed, he resembles for all the world a public -building which has to be opened by a given date, and is found when the -day arrives to be in a humiliating state of incompleteness. - -This fact of the special helplessness of the human offspring at birth, -of its long period of dependence on parental or other aids—a period -which, probably, tends to grow longer as civilisation advances—is rich -in biological and sociological significance. For one thing, it -presupposes a specially high development of the protective and fostering -instincts in the human parents, and particularly the mother—for if the -helpless wee thing were not met by these instincts, what would become of -our race? It is probable, too, as Mr. Spencer and others have argued, -that the institution by nature of this condition of infantile weakness -has reacted on the social affections of the race, helping to develop our -pitifulness for all frail and helpless things. - -Nor is this all. The existence of the infant, with its large and -imperative claims, has been a fact of capital importance in the -development of social customs. Ethnological researches show that -communities have been much exercised with the problem of infancy, have -paid it the homage due to its supreme sacredness, girding it about with -a whole group of protective and beneficent customs.[3] - ------ - -Footnote 3: - - See, for example, the works of H. Ploss, _Das Kind in Brauch und - Sitte_, and _Das kleine Kind_. - ------ - -Enough has been said, perhaps, to show the far-reaching significance of -babyhood to the modern savant. It is hardly too much to say that it has -become one of the most eloquent of nature’s phenomena, telling us at -once of our affinity to the animal world, and of the forces by which our -race has, little by little, lifted itself to so exalted a position above -this world; and so it has happened that not merely to the perennial -baby-worshipper, the mother, and not merely to the poet touched with the -mystery of far-off things, but to the grave man of science the infant -has become a centre of lively interest. - -Nevertheless, it is not to the mere naturalist that the babe reveals all -its significance. Physical organism as it seems to be more than anything -else, hardly more than a vegetative thing indeed, it carries with it the -germ of a human consciousness, and this consciousness begins to expand -and to form itself into a truly human shape from the very beginning. And -here a new source of interest presents itself. It is the human -psychologist, the student of those impalpable, unseizable, evanescent -phenomena which we call “state of consciousness,” who has a supreme -interest, and a scientific property in these first years of a human -existence. What is of most account in these crude tentatives at living -after the human fashion is the play of mind, the first spontaneous -manifestations of recognition, of reasoning expectation, of feelings of -sympathy and antipathy, of definite persistent purpose. - -Rude, inchoate, vague enough, no doubt, are these first groping -movements of a human mind: yet of supreme value to the psychologist just -because they are the first. If, reflects the psychologist, he can only -get at this baby’s consciousness so as to understand what is passing -there, he will be in an infinitely better position to find his way -through the intricacies of the adult consciousness. It may be, as we -shall see by-and-by, that the baby’s mind is not so perfectly simple, so -absolutely primitive as it at first looks. Yet it is the simplest type -of human consciousness to which we can have access. The investigator of -this consciousness can never take any known sample of the animal mind as -his starting point if for no other reason for this, that while -possessing many of the elements of the human mind, it presents these in -so unlike, so peculiar a pattern. - -In this genetic tracing back of the complexities of man’s mental life to -their primitive elements in the child’s consciousness, questions of -peculiar interest will arise. A problem which though having a venerable -antiquity is still full of meaning concerns the precise relation of the -higher forms of intelligence and of sentiment to the elementary facts of -the individual’s life-experience. Are we to regard all our ideas, even -those of God, as woven by the mind out of its experiences, as Locke -thought, or have we certain ‘innate ideas’ from the first? Locke thought -he could settle this point by observing children. To-day, when the -philosophic emphasis is laid not on the date of appearance of the -‘innate’ intuition, but on its originality and spontaneity, this method -of interrogating the child’s mind may seem less promising. Yet if of -less philosophical importance than was once supposed, it is of great -psychological importance. There are certain questions, such as that of -how we come to see things at a distance from us, which can be approached -most advantageously by a study of infant movements. In like manner I -believe the growth of a moral sentiment, of that feeling of reverence -for duty to which Kant gave so eloquent an expression, can only be -understood by the most painstaking observation of the mental activities -of the first years. - -There is, however, another, and in a sense a larger, source of -psychological interest in studying the processes and development of the -infant mind. It was pointed out above that to the evolutional biologist -the child exhibits man in his kinship to the lower sentient world. This -same evolutional point of view enables the psychologist to connect the -unfolding of an infant’s mind with something which has gone before, with -the mental history of the race. According to this way of looking at -infancy the successive phases of its mental life are a brief _resumé_ of -the more important features in the slow upward progress of the species. -The periods dominated successively by sense and appetite, by blind -wondering and superstitious fancy, and by a calmer observation and a -juster reasoning about things, these steps mark the pathway both of the -child-mind and of the race-mind. - -This being so, the first years of a child, with their imperfect verbal -expression, their crude fanciful ideas, their seizures by rage and -terror, their absorption in the present moment, acquire a new and -antiquarian interest. They mirror for us, in a diminished distorted -reflection no doubt, the probable condition of primitive man. As Sir -John Lubbock and other anthropologists have told us, the intellectual -and moral resemblances between the lowest existing races of mankind and -children are numerous and close. They will be illustrated again and -again in the following studies. - -Yet this way of viewing childhood is not merely of antiquarian interest. -While a monument of his race, and in a manner a key to its history, the -child is also its product. In spite of the fashionable Weismannism of -the hour, there are evolutionists who hold that in the early manifested -tendencies of the child, we can discern signs of a hereditary -transmission of the effects of ancestral experiences and activities. His -first manifestations of rage, for example, are a survival of actions of -remote ancestors in their life and death struggles. The impulse of -obedience, which is as much a characteristic of the child as that of -disobedience, may in like manner be regarded as a transmitted rudiment -of a long practised action of socialised ancestors. This idea of an -increment of intelligence and moral disposition, earned for the -individual not by himself but by his ancestors, has its peculiar -interest. It gives a new meaning to human progress to suppose that the -dawn of infant intelligence, instead of being a return to a primitive -darkness, contains from the first a faint light reflected on it from the -lamp of racial intelligence which has preceded that instead of a return -to the race’s starting point, the lowest form of the school of -experience, it is a start in a higher form, the promotion being a reward -conferred on the child for the exertions of his ancestors. Psychological -observation will be well employed in scanning the features of the -infant’s mind in order to see whether they yield evidence of such -ancestral dowering. - -So much with respect to the rich and varied scientific interest -attaching to the movements of the child’s mind. It only remains to touch -on a third main interest in childhood, the practical or educational -interest. The modern world, while erecting the child into an object of -æsthetic contemplation, while bringing to bear on him the bull’s eye -lamp of scientific observation, has become sorely troubled by the -momentous problem of rearing him. What was once a matter of instinct and -unthinking rule-of-thumb has become the subject of profound and -perplexing discussion. Mothers—the right sort of mothers that is—feel -that they must know _au fond_ this wee speechless creature which they -are called upon to direct into the safe road to manhood. And -professional teachers, more particularly the beginners in the work of -training, whose work is in some respects the most difficult and the most -honourable, have come to see that a clear insight into child-nature and -its spontaneous movements, must precede any intelligent attempt to work -beneficially upon this nature. In this way the teacher has lent his -support to the savant and the psychologist in their investigation of -infancy. More particularly he has betaken him to the psychologist in -order to discover more of the native tendencies and the governing laws -of that unformed child-mind which it is his in a special manner to form. -In addition to this, the growing educational interest in the spontaneous -behaviour of the child’s mind may be expected to issue in a demand for a -_statistic_ of childhood, that is to say, carefully arranged collections -of observations bearing on such points as children’s questions, their -first thoughts about nature, their manifestations of sensibility and -insensibility. - -The awakening in the modern mind of this keen and varied interest in -childhood has led, and is destined to lead still more, to the -observation of infantile ways. This observation will, of course, be of -very different value according as it subserves the contemplation of the -humorous or other æsthetically valuable aspect of child-nature, or as it -is directed towards a scientific understanding of this. Pretty anecdotes -of children which tickle the emotions may or may not add to our insight -into the peculiar mechanism of children’s minds. There is no necessary -connection between smiling at infantile drolleries and understanding the -laws of infantile intelligence. Indeed, the mood of merriment, if too -exuberant, will pretty certainly swamp for the moment any desire to -understand. - -The observation which is to further understanding, which is to be -acceptable to science, must itself be scientific. That is to say, it -must be at once guided by foreknowledge, specially directed to what is -essential in a phenomenon and its surroundings or conditions, and -perfectly exact. If anybody supposes this to be easy, he should first -try his hand at the work, and then compare what he has seen with what -Darwin or Preyer has been able to discover. - -How difficult this is may be seen even with reference to the outward -physical part of the phenomena to be observed. Ask any mother untrained -in observation to note the first appearance of that complex facial -movement which we call a smile, and you know what kind of result you are -likely to get. The phenomena of a child’s mental life, even on its -physical and visible side, are of so subtle and fugitive a character -that only a fine and quick observation is able to cope with them. But -observation of children is never merely seeing. Even the smile has to be -interpreted as a smile by a process of imaginative inference. Many -careless onlookers would say that a baby smiles in the first days from -very happiness, when another and simpler explanation of the movement is -forthcoming. Similarly, it wants much fine judgment to say whether an -infant is merely stumbling accidentally on an articulate sound, or is -imitating your sound. A glance at some of the best memoirs will show how -enormously difficult it is to be sure of a right interpretation of these -early and comparatively simple manifestations of mind.[4] - ------ - -Footnote 4: - - These difficulties seem to me to be curiously overlooked in Prof. Mark - Baldwin’s recent utterance on child psychology. (_Mental Development - in the Child and the Race_, chap. ii.) In this optimistic presentment - of the subject there is not the slightest reference to the difficult - work of interpretation. Child-study is talked of as a perfectly simple - mode of observation, requiring at most to be supplemented by a little - experiment, and, it may be added, backed by a firm theory. - ------ - -Things grow a great deal worse when we try to throw our scientific -lassoo about the elusive spirit of a child of four or six, and to catch -the exact meaning of its swiftly changing movements. Children are, no -doubt, at this age frank before the eye of love, and their minds are -vastly more accessible than that of the dumb dog that can only look his -ardent thoughts. Yet they are by no means so open to view as is often -supposed. All kinds of shy reticences hamper them: they feel unskilled -in using our cumbrous language; they soon find out that their thoughts -are not as ours, but often make us laugh. And how carefully are they -wont to hide from our sight their nameless terrors, physical and moral. -Much of the deeper childish experience can only reach us, if at all, -years after it is over, through the faulty medium of adult memory—faulty -even when it is the memory of a Goethe, a George Sand, a Robert Louis -Stevenson.[5] - ------ - -Footnote 5: - - In these days of published reminiscences of childhood it is quite - refreshing to meet with a book like Mr. James Payn’s _Gleams of - Memory_, which honestly confesses that its early recollections are - almost _nil_. - ------ - -Even when there is perfect candour, and the little one does his best to -instruct us as to what is passing in his mind by his ‘whys’ and his ‘I -’sposes,’ accompanied by the most eloquent of looks, we find ourselves -ever and again unequal to comprehending. Child-thought follows its own -paths—roads, as Mr. Rudyard Kipling has well said, “unknown to those who -have left childhood behind”. The dark sayings of childhood, as when a -child asks, ‘Why am I not somebody else?’ will be fully illustrated -below. - -This being so, it might well seem arrogant to speak of any ‘scientific’ -investigation of the child’s mind; and, to be candid, I may as well -confess that, in spite of some recently published highly hopeful -forecasts of what child-psychology is going to do for us, I think we are -a long way off from a perfectly scientific account of it. Our so-called -theories of children’s mental activity has so often been hasty -generalisations from imperfect observation. Children are probably much -more diverse in their ways of thinking and feeling than our theories -suppose. But of this more presently. Even where we meet with a common -and comparatively prominent trait, we are far as yet from having a -perfect comprehension of it. I at least believe that children’s play, -about which so much has confidently been written, is but imperfectly -understood. Is it serious business, half-conscious make-believe, more -than half-conscious acting, or, no one of these, or all of them by -turns? I think he would be a bold man who ventured to answer this -question straight away. - -In this state of things it might seem well to wait. Possibly by-and-by -we shall light on new methods of tapping the childish consciousness. -Patients in a certain stage of the hypnotic trance have returned, it is -said, to their childish experience and feelings. Some people do this, or -appear to do this, in their dreams. I know a young man who revives vivid -recollections of the experiences of the third year of life when he is -sleepy, and more especially if he is suffering from a cold. These facts -suggest that if we only knew more about the mode of working of the brain -we might reinstate a special group of conditions which would secure a -re-emergence of childish ideas and sentiments. - -Yet our case is not so hopeless that we need defer inquiry into the -child’s mind until human science has fathomed all the mysteries of the -brain. We can know many things of this mind, and these of great -importance, even now. The naturalist discusses the actions of the lower -animals, confidently attributing intelligent planning here, and a germ -of vanity or even of moral sense there; and it would be hard were we -forbidden to study the little people that are of our own race, and are a -thousand times more open to inspection. Really good work has already -been done here, and one should be grateful. At the same time, it seems -to me of the greatest importance to recognise that it is but a -beginning: that the child which the modern world has in the main -discovered is after all only half discovered: that if we are to get at -his inner life, his playful conceits, his solemn broodings over the -mysteries of things, his way of responding to the motley show of life, -we must carry this work of noting and interpreting to a much higher -point. - -Now, if progress is to be made in this work, we must have specially -qualified workers. All who know anything of the gross misunderstandings -of children of which many so-called intelligent adults are capable, will -bear me out when I say that a certain gift of penetration is absolutely -indispensable here. If any one asks me what the qualifications of a good -child-observer amount to, I may perhaps answer, for the sake of brevity, -‘a divining faculty, the offspring of child-love, perfected by -scientific training’. Let us see what this includes. - -That the observer of children must be a diviner, a sort of clairvoyant -reader of their secret thoughts, seems to me perfectly obvious. Watch -half a dozen men who find themselves unexpectedly ushered into a room -tenanted by a small child, and you will soon be able to distinguish the -diviners, who, just because they have in themselves something akin to -the child, seem able at once to get into touch with children. It is -probable that women’s acknowledged superiority in knowledge of -child-nature is owing to their higher gift of sympathetic insight. This -faculty, so far from being purely intellectual, is very largely the -outgrowth of a peculiar moral nature to which the life of all small -things, and of children more than all, is always sweet and congenial. It -is very much of a secondary, or acquired instinct; that is, an -unreflecting intuition which is the outgrowth of a large experience. For -the child-lover seeks the object of his love, and is never so happy as -when associating with children and sharing in their thoughts and their -pleasures. And it is through such habitual intercourse that there forms -itself the instinct or tact by which the significance of childish -manifestation is at once unerringly discerned. - -There is in this tact or fineness of spiritual touch one constituent so -important as to deserve special mention. I mean a lively memory of one’s -own childhood. As I have observed above, I do not believe in an exact -and trustworthy reproduction in later life of particular incidents of -childhood. All recalling of past experiences illustrates the modifying -influence of the later self in its attempt to assimilate and understand -the past self; and this transforming effect is at its maximum when we -try to get back to childhood. But though our memory of childhood is not -in itself exact enough to furnish facts, it may be sufficiently strong -for the purposes of interpreting our observations of the children we see -about us. It is said, and said rightly, that in order to read a child’s -mind we need imagination, and since all imagination is merely -readjustment of individual experience, it follows that the skilled -decipherer of infantile characters needs before all things to be in -touch with his own early feelings and thoughts. And this is just what we -find. The vivacious, genial woman who is never so much at home as when -surrounded by a bevy of eager-minded children is a woman who remains -young in the important sense that she retains much of the freshness and -unconventionality of mind, much of the gaiety and expansiveness of early -life. Conversely one may feel pretty sure that a woman who retains a -vivid memory of her childish ideas and feelings will be drawn to the -companionship of children. After reading their autobiographies one -hardly needs to be told that Goethe carried into old age his quick -responsiveness to the gaiety of the young heart; and that George Sand -when grown old was never so happy as when gathering the youngsters about -her.[6] - ------ - -Footnote 6: - - Since this was written the authoress of _Little Lord Fauntleroy_ has - shown us how clear and far-reaching a memory she has of her childish - experiences. - ------ - -Yet valuable as is this gift of sympathetic insight, it will not, of -course, conduce to that methodical, exact kind of observation which is -required by science. Hence the need of the second qualification: -psychological training. By this is meant that special knowledge which -comes from studying the principles of the science, its peculiar -problems, and the methods appropriate to these, together with the -special skill which is attained by a methodical, practical application -of this knowledge in the actual observation and interpretation of -manifestations of mind. Thus a woman who wishes to observe to good -effect the mind of a child of three must have a sufficient acquaintance -with the general course of the mental life to know what to expect, and -in what way the phenomena observed have to be interpreted. Really fine -and fruitful observation is the outcome of a large knowledge, and -anybody who is to carry out in a scientific fashion the observation of -the humblest phase of a child’s mental life must already know this life -as a whole, so far as psychology can as yet describe its -characteristics, and determine the conditions of its activity. - -And here the question naturally arises: “Who is to carry out this new -line of scientific observation?” To begin with the first stage of it, -who is to carry out the exact methodical record of the movements of the -infant? It is evident that qualification or capacity is not all that is -necessary here; capacity must be favoured with opportunity before the -work can be actually begun. - -It has been pointed out that the pioneers who struck out this new line -of experimental research were medical men. The meaning of this fact is -pretty apparent. The doctor has not only a turn for scientific -observation: he is a privileged person in the nursery. The natural -guardians of infancy, the mother and the nurse, exempt him from their -general ban on the male. He excepted, no man, not even the child’s own -father, is allowed to meddle too much with that divine mystery, that -meeting point of all the graces and all the beatitudes, the infant. - -Consider for a moment the natural prejudice which the inquirer into the -characteristics of the infant has to face. Such inquiry is not merely -passively watching what spontaneously presents itself; it is -emphatically experimenting, that is, the calling out of reactions by -applying appropriate stimuli. Even to try whether the new-born babe will -close its fingers on your finger when brought into contact with their -anterior surface may well seem impious to a properly constituted nurse. -To propose to test the wee creature’s sense of taste by applying drops -of various solutions, as acid, bitters, etc., to the tongue, or to -provoke ocular movements to the right or the left, would pretty -certainly seem a profanation of the temple of infancy, if not fraught -with danger to its tiny deity. And as to trying Dr. Robinson’s -experiment of getting the newly arrived visitor to suspend his whole -precious weight by clasping a bar, it is pretty certain that, women -being constituted as at present, only a medical man could have dreamt of -so daring a feat. - -There is no doubt that baby-worship, the sentimental adoration of infant -ways, is highly inimical to the carrying out of a perfectly cool and -impartial process of scientific observation. Hence the average mother -can hardly be expected to do more than barely to tolerate this -encroaching of experiment into the hallowed retreat of the nursery. Even -in these days of rapid modification of what used to be thought -unalterable sexual characters, one may be bold enough to hazard the -prophecy that women who have had scientific training will, if they -happen to become mothers, hardly be disposed to give their minds at the -very outset to the rather complex and difficult work, say, of making an -accurate scientific inventory of the several modes of infantile -sensibility, visual, auditory, and so forth, and of the alterations in -these from day to day. - -It is for the coarser fibred man, then, to undertake much of the earlier -experimental work in the investigation of child-nature. And if fathers -will duly qualify themselves they will probably find that permission -will little by little be given them to carry out investigations, short, -of course, of anything that looks distinctly dangerous to the little -being’s comfort. - -At the same time it is evident that a complete series of observations of -the infant can hardly be carried out by a man alone. It is for the -mother, or some other woman with a pass-key to the nursery, with her -frequent and prolonged opportunities of observation to attempt a careful -and methodical register of mental progress. Hence the importance of -enlisting the mother or her female representative as collaborateur or at -least as assistant. Thus supposing the father is bent on ascertaining -the exact dates and the order of appearance of the different articulate -sounds, which is rather a subject of passive observation than of active -experiment; he will be almost compelled to call in the aid of one who -has the considerable advantage of passing a good part of each day near -the child.[7] - ------ - -Footnote 7: - - The great advantage which the female observer of the infant’s mind has - over her male competitor is clearly illustrated in some recent studies - of childhood by American women. I would especially call attention to a - study by Miss M. W. Shinn of the University of California - (_Development of a child. Notes on the writer’s niece_), where the - minute and painstaking record (_e.g._, of the child’s colour - discrimination and visual space exploration) points to the ample - opportunity of observation which comes more readily to women. - ------ - -As the wee thing grows and its nervous system becomes more stable and -robust more in the way of research may of course be safely attempted. In -this higher stage the work of observation will be less simple and -involve more of special psychological knowledge. It is a comparatively -easy thing to say whether the sudden approach of an object to the eye of -a baby a week or so old calls forth the reflex known as blinking: it is -a much more difficult thing to say what are the preferences of a child -of twelve months in the matter of simple forms, or even colours. - -The problem of the order of development of the colour-sense in children -looks at first easy enough. Any mother, it may be thought, can say which -colours the child first recognises by naming them when seen, or picking -them out when another names them. Yet simple as it looks, the problem is -in reality anything but simple. A German investigator, Professor Preyer -of Berlin, went to work methodically with his little boy of two years in -order to see in what order he would discriminate colours. Two colours, -red and green, were first shown, the name added to each, and the child -then asked: “Which is red?” “Which is green?” Then other colours were -added and the experiments repeated. According to these researches this -particular child first acquired a clear discriminative awareness of -yellow. Preyer’s results have not, however, been confirmed by other -investigators, as M. Binet of Paris, who followed a similar method of -inquiry. Thus according to Binet it is not yellow but blue which carries -the day in the competition for the child’s preferential recognition. - -What, it may be asked, is the explanation of this? Is it that children -differ in the mode of development of their colour-sensibility to this -extent, or can it be that there is some fault in the method of -investigation? It has been recently suggested that the mode of testing -colour-discrimination by naming is open to the objection that a child -may get hold of one verbal sound as ‘red’ more easily than another as -‘green’ and that this would facilitate the recognition of the former. If -in this way the recognition of a colour is aided by the retention of its -name, we must get rid of this disturbing element of sound. Accordingly -new methods of experiment have been attempted in France and America. -Thus Professor Baldwin investigates the matter by placing two colours -opposite the child’s two arms and noting which is reached out to by -right or left arm, which is ignored. He has tabulated the results of a -short series of these simple experiments for testing childish -preference, and supports the conclusions of Binet, as against those of -Preyer, that blue comes in for the first place in the child’s -discriminative recognition.[8] It is however easy to see that this -method has its own characteristic defects. Thus, to begin with, it -evidently does not directly test colour discrimination at all, but the -liking for or interest in colours, which though it undoubtedly implies a -measure of discrimination must not be confused with this. And even as a -test of preference it is very likely to be misapplied. Thus supposing -that the two colours are not equally bright, then the child will grasp -at one rather than at the other, because it is a brighter object and not -because it is this particular colour. Again if one colour fall more into -the first and fresh period of the exercise when the child is fresh and -active, whereas another falls more into the second period when he is -tired and inactive, the results would, it is evident, give too much -value to the former. Similarly, if one colour were brought in after -longer intervals of time than another it would have more attractive -force through its greater novelty. - ------ - -Footnote 8: - - _Mental Development in the Child and the Race_, chap. iii. - ------ - -Enough has been said to show how very delicate a problem we have here to -deal with. And if scientific men are still busy settling the point how -the problem can be best dealt with, it seems hopeless for the amateur to -dabble in the matter. - -I have purposely chosen a problem of peculiar complexity and delicacy in -order to illustrate the importance of that training which makes the -mental eye of the observer quick to analyse the phenomenon to be dealt -with so as to take in all its conditions. Yet there are many parts of -this work of observing the child’s mind which do not make so heavy a -demand on technical ability, but can be done by any intelligent observer -prepared for the task by a reasonable amount of psychological study. I -refer more particularly to that rich and highly interesting field of -exploration which opens up when the child begins to talk. It is in the -spontaneous utterances of children, his first quaint uses of words, that -we can best watch the play of the instinctive tendencies of thought. -Children’s talk is always valuable to a psychologist; and for my part I -would be glad of as many anecdotal records of their sayings as I could -collect. - -Here, then, there seems to be room for a relatively simple and unskilled -kind of observing work. Yet it would be a mistake to suppose that even -this branch of child-observation requires nothing but ordinary -intelligence. To begin with, we are all prone, till by special training -we have learned to check the inclination, to read far too much of our -older thought and sentiment into children. As M. Drox observes, _nous -sommes dupes de nous-mêmes lorsque nous observous ces chers bambins_.[9] - ------ - -Footnote 9: - - _L’Enfant_, p. 142. - ------ - -Again, there is a subtle source of error connected with the very -attitude of undergoing examination which only a carefully trained -observer of childish ways will avoid. A child is very quick in spying -whether he is being observed, and as soon as he suspects that you are -specially interested in his talk he is apt to try to produce an effect. -This wish to say something startling, wonderful, or what not, will, it -is obvious, detract from the value of the utterance. - -But once more the saying which it is so easy to report has had its -history, and the observer who knows something of psychology will look -out for facts, that is to say, experiences of the child, suggestions -made by others’ words which throw light on the saying. No fact is really -quite simple, and the reason why some facts look so simple is that the -observer does not include in his view all the connections of the -occurrence which he is inspecting. The unskilled observer of children is -apt to send scraps, fragments of facts, which have not their natural -setting. The value of psychological training is that it makes one as -jealously mindful of wholeness in facts as a housewife of wholeness in -her porcelain. It is, indeed, only when the whole fact is before us, in -well-defined contour, that we can begin to deal with its meaning. Thus -although those ignorant of psychology may assist us in this region of -fact-finding, they can never accomplish that completer and exacter kind -of observation which we dignify by the name of Science.[10] - ------ - -Footnote 10: - - Since writing the above I have had my opinion strongly confirmed by - reading a record of sayings of children carried out by women students - in an American Normal College (_Thoughts and Reasonings of Children_, - classified by H. W. Brown, Teacher of Psychology in State Normal - School, Worcester, Mass., with introduction by E. H. Russell, - Principal: reprinted from the _Pedagogical Seminary_). Many of the - quaint sayings noted down lose much of their psychological point from - our complete ignorance of the child’s home-experience, companionships, - school and training. - ------ - -One may conclude then that women may be fitted to become valuable -labourers in this new field of investigation, if only they will acquire -a genuine scientific interest in babyhood, and a fair amount of -scientific training. That a large number of women will get so far is I -think doubtful: the sentimental or æsthetic attraction of the baby is -apt to be a serious obstacle to a cold matter-of-fact examination of it -as a scientific specimen. The natural delight of a mother in every new -exhibition of infantile wisdom or prowess is liable to blind her to the -exceedingly modest significance of the child’s performances as seen from -the scientific point of view. Yet as I have hinted, this very fondness -for infantile ways, may, if only the scientific caution is added, prove -a valuable excitant to study. In England, and in America, there is -already a considerable number of women who have undergone some serious -training in psychology, and it may not be too much to hope that before -long we shall have a band of mothers and aunts busily engaged in noting -and recording the movements of children’s minds. - -I have assumed here that what is wanted is careful studies of individual -children as they may be approached in the nursery. And these records of -individual children, after the pattern of Preyer’s monograph, are I -think our greatest need. We are wont to talk rather too glibly about -that abstraction, ‘the child,’ as if all children rigorously -corresponded to one pattern, of which pattern we have a perfect -knowledge. Mothers at least know that this is not so. Children of the -same family will be found to differ very widely (within the -comparatively narrow field of childish traits), as, for example, in -respect of matter-of-factness, of fancifulness, of inquisitiveness. -Thus, while it is probably true that most children at a certain age are -greedy of the pleasures of the imagination, Nature in her well-known -dislike of monotony has taken care to make a few decidedly -unimaginative. We need to know much more about these variations: and -what will best help us here is a number of careful records of infant -progress, embracing examples not only of different sexes and -temperaments, but also of different social conditions and nationalities. -When we have such a collection of monographs we shall be in a much -better position to fill out the hazy outline of our abstract conception -of childhood with definite and characteristic lineaments. - -At the same time I gladly allow that other modes of observation are -possible and in their way useful. This applies to older children who -pass into the collective existence of the school-class. Here something -like collective or statistical inquiry may be begun, as that into the -contents of children’s minds, their ignorances and misapprehensions -about common objects. Some part of this inquiry into the minds of -school-children may very well be undertaken by an intelligent teacher. -Thus it would be valuable to have careful records of children’s progress -carried out by pre-arranged tests, so as to get collections of examples -of mental activity at different ages. More special lines of inquiry -having a truly experimental character might be carried out by experts, -as those already begun with reference to children’s “span of -apprehension,” _i.e._, the number of digits or nonsense syllables that -can be reproduced after a single hearing, investigations into the -effects of fatigue on mental processes, into the effect of number of -repetitions on the certainty of reproduction, into musical sensitiveness -and so forth. - -Valuable as such statistical investigation undoubtedly is, it is no -substitute for the careful methodical study of the individual child. -This seems to me the greatest desideratum just now. Since the teacher -needs for practical reasons to make a careful study of individuals he -might well assist here. In these days of literary collaboration it might -not be amiss for a kindergarten teacher to write an account of a child’s -mind in co-operation with the mother. Such a record if well done would -be of the greatest value. The co-operation of the mother seems to me -quite indispensable, since even where there is out-of-class intercourse -between teacher and pupil the knowledge acquired by the former never -equals that of the mother. - - - II. - THE AGE OF IMAGINATION. - - - _Why we call Children Imaginative._ - -One of the few things we seemed to be certain of with respect to -child-nature was that it is fancy-full. Childhood, we all know, is the -age for dreaming, for decking out the world as yet unknown with the gay -colours of imagination; for living a life of play or happy make-believe. -So that nothing seems more to characterise the ‘Childhood of the World’ -than the myth-making impulse which by an overflow of fancy seeks to hide -the meagreness of knowledge. - -Yet even here, perhaps, we have been content with loose generalisation -in place of careful observation and analysis of facts. For one thing, -the play of infantile imagination is probably much less uniform than is -often supposed. There seem to be matter-of-fact children who cannot rise -buoyantly to a bright fancy. Mr. Ruskin, of all men, has recently told -us that when a child he was incapable of acting a part or telling a -tale, that he never knew a child “whose thirst for visible fact was at -once so eager and so methodic”.[11] We may accept the report of Mr. -Ruskin’s memory as proving that he did not idle away his time in -day-dreams, but, by long and close observation of running water, and the -like, laid the foundations of that fine knowledge of the appearances of -nature which everywhere shines through his writings. Yet one may be -permitted to doubt whether a writer who shows not only so rich and -graceful a style but so truly poetic an invention could have been _in -every respect_ an unimaginative child. - ------ - -Footnote 11: - - _Præterita_, p. 76. - ------ - -Perhaps the truth will turn out to be the paradox that most children are -at once matter-of-fact observers _and_ dreamers, passing from the one to -the other as the mood takes them, and with a facility which grown people -may well envy. My own observations go to show that the prodigal out-put -of fancy, the revelling in myth and story, is often characteristic of -one period of childhood only. We are apt to lump together such different -levels of experience and capacity under that abstraction ‘the child’. -The wee mite of three and a half, spending more than half his days in -trying to realise all manner of pretty, odd, startling fancies about -animals, fairies, and the rest, is something vastly unlike the boy of -six or seven, whose mind is now bent on understanding the make and go of -machines, and of that big machine, the world. - -So far as I can gather from inquiries sent to parents and other -observers of children, a large majority of boys and girls alike are for -a time fancy-bound. A child that did not want to play and cared nothing -for the marvels of story-land would surely be regarded as queer and not -just what a child ought to be. Yet, supposing that this is the right -view, there still remains the question whether imagination always works -in the same way in the childish brain. Science is beginning to aid us in -understanding the differences of childish fancy. For one thing it is -leading us to see that a child’s whole imaginative life may be specially -coloured by the preponderant vividness of a certain order of images, -that one child may live imaginatively in a coloured world, another in a -world of sounds, another rather in a world of movements. It is easy to -note in the case of certain children of the more lively and active turn, -how the supreme interest of story as of play lies in the ample range of -movement and bodily activity. Robinson Crusoe is probably for the boyish -imagination, more than anything else, the goer and the doer.[12] - ------ - -Footnote 12: - - The different tendencies of children towards visual, auditory, motor - images, etc., are dealt with by F. Queyrat, _L’Imagination et ses - variétés chez l’enfant_. _Cf._ an article by W. H. Burnham, - “Individual Differences in the Imagination of Children,” _Pedagogical - Seminary_, ii., 2. - ------ - -With this difference in the elementary constituents of imagination, -there are others which turn on temperament, tone of feeling, and -preponderant directions of emotion. Imagination is intimately bound up -with the life of feeling, and will assume as many directions as this -life assumes. Hence, the familiar fact that in some children imagination -broods by preference on gloomy and terrifying objects, religious and -other, whereas in others it selects what is bright and gladsome; that -while in some cases it has more of the poetic quality, in others it -leans rather to the scientific or to the practical type. - -Enough has been said perhaps to show that the imaginativeness of -children is not a thing to be taken for granted as existing in all -children alike. It is eminently a variable faculty requiring a special -study in the case of each new child. - -But even waiving this fact of variability it may, I think, be said that -we are far from understanding the precise workings of imagination in -children. We talk, for example, glibly about their play, their -make-believe, their illusions; but how much do we really know of their -state of mind when they act out a little scene of domestic life, or of -the battle-field? We have, I know, many fine observations on this head. -Careful observers of children and conservers of their own childish -experiences, such as Rousseau, Pestalozzi, Jean Paul, Madame Necker, -George Sand, R. L. Stevenson, tell us much that is valuable: yet I -suspect that there must be a much wider and finer investigation of -children’s action and talk before we can feel quite sure that we have -got at their mental whereabouts, and know how they feel when they -pretend to enter the dark wood, the home of the wolf, or to talk with -their deities, the fairies. - -Perhaps I have said enough to justify my plea for new observations and -for a reconsideration of hasty theories in the light of these. Nor need -we object to a fresh survey of what is perhaps the most delightful side -of child-life. I often wonder indeed when I come across some precious -bit of droll infantile acting, or of sweet child-soliloquy, how mothers -can bring themselves to lose one drop of the fresh exhilarating draught -which daily pours forth from the fount of a child’s phantasy. - -Nor is it merely for the sake of its inherent charm that children’s -imagination deserves further study. In the early age of the individual -and of the race what we enlightened persons call fancy has a good deal -to do with the first crude attempts at understanding things. -Child-thought, like primitive folk-thought, is saturated with myth, -vigorous phantasy holding the hand of reason—as yet sadly rickety in his -legs—and showing him which way he should take. In the moral life again, -we shall see how easily the realising force of young imagination may -expose it to deception by others, and to self-deception too, with -results that closely simulate the guise of a knowing falsehood. On the -other hand a careful following out of the various lines of imaginative -activity may show how moral education, by vividly suggesting to the -child’s imagination a worthy part, a praiseworthy action, may work -powerfully on the unformed and flexible structure of his young will, -moving it dutywards. - - - _Imaginative Transformation of Objects._ - -The play of young imagination meets us in the domain of -sense-observation: a child is fancying when he looks at things and -touches them and moves among them. This may seem a paradox at first, but -in truth there is nothing paradoxical here. It is an exploded -psychological fallacy that sense and imagination are wholly apart. No -doubt, as the ancients told us, phantasy follows and is the offspring of -sense: we live over again in waking and sleeping imagination the sights -and sounds of the real world. Yet it is no less true that imagination in -an active constructive form takes part in the very making of what we -call sense-experience. We _read_ the visual symbol, say, a splash of -light or colour, now as a stone, now as a pool of water, just because -imagination drawing from past experience supplies the interpretation, -the group of qualities which composes a hard solid mass, or a soft -yielding liquid. - -A child’s fanciful reading of things, as when he calls the twinkling -star a (blinking) eye, or the dew-drops on the grass tears, is but an -exaggeration of what we all do. His imagination carries him very much -farther. Thus he may attribute to the stone he sees a sort of -stone-soul, and speak of it as feeling tired of a place. - -This lively way of envisaging objects is, as we know, similar to that of -primitive folk, and has something of crude nature-poetry in it. This -tendency is abundantly illustrated in the metaphors which play so large -a part in children’s talk. As all observers of them know they are wont -to describe what they see or hear by analogy to something they know -already. This is called by some, rather clumsily I think, apperceiving. -For example, a little boy of two years and five months, on looking at -the hammers of a piano which his mother was playing, called out: ‘There -is owlegie’ (diminutive of owl). His eye had instantly caught the -similarity between the round felt disc of the hammer divided by a piece -of wood, and the owl’s face divided by its beak. In like manner the boy -C. called a small oscillating compass-needle a ‘bird’ on the ground of -its slightly bird-like form, and of its fluttering movement.[13] Pretty -conceits are often resorted to in this assimilation of the new and -strange to the familiar, as when a child seeing dew on the grass said, -‘The grass is crying,’ or when stars were described as “cinders from -God’s star,” and butterflies as “pansies flying”.[14] Other examples of -this picturesque mode of childish apperception will meet us below. - ------ - -Footnote 13: - - The references to the child C. are to the subject of the memoir given - below, chap. xi. - -Footnote 14: - - W. H. Burnham, _loc. cit._, p. 212 f. - ------ - -This play of imagination in connexion with apprehending objects of sense -has a strong vitalising or personifying element. That is to say, the -child sees what we regard as lifeless and soulless as alive and -conscious. Thus he gives not only body but soul to the wind when it -whistles or howls at night. The most unpromising things come in for this -warming vitalising touch of the child’s fancy. He will make something -like a personality out of a letter. Thus one little fellow aged one year -eight months conceived a special fondness for the letter W, addressing -it thus: ‘Dear old boy W’. Another little boy well on in his fourth -year, when tracing a letter L happened to slip so that the horizontal -limb formed an angle thus, [L-like character]. He instantly saw the -resemblance to the sedentary human form and said: “Oh, he’s sitting -down”. Similarly when he made an F turn the wrong way and then put the -correct form to the left thus, [F reversed F], he exclaimed: “They’re -talking together”. - -Sometimes this endowment of things with feeling leads to a quaint -manifestation of sympathy. Miss Ingelow writes of herself: When a little -over two years old, and for about a year after “I had the habit of -attributing intelligence not only to all living creatures, the same -amount and kind of intelligence that I had myself, but even to stones -and manufactured articles. I used to feel how dull it must be for the -pebbles in the causeway to be obliged to lie still and only see what was -round about. When I walked out with a little basket for putting flowers -in I used sometimes to pick up a pebble or two and carry them on to have -a change: then at the farthest point of the walk turn them out, not -doubting that they would be pleased to have a new view.”[15] - ------ - -Footnote 15: - - See her article, “The History of an Infancy,” _Longman’s Magazine_, - Feb., 1890. - ------ - -This is by no means a unique example of a quaint childish expression of -pity for what we think the insentient world. Plant-life seems often to -excite the feeling. Here is a quotation from a parent’s chronicle: “A -girl aged eight, brings a quantity of fallen autumn leaves in to her -mother, who says, ‘Oh! how pretty, F.!’ to which the girl answers: ‘Yes, -I knew you’d love the poor things, mother, I couldn’t bear to see them -dying on the ground’. A few days afterwards she was found standing at a -window overlooking the garden crying bitterly at the falling leaves as -they fell in considerable numbers.” - -I need not linger on the products of this vitalising and personifying -instinct, as we shall deal with them again when inquiring into -children’s ideas about nature. Suffice it to say that it is wondrously -active and far-reaching, constituting one chief manifestation of -childish fancy. - -Now it may be asked whether all this analogical extension of images to -what seem to us such incongruous objects involves a vivid and illusory -apprehension of these as transformed. Is the eyelid realised and even -_seen_ for the moment as a sort of curtain, the curtain-image blending -with and transforming what is present to the eye? Are the pebbles -actually viewed as living things condemned to lie stiffly in one place? -It is of course hard to say, yet I think a conjectural answer can be -given. In this imaginative contemplation of things the child but half -observes what is present to his eyes, one or two points only of supreme -interest in the visible thing, whether those of form, as in assimilating -the piano-hammer to the owl, or of action, as the _falling_ of the leaf, -being selectively alluded to: while assimilative imagination overlaying -the visual impression with the image of a similar object does the rest. -In this way the actual field of objects is apt to get veiled, -transformed by the wizard touch of a lively fancy. - -No doubt there are various degrees of illusion here. In his -matter-of-fact and really scrutinising mood a child will not confound -what is seen with what is imagined: in this case the analogy recalled is -distinguished and used as an explanation of what is seen—as when C. -observed of the panting dog: ‘Dat bow-wow like puff-puff’. On the other -hand when another little boy aged three years and nine months seeing the -leaves falling exclaimed, “See, mamma, the leaves is flying like -dickey-birds and little butterflies,” it is hard not to think that the -child’s fancy for the moment transformed what he saw into these pretty -semblances. And one may risk the opinion that, with the little thinking -power and controlling force of will which a child possesses, such -assimilative activity of imagination always tends to develop a degree of -momentary illusion. There is, too, as we shall see later on, abundant -evidence to show that children at first quite seriously believe that -most things, at least, are alive and have their feelings. - -There is another way in which imagination may combine with and transform -sensible objects, _viz._, by what is commonly called association. Mr. -Ruskin tells us that when young he associated the name ‘crocodile’ with -the creature so closely that the long series of letters took on -something of the look of its lanky body. The same writer speaks of a Dr. -Grant, into whose therapeutic hands he fell when a child. "The name (he -adds) is always associated in my mind with a brown powder—rhubarb or the -like—of a gritty or acrid nature.... The name always sounded to me -gr-r-ish and granular." - -We can most of us perhaps, recall similar experiences, where colours and -sounds, in themselves indifferent, took on either through analogy or -association a decidedly repulsive character. How far, one wonders, does -this process of transformation of things go in the case of imaginative -children? There is some reason to say that it may go very far, and that, -too, when there is no strong feeling at work cementing the combined -elements. A child’s feeling for likeness is commonly keen and subtle, -and knowledge of the real relations of things has not yet come to check -the impulse to this free far-ranging kind of assimilation. Before the -qualities and the connexions of objects are sufficiently known for them -to be interesting in themselves, they can only acquire interest through -the combining art of childish fancy. And the same is true of associated -qualities. A child’s ear may not dislike a grating sound, a harsh noise, -as our ear dislikes it, merely because of its effect on the sensitive -organ. _En revanche_ it will like and dislike sounds for a hundred -reasons unknown to us, just because the quick strong fancy adding its -life to that of the senses gives to their impressions much of their -significance and much of their effect. - -There is one new field of investigation which is illustrating in a -curious way the wizard influence wielded by childish imagination over -the things of sense. It is well known that a certain number of people -habitually ‘colour’ the sounds they hear, imagining, for example, the -sound of a vowel, or of a musical tone, to have its characteristic tint -which they are able to describe accurately. This ‘coloured hearing,’ as -it is called, is always traced back to the dimly recalled age of -childhood. Children are now beginning to be tested and it is found that -a good proportion possess the faculty. Thus, in some researches on the -minds of Boston school-children, it was found that twenty-one out of -fifty-three, or nearly 40 per cent., described the tones of certain -instruments as coloured.[16] The particular colour ascribed to an -instrument, as also the degree of its brightness, though remaining -constant in the case of the same child, varied greatly among different -children, so that, for example, one child ‘visualised’ the tone of a -fife as pale or bright, while another imaged it as dark.[17] It is -highly probable that both analogy and association play a part here.[18] -As was recently suggested to me by a correspondent the instance given by -Locke of the analogy between scarlet and the note of a trumpet may -easily be due in part at least to association of the tone with the -scarlet uniform. - ------ - -Footnote 16: - - See the article by G. Stanley Hall, “The Contents of Children’s - Minds,” _Princeton Review_. New Series, 1883. _Cf._ the same writer’s - volume, _The Contents of Children’s Minds on entering School_, 1894. - ------ - -Footnote 17: - - _Ibid._, p. 265. - -Footnote 18: - - This has been well brought out by Professor Flournoy of Geneva in his - volume _Des Phénomènes de Synopsie_ (audition colorée), chap. ii. - ------ - -I may add that I once happened to overhear a little girl of six talking -to herself about numbers in this wise: “Two is a dark number,” “forty is -a white number”. I questioned her and found that the digits had each its -distinctive colour; thus one was white; two, dark; three, white; four, -dark; five, pink; and so on. Nine was pointed and dark, eleven dark -green, showing that some of the digits were much more distinctly -visualised than others. Just three years later I tested her again and -found she still visualised the digits, but not quite in the same way. -Thus although one and two were white and black and five pink as before, -three was now grey, four was red, nine had lost its colour, and eleven -oddly enough had turned from dark green to bright yellow. This case -suggests that in early life new experiences and associations may modify -the tint and shade of sounds. However this be, children’s coloured -hearing is worth noting as the most striking example of the general -tendency to overlay impressions of the senses with vivid images. It -seems reasonable to suppose that coloured hearing and other allied -phenomena, as the picturing of numbers, days of the week, etc., in a -certain scheme or diagrammatic arrangement, when they show themselves -after childhood are to be viewed as survivals of early fanciful -brain-work. This fact taken along with the known vividness of the images -in coloured hearing, which in certain cases approximate to -sense-perceptions, seems to me to confirm the view here put forth that -children’s imagination may alter the world of sense in ways which it is -hard for our older and stiff-jointed minds to follow. - -I have confined myself here to what I have called the _play_ of -imagination, the magic transmuting of things through the sheer -liveliness and wanton activity of childish fancy. How strong, how vivid, -how dominating such imaginative transformation may become will of course -be seen in cases where violent feeling, especially fear, gives -preternatural intensity to the mind’s realising power. But this will be -better considered later on. - -This transformation of the actual surroundings is of course restrained -in serious moments, and in intercourse with older and graver folk. There -is, however, a region of child-life where it knows no check, where the -impulse to deck out the shabby reality with what is bright and gay has -all its own way. This region is Play. - - - _Imagination and Play._ - -The interest of child’s play in the present connexion lies in the fact -that it is the working out into visible shape of an inner fancy. The -actual presentation may be the starting-point of this process of -imaginative projection: the child, for example, sees the sand, the -shingle and shells, and says, ‘Let us play keeping a shop’. Yet this is -accidental. The source of play is the impulse to realise a bright idea: -whence, as we shall see by-and-by, its close kinship to art as a whole. -This image is the dominating force, it is for the time a veritable _idée -fixe_, and everything has to accommodate itself to this. Since the image -has to be acted out, it comes into collision with the actual -surroundings. Here is the child’s opportunity. The floor is instantly -mapped out into two hostile territories, the sofa-end becomes a horse, a -coach, a ship, or what not, to suit the exigencies of the play. - -This stronger movement and wider range of imagination in children’s -pastime is explained by the characteristic and fundamental impulse of -play, the desire to be something, to act a part. The child-adventurer as -he personates Robinson Crusoe or other hero steps out of his every-day -self and so out of his every-day world. In realising his part he -virtually transforms his surroundings, since they take on the look and -meaning which the part assigns to them. This is prettily illustrated in -one of Mr. Stevenson’s child-songs, “The Land of Counterpane,” in which -a sick child describes the various transformations of the bed-scene:— - - And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go, With - different uniforms and drills, Among the bed-clothes through the - hills; - - And sometimes sent my ships in fleets, All up and down among the - sheets; Or brought my trees and houses out, And planted cities all - about. - -Who can say to how many and to what strange play-purposes that stolid -unyielding-looking object a sofa-head has been turned by the ingenuity -of the childish brain? - -The impulse to act a part meets us very early and grows out of the -assimilative instinct. The very infant will, if there is a cup to hand, -pretend to drink out of it.[19] Similarly a boy of two will put the stem -of his father’s pipe into, or, if cautious, near his mouth, and make -believe that he is smoking. A little boy not yet two years old would -spend a whole wet afternoon “painting” the furniture with the dry end of -a bit of rope. In such cases, it is evident, the playing may start from -a suggestion supplied by the sight of an object. There is no need to -suppose that in this simple kind of imitative play children knowingly -act a part. It is surely to misunderstand the essence of play to speak -of it as a fully conscious process of imitative acting.[20] A child is -one creature when he is truly at play, another when he is bent on -astonishing or amusing you. It seems sufficient to say that when at play -he is possessed by an idea, and is working this out into visible action. -Your notice, your laughter, may bring in a new element of enjoyment; for -as we all know, children are apt to be little actors in the full sense, -and to aim at producing an impression. Yet the child as little _needs_ -your flattering observation as the cat needs it, when he plays in the -full sense imaginatively, and in make-believe, with his captured mouse, -placing it, for example, deliberately under a copper in the scullery, -and amusing himself by the half-illusion of losing it. Indeed your -intrusion will be just as likely to destroy or at least to diminish the -charm of a child’s play, if only through your inability to seize his -idea, and, what is equally important, to rise to his own point of -enthusiasm and illusive realisation. Perhaps, indeed, one may say that -the play-instinct is most vigorous and dominant when a child is alone, -or at least self-absorbed; for even social play, delightful as it is -when all the players are attuned, is subject to disturbance through a -want of mutual comprehension and a need of half-disillusive -explanations.[21] - ------ - -Footnote 19: - - Of course, as Preyer suggests, this drinking from an empty cup may at - first be due to a want of discriminative perception. - -Footnote 20: - - M. Compayré seems to go too far in this direction when he talks of the - child’s play with its doll as a charming comedy of maternity - (_L’Evolution intell. et morale de l’Enfant_, p. 274). - -Footnote 21: - - For a good illustration of the disillusive effect of want of - enthusiasm in one’s playmates, see Tolstoi, _Childhood, Boyhood, - Youth_, part i., chap. viii. - ------ - -The essence of children’s play is the acting of a part and the realising -of a new situation. It is thus, as we shall see more fully by-and-by, -akin to dramatic action, only that the child’s ‘acting’ is like M. -Jourdain’s prose, an unconscious art. The impulse to be something, a -sailor, a soldier, a path-finder, or what not, absorbs the child and -makes him forget his real surroundings and his actual self. His -day-dreams, his solitary and apparently listless wanderings while he -mutters mystic words to himself, all illustrate this desire to realise a -part. In this playful self-projection a child will become even something -non-human, as when he nips the ‘bread-and-cheese’ shoots off the bushes -and fancies himself a horse.[22] It is to be noted that such passing out -of one’s ordinary self and assuming a foreign existence is confined to -the child-player; the cat or the dog, though able, as Mr. Darwin and -others have shown, to go through a kind of make-believe game, remaining -always within the limits of his ordinary self. - ------ - -Footnote 22: - - _Uninitiated_, p. 10. - ------ - -Such play-like transmutation of the self extends beyond what we are -accustomed to call play. One little boy of three and a half years who -was fond of playing at the useful business of coal-heaving would carry -his coal-heaver’s dream through the whole day, and on the particular day -devoted to this calling would not only refuse to be addressed by any -less worthy name, but ask in his prayer to be made a good coal-heaver -(instead of the usual ‘good boy’). On other days this child lived the -life of a robin redbreast, a soldier, and so forth, and bitterly -resented his mother’s occasional confusion of his personalities. A -little girl aged only one year and ten months insisted upon being -addressed by a fancy name, Isabel, when she was put to bed, but would -not be called by this name at any other time. She probably passed into -what seemed to her another person when she went to bed and gave herself -up to sweet ‘hypnagogic’ reverie. - -In the working out of this impulse to realise a part the actual external -surroundings may take a surprisingly small part. Sometimes there is -scarcely any adjustment of scene: the child plays out his action with -purely imaginary surroundings. Such simple play-actions as going to -market to buy imaginary apples occur very early, one mother assuring me -that all her children carried them out in the second year before they -could talk. Another mother writes of her boy, aged two and a half years: -“He amuses himself by pretending things. He will fetch an imaginary cake -from a corner, rake together imaginary grass, or fight a battle with -imaginary soldiers.” This reminds one of Mr. Stevenson’s lines:— - - It is he, when you play with your soldiers of tin, Who sides with the - French and who never can win. - -This impulse to invent imaginary surroundings, and more especially to -create mythical companions, is very common among lonely and imaginative -children. A lady friend, a German, tells me that when she was a little -girl, a lonely one of course, she invented a kind of _alter ego_, -another girl rather older than herself, whom she named ‘Krofa’—why she -has forgotten. She made a constant playmate of her, and got all her new -ideas from her. Mr. Canton’s little heroine took to nursing an invisible -‘iccle gaal’ (little girl), the image of which she seemed able to -project into space.[23] The invention of fictitious persons fills a -large space in child-life. Perhaps if only the young imagination is -strong enough there is, as already hinted, more of sweet illusion, of a -warm grasp of living reality in this solitary play, where fictitious -companions perfectly obedient to the little player’s will take the place -of less controllable tangible ones. But such purely imaginative -make-believe, which derives no help from actual things, is perhaps -hardly ‘play’ in the full sense, but rather an active form of -day-dreaming or romancing.[24] - ------ - -Footnote 23: - - _The Invisible Playmate_, p. 33 ff. - -Footnote 24: - - I fail to understand what Professor Mark Baldwin means by saying that - an only child is wanting in imagination (_op. cit._, p. 358). In his - emphasising of the influence of imitation and external suggestion the - writer seems to have overlooked the rather obvious fact that childish - imagination in its intenser and more energetic forms means a - detachment from the sensible world, and that lonely children are, as - more than one autobiography, as well as mother’s record, show, - particularly imaginative just because of the absence of engaging - activities in the real world. - ------ - -In much of this playful performance all the interference with actual -surroundings that the child requires is change of place or scene. Here -is a pretty example of this simple type of imaginative play. A child of -twenty months, who is accustomed to meet a _bonne_ and child in the -Jardin du Luxembourg, suddenly leaves the family living-room, -pronouncing indifferently well the names Luxembourg, nurse, and child. -He goes into the next room, pretends to say “good-day” to his two -out-door acquaintances, and then returns and simply narrates what he has -been doing.[25] Here the simple act of passing into an adjoining room -was enough to secure the needed realisation of the encounter in the -garden. The movement into the next room is suggestive. Primarily it -meant no doubt the child’s manner of realising the out-of-door walk; yet -I suspect there was another motive at work. Children love to enact their -little play-scenes in some remote spot, withdrawn from notice, where -imagination suffers no let from the interference of mother, nurse, or -other member of the real environment. How many a thrilling exciting play -has been carried out in a corner, especially if it be dark, or better -still, screened off. The fascination of curtained spaces, as those -behind the window curtains, or under the table with the table-cloth -hanging low, will be fresh in the memory of all who can recall their -childhood. - ------ - -Footnote 25: - - Egger quoted by Compayré, _op. cit._, pp. 149, 150. - ------ - -A step towards a more realistic kind of play-action, in which, as in the -modern theatre, imagination is propped up by strong stage effects, is -taken when a scene is constructed, the chairs and sofa turned into -ships, carriages, a railway train, and so forth. - -Yet, after all, the scene is but a very subordinate part of the play. -Next to himself in his new part, proudly enjoying the consciousness of -being a general, or a school-mistress, a child who is not content with -the pure creations of his phantasy requires the semblance of living -companions. In all play he desires somebody, if only as listener to his -talk in his new character; and when he does not rise to an invisible -auditor, he will talk to such unpromising things as a sponge in the -bath, a fire-shovel, a clothes’ prop in the garden, and so forth. In -more active play, where something has to be done, he generally desires a -full companion and assistant, human or animal. And here we meet with -what is perhaps the most interesting feature of childish play, the -transmutation of the most meagre and least promising of things into -complete living forms. I have already alluded to the sofa-head. How many -forms of animal life, vigorous and untiring, from the patient donkey up -to the untamed horse of the prairies, has this most inert-looking ridge -served to image forth to quick boyish perception. - -The introduction of these living things seems to illustrate the large -compass of the child’s realising power. Mr. Ruskin speaks somewhere of -“the perfection of child-like imagination, the power of making -everything out of nothing”. “The child,” he adds, "does not make a pet -of a mechanical mouse that runs about the floor.... The child falls in -love with a quiet thing—with an ugly one—nay, it may be with one to us -totally devoid of meaning. The _besoin de croire_ precedes the _besoin -d’aimer_." - -The quotation brings us to the focus where the rays of childish -imagination seem to converge, the transformation of toys. - -The fact that children make living things out of their toy horses, dogs -and the rest, is known to every observer of their ways. To the natural -unsceptical eye the boy on his rudely carved “gee-gee” slashing the dull -flank with all a boy’s glee, looks as if he were realising the joy of -actual riding, as if he were possessed with the fancy that the stiff -least organic-looking of structures which he strides is a very horse. - -The liveliness of this realising imagination is seen in the -extraordinary poverty and meagreness of the toys which to their happy -possessors are wholly satisfying. Here is a pretty picture of child’s -play from a German writer:— - - There sits a little charming master of three years before his small - table busied for a whole hour in a fanciful game with shells. He has - three so-called snake-heads in his domain; a large one and two smaller - ones: this means two calves and a cow. In a tiny tin dish the little - farmer has put all kinds of petals, that is the fodder for his - numerous and fine cattle.... When the play has lasted a time the - fodder-dish transforms itself into a heavy waggon with hay: the little - shells now become little horses, and are put to the shafts to pull the - terrible load. - -The doll takes a supreme place in this fancy realm of play. It is human -and satisfies higher instincts and emotions. As the French poet says, -the little girl— - - Rêve el nom de mère en berçant sa poupée.[26] - ------ - -Footnote 26: - - Goltz, _Buch der Kindheit_, pp. 4, 5. - ------ - -I read somewhere recently that the doll is a plaything for girls only: -but boys, though they often prefer india-rubber horses and other -animals, not infrequently go through a stage of doll-love also, and are -hardly less devoted than girls. Endless is the variety of _rôle_ -assigned to the doll as to the tiny shell in our last picture of play. -The doll is the all-important comrade in that _solitude à deux_ of which -the child, like the adult, is so fond. Mrs. Burnett tells us that -sitting holding her doll in the armchair of the parlour she would sail -across enchanted seas to enchanted islands having all sorts of thrilling -adventures. At another time when she wanted to act an Indian chief the -doll just as obediently took up the part of squaw. - -Very humanely, on the whole, is the little doll-lover wont to use her -pet, even though, as George Sand reminds us, there come moments of rage -and battering.[27] A little boy of two and a half years asked his mother -one day: “Will you give me all my picture-books to show dolly? I don’t -know which he will like best.” He then pointed to each and looked at the -doll’s face for the answer. He made believe that it selected one, and -then gravely showed it all the pictures, saying: “Look here, dolly!” and -carefully explaining them. - ------ - -Footnote 27: - - See the study of George Sand’s childhood below, chap. xii. - ------ - -The doll illustrates the childish attitude towards all toys, the impulse -to take them into the innermost and warmest circle of personal intimacy, -to make them a living part of himself. A child’s language, as we shall -see later, points to an early identification of self with belongings. -The ‘me’ and the ‘my’ are the same, or nearly the same, to a mite of -three. This impulse to attach the doll to self, or to embrace it within -the self-consciousness or self-feeling, shows itself in odd ways. In the -grown-up child, Laura Bridgman, it took the form of putting a bandage -like her own over her doll’s eyes. This resembles a case of a girl of -six, who when recovering from measles was observed to be busily occupied -with her dolls, each of which she painted over with bright red spots. -The dolly must do all, and be all that I am: so the child in his warm -attachment seems to argue. This feeling of oneness is strengthened by -that of exclusive possession, the sense that the child himself is the -only one who really knows dolly, can hear her cry when she cries and so -forth.[28] It is another manifestation of the same feeling of intimacy -and solidarity when a child insists on dolly’s being treated by others -as courteously as himself. Children will often expect the mother or -nurse to kiss and say good-night to their pet or pets—for their hearts -are capacious—when she says good-night to themselves. - ------ - -Footnote 28: - - _Cf._ Perez, _L’Art et la Poésie chez l’enfant_, p. 28. - ------ - -Here, nobody can surely doubt, we have clearest evidence of -play-illusion. The lively imagination endows the inert wooden thing with -the warmth of life and love. How large a part is played here by the -alchemist, fancy, is known to all observers of children’s playthings. -The faith and the devotion often seem to increase as the first -meretricious charms, the warm tints of the cheek and the lips, the -well-shaped nose, the dainty clothes, prematurely fade, and the lovely -toy which once kept groups of hungry-looking children gazing long at the -shop-window, is reduced to the naked essence of a doll. A child’s -constancy to his doll when thus stript of exterior charms and degraded -to the lowest social stratum of dolldom is one of the sweetest and most -humorous things in child-life. - -And then what rude unpromising things are adopted as doll-pets. Mrs. -Burnett tells us she once saw a dirty mite sitting on a step in a -squalid London street, cuddling warmly a little bundle of hay tied round -the middle by a string. Here, surely, the _besoin d’aimer_ was little if -anything behind the _besoin de croire_. - -Do any of us really understand this doll-superstition? Writers of a -clear long-reaching memory have tried to take us back to childhood, and -restore to us for a moment the whole undisturbed trust, the perfect -satisfaction of love, which the child brings to its doll. Yet even the -imaginative genius of a George Sand is hardly equal, perhaps, to the -feat of resuscitating the buried companion of our early days and making -it live once more before our eyes.[29] The truth is the doll-illusion is -one of the first to pass. There are, I believe, a few sentimental girls -who, when they attain the years of enlightenment, make a point of saving -their dolls from the general wreckage of toys. Yet I suspect the pets -when thus retained are valued more for the outside charm of pretty face -and hair, and still more for the lovely clothes, than for the inherent -worth of the doll itself, of what we may call the doll-soul which -informs it and gives it, for the child, its true beauty and its worth. - ------ - -Footnote 29: - - For her remarkable analysis of the child’s feeling for his doll, see - below, chap. xii. - ------ - -Yet if we cannot get inside the old doll-superstition we may study it -from the outside, and draw a helpful comparison between it and other -known forms of naïve credulity. And here we have the curious fact that -the doll exists not only for the child but for the “nature man”. -Savages, Sir John Lubbock tells us,[30] like toys, such as dolls, Noah’s -Arks, etc. The same writer remarks that the doll is “a hybrid between -the baby and the fetish, and that it exhibits the contradictory -characters of its parents”. Perhaps the changes of mood towards the -doll, of which George Sand writes, illustrate the alternating -preponderance of the baby and the fetish half. But as Sir John also -remarks, this hybrid is singularly unintelligible to grown-up people, -and it seems the part of modesty here to bow to one of nature’s -mysteries. - ------ - -Footnote 30: - - _Origin of Civilisation_, appendix, p. 521. - ------ - -It has been suggested to me by Mr. F. Galton that a useful inquiry might -be carried out into the relation between a child’s preference in the -matter of doll or other toy and the degree of his imaginativeness as -otherwise shown, _e.g._, in craving for story, and in romancing. So far -as I have inquired I am disposed to think that such a relation exists. A -lady who has had a large experience as a Kindergarten teacher tells me -that children who play with rough shapeless things, and readily endow -with life the ball, and so forth, in Kindergarten games are imaginative -in other ways. Here is an example:— - - P. Mc. L., a girl, observed from three and a half to five years of - age, was a highly imaginative child as shown by the power of - make-believe in play. The ball of soft india-rubber was to her on the - teacher’s suggestion, say, a baby, and on it she would lavish all her - tenderness, kissing it, feeding it, washing its face, dressing it in - her pinafore, etc. So thorough was her delight in the play that the - less imaginative children around her would suspend their play at - ‘babies’ and watch her with interest. Whilst a most indifferent - restless child at lessons, whenever a story was told she sat - motionless and wide-eyed till the close. - -Children sometimes make babies of their younger brothers and sisters, -going through all the sweet solicitous offices which others are wont to -carry out on their dolls.[31] This suggests another and closely related -question: Do the more imaginative children prefer the inert, ugly doll -to the living child in these nursing pastimes? What is the real relation -in the child’s play between the toy-companion, the doll or india-rubber -dog, and the living companion? Again, a child will occasionally play -with an imaginary doll.[32] How is this impulse related to the other two -forms of doll-passion? These points would well repay a careful -investigation. - ------ - -Footnote 31: - - Baldwin gives a pretty example of this, _op. cit._, p. 362. - -Footnote 32: - - An example is given by Paola Lombroso, _Psicologia del Bambino_, p. - 126. - ------ - -The vivification of the doll or toy animal is the outcome of the -play-impulse, and this, as we have seen, is an impulse to act out, to -realise an idea in outward show. The absorption in the idea and its -outward expression serves, as in the case of the hypnotised subject, to -blot out the incongruities of scene and action which you or I, a cold -observer, would note. The play-idea works transformingly by a process -analogous to what is called auto-suggestion. - -How complete this play-illusion may become here can be seen in more ways -than one. We see it in the jealous insistence already illustrated that -everything shall for the time pass over from the every-day world into -the new fancy-created one. “About the age of four,” writes M. Egger of -his boys, “Felix is playing at being coachman, Emile happens to return -home at the moment. In announcing his brother, Felix does not say, -‘Emile is come,’ he says ‘The brother of the coachman is come’.”[33] - ------ - -Footnote 33: - - Quoted by Compayré, _op. cit_., p. 150. - ------ - -As we saw above, the child’s absorption in his new play-world is shown -by his imperious demand that others, as his mother, shall recognise his -new character. Pestalozzi’s little boy, aged three years and a half, was -one day playing at being butcher, when his mother called him by his -usual diminutive, ‘Jacobli’. He at once replied: “No, no; you should -call me butcher now”.[34] Here is a story to the same effect, sent me by -a mother. A little girl of four was playing ‘shops’ with her younger -sister. “The elder one was shopman at the time I came into her room and -kissed her. She broke out into piteous sobs, I could not understand why. -At last she sobbed out: ‘Mother, you never kiss the man in the shop’. I -had with my kiss quite spoilt her illusion.” - ------ - -Footnote 34: - - De Guimp’s _Life of Pestalozzi_ (Engl. trans.), p. 41. - ------ - -The intensity of the realising power of imagination in play is seen too -in the stickling for fidelity to the original in all playful -reproduction, whether of scenes observed in everyday life or of what has -been narrated. The same little boy who showed his picture-books to dolly -was, we are told, when two years and eight months old, fond of imagining -that he was Priest, his grandmamma’s coachman. “He drives his toy horse -from the arm-chair as a carriage, getting down every minute to ‘let the -ladies out,’ or to ‘go shopping’. The make-believe extends to his -insisting on the reins being held while he gets down and so forth.” The -same thing shows itself in acting out stories. The full enjoyment of the -realisation depends on the faithful reproduction, on the suitable -outward embodiment of the distinct idea in the child’s mind. - -The following anecdote bears another kind of testimony, a most winsome -kind, to the realising power of play. One day two sisters said to one -another: “Let us play being sisters”. This might well sound insane -enough to hasty ears; but is it not really eloquent? To me it suggests -that the girls felt they were not realising their sisterhood, enjoying -all the possible sweets of it, as they wanted to do—perhaps there had -been a quarrel and a supervening childish coldness. And they felt too -that the way to get this more vivid sense of what they were, or ought to -be, one to the other, was by playing the part, by acting a scene in -which they would come close to one another in warm sympathetic -fellowship. - -But there is still another, and some will think a more conclusive way of -satisfying ourselves of the reality of the play-illusion. The child -finds himself confronted by the unbelieving adult who questions what he -says about the doll’s crying and so forth. One little girl, aged one -year and nine months, when asked by her mother how her doll, who had -lost his arms, ate his dinner without hands, quickly changed the -subject. She did not apparently like having difficulties brought into -her happy play-world. But the true tenacious faith shows itself later -when the child understands these sceptical questionings of others, and -sees that they are poking fun at his play and his day-dreamings. Such -cruel quizzings of his make-believe are apt to cut him to the quick. I -have heard of children who will cry if a stranger suddenly enters the -nursery when they are hard at play, and shows himself unsympathetic and -critical. - -Play may produce not only this vivid imaginative realisation at the -time, but a sort of mild permanent illusion. Sometimes it is a -toy-horse, in one case communicated to me it was a funny-looking -toy-lion, more frequently it is the human effigy, the doll, which as the -result of successive acts of imaginative vivification gets taken up into -the relation of permanent companion and pet. Clusters of happy -associations gather about it, investing it with a lasting vitality and -character. A mother once asked her boy of two and a half years if his -doll was a boy or a girl. He said at first, “A boy,” but presently -correcting himself added, “I think it is a baby”. Here we have a -challenging of the inner conviction by a question, a moment of -reflexion, and as a result of this, an unambiguous confession of faith -that the doll had its place in the living human family. - -Here is a more stubborn exhibition on the part of another boy of this -lasting faith in the plaything called out by others’ sceptical attitude. -"When (writes a lady correspondent) he was just over two years old L. -began to speak of a favourite wooden horse (Dobbin) as if it were a real -living creature. ‘No tarpenter (carpenter) made Dobbin,’ he would say, -‘he is not wooden but kin (skin) and bones and Dod (God) made him.’ If -any one said ‘it’ in speaking of the horse his wrath was instantly -aroused, and he would shout indignantly: ‘It! You mutt’ent tay “it,” you -mut tay _he_’. He imagined the horse was possessed of every virtue and -it was strange to see what an influence this creature of his own -imagination exercised over him. If there was anything L. particularly -wished not to do his mother had only to say: ‘Dobbin would like you to -do this,’ and it was done without a murmur." - -There is another domain of childish activity closely bordering on that -of play where a like suffusion of the world of sense by imagination -meets us. I refer to pictures and artistic representations generally. If -in the case of adults there is a half illusion, a kind of oneirotic or -trance condition induced by a picture or dramatic spectacle, in the case -of the less-instructed child the illusion is apt to become more -complete. A picture seems very much of a toy to a child. A baby of eight -or nine months will talk to a picture as to a living thing; and -something of this tendency to make a fetish of a drawing survives much -later. But it will be more convenient to deal with the attitude of the -child-mind towards pictorial representations in connexion with his -art-tendencies. - -The imaginative transformation of things, more particularly the endowing -of lifeless things with life, enters, I believe, into all children’s -pastimes. Whence comes the perennial charm, the undying popularity, of -the hoop? Is not the interest here due to the circumstance that the -child controls a moving thing which in the capricious variations of its -course simulates a free will of its own? As I understand it, trundling -the hoop is imaginative play hardly less than riding the horse-stick and -slashing its flanks. Who again that can recall early experiences will -doubt that the delight of flying the kite, of watching it as it sways to -the right or to the left, threatening to fall head-foremost to earth, -and most of all perhaps of sending a paper ‘messenger’ along the string -to the wee thing poised like a bird so terribly far away in the blue -sky, is the delight of imaginative play? The same is true of sailing -boats, and other pastimes of early childhood. - -I have here touched merely on the imaginative and half-illusory side of -children’s play. It is to be remembered, however, that play is much more -than this, and reflects much more of the childish mind. Play proper as -distinguished from mere day-dreaming is activity and imitative activity; -and children show marked differences in the energy of this activity, and -in the quickness and closeness of their responses to the model actions -of the real nurse, real coachman, and so forth. That is to say, -observation of others will count here. Again, while social surroundings, -opportunities for imitation, are important, they are by no means -all-decisive. Children show a curious selectiveness in their imitative -games, germs of differential interest, sexual and individual, revealing -themselves quite early. It may be added that a child with few -opportunities of observation may get quite enough play-material from -storyland. But play is never merely imitative, save indeed in the case -of unintelligent and ‘stoggy’ children. It is a bright invention into -which all the gifts of childish intelligence may pour themselves. The -relation of play to art will engage us later on. - - - _Free Projection of Fancies._ - -In play and the kindred forms of imaginative activity just dealt with, -we have been concerned with imaginative realisation in its connexion -with sense-perception. And here, it is to be noticed, there is a kind of -reciprocal action between sense and imagination. On the one hand, as we -have seen, imagination interposes a coloured medium, so to speak, -between the eye and the object, so that it becomes transformed and -beautified. On the other hand, in what is commonly called playing, -imaginative activity receives valuable aid from the senses. The stump of -a doll, woefully unlike as it is to what the child’s fancy makes it, is -yet a sensible fact, and as such gives support and substance to the -realising impulse. - -Now this fact that imagination derives support from sense leads to a -habit of projecting fancies, and giving them an external and local -habitation. In this way the idea receives a certain solidity and fixity -through its embodiment in the real physical world. - -This incorporation of images in the system of the real world may, like -play, start at one of two ends. On the one hand, the external world, so -far as it is only dimly perceived, excites wonder, curiosity, and the -desire to fill in the blank spaces with at least the semblance of -knowledge. Here distance exercises a strange fascination. The remote -chain of hills faintly visible from the child’s home, has been again and -again endowed by his enriching fancy with all manner of wondrous scenery -and peopled by all manner of strange creatures. The unapproachable -sky—which to the little one, so often on his back, is much more of a -visible object than to us—with its wonders of blue expanse and -cloudland, of stars and changeful moon, is wont to occupy his mind, his -bright fancy quite spontaneously filling out this big upper world with -appropriate forms. - -This stimulating effect of the half-perceivable is seen in still greater -intensity in the case of what is hidden from sight. The spell cast on -the young mind by the mystery of holes, and especially of dark woods, -and the like, is known to all. C.’s peopling of a dark wood with his -_bêtes noires_ the wolves illustrates this tendency. - -“What (writes a German author already quoted) all childish fancy has -almost without exception in common, is the idea of a wholly new and -unheard-of world behind the remote horizon, behind woods, lakes and -hills, and all objects reached by the eye. When I was a child and we -played hide and seek in the barn, I always felt that there must or might -be behind every bundle of straw, and especially in the corners, -something unheard of lying hidden. And yet I had no profane curiosity, -no desire to experiment by turning over the bundle of straw. It was just -a fancy, and though I half recognised it as such it was lively enough to -engage me as a reality.” The same writer goes on to describe how his -imagination ever occupied itself with what lay behind the long stretch -of wood which closed in a large part of his child’s horizon.[35] - ------ - -Footnote 35: - - Goltz, _Das Buch der Kindheit_, p. 276. - ------ - -This imaginative filling up of the remote and the hidden recesses of the -outer world is subject to manifold stimulating influences from the -region of feeling. We know that all vivid imagination is charged with -emotion, and this is emphatically true of children’s phantasies. The -unseen, the hidden, contains unknown possibilities, something awful, -terrible, it may be, to make the timid wee thing shudder in anticipatory -vision, or wondrously and surprisingly beautiful. How far the childish -attitude is from intellectual curiosity is seen in the remark of Goltz, -that no impious attempt is made to probe the mystery. - -The other way in which this happy fusion of fancy with incomplete -perception may be effected is through the working of the impulse to give -outward embodiment to vivid and persistent images. All play, as we have -seen, is an illustration of the impulse, and certain kinds of play show -the working of the impulse in its purity. It extends, however, beyond -the limits of what is commonly known as play. The instance quoted above, -the peopling of a certain wood with wolves by the child C., was of -course due in part to the fact that the small impressionable brain was -at this time much occupied with the idea of the wolf. Dickens and others -have told us how when children they were wont to project into the real -world the lively images acquired from storyland. When suitable objects -present themselves the images are naturally enough linked on to these. -Thus Dickens writes: “Every burn in the neighbourhood, every stone of -the church, every foot of the churchyard had some association of its own -in my mind connected with these books (_Roderic Random_, _Tom Jones_, -_Gil Blas_, etc.), and stood for some locality made famous in them. I -have seen Tom Piper go climbing up the church steeple; I have watched -Strap with the knapsack on his back stopping to rest himself on the -wicket-gate.”[36] - ------ - -Footnote 36: - - Quoted by Forster, _Life of Charles Dickens_, chap. i. - ------ - -Along with this attachment of images to definite objects there goes a -good deal of vague localisation in dim half-realised quarters of space. -The supernatural beings, the fairies, the bogies, and the rest, are, as -might be expected, relegated to these obscure and impenetrable regions. -It would be worth while perhaps to collect a children’s comparative -mythology, if only to see what different localities, geographic and -cosmic, the childish mind is apt to assign to his fabulous beings. The -poor fairies seem to have been forced to find an abode in most -dissimilar regions. The boy C. selected the wall of his bedroom—hardly a -dignified abode, though it had the merit of being within reach of his -prayers. A child less bent on turning the superior personages to -practical account will set them in some remoter quarter, in a vast -forest, or deep cavern, on a distant hill, or higher up in the blue -above the birds. But systems of child-mythology will occupy us again. - - - _Imagination and Storyland._ - -We may now pass to a freer region of imaginative activity where the -child’s mind gives life and reality to its images without incorporating -them into the outer sensible world, even to the extent of talking to -invisible playmates. The world of story, as distinct from that of play, -is the great illustration of this detached activity of fancy. - -The entrance into storyland can only take place when the key of language -is put into the child’s hand. A story is a verbal representation of a -scene or action, and the process of imaginative realisation depends in -this case on the stimulating effect of words in their association with -ideas. Now a word has not for a child the peculiar force of an imitative -sensuous impression, say that of a picture. The toy, the picture, being, -however roughly, a likeness or show, brings the idea before the child’s -eyes in a way in which the word-symbol cannot do. Yet we may easily -underestimate the stimulating effect of words on children’s minds, which -are much more tender and susceptible than we are wont to suppose. To -call out to a child, ‘Bow, wow!’ or ‘Policeman!’ may be to excite in his -mind a vivid image which is in itself an approach to a complete sensuous -realisation of the thing. We cannot understand the fascination of a -story for children save by remembering that for their young minds, quick -to imagine and unversed in abstract reflexion, words are not dead -thought-symbols, but truly alive and perhaps “winged” as the old Greeks -called them. - -It may not be easy to explain fully this stimulating power of words on -the childish mind. There is some reason to say that in these early days -spoken words as sounds for the ear have in themselves something of the -immediate objective reality of all sense-impressions, so that to name a -thing is in a sense to make it present. However this be, words as -sense-presentations have a powerful suggestive effect on children’s -imagination, calling up particularly vivid images of the objects named. -The effect is probably aided by the child’s nascent feeling of reverence -for another’s words as authoritative utterances. - -This impulse to realise words makes the child a listener much more -frequently than we suppose. How often is the mother surprised and amused -at a question put by her child about something said in his presence to a -servant, a visitor, or a workman; something which in her grown-up way -she assumed would not be of the slightest interest to him. In this -manner, words soon become a great power in the new wondering life of a -child. They lodge like flying seedlings in the fertile brain, and shoot -up into strange imaginative growths. But of this more by-and-by. - -This profound and lasting effect of words is nowhere more clearly seen -than in the spell of the story. We grown-up people are wont to flatter -ourselves that we read stories: the child, if he could know what we call -reading, would laugh at it. With what deftness does the little brain -disentangle the language, often strange and puzzling enough, reducing it -by a secret child-art to simplicity and to reality. A mother when -reading a poem to her boy of six, ventured to remark, “I’m afraid you -can’t understand it, dear,” for which she got duly snubbed by her little -master in this fashion: “Oh, yes, I can very well, if only you would not -explain”. The explaining is resented because it interrupts the child’s -own spontaneous image-building, wherein lies the charm, because it -rudely breaks the spell of the illusion, calling off the attention from -the vision he sees in the word-crystal, which is all he cares about, to -the cold lifeless crystal itself. - -And what a bright vision it is that is there gained. How clearly scene -after scene of the dissolving view unfolds itself. How thrilling the -anticipation of the next unknown, undiscernible stage in the history. -Perhaps no one has given us a better account of the state of absorption -in storyland, the oneirotic or dream-like condition of complete -withdrawal from the world of sense into an inner world of fancy, than -Thackeray. In one of his delightful “Roundabout Papers,” he thus writes -of the experiences of early boyhood. "Hush! I never read quite to the -end of my first _Scottish Chiefs_. I couldn’t. I peeped in an alarmed -furtive manner at some of the closing pages.... Oh, novels, sweet and -delicious as the raspberry open tarts of budding boyhood! Do I forget -one night after prayers (when we under-boys were sent to bed) lingering -at my cupboard to read one little half-page more of my dear Walter -Scott—and down came the monitor’s dictionary on my head!" - -As one thinks of the deep delights of these first excursions into -storyland one almost envies the lucky boys whom the young Charles -Dickens held spellbound with his tales. - -The intensity of the delight is seen in the greed it generates. Who can -resist the child’s hungry demand for a story? Edgar Quinet in his -_Histoire de mes Idées_ tells how when a child an old corporal came to -drill him. He had been taken prisoner by the Spaniards and placed on an -inaccessible island. Edgar loved to hear the thrilling story of the old -soldier’s adventures, and scarcely was the narrative finished when the -greedy boy would exclaim, “Encore une fois!” Heine’s delight when a boy -at Düsseldorf in drinking in the stories of Napoleon’s exploits from his -drummer is another well-known illustration. - -Through the perfect gift of visual realisation which a child brings to -it the verbal narrative becomes a record of fact, a true history. The -intense enjoyment which is bound up with this process of imaginative -realisation makes children jealously exact as to accuracy in repetition. -The boy C. when a story was repeated to him used to resent even a small -alteration of the text. Woe to the unfortunate mother who in telling one -of the good stock nursery tales varies a detail. One such, a friend of -mine, repeating ‘Puss in Boots’ inadvertently made the hero sit on a -chair instead of on a box to pull on his boots. She was greeted by a -sharp volley of ‘No’s!’ The same lady tells me that when narrating the -story of ‘Beauty and the Beast’ for the second time only she forgot in -describing the effect of the Beast’s sighing to add after the words -‘till the glasses on the table shake’ ‘and the candles are nearly blown -out’; whereupon the severe little listener at once stopped the narrator -and supplied the interesting detail. The exacting memory of childhood in -the matter of stories is the product of a full detailed realisation. In -the case just quoted the reality of the story was contradicted by -substituting a stupid conventional chair for the box, and by omitting -the striking incident of the candles. - -Happy age of childhood, when a new and wondrous world, created wholly by -the magic of a lively phantasy, rivals in brightness, in distinctness of -detail, aye, and in steadfastness too, the nearest spaces of the world -on which the bodily eye looks out, before reflexion has begun to draw a -hard dividing line between the domains of historical truth and fiction. - -As the demand for faithful repetition of story shows, the imaginative -realisation continues when the story is no longer heard or read. It has -added something to the child’s inner supplementary world, given him one -more lovely region in which he may live blissful moments. The return of -the young mind to the persons and scenes of story is forcibly -illustrated in the impulse, already touched on, to act out in play the -parts of this and that heroic figure. With many children any narrative -which holds the imagination delightfully enthralled is likely to become -more fully realised in a visible embodiment. For instance, a child of -five years, when told a story of four men going along a railway to stop -a train before it neared a bridge which was on fire, at once proceeded -to play the incident with his toy train. Here we see how story by -contributing lively images to the child’s brain becomes one main -stimulative and guiding influence in the domain of play. In like manner -the images born of story may, as in the case of Dickens, attach -themselves permanently to particular localities and objects. - -To this lively imaginative reception of what is told him the child is -apt very soon to join his own free inventions of figures, human, -superhuman, or subhuman. The higher qualities of this invention properly -come under the head of child-art, and will have to be considered in -another chapter. Here we may glance at these inventions as illustrating -the realising power of the child’s imagination. - -This invention appears in a sporadic manner in occasional ‘romancings’ -which may set out from some observation of the senses. A little boy aged -three and a half years seeing a tramp limping along with a bad leg -exclaimed: “Look at that poor ole man, mamma, he has dot (got) a bad -leg”. Then romancing, as he was now wont to do: “He dot on a very big -’orse, and he fell off on some great big stone, and he hurt his poor leg -and he had to get a big stick. We must make it well.” Then after a -thoughtful pause: “Mamma, go and kiss the place and put some powdey -(powder) on it and make it well like you do to I”. The unmistakable -childish seriousness here, the outflow of young compassion, and the -charming enforcement of the nursery prescription, all point to a vivid -realisation of this extemporised little romance. This child was moreover -more than commonly tender-hearted, and perhaps the more exposed on that -account to such amiable self-deception. Another small boy when a little -over two years, happening to hear a buzzing on the window, said: “Mamma, -bumble-bee in a window says it wants a yump (lump) of sugar”: then -shaking his head sternly, added: “Soon make you heat-spots, bumble-bee”. -Other examples of this romancing will be met with in the notes on the -child C. - -In such simple fashion does the child build up a tiny myth on the basis -of some passing impression, supplying out of his quaintly stored fancy -unlooked-for adornments to the homely occurrences of every-day life. - -Partly by taking in and fully realising the wonders of story, partly by -the independent play of an inventive imagination, children’s minds pass -under the dominion of more or less enduring myths. The princes and -princesses and dwarfs and gnomes of fairy-tale, the workers of Christmas -miracles, Santa Claus and Father Christmas, as well as the beings -fashioned by the child’s imagination on the model of those he knows from -story, these live on like the people of the every-day world, are apt to -appear in dreams, in the dark, at odd dreamy moments when the things of -sense lose their hold, bringing into the child’s life golden sunlight or -black awful shadows, the most real of all realities. - -This childish belief in myth is often curiously tenacious. A father was -once surprised to find that his boy aged five years and ten months -continued naïvely to believe in the real personality of Santa Claus. It -was Christmastide and the father, in order to test the child’s -credulity, put his own pocket-knife into the stocking which Santa Claus -was supposed to fill. The child, though he knew his father’s knife very -well, did not in the least suspect that the knife he found in the -stocking had been placed there by human hands, but expressed himself as -pleased that Santa Claus had sent him one like his father’s. When his -father followed this up by telling him that he had lost his knife, and -by searching for it in the boy’s presence, the latter asked whether -Santa Claus had stolen the knife—thus showing how its close similarity -to the knife he had received had impressed him, though he would not for -a moment doubt the fact of its coming from the mysterious personage. It -might be thought that this child was particularly stupid. On the -contrary he was well above the average in intelligence. In proof of this -I may relate that the Christmas before this, that is to say when he was -under five years, he was the only one among thirty children who -recognised his uncle when extremely well disguised as Father Christmas. -When asked by his father why he thought it was his uncle, he said at -first he didn’t know, but thinking a moment he added, “I don’t see who -else there is,” showing that he had reasoned out his belief by a method -of exclusion. - -Of course it will be said that I am here selecting exceptional cases of -childish imagination. I am quite ready to admit the probability of this. -The best examples of any trait of the young mind will obviously be -supplied by those who have most of this trait. Yet I very much suspect -that ordinary and even dull children are wont to hide away a good deal -of such superstitious belief. “One of the greatest pleasures of -childhood,” says Oliver Wendell Holmes in _The Poet of the Breakfast -Table_, “is found in the mysteries which it hides from the scepticism of -the elders and works up into small mythologies of its own.” - -I have treated the myths of children as a product of pure imagination, -of the impulse to realise in vivid images what lies away from and above -the world of sense. Yet, as we shall see later, they are really more -than this. They contain, like the myths of primitive man, a true germ of -thought. - -In George Sand’s recollections we shall meet with a striking -illustration of how the vivid imagination of supernatural beings is -followed up by a reflective and half-scientific effort to connect the -myth with the facts and laws of the known world. This infusion of -childish reason into wonderland, the first crude attempt to adjust -belief to belief, and to find points of attachment for the much-loved -myth in the matter-of-fact world, is apt to lead, as we shall see, to a -good deal that is very quaint and characteristic in the child’s -mythology. - -The conclusion which observation of children leads us to is that, as -compared with adults, they are endowed with strong imaginative power, -the activity of which leads to a surprisingly intense inner realisation -of what lies above sense. For the child, as for primitive man, reality -is a projection of fancy as well as an assurance of sense. - -Now this conclusion is, I think, greatly strengthened by all that we -know of the conditions of the brain-life in children, and of the many -perturbations to which it is liable. With respect to this brain-life we -have to remember that in the first years the higher cortical centres -which take part in the co-ordinative and regulative processes of thought -and volition are but very imperfectly developed. Hence the centres -concerned in imagination—which, if not identical with what used to be -called the sensorium or seat of sensation, are in closest connexion with -it—are not checked and inhibited by the action of the higher centres as -is the case with us. By exercising a volitional control over the flow of -our ideas, we are able to reason away a fancy, and generally to guard -ourselves against error. In young children all ideas that grow clear and -full under the stimulus of a strong interest are apt to persist and to -become preternaturally vivid. As has been suggested by more than one -recent writer on childhood and education, the brain of a child has a -slight measure of that susceptibility to powerful illusory suggestion -which characterises the brain of a hypnotised subject. Savages, who show -so striking a resemblance to children in the vivacity and the dominance -of their fancy, are probably much nearer to the child than to the -civilised adult in the condition of their brain. - -This preternatural liveliness of the images of the imperfectly developed -brain exposes children, as we know, to disturbing illusion. The effect -of bad dreams, of intense feeling, particularly of fear, in developing -illusory belief in sensitive and delicate children is familiar enough, -and will be dealt with again later on. Some parents feel the dangers of -such disturbance so keenly that they think it best to cut their children -off from the world of fiction altogether. But this is surely an error. -For one thing children who are strongly imaginative will be certain to -indulge their fancies, as the Brontë girls did, even when no fiction is -supplied and their eager little minds are thrown on the matter-of-fact -newspaper. A child needs not to be deprived of story altogether, but to -be supplied with bright and happy stories, in which the gruesome element -is subordinate. Specially sensitive children should, I think, be guarded -against much that from an older point of view is classic, as some of the -‘creepy’ stories in Grimm, though there are no doubt hardy young nerves -which can thrill enjoyably under these horrors. As to confusing a -child’s sense of truth by indulging him in story, the evil seems to me -problematic, and, if it exists at all, only slight and temporary. But I -hope to touch on this aspect of the subject in the next chapter. - - - - - III. - THE DAWN OF REASON. - - - _The Process of Thought._ - -To treat the child’s mind as merely a harbourer of fancies, as -completely subject to the illusive spell of its bright imagery, would be -the grossest injustice. It is one of the reputable characteristics of -childhood that it manages to combine with so much vivacity and force of -imagination a perfectly grave matter-of-fact look-out on the actual -world. - -And here I should like to correct the common supposition that children -are imaginative _or_ observant of their surroundings, but not both. I -have no doubt that there are many children who show a marked -preponderance of the one or of the other tendency: there is the fanciful -and dreamy child, and the matter-of-fact child with a tenacious grasp on -the realities of things. I have but little doubt, too, that in the case -of children who show the two tendencies, the one or the other is apt to -preponderate at a certain stage of development: many boys, for example, -have their dreamy period, and then become almost stolidly practical. All -that I am concerned to make out here is that the two tendencies do -co-exist, and as a number of parents have assured me may co-exist each -in a high degree of intensity in the same child; the really intelligent -children, boys as well as girls, being dispassionate and shrewd -inquirers into the make of the actual world while ardently engaged in -fashioning a brighter one. - -The two tendencies belong to two moods, one of which may be regent for -days together, though they often alternate with astonishing rapidity. -More particularly the serious matter-of-fact mood readily passes, as if -in relief from mental tension, into the playful fanciful one, as when -the tiny student, deep in the stupendous lore of the spelling-book, -suddenly dashes off to some fanciful conceit suggested by the ‘funny’ -look of a particular word or letter. - -The child not only observes but begins to reflect on what he observes, -and does his best to understand the puzzling scene which meets his eye. -And all this gives seriousness, a deep and admirable seriousness, to his -attitude. So much is this the case that if we were called on to portray -the typical mental posture of the child we might probably do so by -drawing the erect little figure of a boy, as with widely open eye he -gazes at some new wonder, or listens to some new report of his -surroundings from a mother’s lips. Hence, one may forgive the touch of -exaggeration when Mr. Bret Harte writes: “All those who have made a -loving study of the young human animal will, I think, admit that its -dominant expression is _gravity_ and not playfulness”.[37] We may now -turn to this graver side of the young intelligence. - ------ - -Footnote 37: - - Works, vol. iii., p. 396. - ------ - -Here, again, I may as well say that I prefer to observe the phenomenon -in its clearer and fuller manifestations, that is to say, to study the -serious intelligence of the child in the most intelligent children, or -at least in children whose minds are most active. This does not mean -that we shall be on the look-out for precocious wisdom or priggish -smartness. On the contrary, since it is childish intelligence as such -that we are in search of, we shall take pains to avoid as far as -possible any encounter with prodigies. By these I mean the unfortunate -little people whose mental limbs have been twisted out of beautiful -child-shape by the hands of those in whom the better instincts of the -parent have been outweighed by the ambition of the showman. We shall -seek more particularly for spontaneous openings of the mental flower -under the warming rays of a true mother’s love, for confidential -whisperings of child-thought to her ever-attentive and ever-tolerant -ear. - -In order fully to understand the serious work of childish intelligence, -we ought to begin with a study of early observation. But I must pass by -this interesting subject with only a remark or two. - -Much has been written on the deeply concentrated all-absorbing scrutiny -of things by the young eye. But to say how much an infant of nine months -really sees when he fixes his wide eyes on some new object, is a matter -of great uncertainty. What seems certain, is that the infant has to -learn to see things, and very probably takes what seems to us an -unnecessarily long time to see them at all completely. - -We find when the child grows and can give an account of what he notes -that his observation, while often surprisingly minute in particular -directions, is highly restricted as to its directions, being narrowly -confined within the limits of a few dominant attractions. Thus a child -will sometimes be so impressed with the colour of an object as almost to -ignore its form. A little girl of eighteen months, who knew lambs and -called them ‘lammies,’ on seeing two black ones in a field among some -white ones called out, “Eh! doggie, doggie!” The likeness of colour to -the black dog overpowered the likeness in form to the other lambs close -by. Within the limits of form-perception again, we may remark the -tendency to a one-sided mode of observing things which has in it -something of an abstract quality. For the child C. the pointed head was -the main essential feature of the dog, and he recognised this in a bit -of biscuit. We shall find further examples of this abstract observation -when we come to consider children’s drawings. - -This same partiality of observation comes out very clearly in a good -deal of the early assimilation or apperception already referred to. The -reason why it is so easy for a child to superimpose a fanciful analogy -on an object of sense, is that his mind is untroubled by all the -complexity of this object. It fastens on some salient feature of supreme -attractiveness or interest, and flies away on the wings of this, to what -seems to us a far-off resemblance. - -This detaching or selective activity in children’s observation, which in -a manner is a defect, is also a point of superiority. It has this in -common with the observation of the poet, that it is wholly engrossed -with what is valuable. Thus one main feature of the eye-lid is certainly -that it opens and closes like a curtain; and it is its resemblance to -the mysterious curtain shutting out the daylight, which makes it a -matter of absorbing interest. Here, then, we have, as we shall see more -fully presently, a true germ of thought-activity embedded in the very -process of childish observation and recognition. For thought is -precisely a more methodical process of bringing the concrete object into -its relations to other things. - -Yet children’s observation does not remain at this height of grand -selectiveness. The pressure of practical needs tends to bring it down to -our familiar level. A child finds himself compelled to distinguish -things and name them as others do. The lamb and the dog, for example, -have to be distinguished by a _complex_ of marks in which the supremely -interesting detail of colour holds a quite subordinate place. Individual -things, too, have to be distinguished, if only for the purpose of -drawing the line between what is ‘mine’ and ‘not mine’. The boy’s -mother, his cup, his hat, must be readily recognised, and this necessity -forces the attention to grasp a plurality of marks. Thus the mother -cannot always be recognised by her height alone, as when she happens to -be sitting, nor by her hair alone, as when she happens to have her hat -on, so that the weighty problem of recognising her always compels the -child to note a number of distinctive marks, some of which will in every -case be available. - -When once the eye has begun to note differences it makes rapid progress. -This is particularly true where the development of a special interest in -a group of things leads to a habit of concentration. Thus little boys -when the ‘railway interest’ seizes them are apt to be finely observant -of the differences between this and that engine and so forth. A boy aged -two years and eleven months, after travelling from Dublin to Cork, and -thence by another railway, asked his mother if she had noticed the -difference in the make of the rails on the two lines. Of course she had -not, though she afterwards ascertained that there was a slight -difference which the boy’s keener eye had detected. - -The fineness of a child’s distinguishing observation is well illustrated -in his recognition of small drawings and photographs, as when a child of -two will pick out the likeness of his father from a small _carte de -visite_ group. But this side of children’s recognition will occupy us -later on. - -Such fine and ready recognition as that just illustrated shows not -merely a penetrating observation of what is distinctive and -characteristic, but also a measure of a higher power, that of seizing in -one act of attention a complex or group of such marks. In truth, -children’s observation, when close and methodical, as it is apt to be -under the stimulus of a powerful interest, is often surprisingly full as -well as exact. The boy, John Ruskin, was not the only one who could look -for hours together at such an object as flowing water, noting all its -changing features. A mother writes to me that her boy, when three and a -half years old, received a picture-book, ‘The Railway Train,’ and looked -at it almost uninterruptedly for a week, retaining it even at meals. “At -the end of this time he had grasped the smallest detail in every -picture.” By such occasional fits of fine exhaustive inspection, a child -of the more intelligent sort will now and again come surprisingly near -that higher type of observation, at once minute and comprehensive, which -subserves, in somewhat different ways, scientific discovery and artistic -representation. Many parents when watching these exceptional heights of -childish scrutiny have indulged in fond dreams of future greatness. Yet -these achievements are, alas, often limited to a certain stage of -intellectual progress, and are apt to disappear when the bookish days -come on, and the child loses himself hours together over his favourite -stories. And in any case the germ of promise must possess a wondrous -vitality if it resists all the efforts of our school-system to weed out -from the garden of the mind anything so profitless as an observing -faculty. - -Next to this work of observation we must include in the pre-conditions -of childish thought at its best a lively retention of what is observed. -Everybody who has talked much with little children must have been struck -by the tenacity of their memories, their power of recalling after -considerable intervals small features of an object or small incidents -which others hardly noted, or, if they noted them at the time, have -since forgotten. Stories of this surprising recollection may be obtained -in abundance. A little girl when only nine months old was on a walk -shown some lambs at the gate of a field. On being taken the same road -three weeks later she surprised her mother by calling out just before -arriving at the gate ‘Baa, baa!’ Later on children will remember through -much longer intervals. A little boy aged two years and ten months when -taken to Italy a second time after four or five months’ absence, -remembered the smallest details, _e.g._, how the grapes were cut, how -the wine was made and so forth. - -The gradual gathering of a store of such clear memory-images is a -necessary preliminary to reflexion and thought. It is because the child -remembers as well as sees, remembering even while he sees, that he grows -thoughtful, inquiring about the meaning and reason of this and that, or -boldly venturing on some explanation of his own. And just as the child’s -mind must take on many pictures of things before it reflects upon and -tries to understand the world, so it must collect and arrange pictures -of the successive scenes and events of its life, before it will grow -self conscious and reflect upon its own strange existence. - -The only other pre-condition of this primitive thoughtfulness is that -imaginative activity which we have already considered on its playful and -pleasurable side. We are learning at last that the inventive phantasy of -a child, prodigal as it is of delightful illusions, is also a valuable -contributor to this sober work of thought. It is just because the young -mind is so mobile and agile, passing far beyond the narrow confines of -the actual in imaginative conjecture of what lies hidden in the remote, -that it begins to _think_, that is, to reason about the causes of -things. In the history of the individual as of the race, thought, even -the abstract thought of science, grows out of the free play of -imagination. The myth is at once a picturesque fancy, and a crude -attempt at an explanation. This primitive thought is indeed so compact -of bright picturesque imagery that we with our scientifically trained -minds might easily overlook its inherent thoughtfulness. Yet a close -inspection shows us that it contains the essential characteristics of -thought, an impulse to comprehend things, to reduce the confusing -multiplicity to order and system. - -We must not hope to trace clearly the lines of this first child-thought. -The earliest attitude of the wakening intelligence towards the confusion -of novelties, which for us has become a world, is presumably -indescribable, and further, by the time that a child comes to the use of -words and can communicate his thoughts, in a broken way at least, the -scene is already losing something of its first strangeness, the -organising work of experience has begun. Yet though we cannot expect to -get back to the primal wonderment we can catch glimpses of that later -wonderment which arises when instruction supplements the senses, and -ideas begin to form themselves of a vast unknown in space and time, of -the changefulness of things, and of that mystery of mysteries the -beginning of things. The study of this child-thought as it tries to -utter itself in our clumsy speech will well repay us. Only we must be -ever on the alert lest we read too much into these early utterances, -forgetting that the child’s first tentative use of words is very apt to -mislead. - -The child first dimly reveals himself as thinker in the practical -domain. In the evolution of the race the reasoning faculty has been -first quickened into action by the ferment of instinctive craving and -striving. Man began to reflect on the connexions of things in order to -supply himself with food, to ward off cold and other evils. So with the -child. Before the age of speech we may observe him thinking out rapidly -as occasion arises some new practical expedient, as, for example, -seizing a clothes-pin or other available aid in order to reach a toy -that has slipped out of his reach; or clutching at our dress and pulling -the chair by way of signifying to us that we are to remain and continue -to amuse him. The observations of the first months of child-life abound -with such illustrations of an initiating practical intelligence. - -Yet these exploits, impressive as they often are, hardly disclose the -distinctive attributes of the human thinker. The cat, without any -example to imitate, will find its way to a quite charming begging -gesture by reaching up and tapping your arm. - -Probably the earliest unambiguous indication of a human faculty of -thought is to be found in infantile comparison. When a baby turns its -head deliberately and sagely from a mirror-reflexion or portrait of its -mother to the original, we appear to see the first crude beginnings of a -process which, when more elaborated, becomes human understanding. - -A good deal of comparison of this kind seems to enter into the mental -activity of young children. Thus the deep absorbing attention to -pictures spoken of above commonly means a careful comparison of this and -that form one with another, and in certain cases, at least, a comparison -of what is now seen with the mental image of the original. In some -children, moreover, comparison under the form of measurement grows into -a sort of craze. They want to measure the height of things one with -another and so forth. An intelligent child will even find his way to a -_mediate_ form of comparison, that is, to measuring things through the -medium of a third thing. Thus a boy of five, who had conceived a strong -liking for dogs, was in the habit when walking out of measuring on his -body how high a dog reached. On returning home he would compare this -height with that of the seat or back of a chair, and would finally ask -for a yard measure and find out the number of inches. - -This comparison of things is of the very essence of understanding, of -comprehending things as distinguished from merely apprehending them as -concrete isolated objects. The child in his desire to assimilate, to -find something in the region of the known with which the new and strange -thing may be brought into kinship, is ever on the look-out for likeness. -Hence the analogical and half-poetical apperception of things, the -metaphorical reduction of a thing to a prototype, as in calling a star -an eye, or an eyelid a curtain, may be said to contain the germ at once -of poetry and of science. - -This comparison for purposes of understanding leads on to what -psychologists call classification, or generalisation; the bringing -together and keeping before the mind of a number of like things by help -of a general name. The child may be said to become a true thinker as -soon as he uses names intelligently, calling each thing by an -appropriate name, and so classing it with its kind. - -This power of infantile generalisation is one full of interest and has -been carefully observed. It will, however, be more conveniently dealt -with in another chapter where we shall be specially concerned with the -child’s use of language. - -While thus beginning to arrange things according to such points of -likeness as he can discover, the child is noting the connexions of -things. He finds out what belongs to a horse, to a locomotive engine, he -notes when father leaves home and returns, when the sun declines, what -accompanies and follows rain, and so forth. That is to say, he is -feeling his way to the idea of connectedness, of regularity, of what we -call uniformity or law. We now say that the child reasons, no longer -blindly or automatically like the dog, but with a consciousness of what -he is doing. We little think how much hard work has to be got through by -the little brain before even this dim perception of regularity is -attained. In some things, no doubt, the regularity is patent enough, and -can hardly be overlooked by the dullest of children. The connexion -between the laying of the cloth and the meal—at least in an orderly -home—is a matter which even the canine and the feline intelligence is -quite able to grasp. But when it comes to finding out the law according -to which, say, his face gets dirty, his head aches, or people send out -their invitations to children’s parties, the matter is not so simple. - -The fact is that there is so large a proportion of apparent -disconnectedness and capricious irregularity in the child’s world that -it is hard to see how he would ever learn to understand and to reason, -were he not endowed with a lively and inextinguishable impulse to -connect and simplify. Herein lies a part of the pathos of childhood. It -brings its naïve prepossession of a regular well-ordered world, and -alas, finds itself confronted with an impenetrable tangle of disorder. -How quaint it is to listen to the little thinker, as, with untroubled -brow, he begins to propound his beautifully simple theory of the cosmic -order. An American boy of ten who had had one cross small teacher, and -whose best teacher had been tall, accosted a new teacher thus: “I’m -afraid you’ll make a cross teacher”. His teacher replied: “Why, am I -cross?” To which he rejoined: “No; but you are so small”. We call this -hasty generalisation. We might with equal propriety term it the child’s -innate _a priori_ view of things. - -With this eagerness to get at and formulate the law of things is -inseparably bound up the impulse to bring every new occurrence under -some general rule. Here, too, the small thinker may only too easily slip -by failing to see the exact import and scope of the rule. We see this in -the extension of laws of human experience to the animal world. Rules -supplied by others and only vaguely understood, more particularly moral -and religious truths, lend themselves to this kind of misapplication. -The Worcester collection of _Thoughts and Reasonings of Children_ gives -some odd examples of such application. American children, to judge from -these examples, appear to be particularly smart at quoting Scripture; -not altogether, one suspects, without a desire to show off, and possibly -to raise a laugh. But discounting the influence of such motives it seems -pretty clear that a child has a marvellous power of reading his own -ideas into others’ words, and so of giving them a turn which is apt to -stagger their less-gifted authors. Here is a case. R.’s aunt said: “You -are so restless, R., I can’t hold you any longer”. R.: “Cast your burden -on the Lord, Aunty K., and He will sustain you”. The child, we are told, -was only four. He probably understood the Scripture injunction as a -useful prescription for getting rid of a nuisance, and with the -admirable impartiality of childish logic at once applied it to himself. -Other illustrations of such misapplication will meet us when we take up -the relation of the child’s thought to language. - - - _The Questioning Age._ - -The child’s first vigorous effort to understand the things about him may -be roughly dated at the end of the third year, and it is noteworthy that -this synchronises with the advent of the questioning age. The first -putting of a question occurred in the case of Preyer’s boy in the -twenty-eighth month, in that of Pollock’s girl in the twenty-third -month. But the true age of inquisitiveness when question after question -is fired off with wondrous rapidity and pertinacity seems to be ushered -in with the fourth year. - -A common theory peculiarly favoured by ignorant nurses and mothers is -that children’s questioning is a studied annoyance. The child has come -to the use of words, and with all a child’s ‘cussedness’ proceeds to -torment the ears of those about him. There are signs, however, of a -change of view on this point. The fact that the questioning follows on -the heels of the reasoning impulse might tell us that it is connected -with the throes which the young understanding has to endure in its first -collision with a tough and baffling world. The question is the outcome -of ignorance coupled with a belief in the boundless knowledge of -grown-up people. It is an attempt to add to the scrappy, unsatisfying -information about things which the little questioner’s own observation -has managed to gather, or others’ half-understood words have succeeded -in communicating. It is the outcome of intellectual craving, of a demand -for mental food. But it is much more than an expression of need. Just as -the child’s articulate demand for food implies that he knows what food -is, and that it is obtainable, so the question implies that the little -questioner knows what he needs, and in what direction to look for it. -The simplest form of question, _e.g._, “What is this flower?” “this -insect?” shows that the child by a half-conscious process of reflexion -and reasoning has found his way to the truth that things have their -qualities, their belongings, their names. Many questions, indeed, -_e.g._, ‘Has the moon wings?’ ‘Where do all the days go to?’ reveal a -true process of childish thought and have a high value as expressions of -this thought. - -Questioning may take various directions. A good deal of the child’s -catechising of his long-suffering mother is prompted by thirst for -fact.[38] The typical form of this line of questioning is ‘What?’ The -motive here is to gain possession of some fact which will connect itself -with and supplement a fact already known. ‘How old is Rover?’ ‘Where was -Rover born?’ ‘Who was his father?’ ‘What is that dog’s name?’ ‘What sort -of hair had you when you were a little girl?’ These are samples of the -questioning activity by help of which the little inquirer tries to make -up his connected wholes, to see things with his imagination in their -proper attachment and order. And how greedily and pertinaciously the -small folk will follow up their questioning, flying as it often looks -wildly enough from point to point, yet gathering from every answer some -new contribution to their ideas of things. A boy of three years and nine -months would thus attack his mother: ‘What does frogs eat, and mice and -birds and butterflies? and what does they do? and what is their names? -What is all their houses’ names? What does they call their streets and -places?’ etc., etc. - ------ - -Footnote 38: - - The first question put by Preyer’s boy was, ‘Where is mamma?’ _Die - Seele des Kindes_, p. 412. (The references are to the third edition, - 1890.) - ------ - -Such questions easily appear foolish because, as in the case just -quoted, they are directed by quaint childish fancies. The child’s -anthropomorphic way of looking out on the world leads him to assimilate -animal to human ways. - -One feature in this fact-gleaning kind of question is the great store -which the child sets by the name of a thing. M. Compayré has pointed out -that the form of question: ‘What is this?’ often means, “What is it -called?” The child’s unformulated theory seems to be that everything has -its own individual name. The little boy just spoken of explained to his -mother that he thought all the frogs, the mice, the birds, and the -butterflies had names given to them by their mothers as he himself had. -Perhaps this was only a way of expressing the childish idea that -everything has its name, primordial and unchangeable. - -A second direction of this early questioning is towards the reason and -the cause of things. The typical form is here ‘why?’ This form of -inquiry occurred in the case of Preyer’s boy at the age of two years -forty-three weeks. But it becomes the all-predominant form of question -somewhat later. Who that has tried to instruct the small child of three -or four does not know the long shrill whinelike sound of this question? -This form of question develops naturally out of the earlier, for to give -the ‘what?’ of a thing, that is its connexions, is to give its ‘why?’ -that is its mode of production, its use and purpose. - -Nothing perhaps in child utterance is better worth interpreting, hardly -anything more difficult to interpret, than this simple-looking little -‘why?’ - -We ourselves perhaps do not use the word ‘why’ and its correlative -‘because’ with one clear meaning; and the child’s first use of the words -is largely imitative. What may be pretty safely asserted is that even in -the most parrot-like and wearisome iteration of ‘why?’ and its -equivalents ‘what for?’ etc., the child shows a dim recognition of the -truth that a thing is understandable, that it has its reasons if only -they can be found. - -Let us in judging of this pitiless ‘why?’ try to understand the -situation of the young mind confronted by so much that is strange and -unassimilated, meeting by observation and hearsay with new and odd -occurrences every day. The strange things standing apart from his tiny -familiar world, the wide region of the quaint and puzzling in animal -ways, for example, stimulate the instinct to appropriate, to master. The -little thinker must try at least to bring the new odd thing into some -recognisable relation to his familiar world. And what is more natural -than to go to the wise lips of the grown-up person for a solution of the -difficulty? The fundamental significance of the ‘why?’ in the child’s -vocabulary, then, is the necessity of connecting new with old, of -illuminating what is strange and dark by light reflected from what is -already matter of knowledge. And a child’s ‘why?’ is often temporarily -satisfied by supplying from the region of the familiar an analogue to -the new and unclassed fact. Thus his impulse to understand why pussy has -fur, is met by telling him that it is pussy’s hair. - -It is only a step further in the same direction when the ‘why?’ has to -be met by supplying a general statement; for to refer the particular to -a general rule is a more perfect and systematic kind of assimilation. -Now we know that children are very susceptible to the authority of -precedent, custom, general rule. Just as in children’s ethics customary -permission makes a thing right, so in their logic the truth that a thing -generally happens may be said to supply a reason for its happening in a -particular case. Hence, when the much-abused nurse answers the child’s -question, ‘Why is the pavement hard?’ by saying, ‘Because pavement is -always hard,’ she is perhaps less open to the charge of giving a woman’s -reason than is sometimes said.[39] In sooth the child’s queries, his -searchings for explanation, are, as already suggested, prompted by the -desire for order and connectedness. And this means that he wants the -general rule to which he can assimilate the particular and as yet -isolated fact. - ------ - -Footnote 39: - - _Cf._ some shrewd remarks by Dr. Venn, _Empirical Logic_, p. 494. - ------ - -From the first, however, the ‘why?’ and its congeners have reference to -the causal idea, to something which has brought the new and strange -thing into existence and made it what it is. In truth this reference to -origin, to bringing about or making, is exceedingly prominent in -children’s questionings. Nothing is more interesting to a child than the -production of things. What hours and hours does he not spend in -wondering how the pebbles, the stars, the birds, the babies are made. -This vivid interest in production is to a considerable extent practical. -It is one of the great joys of children to be able themselves to make -things, and this desire to fashion, which is probably at first quite -immense, and befitting rather a god than a feeble mannikin of three -years, naturally leads on to inquiry into the mode of producing. Yet -from the earliest a true speculative interest blends with this practical -instinct. Children are in the complete sense little philosophers, if -philosophy, as the ancients said, consists in knowing the causes of -things. This discovery of the cause is the completed process of -assimilation, of the reference of the particular to a general rule or -law. - -This inquiry into origin and mode of production starts with the amiable -presupposition that all things have been hand-produced after the manner -of household possessions. The world is a sort of big house where -everything has been made by somebody, or at least fetched from -somewhere. This application of the anthropomorphic idea of fashioning -follows the law of all childish thought, that the unknown is assimilated -to the known. The one mode of origin which the embryo thinker is really -and directly familiar with is the making of things. He himself makes a -respectable number of things, including these rents in his clothes, -messes on the tablecloth, and the like, which he gets firmly imprinted -on his memory by the authorities. And, then, he takes a keen interest in -watching the making of things by others, such as puddings, clothes, -houses, hayricks. To ask, then, who made the animals, the babies, the -wind, the clouds, and so forth, is for him merely to apply the more -familiar type of causation as norm or rule. Similarly in all questions -as to the ‘whence?’ of things, as in asking whether babies were bought -in a shop. - -The ‘why?’ takes on a more special meaning when the idea of purpose -becomes clear. The search now is for the end, what philosophers call the -teleological cause or reason. When, for example, a child asks ‘Why does -the wind blow?’ he means, ‘What is its object in blowing?’ or ‘Of what -use is the blowing of the wind?’ - -The idea underlying the common form of the ‘why?’ interrogative deserves -a moment’s inspection. A child’s view of causation starts like other -ideas from his most familiar experiences. He soon finds out that his own -actions are controlled by the desire to get or to avoid something, that, -to speak in rather technical language, the idea of the result of the -action precedes and determines this action. - -I have lately come across a very early, and as I think, remarkable -illustration of this form of childish thought. A little girl already -quoted, whom we will call M., when one year eleven months old, happened -to be walking with her mother on a windy day. At first she was delighted -at the strong boisterous wind, but then got tired and said: ‘Wind make -mamma’s hair untidy, Babba (her own name) make mamma’s hair tidy, _so -wind not blow adain_ (again)’. About three weeks later this child was -out in the rain, when she said to her mother: ‘Mamma, dy (dry) Babba’s -hands, _so not rain any more_’. What does this curious inversion of the -order of cause and effect mean? I am disposed to think that this little -girl, who was unusually bright and intelligent, was transferring to -nature’s phenomena the forms of her own experience. When she is -disorderly, and her mother or nurse arranges her hair or washes her -hands, it is in order that she may not continue to be disorderly. The -child is envisaging the wind and the rain as a kind of naughty child who -can be got to behave properly by effacing the effects of its -naughtiness. In other words they are both to be deterred from repeating -what is objectionable by a visible and striking manifestation of -somebody’s objection or prohibition. Here, it seems unmistakable, we -have a projection into nature of human purpose, of the idea of -determination of action by end: we have a form of anthropomorphism which -runs through the whole of primitive thought. - -It seems to follow from this that there is a stage in the development of -a child’s intelligence when questions such as, ‘Why do the leaves fall?’ -‘Why does the thunder make such a noise?’ are answered most -satisfactorily by a poetic fiction, by saying, for example, that the -leaves are old and tired of hanging on to the trees, and that the -thunder giant is in a particularly bad temper and making a noise. It is -perhaps permissible to make use of this fiction at times, more -especially when trying to answer the untiring questioning about animals -and their doings, a region of existence, by the way, of which even the -wisest of us knows exceedingly little. Yet the device has its risks; and -an ill-considered piece of myth-making passed off as an answer may find -itself awkwardly confronted by that most merciless of things, a child’s -logic. - -We may notice something more in this early mode of interrogation. -Children are apt to think not only that things behave in general after -our manner, that their activity is determined by some end or purpose, or -that they have their useful function, their _raison d’être_ as we say, -but that this purpose concerns us human creatures. The wind and the rain -came and went in our little girl’s nature-theory just to vex or out of -consideration for ‘mamma’ and ‘Babba’. A little boy of two years two -months sitting on the floor one day in a bad temper looked up and saw -the sun shining and said captiously, ‘Sun not look at Hennie,’ and then -more pleadingly, ‘Please, sun, not look at poor Hennie’.[40] The sea, -when the child C. first saw it, was supposed to make its disturbing -noise with special reference to his small ears. We may call this the -anthropocentric idea, the essence of which is that man is the centre of -reference, the aim or target, in all nature’s processes. This -anthropocentric tendency again is shared by the child with the -uncultured adult. Primitive man looks on wind, rain, thunder as sent by -some angry spirit, and even a respectable English farmer tends to view -these operations of nature in much the same way. In children this -anthropocentric impulse is apt to get toned down by their temperament, -which is on the whole optimistic and decidedly practical, into a looking -out for the _uses_ of things. A boy, already quoted, once (towards the -end of the fourth year) asked his mother what the bees do. This question -he explained by adding: “What is the good of them?” When told that they -made honey he observed pertinently enough from his teleological -standpoint: “Then do they bring it for us to eat?” This shrewd little -fellow might have made short work of some of the arguments by which the -theological optimists of the last century were wont to ‘demonstrate’ the -Creator’s admirable adaptation of nature to man’s wants. - ------ - -Footnote 40: - - See note by E. M. Stevens, _Mind_, xi., p. 150. - ------ - -The frequency of this kind of ‘why?’ suggests that children’s thoughts -about things are penetrated with the idea of purpose and use. This is -shown too in other ways. M. A. Binet found by questioning children that -their ideas of things are largely made up of uses. Thus, asked what a -hat is, a child answered: “Pour mettre sur la tête”. Mr. H. E. Kratz of -Sioux City sends me some answers to questions by children of five on -entering a primary school, which illustrate the same point. Thus the -question, ‘What is a tree?’ brings out the answers, ‘To make the wind -blow,’ ‘To sit under,’ and so forth. - -Little by little this idea of a definite purpose and use in this and -that thing falls back and the child gets interested more in the -production or origination of things. He wants to know who made the -trees, the birds, the stars and so forth. Here, though what we call -efficient, as distinguished from final, cause is recognised, -anthropomorphism survives in the idea of a maker analogous to the -carpenter. We shall see later that children habitually envisage the -deity as a fabricator. - -All this rage of questioning about the uses and the origin of things is -the outcome, not merely of ignorance and curiosity, but of a deeper -motive, a sense of perplexity, of mystery or contradiction. It is not -always easy to distinguish the two types of question, yet in many cases -at least its form and the manner of putting it will tell us that it -issues from a puzzled and temporarily baffled brain. As long as the -questioning goes on briskly we may infer that a child believes in the -possibility of knowledge, and has not sounded the deepest depths of -intellectual despair. More pathetic than the saddest of questions is the -silencing of questions by the loss of faith. - -It is easy to see that children must find themselves puzzled with much -which they see and hear of. The apparent exceptions to rules don’t -trouble the grown-up persons just because as _recurrent_ exceptions they -seem to take on a rule of their own. Thus adults though quite unversed -in hydrostatics would be incapable of being puzzled by C.’s problem: why -my putting my hand in water does not make a hole in it. Similarly, -though they know nothing of animal physiology they are never troubled by -the mystery of fish breathing under water, which when first noted by a -child may come as a sort of shock. The little boy just referred to, in -his far-reaching zoological interrogatory asked his mother: “Can they -(the fish) breathe with their moufs under water?” - -In his own investigations, and in getting instruction from others, the -child is frequently coming upon puzzles of this sort. The same boy was -much exercised about the sea and where it went to. He expressed a wish -to take off his shoes and to walk out into the sea so as to see where -the ships go to, and was much troubled on learning that the sea got -deeper and deeper, and that if he walked out into it he would be -drowned. At first he denied the paradox (which he at once saw) of the -incoming sea going uphill: “But, mamma, it doesn’t run up, it doesn’t -run up, so it couldn’t come up over our heads?” He was told that this -was so, and he wisely began to try to accommodate his mind to this -startling revelation. C., it will be seen, was much exercised by this -problem of the moving mass of waters, wanting to know whether it came -half way up the world. Probably in both these cases the idea of water -rising had its uncanny alarming aspect. - -It is probable that the disappearance of a thing is at a very early -stage a puzzle to the infant. Later on, too, the young mind continues to -be exercised about this mystery. Our little friend’s inquiry about the -whither of the big receding sea, “Where does the sea sim (swim) to?” -illustrates this perplexity. A child seems able to understand the -shifting of an object of moderate size from one part of space to -another, but his conception of space is probably not large enough to -permit him to realise how a big tract of water can pass out of the -visible scene into the unseen. The child’s question, “Where does all the -wind go to?” seems to have sprung from a like inability to picture a -vast unseen realm of space. - -In addition to this difficulty of the disappearance of big things, there -seems to be something in the vastness, and the infinite number of -existent things perceived and heard about, which puzzles and oppresses -the young mind. The inability to take in all the new facts leads to a -kind of resentment of their multitude. “Mother,” asked a boy of four -years, “why _is_ there such a lot of things in the world if no one knows -all these things?” One cannot be quite sure of the underlying thought -here. The child may have meant merely to protest against the production -of so confusing a number of objects in the world. This certainly seems -to be the motive in some children’s inquiries, as when a little girl, -aged three years seven months, said: ‘Mamma, why do there be any more -days, why do there? and why don’t we leave off eating and drinking?’ -Here the burdensomeness of mere multiplicity, of the unending procession -of days and meals, seems to be the motive. Yet it is possible that the -question about a lot of things not known to anybody was prompted by a -deeper difficulty, a dim presentiment of Berkeley’s idealism, that -things can exist only as objects of knowledge. This surmise may seem -far-fetched to some, yet I have found what seem to me other traces of -this tendency in children. A girl of six and a half years was talking to -her father about the making of the world. He pointed out to her the -difficulty of creating things out of nothing, showing her that when we -made things we simply fashioned materials anew. She pondered and then -said: “Perhaps the world’s a fancy”. Here again one cannot be quite sure -of the child-thought behind the words. Yet it certainly looks like a -falling back for a moment into the dreamy mood of the idealist, that -mood in which we seem to see the solid fabric of things dissolve into a -shadowy phantasmagoria. - -The subject of origins is, as we know, beset with puzzles for the -childish mind. The beginnings of living things are, of course, the great -mystery. “There’s such a lot of things,” remarked the little zoologist I -have recently been quoting, “I want to know, that you say nobody knows, -mamma. I want to know who made God, and I want to know if Pussy has eggs -to help her make ickle (little) kitties.” Finding that this was not so, -he observed: “Oh, then, I s’pose she has to have God to help her if she -doesn’t have kitties in eggs given her to sit on”. Another little boy, -five years old, found his way to the puzzle of the reciprocal genetic -relation of the hen and the egg, and asked his mother: “When there _is_ -no egg where does the hen come from? When there _was_ no egg, I mean, -where _did_ the hen come from?” In a similar way, as we shall see in -C.’s journal, a child will puzzle his brains by asking how the first -child was suckled, or, as a little girl of four and a half years put it, -"When everybody was a baby—then who could be their nurse—if they were -all babies?" The beginnings of human life are, as we know, a standing -puzzle for the young investigator. - -Much of this questioning is metaphysical in that it transcends the -problems of every-day life and of science. The child is metaphysician in -the sense in which the earliest human thinkers were metaphysicians, -pushing his questioning into the inmost nature of things, and back to -their absolute beginnings, as when he asks ‘Who made God?’ or ‘What was -there before God?’[41] He has no idea yet of the confines of human -knowledge. If his mother tells him she does not know he tenaciously -clings to the idea that somebody knows, the doctor it may be, or the -clergyman—or possibly the policeman, of whose superior knowledge one -little girl was forcibly convinced by noting that her father once asked -information of one of these stately officials. - ------ - -Footnote 41: - - Illustrations are given by Compayré, _op. cit._, and by P. Lombroso, - _Psicologia del Bambino_, p. 47 ff. - ------ - -Strange, bizarre, altogether puzzling to the listener, are some of these -childish questions. A little American girl of nine years after a pause -in talk re-commenced the conversation by asking: “Why don’t I think of -something to say?” A play recently performed in a London theatre made -precisely this appeal to others by way of getting at one’s own motives a -chief amusing feature in one of its comical characters. Another little -American girl aged three one day left her play and her baby sister named -Edna Belle to find her mother and ask: “Mamma, why isn’t Edna Belle me, -and why ain’t I Edna Belle?”[42] The narrator of this story adds that -the child was not a daughter of a professor of metaphysics but of -practical farmer folk. One cannot be quite sure of the precise drift of -this question. It may well have been the outcome of a new development of -self-consciousness, of a clearer awareness of the self in its -distinctness from others. A question with a much clearer metaphysical -ring about it, showing thought about the subtlest problems, was that put -by a boy of the same age: “If I’d gone upstairs, could God make it that -I hadn’t?” This is a good example of the type of question: ‘Can he make -a thing done not to have been done?’ which according to Erasmus was much -debated by theologians.[43] - ------ - -Footnote 42: - - Quoted from an article, “Some Comments on Babies,” by Miss Shinn in - the _Overland Monthly_, Jan., 1894. - ------ - -Footnote 43: - - Froude, _Letters of Erasmus_, Lect. vii. - ------ - -With many children confronted with the mysteries of God and the devil -this questioning often reproduces the directions of theological -speculation. Thus the problem of the necessity of evil is clearly -recognisable in the question once put by an American boy under eight -years of age to a priest who visited his home: “Father, why don’t God -kill the devil and then there would be no more wickedness in the world?” - -All children’s questioning does not of course take this sublime -direction. Along with the tendency to push back inquiry to the -unreachable beginning of things we mark a more modest and scientific -line of investigation into the observable and explainable processes of -nature. Some questions which a busy listener would pooh-pooh as dreamy -have a genuinely scientific value, showing that the little inquirer is -trying to work out some problem of fact. This is illustrated by a -question put by a little boy aged three years nine months: “Why don’t we -see two things with our two eyes?” a problem which, as we know, has -exercised older psychologists. - -When this more definitely scientific direction is taken by a child’s -questioning we may observe that the ambitious ‘why?’ begins to play a -second _rôle_, the first being now taken by the more modest ‘how?’ The -germ of this kind of inquiry may be present in some of the early -questioning about growth. “How,” asked our little zoologist, “does -plants grow when we plant them, and how does boys grow from babies to -big boys like me? Has I grown now whilst I was eating my supper? See!” -and he stood up to make the most of his stature. Clearer evidence of a -directing of inquiry into the processes of things appears in the fifth -and sixth years. A little girl of four years seven months among other -questionings wanted to know what makes the trains move, and how we move -our eyes. The incessant inquiries of the boy Clark Maxwell into the ‘go’ -of this thing or the ‘particular go’ of that illustrate in a clearer -manner the early tendency to direct questioning to the more manageable -problems to which science confines itself. - -These different lines of questioning are apt to run on concurrently from -the end of the third year, a fit of eager curiosity about animals or -other natural objects giving place to a fit of theological inquiry, this -again being dropped for an equally eager inquiry into the making of -clocks, railway engines, and so on. Yet through these alternating bouts -of questioning we can distinguish something like a law of intellectual -progress. Questioning as the most direct expression of a child’s -curiosity follows the development of his groups of ideas and of the -interests which help to construct these. Thus I think it a general rule -that questioning about the make or mechanism of things follows -questioning about animal ways just because the zoological interest (in a -very crude form of course) precedes the mechanical. The scope of this -early questioning will, moreover, expand with intellectual capacity, and -more particularly the capability of forming the more abstruse kind of -childish idea. Thus inquiries into absolute beginnings, into the origin -of the world and of God himself, indicate the presence of a larger -intellectual grasp of time-relations and of the processes of becoming. - -Our survey of the field of childish questioning suggests that it is by -no means an easy matter to deal with. It must be admitted, I think, by -the most enthusiastic partisan of children that their questioning is of -very unequal value. It may often be noticed that a child’s ‘why?’ is -used in a sleepy mechanical way with no real desire for knowledge, any -semblance of answer being accepted without an attempt to put a meaning -into it. A good deal of the more importunate kind of children’s -questioning, when they follow up question by question recklessly, as it -seems, and without definite aim, appears to be of this formal and -lifeless character, an expression not of a healthy intellectual -activity, but merely of a mood of general mental discontent and -peevishness. In a certain amount of childish questioning, indeed, we -have, I suspect, to do with a distinctly abnormal mental state, with an -analogue of that mania of questions, or passion for mental rummaging or -prying into everything, “Grubelsucht” as the Germans call it, which is a -well-known phase of mental disease, and prompts the patient to put such -questions as this: “Why do I stand here where I stand?” “Why is a glass -a glass, a chair a chair?” Such questioning ought, it is evident, not to -be treated too seriously. We may attach too much significance to a -child’s question, labouring hard to grasp its meaning, with a view to -answering it, when we should be wiser if we viewed it as a symptom of -mental irritability and peevishness, to be got rid of as quickly as -possible by a good romp or other healthy distraction.[44] - ------ - -Footnote 44: - - _Cf._ Perez, _L’Education dès le berceau_, p. 45 ff. - ------ - -To admit, however, that children’s questions may now and again need this -sort of wholesome snubbing is far from saying that we ought to treat all -their questioning with a mild contempt. The little questioners flatter -us by attributing superior knowledge to us, and good manners should -compel us to treat their questions with some attention. And if now and -then they torment us with a string of random reckless questioning, in -how many cases, one wonders, are they not made to suffer, and that -wrongfully, by having perfectly serious questions rudely cast back on -their hands? The truth is that to understand and to answer children’s -questions is a considerable art, including both a large and deep -knowledge of things, and a quick sympathetic insight into the little -questioners’ minds, and few of us have at once the intellectual and the -moral excellences needed for an adequate treatment of them. It is one of -the tragi-comic features of human life that the ardent little explorer -looking out with wide-eyed wonder upon his new world should now and -again find as his first guide a nurse or even a mother who will resent -the majority of his questions as disturbing the luxurious mood of -indolence in which she chooses to pass her days. We can never know how -much valuable mental activity has been checked, how much hope and -courage cast down by this kind of treatment. Yet happily the questioning -impulse is not easily eradicated, and a child who has suffered at the -outset from this wholesale contempt may be fortunate enough to meet, -while the spirit of investigation is still upon him, one who knows and -who has the good nature and the patience to impart what he knows in -response to a child’s appeal. - - - - - IV. - PRODUCTS OF CHILD-THOUGHT. - - - _The Child’s Thoughts about Nature._ - -We have seen in the previous article how a child’s mind behaves when -brought face to face with the unknown. We will now examine some of the -more interesting results of this early thought-activity, what are known -as the characteristic ideas of children. There is no doubt, I think, -that children, by reflecting on what they see or otherwise experience -and what they are told by others, fashion their own ideas about nature, -death and the rest. This tendency, as pointed out above, discloses -itself to some extent in their questions about things. It has now to be -more fully studied in their sayings as a whole. The ideas thus formed -will probably prove to vary considerably in the case of different -children, yet to preserve throughout these variations a certain general -character. - -These ideas, moreover, like those of primitive races, will be found to -be a crude attempt at a connected system. We must not, of course, expect -too much here. The earliest thought of mankind about nature and the -supernatural was very far from being elaborated into a consistent -logical whole; yet we can see general forms of conception or tendencies -of thought running through the whole. So in the case of this largely -spontaneous child-thought. It will disclose to an unsparing critical -inspection vast gaps, and many unsurmounted contradictions. Thus in the -case of children, as in that of uncultured races, the supernatural realm -is at first brought at most into only a very loose connexion with the -visible world. All the same there is seen, in the measure of the -individual child’s intelligence, the endeavour to co-ordinate, and the -poor little hard-pressed brain of a child will often pluckily do its -best in trying to bring some connexion into that congeries of -disconnected worlds into which he finds himself so confusingly -introduced, partly by the motley character of his own experiences, as -the alternations of waking and sleeping, partly by the haphazard -miscellaneous instruction, mythological, historical, theological, and -the rest, with which we inconsiderately burden his mind. - -As was observed in dealing with children’s imaginative activity, this -primitive child-lore, like its prototype in folk-lore, is largely a -product of a naïve vivid fancy. In assigning the relations of things and -their reasons, a child’s mind does not make use of abstract conceptions. -It does not talk about “relation,” but pictures out the particular -relation it wants to express by a figurative expression, as in -apperceiving the juxtaposition of moon and star as mamma and baby. So it -does not talk of abstract force, but figures some concrete form of -agency, as in explaining the wind by the idea of somebody’s waving a big -fan somewhere. This first crude attempt of the child to envisage the -world is, indeed, largely mythological, proceeding by the invention of -concrete and highly pictorial ideas of fairies, giants and their doings. - -The element of thought comes in with the recognition of the real as -such, and with the application of the products of young phantasy to -comprehending and explaining this reality. And here we see how this -primitive child-thought, though it remains instinct with glowing -imagery, differentiates itself from pure fancy. This last knows no -restraint, and aims only at the delight of its spontaneous play-like -movements, whereas thought is essentially the serious work of realising -and understanding what exists. The contrast is seen plainly enough if we -compare the mental attitude of the child when he is frankly romancing, -giving out now and again a laugh, which shows that he himself fully -recognises the absurdity of his talk, with his attitude when in gravest -of moods he is calling upon his fancy to aid reason in explaining some -puzzling fact. - -How early this splitting of the child’s imaginative activity into these -two forms, the playful and the thoughtful, takes place is not, I think, -very easy to determine. Many children at least are apt at first to take -all that is told them as gospel. To most of them about the age of three -and four, I suspect, fairyland, if imagined at all, is as much a reality -as the visible world. The disparity of its contents, the fairies, -dragons and the rest, with those of the world of sense does not trouble -their mind, the two worlds not being as yet mentally juxtaposed and -dove-tailed one into the other. It is only later when the desire to -understand overtakes and even passes the impulse to frame bright and -striking images, and, as a result of this, critical reflexion applies -itself to the nursery legends and detects their incongruity with the -world of every-day perception, that a clear distinction comes to be -drawn between reality and fiction, what exists and can (or might) be -verified by sense, and what is only pictured by the mind. - -With this preliminary peep into the _modus operandi_ of children’s -thought, let us see what sort of ideas of things they fashion. - -Beginning with their ideas of natural objects we find, as has been -hinted, the influence of certain predominant tendencies. Of these the -most important is the impulse to think of what is far off, whether in -space or time, and so unobservable, as like what is near and observed. -Along with this tendency, or rather as one particular development of it, -there goes the disposition already illustrated, to vivify nature, to -personify things and so to assimilate their behaviour to the child’s -own, and to explain the origin of things by ideas of making and aiming -at some purpose. Since, at the same time that these tendencies are still -dominant, the child by his own observation and by such instruction as he -gets, is gaining insight into the ‘how,’ the mechanism of things, we -find that his cosmology is apt to be a quaint jumble of the scientific -and the mythological. Thus the boy C. tried to conceive of the divine -creation of men as a mechanical process with well-marked stages—the -fashioning of stone men, iron men, and then real men. In many cases we -can see that a nature-myth comes in to eke out the deficiencies of -mechanical insight. Thus, the production of thunder and other strange -and inexplicable phenomena is referred, as by the savage, and even by -many so-called civilised men and women, to the direct interposition of a -supernatural agency. The theological idea with which children are -supplied is apt to shape itself into that of a capricious and awfully -clever demiurgos, who not only made the world-machine but alters its -working as often as he is disposed. With this idea of a supernatural -agent there is commonly combined that of a natural process as means -employed, as when thunder is supposed to be caused by God’s treading -heavily on the floor of the sky. Contradictions are not infrequent, the -mythological impulse sometimes alternating with a more distinctly -scientific impulse to grasp the mechanical process, as when wind is -sometimes thought of, as caused by a big fan, and sometimes, _e.g._, -when heard moaning in the night, endowed with life and feeling. - -I shall make no attempt to give a methodical account of children’s -thoughts about nature. I suspect that a good deal more material will -have to be collected before a complete description of these thoughts is -possible. I shall content myself with giving a few samples of their -ideas so far as my own studies have thrown light on them. - -With respect to the make or substance of things children are, I believe, -disposed to regard all that they see as having the resistant quality of -solid material substance. - -At first, that is to say after the child has had experience enough of -seeing and touching things at the same time to know that the two -commonly go together, he believes that all which he sees is tangible or -substantial. Thus he will try to touch shadows, sunlight dancing on the -wall, and picture forms. This tendency to “reify,” or make things of, -his visual impressions shows itself in pretty forms, as when the little -girl M., one year eleven months old, “gathered sunlight in her hands and -put it on her face”. The same child about a month earlier expressed a -wish to wash some black smoke. This was the same child that tried to -make the wind behave by making her mother’s hair tidy; and her belief in -the material reality of the wind was shown by her asking her mother to -lift her up high so that she might see the wind. This last, it is to be -noted, was an inference from touching and resisting to seeing.[45] Wind, -it has been well remarked, keeps something of its substantiality for all -of us long after shadows have become the type of unreality, proving that -the experience of resisting something lies at the root of our sense of -material substance. That older children believe in the wind as a living -thing seems suggested by the readiness with which they get up a kind of -play-tussle with it. That wind even in less fanciful moments is reified -is suggested by the following story from the Worcester collection. A -girl aged nine was looking out and seeing the wind driving the snow in -the direction of a particular town, Milbury: whereupon she remarked, -“I’d like to live down in Milbury”. Asked why, she replied, “There must -be a lot of wind down there, it’s all blowing that way”. - ------ - -Footnote 45: - - Compare R. L. Stevenson’s lines to the wind: - - “I felt you push, I heard you call, - I could not see yourself at all”. - _A Child’s Garden of Verse_, xxv. - ------ - -Children, as may be seen in this story, are particularly interested in -the movements of things. Movement is the clearest and most impressive -manifestation of life. All apparently spontaneous or self-caused -movements are accordingly taken by children, as by primitive man, to be -the sign of life, the outcome of something analogous to their own -impulses. Hence the movements of falling leaves, of running water, of -feathers and the like are specially suggestive of life. Wind owes much -of its vitality, as seen in the facile personification of it by the -poet, to its apparently uncaused movements. Some children in the Infant -Department of a London Board School were asked what things in the room -were alive, and they promptly replied the smoke and the fire. Big things -moving by an internal mechanism of which the child knows nothing, more -especially engines, are of course endowed with life. A little girl of -thirteen months offered a biscuit to a steam-tram, and the author of -_The Invisible Playmate_ tells us that his little girl wanted to stroke -the “dear head” of a locomotive. A child has been known to ask whether a -steam-engine was alive. In like manner, savages on first seeing the -self-moving steamer take it for a big animal. The fear of a dog at the -sight of an unfamiliar object appearing to move of itself, as a parasol -blown along the ground by the wind, seems to imply a rudiment of the -same impulse to interpret self-movement as a sign of life.[46] - ------ - -Footnote 46: - - See P. Lombroso, _op. cit._, p. 26 ff. - ------ - -The child’s impulse to give life to moving things may lead him to -overlook the fact that the movement is caused by an external force, and -this even when the force is exerted by himself. The boy C. on finding -the cushion he was sitting upon slipping from under him in consequence -of his own wriggling movements pronounced it alive. In like manner -children, as suggested above, ascribe life to their moving playthings. -Thus, C.’s sister when five years old stopped one day trundling her -hoop, and turning to her mother, exclaimed: “Ma, I do think this hoop -must be alive, it is so sensible: it goes where I want it to”. Another -little girl two and a quarter years old on having a string attached to a -ball put into her hand, and after swinging it round mechanically, began -to notice the movement of the ball, and said to herself, “Funny ball!” -In both these cases, although the movement was directly caused by the -child, it was certainly in the first case, and apparently in the second, -attributed to the object. - -Next to movement apparently spontaneous sound appears to be a common -reason for attributing life to inanimate objects. Are not movement and -vocal sound the two great channels of utterance of the child’s own -impulses? The little girl M., when just two years old, being asked by -her mother for a kiss, answered prettily, ‘Tiss (kiss) gone away’. This -may, of course, have been merely a child’s way of using language, but -the fact that the same little girl asked to see a ‘knock’ suggests that -she was disposed to give reality and life to sounds. Its sound greatly -helps the persuasion that the wind is alive. A little boy assured his -teacher that the wind was alive, for he heard it whistling in the night. -The ascription of life to fire is probably aided by its sputtering -crackling noises. The impulse, too, to endow so little organic-looking -an object as a railway engine with conscious life is probably supported -by the knowledge of its puffing and whistling. Pierre Loti, when as a -child he first saw the sea, regarded it as a living monster, no doubt on -the ground of its movement and its noise. The personification of the -echo by the child, of which George Sand’s reminiscences give an -excellent example, as also by uncultured man, is a signal illustration -of the suggestive force of a voice-like sound. - -Closely connected with this impulse to ascribe life to what older folk -regard as inanimate objects is the tendency to conceive them as growing. -This is illustrated in the remark of the boy C., that his stick would in -time grow bigger. On the other hand, there is in the Worcester -Collection a curious story of a little American boy of three who, having -climbed up into a large waggon, and being asked, “How are you going to -get out?” replied, “I can stay here till it gets little and then I can -get out my own self”. We shall see presently that shrinkage or -diminution of size is sometimes attributed by the child-mind to people -when getting old. So that we seem to have in each of these cases the -extension to things generally of an idea first formed in connexion with -the observation of human life. - -Children’s ideas of natural objects are anthropomorphic, not merely as -reflecting their own life, but as modelled after the analogy of the -effects of their action. Quite young children are apt to extend the -ideas broken and mended to objects generally. Anything which seems to -have become reduced by losing a portion of itself is said to be -‘broken’. A little boy of three, on seeing the moon partly covered by a -cloud, remarked, “The moon is broken”. On the other hand, in the case of -one little boy, everything intact was said to be mended. It may be said, -however, that we cannot safely infer from such analogical use of common -language that children distinctly think of all objects as undergoing -breakage and repair: for these expressions in the child’s vocabulary may -refer rather to the resulting appearances, than to the processes by -which they are brought about. - -Clearer evidences of this reflexion on to nature of the characteristics -of his own life appear when a child begins to speculate about mechanical -processes, which he invariably conceives of after the analogy of his own -actions. This was illustrated in dealing with children’s questions. We -see it still more clearly manifested in some of their ideas. One of the -most curious instances of this that I have met with is seen in early -theorisings about the cause of wind. One of the children examined by Mr. -Kratz said the tree was to make the wind blow. A pupil of mine -distinctly recalls that when a child he accounted for the wind at night -by the swaying of two large elms in front of the house and not far from -the windows of his bedroom. This reversing of the real order of cause -and effect looks silly, until we remember that the child necessarily -looks at movement in the light of his own actions. He moves things, -_e.g._, the water, by his moving limbs; we set the air in motion by a -moving fan; it seems, therefore, natural to him that the wind-movements -should be caused by the pressure of some moving thing; and there is the -tree actually seen to be moving. - -So far I have spoken for the most part of children’s ideas about near -and accessible objects. Their notions of what is distant and -inaccessible are, as remarked, wont to be formed on the model of the -first. Here, however, their knowledge of things will be largely -dependent on others’ information, so that the naïve impulse of childish -intelligence has, as best it may, to work under the limitations of an -imperfectly understood language. - -It is perhaps hardly necessary to remind the reader that children’s -ideas of distance before they begin to travel far are necessarily very -inadequate. They are disposed to localise the distant objects they see, -as the sun, moon and stars, and the places they hear about on the -earth’s surface as near as possible. The tendency to approximate things -as seen in the infant’s stretching out of the hand to touch the moon -lives on in the later impulse to localise the sky and heavenly bodies -just beyond the farthest terrestrial object seen, as when a child -thought they were just above the church spire, another that they could -be reached by tying a number of ladders together, another that the -setting sun went close behind the ridge of hills, and so forth. The -stars, being so much smaller looking, seem to be located farther off -than the sun and moon. Similarly when they hear of a distant place, as -India, they tend to project it just beyond the farthest point known to -them, say Hampstead, to which they were once taken on a long, long -journey from their East End home. A child’s standard of size and -distance is, as all know who have revisited the home of their childhood -after many years, very different from the adult’s. To the little legs -unused as yet to more than short spells of locomotion a mile seems -stupendous: and then the half-formed brain cannot yet pile up the units -of measurement well enough to conceive of hundreds and thousands of -miles. - -The child appears to think of the world as a circular plain, and of the -sky as a sort of inverted bowl upon it. C.’s sister used on looking at -the sky to fancy she was inside a blue balloon. That is to say he takes -them to be what they look. In a similar manner C. took the sun to be a -great disc which could be put on the round globe to make a ‘see-saw’. -When this ‘natural realism’ gets corrected, children go to work to -convert what is told them into an intelligible form. Thus they begin to -speculate about the other side of the globe, and, as Mr. Barrie reminds -us, are apt to fancy they can know about it by peeping down a well. When -religious instruction introduces the new region of heaven they are apt -to localise it just above the sky, which to their thought forms its -floor. Some genuine thought-work is seen in the effort to harmonise the -various things they learn by observation and instruction about the -celestial region into a connected whole. Thus the sky is apt to be -thought of as _thin_, this idea being probably formed for the purpose of -explaining the shining through of moon and stars. Stars are, as we know, -commonly thought of by the child as holes in the sky letting through the -light beyond. One Boston child ingeniously applied the idea of the -thinness of the sky to explain the appearance of the moon when one half -is bright and the other faintly illumined, supposing it to be half-way -through the partially diaphanous floor. Others again prettily accounted -for the waning of the moon to a crescent by saying it was half stuck or -half buttoned into the sky. - -The movements of the sun and other heavenly bodies are similarly -apperceived by help of ideas of movements of familiar terrestrial -objects. Thus the sun was thought by the Boston children -half-mythologically, half-mechanically, to roll, to fly, to be blown -(like a soap bubble or balloon?) and so forth. The anthropocentric form -of teleological explanation is apt to creep in, as when a Boston child -said charmingly that the moon comes round when people forget to light -some lamps. Theological ideas, too, are pressed into this sphere of -explanation, as in the attribution of the disappearance of the sun to -God’s pulling it up higher out of sight, to his taking it into heaven -and putting it to bed, and so forth. These ideas are pretty obviously -not those of a country child with a horizon. There is rather more of -nature-observation in the idea of another child that the sun after -setting lies under the trees where angels mind it. - -The impressive phenomena of thunder and lightning give rise in the case -of the child as in that of the Nature-man to some fine myth-making. The -American children, as already observed, have different mechanical -illustrations for setting forth the _modus_ of the supernatural -operation here, thunder being thought of now as God groaning, now as his -walking heavily on the floor of heaven (_cf._ the old Norse idea that -thunder is caused by the rolling of Thor’s chariot), now as his -hammering, now as his having coals run in—ideas which show how naïvely -the child-mind humanises the Deity, making him a respectable citizen -with a house and a coal-cellar. In like manner the lightning is -attributed to God’s burning the gas quick, striking many matches at -once, or other familiar human device for getting a brilliant light -suddenly. So God turns on rain by a tap, or lets it down from a cistern -by a hose, or, better, passes it through a sieve or a dipper with -holes.[47] In like manner a high wind was explained by a girl of five -and a half by saying that it was God’s birthday, and he had received a -trumpet as a present. - ------ - -Footnote 47: - - See the article on “The Contents of Children’s Minds” already referred - to. - ------ - -Throughout the whole region of these mysterious phenomena we have -illustrations of the anthropocentric tendency to regard what takes place -as designed for us poor mortals. The little girl of whom Mr. Canton -writes thought “the wind, and the rain and the moon ‘walking’ came out -to see _her_, and the flowers woke up with the same laudable -object”.[48] When frightened by the crash of the thunder a child -instinctively thinks that it is all done to vex his little soul. One of -the funniest examples of the application of this idea I have met with is -in the Worcester Collection. Two children, D. and K., aged ten and five -respectively, live in a small American town. D., who is reading about an -earthquake, addresses his mother thus: “Oh, isn’t it dreadful, mamma? Do -you suppose we will ever have one here?” K., intervening with the -characteristic impulse of the young child to correct his elders: “Why, -no, D., they don’t have earthquakes in little towns like this”. There is -much to unravel in this delightful childish observation. It looks to my -mind as if the earthquake were envisaged by the little five-year-old as -a show, God being presumably the travelling showman, who takes care to -display his fearful wonders only where there is an adequate body of -spectators. - ------ - -Footnote 48: - - _The Invisible Playmate_, pp. 27, 28. - ------ - -Finally, the same impulse to understand the new and strange by -assimilating it to the familiar is, so far as I can gather, seen in -children’s first ideas about those puzzling semblances of visible -objects which are due to subjective sensations. As we shall see in C.’s -case the bright spectra or after-images caused by looking at the sun are -instinctively objectived by the child, that is regarded as things -external to his body. Here is a pretty full account of a child’s thought -about these subjective optical phenomena. A little boy of five, our -little zoologist, in poor health at the time, “constantly imagined he -saw angels, and said they were not white, that was a mistake, they were -little coloured things, light and beautiful, and they went into the -toy-basket and played with his toys”. Here we have not only objectifying -but myth-building. A year later he returned to the subject. “He stood at -the window at B. looking out at a sea-mist thoughtfully and said -suddenly, ‘Mamma, do you remember I told you that I had seen angels? -Well, I want now to say they were not angels, though I thought they -were. I have seen it often lately, I see it now: it is bright stars, -small bright stars moving by. I see it in the mist before that tree. I -see it oftenest in the misty days.... Perhaps by-and-by I shall think it -is something in my own eyes.’” Here we see a long and painstaking -attempt of a child’s brain to read a meaning into the ‘flying spots,’ -which many of us know though we hardly give them a moment’s attention. - -What are children’s first thoughts about their dreams like? I have not -been able to collect much evidence on this head. What seems certain is -that to the simple intelligence of the child these counterfeits of -ordinary sense-presentations are real external things. The crudest -manifestation of this thought-tendency is seen in taking the -dream-apparition to be actually present in the bedroom. A boy in an -elementary school in London, aged five years, said one day: “Teacher, I -saw an old woman one night against my bed”. Another child, a little -girl, in the same school told her mother that she had seen a funeral -last night, and on being asked, “Where?” answered quaintly, “I saw it in -my pillow”. A little boy whom I know once asked his mother not to put -him to bed in a certain room, “because there were so many dreams in the -room”. In thus materialising the dream and localising it in the actual -surroundings, the child but reflects the early thought of the race which -starts from the supposition that the man or animal which appears in a -dream is a material reality which actually approaches the sleeper. - -The Nature-man, as we know from Professor Tylor’s researches, goes on to -explain dreams by his theory of souls or ‘doubles’ (animism). Children -do not often find their way to so subtle a line of thought. Much more -commonly they pass from the first stage of acceptance of objects present -to their senses to the identification of dreamland with the other and -invisible world of fairyland. There is little doubt that the imaginative -child firmly believes in the existence of this invisible world, keeps it -apart from the visible one, even though at times he may give it a -definite locality in this (_e.g._, in C.’s case, the wall of the -bedroom). He gets access to it by shutting out the real world, as when -he closes his eyes tightly and ‘thinks’. With such a child, dreams get -taken up into the invisible world. Going to sleep is now recognised as -the surest way of passing into this region. The varying colour of his -dreams, now bright and dazzling in their beauty, now black and -terrifying, may be explained by a reference to the division of that -fairy world into princes, good fairies, on the one hand, and cruel -giants, witches, and the like, on the other. - -We may now pass to some of children’s characteristic ideas about living -things, more particularly human beings, and the familiar domestic -animals. The most interesting of these I think are those respecting -growth and birth. - -As already mentioned, growth is one of the most stimulating of childish -puzzles. A child, led no doubt by what others tell him, finds that -things are in general made bigger by additions from without, and his -earliest conception of growth is, I think, that of such addition. Thus, -plants are made to grow, that is, swell out, by the rain. The idea that -the growth or expansion of animals comes from eating is easily reached -by the childish intelligence, and, as we know, nurses and parents have a -way of recommending the less attractive sorts of diet by telling -children that they will make them grow. The idea that the sun makes us -grow, often suggested by parents (who may be ignorant of the fact that -growth is more rapid in the summer than in the winter), is probably -interpreted by the analogy of an infusion of something into the body. - -In carrying out my inquiries into this region of childish ideas, I -lighted quite unexpectedly on the queer notion that towards the end of -life there is a reverse process of shrinkage. Old people are supposed to -become little again. The first instance of this was supplied me by the -Worcester Collection of Thoughts. A little girl of three once said to -her mother: “When I am a big girl and you are a little girl I shall whip -you just as you whipped me now”. At first one is almost disposed to -think that this child must have heard of Mr. Anstey’s amusing story -_Vice Versâ_. Yet this idea seems too improbable: and I have since found -that she is not by any means the only one who has entertained this idea. -A little boy that I know, when about three and a half years old, used -often to say to his mother with perfect seriousness of manner: “When I -am big then you will be little, then I will carry you about and dress -you and put you to sleep”. - -I happened to mention this fact at a meeting of mothers and teachers, -when I received further evidence of this tendency of child-thought. One -lady whom I know could recollect quite clearly that when a little girl -she was promised by her aunt some treasures, trinkets I fancy, when she -grew up; and that she at once turned to her aunt and promised her that -she would then give her in exchange all her dolls, as by that time she -(the aunt) would be a little girl. Another case narrated was that of a -little girl of three and a half years, who when her elder brother and -sister spoke to her about her getting big rejoined: “What will you do -when you are little?” A third case mentioned was that of a child asking -about some old person of her acquaintance: “When will she begin to get -small?” I have since obtained corroboratory instances from parents and -teachers of infant classes. Thus a lady writes that a little girl, a -cousin of hers aged four, to whom she was reading something about an old -woman, asked: “Do people turn back into babies when they get quite old?” - -What, it may be asked, does this queer idea of shrinkage in old age -mean? By what quaint zig-zag movement of childish thought was the notion -reached? I cannot learn that there is any such idea in primitive -folk-lore, and this suggests that children find their way to it, in part -at least, by the suggestions of older people’s words. A child may, no -doubt, notice that old people stoop, and look small, and the fairy book -with little old women may strengthen the tendency to think of shrinkage. -But I cannot bring myself to believe that this would suffice to produce -the idea in so many cases. - -That there is much in what the little folk hear us say fitted to raise -in their minds an idea of shrinking back into child-form is certain. -Many children must, at some time or another, have overheard their elders -speaking of old feeble people getting childish; and we must remember -that even the attributive ‘silly’ applied to old people might lead a -child to infer a return to childhood; for if there is one thing that -children—true unsophisticated children—believe in it is the -all-knowingness of grown-ups as contrasted with the know-nothingness of -themselves. C.’s belief in the preternatural calculating powers of -Goliath is an example of this correlation in the child’s consciousness -between size and intelligence.[49] - ------ - -Footnote 49: - - That this is not the complete explanation is suggested by a story told - by Perez. His nephew, over four years, on meeting a little old man - said to his uncle: “When I shall be a little old man, will you be - young?” (_L’Enfant de trois à sept ans_, p. 219). - ------ - -But I suspect that there is a further source of this characteristic -product of early thought, involving still more of the child’s -philosophizing. As we have seen, a child cannot accept an absolute -beginning of things, and we shall presently find that he is equally -incapable of believing in an absolute ending. He knows that we begin our -earthly life as babies. Well, the babies must come from something, and -when we die we must pass into something. What more natural, then, than -the idea of a rhythmical alternation of cycles of existence, babies -passing into grown-ups, and these again into babies, and so the race -kept going? Does this seem too far-fetched an explanation? I think it -will be found less so if it is remembered that according to our way of -instructing these active little brains, people are brought to earth as -babies in angels’ arms, and that when they die they are taken back also -in angels’ arms. Now as the angel remains of constant size,—for this -their pictures vouch—it follows that old people, when they are dead at -least, must have shrivelled up to nursable dimensions; and as the child, -when he philosophizes, knows nothing of miraculous or cataclasmic -changes, he naturally supposes that this shrivelling up is gradual like -that of flowers and other things when they fade.[50] - ------ - -Footnote 50: - - Perhaps, too, our way of playfully calling children little old men and - women favours the supposition that they are old people turned young - again. - ------ - -I am disposed to think, then, that in this idea of senile shrinkage we -have one of the most interesting and convincing examples of a child’s -philosophizing, of his impulse to reflect on what he sees and hears -about with a view to systematise. Yet the matter requires further -observation. Is it thoughtful, intelligent children, who excogitate this -idea? Would it be possible to get the child’s own explanation of it -before he has completely outgrown it?[51] - ------ - -Footnote 51: - - Egger quotes a remark of a little girl: “I shall carry Emile (her - older brother) when he gets little”. This may, as Egger suggests, have - been merely a confusion of the conditional and the future. But the - idea about old people’s shrinking cannot be dismissed in this summary - way (see Perez, _First Three Years of Childhood_, p. 224). - ------ - -The origin of babies and young animals furnishes the small brain, as we -have seen, with much food for speculation. Here the little thinker is -not often left to excogitate a theory for himself. His inconvenient -questionings in this direction have to be firmly checked, and various -and truly wonderful are the ways in which the nurse and the mother are -wont to do this. Any fiction is supposed to be good enough for the -purpose. Divine action, as remarked above, is commonly called in, the -questioner being told that the baby has been sent down from heaven in -the arms of an angel and so forth. Fairy stories with their pretty -conceits, as that of the child Thumbkin growing out of a flower in Hans -Andersen’s book, contribute their suggestions, and so there arises a -mass of child-lore about babies in which we can see that the main ideas -are supplied by others, though now and again we catch a glimpse of the -child’s own contributions. Thus according to Stanley Hall’s report the -Boston children said, among other things, that God makes babies in -heaven, lets them down or drops them for the women and doctors to catch -them, or that he brings them down a wooden ladder backwards and pulls it -up again, or that mamma, nurse or doctor goes up and fetches them in a -balloon. They are said by some to grow in cabbages or to be placed by -God in water, perhaps in the sewer, where they are found by the doctor, -who takes them to sick folks that want them. Here we have delicious -touches of childish fancy, quaint adaptations of fairy and Bible lore, -as in the use of Jacob’s ladder and of the legend of Moses placed among -the bulrushes, this last being enriched by the thorough master-stroke of -child-genius, the idea of the dark, mysterious, wonder-producing sewer. -In spite too of all that others do to impress the traditional notions of -the nursery here, we find that a child will now and again think out the -whole subject for himself. The little boy C. is not the only one I find -who is of the opinion that babies are got at a shop. Another little boy, -I am informed, once asked his mamma in the abrupt childish manner, -“Mamma, vere did Tommy (his own name) tum (come) from?” and then with -the equally childish way of sparing you the trouble of answering his -question, himself observed, quite to his own satisfaction, “Mamma did -tie (buy) Tommy in a s’op (shop)”. Another child, seeing the -announcement “Families Supplied” in a grocer’s shop, begged his mother -to get him a baby. This looks like a real childish idea. To the young -imagination the shop is a veritable wonderland, an Eldorado of -valuables, and it appears quite reasonable to the childish intelligence -that babies like dolls and other treasures should be procurable there. - -The ideas partly communicated by others, partly thought out for -themselves are carried over into the beginnings of animal life. Thus, as -we have seen, one little boy supposed that God helps pussy to have -“’ickle kitties,” seeing that she hasn’t any kitties in eggs given her -to sit upon. - - - _Psychological Ideas._ - -We may now pass to some of the characteristic modes of child-thought -about that standing mystery, the self. As our discussion of the child’s -ideas of origin, growth and final shrinkage suggests, a good deal of his -most earnest thinking is devoted to problems relating to himself. - -The date of the first thought about self, of the first dim stage of -self-awareness, probably varies considerably in the case of different -children according to rapidity of mental development and circumstances. -The little girl, who was afterwards to be known as George Sand, may be -supposed to have had an exceptional development; and the accident of -infancy to which she refers as having aroused the earliest form of -self-consciousness was, of course, exceptional too. There are probably -many robust and dull children, knowing little of life’s misery, and -allowed in general to have their own way, who have but little more of -self-consciousness than that, say, of a young, well-favoured porker. - -The earliest idea of self seems to be obtained by the child through an -examination by the senses of touch and sight of his own body. A child -has been observed to study his fingers attentively in the fourth and -fifth month, and this scrutiny goes on all through the second year and -even into the third.[52] Children seem to be impressed quite early by -the fact that in laying hold of a part of the body with the hand they -get a different kind of experience from that which they obtain when they -grasp a foreign object. Through these self-graspings, self-strikings, -self-bitings, aided by the very varied, and often extremely disagreeable -operations of the nurse and others on the surface of their bodies, they -probably reach during the first year the idea that their body is -different from all other things, is ‘me’ in the sense that it is the -living seat of pain and pleasure. The growing power of movement of limb, -especially when the crawling stage is reached, gives a special -significance to the body as that which can be moved, and by the -movements of which interesting and highly impressive changes in the -environment, _e.g._, bangs and other noises, can be produced. - ------ - -Footnote 52: - - For the facts see Preyer, _op. cit._, cap. xxii.; Tracy, _The - Psychology of Childhood_, p. 47. - ------ - -It is probable that the first ideas of the bodily self are ill-defined. -It is evident that the head and face are not known at first as a -_visible_ object. The upper limbs by their movement across the field of -vision would come in for the special notice of the eye. We know that the -baby is at an early date wont to watch its hands. The lower limbs, -moreover, seem to receive special attention from the exploring and -examining hand. - -There is some reason to think, however, that in spite of these -advantages, the limbs form a less integral and essential part of the -bodily self than the trunk. A child in his second year was observed to -bite his own finger till he cried with pain. He could hardly have known -it as a part of his sensitive body. Preyer tells us of a boy of nineteen -months who when asked to give his foot seized it with both hands and -tried to hand it over. A like facility in casting off from the self or -alienating the limbs is illustrated in a story in the Worcester -Collection of a child of three and a half years who on finding his feet -stained by some new stockings observed: “Oh, mamma! these ain’t my feet, -these ain’t the feet I had this morning”. This readiness to detach the -limbs shows itself still more plainly in the boy C.’s complaining when -in bed and trying to wriggle into a snug position that his legs came in -the way of himself. Here the legs seem to be half transformed into -foreign persons; and this tendency to personify the limbs seems to be -further illustrated in Laura Bridgman’s pastime of spelling a word -wrongly with one hand and then slapping that hand with the other. - -Why, it may be asked, should a child attach this supreme importance to -the trunk, when his limbs are always forcing themselves on his notice by -their movements, and when he is so deeply interested in them as the -parts of the body which do things? I suspect that the principal reason -is that a child soon learns to connect with the trunk the recurrent and -most impressive of his feelings of comfort and discomfort, such as -hunger, thirst, stomachic pains and the corresponding reliefs. We know -that the “vital sense” forms the sensuous basis of self-consciousness in -the adult, and it is only reasonable to suppose that in the first years -of life, when it fills so large a place in the consciousness, it has -most to do with determining the idea of the sentient or feeling body. -Afterwards the observation of maimed men and animals would confirm the -idea that the trunk is the seat and essential portion of the living -body. The language of others too by identifying ‘body’ and ‘trunk’ would -strengthen the tendency. - -About this interesting trunk-body, what is inside it, and how it works, -the child speculates vastly. References to the making of bone, the work -of the stomach, and so forth have to be understood somehow. It would be -interesting to get at a child’s unadulterated view of his anatomy and -physiology. The Worcester Collection illustrates what funny ideas a -child can entertain of the mechanism of his body. A little girl between -five and six thought it was the little hairs coming against the lids -which made her sleepy. - -At a later stage of the child’s development, no doubt, when he comes to -form the idea of a conscious thinking ‘I,’ the head will become a -principal portion of the bodily self. In the evolution of the self-idea -in the race, too, we find that the soul was lodged in the trunk long -before it was assigned a seat in the head. As may be seen in C.’s case -children are quite capable of finding their way, partly at least, to the -idea that the soul has its lodgment in the head. But it is long before -this thought grows clear. This may be seen in children’s talk, as when a -girl of four spoke of her dolly as having no sense in her _eyes_. Even -when a child learns from others that we think with our brains he goes on -supposing that our thoughts travel down to the mouth when we speak. - -Very interesting in connexion with the first stages of development of -the idea of self is the experience of the mirror. It would be absurd to -expect a child when first placed before a mirror to recognise his own -face. He will smile at the reflexion as early as the tenth week, though -this is probably merely an expression of pleasure at the sight of a -bright object. If held in the nurse’s or father’s arms to a glass when -about six months old a baby will at once show that he recognises the -image of the familiar face of the latter by turning round to the real -face, whereas he does not recognise his own. He appears at first and for -some months to take it for a real object, sometimes smiling to it as to -a stranger and even kissing it, or, as in the case of a little girl -(fifteen months old), offering it things and saying ‘Ta’ (sign of -acceptance). In many cases curiosity prompts to an attempt to grasp the -mirror-figure with the hand, to turn up the glass, or to put the hand -behind it in order to see what is really there. This is very much like -the behaviour of monkeys before a mirror, as described by Darwin and -others. Little by little the child gets used to the reflexion, and then -by noting certain agreements between his bodily self and the image, as -the movement of his hands when he points, and partly, too, by a kind of -inference of analogy from the doubling of other things by the mirror, he -reaches the idea that the reflexion belongs to himself. By the sixtieth -week Preyer’s boy had associated the name of his mother with her image, -pointing to it when asked where she was. By the twenty-first month he -did the same thing in the case of his own image.[53] - ------ - -Footnote 53: - - See the very full account of the mirror experiment in Preyer’s book, - p. 459 _seq._ - ------ - -An infant will, we know, take a shadow to be a real object and try to -touch it. Some children on noticing their own and other people’s shadows -on the wall are afraid as at something uncanny. Here, too, in time the -strange phenomenon is taken as a matter of course and referred to the -sun. - -We are told that the phenomena of reflexions and shadows, along with -those of dreams, had much to do with the development, in the early -thought of the race, of the animistic conception that everything has a -double nature and existence. Do children form similar ideas? We can see -from the autobiography of George Sand how a clever girl, reflecting on -the impressive experience of the echo, excogitates such a theory of her -double existence; and we know, too, that the boy Hartley Coleridge -distinguished among the ‘Hartleys’ a picture Hartley and a shadow -Hartley. C.’s biography suggests that being photographed may appear to a -child as a transmutation, if not a doubling, of the self. But much more -needs to be known about these matters. - -The prominence of the bodily pictorial element in the child’s first idea -of self is seen in the tendency to restrict personal identity within the -limits of an unchanged bodily appearance. The child of six, with his -shock of curls, refuses to believe that he is the same as the hairless -baby whose photograph the mother shows him. How different, how new, a -being a child feels on a Sunday morning after the extra weekly cleansing -and brushing and draping. The bodily appearance is a very big slice of -the content of most people’s self-consciousness, and to the child it is -almost everything. - -But in time the conscious self, which thinks and suffers and wills, -comes to be dimly discerned. I believe that a real advance towards this -true self-consciousness is marked by the appropriation and use of the -difficult forms of language, ‘I,’ ‘me,’ ‘mine’. This will be dealt with -in another essay. - -Sometimes the apprehension of the existence of a hidden self distinct -from the body comes as a sudden revelation, as to little George Sand. -Such a swift awakening of self-consciousness is apt to be an -epoch-making and memorable moment in the history of the child. - -A father sends me the following notes on the development of -self-consciousness: “My girl, three years old, makes an extraordinary -distinction between her body and herself. Lying in bed she shut her eyes -and said: ‘Mother, you can’t see me now’. The mother replied: ‘Oh, you -little goose, I can see you but you can’t see me’. To which she -rejoined: ‘Oh, yes, I know you can see _my body_, mother, but you can’t -see _me_’.” The same child about the same time was concerned about the -reality of her own existence. One day playing with her dolls she asked -her mother: “Mother, am _I_ real, or only a pretend like my dolls?” Here -again, it is plain, the emphasis was laid on something non-corporeal, -something that animated the body, and not a mere bit of mechanism put -inside it. Two years later she showed a still finer intellectual -differentiation of the visible and the invisible self. Her brother -happened to ask her what they fed the bears on at the Zoo. She answered -impulsively: “Dead babies and that sort of thing”. On this the mother -interposed: “Why, F., you don’t think mothers would give their dead -babies to the animals?” To this she replied: “Why not, mother? It’s only -their bodies. I shouldn’t mind your giving mine.” This contempt for the -body is an excellent example of the way in which a child when he gets -hold of an idea pushes it to its logical extreme. This little girl -by-the-bye was she who, about the same age, took compassion on the poor -autumn leaves dying on the ground, so that we may suppose her mind to -have been brooding at this time on the conscious side of existence. - -The mystery of self-existence has probably been a puzzle to many a -thoughtful child. A lady, a well-known writer of fiction, sends me the -following recollection of her early thought on this subject: “The -existence of other people seemed natural: it was the ‘I’ that seemed so -strange to me. That I should be able to perceive, to think, to cause -other people to act, seemed to me quite to be expected, but the power of -feeling and acting and moving about myself, under the guidance of some -internal self, amazed me continually.” - -It is of course hard to say how exactly the child thinks about this -inner self. It seems to me probable that, allowing for the great -differences in reflective power, children in general, like uncivilised -races, tend to materialise it, thinking of it dimly as a film-like -shadow-like likeness of the visible self. The problem is complicated for -the child’s consciousness by religious instruction with its idea of an -undying soul. - -As may be seen in the recollections just quoted, this early thought -about self is greatly occupied with its action on the body. Among the -many things that puzzled the much-questioning little lad already -frequently quoted was this: “How do my thoughts come down from my brain -to my mouth: and how does my spirit make my legs walk?” C.’s sister when -four years and ten months old wanted to know how it is we can move our -arm and keep it still when we want to, while the curtain can’t move -except somebody moves it. The first attempts to solve the puzzle are of -course materialistic, as may be seen in our little questioner’s -delightful notion of thoughts travelling through the body. This form of -materialism, however, I find surviving in grown-ups and even in students -of psychology, who are rather fond of talking about sensations -travelling up the nerves to the brain. - -Very curious are the directions of the first thought about the past -self. The idea of personal identity, so dear to philosophers, does not -appear to be fully reached at first. On the contrary, as we shall see in -the case of C., the past self is divorced from the present under the -image of the opposite sex in the odd expression: “when I was a little -girl”. This probably illustrates the importance of the bodily appearance -as a factor in the self, for C. had, I believe, been photographed when -in the petticoat stage, and no doubt looked back on this person in -skirts as a girl. This is borne out by the fact that another little boy -when about three and a half years old asked his mother: “Was I a girl -when I was small?” and that the little questioner whom I have called our -zoologist was also accustomed to say: “When I was a ’ickle dirl (girl)”. -But discarded petticoats do not explain all the child’s ideas about his -past self. This same little zoologist would also say, “When I was a big -man,” to describe the state of things long, long ago. What does this -mean? In discussing the quaint idea of senile shrinkage I have suggested -that a child may think of human existence as a series of transformations -from littleness to bigness, and the reverse, and here we have lighted on -another apparent evidence of it. For though we are apt to call children -‘old men’ we do not suggest to them that they are or have been big men. - -The difficulty to the child of conceiving of his remote past, is -surpassed by that of trying to understand the state of things before he -was born. The true mystery of birth for the child, the mystery which -fascinates and holds his mind, is that of his beginning to be. This is -illustrated in C.’s question: “Where was I a hundred years ago? Where -was I before I was born?” It remains a mystery for all of us, only that -after a time we are wont to put it aside. The child, on the other hand, -is stung, so to say, by the puzzle, his whole mind being roused to -passionate questioning. - -It is curious to note the differences in the attitude of children’s -minds towards the mystery. The small person accustomed to petting, to be -made the centre of others’ thought and action, may be struck with the -blank in the common home life before his arrival. A lady was talking to -her little girl H., aged three years, about something she had done when -she was a child. H. then wanted to know what she was doing then, and was -told by her mother: “Oh, you were not here at all”. She seemed quite -amazed at this, and said: “And what did you do without H.? Did you cry -all day for her?” On being informed that this was not the case, she -seemed quite unable to realise how her mother could have existed without -her. There is something of the charming egoism of the child here, but -there is more: there is the vague expression of the unifying integrating -work of love. Lovers, one is told, are wont to think in the same way -about the past before they met, and became all in all to one another. -For this little girl with her strong sense of human attachment, the idea -of a real life without that which gave it warmth and gladness was a -contradiction. - -Sometimes again, in the more metaphysical sort of child, the puzzle -relates to the past existence of the outer world. We have all been -perplexed by the thought of the earth and sky, and other folk existing -before we were, and going on to exist after we cease to be; though here -again, save in the case of the philosopher perhaps, we get used to the -puzzle. Children may be deeply impressed with this apparent -contradiction. Jean Ingelow in her interesting reminiscences thus writes -of her puzzlings on this head: "I went through a world of cogitation as -to whether it was really true that anything had been and lived before I -was there to see it.... I could think there might have been some day -when I was very little—as small as the most tiny pebble on the road—but -not to have been at all was so very hard to believe." A little boy of -five who was rather given to saying ‘clever’ things, was one day asked -by a visitor, who thought to rebuke what she took to be his conceit: -“Why, M., however did the world go round before you came into it?” M. at -once replied: “Why, it _didn’t_ go round. It only began five years ago.” -Was this, as perhaps nine persons out of ten would say, merely a bit of -dialectic smartness, the evasion of an awkward question by denying the -assumed fact? I am disposed to think that there was more, that the -virtuous intention of the visitor had chanced to discover a hidden -child-thought; for the child is naturally a Berkeleyan, in so far at -least that for him the reality of things is reality for his own -sense-perceptions. A world existent before he was on the spot to see it, -seems to the child’s intelligence a contradiction. - -A child will sometimes use theological ideas as an escape from this -puzzle. The myth of babies being brought down from heaven is -particularly helpful. The quick young intelligence sees in this pretty -idea a way of prolonging existence backwards. The same little boy that -was so concerned to know what his mother had done without him, happened -one day to be passing a street pump with his mother, when he stopped and -observed with perfect gravity: “There are no pumps in heaven where I -came from”. He had evidently thought out the legend of the God-sent baby -to its logical consequences. - -Children appear to have very vague ideas about time. Their minds cannot -at first of course rise to the abstraction, time, or duration, or to its -measured portions, as a day. They talk about the days as if they were -things. Thus to-day, yesterday, and to-morrow, which, as we may see in -C.’s way of talking about time, are used very vaguely for present, past -and future, are spoken of as things which move. A girl of four asked: -‘Where is yesterday gone to?’ and ‘Where will to-morrow come from?’ The -boy C. as well as other children, as we saw, asked where all the days go -to. Such expressions may of course be figurative, a child having no -other way of describing the sequence yesterday and to-day, to-day and -to-morrow; yet I am disposed to think that these are examples of the -child’s ‘concretism,’ his reduction of our abstractions to living -realities.[54] - ------ - -Footnote 54: - - A child quoted by P. Lombroso thought of a year as a round thing - having the different festivals on it, and bringing these round in due - order by its rotation (_op. cit._, p. 49). - ------ - -It is equally noticeable that children have no adequate mental -representations of our time-measurements. As in the case of space, so in -that of time their standard is not ours: an hour, say the first morning -at school, may seem an eternity to a child’s consciousness. The days, -the months, the years seem to fly faster and faster as we get older. On -the other hand, as in the case of space-judgments, too, the child -through his inability to represent time on a large scale is apt to bring -the past too near the present. Mothers and young teachers would be -surprised if they knew how children interpreted their first historical -instruction introduced by the common phrase, ‘Many years ago,’ or -similar expression. A child of six years when crossing the Red Sea asked -to be shown Pharaoh and his hosts. This looks like the effect of a vivid -imagination of the scene, which even in grown people may beget an -expectation of seeing it here and now. The following anecdote of a boy -of five and a half years sent me by his aunt more clearly illustrates a -child’s idea of the historical past. “H. was beginning to have English -history read to him and had got past the ‘Romans’ as he said. One day he -noticed a locket on my watch-chain, and desired that it should be -opened. It contained the hair of two babies both dead long before. He -asked about them. I told him they died before I was born. ‘Did father -know them?’ he asked. ‘No, they died before _he_ was born.’ ‘Then who -knew them and when did they live?’ he asked, and as I hesitated for a -moment, seeking how to make the matter plain, ‘Was it in the time of the -Romans?’ he gravely asked.” The odd-looking historical perspective here -was quite natural. He had to localise the babies’ existence somewhere, -and he could only do it conjecturally by reference to the one far-off -time of which he had heard, and which presumably covered all that was -before the life-time of himself and of those about him. - - - _Theological Ideas._ - -We may now pass to another group of children’s ideas, a group already -alluded to, those which have to do with the invisible world, with death -and what follows this—God and heaven. Here we find an odd patchwork of -thought, the patchwork-look being due to the heterogeneous sources of -the child’s information, his own observations of the visible world on -the one hand, and the ideas supplied him by what is called religious -instruction on the other. The characteristic activity of the child-mind, -so far as we can disengage it, is seen in the attempt to co-ordinate the -disparate and seemingly contradictory ideas into something like a -coherent system. - -Like the beginning of life, its termination, death, is one of the -recurring puzzles of childhood. This might be illustrated from almost -any autobiographical reminiscences of childhood. Here indeed the -mystery, as may be seen in C.’s case, is made the more impressive and -recurrent to consciousness by the element of dread. A little girl of -three and a half years asked her mother to put a great stone on her -head, because she did not want to die. She was asked how a stone would -prevent it, and answered with perfect childish logic: “Because I shall -not grow tall if you put a great stone on my head; and people who grow -tall get old and then die”. - -Death seems to be thought of by the unsophisticated child as the body -reduced to a motionless state, devoid of breath and unable any longer to -feel or think. This is the idea suggested by the sight of dead animals, -which but few children, however closely shielded, can escape. - -The first way of envisaging death seems to be as a temporary state like -sleep, which it so closely resembles. A little boy of two and a half -years, on hearing from his mother of the death of a lady friend, at once -asked: “Will Mrs. P. still be dead when we go back to London?” - -The knowledge of burial gives a new and terrible turn to his idea of -death. He now begins to speculate much about the grave. The instinctive -tendency to carry over the idea of life and sentience to the buried body -is illustrated in C.’s fear lest the earth should be put over his eyes. -The following observation from the Worcester Collection illustrates the -same tendency. “A few days ago H. (aged four years four months) came to -me and said: ‘Did you know they’d taken Deacon W. to Grafton?’ I. ‘Yes.’ -H. ‘Well, I s’pose it’s the best thing. His folks (meaning his children) -are buried there, and they wouldn’t know he was dead if he was buried -here.’” This reversion to savage notions of the dead in speaking of a -Christian deacon has a certain grim humour. All thoughts of heaven were -here forgotten in the absorbing interest in the fate of the body. - -Do children when left to themselves work out a theory of another life, -that of the soul away from the dead deserted body? It is of course -difficult to say, all children receiving some instruction at least of a -religious character respecting the future. One of the clearest -approaches to spontaneous child-thought that I have met with here is -supplied by the account of the Boston children. "Many children (writes -Professor Stanley Hall) locate all that is good and imperfectly known in -the country, and nearly a dozen volunteered the statement that good -people when they die go to the country—even here from Boston." The -reference to good people shows that the children are here trying to give -concrete definiteness to something that has been said by another. These -children had not, one suspects, received much systematic religious -instruction. They had perhaps gathered in a casual way the information -that good people when they die are to go to a nice place. Children pick -up much from the talk of their better-instructed companions which they -only half understand. In any case it is interesting to note that they -placed their heaven in the country, the unknown beautiful region, where -all sorts of luxuries grow. One is reminded of the idea of the happy -hunting grounds to which the American Indian consigns his dead chief. It -would have been interesting to examine these Boston children as to how -they combined this belief in going to the country with the burial of the -body in the city. - -In the case of children who pick up something of the orthodox religious -creed the idea of going to heaven has somehow to be grasped and put side -by side with that of burial. How the child-mind behaves here it is hard -to say. It is probable that there are many comfortable and stupid -children who are not troubled by any appearance of contradiction. As we -saw in the remark of the American child about the deacon, the child-mind -may oscillate between the native idea that the man lives on in a sense -underground, and the alien idea that he has passed into heaven. Yet -undoubtedly the more thoughtful kind of child does try to bring the two -ideas into agreement. The boy C. attempted to do this first of all by -supposing that the people who went to heaven (the good) were not buried -at all; and later by postponing the going to heaven, the true entrance -being that of the body by way of the tomb. Other ways of getting a -consistent view of things are also hit upon. Thus a little girl of five -years thought that the _head_ only passed to heaven. This was no doubt a -way of understanding the communication from others that the ‘body’ is -buried. This inference is borne out by another story of a boy of four -and a half who asked how much of his legs would have to be cut off when -he was buried. The legs were not the ‘body’. But the idea of the head -passing to heaven meant more than this. It pretty certainly involved a -localisation of the soul in the crown of the body, and it may possibly -have been helped by pictures of cherub heads. Sometimes this process of -child-thought reflects that of early human thought, as when a little boy -of six said that God took the breath to heaven (_cf._ the ideas -underlying _spiritus_ and πνεῦμα). - -In what precise manner children imagine the entrance into heaven to take -place I do not feel certain. The legend of being borne by angels through -the air probably assists here. As we have seen, children tend to think -of people when they die as shrinking back to baby-dimensions so as to be -carried in the angels’ arms. - -The idea of people going to heaven is, as we know, pushed by the little -brain to its logical consequences. Animals when they die pass to another -place also. A boy three years and nine months asked whether birds, -insects, and so forth go to heaven where people go when they die. Yet a -materialistic tendency shows itself here, especially in connexion with -the observation that animals are eaten. A little American boy in his -fifth year was playing with a tadpole till it died. Immediately the -other tadpoles ate it up, and the child burst out crying. His elder -sister with the best of intentions tried to comfort him by saying: -‘Don’t cry, William, he’s gone to a better place’. To which rather -ill-timed assurance he retorted sceptically: ‘Are his brothers and -sisters’ stomachs a better place?’ - -Coming now to ideas of supernatural beings, it is to be noted that -children do not wholly depend for their conceptions of these on -religious or other instruction. The liveliness of their imagination and -their impulses of dread and trust push them on to a spontaneous creation -of invisible beings. In C.’s haunting belief in the wolf we see a sort -of survival of the tendency of the savage to people the unseen world -with monsters in the shape of demons. Another little boy of rather more -than two years who had received no religious instruction acquired a -similar haunting dread of ‘cocky,’ the name he had given to the cocks -and hens when in the country. He localised this evil thing in the -bathroom of the house, and he attributed pains in the stomach to the -malign influence of ‘cocky’.[55] Fear created the gods according to -Lucretius, and in this invention of evil beings bent on injuring him the -child of a modern civilised community may reproduce the process by which -man’s thoughts were first troubled by the apprehension of invisible and -supernatural agents. - ------ - -Footnote 55: - - See _Mind_, vol. xi., p. 149. - ------ - -On the other hand we find that the childish impulse to seek aid leads to -a belief in a more benign sort of being. C.’s staunch belief in his -fairies who could do the most wonderful things for him, and more -especially his invention of the rain-god (the “Rainer”), are a clear -illustration of the working of this impulse. - -Even here, of course, while we can detect the play of a spontaneous -impulse, we have to recognise the influence of instruction. C.’s -tutelary deities, the fairies, were no doubt _suggested_ by his fairy -stories; even though, as in the myth of the Rainer, we see how his -active little mind proceeded to work out the hints given him into quite -original shapes. This original adaptation shows itself on a large scale -where something like systematic religious instruction is supplied. An -intelligent child of four or five will in the laboratory of his mind -turn the ideas of God and the devil to strange account. It would be -interesting, if we could only get it, to have a collection of all the -hideous eerie forms by which the young imagination has endeavoured to -interpret the notion of the devil. His renderings of the idea of God -appear to show hardly less of picturesque diversity.[56] - ------ - -Footnote 56: - - According to Professor Earl Barnes, the Californian children seem to - occupy themselves but little with the devil and hell. See his - interesting paper, “Theological Life of a Californian Child,” - _Pedagogical Seminary_, ii., 3, p. 442 _seq._ - ------ - -It is to be noted at the outset that for the child’s intelligence the -ideas introduced by religious instruction at once graft themselves on to -those of fairy-lore. Mr. Spencer has somewhere ridiculed our university -type of education with its juxtaposition of classical polytheism and -Hebrew monotheism. One might, perhaps, with still greater reason, -satirise the mixing up of fairy-story and Bible-story in the instruction -of a child of five. Who can wonder that the little brain should throw -together all these wondrous invisible forms, and picture God as an angry -or amiable old giant, the angels as fairies and so forth? In George -Sand’s child-romance of _Corambé_ we see how far this blending of the -ideas of the two domains of the invisible world can be carried. - -For the rest, the child in his almost pathetic effort to catch the -meaning of this religious instruction proceeds in his characteristic -matter-of-fact way by reducing the abstruse symbols to terms of familiar -every-day experience. He has to understand and he can only understand by -assimilating to homely terrestrial facts. Hence the undisguised -materialism of the child’s theology. According to Stanley Hall’s -collection of observations, God was imaged by one child as a man -preternaturally big—a big blue man; by another as a huge being with -limbs spread all over the sky; by another as so immensely tall that he -could stand with one foot on the ground, and touch the clouds,—strong -like the giant, his prototype. He is commonly, in conformity with what -is told, supposed to dwell in heaven, that is just the other side of the -blue and white floor, the sky. He is so near the clouds that according -to one small boy (our little friend the zoologist) these are a sort of -pleasaunce, composed of hills and trees, which he has made to saunter -in. But some children are inventive even in respect of God’s -whereabouts. He has been regarded as inhabiting one of the stars. One of -Mr. Kratz’s children localised him ‘up in the moon,’ an idea which -probably owes something to observation of the man in the moon. We note, -too, a tendency to approximate heaven and earth, possibly in order to -account for God’s frequent presence and activity here. Thus one of Mr. -Kratz’s children said that God was “up on the hill,” and one little girl -of five was in the habit of climbing an old apple tree to visit him and -tell him what she wanted. - -Differences of feeling, as well as differences in the mode of -instruction and in intelligence, seem to reflect themselves in these -ideas of the divine dwelling-place. As we have seen, the childish -intelligence is apt to envisage God as a sort of grand lord with a house -or mansion. Two different tendencies show themselves in the thought -about this dwelling-place. On the one hand the feeling of childish -respect, which led a German girl of seven to address him in the polite -form, ‘Ich bitte Sie,’ leads to a beautifying of his house. According to -some of the Bostonian children he has birds, children, and Santa Claus -living with him. Others think of him as having a big park or pleasaunce -with trees, flowers, as well as birds. The children are perhaps our dead -people who in time will be sent back to earth. Whether the birds, that I -find come in again and again in the ideas of heaven, are dead birds, I -am not sure. While however there is this half-poetical adorning of God’s -palace, we see also a tendency to humanise it, to make it like our -familiar houses. This is quaintly illustrated in the following prayer of -a girl of seven whose grandfather had just died: “Please, God, grandpapa -has gone to you. Please take great care of him. Please always mind and -shut the door, because he can’t stand the draughts.” We see the same -leaning to homely conceptions in the question of a little girl of four: -‘Isn’t there a Mrs. God?’ - -While thus relegated to the sublime regions of the sky God is supposed -to be doing things, and of course doing them for us, sending down rain -and so forth. What seems to impress children most, especially boys, in -the traditional account of God is his power of making things. He is -emphatically the artificer, the demiurgos, who not only has made the -world, the stars, etc., but is still kept actively employed by human -needs. According to the Boston children he fabricates all sorts of -things from babies to money, and the angels work for him. The boy has a -great admiration for the maker, and our small zoologist when three years -and ten months old, on seeing a group of working men returning from -their work, asked his astonished mother: “Mamma, is these gods?” “God!” -retorted his mother, “why?” “Because,” he went on, “they makes houses, -and churches, mamma, same as God makes moons, and people, and ’ickle -dogs.” Another child watching a man repairing the telegraph wires that -rested on a high pole at the top of a lofty house, asked if he was God. -In this way the child is apt to think of God descending to earth in -order to make things. Indeed, in their prayers, children are wont to -summon God as a sort of good genius to do something difficult for them. -A boy of four and a half years was one day in the kitchen with his -mother, and would keep taking up the knives and using them. At last his -mother said: “L., you will cut your fingers, and if you do they won’t -grow again”. He thought for a minute and then said with a tone of deep -conviction: “But God would make them grow. He made _me_, so he could -mend my fingers, and if I were to cut the ends off I should say, ‘God, -God, come to your work,’ and he would say, ‘All right’.”[57] - ------ - -Footnote 57: - - To judge from a story for the truth of which I will not vouch children - will turn the devil to the same useful account. A little girl was - observed to write a letter and to bury it in the ground. The contents - ran something like this: "Dear Devil, please come and take aunt—soon, - I cannot stand her much longer". The burying is significant of the - devil’s dwelling-place. - ------ - -While this way of recognising God as the busy artificer is common, it is -not universal. The child’s deity, like the man’s (as Feuerbach showed), -is a projection of himself, and as there are lazy children, so there is -a child’s God who is a luxurious person sitting in a lovely arm-chair -all day, and at most putting out from heaven the moon and stars at -night. - -This admiration of God’s creative power is naturally accompanied by that -of his skill. A little boy once said to his mother he would like to go -to heaven to see Jesus. Asked why, he replied: “Oh! he’s a great -conjurer”. The child had shortly before seen some human conjuring and -used this experience in a thoroughly childish fashion by envisaging in a -new light the New Testament miracle-worker. - -The idea of God’s omniscience seems to come naturally to children. They -are in the way of looking up to older folks as possessing boundless -information. C.’s belief in the all-knowingness of the preacher, and his -sister’s belief in the all-knowingness of the policeman, show how -readily the child-mind falls in with the notion. - -On the other hand I have heard of the dogma of God’s infinite knowledge -provoking a sceptical attitude in the child-mind. This seems to be -suggested in a rather rude remark of a boy of four, bored by the long -Sunday discourse of his mother: “Mother, does God know when you are -going to stop?” Our astute little zoologist, when five years and seven -months old, in a talk with his mother, impiously sought to tone down the -doctrine of omniscience in this way: “I know a ’ickle more than Kitty, -and you know a ’ickle more than me; and God knows a ’ickle more than -you, I s’pose; then he can’t know so very much after all”. - -Another of the divine attributes does undoubtedly shock the childish -intelligence: I mean God’s omnipresence. It seems, indeed, amazing that -the so-called instructor of the child should talk to him almost in the -same breath about God’s inhabiting heaven, and about his being -everywhere present. Here, I think, we see most plainly the superiority -of the child’s mind to the adult’s, in that it does not let -contradictory ideas lie peacefully side by side, but makes them face one -another. To the child, as we have seen, God lives in the sky, though he -is quite capable of coming down to earth when he wishes or when he is -politely asked to do so. Hence he rejects the idea of a diffused -ubiquitous existence. The idea which is apt to be introduced early as a -moral instrument, that God can always see the child, is especially -resented by that small, sensitive, proud creature, to whom the -ever-following eyes of the portrait on the wall seem a persecution. Miss -Shinn, a careful American observer of children, has written strongly, -yet not too strongly, on the repugnance of the child-mind to this idea -of an ever-spying eye.[58] My observations fully confirm her conclusions -here. Miss Shinn speaks of a little girl, who, on learning that she was -under this constant surveillance, declared that she “would _not_ be so -tagged”. A little English boy of three, on being informed by his older -sister that God can see and watch us while we cannot see him, thought -awhile, and then in an apologetic tone said: “I’m very sorry, dear, I -can’t (b)elieve you”. What the sister, aged fifteen, thought of this is -not recorded. An American boy of five, learning that God was in the room -and could see even if the shutters were closed, said: “I know, it’s -jugglery”. - ------ - -Footnote 58: - - _Overland Monthly_, Jan., 1894, p. 12. - ------ - -When the idea is accepted odd devices are excogitated for the purpose of -making it intelligible. Thus one child thought of God as a very small -person who could easily pass through the keyhole. The idea of God’s huge -framework illustrated above is probably the result of an attempt to -figure the conception of omnipresence. Curious conclusions too are -sometimes drawn from the supposition. Thus a little girl of three years -and nine months one day said to her mother in the abrupt childish -manner: “Mr. C. (a gentleman she had known who had just died) is in this -room”. Her mother, naturally a good deal startled, answered: “Oh, no!” -Whereupon the child resumed: “Yes, he is. You told me he is with God, -and you told me God was everywhere, so as Mr. C. is with God he must be -in this room.” With such trenchant logic does the child’s intelligence -cut through the tangle of incongruous ideas which we try to pass off as -methodical instruction. - -It might easily be supposed that the child’s readiness to pray to God is -inconsistent with what has just been said. Yet I think there is no real -inconsistency. Children’s idea of prayer is, probably, that of sending a -message to some one at a distance. The epistolary manner noticeable in -many prayers seems to illustrate this.[59] The mysterious whispering is, -I suspect, supposed in some inscrutable fashion known only to the child -to transmit itself to the divine ear. - ------ - -Footnote 59: - - _Cf._ the story of writing a letter to the devil given above. - ------ - -Of the child’s belief in God’s goodness it is needless to say much. For -these little worshippers he is emphatically the friend in need who can -help them out of their difficulties in a hundred ways. Our small -zoologist thanked God for making “the sea, the holes with crabs in them, -and the trees, the fields, and the flowers,” and regretted that he did -not follow up the making of the animals we eat by doing the cooking -also. As their prayers show he is ever ready to make nice presents, from -a fine day to a toy-gun, and will do them any kindness if only they ask -prettily. Happy the reign of this untroubled optimism. For many -children, alas, it is all too short, the colour of their life making -them lose faith in all kindness, and think of God as cross and even as -cruel. - -One of the real difficulties of theology for the child’s intelligence is -the doctrine of God’s eternity. Puzzled at first with the fact of his -own beginning, he comes soon to be troubled with the idea of God’s -having had no beginning. C. showed a common trend of childish thought in -asking what God was like in his younger days. The question, “Who made -God?” seems to be one to which all inquiring young minds are led at a -certain stage of child-thought. The metaphysical impulse of the child to -follow back the chain of events _ad infinitum_ finds the ever-existent -unchanging God very much in the way. He wants to get behind this “always -was” of God’s existence, just as at an earlier stage of his development -he wanted to get behind the barrier of the blue hills. This is quaintly -illustrated in the reasoning of a child observed by M. Egger. Having -learnt from his mother that before the world there was only God the -Creator, he asked: “And before God?” The mother having replied, -“Nothing,” he at once interpreted her answer by saying: “No; there must -have been the place (_i.e._, the empty space) where God is”. So -determined is the little mind to get back to the ‘before,’ and to find -something, if only a prepared place. - -Other mysteries of which the child comes to hear find their -characteristic solution in the busy little brain. A friend tells me that -when a child he was much puzzled by the doctrine of the Trinity. He -happened to be an only child, and so he was led to put a meaning into it -by assimilating it to the family group, in which the Holy Ghost became -the mother. - -I have tried to show that children seek to bring meaning, and a -consistent meaning, into the jumble of communications about the unseen -world to which they are apt to be treated. I agree with Miss Shinn that -children about three and four are not disposed to theologise, and are -for the most part simply confused by the accounts of God which they -receive. Many of the less bright of these small minds may remain -untroubled by the incongruities lurking in the mixture of ideas, half -mythological or poetical, half theological, which is thus introduced. -Such children are no worse than many adults, who have a wonderful power -of entertaining contradictory ideas by keeping them safely apart in -separate chambers of their brain. The intelligent thoughtful child on -the other hand tries at least to reconcile and to combine in an -intelligible whole. His mind has not, like that of so many adults, -become habituated to the water-tight compartment arrangement, in which -there is no possibility of a leakage of ideas from one group into -another. Hence his puzzlings, his questionings, his brave attempts to -reduce the chaos to order. I think it is about time to ask whether -parents are doing wisely in thus adding to the perplexing problems of -early days. - - - - - V. - THE LITTLE LINGUIST. - - - _Prelinguistic Babblings._ - -No part of the life of a child appeals to us more powerfully perhaps -than the first use of our language. The small person’s first efforts in -linguistics win us by a certain graciousness, by the friendly impulse -they disclose to get mentally near us, to enter into the full fruition -of human intercourse. The difficulties, too, which we manage to lay upon -the young learner of our tongue, and the way in which he grapples with -these, lend a peculiar interest, half pathetic, half humorous, to this -field of infantile activity. To the scientific observer of infancy, -moreover, the noting of the stages in the acquisition of speech is of -the first importance. Language is sound moulded into definite forms and -so made vehicular of ideas; and we may best watch the unfoldings of -childish thought by attending to the way in which the word-sculptor -takes the plastic sound-material and works it into its picturesque -variety of shapes. - -A special biological and anthropological interest attaches to the -child’s first essays in the use of words. Language is that which most -obviously marks off human from animal intelligence. One of the most -interesting problems in the science of man’s origin and early -development is how he first acquired the power of using language-signs. -If we proceed on the biological principle that the development of the -individual represents in its main stages that of the race, we may expect -to find through the study of children’s use of language hints as to how -our race came by the invaluable endowment. How far it is reasonable to -expect from a study of nursery linguistics a complete explanation of the -process by which man became speechful, _homo articulans_, will appear -later on. But an examination of these linguistics ought surely to be of -some suggestive value here. - -While there is this peculiar scientific interest in the first -manifestations of the speech-faculty in the child, they are of a kind to -lend themselves particularly well to a methodic and exact observation. -Articulate sounds are sensible objects having well-defined characters -which may be accurately noted and described where the requisite fineness -of ear and quickness of perception are present. The difficulties are no -doubt great here: but they are precisely the difficulties to sharpen the -appetite of the true naturalist. Hence we need not wonder that early -articulation fills a large place in the naturalist’s observation of -infant life. Preyer, for example, devotes one of the three sections of -his well-known monograph to this subject, and gives us a careful and -elaborate account of the progress of articulation and of speech up to -the end of the period dealt with (first three years). - -Since these studies are especially concerned with the characteristics of -the child after language has been acquired I shall not enter into the -history of his rudimentary speech at any great length. At the same time, -since language is a realm of activity in which the child betrays -valuable characteristics long after the third year, it deserves a -special study in this volume. - -As everybody knows, long before the child begins to speak in the -conventional sense he produces sounds. These are at first cries and -wanting in the definiteness of true articulate sounds. Such cries are -expressive, that is, utterances of changing conditions of feeling, pain -and pleasure, and are also instinctive, springing out of certain -congenital nervous arrangements by which feeling acts upon the muscular -organs. This crying gradually differentiates itself into a rich variety -of expressions for hunger, cold, pain, joy and so forth, of which it is -safe to say that the majority of nurses and mothers have at best but a -very imperfect knowledge. - -These cries disclose from the first a germ of articulate sound, _viz._, -according to Preyer an approach to the vowel sounds _u_ (oo) and _ä_ -(Engl. _a_ in ‘made’). This articulate element becomes better defined -and more varied in the later cries, and serves in part to differentiate -them one from the other. Thus a difference of shade in the _a_ (in -‘ah’), difficult to describe, has been observed to mark off the cry of -pleasure and of pain. Along with this articulate sounds begin to appear -in periods of happy contentment under the form of infantile babbling or -‘la-la-ing’. Thus the child will bring out a string of _a_ and other -vowel sounds. In this baby-twittering the several vowel sounds of our -tongue become better distinguishable, and are strung together in queer -ways, as _ai-ā-au-â_. An attempt is made by Preyer and others to give -the precise order of the appearance of the several vowel sounds. It is -hardly to be expected that observers would agree upon a matter so -difficult to seize and to describe; and this is what we find.[60] After -allowing, however, for differences in the reading off, it seems probable -that there is a considerable diversity in the order of development in -the case of different children. This applies still more to the -appearance of the consonantal sounds which long before the end of the -sixth month become combined with the vowels into syllabic sounds, as -_pa_, _ma_, _mam_, and so forth. Thus, though the labials _b_, _p_, _m_, -seem to come first in most cases, they may be accompanied, if not -preceded, by others, as the back open sound _ch_ (in Scotch ‘loch’), or -(according to Preyer and others) by the corresponding voiced sound, the -hard _g_. Similarly, sounds as _l_ and _r_, which commonly appear late, -are said in some instances to occur quite early.[61] Attempts have been -made to show that the order of sounds here corresponds with that of -advancing physiological difficulty or amount of muscular effort -involved. Yet apart from the fact just touched on, that the order is not -uniform, it is very questionable whether the more common order obeys any -such simple physiological law. - ------ - -Footnote 60: - - See Preyer, _op. cit._, Cap. 20; _cf._ the account given by De la - Calle, Perez, _First Three Years_, p. 248. Stanley Hall observes that - the first vocalisation of the infant could hardly be classified even - with the help of Bell’s phonic notation or with a phonograph - (_Pedagogical Seminary_, i., p. 132). - ------ - -Footnote 61: - - Preyer’s boy first used consonants in the combinations _tahu_, _gö_, - (_rööö_ = the French _eu_), _op. cit._, p. 366; _cf._ Cap. 21. - ------ - -This primordial babbling is wonderfully rich and varied. According to -Preyer it contains most, if not all the sounds which are afterwards used -in speaking, and among these some which cause much difficulty later on. -It is thus a wondrous contrivance of nature by which the child is made -to rehearse months beforehand for the difficult performances of -articulate speech. It is a preliminary trying of the vocal instrument -throughout the whole of its register. - -Though nurses are apt to fancy that in this pretty babbling the infant -is talking to itself there is no reason to think that it amounts even to -a rudiment of true speech. To speak is to use a sound intentionally as -the sign of an idea. The babbling baby of five months cannot be supposed -to be connecting all these stray sounds with ideas, if indeed it can be -said to have as yet any definite ideas. The only signification which -this primitive articulation can have is emotional. Undoubtedly, as we -have seen, it grows out of expressive cries. Even the happy bubblings -over of vowel sounds as the child lies on his back and ‘crows,’ may be -said to be expressive of his happiness like the movements of arms and -legs which accompany it. Yet it would be an exaggeration to suppose that -the elaborate phonation is merely expressive, that all the manifold and -subtle changes of sound are due to obscure variations of feeling. - -The true explanation seems to be that the appearance of this infantile -babbling, just like that of the movements of the limbs which accompany -it, is the result of changes in the nervous system. As the centres of -vocalisation get developed, motor impulses begin to play on the muscles -of throat, larynx, and, later on, lips, tongue, etc., and in this way a -larger and larger variety of sound and sound-combination is produced. -Such phonation is commonly described as impulsive. It is instinctive, -that is to say, unlearnt, and due to congenital nervous connexions; and -at best it can only be said to express in its totality a mood or -relatively permanent state of feeling. - -As this impulsive articulation develops it becomes complicated by a -distinctly intentional element. The child hears the sounds he produces -and falls in love with them. From this moment he begins to go on -babbling for the pleasure it brings. We see the germ of such a -pleasure-seeking babbling in the protracted iterations of the same -sound. The first reduplications and serial iterations, _a-a_, _ma-ma_, -etc., may be due to physiological inertia, the mere tendency to move -along any track that happens to be struck, the very same tendency which -makes a prosy speaker go on repeating himself. At the same time there is -without doubt in these infantile iterations a rudiment of -self-imitation. That is to say, the child having produced a sound, as -_na_ or _am_, impulsively proceeds to repeat the performance in order to -obtain a renewal of the sound-effect. This renewed impulse may be -supposed further to bring with it a germ of the pleasure of iteration of -sound, or assonance. The addition of a simple rhythmic character to the -series of sounds is a further indication of its pleasure-seeking -character. Indeed we have in this infantile ‘la-la-ing’ more a rudiment -of song and music than of articulate speech. The rude vocal music of -savages consists of a similar rhythmic threading of meaningless sounds -in which as in this infantile song changes of feeling reflect -themselves. We may best describe this infantile babbling then as -voice-play and as rude spontaneous singing, the utterance of a mood, -indulged in for the sake of its own delight, and serving by a happy -arrangement of nature as a preliminary practice in the production of -articulate or linguistic sounds. - - - _Transition to Articulate Speech._ - -Let us now seek to understand how this undesigned trying of the -articulate instrument passes into true significant articulation, how -this speech-protoplasm develops into the organism that we call language. -And here the question at once arises: Does the child tend to utilise the -sounds thus acquired as signs apart from the influence of education, -that is to say, of the articulate sounds produced by others and -impressed as signs upon his attention? The question is not easy to -answer owing to the early development of the imitative impulse and to -the constant and all-pervading influence of education in the nursery. -Yet I will offer a tentative answer. - -That a child when he has reached a certain stage of intelligence would -be able to make use of signs quite apart from example and education is -what one might expect. Any one who has noticed how a young cat, -completely isolated from the influence of example, will spontaneously -hit on the gesture of touching the arm of a person sitting at a meal by -way of asking to be fed, cannot be surprised that children should prove -themselves capable of inventing signs. We know, too, that deaf-mutes -will, self-prompted, develop among themselves an elaborate system of -gesture-signs, and further express their feelings and desires by sounds, -which though not heard by themselves may be understood by others and so -serve as effective signs of their needs and wishes. The normal child, -too, in spite of the powerful influences which go to make him adopt as -signs the articulate sounds employed by others, shows a germ of -unprompted and original sign-making. The earliest of such unlearnt signs -are simple gesture-movements, such as stretching out the arms when the -child desires to be taken by the nurse.[62] Nobody has suggested that -these are learnt by imitation. The same is true of other familiar -gesture-movements, which appear towards the end of the first year or -later, as pulling your dress just as a dog does, when the child wants -you to go with him, touching the chair when he wants you to sit down, or -(as Darwin’s child did when just over a year) taking a bit of paper and -pointing to the fire by way of signifying his wish to see the paper -burnt. The gesture of pointing, though no doubt commonly aided by -example, is probably capable of being reached instinctively as an -outgrowth from the grasping movement. - ------ - -Footnote 62: - - The nature of gesture, its relation to language proper, and its - prevalence in infancy, among imbecile children, deaf-mutes, etc., are - discussed by Romanes, _Mental Evolution in Man_, chap. vi. - ------ - -These gesture-signs, I find, play a larger part in the case of children -who are backward in talking, and so are nearer the condition of the -deaf-mute. Thus a lady in sending me notes on her three children remarks -that the one who was particularly backward in his speech made a free use -of gesture-signs. When sixteen months old he had certain _general_ signs -of this sort, using a sniff as a sign of flower, and a mimic kiss as a -sign of living things, _i.e._, all sorts of animals.[63] - ------ - -Footnote 63: - - A charming example of pantomimic gesture on the part of a little girl - in describing to her father her first bath in the sea is given by - Romanes, _op. cit._, p. 220. - ------ - -Just as movements may thus be used instinctively, that is, without aid -from others’ example, both as expressing simple feelings and desires, -and also, as in the case just mentioned, as indicating ideas, so -spontaneously formed sounds may be used as signs. As pointed out above -the first self-prompted articulation is closely connected with feeling, -and we find that in the second half-year when the preliminary practice -has been gone through certain sounds take on a distinctly expressive -function. Thus one little boy when eight months old habitually used the -sound ‘ma-ma’ when miserable, and ‘da-da’ when pleased. Among these -instinctive expressive sounds one of the most important is that -indicative of hunger. I find again and again that a special sound is -marked off as a mode of expression or sign of this craving. This fact -will be referred to again presently. - -True language-sounds significant of things grow out of this spontaneous -expressive articulation. Thus the demonstrative sign _da_ which -accompanies the pointing, and which seems to be frequently used with -slight modifications by German as well as by English children, is -probably in its inception merely an interjectional expression of the -faint shock of wonder produced by the appearance in the visual field of -a new object. But used as a concomitant of the pointing gesture it takes -on a demonstrative or indicative function, announcing the presence or -arrival of an object in a particular locality or direction. A somewhat -similar case is that of ‘ata’ or ‘tata,’ a sign used to denote the -departure or disappearance of an object. These signs are, as Preyer -shows, spontaneous and not imitative (_e.g._, of ‘there’ (da), ‘all -gone’). This is confirmed by the fact that they vary greatly. Thus -Preyer’s boy used for “there” ‘da,’ ‘nda,’ ‘nta,’ etc., and for “all -gone” ‘atta,’ ‘f-tu,’ ‘tuff,’ etc. Again, Tiedemann’s boy used the sound -‘ah-ah,’ and one of Stanley Hall’s children the sound ‘eh,’ when -pointing to an object. We may conclude then that there are spontaneous -vocal reactions expressive of the contrasting mental states answering to -the appearance or arrival and the disappearance or departure of an -impressive and interesting object, and that, further, these reactions -when recognised by others tend to become fixed as linguistic signs.[64] - ------ - -Footnote 64: - - See Preyer, _op. cit._, pp. 353, 390, 391. - ------ - -Just as in the case of the gesture-movements, sniffing, kissing, so in -that of expressive vocal sounds we may see a tendency to take on the -function of true signs of ideas. One of the best illustrations of this -is to be found in the invention of a word-sound for things to eat. I -have pointed out that the state of hunger with its characteristic misery -becomes at an early stage marked off by a distinctive expressive sign. -At a later stage this or some other sound comes to be used intelligently -as a means of _asking_ for food. Darwin’s boy employed the sound _mum_ -in this way; another English child used ‘numby,’ and yet another ‘nini’; -a French child observed by M. Taine made use of ‘ham’. The predominance -of the labial _m_ shows the early formation of these quasi-linguistic -signs, and suggests that they were developed out of the primary -instinctive ‘_m_’ sound.[65] Such sounds, coming to be understood by the -nurse, tend to become fixed as modes of asking for food. - ------ - -Footnote 65: - - See the quotation from Lieber, in Taine’s _On Intelligence_, part ii., - book iv., chap. i. The sign for ‘I want to eat’ is in some cases - formed by a generalising process out of a sound supplied by another, - as the name of a particular edible. See the example given by Preyer, - _op. cit._, p. 362. - ------ - -It seems but a step from the demand ‘Give me food’ to the pointing out -or naming of things as food. And so good an observer as Darwin says that -his boy used the sound ‘mum’ not only for conveying the demand or -command ‘Give me food,’ but also as a substantive ‘food’ of wide -application. He later went on to erect a rudimentary classification on -the basis of this substantive, calling sugar ‘shu-mum’ and even breaking -up this subdivision by calling liquorice “black shu-mum”.[66] This -however seems, so far as I can ascertain, to be exceptional. In most -vocabularies of children of two or three no generic term for food is -found, though names for particular kinds of food, _e.g._, milk, bread, -are in use. This agrees with the general order of development of -thought-signs, the names of easily distinguished species appearing in -the case of the individual as in that of the race before those of -comprehensive and ‘abstract’ genera such as ‘food’. It is probable, -therefore, that these early signs for food are but imperfectly developed -into true thought-symbols or names. They retain much of their primordial -character as expressions of desire and possibly of the volitional state -answering to a command. This is borne out by the fact that the child -spoken of by Taine used the sound ‘tem’ as a sort of general imperative -for ‘give!’ ‘take!’ ‘look!’ etc.[67] - ------ - -Footnote 66: - - See _Mind_, vol. ii., p. 293. - -Footnote 67: - - See _Mind_, vol. ii., p. 255. - ------ - -Another early example of an emotional expression passing into a germinal -sign is that called forth at the sight of moving creatures. This acts as -a strong stimulus to the baby brain, and vigorous muscular reactions, -vocal and other, are wont to appear. One little boy of twelve and -three-quarter months usually expressed his excitement by the sound -“Dō-boo-boo,” which was used regularly for about ten days on the -appearance of a dog, a horse, a bird, and so forth. Here we have a -protoplasmic condition of the lingual organism which we call a name, a -condition destined never to pass into another and higher. Sometimes, -however, these explosives at the sight of animal life grow into -comparatively fixed signs of recognition. - -In this spontaneous invention of quasi-linguistic sounds imitation plays -a considerable part. It is evident, indeed, that gestures are largely -imitative. Thus the sniff and the mimic kiss referred to just now are -plainly imitations of movements. The pointing gesture, too, may be said -to be a kind of imitation of the reaching and appropriating movement of -the arm. The sound ‘dō-boo-boo’ used on seeing an animal was probably -imitative. According to Preyer the sounds called forth by the sight of -moving objects, _e.g._, rolling balls and wheels, are imitative.[68] -Whether the signs of hunger, ‘mum,’ ‘numby,’ are due to modifications of -the movements carried out in sucking, seems to be more problematic.[69] - ------ - -Footnote 68: - - _Op. cit._, p. 358. - -Footnote 69: - - A fact that appears to tell against imitation here is that one little - boy of seventeen months used the sound ‘did’n’ for anything to eat. - ------ - -In certain cases imitation is the one sufficient source of the sound. In -what are called onomatopoetic sounds the child seeks to mimic some -natural sound, and such imitation is capable of becoming a fruitful -source of original linguistic invention. A boy between nine and ten -months imitated the sound of young roosters by drawing in his breath, -and this noise became for a time a kind of name for any feathered -creature, including small birds. More commonly such onomatopoetic sounds -come to be distinctive recognition-signs of particular classes of -animals, such as ‘oua-oua’ or ‘bow-wow’ for the dog, ‘moo-moo’ for the -cow, ‘ouack-ouack’ or ‘kuack’ for the duck, and so forth. - -It may, of course, be said that these mimic sounds are in part learnt -from the traditional vocabulary of the nursery, in which the nurse takes -good care to instruct the child. But it is to be remembered that the -traditional nursery language itself is largely an adoption of children’s -own sounds. There is, moreover, ample independent evidence to show that -children are zealous and indefatigable imitators of the sounds they hear -as of the movements they see. Towards the end of the first six months -and during the second half-year a child is apt to imitate eagerly any -sound you choose to produce before him. In the case of Preyer’s boy this -impulse to repeat the sounds he heard developed into a kind of echoing -mania. The acquisition of others’ language plainly depends on the -existence and the vigour of this mimetic impulse. And this same impulse -leads the child beyond the servile adoption of our conventional sounds -to the invention of new or onomatopoetic sounds. Thus one little child -discovered the pretty sound ‘tin-tin’ as a name for the bell. Another -child, a girl, quite unprompted, used a chirping sound for a bird, and a -curious clicking noise on seeing the picture of a horse (no doubt in -imitation of the sound of a horse’s hoofs); while a little boy used a -faint whistle to indicate a bird, and the sound ‘click-click’ to denote -a horse. In some cases a grown-up person’s imitation of a sound is -imitated. Thus a child of about two used the sound ‘afta’ as a name for -drinking, and also for drinking-vessel, “in imitation of the sound of -sucking in air which the nurse used to make when _pretending to -drink_”.[70] - ------ - -Footnote 70: - - Quoted by Romanes, _Mental Evolution in Man_, p. 143. - ------ - -In these two sources of original child-language, expression of states of -feeling, desire, etc., and imitation, we have the two commonly assigned -origins of human language. Into the difficult question how man first -came to the use of language-sounds I do not propose to enter here. -Whatever view may be taken with respect to the first beginnings of human -speech, there seems little doubt that both expressive cries and -imitations of natural sounds have had their place. To this extent, then, -we may say that there is a parallelism between the early evolution of -language in the case of the individual and in that of the race. Not only -so, it may be said that our study of these tentatives of the child in -language-formation tends to confirm the conclusions of philology and -anthropology that the current of human speech did probably originate, in -main part at least, by way of these two tributaries.[71] - ------ - -Footnote 71: - - The concerted cries during co-operative work to which Noirée ascribes - the origin of language-sounds would seem, while having a special - physiological cause as concomitant and probably auxiliary motor - processes, to be analogous at least to emotional cries, in so far as - they spring out of a peculiar condition of feeling, that of effort. On - the other hand, as _concerted_ they came under the head of imitative - movements. So far as I can learn the nursery supplies no analogies to - these utterances. - ------ - -While vocal sounds which are clearly traceable to emotional expressions -or to imitations form the staple of the normal child’s inventions they -do not exhaust them. Some of these early self-prompted linguistic sounds -cannot be readily explained. I find, for example, that children are apt -to invent names for their nurses and sometimes for themselves which, so -far as I can ascertain, bear no discoverable resemblance to the sounds -used by others. Thus the same little girl that invented ‘numby’ for food -and ‘afta’ for drinking called her nurse ‘Lee’ though no one else called -her by any other name than ‘nurse’. It is difficult to suppose that the -child was transforming the sound ‘nurse’ in this case. Preyer’s boy -called his nurse, whom others addressed as Marie, ‘Wolá,’ which Preyer -explains rather forcedly as deriving by inversion from the frequently -heard ‘Ja wohl!’ A lady friend informs me that her little boy when -thirteen months old called himself ‘Bla-a,’ though he was always -addressed by others as Jeffrey, and that he stuck to ‘Bla-a’ for six -months.[72] A germ of imitation is doubtless recognisable here in the -preservation of the syllabic form or structure (that of monosyllable or -dissyllable). Yet the amount of transformation is, to say the least, -surprising in children, who show themselves capable of fairly close -imitation. Possibly a child’s ear notes analogies of sound which escape -our more sophisticated organ. However this be, the fact of such -origination of names (other than those clearly onomatopoetic) is -noteworthy. - ------ - -Footnote 72: - - His brother when one year old called his nurse, whose real name was - Maud, Bur, which was probably a rough rendering of ‘nurse’. - ------ - -Lastly a reference may be made to the fact that children have shown -themselves capable of inventing the rudiments of a simple kind of -language. Professor Horatio Hale of America has made a special study of -these spontaneous child-languages. One case is that of twin American -boys who when the talking age came employed not the English sounds that -they heard others speak but a language of their own. Another, and in -some ways more remarkable case, is that of a little girl who at the age -of two was backward in speaking, only using the names ‘papa’ and -‘mamma,’ and who, nevertheless, at that age, and in the first instance -without any stimulus or aid from a companion, proceeded to invent a -vocabulary and even simple sentence-forms of her own, which she -subsequently prevailed on an elder brother to use with her. The vocables -struck out, though suggesting some slight aural acquaintance with -French—which, however, was never spoken in her home—are apparently quite -arbitrary and not susceptible of explanation by imitation.[73] - ------ - -Footnote 73: - - For a summary of Professor Hale’s researches see Romanes, _Mental - Evolution in Man_, p. 138 ff. - ------ - -I think the facts here brought together testify to the originality of -the child in the field of linguistics. It may be said that in none of -these cases is the effect of education wholly absent. A child, as we all -know, is taught the names of objects and actions long before he can -articulate. Thus Darwin’s boy knew the name of his nurse five months -before he invented the vocable ‘mum’. It is obvious indeed that wherever -children are subjected to normal training their sign-making impulse is -stimulated by the example of others. At the same time the facts here -given show that the working of this impulse may, in a certain number of -children at least, strike out original lines of its own independently of -the direct action of example and education. What is wanted now is to -experiment carefully with an intelligent child, encouraging him to make -signs by patient attention and ready understanding, but at the same time -carefully abstaining from giving the lead or even taking up and adopting -the first utterances so as to bring in the influence of imitation. I -think there is little doubt that a child so situated might develop the -rudiments of a vocal language. The experiment would be difficult to -carry out, as it would mean the depriving of the child for a time of the -advantages of education.[74] - ------ - -Footnote 74: - - Of course, as Max Müller says (_The Science of Language_, i., p. 481 - f.), the facts ascertained do not prove that ‘infants _left to - themselves_ would invent a language’. The influence of example, the - appeal to the imitative impulse, has been at work before the - inventions appear. Yet they do, I think, show that they have the - sign-making instinct, and might develop this to some extent even were - the educative influence of others’ language removed. - ------ - - - _Beginnings of Linguistic Imitation._ - -The learning of the mother-tongue is one of the most instructive and, -one may add, the most entertaining chapters in the history of the -child’s education. The brave efforts to understand and follow, the -characteristic and quaint errors that often result, the frequent -outbursts of originality in bold attempts to enrich our vocabulary and -our linguistic forms—all this will repay the most serious study, while -it will provide ample amusement. - -As pointed out above the learning of the mother-tongue is essentially a -kind of imitation. The process is roughly as follows. The child hears a -particular sound used by another, and gradually associates it with the -object, the occurrence, the situation, along with which it again and -again presents itself. When this stage is reached he can understand the -word-sound as used by another though he cannot as yet use it. Later, by -a considerable interval, he learns to connect the particular sound with -the appropriate vocal action required for its production. As soon as -this connexion is formed his sign-making impulse imitatively -appropriates it by repeating it in circumstances similar to those in -which he has heard others employ it. - -The imitation of others’ articulate sounds begins, as already remarked, -very early and long before the sign-making impulse appropriates them as -true words. The impulse to imitate others’ movements seems first to come -into play about the end of the fourth month; and traces of imitative -movements of the mouth in articulation are said to have been observed in -certain cases about this time. But it is only in the second half-year -that the imitation of sounds becomes clearly marked. At first this -imitation is rather of tone, rise and fall of voice, and apportioning of -stress or accent than of articulate quality; but gradually the imitation -takes on a more definite and complete character.[75] - ------ - -Footnote 75: - - Preyer’s boy gave the first distinct imitative response to articulate - sound in the eleventh month. This is, so far as I can ascertain, - behind the average attainment. - ------ - -Towards the end of the year, in favourable cases, true linguistic -imitation commences. That is to say, word-sounds gathered from others -are used as such. Thus, a boy of ten months would correctly name his -mother, ‘Mamma,’ his aunt, ‘Addy’ (Aunty), and a person called Maggie, -‘Azzie’.[76] As already suggested, this imitative reproduction of -others’ words synchronises, roughly at least, with the first -onomatopoetic imitation of natural sounds. - ------ - -Footnote 76: - - Tracy, _The Psychology of Childhood_, p. 71. - ------ - - - _Transformations of our Words._ - -As is well known the first tentatives in the use of the common -speech-forms are very rough. The child in reproducing transforms, and -these transformations are often curious and sufficiently puzzling. - -The most obvious thing about these first infantile renderings of the -adult’s language is that they are a simplification. This applies to all -words alike. Monosyllables if involving a complex mass of sound are -usually reduced, as when ‘dance’ is shortened to ‘da’. This clearly -illustrates the difficulty of certain sound-combinations, a point to be -touched on presently. More striking is the habitual reduction of -dissyllables and polysyllables. Here we note that the child concentrates -his effort on the reproduction of a part only of the syllabic series, -which part he may of course give but very imperfectly. The shortening -tends to go to the length of reducing to a monosyllable. Thus ‘biscuit’ -becomes ‘bik,’ ‘Constance’ ‘tun,’ ‘candle’ ‘ka,’ ‘bread and butter’ -‘bup’ or ‘bŭ’. Polysyllables, though occasionally cut down to -monosyllables, as when ‘hippopotamus’ became ‘pots,’ are more frequently -reduced to dissyllables, as when ‘periwinkle’ was shortened to ‘pinkle’. -Handkerchief is a trying word for the English child, and for obvious -reasons has to be learnt. It was reduced by the eldest child of a family -to ‘hankish,’ by the two next to ‘hamfisch’ and by the last two to -‘hanky’. The little girl M. also reduced the last two syllables to -‘fish,’ making the sound ‘hanfish’. - -There seems to be no simple law governing these reductions of verbal -masses. The accentuated syllable, by exciting most attention, is -commonly the one reproduced, as when ‘nasturtium’ became ‘turtium’.[77] -In the case of long words the position of a syllable at the beginning or -at the end of the word seems to give an advantage in this competition of -sounds, the former by impressing the sound as the first heard (compare -the way in which we note and remember the initial sound of a name),[78] -the latter by impressing it as the last heard, and therefore best -retained. The unequal articulatory facility of the several -sound-combinations making up the word may also have an influence on this -unconscious selection. I think it not unlikely, too, that germs of a -kind of æsthetic preference for certain sounds as new, striking or fine, -may co-operate here.[79] - ------ - -Footnote 77: - - In the reduction of ‘Constance’ to ‘tun’ the same thing is seen, for - this child uniformly turned _k_’s into _t_’s. _Cf._ Preyer, _op. - cit._, p. 397. - -Footnote 78: - - It has been pointed out to me by Dr. Postgate that the secondary - stress on the first syllable of English words over four syllables (and - some four-syllabled words) may assist in impressing the first - syllable. - -Footnote 79: - - Recent psychological experiments show that similar influences are at - work when a person attempts to repeat a long series of verbal sounds, - say ten or twelve nonsense syllables. Initial or final position or - accent may favour the reproduction of a member of such a series. - ------ - -Such simplification of words is from the first opposed, and tends in -time to be counteracted, by the growth of a feeling for their general -form as determined by the number of syllables, as well as the -distribution of stress and any accompanying alterations of tone or -pitch. The infant’s first imitations of the sounds ‘good-bye,’ ‘all -gone,’ and so forth, by couples which preserve hardly anything of the -articulatory character, though they indicate the syllabic form, position -of stress, and rising and falling inflection, illustrate the early -development of this feeling. Hence we find in general an attempt to -reproduce the number of syllables, and also to give the proper -distribution of stress. Thus ‘biscuit’ becomes ‘bítchic,’ ‘cellar’ -‘sítoo,’ ‘umbrella’ ‘nobélla,’ ‘elephant’ ‘étteno,’ or (by a German -child) ‘ewebón,’ ‘kangaroo’ ‘kógglegoo,’ ‘hippopotamus’ ‘ippenpótany,’ -and so forth.[80] - ------ - -Footnote 80: - - Here again we see a similarity between a child’s repetition of a name - heard, and an adult’s attempt to repeat a long series of syllabic - sounds. In the latter case also there is a general tendency to - preserve the length and rhythmic form of the whole series. - ------ - -As suggested above there goes from the first with the cutting down of -the syllabic series a considerable alteration of the single constituent -sounds. The vowel sounds are rarely omitted; yet they may be greatly -modified, and these modifications occur regularly enough to suggest that -the child finds certain nuances of vowel sounds comparatively hard to -reproduce. Thus the short _ă_ in hat, and the long _ī_ (ai), seem to be -acquired only after considerable practice.[81] But it is among the -consonants that most trouble arises. Many of these, as the sibilants or -‘hisses,’ _s_, _sh_, the various _l_ and _r_ sounds, the dentals, the -“point-teeth-open” _th_ and _dh_ (in ‘thin,’ ‘this’), the back or -guttural ‘stops,’ _i.e._, _k_ and hard _g_, and others as _j_ or soft -_g_ (as in ‘James,’ ‘gem’), appear, often at least, to cause difficulty -at the beginning of the speech period. With these must be reckoned such -combinations as _st_, _str_. - ------ - -Footnote 81: - - With the diphthong or glide _ī_ may be taken _oi_, which was first - mastered by the child M. at the age of two years three months. - ------ - -In many cases the difficult sounds are merely dropped. Thus ‘poor’ may -become ‘poo,’ ‘look’ ‘ook,’ ‘Schulter’ (German) ‘Ulter’. In the case of -awkward combinations this dropping is apt to be confined to the -difficult sound, provided, that is to say, the other is manageable -alone. Thus ‘dance’ becomes ‘dan,’ ‘trocken’ (German) becomes ‘tokko’. -More particularly _s_ and _sh_ are apt to be omitted before other -consonants. Thus ‘stair’ becomes ‘tair,’ ‘sneeze’ ‘neeze,’ ‘schneiden’ -(German) ‘neida,’ and so forth. - -Along with such lame omissions we have the more vigorous procedure of -substitutions. In certain cases there seems little if any kinship -between the sounds or the articulatory actions by which they are -produced. At the early stage more particularly almost any manageable -sound seems to do duty as substitute. The early-acquired labials, -including the labio-dental _f_ come in as serviceable ‘hacks’ at this -stage. What we call lisping is indeed exemplified in this class of -infantile substitutions. Children have been observed to say ‘fank’ for -‘thank’ and ‘mouf’ for ‘mouth,’ ‘feepy’ for ‘sleepy,’ ‘poofie’ for -‘pussy,’ ‘wiver’ for ‘river,’ ‘Bampe’ for ‘Lampe’ (German). The dentals, -too, _d_ and _t_, are turned to all kinds of vicarious service. Thus we -find ‘ribbon’ rendered by ‘dib,’ ‘gum’ by ‘dam,’ ‘Greete’ (German) by -‘Deete,’ ‘Gummi’ (German) by ‘Dummi,’ ‘cut’ by ‘tut,’ and ‘klopfen’ -(German) by ‘topfen’. Similarly ‘gee-gee’ (horse), which oddly enough -was first rendered by the child M. as ‘dee-gee,’ is altered to -‘dee-dee’. I find too that new sounds are apt to be put to this -miscellaneous use. Thus one child after learning the aspirate (_h_) at -two years not only brought it out with great emphasis in its proper -place but began to use it as a substitute for other and unmanageable -sounds. Thus he would say, ‘hie down on hofa’ for ‘lie down on sofa’. -The aspirate is further used in place of _sh_, as when ‘shake’ was -rendered by ‘hate,’ and of _st_, as when Preyer’s boy called ‘Stern’ -‘Hern’. In other cases we see that the little linguist is trying to get -as near as possible to the sound, and such approximations are an -interesting sign of progress. Thus in one case ‘chatterbox’ was rendered -by ‘jabberwock,’ in another case ‘dress’ by ‘desh,’ in another (Preyer’s -boy), ‘Tisch’ (German) by ‘Tiss’.[82] - ------ - -Footnote 82: - - I find according to the notes sent me that the sounds _s_ and _sh_ - develop unequally in the cases of different children. Some acquire - _s_, others _sh_ before the other. - ------ - -Besides omissions and substitution of sounds, occasional insertions are -said to occur. According to one set of observations _r_ may be inserted -after the broad _a_, as when ‘pocket’ was rendered by ‘barket’. A -cockney is apt to do the same, as when he talks of having a ‘barth’ -(bath). Yet this observation requires to be verified. - -These alterations of articulate sound by the child remind one of the -changes which the languages of communities undergo. We know, indeed, -that these changes are due to imperfect imitation by succeeding -generations of learners.[83] Hence we need not be surprised to find now -and again analogies between these nursery transformations and those of -words in the development of languages. In reproducing the sounds which -he hears a child often illustrates a law of adult phonetic change. Thus -changes within the same class of sounds, as the frequent alteration of -‘this’ into ‘dis,’ clearly correspond with those modifications -recognised in Grimm’s Law. So, too, the common substitution of a dental -for a guttural has its parallel in the changes of racial language.[84] -Nobody again can note the transformation of _n_ into _m_ before _f_ in -the form ‘hamfish’ for ‘handkerchief’ without thinking of the Greek -change of συν into συμ before β, and like changes. Philologists may -probably find many other parallels. One of them tells me that his little -girl, on rendering _sh_ by the guttural _h_, reproduced a change in -Spanish pronunciation. M. Egger compares a child’s rendering of ‘_tr_op’ -(French) by ‘_cr_op’ with the transformation of the Latin ‘_tr_emere’ -into ‘_cr_aindre’. - ------ - -Footnote 83: - - See Sweet, _History of English Sounds_, p. 15. - -Footnote 84: - - See Sievers, _Phonetik_, p. 230. - ------ - -I have assumed here that children’s defective reproduction of our verbal -sounds is the result of inability to produce certain sounds and not due -to the want of a discrimination of the sounds by the ear. This may seem -strange in the light of Preyer’s statement that the earlier impulsive -babbling includes most, if not all, of the sounds required later on for -articulation. This may turn out to be an exaggeration, yet there is no -doubt, I think, that certain sounds, including some as the initial _l_ -which are common in the earlier babbling stage, are not produced at the -beginning of the articulatory period. As the avoidance of these occurs -in all children alike it seems reasonable to infer that they involve -difficult muscular combinations in the articulatory organ. At the same -time it seems going too far to say, as Schultze does, that the order of -acquisition of sounds corresponds with the degree of difficulty. The -very variability of this order in the case of different children shows -that there is no such simple correspondence as this.[85] - ------ - -Footnote 85: - - _Cf._ Pollock, _Mind_, vi., p. 436, and Preyer, _op. cit._, p. 434. - ------ - -The explanation of those early omissions and alterations is probably a -rather complex matter. To begin with, the speech-organs of a child may -lose special aptitudes by the development of other and opposed -aptitudes. A friend of mine, a physiologist, tells me that his little -boy who said ‘ma-ma’ (but not ‘da-da’) at ten months lost at the age of -nineteen months the use of _m_, for which he regularly substituted _b_. -He suggests that the nasal sound _m_, though easy for a child in the -sucking stage and accustomed to close the lips, may become difficult -later on through the acquisition of open sounds. It is worth considering -whether this principle does not apply to other inabilities. This, -however, is a question for the science of phonetics. - -We must remember, further, that it is one thing to carry out an -articulatory movement as a child of nine months carries it out, -‘impulsively,’ through some congenitally arranged mode of exciting the -proper motor centre, another thing to carry it out volitionally, _i.e._, -in order to produce a desired result. This last means that the -sound-effect of the movement has been learned, that the image or -representation of it has been brought into definite connexion with a -particular impulse, _viz._, that of carrying out the required movement: -and this is now known to depend on the formation of some definite neural -connexion between the auditory and the motor regions of the -speech-centre. This process is clearly more complex than the first -instinctive utterance, and may be furthered or hindered by various -conditions. Thus a child’s own spontaneous babblings may not have -sufficed to impress a particular sound on the memory; in which case his -acquisition of it will be favoured or otherwise by the frequency with -which it is produced by others in his hearing. It is probable that -differences in the range and accuracy of production of sounds by nurse -and mother tell from the first. The differences observable in the order -of acquisition of sounds among children may be in part due to this, and -not merely to differences in the speech-organ. It is probable, too, that -children’s attention may be especially called to certain sounds or -sound-groups, either because of a preferential liking for the sounds -themselves, or because of a special need of them as useful names. M.’s -mother assures me that the child seemed to dislike particular sounds as -_j_, which she could and did occasionally pronounce, though she was -given to altering them.[86] Another lady writes that her boy at the age -of twenty-two months surprised her by suddenly bringing out the -combination ‘scissors’. He had just begun to use scissors in cutting up -paper, and so had acquired a practical interest in this sound-mass. - ------ - -Footnote 86: - - The same child, capriciously as it might look, would sometimes avoid - _y_, as in saying ‘esh’ for ‘yes,’ though she regularly used this - sound as a substitute for _l_, saying ‘yook’ for ‘look,’ and so on. - ------ - -We may now pass to another of the commonly recognised defects of early -articulation, _viz._, the transposition of sounds or metathesis. -Sometimes it is two contiguous sounds which are transposed, as when -‘star’ is rendered by ‘tsar’ and ‘spoon’ by ‘psoon’. Here the motive of -the change is evidently to facilitate the combination. We have a -parallel to this in the use of ‘aks’ (ax) for ‘ask,’ a transposition -which was not long since common enough in the West of England.[87] In -other transpositions sounds are shifted further from their place. Preyer -quotes a case in which there was a dislocation of vowel sounds, _viz._, -in the transformation of ‘bite’ (German) into ‘beti’.[88] Here there -seems to be no question of avoiding a difficult combination. Other -examples are the following: ‘hoogshur’ for ‘sugar’ (one of the first -noticed at the age of two); ‘mungar’ for ‘grandmamma,’ ‘punga’ for -‘grandpapa,’ and ‘natis’ for ‘nasty’ (boy between eighteen and -twenty-four months); and ‘boofitul’ for ‘beautiful’. Here again we have -an analogy to defective speech in adults. When a man is very tired he is -liable to precisely similar inversions of order. The explanation seems -to be that the right group of sounds may present itself to the speaker’s -consciousness without any clear apprehension of their temporal order. -Perhaps quasi-æsthetic preferences play a part here too. The child M. -seems to have preferred the sequence _m-n_ to _n-m_, saying ‘jaymen’ for -‘geranium’, ‘burman’ for ‘laburnum’. - ------ - -Footnote 87: - - See Sweet, _History of English Sounds_, p. 33; _cf._ also the change - of ‘frith’ to ‘firth’. - -Footnote 88: - - _Op. cit._, p. 397. - ------ - -Another interesting feature in this early articulation is the impulse to -double sounds, to get a kind of effect of assonance or of rhyme by a -repetition of sound or sound-group. The first and simplest form of this -is where a whole sound-mass or syllable is iterated, as in the familiar -‘ba-ba,’ ‘gee-gee’ ‘ni-ni’ (for nice). Some children frequently turn -monosyllables into reduplications, making book ‘boom-boom’ and so forth. -It is, however, in attempting dissyllables that the reduplication is -most common. Thus ‘naughty’ becomes ‘na-na,’ ‘faster’ ‘fa-fa,’ ‘Julia’ -‘dum-dum,’ and so forth, where the repeated syllable displaces the -second original syllable and so serves to retain something of the -original word-form. In some cases the second and unaccented syllable is -selected for reduplication, as in the instance quoted by Perez, -‘peau-peau’ for ‘chapeau’. Such reduplications are sometimes aided by -kinship of sound, as when the little girl M. changed ‘purple’ into its -primitive form ‘purpur’. - -These early reduplications are clearly a continuation of the repetitions -observable in the earlier babbling, and grow out of the same motive, the -impulse to go on doing a thing, and the pleasure of repetition and -self-imitation. As is well known, these reduplications have their -parallel in many of the names used by savage tribes.[89] - ------ - -Footnote 89: - - See Tylor, _Primitive Culture_, i., 198. On the taking up of baby - reduplications into language see the same work, i., 204. _Cf._ the - same writer’s _Anthropology_, p. 129. - ------ - -In addition to these palpable reduplications of sound-masses we have -repetitions of single sounds, the repeated sound being substituted for -another and foreign one. This answers to what is called in phonetics -‘assimilations’.[90] In the majority of cases the assimilation is -‘progressive,’ the change being carried out by a preceding on a -succeeding sound. Examples are ‘Kikie’ for ‘Kitty,’ and ‘purpur’ for -‘purple’. This last transformation, though it was made by the little -daughter of a distinguished philologist, was quite innocent of classical -influence, and was clearly motived by the childish love of reduplication -of sound. In many cases the substitution of an easy for a difficult -sound seems to be determined in part by assimilation, as when ‘another’ -was rendered by ‘annunner,’ ‘gateau’ (French) by ‘ca-co’. The -assimilation seems, too, sometimes to work “regressively,” as when -‘thick’ becomes ‘kick,’ ‘Bonnie Dundee’ ‘Bun-dun,’ and ‘tortue’ (French) -‘tu-tu,’ in which two last reduplication is secured approximately or -completely by change of vowel.[91] There seem also to be cases of what -may be called partial assimilation, that is, a tendency to transform a -sound into one of the same class as the first. “If (writes a mother of -her boy) a word began with a labial he generally concluded it with a -labial, making ‘bird,’ for example, ‘bom’.” But these cases are not, -perhaps, perfectly clear examples of assimilation. - ------ - -Footnote 90: - - See above, p. 137; _cf._ Sievers, _Phonetik_, p. 236. - -Footnote 91: - - Dr. Postgate suggests that the current terms ‘progressive’ and - ‘regressive’ would be better rendered by ‘retrospective’ and - ‘prospective’. - ------ - -Along with the tendency to reduplicate syllabic masses, we see a -disposition to use habitually certain favourite syllables as -terminations, more particularly the pet ending ‘_ie_’. Thus ‘sugar’ -becomes ‘sugie,’ ‘picture’ ‘pickie,’ and so forth. One child was so much -in love with this syllable as to prefer it even to the common repetition -of sound in onomatopoetic imitation, naming the hen not ‘tuck-tuck’ as -one might expect, but ‘tuckie’. - -What strikes one in these early modifications of our verbal sounds by -the child is the care for metrical qualities and the comparative -disregard for articulatory characteristics. The number of syllabic -sounds, the distribution of stress, as well as the rise and fall of -vocal pitch, are the first things to be attended to, and these are, on -the whole, carefully rendered when the constituent sounds are changed -into other and often very unlike ones, and the order of the sounds is -reversed. Again, the comparative fidelity in rendering the vowel sounds -illustrates the prominence of the metrical or musical quality in -childish speech. The love of reduplication, of the effect of assonance -and rhyme, illustrates the same point. This may be seen in some of the -more playful sayings of the child M., as ‘Babba hiding, Ice (Alice) -spiding (spying)’. - -As I have dwelt at some length on the defective articulation of -children, I should like to say that their early performances, so far -from being a discredit to them, are very much to their credit. I, at -least, have often been struck with the sudden bringing forth without any -preparatory audible trial of difficult combinations, and with a -wonderful degree of accuracy. A child can often articulate better than -he is wont to do. The little girl M., when one year six months, being -asked teasingly to say ‘mudder,’ said with a laugh ‘mother,’ quite -correctly—but only on this one occasion. The precision which a child, -even in the second year, will often give to our vocables is quite -surprising, and reminds me of the admirable exactness which, as I have -observed, other strangers to our language, and more especially perhaps -Russians, introduce into their articulation, putting our own loose -treatment of our language to the blush. This precision, acquired as it -would seem without any tentative practice, points, I suspect, to a good -deal of silent rehearsal, nascent groupings of muscular actions which -are not carried far enough to produce sound. - -The gradual development of the child’s articulatory powers, as indicated -partly by the precision of the sounds formed, partly by their -differentiation and multiplication, is a matter of great interest. At -the beginning, when he is able to reproduce only a small portion of a -vocable, there is of course but little differentiation. Thus it has been -remarked by more than one observer, that one and the same sound (so far -at least as our ears can judge) will represent different lingual signs, -‘ba’ standing in the case of one child for both ‘basket’ and ‘sheep’ -(‘ba lamb’), and ‘bo’ for ‘box’ and ‘bottle’. Little by little the sound -grows differentiated into a more definite and perfect form, and it is -curious to note the process of gradual evolution by which the first rude -attempt at articulate form gets improved and refined. Thus, writes a -mother, “at eighteen to twenty months ‘milk’ was ‘gink,’ at twenty-one -months it was ‘ming,’ and soon after two years it was a sound between -‘mik’ and ‘milk’.” The same child in learning to say ‘lion’ went through -the stages ‘ŭn’ (one year eight months), ‘ion’ (two years), and ‘lion’ -(two years and eight months). The little girl M., in learning the word -‘breakfast,’ advanced by the stages ‘bepper,’ ‘beffert,’ ‘beffust’. In -an example given by Preyer, ‘grosspapa’ (grandpapa) began as ‘opapa,’ -this passed into ‘gropapa,’ and this again into ‘grosspapa’. In another -case given by Schultze the word ‘wasser’ (pronounced ‘vasser’) went -through the following stages: (1) ‘vavaff,’ (2) ‘fafaff,’ (3) ‘vaffaff,’ -(4) ‘vasse,’ and (5) ‘vasser’. In this last we have an interesting -illustration of a struggle between the imitative impulse to reproduce -the exact sound and the impulse to reduplicate or repeat the sound, this -last being very apparent in the introduction of the second _v_ and the -_ff_ in the first stage, and in the substitution of the _f_’s for _v_’s -under the influence of the dominant final sound in the second stage. The -student of the early stages of language growth might, one imagines, find -many suggestive parallels in these developmental changes in children’s -articulation. - -The rapidity of articulatory progress might be measured by a careful -noting of the increase in the number of vocables mastered from month to -month. Although Preyer and others have given lists of vocables used at -particular ages, and parents have sent me lists, I have met with no -methodical record of the gradual extension of the articulate field. It -is obvious that any observations under this head, save in the very early -stages, can only be very rough. No observer of a talkative child, -however attentive, can make sure of all the word-sounds used. It is to -be noted, too, as we have seen above, that a child will sometimes show -that he can master a sound and will even make a temporary use of it, -without retaining it as a part of the permanent linguistic stock.[92] - ------ - -Footnote 92: - - As samples of the observations the following may be taken. A friend - tells me his boy when one year old used just 50 vocables. The - performances vary greatly. One American girl of twenty-two months had - 69, whereas another about the same age had 136, just twice the number. - A German girl eighteen months old is said by Preyer to have used 119 - words, and to have raised this to 435 in the next six months. The - composition of these early vocabularies will occupy us presently. - ------ - - _Logical Side of Children’s Language._ - -It is now time to pass from the mechanical to the logical side of this -early child-language, to the meanings which the small linguist gives to -his articulate sounds and the ways in which he modifies these meanings. -The growth of a child’s speech means a concurrent progress in the -mastery of word-forms and in the acquisition of ideas. In this each of -the two factors aids the other, the advance of ideas pushing the child -to new uses of sounds, and the growing facility in word-formation -reacting powerfully on the ideas, giving them definiteness of outline -and fixity of structure. I shall not attempt here to give a complete -account of the process, but content myself with touching on one or two -of its more interesting aspects. - -A child acquires the proper use or application of a word by associating -the sound heard with the object, situation or action in connexion with -which others are observed to use it. But the first imitation of words -does not show that the little mind has seized their full and precise -meaning. A clear and exact apprehension of meaning comes but slowly, and -only as the result of many hard thought-processes, comparisons and -discriminations. - -In these first attempts to use our speech, the child’s mind is innocent -of grammatical distinctions. These arise out of the particular uses of -words in sentence-structure, and of this structure the child has as yet -no inkling. If, then, following a common practice, I speak of a child of -twelve or fifteen months as _naming_ an object, the reader must not -suppose that I am ascribing to the baby-mind a clear grasp of the -function of what grammarians call nouns (substantives). All that is -implied in this way of speaking, is that the infant’s first words are -used mainly as recognition-signs. There is from the first, I conceive, -even in the gesture of pointing and saying ‘da!’ a germ of this naming -process. - -The progress of this rude naming or articulate recognition is very -interesting. The names first learnt are either those of individuals, -what we call proper names, as ‘mamma,’ ‘nurse,’ or those which, like -‘bath,’ ‘bow-wow,’ are at first applied to one particular object. It is -often supposed that a child uses these as true singular names, -recognising individual objects as such. But this is pretty certainly an -error. He cannot note differences well enough or grasp a sufficient -number of differential marks to know an individual as such, and he will, -as occasion arises, quite spontaneously extend his names to other things -which happen to have some interesting and notable points in common with -the first. Thus ‘bow-wow,’ though first applied to one particular dog, -is, as we know, at once extended to other dogs, pictures of dogs, and -not infrequently other things as well. If then we speak of the child as -generalising or widening the application of his terms, we must not be -taken to mean that he goes through a process of comparing things which -he perceives to be distinct, and discovering a likeness in these, but -that he merely assimilates or recognises something like that which he -has seen before without troubling to note the differences. - -This extension of names or generalising process proceeds primarily and -mainly by the feeling for the likenesses or the common aspects of -things, though as we shall see presently their connexions of time and -place afford a second and subordinate means of extension. The -transference of a name from object to object through this apprehension -of a likeness or assimilation has already been touched upon. It moves -along thoroughly childish lines, and constitutes one of the most -striking and interesting of the manifestations of precocious -originality. Yet if unconventional in its mode of operation it is -essentially thought-activity, a connecting of like with like, and a -rudimentary grouping of things in classes. - -This tendency to comprehend like things or situations under a single -articulate sign is seen already in the use of the early indicative sign -‘atta’ (all gone). It was used by Preyer’s child to mark not only the -departure of a thing but the putting out of a flame, later on, an empty -glass or other vessel. By another child it was extended to the ending of -music, the closing of a drawer and so on. Here, however, the various -applications probably answer more to a common feeling of ending or -missing than to an apprehension of a common objective situation. - -Coming to words which we call names we find that the child will often -extend a recognition-sign from one object to a second, and to our -thinking widely dissimilar object through the discovery of some analogy. -Such extension, moving rather along poetic lines than those of our -logical classifications, is apt, as we have seen, to wear a quaint -metaphorical aspect. A star, for example, looked at, I suppose, as a -small bright spot, was called by one child an eye. The child M. called -the opal globe of a lighted lamp a ‘moon’. ‘Pin’ was extended by another -child to a crumb just picked up, a fly, and a caterpillar, and seemed to -mean something little to be taken between the fingers. The same child -used the sound ‘’at’ (hat) for anything put on the head, including a -hair-brush. Another child used the word ‘key’ for other bright metal -things, as money. Romanes’ child extended the word ‘star,’ the first -vocable learned after ‘Mamma’ and ‘Papa,’ to bright objects generally, -candles, gas-flames, etc. Taine speaks of a child of one year who after -first applying the word “fafer” (from “chemin de fer”) to railway -engines went on to transfer it to a steaming coffee-pot and everything -that hissed or smoked or made a noise. In these last illustrations we -have plainly a rudimentary process of classification. Any point of -likeness, provided it is of sufficient interest to strike the attention, -may thus serve as a basis of childish classification. - -As with names of things so with those of actions. The crackling noise of -the fire was called by one child ‘barking,’ and the barking of a dog was -named by another ‘coughing’. We see from this that the particular line -of analogical extension followed by a child will depend on the nature of -the first impressions or experiences which serve as his starting point. - -A like originality is apt to show itself in the first crude attempt to -seize and name the relations of things. The child C. called dipping -bread in gravy ‘ba’ (bath). Another child extended the word ‘door’ to -“everything that stopped up an opening or prevented an exit, including -the cork of a bottle, and the little table that fastened him in his high -chair”. - -In these extensions we see the tendency of child-thought towards -‘concretism,’ or the use of a simple concrete idea in order to express a -more abstract idea. Children frequently express the contrast big, -little, by the pretty figurative language ‘Mamma’ and ‘baby’. Thus a -small coin was called by an American child a ‘baby dollar’. Romanes’ -daughter, named Ilda, pointed out the sheep in a picture as ‘Mamma-ba’ -and the lambs as ‘Ilda-ba’. It is somewhat the same process when the -child extends an idea obtained from the most impressive experience of -childish difficulty, _viz._, ‘too big,’ so as to make it do duty for the -abstract notion ‘too difficult’ in general. - -In this extension of language by the child we may discern, along with -this play of the feeling for similarity, the working of association. -This is illustrated by the case of Darwin’s grandchild, who when just -beginning to speak used the common sign ‘quack’ for duck, then extended -this to water, then, following up this associative transference by a -double process of generalisation, made the sound serve as the name of -all birds and insects on the one hand, and all fluid substances on the -other.[93] - ------ - -Footnote 93: - - Quoted by Romanes, _Mental Evolution in Man_, p. 283. - ------ - -The transference of the name ‘quack’ from the animal to the water is a -striking example of the tendency of the young mind to view things which -are presented together as belonging one to another and in a manner -identical. Another curious instance is given by Professor Minto, in -which a child, who applied the word ‘mambro’ to her nurse, went on to -extend it by associative transference to the nurse’s sewing machine, -then by analogy applied it to a hand-organ in the street, later on, -through an association of hand-organ with monkey, to his india-rubber -monkey. Here we have a whole history of change of word-meaning -illustrating in curiously equal measure the play of assimilation and of -association, and falling within a period of two years.[94] - ------ - -Footnote 94: - - _Logic_ (University Extension Manuals), pp. 83-84. - ------ - -There is another way in which children are said to ‘extend’ names -somewhat analogous to the processes of assimilation and associate -transference. They are very fond of using the same word for opposed or -other correlative ideas. In some cases we can see that this is due -merely to confusion or want of discrimination. When, for example, -Preyer’s boy confused ‘too little’ with ‘too much,’ and ‘yesterday’ with -‘to-morrow,’ going so far as to make a compound ‘heitgestern’ (_i.e._, -heutegestern) to include both,[95] it is easy to see that the child’s -mind had reached merely the vague idea unsuitable in quantity in the one -case, and time not present in the other; and that he failed to -differentiate these ideas. In other cases where correlatives are -confused, as when a child extended the sign of asking for an eatable -(‘bit-ye’) to the act of offering anything to another, or when as in -C.’s case ‘spend’ was made to do duty for ‘cost,’ ‘borrow’ for ‘lend,’ -and ‘learn’ for ‘teach,’ the explanation is slightly different. A child -can only acquire an idea of abstract relations slowly and by stages. -Such words as _lend_, _teach_, call up first a pictorial idea of an -action in which two persons are seen to be concerned. But the exact -nature of the relation, and the difference in its aspect as we start -from the one or the other term, are not perceived. Thus in thinking of a -purchase over the counter, a child may be supposed to image the action -but not clearly to distinguish the part taken by the person who buys and -gives out money (‘spends’) and the part taken by the person who demands -a price or fixes the cost. Perhaps we get near this vague awareness of a -relation when we are aiding a violinist to tune his instrument. We may -know that his note and our piano note do not accord, and yet be quite -unable to determine their exact relation, and to fix the one as higher, -the other as lower. - ------ - -Footnote 95: - - See _op. cit._, p. 420, also pp. 414 and 418. - ------ - -An interesting variety of this extension of names to correlatives is the -transference of the attributes of causal agent to passive object, and -_vice versâ_. Thus a little girl of four called her parasol when blown -by the wind ‘a windy parasol,’ and a stone that made her hand sore ‘a -very sore stone’. A little Italian girl that had taken some nasty -medicines expressed the fact by calling herself nasty (‘bimba -cattiva’).[96] - ------ - -Footnote 96: - - Paola Lombroso, _Saggi di Psicologia del Bambino_, p. 16. - ------ - -There is much in the whole of these changes introduced by the child into -the uses or meanings of words which may remind one of the changes which -go on in the growth of languages in communities. Thus the child’s -metaphorical use of words, his setting forth of an abstract idea by some -analogous concrete image, has its counterpart, as we know, in the early -stages of human language. Tribes which have no abstract signs employ a -metaphor exactly as the child does. Our own language preserves the -traces of this early figurative use of words; as in ‘imbecile,’ weak, -which originally meant leaning on a staff, and so forth.[97] - ------ - -Footnote 97: - - See Trench’s account of poetry in words, _On the Study of Words_, - lect. vi. - ------ - -Again, we may trace in the development of languages the counterpart of -those processes by which children spontaneously expand what logicians -call the denotation of their names. The word ‘sun’ has only quite -recently undergone this kind of extension by being applied to other -centres of systems besides our familiar sun. The multiplicity of -meanings of certain words, as ‘post,’ ‘stock’ and so forth, points to -the double process of assimilative and associative extension which we -saw illustrated in the use of the child’s word ‘mambro’. - -Once more, the child’s extension of a word from an idea to its -correlative has its parallel in the adult’s use of language. As the -vulgar expression ‘I’ll larn you’ shows (_cf._ the Anglo-Saxon -_leornian_), a word may come to mean both to teach and to become taught. -A like embracing of agent and object acted upon by the same word is seen -in the ‘active’ and ‘passive’ meanings of words like the Latin -_penetrabilis_ (‘piercing’ and ‘pierceable’), and in the ‘objective’ and -‘subjective’ meanings of ‘pleasant’ and similar words. We are beginning, -like the little girl quoted above, to speak of a ‘sore’ topic. Lastly, -the movement of thought underlying the saying of the little Italian -girl, ‘nasty baby,’ seems to be akin to that of the savage when he -supposes that he appropriates the qualities of that which he eats. - -The changes here touched upon have to do with what philologists call -generalisation. As supplementary to these there is in the case of the -growth of a community-language a process of specialisation, as when -‘physician’ from meaning a student of nature has come to mean one who -has acquired and can practically apply one branch of nature-knowledge. -In the case of the child we have an analogue of this in the gradual -limitation of names to narrower classes or to individuals as the result -of carrying out certain processes of comparison and discrimination. Thus -‘ba-ba,’ which is used at first for a miscellaneous crowd of woolly or -hairy quadrupeds, gets specialised as a name for a sheep, and the -much-abused ‘papa’ becomes restricted to its rightful owner. - -This process of differentiation and specialisation assumes an -interesting form in a characteristic feature of the language-invention -of both children and savages, _viz._, the formation of compound words. -These compounds are often true metaphors. Thus in the case already -quoted where an eye-lid was called an eye-curtain the child may be said -to have resorted to a metaphorical way of describing the lid. It is much -the same when M. at the age of one year nine months invented the -expression ‘bwite (bright) penny’ for silver pieces. A slightly -different example is the compound ‘foot-wing’ invented by the child C. -to describe the limb of a seal. As a further variety of this metaphoric -formation I may quote the pretty name ‘tell-wind’ which a boy of four -years and eight months hit upon as a name for the weather-vane. - -In these and similar cases, there is at once an analogical transference -of meaning (_e.g._, from curtain to lid) or process of generalisation, -and a limitation of meaning by the appended or qualifying word ‘eye’ and -so a process of specialisation. - -In certain cases the analogical extension gives place to what we should -call a classification. One child for example, knowing the word -steam-ship and wanting the name sailing-ship, invented the form -‘wind-ship’. The little girl M., when one year and nine months old, -showed quite a passion for classing by help of compounds, arranging the -rooms into ‘morner-room,’ ‘dinner-room’ (she was fond of adding ‘er’ at -this time) and ‘nursery-room’. - -It might be supposed from a logical point of view that in these -inventions the qualifying or determining word would come more naturally -after the generic name, as in the French _moulin à vent, cygne noir_. I -have heard of one English child who used the form ‘mill-wind’ in -preference to ‘wind-mill,’ and the order ‘dog black’ in preference to -‘black dog’. It would be worth while to note any similar instances. - -In these inventions, again, we may detect a close resemblance between -children’s language and that of savages. In presence of a new object a -savage behaves very much as a child, he shapes a new name out of -familiar ones, a name that commonly has much of the metaphorical -character. Thus the Aztecs called a boat a ‘water-house’; and the -Vancouver islanders when they saw a screw-steamer called it the -‘kick-kicket’.[98] - ------ - -Footnote 98: - - Tylor, _Anthropology_, chap. v. - ------ - -A somewhat different class of word-inventions is that in which a child -frames a new word on the analogy of known words. A common case is the -invention of new substantives from verbs after the pattern of other -substantives. The results are often quaint enough. Sometimes it is the -agent who is named by the new word, as when the boy C. talked of the -‘Rainer,’ the fairy who makes rain, or when another little boy dubbed a -teacher the ‘lessoner’. Sometimes it is the product of the action that -is named, as when the same child C. and the deaf-mute Laura Bridgman -both invented the form ‘thinks’ for ‘thoughts’. In much the same way a -boy of three called the holes which he dug in his garden his ‘digs’. The -reverse process, the formation of a verb from a substantive, also -occurs. Thus one child invented the form ‘dag’ for striking with a -dagger; and Preyer’s boy when two years and two months old formed the -verb ‘messen’ to express cut from the substantive ‘messer’ (a knife). It -was probably a similar process when the child M. at one year ten months, -after seeing a motionless worm and being told that it was dead, asked to -see another worm ‘deading’. The same child coined the neat verb-form -‘unparcel’. This readiness to form verbs from substantives and _vice -versâ_, which is abundantly illustrated in the development of language, -is without doubt connected with the primitive and natural mode of -thinking. The object is of greatest interest both to the child and to -primitive man as an agent, or as the last stage or result of an action. - -In certain of these original formations we may detect a fine feeling for -verbal analogy. Thus a French boy, after killing the ‘limaces’ (snails) -which were eating the plants in the garden, dignified his office by -styling himself a ‘limarcier’; where the inventive faculty was no doubt -led by the analogy of ‘voiturier’ formed from ‘voiture’.[99] - ------ - -Footnote 99: - - Compayré, _op. cit._, p. 249, where other examples are given. - ------ - -In other verbal formations it is difficult to determine the model which -is followed. Signorina Lombroso gives a good example. A little girl of -two and a half years had observed that when her mother allowed her to -take, eat, or drink something, she would say ‘prendilo’ (take it), -‘bevilo’ (drink it), or ‘mangialo’ (eat it). She proceeded to make a -kind of adjective or substantive out of each of these, asking ‘é -prendilo?’ ‘é bevilo?’ ‘é mangialo?’ _i.e._, ‘Is it takable or a case of -taking?’ etc., when she wanted to take, drink, or eat something.[100] By -such skilful artifices does the little word-builder find his way to the -names which he has need of. - ------ - -Footnote 100: - - _Op. cit._, p. 12. - ------ - -In certain cases these original constructions are of a more clumsy order -and due to a partial forgetfulness of a word and an effort to complete -it. Thus a boy of four spoke of being ‘sorrified,’ where he was -evidently led out of the right track by the analogy of ‘horrified’. The -same little boy who talked of his ‘digs’ used the word ‘magnicious’ for -‘magnificent’. This is a choice example of word-transformation. No doubt -the child was led by the feeling for the sound of this termination in -other grand words, as ‘ambitious’. Possible, too, he might have heard -the form ‘magnesia’ and been influenced by a reminiscence of this -sound-complex. The talk of ‘Jeames’ with which Mr. Punch makes us -acquainted is full of just such delightful missings of the mark in -trying to reproduce big words. - - - _Sentence-building._ - -We may now follow the child in his later and more ambitious linguistic -efforts. The transition to this higher plane is marked by the use of the -completed form of thought, the sentence. - -At first, as already pointed out, there is no sentence-structure. The -child begins to talk by using single words. These words consist of what -we call substantives, as ‘Mamma,’ ‘nurse,’ ‘milk,’ a few adjectives, as -‘hot,’ ‘nice,’ ‘good,’ a still smaller number of adverbial signs, as -‘ta-ta,’ or ‘away,’ ‘over,’ ‘down,’ ‘up,’ and one or two verb-forms, -apparently imperatives, as ‘go’. The exact order in which these appear, -and the proportion between the different classes of constituents at a -particular age, say two and a half or three, appear to vary greatly. -Words descriptive of actions, though very few at first, appear to grow -numerous in a later stage.[101] - ------ - -Footnote 101: - - For lists of vocabularies and an analysis of their composition see - Preyer, _op. cit._ (4th ed.), p. 372 ff.; Tracy, _Psychology of - Childhood_, p. 76 ff. - ------ - -In speaking of these words as substantives, adjectives, and so forth, I -am merely adopting a convenient mode of description. We must not suppose -that the words as used in this simple disjointed talk have their full -grammatical value. It is not generally recognised that the single-worded -utterance of the child is an abbreviated sentence or ‘sentence-word’ -analogous to the sentence-words found in the simplest known stage of -adult language. As with the race so with the child, the sentence -precedes the word. Moreover, each of the child’s so-called words in his -single-worded talk stands for a considerable variety of sentence-forms. -Thus the words in the child’s vocabulary which we call substantives do -duty for verbs and so forth. As Preyer remarks, ‘chair’ (stuhl) means -‘There is no chair,’ ‘I want to be put in the chair,’ ‘The chair is -broken,’ and so forth. In like manner ‘dow’ (down) may mean ‘The spoon -has fallen down,’ ‘I am down,’ ‘I want to go down,’ etc.[102] The -particular shade of meaning intended is indicated by intonation and -gesture. - ------ - -Footnote 102: - - See Preyer, _op. cit._, p. 361; Romanes, _op. cit._, p. 296 ff. - ------ - -This sentence-construction begins with a certain timidity. The age at -which it is first observed varies greatly. It seems in most cases to be -somewhere about the twenty-first month, yet I find good observers among -my correspondents giving as dates eighteen and a half and nineteen -months; and a friend of mine, a Professor of Literature, tells me that -his boy formed simple sentences as early as fifteen months. We commonly -have at first quite short sentences formed by two words in apposition. -These may consist of what we should call an adjective added to and -qualifying a substantive, as in the simple utterance of the child C., -‘Big bir’ (bird), or the exclamation, ‘Papa no’ (Papa’s nose); or they -may arise by a combination of substantives, as in the sentence given by -Tracy, ‘Papa cacker,’ _i.e._, ‘Papa has crackers,’ and one quoted by -Preyer, ‘Auntie cake’ (German, ‘Danna Kuha,’ _i.e._, ‘Tante Kuche’) for -‘Auntie has given me cake’; and in a somewhat different example of a -compound sentence also given by Preyer, ‘Home milk’ (German, ‘Haim -Mimi’), interpreted as ‘I want to go home and have milk’. In the case of -one child about the age of twenty-three months most of the sentences -were composed of two words, one of which was a verb in the imperative. -The love of commanding, so strong in the child, makes the use of the -imperative, as is seen in this case, very common. M.’s first performance -in sentence-building (at eighteen and a half months) was, ‘Mamma, tie,’ -_i.e._, ‘tie gloves’. - -Little by little the learner manages longer sentences, economising his -resources to the utmost, troubling nothing about inflections or the -insertion of prepositions so as to indicate precise relations, but -leaving his hearer to discover his meaning as best he may; and it is -truly wonderful how much the child manages to express in this rude -fashion. A boy nineteen and a half months old gave this elaborate order -to his father: ‘Dada toe toe ba,’ that is, ‘Dada is to go and put his -toes in the bath’. Pollock’s little girl in the first essay at -sentence-building, recorded at the age of twenty-one and a half months, -actually managed a neat antithesis: ‘Cabs dati, clam clin,’ that is to -say, ‘Cabs are dirty, and the perambulator is clean’. Preyer’s boy in -the beginning of the third year brought out the following, ‘Mimi atta -teppa papa oi,’ that is to say, ‘Milch atta Teppich Papa fui,’ which -appears to have signified, “The milk is gone, it is on the carpet, and -papa said ‘Fie’”. It may be added that the difficulties of deciphering -these early sentences is aggravated by the frequent resort to slurs, as -when a child says, ‘m’ out’ for ‘take me out,’ ‘’t on’ for ‘put it on’. - -The order of words in these first tentative sentences is noticeable. -Sometimes the subject is placed after the predicate, as in an example -given by Pollock, ‘Run away man,’ _i.e._, ‘The man runs (or has run) -away,’ and in the still quainter example given by the same writer, -‘Out-pull-baby ’pecs (spectacles),’ _i.e._, ‘Baby pulls or will pull out -the spectacles’. In like manner the adjective used as predicate may -precede the subject, as in the examples given by Maillet, ‘Jolie la -fleur,’ etc.[103] Sometimes, again, the object comes before the verb, as -apparently in the following example given by Miss Shinn: a little girl -delighted at the prospect of going out to see the moon exclaimed, -“Moo-ky (sky), baby shee (see)”.[104] Here is a delightful example of a -transposition of subject and object. A boy two years and three months -asked, ‘Did Ack (Alec) chocke an apple?’ _i.e._, ‘Did an apple choke -Alec?’ though in this case we very probably have to do with a -misunderstanding of the action choke. Other kinds of inversion occur -when more complex experiments are attempted, as in connecting ‘my’ with -an adjective. Thus one child said prettily, ‘Poor my friends’;[105] -which archaic form may be compared with the following Gallic-looking -idiom used by M. at the age of one year ten months: ‘How Babba (baby, -_i.e._, herself) does feed nicely!’ The same little girl put the -auxiliary out of its place, saying, ‘Tan (can) Babba wite’ for ‘Baby can -write,’ though this was probably a reminiscence of the question-form. - ------ - -Footnote 103: - - See Compayré, _op. cit._, p. 206. - -Footnote 104: - - _Notes on the Development of a Child_, p. 84. - -Footnote 105: - - Canton, _The Invisible Playmate_, p. 32, who adds that this exactly - answers to the form, “Good my lord!” - ------ - -These inversions of our familiar order are suggestive. They have some -resemblance to the curious order which appears in the spontaneous -sign-making of deaf-mutes. Thus a deaf-mute answered the question, ‘Who -made God?’ by saying, “God made nothing,” _i.e._, “nothing made God”. -Similarly the deaf-mute Laura Bridgman expressed the petition, ‘Give -Laura bread,’ by the form, ‘Laura bread give.’[106] Such inversions, as -we know, are allowable and common in certain languages, _e.g._, Latin. -The study of the syntax of child-language and of the sign-making of -deaf-mutes might suggest that our English order is not in certain cases -the most natural one. - ------ - -Footnote 106: - - See Romanes, _op. cit._, p. 116 f., where other examples may be found. - ------ - -A somewhat similar inversion of what seems to us the proper order -appears in the child’s first attempts at negation. The child C. early in -his third year expressed the idea that he was not going into the sea -thus: ‘N. (his own name) go in water, no’. Similarly Pollock’s child -expressed acquiescence in a prohibition in this manner, ‘Baby have papa -(pepper) no,’ where the ‘no’ followed without a pause. The same order -appears in the case of French children, _e.g._, ‘Papa non,’ _i.e._, ‘It -is not Papa,’ and seems to be a common, if not a universal form of the -first half-spontaneous sentence-building. Here again we see an analogy -to the syntax of deaf-mutes, who appear to append the sign of negation -in a similar way, _e.g._, ‘Teacher I beat, deceive, scold no,’ _i.e._, -‘I must not beat, deceive, scold my teacher’. We see something like it, -too, in the formations of savage-languages, as when ‘fool no’ comes to -be the sign of ‘not fool,’ that is of wise.[107] When ‘not’ comes into -use it is apt to be put in a wrong place, as when the little girl M. -said, ‘No Babba look’ (_i.e._, ‘Babba will not look’), and ‘Mr. Dill not -did tum’ for ‘Mr. Gill did not come’.[108] - ------ - -Footnote 107: - - _Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology_, 1879-80, p. 391 ff. - -Footnote 108: - - It may be added that this child regularly used ‘not’ or ‘n’t’ as a - negating or cancelling sign for the whole sentence, saying, for - example, ‘Babba mus’n’t go in,’ for ‘Babba may stay out’. - ------ - -Another closely related characteristic of this early childish -sentence-building is the love of antithesis under the form of two -balancing statements. Thus a child will often oppose an affirmative to a -negative statement as a means of bringing out the full meaning of the -former. The boy C., for example, would say, ‘This a nice bow-wow, not -nasty bow-wow’. The little girl M. said, ‘Boo (the name of her cat) dot -(got) tail; poor Babba dot no tail,’ proceeding to search for a tail -under her skirts. This use of a negative statement by way of contrast or -opposition to an affirmative grew in the case of one child aged two -years and two months into a habit of description by negations. Thus an -orange was described by the saying, ‘No, ’tisn’t apple,’ porridge by -‘No, ’tisn’t bread and milk’. It is interesting to note that deaf-mutes -proceed in a similar fashion by way of antithetic negative statement. -Thus one of these expressed the thought, ‘I must love and honour my -teacher,’ by the order, ‘Teacher I beat, deceive, scold no!—I love -honour yes!’[109] - ------ - -Footnote 109: - - A curious example of negative antithesis is given by Perez, _op. - cit._, p. 196. On other analogies between the syntax of children and - of deaf-mutes, see Compayré, _op. cit._, p. 251 f. - ------ - -These first essays in the construction of sentences illustrate the skill -of the child in eking out his scanty vocabulary by help of a -metaphorical transference of meaning. Taine gives a charming example of -this device. A little girl of eighteen months had acquired the word -‘Coucou’ as used by her mother or nurse when playfully hiding behind a -door or chair, and the expression ‘ça brûle’ as employed to warn her -that her dinner was too hot, or that she must put on her hat in the -garden to keep off the hot sun. One day on seeing the sun disappear -behind a hill she exclaimed, ‘A bûle coucou’.[110] - ------ - -Footnote 110: - - _On Intelligence_, pt. i., bk. i., chap. ii., sect. vi. - ------ - -It is a fearful moment when the child first tries his hand at -inflections, and, more especially in our language, those of verbs. -Pollock’s child made the attempt, and successfully, at the age of -twenty-two months. Such first essays are probably examples of pure -imitation, the precise forms used having been previously heard from -others. Hence while they show a growing power of thought, of a -differencing of the relations of number and time, they do not involve -verbal construction properly so called. This last appears as soon as the -child carries over his knowledge of particular cases of verbal -inflection and applies it to new words. This involves a nascent -appreciation of the reason or rule according to which words are -modified. The development of this feeling for the general mode of verbal -change underlies all the later advance in correct speaking. - -While the little explorer in the _terra incognita_ of language can -proceed safely in this direction up to a certain point he is apt, as we -all know, to stumble now and again; nor is this to be wondered at when -we remember the intricacies, the irregularities, which characterise a -language like ours. In trying, for example, to manage the preterite of -an English verb he is certain, as, indeed, is the foreigner, to go -wrong. The direction of the error is often in the transformation of the -weak to the strong form; as when ‘screamed’ becomes ‘scram,’ ‘split’ -(preterite) ‘splat’ or ‘splut,’ and so forth. In other cases the child -wall convert a strong into a weak form, as when Laura Bridgman, like -many another child, would say, ‘I eated,’ ‘I seed,’ and so forth.[111] -Sometimes, again, delightful doublings of the past tense occur, as -‘sawed’ for ‘saw,’ ‘eatened’ for ‘eaten,’ ‘didn’t saw’ for ‘didn’t see,’ -‘did you gave me?’ for ‘did you give me?’ Active and passive forms are -sometimes confused, as when M. said ‘not yike being picking up’ for ‘not -like being picked up,’ etc. It is curious to note the different lines of -imitative construction followed out in these cases. - ------ - -Footnote 111: - - The same double tendency from weak to strong forms and _vice versâ_ is - seen in the list of transformed past participles given by Preyer, _op. - cit._, p. 360. - ------ - -One thing seems clear here: the child’s instinct is to simplify our -forms, to get rid of irregularities. This is strikingly illustrated in -the use of the heterogeneous assemblage of forms known as the verb ‘to -be’. It is really hard on a child to expect him to answer the question, -‘Are you good now?’ by saying, ‘Yes, I am’. He says, of course, ‘Yes, I -are’. Perhaps the poor verb ‘to be’ has suffered every kind of violence -at the hands of children.[112] Thus the child M. used the form ‘bēd’ for -‘was’. Professor Max Müller somewhere says that children are the -purifiers of language. Would it not be well if they could become its -simplifiers also, and give us in place of this congeries of unrelated -sounds one good decent verb-form? - ------ - -Footnote 112: - - _Cf._ Preyer’s account of a German child’s liberties with the same - verb, where we find ‘gebisst,’ ‘binnst,’ and other odd forms, _op. - cit._, p. 438. - ------ - -Other quaint transformations occur when the child begins to combine -words, as when M. joining adverb to verb invented the form of past tense -‘fall downed’ for ‘fell down’. Another queer form is ‘Am’t I?’ used for -‘am I not?’ after the pattern of ‘aren’t we?’ An even finer linguistic -stroke than this, is ‘Bettern’t you?’ for ‘Had you not better?’ where -the child was evidently trying to get in the form ‘hadn’t you,’ along -with the awkward ‘better,’ which seemed to belong to the ‘had,’ and -solved the problem by treating ‘better’ as the verb, and dropping ‘had’ -altogether. - -A study of these solecisms, which are nearly always amusing, and -sometimes daintily pretty, is useful to mothers and young teachers by -way of showing how much hard work, how much of real conjectural -inference, enters into children’s essays in talking. We ought not to -wonder that they now and again slip; rather ought we to wonder that, -with all the intricacies and pitfalls of our language—this applies of -course with especial force to the motley irregular English tongue—they -slip so rarely. As a matter of fact, the latter and more ‘correct’ -talk—which is correct just because the child has stored up a good stock -of particular word-forms, and consequently has a much wider range of -pure uninventive imitation—is less admirable than the early inventive -imitation; for this last not only has the quality of originality, but -shows the germ of a truly grammatical feeling for the general types or -norms of the language. - -The English child is not much troubled by inflections of substantives. -The pronouns, however, as intelligent mothers know, are apt to cause -much heart-burning to the little linguist. The mastery of ‘I’ and ‘you,’ -‘me,’ ‘mine,’ etc., forms an epoch in the development of the linguistic -faculty and of the power of thought which is so closely correlated with -this. Hence it will repay a brief inspection. - -As is well known, children begin by speaking of themselves and of those -whom they address by names, as when they say, ‘Baby good,’ ‘Mamma come’. -This is sometimes described as speaking “in the third person,” yet this -is not quite accurate, seeing that there is as yet no distinction of -person at all in the child’s language. - -The first use of ‘I’ and ‘you’ between two and three years is apt to be -erroneous. The child proceeds imitatively to use ‘I,’ ‘me,’ ‘my’ for -‘you’ and ‘your’. Thus one child said, ‘What I’m going to do,’ for, -‘What are you going to do?’ In this case, it is plain, there is no clear -grasp of what we mean by subject, or of the exact relation of this -subject to the person he is addressing. - -Yet along with this mechanical repetition of the pronominal forms we see -the beginnings of an intelligent use of them. So far as I can ascertain -most children begin to say ‘me’ or ‘my’ before they say ‘you’. Yet I -have met with one or two apparent exceptions to this rule. Thus the boy -C. certainly seemed to get hold of the form of the second person before -that of the first, and the priority of ‘you’ is attested in another case -sent to me. It is desirable to get more observations on this point. - -To determine the exact date at which an intelligent use of the first -person appears, is much less easy than it looks. The ‘I’ is apt to -appear momentarily and then disappear, as when M. at the age of nineteen -months three weeks was observed to say ‘I did’ once, though she did not -use ‘I’ again until some time afterwards. Allowing for these -difficulties it may be said with some degree of confidence that the -great transition from ‘baby’ to ‘I’ is wont to take place in favourable -cases early in the first half of the third year. Thus among the dates -assigned by different observers I find, twenty-four months, twenty-five -months (cases given by Preyer), between twenty-five and twenty-six -(Pollock), twenty-seven months (the boy C.). A lady friend tells me that -her boy began to use ‘I’ at twenty-four months. In the case of a certain -number of precocious children this point is attained at an earlier date. -Thus Preyer quotes a case of a child speaking in the first person at -twenty months. Schultze gives a case at nineteen months. A friend of -mine, a Professor of English Literature, whose boy showed great -precocity in sentence-building, reports that he used the forms ‘me’ and -‘I’ within the sixteenth month. Preyer’s boy, on the other hand, who was -evidently somewhat slow in lingual development, first used the form of -the first person ‘to me’ (mir) at the age of twenty-nine months. - -The precise way in which these pronominal forms first appear is very -curious. Many children use ‘me’ before ‘I’. Preyer’s boy appears to have -first used the form ‘to me’ (mir). ‘My’ too is apt to appear among the -earliest forms. In such different ways does the child pass to the new -and difficult region of pronominal speech. - -The meaning of this transition has given rise to much discussion. It is -plain, to begin with, that a child cannot acquire these forms as he -acquires the name ‘papa,’ ‘nurse,’ by a direct and comparatively -mechanical mode of imitation. When he does imitate in this fashion he -produces, as we have seen, the absurdity of speaking of himself as -‘you’. Hence during the first year or so of speech he makes no use of -these forms. He speaks of himself as ‘baby’ or some equivalent name, -others coming down to his level and setting him the example. - -The transition seems to be due in part, as I have elsewhere pointed out, -to a growing self-consciousness, to a clearer singling out of the _ego_ -or self as the centre of thought and activity, and the understanding of -the other ‘persons’ in relation to this centre. Not that -self-consciousness _begins_ with the use of ‘I’. The child has no doubt -a rudimentary self-consciousness when he talks about himself as about -another object: yet the use of the forms ‘I,’ ‘me,’ may be taken to mark -the greater precision of the idea of ‘self’ as not merely a bodily -object and nameable just like other sensible things, but as something -distinct from and opposed to all objects of sense, as what we call the -‘subject’ or _ego_. - -While, however, we may set down this exchange of the proper name for the -forms ‘I’ and ‘me’ as due to the spontaneous growth of the child’s -intelligence, it is possible that education exerts its influence too. It -is conjecturable that as a child’s intelligence grows, others in -speaking to him tend unknowingly to introduce the forms ‘I’ and ‘you’ -more frequently. Yet I am disposed to think that the child commonly -takes the lead here. However this be, it is clear that growing -intelligence, involving greater interest in others’ words, will lead to -a closer attention to these pronominal forms as employed by others. In -this way the environment works on the growing mind of the child, -stimulating it to direct its thoughts to these subtle relations of the -‘me and not me,’ ‘mine and thine’. The more intelligent the environment -the greater will be the stimulating influence: hence, in part at least, -the difference of age when the new style of speech is attained.[113] - ------ - -Footnote 113: - - Preyer (_op. cit._, Cap. 22) seems to argue that children have a clear - self-consciousness before they attempt to use the forms ‘I,’ etc.; and - that the acquisition of the latter is due to imitation. But he does - not show why this imitation should begin to work so powerfully at a - particular period of linguistic development. - ------ - -The acquirement of these pronominal forms is a slow and irksome -business. At first they are introduced hesitatingly, and alongside of -the proper name; the child, for example, saying sometimes, ‘Baby’ or -‘Ilda,’ sometimes ‘I’ or ‘me’. In some cases, again, the two forms are -used at the same time in apposition, as in the delightful form not -unknown in older folk’s language, ‘Hilda, my book’. The forms ‘I’ and -‘me’ are, moreover, confined at first to a few expressions, as ‘I am,’ -‘I went,’ and so forth. The dropping of the old forms, as may be seen by -a glance at the notes on the child C., and at Preyer’s methodical diary, -is a gradual process. - -Quaint solecisms mark the first stages of the use of these pronouns. As -in the case of the earlier use of substantives, one and the same form -will be used economically for a variety of meanings, as when ‘me’ was by -the boy C. used to do duty for ‘mine’ also, and ‘us’ for ‘ours’. Here it -is probable there is a lack of perfect discrimination. The connexion -between the self and its belongings is for all of us of the closest. -When a child of two, who was about to be deprived of her doll, shouted, -‘Me, me!’ may we not suppose that the doll was taken up into the inner -circle of the self?[114] Sometimes in this enrichment of the vocabulary -by pronouns new and delightful forms are struck off, as when the little -experimenter invents the possessive form ‘she’s’. - ------ - -Footnote 114: - - Compare above, p. 43. - ------ - -The perfect unfettered use of these puzzling forms comes much later. -Preyer quotes a case in which a child Olga, aged four years, would say, -‘She has made me wet,’ meaning that she herself had done it. But this -perhaps points to that tendency to split up the self into a number of -personalities, to which reference was made in an earlier essay. - -The third year, which witnesses the important addition of the pronouns, -sees other refinements introduced. Thus the definite article was -introduced in the case of Preyer’s boy in the twenty-eighth month, in -that of an English boy at the age of two years eight months. -Prepositions are introduced about the same time. In this way childish -talk begins to lose its primitive disjointed character, and to grow into -an articulated structure.[115] Yet the perfect mastery of these takes -time. A feeling for analogy easily leads the little explorer astray at -first, as when the child M. said ‘far to’ after the model ‘near to’. - ------ - -Footnote 115: - - For a fuller account of this progress, the reader cannot do better - than consult Preyer, _op. cit._, Cap. 20 and 21. - ------ - -Through this whole period of language-learning the child continues to -show his originality, his inventiveness. He is rarely at a loss, and -though the gaps in his verbal acquisitions are great he is very skilful -in filling them up. If, for example, our bright little linguist M., at -the age of one year eight and a half months, after being jumped by her -father, wants him to jump her mother also, she says, in default of the -word ‘jump,’ “Make mamma high”. A boy of twenty-seven months ingeniously -said, ‘It rains off,’ for ‘The rain has left off’. Forms are sometimes -combined, as when a boy of three years three months used ‘my lone,’ -‘your lone,’ for ‘me alone’ or ‘by myself,’ ‘you alone’ or ‘by -yourself’. Another girl, two years ten months, said, ‘No two ’tatoes -left,’ meaning ‘only one potato is left’. Pleonasms occur in abundance, -as when a boy of two would say, ‘Another one bicca (biscuit),’ and, -better still, ‘another more’. - - - _Getting at our Meanings._ - -There is one part of this child’s work of learning our language of which -I have said hardly anything, _viz._, the divining of the verbal content, -of the meaning we put or try to put into our words. A brief reference to -this may well bring this study of childish linguistics to a close. - -The least attention to a child in the act of language-learning will show -how much of downright hard work goes to the understanding of language. -If we are to judge by the effort required we might say that the child -does as much in deciphering his mother-tongue as an Oriental scholar in -deciphering a system of hieroglyphics. Just think, for example, how many -careful comparisons the small child-brain has to carry out, comparisons -of the several uses of the word by others in varying circumstances, -before he can get anything approaching to a clear idea, answering even -to such seemingly simple words as ‘clean,’ ‘old’ or ‘clever’. The way in -which inquiring children plague us with questions of the form, ‘What -does such and such a word mean?’ sufficiently shows how much -thought-activity goes in the trying to get at meanings. This difficulty, -moreover, persists, reappearing in new forms as the child pushes his way -onwards into the more tangled tracts of the lingual terrain. It is felt, -and felt keenly, too, when most of the torments of articulation are over -and forgotten. Many of us can remember how certain words haunted us as -uncanny forms into the nature of which we tried hard, but in vain, to -penetrate. - -Owing to these difficulties the little learner is always drifting into -misunderstanding of words. Such misapprehensions will arise in a passive -way by the mere play of association in attaching the word especially to -some striking feature or circumstance which is apt to present itself -when the word is used in the child’s hearing. In this way, for example, -general terms may become terribly restricted in range by the -incorporation of accidentals into their meaning, as when a Sunday school -scholar rendered the story of the good Samaritan by saying that a -gentleman came by and poured some paraffin (_i.e._, oil) over the poor -man. A word may have its meaning funnily transformed by such associative -suggestions, as when a little girl, being told that a thing was a -secret, remarked, ‘Well, mamma, ’ou (you) can whisper it in my ear’. As -this example shows, a child in his ‘concreting’ fashion tries to get -sensible realities out of our names. A mask was called by a boy of six a -‘grimace,’ this abstract name standing to his mind for the grinning -face. A like tendency shows itself in the following quaint story. A boy -and a girl, twins, had been dressed alike. Later on the boy was put into -a ‘suit’. A lady asked the girl about this time whether they were not -the twins, when she replied: ‘No, we _used_ to be’. ‘Twin’ was -inseparably associated in her mind with the similarity in dress. A -somewhat similar effect of association of ideas is seen in the quaint -request of the little girl M. that her mamma should ‘smell’ the pudding -and make it cool. The action of bringing the face near an object yet so -as not to touch it was associated with smelling, as in the little girl -who, according to Mr. Punch, had her sense of propriety shocked by some -irreverent person who did not “smell his hat” when he took his seat in -church. Moral expressions get misunderstood in much the same manner. A -little girl of three and a half years, pretending that her mother was -her little girl, said: ‘You mustn’t do anything _on purpose_’. The usual -verbal context of this highly-respectable phrase (_e.g._, ‘You did it on -purpose’) had in the child’s mind given it a naughty meaning. - -With these losings of the verbal road through associative by-paths may -be taken the host of misapprehensions into which children are apt to -fall through the ambiguities of our words and expressions, and our short -and elliptical modes of speaking. Thus an American child, noting that -children were ‘half price’ at a certain show, wanted his mother to get a -baby now that they were cheap.[116] With this may be compared the -following: Jean Ingelow tells us she can well remember how sad she was -made by her father telling her one day after dancing her on his knee -that he must put her down as he ‘had a bone in his leg’.[117] Much -misapprehension arises, too, from our figurative use of language, which -the little listener is apt to interpret in a very literal way. It would -be worth knowing what odd renderings the child-brain has given to such -expressions as ‘an upright man,’ ‘a fish out of water,’ and the like. - ------ - -Footnote 116: - - Worcester Collection, p. 21. - -Footnote 117: - - _Cf._ the account Goltz gives of the anxiety he felt as a child on - hearing that his uvula (zapfen) had ‘fallen down,’ _op. cit._, p. 261. - ------ - -In addition to these comparatively passive misapprehensions there are -others which are the outcome of an intellectual effort, the endeavour to -penetrate into the mystery of some new and puzzling words or expression. -Many of us have had our special horror, our _bête noire_ among words, -which tormented us for months and years. I remember how I was plagued by -the word ‘wean,’ the explanation of which was very properly, no doubt, -denied me by the authorities, and by what quaint fancies I tried to fill -in a meaning. - -As with words, so with whole expressions and sayings. It was a natural -movement of childish thought when a little school-girl answered the -question of the Inspector, ‘What is an average?’ by saying ‘What the hen -lays eggs on’. She had heard her mother say, “The hen lays so many eggs -‘on the average’ every week,” and had no doubt imagined a little myth -about this ‘average’. Again, most of us know what queer renderings the -child-mind has given to Scripture language. Mr. James Payn tells us that -he knew a boy who for years substituted for the words, ‘Hallowed be thy -name,’ ‘Harold be thy name’.[118] In this and similar cases it is not, -as might be supposed, defective hearing—children hear words as a rule -with great exactness—it is the impulse to give a familiar and -significant rendering to what is strange and meaningless.[119] A friend -of mine when a boy was accustomed on hearing the passage, ‘If I say -peradventure the darkness shall cover me,’ etc., to insert a pause after -‘peradventure,’ apprehending the passage in this wise: "If I say -‘Peradventure!’—the darkness," etc. In this way he turned the mysterious -‘peradventure’ into a mystic ‘open sesame,’ and added a thrilling touch -of magic to the passage. My friend’s daughter tells me that on hearing -the passage, “I ... visit the sins of the fathers upon the children unto -the third and fourth generation, ... and show mercy unto thousands,” she -construed the strange word ‘generation’ to mean an immense number like -‘billion,’ and was thus led to trouble herself about God’s seeming to be -more cruel than kind.[120] - ------ - -Footnote 118: - - In the _Illustrated London News_, 30th June, 1894. - -Footnote 119: - - Of course defective auditory apprehension may assist in these cases. - Goltz gives an example from his own childhood. He took the words - “Namen nennen Dich nicht” to be “Namen nenne Dich nicht,” and was - sorely puzzled at the idea of bidding a name not to name itself. - -Footnote 120: - - Psalm cxxxix. and Second Commandment, Prayer-book version. - ------ - -In some cases, too, where the language is simple enough a child’s brain -will find our meaning unsuitable and follow a line of interpretation of -its own. Mr. Canton relates that his little heroine, who knew the lines -in _Strumpelpeter_— - - The doctor came and shook his head, - And gave him nasty physic too— - -was told that she would catch a cold, and that she at once replied, “And -will the doctor come and shook my head?”[121] It was so much more -natural to suppose that when the doctor came and did something this was -carried out on the person of the patient. - ------ - -Footnote 121: - - _The Invisible Playmate_, p. 35. - ------ - -There is nothing more instructive in this connexion than the talk of -children among themselves about words. They build up quaint speculations -about meanings, and try their hand bravely at definitions. Here is an -example: A boy of five was instructing his comrade as to the puzzling -word ‘home-sick’. He did it in quite a scientific fashion. “It’s like -sea-sick, you know: you are sea-sick when you are sick at sea, and so -you’re home-sick when you’re sick at home”. - -There is something of this same desire to get behind words in children’s -word-play, as we call it, their discovery of odd affinities in verbal -sounds, and their punning. Though no doubt this contains a genuine -element of childish fun, it betokens a more serious trait also, an -interest in word-sounds as such, and a curiosity about their origin and -purpose. It is difficult for grown-up people to go back in thought to -the attitude of the child-mind towards verbal sounds. Just as children -show ‘the innocence of the eye’ in seeing the colours of objects as they -are and not as our habits of interpretation tend to make them, so they -show an innocence of the ear, catching the intrinsic sensuous qualities -of a word or a group of words, in a way which has become impossible for -us. - -This half-playful, half-serious scrutiny of word-sounds leads to the -attempt to find by analysis and analogy a familiar meaning in strange -words. For example, a little boy about four years old heard his mother -speak of nurse’s neuralgia, from which she had been suffering for some -time. He thereupon exclaimed, ‘I don’t think it’s _new_ ralgia, I call -it _old_ ralgia’. A child called his doll ‘Shakespeare’ because its -spear-like legs could be shaken. Another boy of three explained -‘gaiters’ as things ‘to go out of the gate with’. Another said that the -‘Master’ which he prefixed to his name meant that he was master of his -dog. A little girl in her third year called ‘anchovies’ ‘ham-chovies’ -‘mermaid’ ‘worm-maid,’ ‘whirlwind’ ‘world-wind,’ ‘gnomes’ ‘no-mans’ -(un-menschen), taking pleasure apparently in bringing some familiar -element—even when this seems to other ears at least not very -explanatory—into the strange jumble of word-sound that surrounded her. A -child may know that he is ‘fooling’ in such cases, yet the word-play -brings a certain satisfaction, which is at least akin to the pleasure of -the older linguist. - -This quasi-punning transformation of words is curiously like what may be -called folk-etymology, where a foreign word is altered by a people so as -to be made to appear significant and suitable for its purpose, as in the -oft-quoted forms ‘sparrow grass’ (asparagus) and ‘cray-fish’ (from the -French écrevisse, _cf._ the O. H. German Krebiz), where the attempt to -suit the form to the thing is still more apparent.[122] When, for -example, a boy calls a holiday a ‘hollorday,’ because it is a day ‘to -holloa in,’ we may say that he is reflecting the process by which adults -try to put meaning into strange words, as when a cabman I overheard a -few days ago spoke about putting down _ash_phalt (for ‘asphalt’). Some -children carry out such transformation and invention of derivation on a -large scale, often resorting to pretty myths, as when the butterflies -are said to make butter, or to eat butter, grasshoppers to give grass, -honeysuckles to yield all the honey, and so forth.[123] - ------ - -Footnote 122: - - The other form of the word, ‘craw-fish,’ seems a still more ingenious - example of folk-etymology. - -Footnote 123: - - These last are taken from a good list of children’s punnings in Dr. - Stanley Hall’s article, “The Contents of Children’s Minds”. - ------ - -A child will even go further, and, prying into the forms of gender, -invent explanatory myths in which words are personified and sexualised. -Thus a little boy of five years and three months who had learned German -and Italian as well as English was much troubled about the gender of the -sun and moon. So he set about myth-making on this wise: “I suppose -people[124] think the sun is the husband, the moon is the wife, and all -the stars the little children, and Jupiter the maid”. A German girl of -six was thus addressed by her teacher: “‘Der’ ist männlich; Was sind -‘Die’ und ‘Das’?” To which she replied prettily: "Die ist dämlich -(_i.e._, ‘ladyish’) und das ist kindlich". The tendency to attribute -differences of sex and age to names observable in this last is seen in -other ways. An Italian child asked why ‘barba’ (beard) was not called -‘barbo’. With this may be compared the pretty myth of another Italian -child that ‘barca’ (boat) was the little girl of ‘barcainolo’ -(boatman).[125] - ------ - -Footnote 124: - - That is, I take it, the majority, _viz._, Italians and English. - -Footnote 125: - - Both of these are given by Paola Lombroso in the work already quoted. - ------ - -One other characteristic feature in the child’s attitude towards words -must be touched on, because it looks like the opposite of the impulse to -tamper with words just dealt with. A child is a great stickler for -accuracy in the repetition of all familiar word-forms. The zeal of a -child in correcting others’ language, and the comical errors he will now -and again fall into in exercising his pedagogic function, are well known -to parents. Sometimes he shows himself the most absurd of pedants. -‘Shall I read to you out of this book, baby?’ asked a mother of her boy, -about two and a half years old. ‘No,’ replied the infant, ‘not _out_ of -dot book, but somepy inside of it.’ The same little stickler for verbal -accuracy, when his nurse asked him, ‘Are you going to build your bricks, -baby?’ replied solemnly, ‘We don’t build bricks, we make them and then -build _with_ them’. In the notes on the boy C. we find an example of how -jealously the child-mind insists on the _ipsissima verba_ in the -recounting of his familiar stories. - -Are these little sticklers for verbal correctness, who object to -everything figurative in our language, who, when they learn that a -person or an animal has ‘lost his head,’ take the expression literally, -and who love nothing better than tying us down to literal exactness, -themselves given to ‘word-play’ and verbal myth-making, or have we here -to do with two varieties of childish mind? My observations do not enable -me to pronounce on this point. - -I have in this essay confined myself to some of the more common and -elementary features of the child’s linguistic experience. Others present -themselves when the reading stage is reached, and the new strange -stupid-looking word-symbol on the printed page has to do duty for the -living sound, which for the child, as we have seen, seems to belong to -the object and to share in its life. But this subject, tempting as it -is, must be left. And the same must be said of those special -difficulties and problems which arise for the child-mind when two or -more languages are spoken. This is a branch of child-linguistics which, -so far as I know, has never been explored. - - - - - VI. - SUBJECT TO FEAR. - - - _Children’s Sensibility._ - -In passing from a study of children’s ideas to an investigation of their -feelings, we seem to encounter quite another kind of problem. A child -has the germs of ideas long before he can give them clear articulate -expression; and, as we have seen, he has at first to tax his ingenuity -in order to convey by intelligible signs the thoughts which arise in his -mind. For the manifestation of his feelings of pleasure and pain, on the -other hand, nature has endowed him with adequate expression. The states -of infantile discontent and content, misery and gladness, pronounce -themselves with a clearness and an emphasis which leave no room for -misunderstanding. - -This full frank manifestation of feeling holds good more especially of -those states of bodily comfort and discomfort which make up the first -rude experiences of life. It is necessary for the child’s preservation -that he should be able to announce by clear signals the oncoming of his -cravings and of his sufferings, and we all know how well nature has -provided for this necessity. Hence the fulness with which infant -psychology has dealt with this first chapter of the life of feeling. -Preyer, for example, gives a full and almost exhaustive epitome of the -various shades of infantile pleasure and pain which grow out of this -life of sense and appetite, and has carefully described their -physiological accompaniments and their signatures.[126] - ------ - -Footnote 126: - - _Op. cit._, Cap. 6 and 13. - ------ - -When we pass from these elementary forms of pleasure and pain to the -rudiments of emotion proper, as the miseries of fear, the sorrows and -joys of the affections, we have still, no doubt, to do with a mode of -manifestation which, on the whole, is direct and unreserved to a -gratifying extent. A child of three is delightfully incapable of the -skilful repressions, and the yet more skilful simulations of emotion -which are easy to the adult.[127] Yet frank and transparent as is the -first instinctive utterance of feeling, it is apt to get checked at an -early date, giving place to a certain reserve. So that, as we know from -published reminiscences of childhood, a child of six will have learnt to -hide some of his deepest feelings from unsympathetic eyes. - ------ - -Footnote 127: - - This does not apply to older children. As Tolstoi’s book, _Childhood, - Boyhood and Youth_, tells us, a boy of twelve may be much given to - straining after feelings which he thinks he ought to experience. - ------ - -This shyness of the young heart, face to face with old and strange ways -of feeling, exposed to ridicule if not to something worse, makes the -problem of registering the pulsations of its emotions more difficult -than it at first seems. As a matter of fact we are still far from -knowing the precise range and depth of children’s feelings. This is seen -plainly enough in the quite opposite views which are entertained of -childish sensibility, some describing it as restricted and obtuse, -others as morbidly excessive. Such diversity of view may no doubt arise -from differences in the fields of observation, since, as we know, -children differ hardly less than adults perhaps in breadth and fineness -of emotional susceptibility. Yet I think that this contrariety of view -points further to the conclusion that we are still far from sounding -with finely measuring scientific apparatus the currents of childish -emotion. - -It seems, then, to be worth while to look further into the matter in the -hope of gaining a deeper and fuller insight, and as a step in this -direction I propose to inquire into the various forms and the causes of -one of the best marked and most characteristic of children’s -feelings—namely, fear. - -That fear is one of the characteristic feelings of the child needs no -proving. It seems to belong to these wee, weakly things, brought face to -face with a new strange world, to tremble. They are naturally timid, as -all that is weak and ignorant in nature is apt to be timid. - -I have said that fear is well marked in the child. Yet, though it is -true that fully developed fear or terror shows itself by unmistakable -signs, there are many cases where it is difficult to say whether the -child is the subject of this feeling. Thus it is doubtful whether the -tremblings and disturbances of respiration which are said to betray fear -in the new-born infant are a full expression of this state.[128] Again, -the reflex movement of a start on hearing a sound hardly amounts to the -full reaction of fear, though it is akin to it.[129] A child may, -further, show a sort of æsthetic dislike for an ugly form or sound, -turning away in evident aversion, and yet not be afraid in the full -sense. Fear proper betrays itself in the stare, the grave look, and in -such movements as turning away and hiding the face against the nurse’s -or mother’s shoulder, and sometimes in covering it with the hands. In -severer forms it leads to trembling and to wild shrieking. Changes of -colour also occur. It is commonly said that great fear produces -paleness; but according to one of my correspondents who has had -considerable experience, a child may show the feeling by his face -turning scarlet. Fear, if not very intense, leads to voluntary -movements, as turning away, putting the object aside, or moving away. In -its more violent forms, however, it paralyses the child. It is desirable -that parents should carefully observe and describe the first signs of -fear in their children.[130] - ------ - -Footnote 128: - - Perez regards these as signs of fear, and points out that tremulous - movements may occur in the fœtus (_L’Education dès le berceau_, p. - 94). - -Footnote 129: - - For an account of this reflex, see Preyer, _op. cit._, Cap. 10, 176. - -Footnote 130: - - I know of no good account of the manifestations of childish fear. - Mosso’s book, _La Peur_, chap. v. and following, will be found most - useful here. - ------ - - - _Startling Effect of Sounds._ - -It may be well to begin our study of fear by a reference to the effect -of startling. As is well known, sudden and loud sounds, as that of a -door banging, will give a shock to an infant in the first weeks of life, -which though not amounting to fear is its progenitor. A clearer -manifestation occurs when a new and unfamiliar sound calls forth the -grave look, the trembling lip, and possibly the fit of crying. Darwin -gives an excellent example of this. He had, he tells us, been accustomed -to make all sorts of sudden noises with his boy, aged four and a half -months, which were well received; but one day having introduced a new -sound, that of a loud snoring, he found that the child was quite upset, -bursting out into a fit of crying.[131] - ------ - -Footnote 131: - - _Mind_, vol. ii., p. 288. - ------ - -As this incident suggests, it is not every new sound which is thus -disconcerting to the little stranger. Sudden sharp sounds of any kind -seem to be especially disliked, as those of a dog’s bark. The child M. -burst out crying on first hearing the sound of a baby rattle; and she -did the same two months later on accidentally ringing a hand bell. -Louder and more voluminous sounds, too, are apt to have an alarming -effect. The big noise of a factory, of a steam-ship, of a passing train, -are among the sounds assigned by my correspondents as causes of this -early startling and upsetting effect. A little girl when taken into the -country at the age of nine months, though she liked the animals she saw -on the whole, showed fear by seeking shelter against the nurse’s -shoulder, on hearing the bleating of the sheep. So strong is this effect -of suddenness and volume of sound that even musical sounds often excite -some alarm at first. ‘He (a boy of four months) cried when he first -heard the piano,’ writes one lady, and this is but a sample of many -observations. A child of five and a half months showed such a horror of -a banjo that he would scream if it were played or only touched. Preyer’s -boy at sixteen months was apparently alarmed when his father, in order -to entertain him, produced what seems to us a particularly pure musical -tone by rubbing a drinking-glass. He remarks that this same sound had -been produced when the child was four months old without any ill -effects.[132] - ------ - -Footnote 132: - - _Op. cit._, p. 131. - ------ - -This last fact suggests that such shrinkings from sound may be developed -at a comparatively late date. This idea is supported by other -observations. “From about two years four months (writes a mother) to the -present time (two years eleven months), he has shown signs of fear of -music. At two years five months he liked some singing of rounds, but -when a fresh person with a stronger voice than the rest joined, he -begged the singer to stop. Presently he tolerated the singing as long as -he might stand at the farthest corner of the room.” This child was also -about the same time afraid of the piano, and of the organ, when played -by his mother in a church. - -It is worth noting that animals show a similar dread of musical sounds. -I took a young cat of about eight weeks in my lap and struck some chords -not loudly on the piano. It got up, moved uneasily from side to side, -then bolted to the corner of the room and seemed to try to get up the -walls. Dogs, too, certainly seem to be put out, if not to experience -fear, at the music of a brass band. - -It is sometimes supposed that this startling effect of loud sounds is -wholly an affair of nervous disturbance:[133] but the late development -of the repugnance in certain cases seems to show that this is not the -only cause at work. Of course a child’s nervous organisation may through -ill health become more sensitive to this disturbing effect; and, as the -life of Chopin tells us, the delicate organisation of a future musician -may be specially subject to these shocks. Yet I suspect that vague alarm -at the unexpected and unknown takes part here. There is something -uncanny to the child in the very production of sound from a silent -thing. A banjo lying now inert, harmless, and then suddenly firing off a -whole gamut of sound may well shock a small child’s preconceptions of -things. The second time that fear was observed in one child at the age -of ten months, it was excited by a new toy which squeaked on being -pressed.[134] This seems to be another example of the disconcerting -effect of the unexpected. In other cases the alarming effect of the -mystery is increased by the absence of all visible cause. One little boy -of two years used to get sadly frightened at the sound of the water -rushing into the cistern which was near his nursery. The child was -afraid at the same time of thunder, calling it ‘water coming’. - ------ - -Footnote 133: - - This seems to be the view of Perez: _The First Three Years of - Childhood_ (English translation), p. 64. - -Footnote 134: - - Observation of F. H. Champneys, _Mind_, vol. vi., p. 106. - ------ - -I am far from saying that all children manifest this fear of sounds. -Miss Shinn points out that her niece was from the first pleased with the -piano, and this is no doubt true of many children. Children behave very -differently towards thunder, some being greatly disturbed by it, others -being rather delighted. Thus Preyer’s boy, who was so ignominiously -upset by the tone of the drinking-glass, laughed at the thunderstorm; -and we know that the little Walter Scott was once found during a -thunderstorm lying on his back in the open air clapping his hands and -shouting “Bonnie, bonnie!” at the flashes of lightning. It is possible -that in such cases the exhilarating effect of the brightness counteracts -the uncanny effect of the thunder. More observations are needed on this -point. - -A complete explanation of these early vague alarms of the ear may as yet -not be possible. Children show in the matter of sound capricious -repugnances which it is exceedingly difficult to account for. They seem -sometimes to have their pet aversions like older folk. Yet I think that -a general explanation is possible. - -To begin with, then, it is probable that in many of these cases, -especially those occurring in the first six months, we have to do with -an organic phenomenon, with a sort of jar to the nervous system. To -understand this we have to remember that the ear, in the case of man at -least, is the sense-organ through which the nervous system is most -powerfully and profoundly acted on. Sounds seem to go through us, to -pierce us, to shake us, to pound and crush us. A child of four or six -months has a nervous organisation still weak and unstable, and we should -naturally expect loud sounds to produce a disturbing effect on it. - -To this it is to be added that sounds have a way of taking us by -surprise, of seeming to start out of nothing; and this aspect of them, -as I have pointed out above, may well excite vague alarm in the small -creatures to whom all that is new and unlooked for is apt to seem -uncanny. The fact that most children soon lose their fear by getting -used to the sounds seems to show how much the new and the mysterious has -to do with the effect. - -Whether heredity plays any part here, _e.g._, in the fear of the dog’s -barking and other sounds of animals, seems to me exceedingly doubtful. -This point will, however, come up for closer consideration presently, -when we deal with children’s fear of animals. - -Before considering the manifold outgoings of fear produced by -impressions of the eye, we may glance at another form of early -disturbance which has some analogy to the shock-like effects of certain -sounds. I refer here to the feeling of bodily insecurity which appears -very early when the child is awkwardly carried, or let down -back-foremost, and later when he begins to walk. One child in her fifth -month was observed when carried to hold on to the nurse’s dress as if -for safety. And it has been noticed by more than one observer that on -dandling a baby up and down in one’s arms, it will on descending, that -is when the support of the arms is being withdrawn, show signs of -discontent in struggling movements.[135] Bell, Preyer, and others regard -this as an instinctive form of fear. Such manifestations may, however, -be merely the result of sudden and rude disturbances of the sense of -bodily ease which attends the habitual condition of adequate support. A -child accustomed to lie in a cradle, on the floor, or on somebody’s lap, -might be expected to be put out when the supporting mass is greatly -reduced, as in bad carrying, or wholly removed, as in quickly lowering -him backwards. The fear of falling, which shows itself during the first -attempts to stand, comes, it must be remembered, as an accompaniment of -a new and highly strange situation. The first experience of using the -legs for support must, one supposes, involve a profound change in the -child’s whole bodily consciousness, a change which may well be -accompanied with a sense of disturbance. Not only so, it comes after a -considerable experience of partial fallings, as in trying to turn over -when lying, half climbing the sides of the cradle, etc., and still -harder bumpings when the crawling stage is reached. These would, I -suspect, be quite sufficient to produce the timidity which is observable -on making the bolder venture of standing.[136] - ------ - -Footnote 135: - - See the quotations from Sir Ch. Bell, Perez, _First Three Years of - Childhood_, p. 63. - -Footnote 136: - - Preyer seems to regard this as instinctive. _Op. cit._, p. 131. - ------ - - - _Fear of Visible Things._ - -Fears excited by visual impressions come later than those excited by -sounds. The reason of this seems pretty obvious. Visual sensations do -not produce the strong effect of nervous shock which auditory ones -produce. Let a person compare the violent and profound jar which he -experiences on suddenly hearing a loud sound, with the slight -surface-agitation produced by the sudden movement of an object across -the field of vision. The latter has less of the effect of nervous jar -and more of the characteristics of fear proper, that is, apprehension of -evil. We should accordingly expect that eye-fears would only begin to -show themselves in the child after experience had begun its educative -work.[137] - ------ - -Footnote 137: - - M. Perez (_op. cit._, p. 65) calls in the evolution hypothesis here, - suggesting that the child, unlike the young animal, is so organised as - to be more on the alert for dangers which are near at hand (auditory - impressions) than for those at a distance (visual impressions). I - confess, however, that I find this ingenious writer not quite - convincing here. - ------ - -At the outset it is well, as in the case of the ear-fears, to keep -before us the distinction between a mere dislike to a sensation and a -true reaction of fear. We shall find that children’s quasi-æsthetic -dislikes to certain colours may readily simulate the appearance of -fears. - -Among the earliest manifestations of fear excited by visual impressions -we have those called forth by the presentation of something new and -strange, especially when it involves a rupture of customary -arrangements. Although children love and delight in what is new, their -disposition to fear is apt to give to new and strange objects a -disquieting, if not distinctly alarming character. This apprehension -shows itself as soon as a child has begun to be used or accustomed to a -particular state of things. - -Among the more disconcerting effects of a rude departure from the -customary, we have that of change of place. At first the infant betrays -no sign of disturbance on being carried into a new room. But when once -it has grown accustomed to a certain room it will feel a new one to be -strange, and eye its features with a perceptibly anxious look. This -sense of strangeness in place sometimes appears very early. The little -girl M., on being taken at the age of four months into a new nursery, -“looked all round and then burst out crying”. This feeling of uneasiness -may linger late. A boy retained up to the age of three years eight -months the fear of being left alone in strange hotels or lodgings. Yet -entrance on a new abode does not by any means always excite this -reaction. A child may have his curiosity excited, or may be amused by -the odd look of things. Thus one boy on being taken at the age of -fifteen months to a fresh house and given a small plain room looked -round and laughed at the odd carpet. Children even of the same age -appear in such circumstances to vary greatly with respect to the -relative strength of the impulses of fear and curiosity. - -How different children’s mental attitude may be towards the new and -unfamiliar is illustrated by some notes on a boy sent me by his mother. -This child, “though hardly ever afraid of strange people or places, was -very much frightened as a baby _of familiar things seen after an -interval_”. Thus “at ten months he was excessively frightened on -returning to his nursery after a month’s absence. On this occasion he -screamed violently if his nurse left his side for a moment for some -hours after he got home, whereas he had not in the least objected to -being installed in a strange nursery.” The mother adds that “at thirteen -months, his memory having grown stronger, he was very much pleased at -coming to his home after being away a fortnight”. This case looks -puzzling enough at first, and seems to contradict the laws of infant -psychology. Perhaps the child’s partial recognition was accompanied by a -sense of the uncanny, like that which we experience when a place seems -familiar to us though we have no clear recollection of having seen it -before. - -What applies to places applies also to persons: a sudden change of -customary human surroundings by the arrival of a stranger on the scene -is apt to trouble the child. - -At first all faces seem alike for the child. Later on unfamiliar faces -excite something like a grave inquisitorial scrutiny. Yet, for the first -three months, there is no distinct manifestation of a fear of strangers. -It is only later, when attachment to human belongings has been -developed, that the approach of a stranger, especially if accompanied by -a proposal to take the child, calls forth clear signs of displeasure and -the shrinking away of fear. Preyer gives the sixth and seventh months as -the date at which his boy began to cry at the sight of a strange face. -In one set of notes sent me it was remarked that a child of four and a -half months would cry on being nursed by a stranger. To be nursed by a -stranger, however, is to have the whole baby-world revolutionised; -little wonder then that it should bring the feeling of strangeness and -homelessness. - -Here, too, curious differences soon begin to disclose themselves, some -children being decidedly more sociable towards strangers than others. It -would be curious to compare the age at which children begin to take -kindly to them. Preyer gives nineteen months as the date at which his -boy surmounted his timidity; but it is probable that the transition -occurs at very different dates in the case of different children.[138] - ------ - -Footnote 138: - - This true fear of strangers must be distinguished from the later - shyness, which, though akin to it, is a more complex feeling. - ------ - -It is worth noting that the little boy to whom I referred just now -displayed the same signs of uneasiness at seeing old friends, after an -interval, as at returning to old scenes. When eight months old, “he -moaned in a curious way when his nurse (of whom he was very fond) came -home after a fortnight’s holiday”. Here, however, the signs of fear seem -to be less pronounced than in the case of returning to the old room. It -would be difficult to give the right name to this curious moan. - -Partial alteration of the surroundings frequently brings about a measure -of this same mental uneasiness. Preyer’s boy when one year and five -months old was much disturbed at seeing his mother in a black dress. -Children seem to have a special dislike to black apparel. George Sand -describes her fear at having to put on black stockings when her father -died. Yet any change of colour in dress will disturb a child. C., when -an infant, was distressed to tears at the spectacle of a new colour and -pattern on his mother’s dress. This dislike to any change of dress as -such is borne out by other observations. A child manifested between the -age of about seven months and of two and a half years the most marked -repugnance to new clothes, so that the authorities found it very -difficult to get them on. It is presumable that the donning of new -apparel disturbed too rudely the child’s sense of his proper self. - -In certain cases the introduction of new natural objects of great extent -and impressiveness will produce a similar effect of childish anxiety, as -though they made too violent a change in the surroundings. One of the -best illustrations of this obtainable from the life of an average -well-to-do child is the impression produced by a first visit to the sea. -Preyer’s boy at the age of twenty-one months showed all the signs of -fear when his nurse carried him on her arm close to the sea.[139] The -boy C. on being first taken near the sea at the age of two was disturbed -by its noise. While, however, I have a number of well-authenticated -cases of such an instinctive repugnance to, and something like dread of -the sea, I find that there is by no means uniformity in children’s -behaviour in this particular. A little boy who first saw the sea at the -age of thirteen months exhibited signs not of fear but of wondering -delight, prettily stretching out his tiny hands towards it as if wanting -to go to it. Another child who also first saw the sea at the age of -thirteen months began to crawl towards the waves. And yet another boy at -the age of twenty-one months on first seeing the sea spread his arms as -if to embrace it. - ------ - -Footnote 139: - - _Op. cit._, p. 131. - ------ - -These observations show that the strange big thing affects children very -differently. C. had a particular dislike to noises, which was, I think, -early strengthened by finding out that his father had the same -prejudice. Hence perhaps his hostile attitude towards the sea. - -Probably, too, imaginative children, whose minds take in something of -the bigness of the sea, will be more disposed to this variety of fear. A -mother writes me that her elder child, an imaginative girl, has not even -now at the age of six got over her fear of going into the sea, whereas -her sister, one and a quarter years younger, and not of an imaginative -temperament, is perfectly fearless. She adds that it is the bigness of -the sea which evidently impresses the imagination of the elder. - -Imaginative children, too, are apt to give life and purpose to the big -moving noisy thing. This is illustrated in M. Pierre Loti’s graphic -account of his first childish impressions of the sea, seen one evening -in the twilight. “It was of a dark, almost black green: it seemed -restless, treacherous, ready to swallow: it was stirring and swaying -everywhere at the same time, with the look of sinister wickedness.”[140] - ------ - -Footnote 140: - - _Le Roman d’un Enfant._ - ------ - -There seems enough in the vast waste of unresting waters to excite the -imagination of a child to awe and terror. Hence it is needless to follow -M. Loti in his speculations as to an inherited fear of the sea. He seems -to base this supposition on the fact that at this first view he -distinctly _recognised_ the sea. But such recognition may have meant -merely the objective realisation of what had no doubt been before pretty -fully described by his mother and aunt, and imaginatively pictured by -himself. - -The opposite attitude, that of the thoroughly unimaginative child, in -presence of the sea is well illustrated by the story of a little girl -aged two, who, on being first taken to see the watery wonder, exclaimed, -“Oh, mamma, look at the soapy water”. The awful mystery of all the -stretch of ever-moving water was invisible to this child, being hidden -behind the familiar detail of the ‘soapy’ edge. - -There is probably nothing in the natural world which makes on the -childish imagination quite so awful an impression as the watery -Leviathan. Perhaps the fear which one of my correspondents tells me was -excited in her when a child by the sudden appearance of a mountain may -be akin to this dread of the sea. - -We may now pass to another group of fear-excitants, the appearance of -certain strange forms and movements of objects. - -The close connexion between æsthetic dislike and fear is seen in the -well-marked recoilings of children from odd uncanny-looking dolls. The -girl M., when just over six months old, was frightened at a Japanese -doll so that it had to be put in another room. Another child when -thirteen months old was terrified at the sight of an ugly doll. The said -doll is described as black with woolly head, startled eyes, and red -lips. Such an ogre might well call up a tremor in the bravest of -children. In another case, that of a little boy of two years and two -months, the broken face of a doll proved to be highly disconcerting. The -mother describes the effect as mixed of fear, distress, and intellectual -wonder. Nor did his anxiety depart when some hours later the doll, after -sleeping in his mother’s room, reappeared with a new face. - -In such cases, it seems plain, it is the ugly transformation of -something specially familiar and agreeable which excites the feeling of -nervous apprehension. Making grimaces, that is the spoiling of the -typical familiar face, may, it is said, disturb a child even at the -early age of two months.[141] It is much the same when the child M., at -the age of thirteen months three weeks, was frightened and howled when a -lady looked at her close with blue spectacles, though she was quite used -to ordinary glasses. Such transformations of the homely and assuring -face are, moreover, not only ugly but bewildering to the child, and -where all is mysterious and uncanny the child is apt to fear. Whether -“inherited associations” involving a dim recognition of the _meaning_ of -these distortions play any part here I do not feel at all certain. - ------ - -Footnote 141: - - Quoted by Tracy, _op. cit._, p. 29. But this observation seems to me - to need confirmation. - ------ - -Children, like animals, will sometimes show fear at the sight of what -seems to us a quite harmless object. A shying horse is a puzzle to his -rider: his terrors are so unpredictable. Similarly in the case of a -timid child almost anything unfamiliar and out of the way, whether in -the colour, the form, or the movement of an object, may provoke a -measure of anxiety. Thus a little girl, aged one year and ten months, -showed signs of fear during a drive at a row of grey ash trees placed -along the road. This was just the kind of thing that a horse might shy -at. - -As with animals, so with children, any seemingly uncaused movement is -apt to excite a feeling of alarm. Just as a dog will run away from a -leaf whirled about by the wind, so children are apt to be terrified by -the strange and quite irregular behaviour of a feather as it glides -along the floor or lifts itself into the air. A little girl of three, -standing by the bedside of her mother (who was ill at the time), was so -frightened at the sight of a feather, which she accidentally pulled out -of the eiderdown quilt, floating in the air that she would not approach -the bed for days afterwards.[142] - ------ - -Footnote 142: - - See _The Pedagogical Seminary_, i., No. 2, p. 220. - ------ - -In these cases we may suppose that we have to do with a germ of -superstitious fear, which seems commonly to have its starting point in -the appearance of something exceptional and uncanny, that is to say, -unintelligible, and so smacking of the supernatural. The fear of -feathers as uncanny objects plays, I am told, a considerable part in the -superstitions of folk-lore. Such apparently self-caused movements, so -suggestive of life, might easily give rise to a vague sense of a -mysterious presence or power possessing the object, and so lead to a -crude form of a belief in supernatural agents. - -In other cases of unexpected and mysterious movement the fear is -slightly different. A little boy when one year and eleven months old was -frightened when in a lady’s house by a toy elephant which shook its -head. The same child, writes his mother, “at one year seven months was -very much scared by a toy cow which mooed realistically when its head -was moved. This cow was subsequently given to him, at about two years -and three months. He was then still afraid of it, but became reconciled -soon after, first allowing others to make it moo if he was at a safe -distance, and at last making it moo himself.” - -There may have been a germ of the fear of animals here: but I suspect -that it was mainly a feeling of uneasiness at the signs of life -(movement and sound) appearing when they are not expected, and have an -uncanny aspect. The close simulation of a living thing by what is known -to be not alive is disturbing to the child as to the adult. He will make -his toys alive by his own fancy, yet resent their taking on the full -semblance of reality. In this sense he is a born idealist and not a -realist. More careful observations on this curious group of child-fears -are to be desired. - -The fear of shadows is closely related to that of moving toys. They are -semblances, though horribly distorted semblances, and they are apt to -move with an awful rapidity. The unearthly mounting shadows which -accompany the child as he climbs the staircase at night have been -instanced by writers as one of childhood’s freezing horrors. Mr. -Stevenson writes:— - - Now my little heart goes beating like a drum, - With the breath of the Bogie in my hair; - And all round the candle the crooked shadows come, - And go marching along up the stair; - The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp, - The shadow of the child that goes to bed— - All the wicked shadows coming tramp, tramp, tramp, - With the black night overhead. - -I have noticed a young cat—the same that showed such terror at the -playing of the piano—watch its own shadow rising on the wall, and, as I -thought, with a look of apprehension. - - - _The Fear of Animals._ - -I have purposely reserved for special discussion two varieties of -children’s fear, namely, dread of animals and of the dark. As the former -certainly manifests itself before the latter I will take it first. - -It seems odd that the creatures which are to become the companions and -playmates of children, and one of the chief sources of their happiness, -should cause so much alarm when they first come on the scene. Yet so it -is. Many children, at least, are at first put out by quite harmless -members of the animal family. We must, however, be careful here in -distinguishing between mere nerve-shock and dislike on the one hand and -genuine fear on the other. Thus a lady whom I know, a good observer, -tells me that her boy, though when he was fifteen months old his nerves -were shaken by the loud barking of a dog, had no real fear of dogs. With -this may be contrasted another case, also sent by a good observer, in -which it is specially noted that the aversion to the sound of a dog’s -barking developed late and was a true fear. - -Æsthetic dislikes, again, may easily give rise to quasi-fears, though, -as we all know, little children have not the horrors of their elders in -this respect. The boy C. could not understand his mother’s scare at the -descending caterpillar. A kind of æsthetic dislike appears to show -itself sometimes towards animals of peculiar shape and colour. A black -animal, as a sheep or a cow, seems more particularly to come in for -these childish aversions. - -At first it seems impossible to understand why a child in the fourteenth -week should shrink from a cat.[143] This is not, so far as I can gather, -a common occurrence at this age, and one would like to cross-examine the -mother on the precise way in which the child had its first introduction -to the domestic pet. So far as one can speculate on the matter, one -would say that such early shrinking from animals is probably due to -their sudden unexpected movements, which may well disconcert the -inexperienced infant accustomed to comparatively restful surroundings. - ------ - -Footnote 143: - - Quoted by Preyer, _op. cit._, p. 127. The word he uses is “scheuen”. - ------ - -This seems borne out by another instance, also quoted by Preyer, of a -girl who in the fourth month, as also in the eleventh, was so afraid of -pigeons that she could not bring herself to stroke them. The prettiness -of the pigeon, if not of the cat, ought, one supposes, to ensure the -liking of children; and one has to fall back on the supposition of the -first disconcerting strangeness of the moving animal world for the -child’s mind. - -Later shrinkings from animals show more of the nature of fear. It is -sometimes said that children inherit from their ancestors the fear of -certain animals. Thus Darwin, observing that his boy when taken to the -Zoological Gardens at the age of two years and three months showed fear -of the big caged animals whose form was unfamiliar to him (lions, -tigers, etc.), infers that this fear is transmitted from savage -ancestors whose conditions of life compelled them to shun these deadly -creatures. But as M. Compayré has well shown[144] we do not need this -hypothesis here. The unfamiliarity of the form of the animal, its -bigness, together with the awful suggestions of the cage, would be quite -enough to beget a vague sense of danger. - ------ - -Footnote 144: - - _Evolution intellectuelle et morale de l’Enfant_, p. 102. - ------ - -So far as I can ascertain facts are strongly opposed to the theory of an -inherited fear of animals. Just as in the first months a child will -manifest something like recoil from a pretty and perfectly innocent -pigeon, so later on children manifest fear in the most unlikely -directions. In _The Invisible Playmate_, we are told of a girl who got -her first fright on seeing a sparrow drop on the grass near her, though -she was not the least afraid of big things, and on first hearing the dog -bark in his kennel said with a little laugh of surprise, ‘Oh! -coughing’.[145] A parallel case is sent me by a lady friend. One day -when her daughter was about four years old she found her standing, the -eyes wide open and filled with tears, the arms outstretched for help, -evidently transfixed with terror, while a small wood-louse made its slow -way towards her. The next day the child was taken for the first time to -the “Zoo,” and the mother anticipating trouble held the child’s hand. -But there was no need. A ‘fearless spirit’ in general, she released her -hand at the first sight of the elephant, and galloped after the monster. -If inheritance played a principal part in the child’s fear of animals -one would have expected the facts to be reversed: the elephant should -have excited dread, not the harmless insect. - ------ - -Footnote 145: - - See pp. 26, 27. - ------ - -So far as my own observations have gone there seems to be but little -uniformity among children’s fears of the animal world. What frightens -one child may delight another at about the same age. Perhaps there is a -tendency to a special dread of certain animals, more particularly the -wolf, which as folk-lore tells us reflects the attitude of superstitious -adults. Yet it is probable that, as the case of the boy C. suggests, the -dread of the wolf grows out of that of the dog, the most alarming of the -domestic animals, while it is vigorously sustained by fairy-story. - -For the rest children’s shrinking from animals has much of the caprice -of grown-up people’s. Not that there is anything really inexplicable in -these odd directions of childish fear, any more than in the -unpredictable shyings of the horse. If we knew the whole of the horse’s -history, and could keep a perfect register of the fluctuations of ‘tone’ -in his nervous system, we should understand all his shyings. So with the -child. All the vagaries of his dislike to animals would be cleared up if -we could look into the secret workings of his mind and measure the -varying heights of his courage. - -That some of this early disquietude at the sight of strange animals is -due to the workings of the mind is seen in the behaviour of Preyer’s boy -when at the age of twenty-seven months he was taken to see some little -pigs. The boy at the first sight looked earnest, and as soon as the -lively little creatures began to suckle the mother he broke out into a -fit of crying and turned away from the sight with all the signs of fear. -It appeared afterwards that what terrified the child was the idea that -the pigs were biting their mother; and this gave rise in the fourth and -fifth years to recurrent nocturnal fears of the biting piglets, -something like C.’s nocturnal fear of the wolf.[146] To an imaginative -child strongly predisposed to fear, anything suggestive of harm will -suffice to beget a measure of trepidation. A child does not want direct -experience of the power of a big animal in order to feel a vague -uneasiness when near it. His own early inductions respecting the -correlation of bigness with strength, aided as this commonly is by -information picked up from others, will amply suffice. In the case of -the dog, the rough shaggy coat, the teeth which he is told can bite, the -swift movements, and worse than all the appalling bark, are quite enough -to disconcert a timid child. Even the sudden pouncing down of a sparrow -may prove upsetting to a fearful mite as suggesting attack; and a girl -of four may be quite capable of imagining the unpleasantness of an -invasion of her dainty person by a small creeping wood-louse—which -though running slowly was running towards herself—and so of getting a -fit of shudders. - ------ - -Footnote 146: - - See Preyer, _op. cit._, p. 130. - ------ - -It is, I think, undeniable that imaginative children, especially when -sickly and disposed to alarm, are subject to a real terror at the -thought of the animal world. Its very vastness, the large variety of its -uncanny and savage-looking forms—appearing oftentimes as ugly -distortions of the human face and figure—this of itself, as known from -picture-books, may well generate many a vague alarm. We know from -folk-lore how the dangers of the animal world have touched the -imagination of simple peoples, and we need not be surprised that it -should make the heart of the wee weakly child to quake. Yet the child’s -shrinking from animals is less strong than the impulse of companionship -which bears him towards them. Tiny children quite as often show the -impulse to run after ducks and other animals as to be alarmed at them. -Nothing perhaps is prettier in child-life than the pose and look of one -of these defenceless youngsters as he is getting over his trepidation at -the approach of a strange big dog and ‘making friends’ with the shaggy -monster. The perfect love which lies at the bottom of children’s hearts -towards their animal kinsfolk soon casts out fear. And when once the -reconciliation has been effected it will take a good deal of harsh -experience to make the child ever again entertain the thought of danger. - - - _Fear of the Dark._ - -Fear of the dark, that is, fear excited by the actual experience or the -idea of being in the dark, and especially _alone_ in the dark, and the -allied dread of dark places as closets and caves, is no doubt very -common among children, and seems indeed to be one of their recognised -characteristics. Yet it is by no means certain that it is ‘natural’ in -the sense of developing itself in all children. - -It is certain that children have no such fear at the beginning of life. -A baby of three or four months if accustomed to a light may very likely -be disturbed at being deprived of it; but this is some way from a dread -of the dark.[147] - ------ - -Footnote 147: - - A mother sends me a curious observation bearing on this. One of her - children when four months old was carried by her up-stairs in the - dark. On reaching the light she found the child’s face black, her - hands clenched, and her eyes protruding. As soon as she reached the - light she heaved a sigh and resumed her usual appearance. This child - was in general hardy and bold and never gave a second display of - terror. This is certainly a curious observation, and it would be well - to know whether similar cases of apparent fright at being carried in - the dark have been noticed. - ------ - -Fear of the dark seems to arise when intelligence has reached a certain -stage of development. It apparently assumes a variety of forms. In some -children it is a vague uneasiness, in others it takes the shape of a -more definite dread. A common variety of this dread is connected with -the imaginative filling of the dark with the forms of alarming animals, -so that the fear of animals and of the dark are closely connected. Thus, -in one case reported to me, a boy between the ages of two and six used -at night to see ‘the eyes of lions and tigers glaring as they walked -round the room’. The boy C. saw his _bête noire_ the wolf in dark -places. Mr. Stevens in his note on his boy’s idea of the supernatural -remarks that at the age of one year and ten months, when he began to be -haunted by the spectre of ‘Cocky,’ he was temporarily seized with a fear -of the dark.[148] It is important to add that even children who have -been habituated to going to bed in the dark in the first months are -liable to acquire the fear. - ------ - -Footnote 148: - - _Mind_, xi., p. 149. - ------ - -This mode of fear is, however, not universal among children. One lady, -for whose accuracy I can vouch, assures me that her boy, who is now four -years old, has never manifested the feeling. A similar statement is made -by a careful observer, Dr. Sikorski, with reference to his own -children.[149] It seems possible to go through childhood without making -acquaintance with this terror, and to acquire it in later life. I know a -lady who only acquired the fear towards the age of thirty. “Curiously -enough (she writes) I was never afraid of the dark as a child; but -during the last two years I hate to be left alone in the dark, and if I -have to enter a dark room, like my study, beyond the reach of the maids -from downstairs, I notice a remarkable acceleration in my heart-beat and -hurry to strike a light or rush downstairs as quickly as possible.” - ------ - -Footnote 149: - - Quoted by Compayré, _op. cit._, p. 100. Cf. Perez, _L’Education dès le - berceau_, p. 103. - ------ - -We can faintly conjecture from what Charles Lamb and others have told us -about the spectres that haunted their nights what a weighty crushing -horror this fear of the dark may become. Hence we need not be surprised -that the writer of fiction has sought to give it a vivid and adequate -description. Victor Hugo, for example, when in _Les Misérables_ he is -painting the feelings of little Cosette, who has been sent out alone at -night to fetch water from a spring in a wood, says she “felt herself -seized by the black enormity of Nature. It was not only terror which -possessed her, it was something more terrible even than terror.” - -Different explanations have been offered of this fear. Locke, who when -writing on educational matters was rather hard on nurses and servants, -puts down the whole of these fears to those wicked persons, “whose usual -method is to awe children and keep them in subjection by telling them of -Raw Head and Bloody Bones, and such other names as carry with them the -idea of something terrible and hurtful, which they have reason to be -afraid of when alone, especially in the dark”.[150] Rousseau on the -other hand urges that there is a natural cause. “Accustomed as I am to -perceive objects from a distance, and to anticipate their impressions in -advance, how is it possible for me, when I no longer see anything of the -objects that surround me, not to imagine a thousand creatures, a -thousand movements, which may hurt me, and against which I am unable to -protect myself?”[151] - ------ - -Footnote 150: - - _Thoughts on Education_, sect. 138. - -Footnote 151: - - _Emile_, book ii. - ------ - -Rousseau here supplements and corrects Locke. For one thing I have -ascertained in the case of my own child, and in that of others, that a -fear of the dark has grown up when the influence of the wicked nurse has -been carefully eliminated. Locke forgets that children can get -terrifying fancies from other children, and from all sorts of -suggestions, unwittingly conveyed by the words of respectable grown -people. Besides, he leaves untouched the question, why children when -left alone in the dark should choose to dwell on these fearful images, -rather than on the bright pretty ones which they also acquire. R. L. -Stevenson has told us how happy a child can make himself at night with -such pleasing fancies. Yet it must be owned that darkness seems rather -to favour images of what is weird and terrible. How is this? Rousseau -gets some way towards answering the question by saying (as I understand -him to say) that darkness breeds a sense of insecurity. I do not, -however, think that it is the inconvenience of being in the dark which -generates the fear: a child might, I imagine, acquire it without ever -having had to explore a dark place. - -I strongly suspect that the fear of darkness takes its rise in a -sensuous phenomenon, a kind of physical repugnance. All sensations of -very low intensity, as very soft vocal sounds, have about them a tinge -of melancholy, a _tristesse_, and this is especially noticeable in the -sensations which the eye experiences when confronted with a dark space, -or, what is tantamount to this, a black and dull surface. The symbolism -of darkness and blackness, as when we talk of ‘gloomy’ thoughts or liken -trouble to a ‘black cloud,’ seems to rest on this effect of melancholy. - -Along with this gloomy character of the sensation of dark, and not -always easy to distinguish from it, there goes the craving of the eye -for its customary light, and the interest and the gladness which come -with seeing. When the eye and brain are not fatigued, that is when we -are wakeful, this eye-ache may become an appreciable pain; and it is -probable that children feel the deprivation more acutely than grown -persons, owing to the abundance of their visual activity as well as to -the comparatively scanty store of their thought-resources. Add to this -that darkness, by extinguishing the world of visible things, would give -to a timid child tenacious of the familiar home-surroundings a -peculiarly keen sense of strangeness and of loneliness, of banishment -from all that he knows and loves. The reminiscences of this feeling -described in later life show that it is the sense of solitude which -oppresses the child in his dark room.[152] - ------ - -Footnote 152: - - See especially James Payn, _Gleams of Memory_, pp. 3, 4. - ------ - -This, I take it, would be quite enough to make the situation of -confinement in a dark room disagreeable and depressing to a wakeful -child even when he is in bed and there is no restriction of bodily -activity. But even this would not amount to a full passionate dread of -darkness. It seems to me to be highly probable that a baby of two or -three months might feel this vague depression and even this craving for -the wonted scene, especially just after the removal of a light; yet such -a baby, as we have seen, gives no clear indications of fear. - -Fear of the dark arises from the development of the child’s imagination, -and might, I believe, arise without any suggestion from nurse or other -children of the notion that there are bogies in the room. Darkness is -precisely the situation most favourable to vivid imagination: the -screening of the visible world makes the inner world of fancy vivid and -distinct by contrast. Are we not all apt to shut our eyes when we try to -‘visualise’ or picture things very distinctly? This fact of a -preternatural activity of imagination, taken with the circumstance -emphasised by Rousseau that in the darkness the child is no longer -distinctly aware of the objects that are actually before him, would help -us to understand why children are so much given to projecting into the -unseen black spaces the creatures of their imagination. Not only so—and -this Rousseau does not appear to have recognised—the dull feeling of -depression which accompanies the sensation of darkness might suffice to -give a gloomy and weird cast to the images so projected. - -But I am disposed to think that there is yet another element in this -childish fear. I have said that darkness gives a positive sensation: we -_see_ it, and the sensation, apart from any difference of signification -which we afterwards learn to give to it, is of the same kind that is -obtained by looking at a dull black surface. To the child the difference -between a black object and a dark unillumined space is as yet not clear, -and I believe it will be found that children tend to materialise or to -‘reify’ darkness. When, for example, a correspondent tells me that -darkness was envisaged by her when a child as “a crushing power,” I -think I see traces of this childish feeling. I seem able to recall my -own childish sense of a big black something on suddenly waking and -opening the eyes in a very dark room. - -But there is still another thing to be noticed in this sensation of -darkness. The black field is not uniform; some parts of it show less -black than others, and the indistinct and rude pattern of comparatively -light and dark changes from moment to moment; while now and again more -definite spots of brightness may focus themselves. The varying activity -of the retina would seem to account for this apparent changing of the -black scene. What, my reader may not unnaturally ask, has this to do -with a child’s fear of the dark? If he will recall what was said about -the facility with which a child comes to see faces and animal forms in -the lines of a cracked ceiling, or the veining of a piece of marble, he -will, I think, recognise the drift of my remarks. These slight and -momentary differences in the blackness, these fleeting rudiments of a -pattern, may serve as a sensuous base for the projected images; the -child with a strongly excited fancy sees in these dim traces of the -black formless waste definite forms. These will naturally be the forms -with which he is most familiar, and since his fancy is at the moment -tinged with melancholy they will be gloomy and disturbing forms. Hence -we may expect to hear of children seeing the forms of terrifying living -things in the dark. - -Here is a particularly instructive case. A boy of four years had for -some time been afraid of the dark and indulged by having the candle left -burning at night. On hearing that the Crystal Palace had been burned -down he asked for the first time to have the light taken away, fear of -the dark being now cast out by the bigger fear of fire. Some time after -this he volunteered an account of his obsolete terrors to his father. -“Do you know,” he said, “what I thought dark was? A great large live -thing the colour of black with a mouth and eyes.” Here we have the -‘reifying’ of darkness, and we probably see the influence of the -comparatively bright spots in the attribution of eyes to the monster, an -influence still more apparent in the instance quoted above, where a -child saw the eyes of lions and tigers glaring as they walked round the -room. Another suggestive instance here is that given by M. Compayré, in -which a child on being asked why he did not like to be in a dark place -answered: “I don’t like chimney-sweeps”.[153] Here the blackness with -its dim suggestions of brighter spots determined the image of the black -chimney-sweep with his white flashes of mouth and eyes.[154] I should -like to observe here parenthetically that we still need to learn from -children themselves, by talking to them and inviting their confidence -when the fear of the dark is first noticed, how they are apt to envisage -it. - ------ - -Footnote 153: - - _Op. cit._, pp. 100, 101. - -Footnote 154: - - It is supposable too that disturbances of the retina giving rise to - subjective luminous sensations, as the well-known small bright moving - discs, might assist in the case of nervous children in suggesting - glaring eyes. - ------ - -When imagination becomes abnormally active, and the child is haunted by -alarming images, these by recurring with greatest force in the stillness -and darkness of the night will add to the terrifying associations of -darkness. This is illustrated in the case of the boy Stevens, who was -haunted by the spectre of ‘Cocky’ at night. Dreams, especially of the -horrible nightmare kind to which nervous children are subject, may -invest the dark with a new terror. A child suddenly waking up and with -open eyes seeing the phantom-object of his dream against the black -background may be forgiven for acquiring a dread of dark rooms. Possibly -this experience gives the clue to the observation already quoted of a -boy who did not want to sleep in a particular room because there were so -many dreams in it. - -If the above explanation of the child’s fear of the dark is a sound one -Rousseau’s prescription for curing it is not enough. Children may be -encouraged to explore dark rooms, and by touching blind-like their -various objects rendered familiar with the fact that things remain -unchanged even when enveloped in darkness, that the dark is nothing but -our temporary inability to see things; and this may no doubt be helpful -in checking the fear when calm reflexion becomes possible. But a radical -cure must go farther, must aim at checking the activity of morbid -imagination—and here what Locke says about the effects of the terrifying -stories of nurses is very much to the point—and in extreme cases must -set about strengthening shaky nerves. Mothers would do well to remember -that even religious instruction when injudiciously presented may add to -the terrors of the dark for these wee tremulous organisms. One -observation sent me strongly suggests that a child may take a strong -dislike to being shut up in the dark with the terrible all-seeing God. - - - _Fears and their Palliatives._ - -I have probably illustrated the first fears of children at sufficient -length. Without trying to exhaust the subject I have, I think, shown -that fear of a well-marked and intense kind is a common feature of the -first years of life, and that it assumes a Protean variety of shapes. - -Much more will no doubt have to be done in the way of methodical -observation, and more particularly statistical inquiry into the -comparative frequency of the several fears, the age at which they -commonly appear, and so forth, before we can build up a theory of the -subject. One or two general observations may, however, be hazarded even -at this stage. - -The thing which strikes one most perhaps in these early fears is how -little they have to do with any remembered experience of evil. The child -is inexperienced, and if humanely treated knows little of the acuter -forms of human suffering. It would seem at least as if he feared not -because experience had made him apprehensive of evil, but because he was -constitutionally and instinctively nervous, and possessed with a feeling -of insecurity. This feeling of weakness and insecurity comes to the -surface in presence of what is unknown in so far as this can be brought -by the child’s mind into a relation to his welfare—as disturbing noises, -and the movements of things, especially when they take on the form of -approaches. The same thing is, as we have seen, illustrated in the fear -of the dark. A like explanation seems to offer itself for other common -forms of fear, especially those excited by others’ threats, as the dread -of the policeman, and little George Sand’s horror at the idea of being -shut up all night in the ‘crystal prison’ of a lamp. The fact that -children’s fears are not the direct product of experience is expressed -otherwise by saying that they are the offspring of the imagination. A -child is apt to be afraid because he fancies things, and it will -probably be demonstrated by statistical evidence that the most -imaginative children (other things being equal) are the most subject to -fear. - -In certain of these characteristics, at least, children’s fears resemble -those of animals. In both alike fear is much more an instinctive recoil -from the unknown than an apprehension of known evil. The shying of a -horse, the apparent fear of dogs at certain noises, probably too the -fear of animals at the sight and sound of fire—so graphically described -by Mr. Kipling in the case of the jungle beasts—illustrate this. Animals -too seem to have a sense of the uncanny, when something apparently -uncaused happens, as when Romanes excited fear in a dog by attaching a -fine thread to a bone, and by surreptitiously drawing it from the -animal, giving to the bone the look of self-movement. The same dog was -frightened by soap-bubbles. According to Romanes, dogs are frightened by -portraits. It is to be added, however, that in certain of animal fears -the influence of heredity is clearly recognisable, whereas in children’s -fears I have regarded it as doubtful. The fact that a child is not -frightened at fire, which terrifies many animals, seems to illustrate -this difference.[155] - ------ - -Footnote 155: - - See Perez, _L’Education dès le berceau_, pp. 96-99. On animal fears, - see further Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, p. 455 f.; Preyer, _op. - cit._, p. 127 ff. and p. 135; Perez, _First Three Years of Childhood_, - p. 64 ff. - ------ - -Another instructive comparison is that of children’s fears with those of -savages. Both have a like feeling of insecurity, and fall instinctively -in presence of a big unknown into the attitude of dread. In the region -of superstitious fear more particularly, we see how in both a gloomy -fancy forestalls knowledge, investing the new and unexplored with -alarming traits. - -Lastly, children’s fears have some resemblance to certain abnormal -mental conditions. Idiots, who are so near normal childhood in their -degree of intelligence, show a marked fear of strangers. More -interesting, however, in the present connexion, is the exaggeration of -the childish fear of new objects which shows itself in certain mental -aberrations. There is a characteristic dread of newness, neophobia, just -as there is a dread of water.[156] - ------ - -Footnote 156: - - See Compayré, _op. cit._, pp. 99, 100. - ------ - -While, however, these are the dominant characteristics of children’s -fears they are not the only ones. Experience begins to direct the -instinctive fear-impulse from the very beginning. How much it does in -the first months of life it is difficult to say. In the aversion of a -baby to its medicine glass, or its cold bath, one sees, perhaps, more of -the rude germ of passion or anger than of fear. Careful observations -seem to me to be required on the point, at what definite date signs of -fear arising from experience of pain begin to show themselves in the -child. Some children, at least, have a surprising way of not minding -even considerable amounts of physical pain: the misery of a fall, a -blow, a cut, and so forth, being speedily forgotten. It seems doubtful, -indeed, whether the venerable saw, ‘The burnt child dreads the fire,’ is -invariably true. It appears, in many cases at least, to take a good -amount of real agony to produce a genuine fear in a young child.[157] -This tendency to belittle pain is not unknown, I suspect, to the tutor -of small boys. It may well be that a definite and precise recalling of -the misery of a scratch, or even of a moderate burn, may not conduce to -the development of a true fear, and that here, too, fear when it arises -in all its characteristic masterfulness is at bottom fear of the -unknown. This seems illustrated by the well-known fact that a child will -be more terrified during a first experience of pain, especially if there -be a visible hurt and bleeding, than by any subsequent prospect of a -renewal of the catastrophe. Is not the same thing true, indeed, of older -fears? Should we dread the wrench of a tooth-extraction if it were -experienced very often, and we had a sufficiently photographic -imagination to be able to estimate precisely the intensity and duration -of the pain? - ------ - -Footnote 157: - - On this point there are some excellent observations made by Miss - Shinn, who points out that physical pain when not too severe is apt to - be lost sight of in the new feeling of personal consequence to which - it gives rise (_Notes on the Development of a Child_, pt. ii., p. 144 - ff.) - ------ - -Much the same thing shows itself in the cases where fear can be clearly -traced to experience and association. In some of these it is no doubt -remembered experience of suffering which causes the fear. A child that -has been seriously burned will unquestionably be frightened at a too -close approach of a red-hot poker. But in many cases of this excitation -of fear by association it is the primary experience of fear itself which -seems to be the real object of the apprehension. Thus a child who has -been frightened by a dog will betray signs of fear at the sight of a -kennel, of a picture of a dog, and so forth. The little boy referred to -above who was afraid of the toy elephant that shook its head showed -signs of fear a fortnight afterwards on coming across a picture of an -elephant in a picture-book. In such ways does fear propagate fear in the -timid little breast. - -One cannot part from the theme of children’s fears without a reference -to a closely connected subject, the problem of their happiness. To ask -whether childhood is a happy time, still more to ask whether it is the -happiest, is to raise perhaps a foolish and insoluble question. Later -reminiscences would seem in this case to be particularly untrustworthy. -Children themselves no doubt may have very definite views on the -subject. A child will tell you with the unmistakable marks of profound -conviction that he is _so_ unhappy. But paradoxical as it may seem, -children really know very little about the matter. At the best they can -only tell you how they feel at particular moments. To seek for a precise -and satisfactory solution of the problem is thus futile. Only rough -comparisons of childhood and later life are possible. - -In any such comparison the fears of early years claim, no doubt, careful -consideration. There seem to be people who have no idea what the agony -of these early terrors amounts to. And since it is the unknown that -excites this fear, and the unknown in childhood is almost everything, -the possibilities of suffering from this source are great enough. - - Alike the Good, the Ill offend thy Sight, - And rouse the stormy sense of shrill affright. - -George Sand hardly exaggerates when she writes: “Fear is, I believe, the -greatest moral suffering of children”. In the case of weakly, nervous -and imaginative children, more especially, this susceptibility to terror -may bring miserable days and yet more miserable nights. - -Nevertheless, it is easy here to pass from one extreme of brutal -indifference to another of sentimental exaggeration. Childish suffering -is terrible while it lasts, but happily it has a way of not lasting. The -cruel distorting fit of terror passes and leaves the little face with -its old sunny out-look. It is to be remembered, too, that while children -are pitiably fearful in their own way, they are, as we have seen in the -case of the little Walter Scott, delightfully fearless also, as judged -by our standards. How oddly fear and fearlessness go together is -illustrated in a story sent me. A little boy fell into a brook. On his -being fished out by his mother, his sister, aged four, asked him: ‘Did -you see any crocodiles?’ ‘No,’ answered the boy, ‘I wasn’t in long -enough.’ The absence of fear of the water itself was as characteristic -as the presence of fear of the crocodile. - -It is refreshing to find that in certain cases at least where older -people have done their worst to excite terror, a child has escaped its -suffering. Professor Barnes tells us that a Californian child’s belief -in the supernatural takes on a happy tone, directing itself to images of -heaven with trees, birds, and other pretty things, and giving but little -heed to the horrors of hell.[158] In less sunny climes than California -children may not, perhaps, be such little optimists, and it is probable -that graphic descriptions of hell-fire have sent many a creepy thrill of -horror along a child’s tender nerves. Still it may be said that, owing -to the fortunate circumstance of children having much less fear of fire -than many animals, the misery in which eternal punishment is wont to be -bodied forth does not work so powerfully as one might expect on a -child’s imagination. The author of _The Uninitiated_ illustrates a real -child-trait when she makes her small heroine conceive of hell as a place -that _smelt_ nastily (from its brimstone).[159] Then it is noticeable -that children in general are but little affected by fear at the sight or -the thought of death. The child C. had a passing dread of being buried, -but his young hopeful heart refused to credit the fact of that far-off -calamity. Other children, I find, dislike the idea of death as -threatening to deprive them of their mother. Perhaps they can more -readily suppose that somebody else will die than that they themselves -will do so. This comparative immunity from the dread of death is no -small deduction to be made from the burden of children’s fear. - ------ - -Footnote 158: - - _Pedagogical Review_, ii., 3, p. 445. - -Footnote 159: - - p. 43. - ------ - -Not only so, when fear is apt to be excited, Nature has provided the -small timorous person with other instincts which tend to mitigate and -even to neutralise it. It is a happy circumstance that the most prolific -excitant of fear, the presentation of something new and uncanny, is also -provocative of another feeling, that of curiosity, with its impulse to -look and examine. Even animals are sometimes divided in the presence of -something strange between fear and curiosity,[160] and children’s -curiosity is much more lively than theirs. A very tiny child, on first -making acquaintance with some form of physical pain, as a bump on the -head, will deliberately repeat the experience by knocking his head -against something as if experimenting and watching the effect. A clearer -case of curiosity overpowering fear is that of a child who, after -pulling the tail of a cat in a bush and getting scratched, proceeded to -dive into the bush again.[161] Still more interesting here are the -gradual transitions from actual fear before the new and strange to bold -inspection. The child who was frightened by her Japanese doll insisted -on seeing it every day. The behaviour of one of these small persons on -the arrival at the house of a strange dog, of a dark foreigner, or some -other startling novelty, is a pretty and amusing sight. The first -overpowering timidity, the shrinking back to the mother’s breast, -followed by curious peeps, then by bolder outstretchings of head and -arms, mark the stages by which curiosity and interest gain on fear and -finally leave it far behind. Very soon we know the small timorous -creatures will grow into bold adventurers. They will make playthings of -the alarming animals, and of the alarming shadows too.[162] Later on -still perhaps they will love nothing so much as to probe the awful -mysteries of gunpowder. - ------ - -Footnote 160: - - Some examples are given by Preyer, _op. cit._, p. 135. - -Footnote 161: - - Miss Shinn, _op. cit._, p. 150. - -Footnote 162: - - Stevenson, the same who has described the terrors of moving shadows, - illustrates how a child may make a sort of playfellow of his shadow - (_A Child’s Garden of Verses_, xviii.). - ------ - -One palliative of these early terrors remains to be touched on, the -instinct of sheltering or refuge-taking. The first manifestations of -what is called the social nature of children are little more than the -reverse side of their timidity. A baby will cease crying at night on -hearing the familiar voice of mother or nurse because a vague sense of -human companionship does away with the misery of the black solitude. A -frightened child probably knows an ecstasy of bliss when folded in the -protective embrace of a mother’s arms. Even the most timid children -never have the full experience of terror so long as there is within -reach the secure base of all their reconnoitring excursions, the -mother’s skirts. Happy those little ones who have ever near them loving -arms within whose magic circle the oncoming of the cruel fit of terror -is instantly checked, giving place to a delicious calm. - -How unhappy those children must be who, being fearsome by nature, lack -this refuge, who are left much alone to wrestle with their horrors as -best they may, and are rudely repulsed when they bear their -heart-quakings to others, I would not venture to say. Still less should -I care to suggest what is suffered by those unfortunates who find in -those about them not comfort, assurance, support in their fearsome -moments, but the worst source of their terrors. To be brutal to these -small sensitive organisms, to practise on their terrors, to take delight -in exciting the wild stare and wilder shriek of terror, this is perhaps -one of the strange things which make one believe in the old dogma that -the devil can enter into men and women. For here we seem to have to do -with a form of cruelty so exquisite, so contrary to the oldest of -instincts, that it is dishonouring to the savage and to the lower -animals to attempt to refer it to heredity. - -To dwell on such things, however, would be to go back to a pessimistic -view of childhood. It is undeniable that children are exposed to -indescribable misery when they are delivered into the hands of a -consummately cruel guardian. Yet one may hope that this sort of person -is exceptional, something of which we can give no account save by saying -that now and again in sport nature produces a monster, as if to show -what she could do if she did not choose more wisely and benignly to work -within the limitations of type. - - - - - VII. - RAW MATERIAL OF MORALITY. - - - _Primitive Egoism._ - -Perhaps there has been more hasty theorising about the child’s moral -characteristics than about any other of his attributes. The very fact -that diametrically opposed views have been put forward is suggestive of -this haste. By certain theologians and others infancy has been painted -in the blackest of moral colours. According to M. Compayré it is a -bachelor, La Bruyère, and a bishop, Dupanloup, who have said the worst -things of children; and the parent or teacher who wants to see how bad -this worst is may consult M. Compayré’s account.[163] On the other hand, -Rousseau and those who think with him have invested the child with an -untarnished purity. According to Rousseau the child comes from the -Creator’s hand a perfect bit of workmanship, which blundering man at -once begins to mar. Children’s freedom from human vices has been a -common theme of the poet: their innocence was likened by M. About to the -spotless snow of the Jungfrau. Others, as Wordsworth, have gone farther -and attributed to the infant positive excellences, glimpses of a higher -morality than ours, Divine intuitions brought from a prenatal existence. - ------ - -Footnote 163: - - _L’Evolution intell. et mor. de l’Enfant_, chap. xiv., ii. - ------ - -Such opposite views of the moral status and worth of a child must be the -result of prepossession, and the magnifying of the accidents of -individual experience. A theologian who is concerned to maintain the -doctrine of natural depravity, or a bachelor who happens to have known -children chiefly in the character of little tormentors, may be expected -to paint childhood with black pigments. On the other hand the poet, -attracted by the charm of infancy, may, as we have seen, easily be led -to idealise its moral aspects. - -The first thing that strikes one in all such attempts to fix the moral -worth of the child is that they are judging of things by wrong -standards. The infant, though it has a nature capable of becoming moral -or immoral, is not as yet a moral being; and there is a certain -impertinence in trying to force it under our categories of good and bad, -pure and corrupt. - -If then we would know what the child’s ‘moral’ nature is like we must be -careful to distinguish. By ‘moral’ we must understand that part of his -nature, feelings and impulses, which has for us a moral significance; -whether as furnishing raw material out of which education may develop -virtuous dispositions, or contrariwise, as constituting forces adverse -to this development. It may be well to call the former tendencies -favourable to virtue, pro-moral, those unfavourable, contra-moral. Our -inquiry, then, must be: In what respects, and to what extent, does the -child show himself by nature, apart from all that is meant by education, -pro-moral or contra-moral, that is, well or ill fitted to become a -member of a good or virtuous community and to exercise what we know as -moral functions? - -Our especial object here will be if possible to get at natural -dispositions, to examine the child in his primitive nakedness, looking -out for those instinctive tendencies which according to modern science -are only a little less clearly marked in the young of our own species -than in a puppy or a chick. - -Now there is clearly a difficulty here. How, it may be asked, can we -expect to find in a child any traits having a moral significance which -have not been developed by social influences and education? In the case -of pro-moral dispositions more particularly, as kindness, or -truthfulness, we cannot expect to get rid of the effect of the combined -personal influence and instruction of the mother, which is of the -essence of all moral training. Even with regard to contra-moral traits, -as rudeness, or lying, it is evident that example is frequently a -co-operating influence. - -The difficulty is no doubt a real one, and cannot be wholly got rid of. -We cannot completely eliminate the influence of the common life in which -the good and bad disposition alike may be said to grow up. Yet we may -distinguish. Thus we may look out for the earliest spontaneous and what -we may call original manifestations of such dispositions as affection -and truthfulness, so as to eliminate the _direct_ action of instruction -and example, and thus to reduce the influence of the social medium on -the child to a minimum. Similarly in the case of brutal and other -unlovely propensities, we may by taking pains get rid of the influence -of bad example. - -Let us see, then, how far the indictment of the child is a just one. Do -children tend spontaneously to manifest the germs of vicious -dispositions, and if so, to what extent? Here, as I have suggested, we -must be particularly careful not to read wrong interpretations into what -we see. It will not do, for example, to say that children are born -thieves because they show themselves at first serenely indifferent to -the distinction of _meum_ and _tuum_, and are inclined to help -themselves to other children’s toys, and so forth. To repeat, what we -have to inquire is whether children by their instinctive inclinations -are contra-moral, that is, predisposed to what, if persevered in with -reflexion, we call immorality or vice. - -Here we cannot do better than touch on that group of feelings and -dispositions which can be best marked off as anti-social since they tend -to the injury of others, such as anger, envy, and cruelty. - -The most distant acquaintance with the first years of human life tells -us that young children have much in common with the lower animals. Their -characteristic passions and impulses are centred in self and the -satisfaction of its wants. What is better marked, for example, than the -boundless greed of the child, his keen desire to appropriate and enjoy -whatever presents itself, and to resent others’ participation in such -enjoyment? For some time after birth the child is little more than an -incarnation of appetite which knows on restraint, and only yields to the -undermining force of satiety. - -The child’s entrance into social life through a growing consciousness of -the existence of others is marked by much fierce opposition to their -wishes. His greed, which at the outset was but the expression of a -vigorous nutritive impulse, now takes on more of a contra-moral aspect. -The removal of the feeding-bottle before full satisfaction has been -attained is, as we know, the occasion for one of the most impressive -utterances of the baby’s ‘will to live,’ and of its resentment of all -human checks to its native impulses. In this outburst we have the first -rude germ of that defiance of control and of authority of which I shall -have to say more by-and-by. - -In another way, too, the expansion of the infant’s consciousness through -the recognition of others widens the terrain of greedy impulse. For ugly -envy commonly has its rise in the perception of another child’s -consumption of appetite’s dainties. - -Here, it is evident, we are still at the level of the animal. A dog is -passionately greedy like the child, will fiercely resent any -interference with the satisfaction of its appetite, and will be envious -of another and more fortunately placed animal. - -Much the same concern for self and opposition to others’ having what the -child himself desires shows itself in the matter of toys and other -possessions of interest. A child is apt not only to make free with -another child’s toys, but to show the strongest objection to any -imitation of this freedom, often displaying a dog-in-the-manger spirit -by refusing to lend what he himself does not want. Not only so, he will -be apt to resent another child’s having toys of his own. This envy of -other children’s possessions is often wide and profound. - -As the social interests come into play so far as to make caresses and -other signs of affection sources of pleasure to the child, the field for -envy and its ‘green-eyed’ offspring, jealousy, is still more enlarged. -As is well known, an infant will greatly resent the mother’s taking -another child into her arms. - -Here, again, we are at the level of the lower animals. They, too, as -our dogs and cats can show us, can be envious not only in the matter -of eatables, but in that of human caressings, and even of -possessions—witness the behaviour of two dogs when a stick is thrown -into the water. - -Full illustrations of these traits of the first years of childhood are -not needed. We all know them. M. Perez and others have culled a -sufficient collection of examples.[164] - ------ - -Footnote 164: - - See for example Perez, _The First Three Years of Childhood_, p. 66 - ff.; and _L’Education dès le berceau_, chap. vi. - ------ - -Out of all this unrestrained pushing of appetite and desire whereby the -child comes into rude collision with others’ wants, wishes and purposes, -there issue the well-known passionateness, the angry outbursts, and the -fierce quarrellings of the child. These fits of angry passion or temper -are among the most curious manifestations of childhood, and deserve to -be studied with much greater care than they have yet received. - -The outburst of rage as the imperious little will feels itself suddenly -pulled up has in spite of its comicality something impressive. Hitting -out right and left, throwing things down on the floor and breaking them, -howling, wild agitated movements of the arms and whole body, these are -the outward vents which the gust of childish fury is apt to take. Preyer -observed one of these violent explosions in the seventeenth month. The -outburst tends to concentrate itself in an attack on the offender, be -this even the beloved mamma herself. Darwin’s boy at the age of two -years three months became a great adept at throwing books, sticks, etc., -at any one who offended him.[165] But almost anything will do as an -object of attack. A child of four on being crossed would bang his chair, -and then proceed to vent his displeasure on his unoffending toy lion, -banging him, jumping on him, and, as anti-climax, threatening him with -the loss of his dinner. Hitting is in some cases improved upon by -biting. The boy C. was for some time vigorously mordant in his angry -fits. Another little boy would, under similar circumstances, bite the -carpet. - ------ - -Footnote 165: - - Darwin notes that all his boys did this kind of thing, whereas his - girls did not (_Mind_, ii., p. 288). My own observations agree with - this. A small boy has more of savage attack than a small girl. - ------ - -Here we have expressive movements which are plainly brutal, which -assimilate the aspect of an angry child to that of an infuriated animal. -The whole outward attitude is one of fierce reckless assault. The -insane, we are told, manifest a like wildness of attack in fits of -anger, smashing windows, etc., and striking anybody who happens to be at -hand. - -Yet these are not all the manifestations. Childish anger has its -wretched aspect. There is keen suffering in these early experiences of -thwarted will and purpose. A little boy, rather more than a year old, -used when crossed to throw himself on the floor and bang the back of his -head; and his brother, when fourteen months old, would similarly throw -himself on the floor, bang the back of his head, biting the carpet as -before mentioned. This act of throwing oneself on the floor, which is -common about this age and is apparently quite instinctive, is the -expression of the utter _dejection_ of misery. C.’s attitude when -crossed, gathered into a heap on the floor, was eloquent of this -infantile despair. Such suffering is the immediate outcome of thwarted -purpose, and must be distinguished from the moral feeling of shame which -often accompanies it. - -Such stormy outbursts vary no doubt from child to child. Thus C.’s -sister in her angry moments did not bite or roll on the floor, but would -dance about and stamp. Some children show little if anything of this -savage furiousness. Among those that do show it, it is often a temporary -phenomenon only. - -This anger, it is to be noted, is due to check, and would show itself to -some extent even if there were no intervention of authority. Thus a -child will become angry, resentful, and despairingly miserable if -another child gets effective hold of something which he wants to have. -Yet it is undoubtedly true, as we shall see, that these little storms -are most frequently called up by the imposition of authority, and are a -manifestation of what we call a defiant attitude. - -This slight examination may suffice to show that with the child self, -its appetites, its satisfactions, are the centre of its existence, the -pivot on which its action turns. I do not forget the real and striking -differences here, the specially brutal form of boys’ anger as compared -with that of girls, the partial atrophy of some of these impulses, -_e.g._, jealousy, in the more gentle and affectionate type of child. Yet -there seems to be little doubt that these are among the commonest and -most pronounced characteristics of the first years. - -Evolution will, no doubt, help us to understand much of this. If the -order of development of the individual follows and summarises that of -the race, we should expect the child to show a germ at least of the -passionateness, the quarrelsomeness of the brute and of the savage -before he shows the moral qualities distinctive of civilised man. That -he often shows so close a resemblance to the savage and to the brute -suggests how little ages of civilised life with its suppression of these -furious impulses have done to tone down the ancient and carefully -transmitted instincts. The child at birth, and for a long while after, -may then be said to be the representative of wild untamed nature, which -it is for education to subdue and fashion into something higher and -better. - -At the same time the child is more than this. In this first clash of his -will with another’s he knows more than the brute’s sensual fury. He -suffers consciously, he realises himself in his antagonism to a world -outside him. It is probable, as I have pointed out before, that even a -physical check bringing pain, as when the child runs his head against a -wall, may develop this consciousness of self in its antagonism to a -not-self. This consciousness reaches a higher phase when the opposing -force is distinctly apprehended as another will. Self-feeling, a germ of -the feeling of ‘my worth,’ enters into this early passionateness and -differentiates it from a mere animal rage. The absolute prostration of -infantile anger seems to be the expression of this keen consciousness of -rebuff, of injury. - -While, then, these outbursts of savage instinct in children are no doubt -ugly, and in their direction contra-moral, they must not hastily be -pronounced wholly bad and wicked. To call them wicked in the full sense -of that term is indeed to forget that they are the swift reactions of -instinct which have in them nothing of reflexion or of deliberation. The -angry child venting his spite in some wild act of violence is a long way -from a man who knowingly and with the consent of his will retaliates and -hates. The very fleeting character of the outbreak, the rapid subsidence -of passion and transition to another mood, show that there is here no -real _malice prépense_. These instincts will, no doubt, if they are not -tamed, develop later on into truly wicked dispositions; yet it is by no -means a small matter to recognise that they do not amount to full moral -depravity. - -On the other hand, we have seen that we do not render complete justice -to these early manifestations of angry passion if we class them with -those of the brute. The child in these first years, though not yet human -in the sense of having rational insight into his wrong-doing, is human -in the sense of suffering through consciousness of an injured self. This -reflective element is not yet moral; the sense of injury may turn -by-and-by into lasting hatred. Yet it holds within itself possibilities -of something higher. But of this more when we come to envisage the child -in his relation to authority. - -The same predominance of self, the same kinship with the unsocial brute -which shows itself in these germinal animosities, is said to reappear in -the insensibility or unfeelingness of children. The commonest charge -against children from those who are not on intimate terms with them, and -sometimes, alas, from those who are, is that they are heartless and -cruel. - -That children often appear to the adult as unfeeling as a stone, is, I -suppose, incontestable. The troubles which harass and oppress the mother -leave her small companion quite unconcerned. He either goes on playing -with undisturbed cheerfulness, or he betrays a momentary curiosity about -some circumstance connected with the affliction which is worse than the -absorption in play through its tantalising want of any genuine feeling. -A brother or a sister may be ill, but if the vigorous little player is -affected at all, it is only through the loss of his companion, if this -is not more than made up for by certain advantages of the solitary -situation. If the mother is ill, the event is interesting merely as -supplying him with new treats. A little boy of four, after spending half -an hour in his mother’s sick-room, coolly informed his nurse: ‘I have -had a very nice time, mamma’s ill!’ The order of the two statements is -significant of the child’s mental attitude towards others’ sufferings. -If his faithful nurse has her face bandaged, his interest in her -torments does not go beyond a remark on the ‘funniness’ of her new -appearance. - -When it comes to the bigger human troubles this want of fellow-feeling -is still more noticeable. Nothing is more shocking to the adult observer -of children than their coldness and stolidity in presence of death. -While a whole house is stricken with grief at the loss of a beloved -inmate the child is wont to preserve his serenity, being affected at -most by a feeling of awe before a great mystery. Even the sight of the -dead body does not always excite grief. Mrs. Burnett in her interesting -reminiscences of childhood has an excellent account of the feelings of a -sensitive and refined child when first brought face to face with death. -In one case she was taken with fearsome longing to touch the dead body, -so as to know what ‘as cold as death’ meant, in another, that of a -pretty girl of three with golden brown eyes and neat small brown curls, -she was impressed by the loveliness of the whole scene, the nursery -bedroom being hung with white and adorned with white flowers. In neither -case was she sorry, and could not cry though she had imagined beforehand -that she would.[166] Even in this case, then, where so much feeling was -called forth, commiseration for the dead companion seems to have been -almost wholly wanting.[167] - ------ - -Footnote 166: - - _The One I Knew Best_, chap. x. - -Footnote 167: - - _Cf._ Paola Lombroso, _op. cit._, p. 84 f. - ------ - -No one, I think, will doubt that judged by our standards children are -often profoundly and shockingly callous. But the question arises here, -too, whether we are right in applying our grown-up standards. It is one -thing to be indifferent with full knowledge of suffering, another to be -indifferent in the sense in which a cat might be said to be so at the -spectacle of your falling or burning your finger. We are apt to assume -that children know our sufferings instinctively, or at least that they -can always enter into them when they are openly expressed. But this -assumption is highly unreasonable. A large part of the manifestation of -human suffering is unintelligible to a little child. He is oppressed -neither by our anxieties nor by our griefs, just because these are to a -large extent beyond his sympathetic comprehension. - -We must remember, too, that there are moods and attitudes of mind -favourable and unfavourable to sympathy. None of us are uniformly and -consistently compassionate, and children are frequently the subject of -moods which exclude the feeling. They are impelled by their -superabundant nervous energy to wild romping activity, they are -passionately absorbed in their play, they are intensely curious about -the many new things they see and hear of. These dominant impulses issue -in mental attitudes which are indifferent to the spectacle of others’ -troubles. - -Again, where an appeal to serious attention is given, a child is apt to -spy something besides the sadness. The little girl already spoken of saw -the prettiness of the death-room rather than its mournfulness. A teacher -once told her class of the death of a class-mate. There was of course a -strange stillness, which one little girl presently broke with a loud -laugh. The child is said to have been by no means unemotional, and the -laugh not a ‘nervous’ one. The odd situation—the sudden hush of a -class—had affected childish sensibilities more than the distressing -announcement. - -One other remark by way of saving clause here. It is by no means true -that children are always unaffected by the sad and sorrowful things in -life. The first acquaintance with death, as we know from a number of -published reminiscences, has sometimes shaken a child’s whole being with -an infinite, nameless sense of woe.[168] - ------ - -Footnote 168: - - See, for example, the record of the impression produced by a parent’s - death left by Steele in the _Tatler_, and George Sand in her - autobiography. No doubt, as Tolstoi’s reminiscences tell us, a good - deal of straining after emotion and vain affectation may mingle with - such childish sorrow. - ------ - -Children, says the misopædist, are not only unfeeling where we look for -sympathy and kindness, they are positively unkind, their unkindness -amounting to cruelty. What we mean by the brute in the child is -emphatically this cruelty. By cruelty is here understood cold-blooded -infliction of pain. “Cet âge,” wrote La Fontaine of childhood, “est sans -pitié.” The idea that children, especially boys, are cruel in this sense -is, I think, a common one. - -This cruelty will now and again show itself in relation to other -children. One of the trying situations of early life is to find oneself -supplanted by the arrival of a new baby. Children, I have reason to -think, are, in such circumstances, capable of coming shockingly near to -a feeling of hatred. I have heard of one little girl who was taken with -so violent an antipathy to a baby which she considered outrageously ugly -as to make attempts to smash its head, much as she would no doubt have -tried to destroy a doll which had become unsightly to her. The baby, it -is comforting to know, was not really hurt by this precocious explosion -of infanticidal impulse—perhaps the smashing was more than half a -"pretence"—and the little girl has since grown up to be a kind-hearted -woman. - -Such cruel-looking handling of smaller infants is probably rare. More -common is the exhibition of the signs of cruelty in the child’s dealings -with animals. It is of this, indeed, that we mostly think when we speak -of a child’s cruelty. - -At first nothing seems clearer than the evidence of malicious intention -in a child’s treatment of animals. The little girl M. when just a year -old would lift two kittens by the neck and try to stamp on them. The -little girl described by Miss Shinn would when two years old run up to a -dog and jerk his ear till he snapped at her, and on one occasion -resolutely thrust her hand into a bush to seize pussy, minding not the -scratches.[169] Do we not see in this mauling of animals, even when it -brings the child himself pain, evidences of a rooted determination to -plague, and of a fierce delight in plaguing? - ------ - -Footnote 169: - - _Notes on the Development of a Child_, pt. ii., p. 149 f. - ------ - -The question of the innermost nature of human cruelty is too difficult a -one to be discussed here. I will only say that whatever the cruelty of -adults may be children’s so-called cruelty towards animals is very far -from being a pure delight in the sight of suffering. The torments to -which a child will subject a long-suffering cat are, I suspect, due not -to a clear intention to inflict pain, but to the childish impulse to -hold, possess, and completely dominate the pet animal. He feels he must -have the pet, no matter at what cost to himself: of the cost to his -victim he does not think. The stamping on the kittens was perhaps merely -a childish way of holding them fast. Such actions are a manifestation of -that odd mixture of sociability and love of power which makes up a -child’s attachment to the lower animals. - -The case of destructive cruelty, as when a small boy crushes a fly, is -somewhat different. Let me give a well-observed instance. A little boy -of two years and two months, "after nearly killing a fly on the -window-pane, seemed surprised and disturbed, looking round for an -explanation, then gave it himself: ‘Mr. Fy dom (gone) to by-by’. But he -would not touch it or another fly again—a doubt evidently remained and -he continued uneasy about it." Here we have, I think, the instinctive -attitude of a child towards the outcome of his destructive impulse. This -impulse, which, as we know, becomes more clearly destructive when -experience has taught what result will follow, is not necessarily cruel -in the sense of including an idea of the animal’s suffering. Animal -movement, especially that of tiny things, has something exciting and -provoking about it. The child’s own activity and the love of power which -is bound up with it impel him to arrest the movements of small -manageable things. This is the meaning, I suspect, of the fascination of -the fly on the window-pane, and of tiny creeping things, and especially, -perhaps, of the worm with its tangle of wriggling movement. The cat’s -prolonged chase of the mouse, into which, as we have seen, something of -a dramatic make-believe enters, probably owes its zest to a like delight -in the realisation of power. - -Along with this love of power there goes often something of a child’s -fierce untamable curiosity. A boy of four, finding that his mother was -shocked at hearing him express a wish to see a pigeon which a dog had -just killed, remarked: ‘Is it rude to look at a dead pigeon? I want to -see where its blood is.’ I am disposed to think that the crushing of -flies and moths and the pulling of worms to pieces and so forth are -prompted by this curiosity. The child wants to see where the blood is, -what the bones are like, how the wings are fastened in, and so forth. -Perez tells of a little boy, afterwards an artist, who used to crush -flies between the leaves of a book for the sake of the odd designs -resulting.[170] By such various lines of concentrated activity does the -child-mind overlook the suffering which it causes. - ------ - -Footnote 170: - - _L’Art et la Poésie chez l’Enfant_, p. 60. - ------ - -A like combination of love of power and of curiosity seems to underlie -other directions of childish destructiveness, as the breaking of toys -and the pulling of flowers to pieces. In certain cases, as in C.’s -annihilation of a garden of peonies, the love of power or effect may -overtop and outlive the curiosity, becoming a sort of iconoclastic -fury.[171] - ------ - -Footnote 171: - - Ruskin tells us that when a child he pulled flowers to pieces ‘in no - morbid curiosity, but in admiring wonder’ (_Præterita_, 88). Goethe - gives an amusing account of his wholesale throwing of crockery out of - the window inspired by the delight of watching the droll way in which - it was smashed on the pavement. - ------ - -I think, then, that we may give the little child the benefit of the -doubt, and not assign his rough handling of sentient things to a wish to -inflict pain, or even to an indifference to pain of which he is clearly -aware. Wanton activity, the curiosity of the experimenter, and delight -in showing one’s power and producing an effect, seem sufficient to -explain most of the alleged brutality of the first years. - -Probably the same considerations apply to those milder forms of -annoyance which children are apt to practise on other people and animals -alike. That a child early develops a decided taste for ‘teasing’ is, I -think, certain. But whether carried out by word or by action this early -teasing seems to be in the main the outcome of the love of power, the -impulse to impose one’s will on other creatures. We must remember that -these wee beings feel themselves so subject to others’ power that they -are very naturally driven to use all opportunities of shaking off the -shackles, and exercising for themselves a little domination. Cruelty, -that is the impulse to inflict pain, where it appears, grows up later, -and though it has its roots in this love of power ought to be -distinguished from it. - -We have now looked at one of the dark sides of the child and have found -that though it is unpleasant it is not so hideous as it has been -painted. Children are no doubt apt to be passionate, ferocious in their -anger, and sadly wanting in consideration for others; yet it is -consolatory to reflect that their savageness is not quite that of -brutes, and that their selfishness and cruelty are a long way removed -from a deliberate and calculating egoism. - - - _Germs of Altruism._ - -It now remains to point out that there is another and counterbalancing -side. If a child has his outbursts of temper he has also his fits of -tenderness. If he is now dead to others’ sufferings he is at another -time taken with a most amiable childish concern for their happiness. In -order to be just to him we must recognise both sides. - -It must not be forgotten here that children are instinctively attachable -and sociable in so far as they show in the first weeks that they get -used to and dependent on the human presence and are miserable when this -is taken from them. The stopping of an infant’s crying at night on -hearing the familiar voice of its mother or nurse shows this. - -In this instinct of companionship there is involved a vague inarticulate -sympathy. Just as the attached dog may be said to have in a dim fashion -a feeling of oneness with its master, so the child. The intenser -realisation of this oneness comes in the case of the dog and of the -child alike after separation. The wild caressing leaps of the quadruped -are matched by the warm embracings of the little biped. Only that here, -too, we see in the child traces of a deeper human consciousness. A girl -of thirteen months was separated from her mother during six weeks. On -the mother’s return she was speechless, and for some time could not bear -to leave her restored companion for a minute. The little girl M. when -nearly seventeen months old received her father after only five days’ -absence with special marks of tenderness, rushing up to him, smoothing -and stroking his face and giving him all the toys in the room. - -This sense of joining on one’s existence to another’s is not sympathy in -its highest form, that is, a conscious realisation of another’s -feelings, but it is a kind of sympathy after all, and may grow into -something better. This we may see in the return of the childish heart to -its resting place after the estrangement introduced by ‘naughtiness’. -The relenting after passion, the reconciliation after punishment, are -these not the experiences which help to raise the dumb animal sympathy -of the first months into a true human sense of fellowship? But this part -of the development of sympathy belongs to another chapter. - -Sympathy, it has been said, is a kind of imitation, and this is -strikingly illustrated in its early forms. A dog will howl piteously in -response to another dog’s howl: similarly a child of nine and a half -months has been known to cry violently when his mother or father -pretended to cry. - -One curious manifestation of this early imitative sympathy is the -impulse to do what the mother does and to be what she is. Much of early -imitative play shows this tendency. It is more than a cold distant -copying of another’s doings: it is full of the warmth of attachment, and -it is entered on as a way of getting nearer to the object of attachment. -Out of this, too, there springs the germ of a higher sympathy. It will -be remembered that Laura Bridgman bound the eyes of her doll with a -bandage similar to the one she herself wore. Through this sharing in her -own experience the doll became more a part of herself. Conversely, a -child, on finding that her mother’s head ached, began imitatively to -make-believe that her own head was hurt. Sympathy rests on community of -experience, and it is a curious fact that a child, before he can fully -sympathise with another’s trouble and make it his own by the sympathetic -process itself, should thus try by a kind of childish acting to realise -this community of experience. - -From this imitative acting of another’s trouble, so as to share in it, -there is but a step to a direct sympathetic apprehension of it. How -early a genuine manifestation of concern about another’s suffering -begins to show itself it is almost impossible to say. Children probably -differ greatly in this respect. I have, however, one case which is so -curious that I cannot forbear to quote it. It reaches me, I may say, by -a thoroughly trustworthy channel. - -A baby aged one year and two months was crawling on the floor. An elder -sister, Katherine, aged six, who was working at a wool mat could not get -on very well and began to cry. Baby looked up and grunted, ‘on! on!’ and -kept drawing its fingers down its own cheeks. Here the aunt called Miss -Katherine’s attention to baby, a device which merely caused a fresh -outburst of tears; whereupon baby proceeded to hitch itself along to -Katherine with many repetitions of the grunts and the mimetic -finger-movements. Katherine, fairly overcome by this, took baby to her -and smiled; at which baby began to clap its hands and to crow, tracing -this time the course of the tears down its sister’s cheeks. - -This pretty nursery-picture certainly seems to illustrate a rudiment of -genuine fellow-feeling. Similarly it is hard not to recognise the signs -of a sincere concern when a child of two runs spontaneously and kisses -the place that is hurt, even though it is not to be doubted that the -graceful action has been learnt through imitation. - -Very sweet and sacred to the mother are the first clear indications of -the child’s concern for herself. These are sporadic, springing up -rarely, and sometimes, as it looks to us, capriciously. Illness, and -temporary removal are a common occasion for the appearance of a deeper -tenderness in the young heart. A little boy of three spontaneously -brought his story-book to his mother when she lay in bed ill; and the -same child used to follow her about after her recovery with all the -devotion of a little knight. - -Valuable and entertaining, too, are the first attempts of the child at -consolation. A little German girl aged two and a half who had just lost -her brother seemed very indifferent for some days. She then began to -reflect and to ask about her playmate. On seeing her mother’s distress -she proceeded in truly childish fashion to comfort her; ‘Never mind, -mamma, you will get a better boy. He _was_ a ragamuffin’ (‘Er _war_ ein -Lump’). The co-existence of an almost barbarous indifference for the -dead brother with practical sympathy for the living mother is -characteristic here.[172] - ------ - -Footnote 172: - - A pretty example of such childish consolation is given by P. Lombroso, - _op. cit._, p. 94. - ------ - -A deeper and more thoughtful sympathy comes with years and reflective -power. Thought about the overhanging terror, death, is sometimes the -awakener of this. ‘Are you old, mother?’ asked a boy of five. ‘Why?’ she -answered. ‘Because,’ he continued, ‘the older you are the nearer you are -to dying.’ This child had once before said he hoped his mother would not -die before him, and this suggests that thought of his own forlorn -condition was in his mind here: yet we may hope that there was something -of disinterested concern too.[173] - ------ - -Footnote 173: - - _Cf._ P. Lombroso, _op. cit._, p. 87. - ------ - -This early consideration frequently takes the practical form of -helpfulness. A child loves nothing better than to assist you in little -household occupations; and though love of activity and the pleasure of -imitating no doubt count for much in these cases, we can, I think, -safely set down something to the wish to be of use. This inference seems -justified by the fact that such practical helpfulness is not always -imitative. A little boy of two years and one month happened to overhear -his nurse say to herself: ‘I wish that Anne would remember to fill the -nursery boiler’. “He listened, and presently trotted off; found the said -Anne doing a distant grate, pulled her by the apron, saying: ‘Nanna, -Nanna!’ (come to nurse). She followed, surprised and puzzled, the child -pulling all the way, till, having got her into the nursery, he pointed -to the boiler, and added: ‘Go dare, go dare,’ so that the girl -comprehended and did as he bade her.” - -With this practical ‘utilitarian’ sympathy there goes a quite charming -wish to give pleasure in other ways. A little girl when just a year old -was given to offering her toys, flowers, and other pretty things to -everybody. Generosity is as truly an impulse of childhood as greediness, -and it is odd to observe their alternate play. At an early age, too, a -child tries to make himself agreeable by pretty and dainty courtesies. A -little girl, aged three and a quarter, petitioned her mother this wise: -‘Please, mamma, will you pin this with the greatest pleasure?’ Regard -for another’s feelings was surely never more charmingly expressed than -in the prayer that in rendering this little service the helper should -not only be willing, but glad. - -Just as there are these sporadic growths of affectionate concern and -wish to please in relation to the mother and others, so there is ample -evidence of kindness to animals. The charge of cruelty in the case of -little children is, indeed, seen to be a gross libel as soon as we -consider their whole behaviour towards the animal world. - -I have touched above on the vague alarms which this animal world has for -tiny children. It is only fair to them to say that these alarms are for -the most part transitory, giving place to interest, attachment and -fellow-feeling. In a sense a child may be said to belong to the animal -community, as Mr. Rudyard Kipling’s charming account of the Jungle -prettily suggests. Has he not, indeed, at first more in common with the -dog and cat, the pet rabbit or dormouse, than with that grown-up human -community which is apt to be so preoccupied with things beyond his -understanding, and in many cases, at least, to wear so unfriendly a -mien? We must remember, too, that children as a rule know nothing of the -prejudices, of the disgusts, which make grown people put animals so far -from them. The boy C. was nonplussed by his mother’s horror of the -caterpillar. A child has been known quite spontaneously to call a worm -‘beautiful’. - -As soon as the first fear of the strangeness is mastered a child will -take to an animal. A little boy of fifteen months quickly overcame his -fright at the barking of his grandfather’s dog, and began to share his -biscuits with him, to give him flowers to smell, and to throw stones for -his amusement. This mastery of fear by attachment takes a higher form -when later on the child will stick to his dumb companion after suffering -from his occasional fits of temper. Ruskin in his reminiscences gives a -striking example of this triumph of attachment over fear. When five -years old, he tells us, he was taken by the serving-man to see a -favourite Newfoundland dog in the stable. The man rather foolishly -humoured the child’s wish to kiss Leo (the dog) and lowered him so that -his face came near the animal’s. Hereupon the dog, who was dining, -resenting the interruption of his meal, bit out a piece of the boy’s -lip. His only fear after this was lest the dog should be sent away.[174] - ------ - -Footnote 174: - - _Præterita_, pp. 105-6. - ------ - -Children will further at a quite early age betray the germ of a truly -humane feeling towards animals. The same little boy that bravely got -over his fear of the dog’s barking would, when nineteen months old, -begin to cry on seeing a horse fall in the street. More passionate -outbursts of pity are seen at a later age. A boy five years and nine -months had a kitten of which he was very fond. One day, after two or -three days’ absence from the house, it came back with one foot much -mutilated and the leg swollen, evidently not far from dying. “When -(writes the mother) he saw it he burst into uncontrollable tears and was -more affected than I have ever seen him. The kitten was taken away and -drowned, and ever since (a month) he has shown great reluctance in -speaking of it, and never mentions it to any one but those who saw the -cat at the time. He says it is too sad to tell any one of it.” The boy -C. when only four was moved to passionate grief at the sight of a dead -dog taken from a pond. - -The indignation of children at the doings of the butcher, the hunter and -others, shows how deeply pitiful consideration for animals is rooted in -their hearts. This is one of the most striking manifestations of the -better side of child-nature and deserves a chapter to itself. - -It is sometimes asked why children should take animals to their bosoms -in this fashion and lavish so much fellow-feeling on them. It seems easy -to understand how they come to choose animals, especially young ones, as -playmates, and now and again to be ruthlessly inconsiderate of their -comfort in their boisterous gambols; but why should they be so affected -by their sufferings and champion their rights so sturdily? I think the -answer is not hard to find. The sympathy and love which the child gives -to animals grow out of a sort of blind gregarious instinct, and this -again seems to be rooted in a similarity of position and needs. As M. -Compayré well says on this point: “He (the child) sympathises naturally -with creatures which resemble him on so many sides, in which he finds -wants analogous to his own, the same appetite, the same impulses to -movement, the same desire for caresses. To resemble is already to -love.”[175] I think, however, that a deeper feeling comes in from the -first and gathers strength as the child hears about men’s treatment of -animals, I mean a sense of a common danger and helplessness face to face -with the human ‘giant’. The more passionate attachment of the child to -the animal is the outcome of the wide-spread instinct of helpless things -to band together. A mother once remarked to her boy, between five and -six years old: ‘Why, R., I believe you are kinder to the animals than to -me’. ‘Perhaps I am,’ he replied, ‘you see they are not so well off as -you are.’ May there not be something of this sense of banding and mutual -defence on the animals’ side too? The idea does not look so absurd when -we remember how responsive, how forbearing, how ready to defend, a dog -will often show itself towards a ‘wee mite’ of a child. This same -instinct to stand up for the helpless inferior shows itself in -children’s attitude towards servants when scolded and especially when -dismissed.[176] - ------ - -Footnote 175: - - _Op. cit._, p. 108. - -Footnote 176: - - Illustrations are given by Paola Lombroso, _op. cit._, p. 96 f. - ------ - -The same outpourings of affection are seen in the dealings of children -with their toy babies and animals. Allowing for occasional outbreaks of -temper and acts of violence, the child’s intercourse with his doll and -his toy ‘gee gee’ is a wonderful display of loving solicitude; a -solicitude which is at once tender and corrective and has the enduring -constancy of a maternal instinct. No one can watch the care given to a -doll, the wide-ranging efforts to provide for its comfort, to make it -look pretty, and to get it to behave nicely, and note the misery when it -is missing, without acknowledging that in this plaything humanised by -childish fancy, and brought by daily habit into the warmest intimacy of -daily companionship, we have the focal meeting-point of the tender -impulses of the child. - -Lastly, the reader may be reminded that childish kindness and -pitifulness extend to what look to us still less deserving objects in -the inanimate world. The manifestations of pity for the falling leaves -and for the stones condemned to lie always in one place, referred to -above, show how quick childish feeling is to detect what is sad in the -look of things. Children have even been known to apply the commiserating -vocable ‘poor’ to a torn paper figure, and to a bent pin. It seems fair -to suppose that here, too, the more tender heart of the child saw -occasion for pity. - -It is worth noting that childish sorrow at the sufferings of things is -sometimes so keen, that even artistic descriptions which contain a -‘cruel’ element are shunned. A little boy under four "is indignant -(writes his mother) at any picture where an animal suffers. He has even -turned against several of his favourite pictures—German Bilderbogen, -because they are ‘cruel,’ as the bear led home with a corkscrew in his -nose." The extreme manifestation of this shrinking from the -representation of animal or human suffering is dislike for ‘sad -stories’. The unsophisticated tender heart of the child can find no -pleasure in horrors which appear to be the supreme delight of many an -adult reader. - -Here, however, it is evident, we verge on the confines of sentimental -pity. It is to be remarked that highly imaginative children shed most -tears over these fictitious sufferings. Children with more -matter-of-fact minds and a practical turn are not so affected. Thus a -mother writes of her two girls: ‘M. being the most imaginative is and -always has been much affected by sad stories, especially if read to her -with dramatic inflexions of voice. From two years old upwards these have -always affected her to tears, whilst P. who is really the most -tender-hearted and helpful, but has little imagination, never cries at -sad stories, and when four years old explained to me that she did not -mind them because she knew they didn’t really happen.’ - -It appears to me to be incontestable that in this spontaneous outgoing -of fellow-feeling towards other creatures, human and animal, the child -manifests something of a truly moral quality. C.’s stout and persistent -championship of the London horses against the oppression of the -bearing-rein had in it something of righteous indignation. The way in -which his mind was at this period pre-occupied with animal suffering -suggests that his sympathies with animals were rousing the first fierce -protest against the wicked injustice of the world. The boy De Quincey -got this first sense of the existence of moral evil in another way -through his sympathy with a sister who, rumour said, had been brutally -treated by a servant. He could not, he tells us, bear to look on the -woman. It was not anger. ‘The feeling which fell upon me was a -shuddering horror as upon a first glimpse of the truth that I was in a -world of evil and strife.’[177] - ------ - -Footnote 177: - - _Autobiographical Sketches_, chap. i. - ------ - - _Children’s Lies._ - -We may now turn to the other main charge against children, that of -lying. According to many, children are in general accomplished little -liars, to the manner born and equally adept with the mendacious savage. -Even writers on childhood, by no means prejudiced against them, lean to -the view that untruth is universal among children, and to some extent at -least innate.[178] - ------ - -Footnote 178: - - See the quotations from Montaigne and Perez, given by Compayré, _op. - cit._, p. 309 f. - ------ - -Here, surely, there is need of discrimination. A lie connotes, or should -connote, an assertion made with full consciousness of its untruth, and -in order to mislead. It may well be doubted whether little children have -so clear an apprehension of what we understand by truth and falsity as -to be liars in this full sense. Much of what seems shocking to the adult -unable to place himself at the level of childish intelligence and -feeling will probably prove to be something far less serious. It is -satisfactory to note a tendency to take a milder and more reasonable -view of this infantile fibbing; and in what follows I can but follow up -the excellent recent studies of Dr. Stanley Hall, and M. Compayré.[179] - ------ - -Footnote 179: - - Stanley Hall, “Children’s Lies,” _Amer. Journal of Psychology_, 1890; - Compayré, _op. cit._, p. 309 ff. - ------ - -It is desirable to inspect a little more closely the various forms of -this early mendacity. To begin with those little ruses and -dissimulations which, according to M. Perez, are apt to appear almost -from the cradle in the case of certain children, it is plainly difficult -to bring them into the category of full-fledged lies. When, for example, -a child wishing to keep a thing hides it, and on your asking for it -holds out empty hands, it would be hard to name this action a lie, even -though there is in it a germ of deception. We must remember that -children have an early developed instinct to secrete things, and the -little dissimulation in these actions may be a mere outcome of this -hiding propensity, and the accompanying wish that you should not get the -hidden thing. Refusals to tell secrets, or as C. called them ‘private -secrets’ (a fine distinction), show the same thing. A child when -badgered is most jealous in guarding what he has been told, or what his -fancy has made a secret. The little ruses or ‘acted lies’ to which I am -now referring seem to me at the worst attempts to put you off the scent -in what is regarded as a private matter, and to have the minimum of -intentional deception. As Mrs. Fry has well shown, this childish passion -for keeping things secret may account for later and more serioua-looking -falsehoods.[180] - ------ - -Footnote 180: - - _Uninitiated_ (‘A Discovery in Morals’). - ------ - -More distinct marks of mendacity appear when the child comes to use -language and proffers statements which if he reflected he might know to -be false. It may readily be thought that no child who has the -intelligence to make statements at all could make false ones without -some little consciousness of the falsity. But here I suspect we judge -harshly, applying adult tests to cases where they are inappropriate. -Anybody who has observed children’s play and dramatic talk, and knows -how readily and completely they can imagine the non-existent so as to -lose sight of the existent, will be chary when talking of them of using -the word lie. There may be solemn sticklers for truth who would be -shocked to hear the child when at play saying, ‘I am a coachman,’ ‘Dolly -is crying,’ and so forth. But the discerning see nothing to be alarmed -at here. Similarly when a little girl of two and a half after running on -with a pretty long rigmarole of sounds devoid of all meaning said: “It’s -because you don’t understand me, papa”. Here the love of mystery and -secrecy aided by the dramatic impulse _made_ the nonsense talk real -talk. The wee thing doubtless had a feeling of superiority in talking in -a language which was unintelligible to her all-wise papa. - -On much the same level of moral obliquity are those cases where a child -will say the opposite of what he is told, turning authoritative -utterances upside down. A quaint instance is quoted by Compayré from -Guyau. Guyau’s little boy (age not given) was overheard saying to -himself: “Papa parle mal, il a dit _sevette_, bébé parle bien, il dit -_serviette_”. Such reversals are a kind of play too: the child not -unnaturally gets tired now and then of being told that he is wrong, and -for the moment imagines himself right and his elders wrong, immensely -enjoying the idea. - -A graver-looking case presents itself when an ‘untruth’ is uttered in -answer to a question. C. on being asked by his mother who told him -something, answered, ‘Dolly’. ‘False, and knowingly false,’ somebody -will say, especially when he learns that the depraved youngster -instantly proceeded to laugh. But let us look a little closer. The -question had raised in C.’s small mind the idea that somebody had told -him. This is a process of ‘suggestion’ which, as we shall see presently, -sways a child’s mind as it sways that of the hypnotised adult. And there -close by the child was dolly, and the child’s make-believe includes, as -we all know, much important communication with dolly. What more natural -than that the idea should at once seize his imagination? But the laugh? -Well I am ready to admit that there was a touch of playful defiance -here, of young impishness. The expression on the mother’s face showed -him that his bold absurd fancy had produced its half-startling, -half-amusing effect; and there is nothing your little actor likes more -than this after-effect of startling you. But more, it gave him at the -same instant a glimpse of the outside look of his fancy, of the -unreality of the untruth; and the laugh probably had in it the delight -of the little rebel, of the naughty rogue who loves now and then to set -law at defiance. - -A quick vivid fancy, a childish passion for acting a part, these backed -by a strong impulse to astonish, and a turn for playful rebellion, seem -to me to account for this and other similar varieties of early -misstatement. Naughty they no doubt are in a measure; but is it not just -that playing at being naughty which has in it nothing really bad, and is -removed _toto cœlo_ from downright honest lying? I speak the more -confidently as to C.’s case as I happen to know that he was in his -serious moods particularly, one might almost say pedantically, truthful. - -A somewhat different case is that where the vivid fancy underlying the -misstatement may be supposed to lead to a measure of self-deception. -When, for example, a child wants to be carried and says, “My leg hurts -me and my foot too just here, I can’t walk, I can’t, I can’t,”[181] it -is possible at least that he soon realises the tiredness he begins by -half feigning. The Worcester collection gives an example. “I was giving -some cough syrup, and E (aged three years two months) ran to me saying: -‘I am sick too, and I want some medicine’. She then tried to cough. -Every time she would see me taking the syrup bottle afterwards, she -would begin to cough. The syrup was very sweet.” This looks simply -awful. But what if the child were of so imaginative a turn that the -sight of the syrup given to the sick child produced a more or less -complete illusion of being herself sick, an illusion strong enough to -cause the irritation and the cough? The idea may seem far-fetched, but -deserves to be considered before we brand the child with the name liar. - ------ - -Footnote 181: - - See P. Lombroso, _op. cit._, p. 74. - ------ - -The vivid fanciful realisation which in this instance was sustained by -the love of sweet things is in many cases inspired by other and later -developed feelings. How much false statement—and that not only among -little children—is of the nature of exaggeration and directed to -producing a strong effect. When, for example, the little four-year-old -draws himself up and shouts exultantly, “See, mamma, how tall I am, I am -growing so fast, I shall soon be a giant,” or boasts of his strength and -tells you the impossible things he is going to do, the element of -braggadocio is on the surface, and imposes on nobody. - -No doubt these propensities, though not amounting in the stage of -development now dealt with to full lying, may if unrestrained develop -into this. An unbridled fancy and strong love of effect will lead an -older child to say what he knows, vaguely at least, at the moment to be -false in order to startle and mystify others. Such exaggeration of the -impulses is distinctly abnormal, as may be seen by its affinity to what -we can observe in the case of the insane. The same is true of the -exaggeration of the vain-glorious or ‘showing off’ impulses, as -illustrated for example in the cases mentioned by Dr. Stanley Hall of -children who on going to a new town or school would assume new -characters which were kept up with difficulty by means of many false -pretences.[182] - ------ - -Footnote 182: - - Article “Children’s Lies,” p. 67. - ------ - -A fertile source of childish untruth, especially in the case of girls, -is the wish to please. Here we have to do with very dissimilar things. -An emotional child who in a sudden fit of tenderness for mother, aunt or -teacher gushes out, ‘Oh I _do_ love you,’ or ‘What sweet lovely eyes you -have,’ or other pretty flattery, may be sincere for the moment, the -exaggeration being indeed the outcome of a sudden ebullition of emotion. -There is more of acting and artfulness in the flatteries which take -their rise in a calculating wish to say the nice agreeable thing. Some -children are, I believe, adepts at these amenities. Those in whom the -impulse is strong and dominant are presumably those who in later years -make the good society actors. In all this childish simulation and -exaggeration we have to do with the germs of what may become a great -moral evil, insincerity, that is falsity in respect of what is best and -ought to be sacred. Yet this childish flattery, though undoubtedly a -mild mendacity, is a most amiable mendacity through its charming -motive—always supposing that it is a pure wish to please, and is not -complicated with an _arrière pensée_, the hope of gaining some favour -from the object of the devotion. Perhaps there is no variety of childish -fault more difficult to deal with; if only for the reason that in -checking the impulse we are robbing ourselves of the sweetest offerings -of childhood. - -The other side of this wish to please is the fear to give offence, and -this, I suspect, is a fertile source of childish prevarication. If, for -example, a child is asked whether he does not like or admire something, -his feeling that the questioner expects him to say ‘Yes’ makes it very -hard to say ‘No’. Mrs. Burnett gives us a reminiscence of this early -experience. When she was less than three, she writes, a lady visitor, a -friend of her mother, having found out that the baby newly added to the -family was called Edith, remarked to her: ‘That’s a pretty name. My baby -is Eleanor. Isn’t that a pretty name?’ On being thus questioned she felt -in a dreadful difficulty, for she did not like the sound of ‘Eleanor,’ -and yet feared to be rude and say so. She got out of it by saying she -did not like the name as well as ‘Edith’. - -These temptations and struggles, which may impress themselves on memory -for the whole of life, illustrate the influence of older persons’ wishes -and expectations on the childish mind. It is possible that we have here -to do with something akin to “suggestion,” that force which produces -such amazing results on the hypnotised subject, and is known to be a -potent influence for good or for evil on the young mind. A leading -question of the form, ‘Isn’t this pretty?’ ‘Aren’t you fond of me?’ may -easily overpower for a moment the child’s own conviction super-imposing -that of the stronger mind. Such passive utterance coming from a mind -over-ridden by another’s authority is not to be confounded with -conscious falsehood. - -This suggestion often combines with other forces. Here is a good -example. A little American girl, sent into the oak shrubbery to get a -leaf, saw a snake, which so frightened her that she ran home without the -leaf. As cruel fate would have it she met her brothers and told them she -had seen a ‘’sauger’. “They knew (writes the lady who recalls this -reminiscence of her childhood) the difference between snakes and their -habits, and, boy-like, wanted to tease me, and said ‘’Twas no ’sauger—it -didn’t have a red ring round its neck, now, did it?’ My heated -imagination saw just such a serpent as soon as their words were spoken, -and I declared it had a ring about ‘its neck’.” In this way she was led -on to say that it had scars and a little bell on its neck, and was -soundly rated by her brothers as a ‘liar’.[183] Here we have a case of -“illusion of memory” induced by suggestion acting on a mind made -preternaturally sensitive by the fear from which it had not yet -recovered. If there was a germ of mendacity in the case it had its -source in the shrinking from the brothers’ ridicule, the wish not to -seem utterly ignorant about these boyish matters, the snakes. Yet who -would say that such swift unseizable movements of feeling in the dim -background of consciousness made the child’s responses lies in the -proper sense of the word? - ------ - -Footnote 183: - - Sara E. Wiltshire, _The Christian Union_, vol. xl., No. 26. - ------ - -It seems paradoxical, yet is, I believe, indisputable, that a large part -of childish untruth comes upon the scene in connexion with moral -authority and discipline. We shall see by-and-by that unregenerate -child-nature is very apt to take up the attitude of self-defence towards -those who administer law and inflict punishment. Very little children -brought face to face with restraint and punishment will ‘try on’ these -ruses. Here are one or two illustrations from the notes on the little -girl M. When seventeen and a half months old she threw down her gloves -when wheeled in her mail-cart by her mother. The latter picked them up -and told her not to throw them away again. She was at first good, then -seemed to deliberate and finally called out: ‘Mamma, Bubbo’ (dog). The -mother turned to look, and the little imp threw her gloves away again, -laughing; there was of course no dog. The fib about the dog formed part -of a piece of childish make-believe, of an infantile comedy. It was -hardly more when about two months later, after she had thrown down and -broken her tea-things, and her mother had come up to her, she said: -‘Mamma broke tea-things—beat mamma,’ and proceeded to beat her. In -connexion with such little child-comedies there can be no talk of -deception. They are the outcome of the childish instinct to upset the -serious attitude of authority by a bit of fun. - -The little stratagem begins to look more serious when the child gets -artful enough to put the mother off the scent by a false statement. For -example, a mite of three having in a moment of temper called her mother -‘monkey,’ and being questioned as to what she had said, replied: “I said -I was a monkey”. In some cases the child does not wait to be questioned. -A little girl mentioned by Compayré, being put out by something the -mother had done or said, cried: ‘Nasty!’ (Vilaine!) then after a -significant silence, corrected herself in this wise, ‘Dolly nasty’ -(Poupée vilaine). The skill with which this transference was effected -without any violence to grammar argues a precocious art.[184] - ------ - -Footnote 184: - - Perez gives a similar story, only that the epithet ‘vilaine’ was here - transferred to ‘l’eau’. _L’Education dès le berceau_, p. 53. - ------ - -Our moral discipline may develop untruth in another way. When the -punishment has been inflicted and the governor, relenting from the -brutal harshness, asks: ‘Are you sorry?’ or ‘Aren’t you sorry?’ the -answer is exceedingly likely to be ‘No,’ even though this is in a sense -untrue. More clearly is this lying of obstinacy seen where a child is -shut up and kept without food. Asked: ‘Are you hungry?’ the hardy little -sinner stifles his sensations and pluckily answers ‘No,’ even though the -low and dismal character of the sound shows that the untruth is but a -half-hearted affair. - -I have tried to show how a child’s untruths may be more than half -“playing,” how when they are serious assertions they may involve a -measure of self-deception, and how even when consciously false they may -have their origin in excusable circumstances and feelings. In urging all -this I do not wish to deny the statement that children wall sometimes -deliberately invent a lie from a base motive, as when a girl of three -seeing her little brother caressed by her mother for some minutes and -feeling herself neglected fabricated the story that ‘Henri’ had been -cruel to the parrot.[185] Yet I am disposed to look on such mean -falsehoods as exceptional if not abnormal. - ------ - -Footnote 185: - - Perez, _L’Education dès le berceau_, p. 54. - ------ - -There is much even yet to be done in clearing up the _modus operandi_ of -children’s lies. How quick, for example, is a child to find out the -simple good-natured people, as the servant-maid, or gardener, who will -listen to his romancing and flatter him by appearing to accept it all as -gospel. More significant is the fact that intentional deception is apt -to show itself towards certain people only. There is many a school-boy -who would think it no dishonour to say what is untrue to those he -dislikes, especially by way of getting them into hot water, though he -would feel it mean and base to lie to his mother or his father, and bad -form to lie to the head-master. Similar distinctions show themselves in -earlier stages, and are another point of similarity between the child -and the savage whose ideas of truthfulness seem to be truthfulness for -_my_ people only. This is a side of the subject which would repay fuller -inquiry. - -Another aspect of the subject which has been but little investigated is -the influence of habit in the domain of lying, and the formation of -persistent permanent lies. The impulse to stick to an untruth when once -uttered is very human, and in the case of the child is enforced by the -fear of discovery. This applies not only to falsehoods foisted on -persons in authority, but to those by which clever boys and girls take -pleasure in befooling the inferior wits of others. In this way there -grow up in the nursery and in the playground traditional myths and -legends which are solemnly believed by the simple-minded. Such invention -is in part the outcome of the “pleasures of the imagination”. Yet it is -probable that these are in all cases reinforced not only by the wish to -produce an effect, but by the love of power which in the child not -endowed with physical prowess is apt to show itself in hood-winking and -practical joking. - -Closely connected with the permanence of untruths is the contagiousness -of lying. The propagation of falsehood is apt to be promoted by a -certain tremulous admiration for the hardihood of the lie and by the -impulses of the rebel which never quite slumber even in the case of -fairly obedient children. I suspect, however, that it is in all cases -largely due to the force of suggestion. The falsehood boldly announced -is apt to captivate the mind and hold it under a kind of spell. - -This effect of suggestion in generating falsehood is very marked in -those pathological or semi-pathological cases where children have been -led to give false testimony. It is now known that it is quite possible -to provoke an illusion of memory in certain children between the ages of -six and fifteen by simply affirming something in their hearing, whether -they are in the waking or in the sleeping state, so that they are ready -to state that they actually saw happen what was asserted.[186] - ------ - -Footnote 186: - - M. Motet was one of the first to call attention to the forces of - childish imagination and the effects of suggestion in the false - testimonies of children. _Les Faux Temoignages des Enfants devant la - Justice_, 1887. The subject has been further elucidated by Dr. - Bérillon. - ------ - -So much as to the several manners and circumstances of childish lying. -In order to understand still better what it amounts to, how much of -conscious falsehood enters into it, we must glance at another and -closely related phenomenon, the pain which sometimes attends and follows -it. - -There is no doubt that a certain number of children experience a qualm -of conscience when uttering a falsehood. This is evidenced in the -well-known devices by which the intelligence of the child thinks to -mitigate the lie; as when on saying what he knows to be false he adds -mentally, ‘I do not mean it,’ ‘in my mind,’ or some similar -palliative.[187] Such subterfuges show a measure of sensibility, for a -hardened liar would despise the shifts, and are curious as illustrations -of the childish conscience and its unlearnt casuistry. - ------ - -Footnote 187: - - See Stanley Hall, _loc. cit._, p. 68 f. - ------ - -The remorse that sometimes follows lying, especially the first lie, -which catches the conscience at its tenderest, has been remembered by -many in later life. Here is a case. A lady friend remembers that when a -child of four she had to wear a shade over her eyes. One day on walking -out with her mother she was looking, child-wise, sidewards instead of in -front, and nearly struck a lamp-post. Her mother then scolded her, but -presently remembering the eyes, said: “Poor child, you could not see -well”. She knew that this was not the reason, but she accepted it, and -for long afterwards was tormented with a sense of having told a lie. -Miss Wiltshire, who tells the story of the mythical snake, gives another -recollection which illustrates the keen suffering of a child when he -becomes fully conscious of falsehood. She was as a small child very fond -of babies, and had been permitted by her mother to go when invited by -her aunt to nurse her baby cousin. One day wanting much to go when not -invited, she boldly invented, saying that her aunt was busy and had -asked her to spend an hour with the baby. ‘I went (she adds) not to the -baby, but by a circuitous route to my father’s barn, crept behind one of -the great doors, which I drew as close to me as I could, vainly wishing -that the barn and the hay-stacks would cover me; then I cried and moaned -I do not know how many hours, and when I went to bed I said my prayers -between sobs, refusing to tell my mother why I wept.’[188] - ------ - -Footnote 188: - - _Loc. cit._ - ------ - -Such examples of remorse are evidence of a child’s capability of -knowingly stating what is false. This is strikingly shown in Miss -Wiltshire’s two reminiscences; for she distinctly tells us that in the -case of her confident assertion about the imaginary snake with ring and -bell, she felt no remorse as she was not conscious of uttering a -lie.[189] But these sufferings of conscience point to something else, a -sense of awful wickedness, of having done violence to all that is right -and holy. How, it may be asked, does it happen that children feel thus -morally crushed after telling a lie? - ------ - -Footnote 189: - - _Cf._ what Mrs. Fry says, _Uninitiated_ (‘A Discovery in Morals’). - ------ - -Here is a question that can only be answered when we have more material. -We know that among all childish offences lying is the one which is apt -to be specially branded by theological sanctions. The physical torments -with which the ‘lying tongue’ is threatened, may well beget terror in a -timid child’s heart. I think it likely, too, that the awfulness of lying -is thought of by children in its relation to the all-seeing God who, -though he cannot be lied to, knows when we lie. The inaudible palliative -words added to the lie may be an awkward child-device for putting the -speaker straight with the all-hearing God. - -Further inquiry is, however, needed here. Do children contract a horror -of a lie when no religious terrors are introduced? Is there anything in -the workings of a child’s own mind which would lead him to feel after -his first lie as if the stable world were tumbling about his ears? Let -parents supply us with facts here. - -Meanwhile I will venture to put forth a conjecture, and will gladly -withdraw it as soon as it is disproved. - -So far as my inquiries have gone I do not find that children brought up -at home and kept from the contagion of bad example do uniformly develop -a lying propensity. Several mothers assure me that their children have -never seriously propounded an untruth. I can say the same about two -children who have been especially observed for the purpose.[190] - ------ - -Footnote 190: - - Stanley Hall, when he speaks of certain forms of lying as prevalent - among children, is, as he expressly explains, speaking of children _at - school_, where the forces of contagion are in full swing. - ------ - -This being so, I distinctly challenge the assertion that lying is -instinctive in the sense that a child, even when brought up among -habitual truth tellers, shows an unlearned aptitude to say what he knows -to be false. A child’s quick imitativeness will, of course, lead him to -copy grown-up people’s untruths at a very early age.[191] - ------ - -Footnote 191: - - I seem to detect possible openings for the play of imitation in many - of the indisputably conscious falsehoods reported by Perez, P. - Lombroso, and others. - ------ - -I will go further and suggest that where a child is brought up normally, -that is, in a habitually truth-speaking community, he tends, quite apart -from moral instruction, to acquire a respect for truth as what is -customary. Consider for a moment how busily a child’s mind is occupied -during the first years of linguistic performance in getting at the -bottom of words, of fitting ideas to words when trying to understand -others, and words to ideas when trying to express his own thoughts, and -you will see that all this must serve to make truth, that is, the -correspondence of statement with fact, to the child-mind something -matter-of-course, something not to be questioned, a law wrought into the -very usages of daily life which he never thinks of disobeying. We can -see that children accustomed to truth-speaking show all the signs of a -moral shock when they are confronted with assertions which, as they see, -do not answer to fact. The child C. was highly indignant on hearing from -his mother that people said what he considered false things about horses -and other matters of interest: and he was even more indignant at meeting -with any such falsity in one of his books for which he had all a child’s -reverence. The idea of perpetrating a knowing untruth, so far as I can -judge, is simply awful to a child who has been thoroughly habituated to -the practice of truthful statement. May it, then, not well be that when -a preternatural pressure of circumstances pushes the child over the -boundary line of truth, he feels a shock, a horror, a giddy and aching -sense of having violated law—law not wholly imposed by the mother’s -command, but rooted in the very habits of social life? I think the -conjecture is well worth considering. - -Our inquiry has led us to recognise, in the case of cruelty and of lying -alike, that children are by no means morally perfect, but have -tendencies which, if not counteracted or held in check by others, will -develop into true cruelty and true lying. On the other hand, our study -has shown us that these impulses are not the only ones. A child has -promptings of kindness, which alternate, often in a capricious-looking -way, with those of inconsiderate teasing and tormenting; and he has, I -hold, side by side with the imaginative and other tendencies which make -for untruthful statement, the instinctive roots of a respect for truth. -These tendencies have not the same relative strength and frequency of -utterance in the case of all children, some showing, for example, more -of the impulse which makes for truth, others more of the impulse which -makes for untruth. Yet in all children probably both kinds of impulse -are to be observed. - -I have confined myself to two of the moral traits of childhood. If there -were time to go into an examination of others, as childish vanity, -something similar would, I think, be found. Children’s vanity, like that -of the savage, has been the theme of more than one chapter, and it is -undoubtedly vast to the point of absurdity. Yet, side by side with these -impulses to deck oneself, to talk boastfully, there exists a delightful -childish candour which, if not exactly what we call modesty, is possibly -something better. - -We may then, perhaps, draw the conclusion that child-nature is on its -moral side wanting in consistency and unity. It is a field of -half-formed growths, some of which tend to choke the others. Certain of -these are favourable, others unfavourable to morality. It is for -education to see to it that these isolated propensities be organised -into a system in which those towards the good become supreme and -regulative principles. - - - - - VIII. - UNDER LAW. - - - _The Struggle with Law._ - -In the last chapter we tried to get at those tendencies of child-nature -which though they have a certain moral significance may in a manner be -called spontaneous and independent of the institution of moral training. -We will now examine the child’s attitude towards the moral government -with which he finds himself confronted. - -Here again we meet with opposite views. Children, say some, are -essentially disobedient and law-breaking. A child as such is a rebel, -delighting in nothing so much as in evading the rule which he finds -imposed on him by others. - -The view that children are instinctively obedient and law-abiding, has -not, I think, been very boldly insisted on. A follower of Rousseau, at -least, who sees only clumsy interference with natural development in our -attempts to govern children, would say that child-nature must resist the -artificial and cramping system which the disciplinarian imposes. - -It seems, however, to be allowed by some that a certain number of -children are docile and disposed to accept authority with its commands. -According to these, children are either obedient or disobedient. This is -perhaps the view of many mothers and pedagogues. - -Here, too, it is probable that we try to make nature too simple. Even -the latter view, in spite of its apparent wish to be discriminating, -does not allow for the many-sidedness of the child, and for the many -different ways in which the instincts of child-nature may vary. - -Now it is worth asking whether, if the child were naturally disposed to -look on authority as something wholly hostile, he would get morally -trained at all. Physically mastered and morally cowed he might of course -become; but this is not the same thing as being morally induced into a -habit of accepting law and obeying it. - -In inquiring into this matter we must begin by drawing a distinction. -There is first the attitude of a child towards the governor, the parent -or other guardian, and there is his attitude towards law as such. These -are by no means the same thing, and a child of three or four begins to -illustrate the distinction. He may seem to be lawless, opposed to the -very idea of government, when in reality he is merely objecting to a -particular ruler, and the kind of rule (or as the child would say, -misrule) which he is carrying out. - -Let us look a little into the non-compliant, disobedient attitude of -children. As we have seen, their very liveliness, the abundance of their -vigorous impulses, brings them into conflict with others’ wills. The -ruler, more particularly, is a great and continual source of crossings -and checkings. The child has his natural wishes and propensities. He is -full of fun, bent on his harmless tricks, and the mother has to talk -seriously to him about being naughty. How can we wonder at his disliking -the constraint? He has a number of inconvenient, active impulses, such -as putting things in disorder, playing with water, and so forth. As we -all know, he has a duck-like fondness for dirty puddles. Civilisation, -which wills that a child should be nicely dressed and clean, intervenes -in the shape of the nurse and soon puts a stop to this mode of -diversion. The tyro in submission, if sound in brain and limb, kicks -against the restraint, yells, slaps the nurse, and so forth. - -Such collisions are perfectly normal in the first years of life. We -should not care to see a child give up his inclinations at another’s -bidding without some little show of resistance. These conflicts are -frequent and sharp in proportion to the sanity and vigour of the child. -The best children, best from a biological point of view, have, I think, -most of the rebel in them. Not infrequently these resistances of young -will to old will are accompanied by more emphatic protests in the shape -of slapping, pushing, and even biting. The ridiculous inequality in -bodily powers, however, saves, or ought to save, the contest from -becoming a serious physical struggle. The resistance where superior -force is used can only resolve itself into a helpless protest, a vain -shrieking or other utterance of checked and baffled impulse. - -If instead of physical compulsion authority is asserted in the shape of -a highly disagreeable command, a child, before obedience has grown into -a habit, will be likely to disobey. If the nurse, instead of pulling the -mite away from the puddle, bids him come away, he may assert himself in -an eloquent ‘I won’t,’ or less bluntly, ‘I can’t come yet’. If he is -very much in love with the puddle, and has a stout heart, he probably -embarks on a tussle of words, in which ‘I won’t,’ or as the child will -significantly put it ‘I mustn’t,’ is bandied with ‘you must!’ the nurse -having at length to abandon the ‘moral’ method and to resort after all -to physical compulsion. - -Our sample-child has not, we will assume, yet got so far as to recognise -and defer to a general rule about cleanliness. Hence it may be said that -his opposition is directed against the nurse as propounding a particular -command, and one which at the moment is excessively unpleasant. It is as -yet not resistance to law as such, but rather to one specific -interference of another will. - -At the same time we may detect in some of this early resistance to -authority something of the true rebel-nature, that is to say the love of -lawlessness, and what is worse, perhaps, the obstinate recklessness of -the law-breaker. The very behaviour of a child when another will crosses -and blocks the line of his activity is suggestive of this. The yelling -and other disorderly proceedings, do not they speak of the temper of the -rioter, of the rowdy? And then, the fierce persistence in disobedience -under rebuke, and the wild, wicked determination to face everything -rather than obey, are not these marks of an almost Satanic fierceness of -revolt? The thoroughly naughty child sticks at nothing. Thus a little -offender of four when he was reminded by his sister—two years older—that -he would be shut out from heaven retorted impiously, ‘I don’t care,’ -adding: ‘Uncle won’t go—I’ll stay with him’.[192] - ------ - -Footnote 192: - - My correspondent, discreetly perhaps, does not explain why the uncle - was selected as fellow-outcast. - ------ - -This fierce noisy utterance of the disobedient and law-resisting temper -is eminently impressive. Yet it is not the only utterance. If we observe -children who may be said to show on the whole an outward submission to -authority we shall discover signs of secret dissatisfaction and -antagonism. The conflict with rule has not wholly ceased: it has simply -changed its manner of proceeding, physical assault and riotous shouts of -defiance being now exchanged for dialectic attack. - -A curious chapter in the psychology of the child which still has to be -written is the account of the various devices by which the astute little -novice called upon to wear the yoke of authority seeks to smooth its -chafing asperities. These devices may, perhaps, be summed up under the -head of “trying it on”. - -One of the simplest and most obvious of these contrivances is the -extempore invention of an excuse for not instantly obeying a particular -command. A child soon finds out that to say ‘I won’t’ when he is bidden -to do something is indiscreet as well as vulgar. He wants to have his -own way without resorting to a gross breach of good manners, so he -replies insinuatingly, ‘I’s very sorry, but I’s too busy,’ or in some -such conciliatory words. This field of invention offers a fine -opportunity for the imaginative child. A small boy of three years and -nine months on receiving from his nurse the familiar order, “Come here!” -at once replied, “I can’t, nurse, I’s looking for a flea,” and pretended -to be much engrossed in the momentous business of hunting for this -quarry in the blanket of his cot.[193] The little trickster is such a -lover of fun that he is pretty certain to betray his ruse in a case like -this, and our small flea-catcher, we are told, laughed mischievously as -he proffered his excuse. Such sly fabrications may be just as naughty as -the uninspired excuses of a stupidly sulky child, but it is hard to be -quite as much put out by them. - ------ - -Footnote 193: - - _Cf._ the excuse given by a little girl of three when her grandmother - called her, “I can’t come, I am suckling baby” (the doll). P. - Lombroso, _op. cit._, p. 126. - ------ - -These excuses often show a fine range of inventive activity. How -manifold, for example, are the reasons, more or less fictitious, which a -boy when told to make less noise is able to urge in favour of -non-compliance. Here, of course, all the great matters of the -play-world, the need of getting his ‘gee-gee’ on, of giving his orders -to his soldiers, and so forth, come in between the prohibition and -compliance, and disobedience in such cases has its excuses. For to the -child his play-world, even though in a manner modelled on the pattern of -our common world, is apart and sacred; and the conventional restraints -as to noise and such like borrowed from the every-day world seem to him -to be quite out of place in this free and private domain of his own. - -We all know the child’s aptness in ‘easing’ the pressure of commands and -prohibitions. If, for example, he is told to keep perfectly quiet -because mother or father wants to sleep, he will prettily plead for the -reservation of whispering ever so softly. If he is bidden not to ask for -things at the table he will resort to sly indirect reminders of what he -wants, as when a boy of five and a half years whispered audibly: ‘I hope -somebody will offer me some more soup,’ or when a girl of three and a -half years, with still greater childish tact, observed on seeing the -elder folk eating cake: ‘I not asking’. This last may be compared with a -story told by Rousseau of a little girl of six years who, having eaten -of all the dishes but one, artfully indicated the fact by pointing in -turn to each of the dishes, saying: ‘I have eaten that,’ but carefully -passing by the untasted one.[194] When more difficult duties come to be -enforced and the neophyte in the higher morality is bidden to be -considerate for others, and even to sacrifice his own comfort for -theirs, he is apt to manifest a good deal of skill in adjusting the -counsel of perfection to young weakness. Here is an amusing example. A -little boy, Edgar by name, aged five and three-quarter years, was going -out to take tea with some little girls. His mother, as is usual on such -occasions, primed him with special directions as to behaviour, saying: -“Remember to give way to them like father does to me”. To which Edgar, -after thinking a brief instant, replied: “Oh, but _not_ all at _once_. -_You_ have to _persuade_ him.” - ------ - -Footnote 194: - - _Emile_, livre v., quoted by Perez, _L’Art et la Poésie chez - l’Enfant_, p. 127. Rousseau uses this story in order to show that - girls are more artful than boys. - ------ - -A like astuteness will show itself in meeting accusation. The various -ways in which a child will seek to evade the point in such cases are -truly marvellous and show the childish intelligence at its ablest. - -Sometimes the dreary talking to, with its well-known deep accusatory -tones, its familiar pleadings, ‘How can you be so naughty?’ and the rest -is daringly ignored. After keeping up an excellent appearance of -listening the little culprit will proceed in the most artless way to -talk about something more agreeable. This is trying, but is not the -worst. The deepest depth of maternal humiliation is reached when a -carefully prepared and solemnly delivered homily is rewarded by a _tu -quoque_ in the shape of a correction of something in the delivery which -offends the child’s sense of propriety. This befel one mother who, after -talking seriously to her little boy about some fault, was met with this -remark: “Mamma, when you talk you don’t move your upper jaw”. - -It is of course difficult to say how far a child’s interruptions and -what look like turnings of the conversation when receiving rebuke are -the result of deliberate plotting. We know it is hard to hold the young -thoughts long on any subject, and the homily makes a heavy demand in -this respect, and its theme is apt to seem dull to a child’s lively -brain. The thoughts will be sure to wander then, and the rude -interruptions and digressions may after all be but the natural play of -the young mind. I fear, however, that design often has a hand here. The -first digression to which the weak disciplinarian succumbed may have -been the result of a spontaneous flow of childish ideas: but its success -enables the observant child to try it on a second time with artful aim. - -In cases in which no attempt is made to ignore the accusation, the small -wits are busy discovering palliatives and exculpations. Here we have the -many ruses, often crude enough, by which the little culprit tries to -shake off moral responsibility, to deny the authorship of the action -found fault with. The blame is put on anybody or anything. When he -breaks something, say a cup, and is scolded, he saves himself by saying -it was because the cup was not made strong enough, or because the maid -put it too near the edge of the table. There are clear indications of -fatalistic thought in these childish disclaimers. Things were so -conditioned that he could not help doing what he did. This fatalism -betrays itself in the childish subterfuges already referred to, by which -the ego tries to screen itself shabbily by throwing responsibility on to -the bodily agents. This device is sometimes hit upon very early. A wee -child of two when told not to cry gasped out: "Elsie cry—_not_ Elsie -cry—tears cry—naughty tears!" This, it must be allowed, is more -plausible than C.’s lame attempt to put off responsibility for some -naughty action on his hands. For our tears are in a sense apart from us, -and in the first years are wholly beyond control. - -The fatalistic form of exculpation meets us later on under the familiar -form, ‘God made me like that’. A boy of three was blamed for leaving his -crusts, and his conduct contrasted with that of his model papa. -Whereupon he observed with a touch of metaphysical precocity: “Yes, but, -papa, you see God had made you and me different”. - -These denials of authorship occur when a charge is brought home and no -clear justification of the action is forthcoming. In many cases the -shrewd intelligence of the child—which is never so acute as in this art -of moral self-defence—discovers justificatory reasons. In such a case -the attitude is a very different one. It is no longer the helpless -lifting of hands of the irresponsible one, but the bold steady glance of -one who is prepared to defend his action. - -Sometimes these justifications are pitiful examples of quibbling. A boy -had been rough with his baby brother. His mother chid him, telling him -he might hurt baby. He then asked his mother, ‘Isn’t he my own brother?’ -and on his mother admitting so incontestable a proposition, exclaimed -triumphantly, “Well, you said I could do what I liked with _my own_ -things”. The idea of the precious baby being a boy’s own to do what he -likes with is so remote from older people’s conceptions that it seems -impossible to credit the boy with misunderstanding. We ought, perhaps, -to set him down as a depraved little sophist and destined—but -predictions happily lie outside our _métier_. - -In some cases these justifications have a dreadful look of being -after-thoughts invented for the express purpose of self-protection and -knowingly put forward as fibs. Yet there is need of a wise -discrimination here. Take, for example, the following from the Worcester -Collection. A boy of three was told by his mother to stay and mind his -baby-sister while she went downstairs. On going up again some time after -she met him on the stairs. “Being asked why he had left the baby he said -there was a bumble-bee in the room and he was afraid he would get stung -if he stayed there. His mother asked him if he wasn’t afraid his little -sister would get stung. He said, ‘Yes,’ but added that if he stayed in -the room the bee might sting them both, and then she would have two to -take care of.” Now with every wish to be charitable I cannot bring -myself to think that the small boy had really gone through that subtle -process of disinterested calculation before vacating the room in favour -of the bumble-bee, if indeed there was a bumble-bee. To be caught in the -act and questioned is, I suspect, a situation particularly productive of -such specious fibbing. - -One other illustration of this keen childish dialectic when face to face -with the accuser deserves to be touched on. The sharp little wits have -something of a lawyer’s quickness in detecting a flaw in the indictment. -Any exaggeration into which a feeling of indignation happens to betray -the accuser is instantly pounced upon. If, for example, a child is -scolded for pulling kitty’s ears and making her cry it is enough for the -little stickler for accuracy to be able to say: ‘I wasn’t pulling -kitty’s _ears_, I was only pulling _one_ of her ears’. This ability to -deny the charge in its initial form gives the child a great advantage, -and robs the accusation in its amended form of much of its sting. -Whence, by the way, one may infer that wisdom in managing children shows -itself in nothing more than in a scrupulous exactness in the use of -words. - -While there are these isolated attacks on various points of the daily -discipline, we see now and again a bolder line of action in the shape of -a general protest against its severity. Children have been known to urge -that the punishments inflicted on them are ineffectual; and, although -their opinion on such matters is hardly disinterested, it is sometimes -pertinent enough. An American boy aged five years ten months began to -cry because he was forbidden to go into the yard to play, and was -threatened by his mother with a whipping. Whereupon he observed: “Well -now, mamma, that will only make me cry more”. - -These childish protests are, as we know, wont to be met by the -commonplaces about the affection which prompts the correction. But the -child finds it hard to swallow these subtleties. For him love is love, -that is caressing, and doing everything for his present enjoyment; and -here is the mother who says she loves him, and often acts as if she did, -transforming herself into an ogre to torment him and make him miserable. -He may accept her assurance that she scolds and chastises him because -she is a good mother; only he is apt to wish that she were a shade less -good. A boy of four had one morning to remain in bed till ten o’clock as -a punishment for misbehaviour. He proceeded to address his mother in -this wise: "If I had any little children I’d be a worse mother than -you—I’d be quite a bad mother; I’d let the children get up directly I -had done my breakfast at any rate". If, on the other hand, the mother -puts forward her own comfort as the ground of the restraint she may be -met by this kind of thing: “I wish you’d be a little more -self-sacrificing and let me make a noise”. - -Enough has been said to illustrate the ways in which the natural child -kicks against the imposition of restraints on his free activity. He -begins by showing himself an open foe to authority. For a long time -after, while making a certain show of submission, he harbours in his -breast something of the rebel’s spirit. He does his best to evade the -most galling parts of the daily discipline, and displays an admirable -ingenuity in devising excuses for apparent acts of insubordination. -Where candour is permitted he is apt to prove himself an exceedingly -acute critic of the system which is imposed on him. - -All this, moreover, seems to show that a child objects not only to the -particular administration under which he happens to live, but to all law -as implying restraints on free activity. Thus, from the child’s point of -view, so far as we have yet examined it, punishment as such is a thing -which ought not to be. - -So strong and deep-reaching is this antagonism to law and its restraints -apt to be that the childish longing to be ‘big’ is, I believe, grounded -on the expectation of liberty. To be big seems to the child more than -anything else to be rid of all this imposition of commands, to be able -to do what one likes without interference from others. This longing may -grow intense in the breast of a quite small child. “Do you know,” asked -a little fellow of four years, “what I shall do when I’m a big man? I’ll -go to a shop and buy a bun and pick out all the currants.” This funny -story is characteristic of the movements of young desire. The small -prohibition not to pick out the currants is one that may chafe to -soreness a child’s sensibility. - - - _On the Side of Law._ - -If, however, we look closer we shall find that this hostility is not the -whole, perhaps not the most fundamental part of the child’s attitude. It -is evident, to begin with, that a good deal of this early criticism of -parental government, so far from implying rejection of all rule, plainly -implies its acceptance. Some of the earliest and bitterest protests -against interference are directed against what looks to the child -irregular or opposed to law. He is allowed, for example, for some time -to use a pair of scissors as a plaything, and is then suddenly deprived -of it, his mother having now first discovered the unsuitability of the -plaything. In such a case the passionate outburst and the long bitter -protest attest the sense of injustice, the violation of custom and -unwritten law. Again, the keen resentful opposition of the child to the -look of anything like unfairness and partiality in parental government -shows that he has a jealous feeling of regard for the universality and -the inviolableness of law. Much, too, of the criticism dealt with above, -reveals a fundamental acknowledgment of law—at least for the purposes of -the argument. Thus the very attempt to establish an excuse, a -justification, may be said to be a tacit admission that if the action -_had been_ done as alleged it would have been naughty and deserving of -punishment. In truth the small person’s challengings of the _modus -operandi_ of his mother’s rule, just because they are often in a true -sense _ethical_, clearly start from the assumption of rules, and of the -distinction of right and wrong. - -This of itself shows that there are in the child compliant as well as -non-compliant tendencies towards law and towards authority so far as -this is lawful. We may now pass to other parts of a child’s behaviour -which help to make more clear the existence of such law-abiding -impulses. - -Here we may set out with those exhibitions of something like remorse -which often follow disobedience and punishment in the first tender -years. These may, at first, be little more than physical reactions, due -to the exhaustion of the passionate outbursts. But they soon begin to -show traces of new feelings. A child in disgrace, before he has a clear -moral sense of shame, suffers through a feeling of estrangement, of -loneliness, of self-restriction. If the habitual relation between mother -and child is a loving and happy one the situation becomes exceedingly -painful. The pride and obstinacy notwithstanding, the culprit feels that -he is cut off from more than one half of his life, that his beautiful -world is laid in ruins. The same little boy who said: ‘I’d be a worse -mother,’ remarked to his mother a few months later that if he could say -what he liked to God it would be: ‘Love me when I’m naughty’. I think -one can hardly conceive of a more eloquent testimony to the suffering of -the child in the lonesome, loveless state of punishment. - -Is there any analogue of our sense of remorse in this early suffering? -The question of an instinctive moral sense in children is a perplexing -one, and I do not propose to discuss it now. I would only venture to -suggest that in these poignant griefs of child-life there seem to be -signs of a consciousness of violated instincts. This is, no doubt, in -part the smarting of a loving heart on remembering its unloving action. -But there may be more than this. A child of four or five is, I conceive, -quite capable of reflecting at such a time that in his fits of -naughtiness he has broken with his normal orderly self, that he has set -at defiance that which he customarily honours and obeys. - -What, it may be asked, are these instincts? In their earliest -discernible form they seem to me to be respect for rule, for a regular -manner of proceeding as opposed to an irregular. A child, as I -understand the little sphinx, is at once the subject of ever-changing -caprices—whence the delight in playful defiance of all rule and -order—and the reverer of custom, precedent, rule. And, as I conceive, -this reverence for precedent and rule is the deeper and stronger, -holding full sway in his serious moments. - -If this view is correct the suffering of naughty children is not, as has -been said by some, wholly the result of the externals of discipline, -punishment, and the loss of the agreeable things which follow good -behaviour, though this is commonly an element; nor is it merely the -sense of loneliness and lovelessness, though that is probably a large -slice of it; but it contains the germ of something nearer a true -remorse, _viz._, a sense of normal feelings and dispositions set at -nought and contradicted. - -And now we may ask what evidence there is for the existence of this -respect for order and regularity other than that afforded by the -childish protests against apparent inconsistencies in the administration -of discipline. - -Mr. Walter Bagehot tells us that the great initial difficulty in the -formation of communities was the fixing of custom. However this be in -the case of primitive communities it seems to me indisputable that in -the case of a child brought up in normal surroundings there is a clearly -observable instinct to fall in with a common mode of behaviour. - -This respect for custom is related to the imitative instincts of the -child. He does what he sees others do, and so tends to fall in with -their manner of life. We all know that these small people take their cue -from their elders as to what is allowable. Hence one difficulty of moral -training. A little boy when two years and one month old had happened to -see his mother tear a piece of calico. The next day he was discovered to -have taken the sheet from the bed and made a rent in it. When scolded, -he replied in his childish German, ‘Mamma mach put,’ _i.e._, ‘macht -caput’ (breaks calico). It is well when the misleading effect of -‘example’ is so little serious as it was in this case. - -In addition to this effect of others’ doings in making things allowable -in the child’s eyes, there is the binding influence of a repeated -regular manner of proceeding. This is the might of ‘custom’ in the full -sense of the term, the force which underlies all a child’s conceptions -of ‘right’. In spite of the difficulties of moral training, of drilling -children into orderly habits—and I do not lose sight of these—it may -confidently be said that they have an inbred respect for what is -customary, and wears the appearance of a rule of life. Nor is this, I -believe, altogether a reflexion, by imitation, of others’ orderly ways, -and of the system of rules which is imposed on him by others. I am quite -ready to admit that the institution of social life, the regular -procession of the daily doings of the house, aided by the system of -parental discipline, has much to do with fixing the idea of orderliness -and regularity in the child’s mind. Yet I believe the facts point to -something more, to an innate disposition to follow precedent and rule, -which precedes education, and is one of the forces to which education -can appeal. This disposition has its roots in habit, which is apparently -a law of all life: but it is more than the blind impulse of habit, since -it is reflective and rational, and implies a recognition of the -universal. - -The first crude manifestation of this disposition to make rule, to -rationalise life by subjecting it to a general method, is seen in those -actions which seem little more than the working of habit, the insistence -on the customary lines of procedure at meals and such like. A mother -writes that her boy when five years old was quite a stickler for -punctilious order in these matters. His cup and spoon had to be put in -precisely the right place, the sequences of the day, as the lesson -before the walk, the walk before bed, had to be rigorously observed. Any -breach of the customary was apt to be resented as a sort of impiety. -This may be an extreme instance, but my observation leads me to say that -such punctiliousness is not uncommon. What is more, I have seen it -developing itself where the system of parental government was by no -means characterised by severe insistence on such minutiæ of order. And -this would seem to show that it cannot wholly be set down to the -influences of such government. It seems rather to be a spontaneous -extension of the realm of rule or law. - -This impulse to extend rule appears more plainly in many of the little -ceremonial observances of the child. Very charmingly is this respect for -rule exhibited in relation to his animals, dolls and other pets. Not -only are they required to do things in a proper orderly manner, but -people have to treat them with due deference. - - “Every night,” writes a mother of her boy aged two years seven months, - "after I have kissed and shaken hands with him, I have to kiss his - ‘boy,’ that is his doll, who sleeps with him, and to shake its two - hands—also to shake the four hoofs of a tiny horse which lies at the - foot of his cot. When all this has been gone through, he stands up and - entreats, ‘More tata, please, more tata,’ _i.e._, ‘kiss me again and - say more good-nights’. These customs of his with regard to kissing are - peculiar to himself—he kisses his ‘boy’ (doll), also pictures of - horses, dogs, cocks and hens, and he puts his head against us _to be - kissed_; but he will only shake hands and will not kiss people - himself: he reserves his kisses for what he seems to feel inferior - things. We kiss our boy, he kisses his; but he insists upon being - shaken hands with for his part. If other children come to play he - gives them toys, watches them with delight, tries to give them rides - on his ‘go-go’s,’ but does not kiss them; though he will stroke their - hair he does not return their kisses. It seems to me that he regards - it as an action to be reserved for an inferior thing." - -I have quoted at length this careful bit of maternal observation because -it seems to indicate so clearly a spontaneous extension of a custom. The -practice of the mother and father in kissing him was generalised into a -rule of ceremony in the treatment of all inferiors. - -This subject of childish ceremonial is a curious one, and deserves a -more careful study. It is hardly less interesting than the origin and -survival of adult ceremonial, as elucidated by Mr. Herbert Spencer. The -respect for orderly procedure on all serious occasions, and especially -at church, is as exacting as that of any savage tribe. _Punch_ -illustrated this some years ago by a picture of a little girl asking her -mamma if Mr. So and So was not a very wicked man, because he didn’t -“smell his hat” when he came into his pew. - -This jealous regard for ceremony and the proprieties of behaviour is -seen in the enforcement of rules of politeness by children who will -extend them far beyond the scope intended by the parent. A delightful -instance of this fell under my own observation, as I was walking on -Hampstead Heath. It was a spring day, and the fat buds of the chestnuts -were bursting into magnificent green plumes. Two well-dressed ‘misses,’ -aged, I should say, about nine and eleven, were taking their correct -morning walk. The elder called the attention of the younger to one of -the trees, pointing to it. The younger exclaimed in a highly shocked -tone: “Oh, Maud (or was it ‘Mabel’?), you know you _shouldn’t_ point!” -The notion of perpetrating a rudeness on the chestnut tree was funny -enough. But the incident is instructive as illustrating the childish -tendency to stretch and generalise rules to the utmost. - -The domain of prayer well illustrates the same tendency. The child -envisages God as a very, very grand person, and naturally, therefore, -extends to him all the courtesies he knows of. Thus he must be addressed -politely with the due forms ‘Please,’ ‘If you please,’ and so forth. The -German child shrinks from using the familiar form ‘Du’ in his prayers. -As one maiden of seven well put it in reply to a question why she used -‘Sie’ in her prayers: “Ich werde doch den lieben Gott nicht Du nennen: -ich kenne ihn ja gar nicht”. Again, a child feels that he must not worry -or bore God (children generally find out that some people look on them -as bores), or treat him with any kind of disrespect. C. objected to his -sister’s remaining so long at her prayers, apparently on the ground -that, as God knew what she had to say, her much talking would be likely -to bore him. An American boy of four on one occasion refused to say his -prayers, explaining, “Why, they’re old. God has heard them so many times -that they are old to him too. Why, he knows them as well as I do -myself.” On the other hand, God must not be kept waiting. “Oh, mamma,” -said a little boy of three years eight months (the same that was so -insistent about the kissing and hand-shaking), “how long you have kept -me awake for you; God has been wondering so whenever I was going to say -my prayers.” All the words must be nicely said to him. A little boy, -aged four and three-quarter years, once stopped in the middle of a -prayer and asked his mother: “Oh! how do you spell that word?” The -question is curious as suggesting that the child may have envisaged his -silent communications to the far-off King as a letter. In any case, it -showed painstaking and the wish not to offend by slovenliness of -address. - -Not only do children thus of themselves extend the scope and empire of -rule, they show a disposition to make rules for themselves. If a child -that is told to do a thing on a single occasion only is found repeating -the action on other occasions, this seems to show the germ of a -law-making impulse. A little boy of two years one month was once told to -give a lot of old toys to the children of the gardener. Some time after, -on receiving some new toys, he put away his old ones as before for the -less fortunate children. Every careful observer of children knows that -they are apt to proceed this way, to erect particular actions and -suggestions into precedents. This tendency gives something of the -amusing priggishness to the ways of childhood. - -There is little doubt, I think, that this respect for proper orderly -behaviour, for precedent and general rule, forms a vital element in the -child’s submission to parental law. In fixing our attention on -occasional acts of disobedience and lawlessness we are apt to overlook -the ease, the absence of friction with which normal children, if only -decently trained, fall in with the larger part of our observances and -ordinances. - -That the instinct for order does assist moral discipline may be seen in -the fact that children are apt to pay enormous deference to our rules. -Nothing is more suggestive here than the talk of children among -themselves, the emphasis they are wont to lay on the ‘must’ and ‘must -not’. The truth is that children have a tremendous belief in law: a rule -is apt to present itself to their imagination as a thing supremely -sacred and awful before which it prostrates itself. - -This recognition of the absolute imperativeness of a rule properly laid -down by the recognised authority is seen in children’s jealous -insistence on the observance of the rule in their own case and in that -of others. As has been observed by Preyer a child of two years eight -months will follow out the prohibitions of the mother when he falls into -other hands, sternly protesting, for example, against the nurse giving -him the forbidden knife at table. Very proper children rather like to -instruct their aunts and other ignorant persons as to the right way of -dealing with them, and will rejoice in the opportunity of setting them -right even when it means a deprivation for themselves. The self-denying -ordinance: ‘Mamma doesn’t let me have many sweets,’ is by no means -beyond the powers of such a child. One can see here, no doubt, traces of -a childish sense of self-importance, a feeling of the much-waited-on -little sovereign for what befits his supreme worth. Yet, allowing for -such elements, there seems to me to be in this behaviour a residue of -genuine respect for parental law. - -These carryings out of the parental behest when entrusted to other hands -are instructive as suggesting that the child feels the constraining -force of the command when its author is no longer present to enforce it. -Perhaps a clearer evidence of respect for the law as such, apart from -its particular enforcement by the parent, is supplied by children’s way -of extending the rules laid down for their own behaviour to that of -others. This point has already been illustrated in the tendency to -universalise the observances of courtesy and the like. No trait is -better marked in the normal child than the impulse to subject others to -his own disciplinary system. In truth, children are for the most part -particularly alert disciplinarians. With what amusing severity are they -wont to lay down the law to their dolls, and their animal playmates, -subjecting them to precisely the same prohibitions and punishments as -those to which they themselves are subject! Nor do they stop here. They -enforce the duties just as courageously on their human elders. A mite of -eighteen months went up to her elder sister, who was crying, and with -perfect mimicry of the nurse’s corrective manner, said: “Hush! Hush! -papa!” pointing at the same time to the door. The little girl M. when -twenty-two months old was disappointed because a certain Mr. G. did not -call. In the evening she said: "Mr. D. not did tum—was very naughty, Mr. -D. have to be whipped". So natural and inevitable to the intelligence of -a child does it seem that the system of restraints, rebukes, punishments -under which he lives should have universal validity. - -This judicial bent of the child is a curious one and often develops a -priggish fondness for setting others morally straight. Small boys have -to endure much in this way from the hands of slightly older sisters -proficient in matters of law and delighting to enforce the moralities. -But sometimes the sisters lapse into naughtiness, and then the small -boys have their chance. They too can on such occasions be priggish if -not downright hypocritical. A little boy had been quarrelling with his -sister named Muriel just before going to bed. When he was undressed he -knelt down to say his prayers, Muriel sitting near and listening. He -prayed (audibly) in this wise: “Please, God, make Muriel a good girl,” -then looked up and said in an angry voice, “Do you hear that, Muriel?” -and after this digression resumed his petition. I believe fathers when -reading family prayers have been known to apply portions of Scripture in -this personal manner to particular members of the family; and it is even -possible that extempore prayers have been invented, as by this little -prig of a boy, for the purpose of administering a sort of back-handed -corrective blow to an erring neighbour. - -This mania for correction shows itself too in relation to the -authorities themselves. A collection of rebukes and expositions of moral -precept supplied by children to their erring parents would be amusing -and suggestive. As was illustrated above, a child is especially keen to -spy faults in his governors when they are themselves administering -authority. Here is another example: A boy of two—the moral instruction -of parents by the child begins betimes—would not go to sleep when bidden -to do so by his father and mother. At length the father, losing -patience, addressed him with a man’s fierce emphasis. This mode of -admonition so far from cowering the child simply offended his sense of -propriety, for he rejoined: “You s’ouldn’t s’ouldn’t, Assum (_i.e._, -‘Arthur,’ the father’s name), you s’ould speak nicely”. - -The lengths to which a child with the impulse of moral correction strong -in him will sometimes go, are quite appalling. One evening a little girl -of six had been repeating the Lord’s prayer. When she had finished, she -looked up and said: ‘I don’t like that prayer, you ought not to ask for -_bread_, and all that _greediness_, you ought only to ask for goodness!’ -There is probably in this an imitative reproduction of something which -the child had been told by her mother, or had overheard. Yet allowing -for this, one cannot but recognise a quite alarming degree of precocious -moral priggishness. - -We may now turn to what my readers will probably regard as still clearer -evidence of a law-fearing instinct in children, _viz._, their voluntary -submission to its commands. We are apt to think of these little ones as -doing right only under external compulsion. But although a child of four -may be far from attaining to the state of ‘autonomy of will’ or -self-legislation spoken of by the philosopher, he may show a germ of -such free adoption of law. It is possible that we see the first faint -traces of this in a small child’s way of giving orders to, rebuking, and -praising himself. The little girl M., when only twenty months old, -would, when left by her mother alone in a room, say to herself: ‘Tay -dar’ (stay there). About the same time, after being naughty and -squealing ‘like a railway-whistle,’ she would after each squeal say in a -deep voice, ‘Be dood, Babba’ (her name). At the age of twenty-two months -she had been in the garden and misbehaving by treading on the box -border, so that she had to be carried away by her mother. After -confessing her fault she wanted to go into the garden again, and -promised, ‘Babba will not be naughty adain’. When she was out she looked -at the box, saying, “If oo (you) do dat I shall have to take oo in, -Babba”. Here, no doubt, we see quaint mimicries of the external control, -but they seem to me to indicate a movement in the direction of -self-control. - -Very instructive here is the way in which children will voluntarily come -and submit themselves to our discipline. The little girl M. when less -than two years old, would go to her mother and confess some piece of -naughtiness and suggest the punishment. A little boy aged two years and -four months was deprived of a pencil from Thursday to Sunday for -scribbling on the wall-paper. His punishment was, however, tempered by -permission to draw when taken downstairs. On Saturday he had finished a -picture downstairs which pleased him. When his nurse fetched him she -wanted to look at the drawing, but the boy strongly objected, saying: -“No Nana (name for nurse) look at it till Sunday”. And sure enough when -Sunday came, and the pencil was restored to him, he promptly showed -nurse his picture. This is an excellent observation full of suggestion -as to the way in which a child’s mind works. Among other things it seems -to show pretty plainly that the little fellow looked on the nursery and -all its belongings, including the nurse, during those three days as a -place of disgrace into which the privileges of the artist were not to -enter. He was allowed the indulgence of drawing downstairs, but he had -no right to exhibit his workmanship to the nurse, who was inseparably -associated in his mind with the forbidden nursery drawing. Thus a -process of genuine child-thought led to a self-instituted extension of -the punishment. - -A month later this child "pulled down a picture in the nursery"—the -nursery walls seem to have had a fell attraction for him—“by standing on -a sofa and tugging till the wire broke. He was alone at the time and -very much frightened though not hurt. He was soothed and told to leave -the picture alone in future, but was not in any way rebuked. He seemed, -however, to think that some punishment was necessary, for he presently -asked whether he was going to have a certain favourite frock on that -afternoon. He was told ‘No’ (the reason being that the day was wet or -something similar) and he said immediately: ‘’Cause Neil pulled picture -down?’” Here I think we have unmistakable evidence of an expectation of -punishment as the fit and proper sequel in a case which, though it did -not exactly resemble those already branded by it, was felt in a vague -way to be disorderly and naughty. - -Such stories of expectation of punishment are capped by instances of -correction actually inflicted by the child on himself. I believe it is -not uncommon for a child when possessed by a sense of having been -naughty to object to having nice things at table on the ground that -previously on a like occasion he was deprived of them. But the most -curious instance of this moral rigour towards self which I have met with -is the following: A girl of nine had been naughty, and was very sorry -for her misbehaviour. Shortly after she came to her lesson limping, and -remarked that she felt very uncomfortable. Being asked by her governess -what was the matter with her she said: “It was very naughty of me to -disobey you, so I put my right shoe on to my left foot and my left shoe -on to my right foot”. - -The facts here briefly illustrated seem to me to show that there is in -the child from the first a rudiment of true law-abidingness. And this is -a force of the greatest consequence to the disciplinarian. It is -something which takes side in the child’s breast with the reasonable -governor and the laws which he or she administers. It secures ready -compliance with a large part of the discipline enforced. When the -impulse urging towards licence has been too strong, and disobedience -ensues, this same instinct comes to the aid of order and good conduct by -inflicting pains which are the beginning of what we call remorse. - -By-and-by other forces will assist. The affectionate child will reflect -on the misery his disobedience causes his mother. A boy of four and -three-quarter years must, one supposes, have woke up to this fact when -he remarked to his mother: “Did you choose to be a mother? I think it -must be rather tiresome.” The day when the child first becomes capable -of thus putting himself into his mother’s place and realising, if only -for an instant, the trouble he has brought on her, is an all-important -one in his moral development. - - - _The Wise Law-giver._ - -As our illustrations have suggested, and as every thoughtful parent -knows well enough, the problem of moral training in the first years is -full of difficulty. Yet our study surely suggests that it is not so -hopeless a problem as we are sometimes weakly disposed to think. Perhaps -a word or two on this may not inappropriately close this essay. - -I will readily concede that the difficulty of inculcating in children a -sweet and cheerful obedience arises partly from their nature. There are -trying children, just as there are trying dogs that howl and make -themselves disagreeable for no discoverable reason but their inherent -‘cussedness’. There are, I doubt not, conscientious painstaking mothers -who have been baffled by having to manage what appears to be the utterly -unmanageable. - -Yet I think that we ought to be very slow to pronounce any child -unmanageable. I know full well that in the case of these small growing -things there are all kinds of hidden physical commotions which breed -caprices, ruffle the temper, and make them the opposite of docile. The -peevish child who will do nothing, will listen to no suggestion, is -assuredly a difficult subject to deal with. But such moodiness and -cross-grainedness springing from bodily disturbances will be allowed for -by the discerning mother, who will be too wise to bring the severer -measures of discipline to bear on a child when subject to their malign -influence. Waiving these disturbing factors, however, I should say that -a good part, certainly more than one half, of the difficulty of training -children is due to our clumsy bungling modes of going to work. - -Sensible persons know that there is a good and a bad way of approaching -a child. The wrong ways of trying to constrain children are, alas, -numerous. I am not writing an ‘advice to parents,’ and am not called on -therefore to deal with the much-disputed question of the rightness and -wrongness of corporal punishment. Slaps may be needful in the early -stages, even though they do lead to little tussles. A mother assures me -that these battles with her several children have all fallen between the -ages of sixteen months and two years. It is, however, conceivable that -such fights might be avoided altogether; yet a man should be chary of -dogmatising on this delicate matter. - -What is beyond doubt is that the slovenly discipline—if indeed -discipline it is to be called—which consists in alternations of gushing -fondness with almost savage severity, or fits of government and -restraint interpolated between long periods of neglect and _laisser -faire_, is precisely what develops the rebellious and law-resisting -propensities. But discipline can be bad without being a stupid pretence. -Everything in the shape of inconsistency, saying one thing at one time, -another thing at another, or treating one child in one fashion, another -in another, tends to undermine the pillars of authority. Young eyes are -quick to note these little contradictions, and they sorely resent them. -It is astonishing how careless disciplinarians can show themselves -before these astute little critics. It is the commonest thing to tell a -child to behave like his elders, forgetting that this, if indeed a rule -at all, can only be one of very limited application. Here is a -suggestive example of the effect of this sort of teaching sent me by a -mother. “At three and a half, when some visitors were present, she was -told not to talk at dinner-time. ‘Why me no talk? Papa talks.’ ‘Yes, but -papa is grown up, and you are only a little girl; you can’t do just like -grown-up people.’ She was silent for some time, but when I told her ten -minutes later to sit nicely with her hands in her lap like her cousins, -she replied, with a very humorous smile, ‘Me tan’t (can’t) sit like -grown-up people, me is only a little girl’.” - -We can fail and make children disloyal instead of loyal subjects by -unduly magnifying our office, by insisting too much on our authority. -Children who are over-ruled, who have no taste of being left unmolested -and free to do what they like, can hardly be expected to submit -graciously. Another way of carrying parental control to excess is by -exacting displays of virtue which are beyond the moral capabilities of -the child. A lady sends me this reminiscence of her childhood. She had -been promised sixpence when she could play her scales without fault, and -succeeded in the exploit on her sixth birthday. The sixpence was given -to her, but soon after her mother suggested that she should spend the -money in fruit to give to her (the mother’s) invalid friend. This was -offending the sense of justice, for if the child is jealous of anything -as his very own it is surely the reward he has earned; and was, -moreover, a foolish attempt to call forth generosity where generosity -was wholly out of place. An even worse example is that recorded by -Ruskin. When a child he was expected to come down to dessert and crack -nuts for the grand older folk while peremptorily forbidden to eat any. -Such refined cruelties of government deserve to be defeated in their -objects. Much of our ill success in governing children would probably -turn out to be attributable to unwisdom in assigning tasks, and more -particularly in making exactions which wound that sensitive fibre of a -child’s heart, the sense of justice. - -Parents are, I fear, apt to forget that generosity and the other liberal -virtues owe their worth to their spontaneity. They may be suggested and -encouraged but cannot be exacted. On the other hand, a parent cannot be -more foolish than to discourage a spontaneous outgoing of good impulse, -as if nothing were good but what emanated from a spirit of obedience. In -a pretty and touching little American work, _Beckonings from Little -Hands_, the writer describes the remorse of a father who, after his -child’s death, recalled the little fellow’s first crude endeavour to -help him by bringing fuel, an endeavour which, alas! he had met with -something like a rebuff. - -The right method of training, which develops and strengthens by bracing -exercise the instinct of obedience, cannot easily be summarised; for it -is the outcome of the highest wisdom. I may, however, be permitted to -indicate one or two of its main features. - -Informed at the outset by a fine moral feeling and a practical tact as -to what ought to be expected, the wise mother is concerned before -everything to make her laws appear as much a matter of course as the -daily sequences of the home life, as unquestionable axioms of behaviour; -and this not by a foolish vehemence of inculcation but by a quiet -skilful inweaving of them into the order of the child’s world. To expect -the right thing, as though the wrong thing were an impossibility, rather -than to be always pointing out the wrong thing and threatening -consequences; to make all her words and all her own actions support this -view of the inevitableness of law; to meet any indications of a -disobedient spirit, first with misunderstanding, and later with -amazement; this is surely the first and fundamental matter. - -The effectiveness of this discipline depends on the simple psychological -principle that difficult actions tend to realise themselves in the -measure in which the ideas of them become clear and persistent. Get a -child steadily to follow out in thought an act to which he is -disinclined and you have more than half mastered the disinclination. The -quiet daily insistence of the wise rule of the nursery proceeds by -setting up and maintaining the ideas of dutiful actions, and so -excluding the thought of disobedient actions. - -It has recently been pointed out that in this moral control of the child -through suggestion of right actions we have something closely analogous -to the action of suggestion upon the hypnotised subject. The mother, the -right sort of mother, has on the child’s mind something of the subduing -influence of the Nancy doctor: she induces ideas of particular actions, -gives them force and persistence so that the young mind is possessed by -them and they work themselves out into fulfilment as occasion arises. - -In order that this effect of ‘obsession,’ or a full occupation of -consciousness with the right idea, may result, certain precautions are -necessary. As observant parents know, a child may be led by a -prohibition to do the very thing he is bidden not to do. We have seen -how readily a child’s mind moves from an affirmation to a corresponding -negation, and conversely. The ‘contradictoriness’ of a child, his -passion for saying the opposite of what you say, shows the same odd -manner of working of the young mind. Wanting to do what he is told not -to do is another effect of this “contrary suggestion,” as it has been -called, aided of course by the child’s dislike of all constraint.[195] -If we want to avoid this effect of suggestion and to secure the direct -effect, we must first of all acquire the difficult secret of personal -influence, of the masterfulness which does not repel but attracts; and -secondly try to reduce our forbiddings with their contrary suggestions -to a minimum. - ------ - -Footnote 195: - - On the nature of this contrary suggestion see Mark Baldwin, _Mental - Development in the Child and the Race_, p. 145 f. - ------ - -The action in moral training of this influence of a quasi-hypnotic -suggestion becomes more clearly marked when difficulties occur; when -some outbreak of wilful resistance has to be recognised and met, or some -new and relatively arduous feat of obedience has to be initiated. Here I -find that intelligent mothers have found their way to methods closely -resembling those of the hypnotist. “When R. is naughty and in a passion -(writes a lady friend of her child aged three and a half), I need only -suggest to him that he is some one else, say a friend of his, and he -will take it up at once, he will pretend to be the other child, and at -last go and call himself, now a good boy, back again.” This mode of -suggestion, by helping the ‘higher self’ to detach itself from and -control the lower might, one suspects, be much more widely employed in -the moral training of children. Suggestion may work through the -emotions. Merely to say, ‘Mother would like you to do this,’ is to set -up an idea in the child’s consciousness by help of the sustaining force -of his affection. “If (writes a lady) there was anything Lyle -particularly wished not to do, his mother had only to say, ‘Dobbin (a -sort of canonised toy-horse already referred to) would like you to do -this,’ and it was done without a murmur.” - -We have another analogue to hypnotic suggestion where a mother prepares -her child some time beforehand for a difficult duty, telling him that -she expects him to perform it. A mother writes that her boy, when about -the age of two and a half years more particularly, was inclined to burst -into loud but short fits of crying. “I have found (she says) these often -checked by telling him beforehand what would be expected of him, and -exacting a promise that he would do the thing cheerfully. I have seen -his face flush up ready to cry when he remembered his promise and -controlled himself.” This reminds one forcibly of the commands suggested -by the hypnotiser to be carried into effect when the subject wakes. Much -more, perhaps, might be done in this direction by choosing the right -moments for setting up the persistent ideas in the child’s -consciousness. I know a lady who got into the way of giving moral -exhortation to her somewhat headstrong girl at night before the child -fell asleep, and found this very effectual. It is possible that we may -be able to apply this idea of preparatory and premunitory suggestion in -new and surprising ways to difficult and refractory children.[196] - ------ - -Footnote 196: - - The bearings of (hypnotic) suggestion on moral education have been - discussed by Guyau, _Education and Heredity_ (Engl. transl.), chap. i. - Compare also Preyer, _op. cit._, p. 267 f., and Compayré, _op. cit._, - p. 262. - ------ - -One other way in which the wise mother will win the child over to duty -is by developing his consciousness of freedom and power. A mother, who -was herself a well-known writer for children, has recorded in some notes -on her children that when one of her little girls had declined to accede -to her wish she used to say to her: ‘Oh, yes, I think when you have -remembered how pleasant it is to oblige others you will do it’. ‘I will -think about it, mamma,’ the child would reply, laughing, and then go and -hide her head behind a sofa-pillow which she called her ‘thinking -corner’. In half a minute she would come out and say: “Oh, yes, mamma, I -have thought about it and I will do it”. This strikes me as an admirable -combination of regulative suggestion with exercise of the young will in -moral decision. It gave the child the consciousness of using her own -will, and yet maintained the needed measure of guidance and control. - -As the moral consciousness develops and new problems arise, new openings -for such suggestive guidance will offer themselves. How valuable, for -example, is the mother’s encouragement of the weakly child, shrinking -from a difficult self-repressive action, when she says with inspiring -voice: ‘You _can_ do it if you try’. Thus pilot-like she conducts the -little navigator out into the open main of duty where he will have to -steer himself. - -I have tried to show that the moral training of children is not beyond -human powers. It has its strong supports in child-nature, and these, -when there are wisdom and method on the ruler’s side, will secure -success. I have not said that the trainer’s task is easy. So far from -thinking this, I hold that a mother who bravely faces the problem, -neither abandoning the wayward will to its own devices, nor, hardly less -weakly, handing over the task of disciplining it to a paid substitute, -and who by well-considered and steadfast effort succeeds in approaching -the perfection I have hinted at, combining the wise ruler with the -tender and companionable parent, is among the few members of our species -who are entitled to its reverence. - - - - - IX. - THE CHILD AS ARTIST. - - -One of the most interesting, perhaps also one of the most instructive, -phases of child-life is the beginnings of art-activity. This has been -recognised by one of the best-known workers in the field of -child-psychology, M. Bernard Perez, who has treated the subject in an -interesting monograph.[197] This department of our subject will, like -that of language, be found to have interesting points of contact with -the phenomena of primitive race-culture. - ------ - -Footnote 197: - - _L’Art et la Poésie chez l’Enfant_, 1888. - ------ - -The art-impulse of children lends itself particularly well to -observation. No doubt, as we shall see, there are difficulties for the -observer here. It may sometimes be a fine point to determine whether a -childish action properly falls under the head of genuine art-production, -though I do not think that this is a serious difficulty. On the other -hand, the art-impulse where it exists manifests itself directly, and for -the most part in so characteristic an objective form that we are able to -study its features with special facility. - -In its narrow sense as a specialised instinct prompting its possessor to -follow a definite line of production, as drawing of the artistic sort, -or simple musical composition, the art-impulse is a particularly -variable phenomenon of childhood. Some children, who afterwards take -seriously to a branch of art-culture, manifest an innate bent by a -precocious devotion to this line of activity. Many others, I have reason -to believe, have a passing fondness for a particular form of -art-activity. On the other hand, there are many children who display -almost a complete lack, not only of the productive impulse, but of the -æsthetic sense of the artist. So uncertain, so sporadic are these -appearances of a rudimentary art among children that one might be easily -led to think that art-activity ought not to be reckoned among their -common characteristics. - -To judge so, however, would be to judge erroneously by applying grown-up -standards. It is commonly recognised that art and play are closely -connected. It is probable that the first crude art of the race, or at -least certain directions of it, sprang out of play-like activities, and -however this be the likenesses of the two are indisputable. I shall hope -to bring these out in the present study. This being so, we are, I -conceive, justified in speaking of art-impulses as a common -characteristic of childhood. - -Although we shall find many interesting points of analogy between crude -child-art and primitive race-art, we must not, as pointed out above, -expect a perfect parallelism. In some directions, as drawing, concerted -dancing, the superior experience, strength and skill of the adult will -reveal themselves, placing child-art at a considerable disadvantage in -the comparison. Contrariwise, the intervention of the educator’s hand -tends seriously to modify the course of development of the child’s -æsthetic aptitudes. His tastes get acted upon from the first and biassed -in the direction of adult tastes. - -This modifying influence of education shows itself more especially in -one particular. There is reason to think that in the development of the -race the growth of a feeling for what is beautiful was a concomitant of -the growth of the art-impulse, the impulse to adorn the person, to -collect feathers and other pretty things. Not so in the case of the -child. Here we note a certain growth of the liking for pretty things -before the spontaneous art-impulse has had time to manifest itself. Most -children who have a cultivated mother or other guardian acquire a -rudimentary appreciation of what their elders think beautiful before -they do much in the way of art-production. We provide them with toys, -pictures, we sing to them and perhaps we even take them to the theatre, -and so do our best to inoculate them with our ideas as to what is -pretty. Hence the difficulty—probably the chief difficulty—of finding -out what the child-mind, left to itself, does prefer. At the same time -the early date at which such æsthetic preferences begin to manifest -themselves makes it desirable to study them before we go on to consider -the active side of child-art. We will try as well as we can to extricate -the first manifestations of genuine childish taste. - - - _First Responses to Natural Beauty._ - -At the very beginning, before the educational influence has had time to -work, we can catch some of the characteristics of this childish -quasi-æsthetic feeling. The directions of a child’s observation, and of -the movements of his grasping arms, tell us pretty clearly what sort of -things attract and please him. - -In the home scene it is bright objects, such as the fire-flame, the -lamp, the play of the sunlight on a bit of glass or a gilded frame; -out-of-doors, glistening water, a meadow whitened by daisies, the fresh -show mantle, later the moon and the stars, which seem to impart to the -dawning consciousness the first hint of the world’s beauty. Luminosity, -brightness in its higher intensities, whether the bright rays reach the -eye directly or are reflected from a lustrous surface, this makes the -first gladness of the eye as it remains a chief source of the gladness -of life. - -The feeling for colour as such comes distinctly later. The first delight -in coloured objects is hardly distinguishable from the primordial -delight in brightness. This applies pretty manifestly to the brightly -illumined, rose-red curtain which Preyer’s boy greeted with signs of -satisfaction at the age of twenty-three days, and it applies to later -manifestations. Thus Preyer found on experimenting with his boy towards -the end of the second year as to his colour-discrimination that a -decided preference was shown for the bright or luminous colours, red and -yellow.[198] Much the same thing was observed by Miss Shinn in her -interesting account of the early development of her niece’s -colour-sense.[199] Thus in the twenty-eighth month she showed a special -fondness for the daffodils, the bright tints of which allured another -and older maiden, and, alas! to the place whence all brightness was -banished. About the same time the child conceived a fondness for a -yellow gown of her aunt, strongly objecting to the substitution for it -of a brown dress. Among the other coloured objects which captivated the -eye of this little girl were a patch of white cherry blossom, and a red -sun-set sky. Such observations might easily be multiplied. Whiteness, it -is to be noted, comes, as we might expect, with bright partial colours, -among the first favourites.[200] - ------ - -Footnote 198: - - _Op. cit._, p. 7 and p. 11 f. - -Footnote 199: - - _Notes on the Development of a Child_, p. 91 ff. - -Footnote 200: - - Cf. Perez, _L’Art et la Poésie chez l’Enfant_, p. 41 ff. - ------ - -At what age a child begins to appreciate the value of colour as colour, -to like blue or red, for its own sake and apart from its brightness, it -is hard to say. The experiments of Preyer, Binet, Baldwin, and others, -as to the discrimination of colour, are hardly conclusive as to special -likings, though Baldwin’s plan of getting the child to reach out for -colours throws a certain light on this point. According to Baldwin blue -is one of the first colours to be singled out; but he does not tell us -how the colours he used (which did not, unfortunately, include -yellow—the child’s favourite according to other observers) were related -in point of luminosity.[201] - ------ - -Footnote 201: - - See Baldwin’s two articles on ‘A New Method of Child-study’ in - _Science_, April, 1893, and his volume, _Mental Development in the - Child and the Race_. - ------ - -No doubt a child of three or four is apt to conceive a special liking -for a particular colour which favourite he is wont to appropriate as ‘my -colour’. A collection of such perfectly spontaneous preferences is a -desideratum in the study of the first manifestations of a feeling for -colour. Care must be taken in observing these selections to eliminate -the effects of association, and the unintentional influence of example -and authority, as when a child takes to a particular colour because it -is ‘mamma’s colour,’ that is, the one she appears to affect in her dress -and otherwise. - -The values of the several colours probably disclose themselves in close -connexion with that of colour-contrast. Many of the likings of a child -of three in the matter of flowers, birds, dresses, and so on, are -clearly traceable to a growing pleasure in colour-contrast. Here again -we must distinguish between a true chromatic and a merely luminous -effect. The dark blue sky showing itself in a break in the white clouds, -one of the coloured spectacles which delighted Miss Shinn’s niece, may -have owed much of its attractiveness to the contrast of light and dark. -It would be interesting to experiment with children of three with a view -to determine whether and how far chromatic contrast pleases when it -stands alone, and is not supported by that of chiaroscuro. - -I have reason to believe that children, like the less cultivated adults, -prefer juxtapositions of colours which lie far from one another in the -colour-circle, as blue and red or blue and yellow. It is sometimes said -that the practice and the history of painting show blue and red to be a -more pleasing combination than that of the complementary colours, blue -and yellow. It would be well to test children’s feeling on this matter. -It would be necessary in this inquiry to see that the child did not -select for combination a particular colour as blue or yellow for its own -sake, and independently of its relation to its companion—a point not -very easy to determine. Care would have to be taken to eliminate further -the influence of authority as operating, not only by instructing the -child what combinations are best, but by setting models of combination, -in the habitual arrangements of dress and so forth. This too would -probably prove to be a condition not easy to satisfy.[202] - ------ - -Footnote 202: - - The influence of such authority is especially evident in the selection - of harmonious shades of colour for dress, etc. _Cf._ Miss Shinn, _op. - cit._, p. 95. - ------ - -I have dwelt at some length on the first germs of colour-appreciation, -because this is the one feature of the child’s æsthetic sense which has -so far lent itself to definite experimental investigation. It is very -different when we turn to the first appreciation of form. That little -children have their likings in the matter of form, is, I think, -indisputable, but they are not those of the cultivated adult. A quite -small child will admire the arch of a rainbow, and the roundness of a -kitten’s form, though in these instances the delight in form is far from -pure. More clearly marked is the appreciation of pretty graceful -movements, as a kitten’s boundings. Perhaps the first waking up to the -graces of form takes place in connexion with this delight in the forms -of motion, a delight which at first is a mixed feeling, involving the -interest in all motion as suggestive of life, to which reference has -already been made. Do not all of us, indeed, tend to translate our -impressions of still forms back into these first impressions of the -forms of motion? - -One noticeable feature in the child’s first response to the attractions -of form is the preference given to ‘tiny’ things. The liking for small -natural forms, birds, insects, shells, and so forth, and the prominence -of such epithets as ‘wee,’ ‘tiny’ or ‘teeny,’ ‘dear little,’ in the -child’s vocabulary alike illustrate this early direction of taste. This -feeling again is a mixed one; for the child’s interest in very small -fragile-looking things has in it an element of caressing tenderness -which again contains a touch of fellow-feeling. This is but one -illustration of the general rule of æsthetic development in the case of -the individual and of the race alike that a pure contemplative delight -in the aspect of things only gradually detaches itself from a mixed -feeling. - -If now we turn to the higher aspects of form, regularity of outline, -symmetry, proportion, we encounter a difficulty. Many children acquire -while quite young and before any formal education commences a certain -feeling for regularity and symmetry. But is this the result of a mere -observation of natural or other forms? Here the circumstances of the -child become important. He lives among those who insist on these -features in the daily activities of the home. In laying the cloth of the -dinner-table, for example, a child sees the regular division of space -enforced as a law. Every time he is dressed, or sees his mother dress, -he has an object-lesson in symmetrical arrangement. And so these -features take on a kind of ethical rightness before they are judged as -elements of æsthetic value. As to a sense of proportion between the -dimensions or parts of a form, the reflexion that this involves a degree -of intellectuality above the reach of many an adult might suggest that -it is not to be expected from a small child; and this conjecture will be -borne out when we come to examine children’s first essays in drawing. - -These elementary pleasures of light, colour, and certain simple aspects -of form, may be said to be the basis of a crude perception of beauty in -natural objects and in the products of human workmanship. A quite small -child is capable of acquiring a real admiration for a beautiful lady, in -the appreciation of which brightness, colour, grace of movement, the -splendour of dress, all have their part, while the charm for the eye is -often reinforced by a sweet and winsome quality of voice. Such an -admiration is not perfectly æsthetic: awe, an inkling of the social -dignity of dress,[203] perhaps a longing to be embraced by the charmer, -may all enter into it; yet a genuine admiration of look for its own sake -is the core of the feeling. In other childish admirations, as the girl’s -enthusiastic worship of the newly arrived baby, we see a true æsthetic -sentiment mingled with and struggling, so to speak, to extricate itself -from such ‘interested’ feelings as sense of personal enrichment by the -new possession and of family pride. In the likings for animals, again, -which often take what seem to us capricious and quaint directions, we -may see rudiments of æsthetic perceptions half hidden under a lively -sense of absolute lordship tempered with affection. - ------ - -Footnote 203: - - On the nature of the early feeling for dress see Perez, _L’Art et la - Poésie chez l’Enfant_. - ------ - -Perhaps the nearest approach to a pure æsthetic enjoyment in these first -experiences is the love of flowers. The wee round wonders with their -mystery of velvety colour are well fitted to take captive the young eye. -I believe most children who live among flowers and have access to them -acquire something of this sentiment, a sentiment of admiration for -beautiful things with which a sort of dumb childish sympathy commonly -blends. No doubt there are marked differences among children here. There -are some who care only, or mainly, for their scent, and the strong -sensibilities of the olfactory organ appear to have a good deal to do -with early preferences and prejudices in the matter of flowers.[204] -Others again care for them mainly as a means of personal adornment, -though I am disposed to think that this partially interested fondness is -less common with children than with many adults. It is sometimes said -that the love of flowers is, in the main, a characteristic of girls. I -think however that if one takes children early enough, before a -consciousness of sex and of its proprieties has been allowed to develop -under education, the difference will be but slight. Little boys of four -or thereabouts often show a very lively sentiment of admiration for -these gems of the plant world. - ------ - -Footnote 204: - - See Perez, _L’Art et la Poésie chez l’Enfant_, p. 90 f. - ------ - -In much of this first crude utterance of the æsthetic sense of the child -we have points of contact with the first manifestations of taste in the -race. Delight in bright glistening things, in gay tints, in strong -contrasts of colour, as well as in certain forms of movement, as that of -feathers—the favourite personal adornment—this is known to be -characteristic of the savage and gives to his taste in the eyes of -civilised man the look of childishness. On the other hand it is doubtful -whether the savage attains to the sentiment of the child for the beauty -of flowers. Our civilised surroundings, meadows and gardens, as well as -the constant action of the educative forces of example, soon carry the -child beyond the savage in this particular. - -How far can children be said to have the germ of a feeling for nature, -or, to use the more comprehensive modern term, cosmic emotion? It is a -matter of common observation that they have not the power to embrace a -multitude of things in a single act of contemplation. Hence they have no -feeling for landscape as a harmonious complex of picturesquely varied -parts. When they are taken to see a ‘view’ their eye instead of trying -to embrace the whole, as a fond parent desires, provokingly pounces on -some single feature of interest, and often one of but little æsthetic -value. People make a great mistake in taking children to ‘points of -view’ under the supposition that they will share in grown people’s -impressions. Perez relates that some children taken to the Pic du Midi -found their chief pleasure in scrambling up the peak and saying that -they were on donkeys.[205] Mere magnitude or vastness of spectacle does -not appeal to the child, for a sense of the sublime grows out of a -complex imaginative process which is beyond his young powers. So far as -immensity affects him at all, as in the case of the sea, it seems to -excite a measure of dread in face of the unknown; and this feeling, -though having a certain kinship with the emotion of sublimity, is -distinct from this last. It has nothing of the joyous consciousness of -expansion which enters into the later feeling. It is only to certain -limited objects and features of nature that the child is æsthetically -responsive. He knows the loveliness of the gilded spring meadow, the -fascination of the sunlit stream, the awful mystery of the wood, and -something too perhaps of the calming beauty of the broad blue sky. That -is to say, he has a number of small rootlets which when they grow -together will develop into a feeling for nature. - ------ - -Footnote 205: - - _Op. cit._, p. 103. - ------ - -Here, too, the analogy between the child and the uncultured nature-man -is evident. The savage has no æsthetic sentiment for nature as a whole, -though he may feel the charm of some of her single features, a stream, a -mountain, the star-spangled sky, and may even be affected by some of the -awful aspects of her changing physiognomy. Are we not told, indeed, that -a true æsthetic appreciation of the picturesque variety of nature’s -scenes of the weird charm of wild places, and of the sublime -fascinations of the awful and repellent mountain, are quite late -attainments in the history of our race?[206] - ------ - -Footnote 206: - - An excellent sketch of the growth of our feeling for the romantic and - sublime beauty of mountains is given by Mr. Leslie Stephen in one of - the most delightful of his works, _The Playground of Europe_. - ------ - - _Early Attitude towards Art._ - -We may now look at the child’s attitude towards those objects and -processes of human art which from the first form part of his environment -and make an educative appeal to his senses; and here we may begin with -those simple musical effects which follow up certain impressions derived -from the natural world. - -It has been pointed out that sounds form a chief source of the little -child-heart’s first trepidations. Yet this prolific cause of -disquietude, when once the first alarming effect of strangeness has -passed, becomes a main source of interest and delight. Some of nature’s -sounds, as those of running water, and of the wind, early catch the ear, -and excite wonder and curiosity. Miss Shinn illustrates fully in the -case of her niece how the interest in sounds developed itself in the -first years.[207] This pleasure in listening to sounds and in tracing -them to their origin forms a chief pastime of babyhood. - ------ - -Footnote 207: - - _Op cit._, p. 115 ff. - ------ - -Æsthetic pleasure in sound begins to be differentiated out of this -general interest as soon as there arises a comparison of qualities and a -development of preferences. Thus the sound of metal (when struck) is -preferred to that of wood or stone. A nascent feeling for musical -quality thus emerges which probably has its part in many of the first -likings for persons; certain pitches, as those of the female voice, and -possibly timbres being preferred to others. - -Quite as soon, at least, as this feeling for quality of sound or tone, -there manifests itself a crude liking for rhythmic sequence. It is -commonly recognised that our pleasure in regularly recurring sounds is -instinctive, being the result of our whole nervous organisation. We can -better adapt successive acts of listening when sounds follow at regular -intervals, and the movements which sounds evoke can be much better -carried out in a regular sequence. The infant shows us this in his -well-known liking for well-marked rhythms in tunes which he accompanies -with suitable movements of the arms, head, etc. - -The first likings for musical composition are based on this instinctive -feeling for rhythm. It is the simple tunes, with well-marked easily -recognisable time-divisions, which first take the child’s fancy, and he -knows the quieting and the exciting qualities of different rhythms and -times. Where rhythm is less marked, or grows highly complex, the motor -responses being confused, the pleasurable interest declines. It is the -same with the rhythmic qualities of verses. The jingling rhythms which -their souls love are of simple structure, with short feet well marked -off, as in the favourite, ‘Jack and Gill’. - -Coming now to art as representative we find that a child’s æsthetic -appreciation waits on the growth of intelligence, on the understanding -of artistic representation as contrasted with a direct presentation of -reality. - -The development of an understanding of visual representation or the -imaging of things has already been touched upon. As Perez points out, -the first lesson in this branch of knowledge is supplied by the -reflexions of the mirror, which, as we have seen, the infant begins to -take for realities, though he soon comes to understand that they are not -tangible realities. The looking-glass is the best means of elucidating -the representative function of the image or ‘Bild’ just because it -presents this image in close proximity to the reality, and so invites -direct comparison with this. - -In the case of pictures where this direct comparison is excluded we -might expect a less rapid recognition of the representative function. -Yet children show very early that picture-semblances are understood in -the sense that they call forth reactions similar to those called forth -by realities. A little boy was observed to talk to pictures at the end -of the eighth month. This perhaps hardly amounted to recognition. -Pollock says that the significance of pictures “was in a general way -understood” by his little girl at the age of thirteen months.[208] Miss -Shinn tells us that her niece, at the age of forty-two weeks, showed the -same excitement at the sight of a life-size painting of a cat as at that -of real cats.[209] Ten months is also given me by a lady as the date at -which her little boy recognised pictures of animals by naming them -‘bow-wow,’ etc., without being prompted. - ------ - -Footnote 208: - - _Mind_, iii., p. 393. - -Footnote 209: - - _Notes on the Development of a Child_, i., p. 71 f. - ------ - -This early recognition of pictures is certainly remarkable even when we -remember that animals have the germ of it. The stories of recognition by -birds of paintings of birds, and by dogs of portraits of persons, have -to do with fairly large and finished paintings.[210] A child, however, -will ‘recognise’ a small and roughly executed drawing. He seems in this -respect to surpass the powers of savages, some of whom, at least, are -said to be slow in recognising pictorial semblances. This power, which -includes a delicate observation of form and an acute sense of likeness, -is seen most strikingly in the recognition of individual portraits. Miss -Shinn’s niece in her fourteenth month picked out her father’s face in a -group of nine, the face being scarcely more than a quarter of an inch in -diameter.[211] I noticed the same fineness of recognition in my own -children. - ------ - -Footnote 210: - - See Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, pp. 311 and 453 ff. The only - exception is a photograph which is said to have been ‘large,’ p. 453. - -Footnote 211: - - _Op. cit._, i., p. 74. - ------ - -One point in this early observation of pictures is curious enough to -call for especial remark. A friend of mine, a psychologist, writes to me -that his little girl, aged three and a half, “does not mind whether she -looks at a picture the right way up or the wrong; she points out what -you ask for, eyes, feet, hands, tail, etc., about equally well whichever -way up the picture is, and never asks to have it put right that she may -see it better”. The same thing was noticed in the other children of the -family, and the mother tells me that her mother observed it in her -children. I have found a further illustration of this indifference to -the position of a picture in the two children of another friend of mine. -Professor Petrie tells me that he once watched an Arab boy looking at a -picture-book. One, a drawing of horses and chariot, happened to have a -different position from the rest, so that the book being held as before, -the horses seemed to be going upwards; but the boy was not in the least -incommoded, and without attempting to turn the book round easily made it -out. These facts are curious as illustrating the skill of the young eye -in deciphering. They may possibly have a further significance as showing -how what we call position—the arrangement of a form in relation to a -vertical line—is a comparatively artificial view of which a child as yet -takes little if any account. He may be able to concentrate his attention -so well on form proper that he is indifferent to the point how the form -is placed. Yet this matter is one which well deserves further -investigation.[212] - ------ - -Footnote 212: - - Professor Petrie reminds me that a like absence of the perception of - position shows itself in the way in which letters are drawn in early - Greek and Phœnician writings. - ------ - -A further question arises as to whether this ‘recognition’ of pictures -by children towards the end of the first year necessarily implies a -grasp of the idea of a picture, that is, of a representation or copy of -something. The first reactions of a child, smiling, etc., on seeing -mirror-images and pictures, do not seem to show this, but merely that he -is affected much as he would be by the presence of the real object, or, -at most, that he recognises the picture as a kind of thing. The same is, -I think, true of the so-called recognition of pictures by animals. - -That children do not, at first, seize the pictorial or representative -function is seen in the familiar fact that they will touch pictures as -they touch shadows and otherwise treat them as if they were tangible -realities. Thus Pollock’s little girl attempted to smell at the trees in -a picture and ‘pretended’ to feed some pictorial dogs. - -When the first clear apprehension of the pictorial function is reached, -it is difficult to say. Miss Shinn thought that her niece “understood -the purport of a picture quite well” at the age of forty-five weeks. She -draws this conclusion from the fact that at this date the child in -answer to the question ‘Where are the flowers?’ leaned over and touched -the painted flowers on her aunt’s gown, and then looked out to the -garden with a cry of desire.[213] But this inference seems to me very -risky. All that the child’s behaviour proves is that she ‘classed’ real -and painted flowers together, while she recognised the superiority of -the former as the tangible and probably the odorous ones. The strongest -evidence of recognition of pictorial function by children is, I think, -their ability to recognise the portrait of an individual. But even this -is not quite satisfactory. It is conceivable, at least, that a child may -look on a photograph of his father as a kind of ‘double’. The boy C. -took his projected photograph very seriously as a kind of doubling of -himself. The story of the dog, a Dandy Dinmont terrier, that trembled -and barked at a portrait of his dead mistress[214] seems to me to bear -this out. It would surely be rather absurd to say that the -demonstrations of this animal, whatever they may have meant, prove that -he took the portrait to be a memento-likeness of his dead mistress. - ------ - -Footnote 213: - - _Op. cit._, i., p. 72. - -Footnote 214: - - Romanes, _op. cit._, p. 453. - ------ - -We are apt to forget how difficult and abstract a conception is that of -pictorial representation, how hard it is to look at a thing as pure -semblance having no value in itself, but only as standing for something -else. A like slowness on the part of the child to grasp a sign, as such, -shows itself here as in the case of verbal symbols. Children will, quite -late, especially when feeling is aroused and imagination specially -active, show a disposition to transform the semblance into the thing. -Miss Shinn herself points out that her niece, who seems to have been -decidedly quick, was as late as the twenty-fifth month touched with pity -by a picture of a lamb caught in a thicket, and tried to lift the -painted branch that lay across the lamb. In her thirty-fifth month, -again, when looking at a picture of a chamois defending her little one -from an eagle, “she asked anxiously if the mamma would drive the eagle -away, and presently quite simply and unconsciously placed her little -hand edgewise on the picture so as to make a fence between the eagle and -the chamois”.[215] Such ready confusion of pictures with realities shows -itself in the fourth year and later. A boy nearly five was observed to -strike at the figures in a picture and to exclaim: “I can’t break them”. -The Worcester Collection of observations illustrates the first confused -idea of a picture. “One day F., a boy of four, called on a friend, Mrs. -C., who had just received a picture, representing a scene in winter, in -which people were going to church, some on foot and others in sleighs. -F. was told whither they were going. The next day he came and noticed -the picture, and looking at Mrs. C. and then at the picture said: ‘Why, -Mrs. C., them people haven’t got there yet, have they?’” - ------ - -Footnote 215: - - _Op. cit._, ii., p. 104. - ------ - -All this points, I think, to a slow and gradual emergence of the idea of -representation or likeness. If a child is capable in moments of intense -imagination of confusing his battered doll with a living reality, he may -be expected to act similarly with respect to the fuller likeness of a -picture. Vividness of imagination tends in the child as in the savage, -and indeed in all of us, to invest a semblance with something of -reality. We are able to control the illusory tendency and to keep it -within the limits of an æsthetic semi-illusion; not so the child. Is it -too fanciful to suppose that the belief of the savage in the occasional -visits of the real spirit-god to his idol has for its psychological -motive the impulse which prompts the child ever and again to identify -his toys and even his pictures with the realities which they represent? - -As might be expected this impulse to confuse representation and -represented reality shows itself very distinctly in the first reception -of dramatic spectacle. If you dress up as Father Christmas, your child, -even though he is told that you are his father, will hardly be able to -resist the illusion that your disguise so powerfully induces. Cuvier -relates that a boy of ten on watching a stage scene in which troops were -drawn up for action, broke out in loud protestations to the actor who -was taking the part of the general, telling him that the artillery was -wrongly placed, and so forth.[216] This reminds one of the story of the -sailors who on a visit to a theatre happened to see a representation of -a mutiny on board ship, and were so excited that they rushed on the -stage and took sides with the authorities in quelling the movement. - ------ - -Footnote 216: - - Quoted by Perez, _op. cit._, p. 216. - ------ - -I believe that this same tendency to take art-representations for -realities reappears in children’s mental attitude towards stories. A -story by its narrative form seems to tell of real events, and children, -as we all know, are wont to believe tenaciously that their stories are -true. I think I have observed a disposition in imaginative children to -go beyond this, and to give present actuality to the scenes and events -described. And this is little to be wondered at when one remembers that -even grown people, familiar with the devices of art-imitation, tend now -and again to fall into this confusion. Only a few days ago, as I was -reading an account by a friend of mine of a perilous passage in an -Alpine ascent, accomplished years ago, I suddenly caught myself in the -attitude of proposing to shout out to stop him from venturing farther. A -vivid imaginative realisation of the situation had made it for the -moment a present actuality. - -Careful observations of the first attitudes of the child-mind towards -representative art are greatly needed. We should probably find -considerable diversity of behaviour. The presence of a true art-feeling -would be indicated by a special quickness in the apprehension of -art-semblance as such. - -In these first reactions of the young mind to the stimulus of -art-presentation we may study other aspects of the æsthetic aptitude. -Very quaint and interesting is the exacting realism of these first -appreciations. A child is apt to insist on a perfect detailed -reproduction of the familiar reality. And here one may often trace the -fine observation of these early years. Listen, for example, to the talk -of the little critic before a drawing of a horse or a railway train, and -you will be surprised to find how closely and minutely he has studied -the forms of things. It is the same with other modes of -art-representation. Perez gives an amusing instance of a boy, aged four, -who when taken to a play was shocked at the anomaly of a chamber-maid -touching glasses with her master on a _fête_ day. “In our home,” -exclaimed the stickler for regularities, to the great amusement of the -neighbours, “we don’t let the nurse drink like that.”[217] It is the -same with story. Children are liable to be morally hurt if anything is -described greatly at variance with the daily custom. Æsthetic rightness -is as yet confused with moral rightness or social propriety, which, as -we have seen, has its instinctive support in the child’s mind in respect -for custom. - ------ - -Footnote 217: - - _Op. cit._, pp. 215, 216. - ------ - -Careful observation will disclose in these first frankly expressed -impressions the special directions of childish taste. The preferences of -a boy of four in the matter of picture-books tell us where his special -interests lie, what things he finds pretty, and how much of a genuine -æsthetic faculty he is likely to develop later on. Here, again, there is -ample room for more careful studies directed to the detection of the -first manifestations of a pure delight in things as beautiful, as -charming at once the senses and the imagination. - -The first appearances of that complex interest in life and personality -which fills so large a place in our æsthetic pleasures can be best noted -in the behaviour of the child’s mind towards dramatic spectacle and -story. The awful ecstatic delight with which a child is apt to greet any -moving semblance carrying with it the look of life and action is -something which some of us, like Goethe, can recall among our oldest -memories. The old-fashioned moving ‘Schatten-bilder,’ for which the -gaudy but rigid pictures of the magic lantern are but a poor substitute, -the puppet-show, with what a delicious wonder have these filled the -childish heart. And as to the entrancing, enthralling delight of the -story—well Thackeray and others have tried to describe this for us. - -Of very special interest in these early manifestations of a feeling for -art is the appearance of a crude form of the two emotions to which all -representations of life and character make appeal—the feeling for the -comic, and for the tragic side of things. What we may call the adults -fallacy, the tendency to judge children by grown-up standards, -frequently shows itself in an expectation that their laughter will -follow the directions of our own. I remember having made the mistake of -putting those delightful books, _Tom Sawyer_ and _Huckleberry Finn_, -into the hands of a small boy with a considerable sense of fun, and -having been humiliated at discovering that there was no response. -Children’s fun is of a very elemental character. They are mostly -tickled, I suspect, by the spectacle of some upsetting of the -proprieties, some confusion of the established distinctions of rank. -Dress, as we have seen, has an enormous symbolic value for the child’s -mind, and any confusion here is apt to be specially laughter-provoking. -One child between three and four was convulsed at the sight of his baby -bib fastened round the neck of his bearded sire. There is, too, a -considerable element of rowdiness in children’s sense of the comical, as -may be seen by the enduring popularity of the spectacle of Punch’s -successful misdemeanours and bravings of the legal authority. - -Since children are apt to take spectacles with an exacting seriousness, -it becomes interesting to note how the two moods, realistic stickling -for correctness, and rollicking hilarity at the sight of the disorderly, -behave in relation one to another. More facts are needed on this point. -It is probable that we have here to do in part with a permanent -difference of temperament. There are serious matter-of-fact little minds -which are shocked by a kind of spectacle or narrative that would give -boundless delight to a more elastic fun-loving spirit. But discarding -these permanent differences of disposition, I think that in general the -sense of fun, the delight in the topsy-turviness of things, is apt to -develop later than the serious realistic attitude already referred to. -Here, too, it is probable that the evolution of the individual follows -that of the race: the solemnities of custom and ritual weigh so heavily -at first on the savage-mind that there is no chance for sprightly -laughter to show himself. However this be, most young children appear to -be unable to appreciate true comedy where the incongruous co-exists with -and takes on one half of its charm from serious surroundings. Their -laughter is best called forth by a broadly farcical show in which all -serious rules are set at nought. - -Of no less interest in this attitude of the child-mind towards the -representations by art of human character and action are the first rude -manifestations of the feeling for the tragic side of life. A child of -four or six is far from realising the divine necessity which controls -our mortal lives. Yet he will display a certain crude feeling for -thrilling situation, exciting adventure, and something, too, of a -sympathetic interest in the woes of mortals, quadrupeds as well as -bipeds. The action, the situation, may easily grow too painful for an -imaginative child disposed to take all representative spectacle as -reality: yet the absorbing interest of the action where the sadness is -bearable attests the early development of that universal feeling for the -sorrowful fatefulness of things which runs through all imaginative -writings from the ‘penny dreadful’ upwards. - - - _Beginnings of Art-production._ - -We have been trying to catch the first faint manifestations of æsthetic -feeling in children’s contemplative attitude towards natural objects and -the presentations of art. We may now pass to what is a still more -interesting department of childish æsthetics, their first rude attempts -at art-production. We are wont to say that children are artists in -embryo, that in their play and their whole activity they manifest the -germs of the art-impulse. In order to see whether this idea is correct -we must start with a clear idea of what we mean by art-activity. - -I would define art-activity as including all childish doings which are -consciously directed to an external result recognised as beautiful, as -directly pleasing to sense and imagination. Thus a gesture, or an -intonation of voice, which is motived by a feeling for what is ‘pretty’ -or ‘nice’ is a mode of art-activity as much as the production of a more -permanent æsthetic object, as a drawing. - -Now if we look at children’s activity we shall find that though much of -it implies a certain germ of æsthetic feeling it is not pure -art-activity. In the love of personal adornment, for example, we see, as -in the case of savages, the æsthetic motive subordinated to another and -personal or interested feeling, vanity or love of admiration. On the -other hand, in children’s play, which undoubtedly has a kinship with -art, we find the æsthetic motive, the desire to produce something -beautiful, very much in the background. We have then to examine these -primitive forms of activity so as to try to disengage the genuine -art-element. - -One of the most interesting of these early quasi-artistic lines of -activity is that of personal adornment. The impulse to maintain -appearances appears to reach far down in animal life. The animal’s -care of its person is supported by two instincts, the impulse to -frighten or overawe others, and especially those who are, or are -likely to be, enemies, illustrated in the raising of feathers and hair -so as to increase size; and the impulse to attract, which probably -underlies the habit of trimming feathers and fur among birds and -quadrupeds. These same impulses are said to lie at the root of the -elaborate art of personal adornment developed by savages. The -anthropologist divides such ornament into alluring and alarming, -‘Reizschmuck’ and ‘Schreckschmuck’.[218] - ------ - -Footnote 218: - - See Grosse, _Die Anfänge der Kunst_, pp. 106, 107. - ------ - -In the case of children’s attention to personal appearance there is no -question of tracing out the workings of a pure instinct. The care of the -person is before all other things inculcated and enforced by others, and -forms, indeed, a main branch of the nursery training. To a mother, as is -perfectly natural, a child is apt to present himself as the brightest of -the household ornaments, which has to be kept neat and spotless with -even greater care than the polished table and other pretty things. This -early drilling is likely to be unpleasant. Many children resent at first -not only soap and water and the merciless comb, but even arrayings in -new finery. Adornment is forced on the child before the instinct has had -time to develop itself, and the manner of the adornment does not always -accommodate itself to the natural inclinations of the childish eye. -Hence the familiar fact that with children the care of personal -appearance when it is developed takes on the air of a respect for law. -It is more than half a moral feeling, a readiness to be shocked at a -breach of a custom enforced from the first by example and precept. - -Again, the instinct of adornment in the child is often opposed by other -impulses. I have already touched on a small child’s feeling of -uneasiness at seeing his mother in new apparel. A like apprehensiveness -shows itself in relation to his own dress. Many little children show a -marked dislike to new raiment. As I have remarked above, a change of -dress probably disturbs and confuses their sense of personality. - -In spite, however, of these and other complicating circumstances I -believe that the instinct to adorn the person is observable in children. -They like a bit of finery in the shape of a string of beads or of -daisies for the neck, a feather for the hat, a scrap of brilliantly -coloured ribbon or cloth as a bow for the dress, and so forth. -Imitation, doubtless, plays a part here, but it is, I think, possible to -allow for this, and still to detect points of contact with the savage’s -love of finery. Perhaps, indeed, we may discern the play of both the -impulses underlying personal ornament which were referred to above, -_viz._, the alluring and alarming. Allowing for the differences of -intelligence, of sexual development and so forth, we may say that -children betray a rudiment of the instinct to win admiration by -decorating the person, and also of the instinct to overawe. A small -boy’s delight in adding to his height and formidable appearance by -donning his father’s tall hat is pretty certainly an illustration of -this last. - -This is not the place to inquire whether the love of finery in -children—a very variable trait, as M. Perez and others have shown—is -wholly the outcome of vanity. I would, however, just remark that a child -lost in the vision of himself reflected in a mirror decked out in new -apparel may be very far from feeling vanity as we understand the word. -The pure child-wonder at what is new and mysterious may at such a moment -overpower other feelings, and make the whole mental condition one of -dream-like trance. - -Since children are left so little free to deck themselves, it is of -course hard to study the development of æsthetic taste in this domain of -art-like activity. Yet the quaint attempts of the child to improve his -appearance throw an interesting light on his æsthetic preferences. He is -at heart as much a lover of glitter, of gaudy colour, as his savage -prototype. With this general crudity of taste, individual differences -soon begin to show themselves, a child developing a marked bent, now to -modest neatness and refinement, now to gaudy display, and this, it may -be, in direct opposition to the whole trend of home influence.[219] - ------ - -Footnote 219: - - The whole subject of the attitude of the child-mind towards dress and - ornament is well dealt with by Perez, _op. cit._, chap. i. - ------ - -Another and closely connected domain of activity which is akin to art is -the manifestation of grace and charm in action. Much of the beauty of -movement, of gesture, of intonation, in a young child may be -unconscious, and as much a result of happy physical conditions as the -pretty gambols of a kitten. Yet one may commonly detect in graceful -children the rudiment of an æsthetic feeling for what is nice, and also -of the instinct to please. There is, indeed, in these first actions and -manners, into which stupid conventionality has not yet imported all -kinds of awkward restraints, as when the little girl M. would kiss her -hand spontaneously to other babies as she passed them in the street, -something of the simple grace and dignity of the more amiable savages. -Now a feeling for what is graceful in movement, carriage, speech and so -forth is no clear proof of a specialised artistic impulse: yet it -attests the existence of a rudimentary appreciation of what is -beautiful, as also of an impulse to produce this. - -In the forms of childish activity just referred to we have to do with -mixed impulses in which the true art-element is very imperfectly -represented. There is a liking for pretty effect, and an effort to -realise it, only the effect is not prized wholly for its own sake, but -partly as a means of winning the smile of approval. The true art-impulse -is characterised by the love of shaping beautiful things for their own -sake, by an absorbing devotion to the process of creation, into which -there enters no thought of any advantage to self, and almost as little -of benefiting others. Now there is one field of children’s activity -which is marked by just this absorption of thought and aim, and that is -play. - -To say that play is art-like has almost become a commonplace. Any one -can see that when children are at play they are carried away by -pleasurable activity, are thinking of no useful result but only of the -pleasure of the action itself. They build their sand castles, they -pretend to keep shop, to entertain visitors, and so forth, for the sake -of the enjoyment which they find in these actions. This clearly involves -one point of kinship with the artist, for the poet sings and the painter -paints because they love to do so. It is evident, moreover, from what -was said above on the imaginative side of play that it has this further -circumstance in common with art-production, that it is the bodying forth -of a mental image into the semblance of outward life. Not only so, play -exhibits the distinction between imitation and invention—the realistic -and the idealistic tendency in art—and in its forms comes surprisingly -near representing the chief branches of art-activity. It thus fully -deserves to be studied as a domain in which we may look for early traces -of children’s artistic tendencies. - -If by play we understand all that spontaneous activity which is wholly -sustained by its own pleasurableness, we shall find the germ of it in -those aimless movements and sounds which are the natural expression of a -child’s joyous life. Such outpourings of happiness have a quasi-æsthetic -character in so far as they follow the rhythmic law of all action. Where -the play becomes social activity, that is, the concerted action of a -number, we get something closely analogous to those primitive harmonious -co-ordinations of movements and sounds in which the first crude music, -poetry and dramatic action of the race are supposed to have had their -common origin. - -Such naïve play-activity acquires a greater æsthetic importance when it -becomes significant or representative of something: and this direction -appears very early in child-history. The impulse to imitate the action -of another seems to be developed before the completion of the first -half-year.[220] In its first crude form, as reproducing a gesture or -sound uttered at the moment by another, it enters into the whole of -social or concerted play. A number of children find the harmonious -performance of a series of dance or other movements, such as those of -the kindergarten games, natural and easy, because the impulse to -imitate, to follow another’s lead, at once prompts them and keeps them -from going far astray. - ------ - -Footnote 220: - - Preyer places the first imitative movement in the fourth month (_op. - cit._, cap. 12). Baldwin, however, dates the first unmistakable - appearance in the case of his little girl in the ninth month (_Mental - Development_, p. 131). - ------ - -It is a higher and more intellectual kind of imitation when a child -recalls the idea of something he has seen done and reproduces the -action. This is often carried out under the suggestive force of objects -which happen to present themselves at the time, as when a child sees an -empty cup and pretends to drink, or a book and simulates the action of -reading out of it, or a pair of scissors and proceeds to execute -snipping movements. In other cases the imitation is more spontaneous, as -when a child recalls and repeats some funny saying that he has heard. - -This imitative action grows little by little more complex, and in this -way a prolonged make-believe action may be carried out. Here, it is -evident, we get something closely analogous to histrionic performance. A -child pantomimically representing some funny action comes, indeed, very -near to the mimetic art of the comedian. - -Meanwhile, another form of imitation is developing, _viz._, the -production of semblances in things. Early illustrations of this impulse -are the making of a river out of the gravy in the plate, the pinching of -pellets of bread till they take on something of resemblance to known -forms. One child, three years old, once occupied himself at table by -turning his plate into a clock, in which his knife (or spoon) and fork -were made to act as hands, and cherry stones put round the plate to -represent the hours. Such table-pastimes are known to all observers of -children, and have been prettily touched on by R. L. Stevenson.[221] - ------ - -Footnote 221: - - _Virginibus Puerisque_, ‘Child’s Play’. - ------ - -Such formative touches are, at first, rough enough, the transformation -being effected, as we have seen, much more by the alchemy of the child’s -imagination than by the cunning of his hands. Yet, crude as it is, and -showing at first almost as much of chance as of design, it is a -manifestation of the same plastic impulse, the same striving to produce -images or semblances of things, which possesses the sculptor and the -painter. In each case we see a mind dominated by an idea and labouring -to give it outward embodiment. The more elaborate constructive play -which follows, the building with sand and with bricks, with which we may -take the first spontaneous drawings, are the direct descendant of this -rude formative activity. The kindergarten occupations, most of all the -clay-modelling, make direct appeal to this half-artistic plastic impulse -in the child. - -In this imitative play we see from the first the tendency to set forth -what is characteristic in the things represented. Thus in the acting of -the nursery the nurse, the coachman and so forth are given by one or two -broad touches, such as the presence of the medicine-bottle or its -semblance, or of the whip, together, perhaps, with some characteristic -manner of speaking. In this way child-play, like primitive art, shows a -certain unconscious selectiveness. It presents what is constant and -typical, imperfectly enough no doubt. The same selection of broadly -distinctive traits is seen where some individual seems to be -represented. There is a precisely similar tendency to a somewhat bald -typicalness of outline in the first rude attempts of children to form -semblances. This will be fully illustrated presently when we examine -their manner of drawing. - -As observation widens and grows finer, the first bald abstract -representation becomes fuller and more life-like. A larger number of -distinctive traits is taken up into the representation. Thus the -coachman’s talk becomes richer, fuller of reminiscences of the stable, -etc., and so colour is given to the dramatic picture. A precisely -similar process of development is noticeable in the plastic activities. -The first raw attempt to represent house or castle is improved upon, and -the image grows fuller of characteristic detail and more life-like. -Here, again, we may note the parallelism between the evolution of -play-activity and of primitive art. - -This movement away from bare symbolic indication to concrete pictorial -representation involves a tendency to individualise, to make the play or -the shapen semblance life-like in the sense of representing an -individual reality. Such individual concreteness may be obtained by a -mechanical reproduction of some particular action and scene of real -life, and children in their play not infrequently attempt a faithful -recital or portraiture of this kind. Such close unyielding imitation -shows itself, too, now and again in the attempt to act out a story. Yet -with bright fanciful children the impulse to give full life and colour -to the performance rarely stops here. Fresh individual life is best -obtained by the aid of invention, by the intervention of which some new -scene or situation, some new grouping of personalities is realised. -Nothing is æsthetically of more interest in children’s play than the -first cautious intrusion into the domain of imitative representation of -this impulse of invention, this desire for the new and fresh as distinct -from the old and customary. Perhaps, too, there is no side of children’s -play in which individual differences are more clearly marked or more -significant than this. The child of bold inventive fancy is shocking to -his companion whose whole idea of proper play is a servile imitation of -the scenes and actions of real life. Yet the former will probably be -found to have more of the stuff of which the artist is compacted. - -All such invention, moreover, since it aims at securing some more -vivacious and stirring play-experience, naturally comes under the -influence of the childish instinct of exaggeration. I mean by this the -untaught art of vivifying and strengthening a description or -representation by adding touch to touch. In the representations of play, -this love of colour, of strong effect, shows itself now in a piling up -of the beautiful, gorgeous, or wonderful, as when trying to act some -favourite scene from fairy-story, or some grand social function, now in -a bringing together of droll or pathetic incidents so as to strengthen -the comic or the tragic feeling of the play-action. In all this—which -has its counterpart in the first crude attempts of the art of the race -to break the tight bonds of a servile imitation—we have, I believe, the -germ of what in our more highly developed art we call the idealising -impulse. - -I have, perhaps, said enough to show that children’s play is in many -respects analogous to art of the simpler kind, also that it includes -within itself lines of activity which represent the chief directions of -art-development.[222] - ------ - -Footnote 222: - - The telling of stories to other children does not, I conceive, fall - under my definition of play. It is child-art properly so called. - ------ - -Yet though art-like this play is not fully art. In play a child is too -self-centred, if I may so say. The scenes he acts out, the semblances he -shapes with his hands, are not produced as having objective value, but -rather as providing himself with a new environment. The peculiarity of -all imaginative play, its puzzle for older people, is its contented -privacy. The idea of a child playing as an actor is said to ‘play’ in -order to delight others is a contradiction in terms. As I have remarked -above, the pleasure of a child in what we call ‘dramatic’ make-believe -is wholly independent of any appreciating eye. “I remember,” writes R. -L. Stevenson, “as though it were yesterday, the expansion of spirit, the -dignity and self-reliance, that came with a pair of mustachios in burnt -cork _even when there was none to see_.”[223] The same thing is true of -concerted play. A number of children playing at being Indians, or what -not, do not ‘perform’ _for_ one another. The words ‘perform,’ ‘act’ and -so forth all seem to be out of place here. What really occurs in this -case is a conjoint vision of a new world, a conjoint imaginative -realisation of a new life. - ------ - -Footnote 223: - - _Virginibus Puerisque_, ‘Child’s Play’. - ------ - -This difference between play and art is sometimes pushed to the point of -saying that art has its root in the social impulse, the wish to -please.[224] This I think is simplifying too much. Art is no doubt a -social phenomenon, as Guyau and others have shown. It has been well said -that "an individual art—in the strictest sense—even if it were -conceivable is nowhere discoverable".[225] That is to say the artist is -constituted as such by a participation in the common consciousness, the -life of his community, and his creative impulse is controlled and -directed by a sense of common or objective values. Yet to say that art -is born of the instinct to please or attract is to miss much of its -significance. The ever-renewed contention of artists, ‘art for art’s -sake,’ points to the fact that they, at least, recognise in their -art-activity something spontaneous, something of the nature of -self-expression, self-realisation, and akin to the child’s play. - ------ - -Footnote 224: - - According to Mr H. Rutgers Marshall art-activity takes its rise in the - instinct to attract others (_Pain, Pleasure, and Æsthetics_). - -Footnote 225: - - Grosse, _Anfänge der Kunst_, p. 48. - ------ - -May we not say, then, that the impulse of the artist has its roots in -the happy semi-conscious activity of the child at play, the -all-engrossing effort to ‘utter,’ that is, give outer form and life to -an inner idea, and that the play-impulse becomes the art-impulse -(supposing it is strong enough to survive the play-years) when it is -illumined by a growing participation in the social consciousness, and a -sense of the common worth of things, when, in other words, it becomes -conscious of itself as a power of shaping semblances which shall have -value for other eyes or ears, and shall bring recognition and renown? -Or, to put it somewhat differently, may we not say that art has its -twin-rootlets in the two directions of childish activity which we have -considered, _viz._, the desire to please so far as this expresses itself -in dress, graceful action, and so forth, and the entrancing isolating -impulse of play? However we express the relation, I feel sure that we -must account for the origin of art by some reference to play. A study of -the art of savages, more especially perhaps of the representations of -fighting and hunting in their pantomime-dances, seems to show that art -is continuous with play-activity. - -To insist on this organic connexion between play and art is not to say -that every lively player is fitted to become an art-aspirant. The -artistic ambition implies too rare a complex of conditions for us to be -able to predict its appearance in this way. It may, however, be thrown -out as a suggestion to the investigator of the first manifestations of -artistic genius that he might do well to cast his eye on the field of -imaginative play. It will possibly be found that although not a romping -riotous player, nor indeed much disposed to join other children in their -pastimes, the original child has his own distinctive style of play, -which marks him out as having more than other children of that impulse -to dream of far-off things, and to bring them near in the illusion of -outer semblance, which enters more or less distinctly into all art. - -I have left myself no space to speak of the child’s first attempts at -art as we understand it. Some of this art-activity, more particularly -the earliest weaving of stories, is characteristic enough to deserve a -special study. I have made a small collection of early stories, and some -of them are interesting enough to quote. Here is a quaint example of the -first halting manner of a child of two and a half years as invention -tries to get away from the sway of models: “Three little bears went out -a walk and they found a stick, and they poked the fire with it, and they -poked the fire and then went a walk”. Soon, however, the young fancy is -apt to wax bolder, and then we get some fine invention. A boy of five -years and a quarter living at the sea-side improvised as follows. He -related “that one day he went out on the sea in a lifeboat when suddenly -he saw a big whale, and so he jumped down to catch it, but it was so big -that he climbed on it and rode on it in the water, and all the little -fishes laughed so”. - -With this comic story may be compared a more serious not to say tragic -one from the lips of a girl one month younger, and characterised by an -almost equal fondness for the wonderful. “A man wanted to go to heaven -before he died. He said, ‘I don’t want to die, and I must see heaven!’ -Jesus Christ said he must be patient like other people. He then got _so_ -angry, and screamed out as loud as he could, and kicked up his heels as -high as he could, and they (the heels) went into the sky, and the sky -fell down and broke earth all to pieces. He wanted Jesus Christ to mend -the earth again, but he wouldn’t, so this was a good punishment for -him.” This last, which is the work of one now grown into womanhood and -no longer a story-teller, is interesting in many ways. The wish to go to -heaven without dying is, as I know, a motive derived from child-life. -The manifestations of displeasure could, one supposes, only have been -written by one who was herself experienced in the ways of childish -‘tantrums’. The naïve conception of sky and earth, and lastly the moral -issue of the story, are no less instructive. - -These samples may serve to show that in the stories of by no means -highly-gifted children we come face to face with interesting traits of -the young mind, and can study some of the characteristic tendencies of -early and primitive art.[226] Of the later efforts to imitate older art, -as verse writing, the same cannot, I think, be said. Children’s verses -so far as I have come across them are poor and stilted, showing all the -signs of the cramping effect of models and rules to which the child-mind -cannot easily accommodate itself, and wanting all true childish -inspiration. No doubt, even in these choking circumstances, childish -feeling may now and again peep out. The first prose compositions, -letters before all if they may be counted art, give more scope for the -expression of a child’s feeling and the characteristic movements of his -thought, and might well repay study.[227] - ------ - -Footnote 226: - - The child’s feeling for climax shown in these is further illustrated - in a charming story taken down by Miss Shinn, but unfortunately too - long to quote here. See _Overland Monthly_, vol. xxiii., p. 19. - -Footnote 227: - - Perez deals with children’s literary compositions in the work already - quoted (chap. ix.). Cf. Paola Lombroso, _op. cit._, cap. viii. and ix. - ------ - -There is one other department of this child-art which clearly does -deserve to be studied with some care—drawing. And this for the very good -reason that it is not wholly a product of our influence and education, -but shows itself in its essential characteristics as a spontaneous -self-taught activity of childhood which takes its rise, indeed, in the -play-impulse. This will be the subject of the next essay. - - - - - X. - THE YOUNG DRAUGHTSMAN. - - - _First Attempts to Draw._ - -A child’s first attempts at drawing are pre-artistic and a kind of play, -an outcome of the instinctive love of finding and producing semblances -of things illustrated in the last essay. Sitting at the table and -covering a sheet of paper with line-scribble he is wholly self-centred, -‘amusing himself,’ as we say, and caring nothing about the production of -“objective values”. - -Yet even in the early stages of infantile drawing the social element of -art is suggested in the impulse of the small draughtsman to make his -lines indicative of something to others’ eyes, as when he bids his -mother look at the ‘man,’ ‘gee-gee,’ or what else he fancies that he has -delineated.[228] And this, though crude enough and apt to shock the -æsthetic sense of the matured artist by its unsightliness, is closely -related to art, forming, indeed, in a manner a preliminary stage of -pictorial design. - ------ - -Footnote 228: - - This indicative or communicative function of drawing has, we know, - played a great part in the early stages of human history. Modern - savages employ drawings in sand as a means of imparting information to - others, _e.g._, of the presence of fish in a lake, see Von den - Steinen, _Unter den Naturvölkern Braziliens_, kap. x., s. 243 f. - ------ - -We shall therefore study children’s drawings as a kind of rude embryonic -art. In doing this our special aim will be to describe and explain -childish characteristics. This, again, will compel us to go to some -extent into the early forms of observation and imagination. It will be -found, I think, that the first crude drawings are valuable as throwing -light on the workings of children’s minds. Perhaps, indeed, it may turn -out that these spontaneous efforts of the childish hand to figure -objects are for the psychologist a medium of expression of the whole of -child-nature, hardly less instructive than that of early speech. - -In carrying out our investigation of children’s drawings we shall need -to make a somewhat full reference to the related phenomena, the drawings -of modern savages and those of early art. While important points of -difference will disclose themselves the resemblances are important -enough to make a comparison not only profitable but almost -indispensable. - -I have thought it best to narrow the range of the inquiry by keeping to -delineations of the human figure and of animals, especially the horse. -These are the favourite topics of the child’s pencil, and examples of -them are easily obtainable. - -As far as possible I have sought spontaneous drawings of quite young -children, _viz._, from between two and three to about six.[229] In a -strict sense of course no child’s drawing is absolutely spontaneous and -independent of external stimulus and guidance. The first attempts to -manage the pencil are commonly aided by the mother, who, moreover, is -wont to present a model drawing, and, what is even more important at -this early stage, to supply model-movements of the arm and hand. In most -cases, too, there is some slight amount of critical inspection, as when -she asks, ‘Where is papa’s nose?’ ‘Where is doggie’s tail?’ Yet perfect -spontaneity, even if obtainable, is not necessary here. The drawings of -men and quadrupeds of a child of five and later disclose plainly enough -the childish fashion, even though there has been some slight amount of -elementary instruction. Hence I have not hesitated to make use of -drawings sent me by kindergarten teachers. I may add that I have used by -preference the drawings executed by children in elementary schools, as -these appear to illustrate the childish manner with less of parental -interference than is wont to be present in a cultured home. - ------ - -Footnote 229: - - Only a few drawings of older children above seven have been included. - ------ - -A child’s drawing begins with a free aimless swinging of the pencil to -and fro, which movements produce a chaos of slightly curved lines. These -movements are purely spontaneous, or, if imitative, are so only in the -sense that they follow at a considerable distance the movements of the -mother’s pencil.[230] They may be made expressive or significant in two -ways. In the first place, a child may by varying the swinging movements -accidentally produce an effect which suggests an idea through a remote -resemblance. A little boy when two years and two months, was one day -playing in this wise with the pencil, and happening to make a sort of -curling line, shouted with excited glee, ‘Puff, puff!’ _i.e._, smoke. He -then drew more curls with a rudimentary intention to show what he meant. -In like manner when a child happens to bend his line into something like -a closed circle or ellipse he will catch the faint resemblance to the -rounded human head and exclaim, ‘Mama!’ or ‘Dada!’ - ------ - -Footnote 230: - - E. Cooke gives illustrations of these in his thoughtful and - interesting articles on “Art-teaching and Child-nature,” published in - the _Journal of Education_, Dec., 1885, and Jan., 1886. - ------ - -But intentional drawing or designing does not always arise in this way. -A child may set himself to draw, and make believe that he is drawing -something when he is scribbling. This is largely an imitative -play-action following the direction of the movements of another’s hand. -Preyer speaks of a little boy who in his second year was asked when -scribbling with a pencil what he was doing and answered ‘writing -houses’. He was apparently making believe that his jumble of lines -represented houses.[231] Almost any scribble may in this earliest stage -take on a meaning through the play of a vigorous childish imagination. - ------ - -Footnote 231: - - Preyer, _op. cit._, p. 47. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 1 (_a_) and (_b_).] - -The same play of imagination is noticeable in the child’s first -endeavours to draw an object from memory when he is asked to do so. Thus -a little girl in her fourth year referred to by Mr. E. Cooke when asked -to draw a cat produced a longish irregularly curved line crossed by a -number of shorter lines, which strange production she proceeded quite -complacently to dignify by the name ‘cat,’ naming the whiskers, legs, -and tail (Fig. 1 (_a_); compare the slightly fuller design in Fig. 1 -(_b_)).[232] - ------ - -Footnote 232: - - Taken from E. Cooke’s articles already quoted, drawings 19 and 20. - ------ - -Here it is evident we have a phase of childish drawing which is closely -analogous to the symbolism of language. The representation is -arbitrarily chosen as a symbol and not as a likeness. This element of a -non-imitative or symbolic mode of representation will be found to run -through the whole of childish drawing. - -Even this chaotic scribble shows almost from the beginning germs of -formative elements, not merely in the fundamental line-elements, but -also in the loops, and in the more abrupt changes of direction or -angles. A tendency to draw a loop-like rudimentary contour soon emerges, -and thus we get the transition to a possible outlining of objects. Miss -Shinn gives a good example of an ovoid loop drawn by her niece in her -hundred and ninth week.[233] With practice the child acquires by the -second or third year the usual stock in trade of the juvenile -draughtsman, and can draw a sort of straight line, curved lines, a -roughish kind of circle or oval, as well as dots, and even fit lines -together at angles.[234] When this stage is reached we begin to see -attempts at real though rude likenesses of men, horses and so forth. -These early essays are among the most curious products of the -child-mind. They follow standards and methods of their own; they are apt -to get hardened into a fixed conventional manner which may reappear even -in mature years. They exhibit with a certain range of individual -difference a curious uniformity, and they have their parallels in what -we know of the first crude designs of the untutored savage. - ------ - -Footnote 233: - - _Op. cit._, pt. ii., p. 97; “fifty-sixth week” is, she informs me, an - error for hundred and ninth week. - -Footnote 234: - - I am much indebted to Mr. Cooke for the sight of a series of early - scribbles of his little girl. _Cf._ Baldwin, _Mental Development_, - chap. v., where some good examples of early line-tracing are given. - According to Baldwin angles or zig-zag come early, and are probably - due to the cramped, jerky mode of movement at this early stage. Preyer - seems to me wrong in saying that children cannot manage a circular - line before the end of the third year (_op. cit._, p. 47). Most - children who draw at all manage a loop or closed curved line before - this date. - ------ - - - _First Drawings of the Human Figure._ - -It has been wittily observed by an Italian writer on children’s art that -they reverse the order of natural creation in beginning instead of -ending with man.[235] It may be added that they start with the most -dignified part of this crown of creation, _viz._, the human head. A -child’s first attempt to represent a man proceeds, so far as I have -observed, by drawing the front view of his head. This he effects by -means of a clumsy sort of circle with a dot or two thrown in by way of -indicating features in general. A couple of lines may be inserted as a -kind of support, which do duty for both trunk and legs. The circular or -ovoid form is, I think, by far the most common. The square head in my -collection appears only very occasionally and in children _at school_, -who presumably have had some training in drawing horizontal and vertical -lines. The accompanying example (Fig. 2) is the work of a Jamaica girl -of five, kindly sent me by her teacher. - ------ - -Footnote 235: - - Corrado Ricci, _L’Arte dei Bambini_ (1887), p. 6. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 2.] - -This first attempt to outline the human form is, no doubt, characterised -by a high degree of arbitrary symbolism. The use of a rude form of -circle to set forth the human head reminds one of the employment by -living savage tribes of the same form as the symbol of a house (hut?), a -wreath, and so forth.[236] Yet there is a measure of resemblance even in -this abstract symbolism: the circle does roughly resemble the contour of -the head: as, indeed, the square or rectangle may be said less obviously -to do when hair and whiskers and the horizontal line of the hat break -the curved line. - ------ - -Footnote 236: - - See Von den Steinen, _op. cit._, p. 247. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 3.] - -But it is not the mere contour which represents the face: it is a circle -picked out with features. These, however vaguely indicated, are an -integral part of the facial scheme. This is illustrated in the fact that -among the drawings by savages and others collected by General -Pitt-Rivers, one, executed by an adult negro of Uganda, actually omits -the contour, the human head being represented merely by an arrangement -of dark patches and circles for eyes, ears, etc. (Fig. 3).[237] - ------ - -Footnote 237: - - These drawings, of the highest interest to the student of child-art as - well as to the anthropologist, are to be seen in the General’s Museum - at Farnham (Dorset) (7th room). - ------ - -Coming now to the mode of representing the features, we find at an early -stage of this schematic delineation an attempt to differentiate and -individualise features, not only by giving definite position but by a -rough imitation of form. Thus we get the vertical line as indicating the -direction of the nose, the horizontal line that of the mouth, and either -a rounded dot or a circular line as representative of the curved outline -of the eye—whether that of the iris, of the visible part of the eyeball, -or of the orbital cavity. A precisely similar scheme appears in the -drawings of savages.[238] - ------ - -Footnote 238: - - Schoolcraft has a good example of this facial scheme in the drawing of - a man shooting (_The Indian Tribes of the United States_, i., pl. 48). - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 4 (_a_). Fig. 4 (_b_).] - -At first the child is grandly indifferent to completeness in the -enumeration of features. Even ‘the two eyes, a nose and a mouth’ are -often imperfectly represented. Thus when dots are used we may have one -or more specks ranging, according to M. Perez, up to five.[239] The use -of a single dot for facial feature in general has its parallel in the -art of savage tribes.[240] It is, however, I think, most common to -introduce three dots in a triangular arrangement, presumably for eyes -and mouth,—a device again which reappears in the art of uncivilised -races.[241] Even when the young draughtsman has reached the stage of -distinguishing the features he may be quite careless about number and -completeness. Thus a feature may be omitted altogether. This funnily -enough happens most frequently in the case of that one which seems to us -‘grown-ups’ most self-assertive and most resentful of indignity, _viz._, -the nose. These moon-faces with two eyes and a mouth are very common -among the first drawings of children. The mouth, on the other hand, is -much less frequently omitted. The same thing seems to hold good of the -drawings of savages.[242] The eyes are rarely omitted. The single dot -may perhaps be said to stand for ‘eye’. Some drawings of savages have -the two eyes and no other feature, as in the accompanying example from -Andree, plate 3 (Fig. 4 (_a_)). On the other hand, a child will, as we -have seen, sometimes content himself with one eye. This holds good not -only where the dot is used but after something like an eye-circle is -introduced, as in the accompanying drawing by a Jamaica girl of seven -(Fig. 4 (_b_)). - ------ - -Footnote 239: - - _L’Art et la Poésie chez l’Enfant_, p. 186. - -Footnote 240: - - For an illustration see Andree, _Eth. Parallelen und Vergleiche_, pl. - 3, fig. 19. - -Footnote 241: - - See for an example, Schoolcraft, iv., pl. 18. - -Footnote 242: - - According to Stanley Hall the nose comes after the mouth. This may be - an approximate generalisation, but there are evidently exceptions to - it. On the practice of savage draughtsmen see the illustrations of - Australian cave drawings in Andree, _op. cit._, p. 159. _Cf._ the - drawings of Brazilian tribes, plate iii., 15. In some cases there - seems a preference for the nose, certain of the Brazilian drawings - representing facial features merely by a vertical stroke. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 4 (_c_).—Moustache = horizontal line above curve of -cap.] - -In these first attempts to sketch out a face we miss a sense of relative -position and of proportion. It is astonishing what a child on first -attempting to draw a human or animal form can do in the way of -dislocation or putting things into the wrong place. The little girl -mentioned by E. Cooke on trying, about the same age, to draw a cat from -a model actually put the circle representing the eye outside that of the -head. With this may be compared the drawings of Von den Steinen and -other Europeans made by his Brazil Indian companions, in which what was -distinctly said by the draughtsman to be the moustache was in more than -one instance set above the eyes (Fig. 4 (_c_)). When dots are inserted -in the linear scheme they are apt at first to be thrown in anyhow. The -two eyes, I find, when these only are given, may be put one above the -other as well as one by the side of the other, and both arrangements -occur in the drawings of the same child. And much later when greater -attention to position is observable there is a general tendency to put -the group of features too high up, _i.e._, to make the forehead or brain -region too small in proportion to the chin region (_cf._ above, Fig. 2, -p. 336).[243] - ------ - -Footnote 243: - - M. Passy calls attention to this in his interesting note on children’s - drawings, _Revue Philosophique_, 1891, p. 614 ff. I find however that - though the error is a common one it is not constant. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 5 (_a_).] - -The want of proportion is still more plainly seen in the treatment of -the several features. The eye, as already remarked, is apt to be -absurdly large. In the drawing of Mr. Cooke’s little girl mentioned -above it is actually larger than the head outside which it lies. This -enlargement continues to appear frequently in later drawings, more -particularly when one eye only is introduced, as in the accompanying -drawing by a boy in his seventh year (Fig. 5 (_a_); _cf._ above, Fig. 4 -(_b_)). The mouth is apt to be even more disproportionate, the child -appearing to delight in making this appalling feature supreme, as in the -following examples, both by boys of five (Fig. 5 (_b_) and (_c_)). The -ear, when it is added, is apt to be enormous, and generally the -introduction of new details as ears, hair, hands, is wont to be -emphasised by an exaggeration of their magnitude. - -[Illustration: Fig. 5 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 5 (_c_).] - -Very interesting is the gradual artistic evolution of the features. -Here, as in organic evolution, there is a process of specialisation, the -primordial indefinite form taking on more of characteristic complexity. -In the case of the eye, for example, we may often trace a gradual -development, the dot being displaced by a small circle or ovoid, this -last supplemented by a second circle outside the first,[244] or by one -or by two arches, the former placed above, the latter above and below -the circle. The form remains throughout an abstract outline or scheme, -there being no attempt to draw even the lines—_e.g._, those of the -lid-margins—correctly, or to indicate differences of light and dark, -save in the case where a central black dot is used. In this schematic -treatment so striking and interesting a feature as the eye-lash only -very rarely finds a place. A similar schematic treatment of the eye in -the use of a dot, a dot in a circle, and two circles, is observable in -the drawings of savages and of Egyptian and other archaic art.[245] - ------ - -Footnote 244: - - In one case I find the curious device of two dots or small circles, - one above the other within a larger circle, and this form repeated in - the eye of animals. - -Footnote 245: - - An example of circle within circle occurs in a drawing by a male Zulu - in General Pitt-Rivers’ collection. - ------ - -The evolution of the mouth is particularly interesting. It is wont to -begin with a horizontal line (or what seems intended for such) which is -frequently drawn right across the facial circle. But a transition soon -takes place to a more distinctive representation. This is naturally -enough carried out by the introduction of the characteristic and -interesting detail, the teeth. This may be done, according to M. Perez, -by keeping to the linear representation, the teeth being indicated by -dots placed upon the horizontal line. In all the cases observed by me -the teeth are introduced in a more realistic fashion in connexion with a -contour to suggest the parted lips. The contour—especially the circular -or ovoid—occasionally appears by itself without teeth, but the teeth -seem to be soon added. The commonest forms of tooth-cavity I have met -with are a narrow rectangular and a curved spindle-shaped slit with -teeth appearing as vertical lines (see the two drawings by boys of six -and five, Fig. 6 (_a_) and (_b_)). These two forms are improved upon and -more likeness is introduced by making the dental lines shorter, as in -Fig. 5 (_c_) (p. 340). With this may be compared a drawing by a boy of -five (Fig. 6 (_c_)), where however we see a movement from realism in the -direction of a freer decorative treatment. - -[Illustration: Fig. 6 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 6 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 6 (_c_).] - -A somewhat similar process of evolution is noticeable in the case of the -nose, though here the movement is soon brought to a standstill. Thus the -vertical line gives place to an angle, which may point to the side, as -in the drawing of a country-boy between three and four (Fig. 7 (_a_)), -but more frequently, I think, points upwards, as in the drawing of a boy -of six (Fig. 7 (_b_)). This in its turn leads to an isosceles triangle -with an acute angle at the apex, as in the drawing of a boy of six (Fig. -7 (_c_)). In a few cases a long spindle-shaped or rectangular form -similar to that of the mouth is employed, as in a drawing of a nervous -child of six (Fig. 7 (_d_)). Refinements are introduced now and again by -an attempt at the nostrils, as in the accompanying curious drawing by a -seven-years-old Jamaica girl (Fig. 7 (_e_)).[246] - ------ - -Footnote 246: - - It is possible that in this drawing the two short lines added to the - mouth are an original attempt to give the teeth. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 7 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 7 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 7 (_c_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 7 (_d_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 7 (_e_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 8 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 8 (_b_).] - -The introduction of other features, more especially ears and hair, must, -according to my observations, be looked on as occasional only, and as a -mark of an advance to a more naturalistic treatment. Differences of -treatment occur here too. Thus the ears, which are apt to be absurdly -large, are now inserted inside the head circle, now outside it. The hair -appears now as a dark cap of horizontal strokes, now as a kind of -stunted fringe, now as a bundle or wisp on one side, which may either -fall or stand on end (see above, Fig. 7 (_d_), and the accompanying -drawing by a girl of nearly four, Fig. 8 (_a_)). These methods of -representation are occasionally varied by a more elaborate line-device, -as a curly looped line similar to that employed for smoke, as in the -annexed drawing by a girl of seven (Fig. 8 (_b_)). - -[Illustration: Fig. 9.] - -As implied in this account of the facial features, a good deal of -convention-like agreement of method is enlivened by a measure of -diversity of treatment. Perhaps one of the most striking instances of -daring originality is seen in the attempt by a girl of four—who was -subjected to a great deal of instruction—to give separate form to the -chin (Fig. 9). This may be compared with the attempt of the Uganda negro -to indicate symbolically the cheeks (see above, p. 336, Fig. 3). - -As I have remarked, to the child bent on representing ‘man’ the head or -face is at first the principal thing, some early drawings contenting -themselves with this. But in general the head receives some support. The -simplest device here is the abstract mode of representation by two -supporting lines, which do duty for legs and body. These are for the -most part parallel (see above, p. 336, Fig. 2), though occasionally they -are united at the top, making a kind of target figure. This same -arrangement, fixing the head on two upright lines, meets us also in the -rude designs of savages, as may be seen in the accompanying rock -inscription from Schoolcraft (Fig. 10).[247] - ------ - -Footnote 247: - - _Op. cit._, pt. iv., plate 18. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 10.] - -The comparative indifference of the child to the body or trunk is seen -in the obstinate persistence of this simple scheme of head and legs, to -which two arms attached to the sides of the head are often added. A -child will complete the drawing of the head by inserting hair or a cap, -and will even add feet and hands, before he troubles to bring in the -trunk (see above, p. 336, Fig. 2, and p. 342, Fig. 7 (_d_), also the -accompanying drawing by a boy of six, Fig. 11 (_a_)). With this neglect -of the trunk by children may be compared the omission of it—as if it -were a forbidden thing—in one of General Pitt-Rivers’ drawings, executed -by a Zulu woman (Fig. 11(_b_)). - -[Illustration: Fig. 11 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 11 (_b_).] - -From this common way of spiking the head on two forked or upright legs -there is one important deviation. The contour of the head may be left -incomplete, and the upper occipital part of the curve be run on into the -leg-lines, as in the accompanying example by a Jamaica girl of seven -(Fig. 12). I have met with no example of this among English children. - -[Illustration: Fig. 12.] - -The drawing of the trunk may commence in one of two ways. With English -children it appears often to emerge as an expansion or prolongation of -the head-contour, as in the accompanying drawings of the front and side -view (Fig. 13 (_a_) and (_b_)).[248] Or, in the second place, the -leg-scheme may be modified, either by drawing a horizontal line across -them and so making a rectangle, as in the accompanying drawing by a boy -of six, or by shading in the upper part of the space, as in the other -figure by a girl of five (Fig. 13 (_c_) and (_d_)). A curious and -interesting variant of this second mode of introducing the trunk is to -be found in the drawings of Von den Steinen’s Brazilians, where the -leg-lines are either kept parallel for a while and then made to diverge, -or are pinched in below what may be called the pelvis, though not -completely joined (Fig. 13 (_e_) and (_f_)). - ------ - -Footnote 248: - - A drawing given by Andree, _op. cit._, plate ii., II, seems to me to - illustrate a somewhat similar attempt to develop the trunk out of the - head. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 13 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 13 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 13 (_c_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 13 (_d_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 13 (_e_) and (_f_).] - -When the trunk is distinctly marked off, it is apt to remain small in -proportion to the head, as in the following two drawings by boys of -about five (Fig. 14 (_a_) and (_b_)). As to its shape, it is most -commonly circular or ovoid like the head. But the square or rectangular -form is also found, and in the case of certain children it is expressly -stated that this came later. A triangular cape-like form also appears -now and again, as in the accompanying drawing by a boy of six (Fig. 14 -(_c_)).[249] The treatment of the form of trunk often varies in the -drawings of the same child. - ------ - -Footnote 249: - - The opposite arrangement of a triangle on its apex occurs among savage - drawings. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 14 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 14 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 14 (_c_).] - -At this stage there is no attempt to show the joining on of the head to -the trunk by means of the neck. The oval of the head is either laid on -the top of that of the trunk, or more commonly cuts off the upper end of -the latter. The neck, when first added, is apt to take the exaggerated -look of caricature. It may be represented by a single line, by a couple -of parallel lines, or by a small oval or circle, as in the accompanying -drawings by a girl of six and a boy of five respectively (Fig. 15 (_a_) -and (_b_); _cf._ above, p. 342, Fig. 7 (_b_)). - -[Illustration: Fig. 15 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 15 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 16 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 16 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 16 (_c_).] - -It is noticeable that there is sometimes a double body, two oval -contours being laid one upon the other. In certain cases this looks very -like an expansion of the neck, as in the accompanying drawing by the -same boy that drew the round neck above (Fig. 16 (_a_)). In other cases -the arrangement plainly does not aim at differentiating the neck, since -this part is separately dealt with (Fig. 16 (_b_)). Here it may possibly -mean a crude attempt to indicate the division of the trunk at the waist, -as brought out especially by female attire, as may be seen in the -accompanying drawing where the dots for buttons on each oval seem to -show that the body is signified (Fig. 16 (_c_); _cf._ above, p. 342, -Fig. 7 (_c_)).[250] This, along with the triangular cape-shape of the -trunk, is one of the few illustrations of the effect of dress on the -first childish treatment of the figure. As a rule, this primitive art is -a study of nature in so far as the artificial adjuncts of dress are -ignored, and the rounded forms of the body are, though crudely enough no -doubt, hinted at. - ------ - -Footnote 250: - - On the other hand I find the button dots sometimes omitted in the - lower oval. - ------ - -Coming now to the arms we find that their introduction is very -uncertain. To the child, as also to the savage, the arms are what the -Germans call a Nebensache—side-matter (_i.e._, figuratively as well as -literally), and are omitted in rather more than one case out of two. -After all, the divine portion, the head, can be supported very well -without their help. - -[Illustration: Fig. 17.] - -The arms, as well as the legs, being the thin lanky members, are -commonly represented by lines. The same thing is noticeable in the -drawings of savages.[251] The arms appear in the front view of the -figure as stretched out horizontally, or, at least, reaching out from -the sides; and their appearance always gives a certain liveliness to the -figure, an air of joyous self-proclamation, as if they said in their -gesture-language, ‘Here I am’ (see above, p. 339, Fig. 5 (_a_), and the -accompanying drawing of a boy of six, Fig. 17). - ------ - -Footnote 251: - - For examples, see Andree, _op. cit._, plate 3. _Cf._ the drawings of - Von den Steinen’s Brazilians. - ------ - -In respect of shape and structure a process of evolution may be -observed. In certain cases the abstract linear representation gives -place to contour, the arm being drawn of a certain thickness. But I find -that the linear representation of the arm often persists after the legs -have received contour, this being probably another illustration of the -comparative neglect of the arm; as in the accompanying drawing by a boy -of five (Fig. 18 (_a_)). The primal rigid straightness yields later on -to the freedom of an organ. Thus an attempt is made to represent by -means of a curve the look of the bent arm, as in the accompanying -drawings by boys of five (Fig. 18 (_b_) and (_c_)). In other cases the -angle of the elbow is indicated. This last comes comparatively late in -children’s drawings, which here, too, lag behind the crudest outline -sketches of savages. - -[Illustration: Fig. 18 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 18 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 18 (_c_).—A miner.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 19.] - -The mode of insertion or attachment of the arms is noteworthy. Where -they are added to the trunkless figure they appear as emerging either -from the sides of the head, as in the accompanying drawing by a boy of -two and a half years, or from the point of junction of the head and legs -(Fig. 19; _cf._ above, p. 342, Fig.7 (_d_) and (_e_)). In the case of -savage drawings wanting the trunk the arm is also inserted at this point -of junction (see above, pp. 344, 346, Figs. 10 and 13 (_f_)).[252] - ------ - -Footnote 252: - - On the treatment of the arm in the drawings of savages, see in - addition to the authorities already mentioned _The Annual Report of - the Bureau of Ethnology_, 1883-4, p. 42 ff. - ------ - -After the trunk has been added, the mode of insertion varies still more. -In a not inconsiderable number of cases the arms spring from the bottom -of the head-circle, and sometimes even from the median region, as before -the trunk appeared (_cf._ above, p. 346, Fig. 14 (_b_)). In the last -case the most grotesque arrangements occur, as if the arms might sprout -at any point of the surface.[253] In the majority of cases, however, and -certainly among the better drawings, the arms spring from the side of -the trunk towards the median level (_cf._ above, p. 341, Fig. 6 (_a_)). - ------ - -Footnote 253: - - The tendency which appears in more than one child’s drawings to put - the right arm below the left is worth noting, though I am not prepared - to offer an explanation of the phenomenon. - ------ - -The length of the arm is frequently exaggerated. This adds to the -self-expansive and self-proclamatory look of the mannikin, as may be -seen in the accompanying drawings by boys of five and of six -respectively (Fig. 20 (_a_) and (_b_)). - -[Illustration: Fig. 20 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 20 (_b_).] - -This arrangement of the arms stretched straight out, or less commonly -pointing obliquely upwards or downwards, continues until the child grows -bold enough to represent actions. When this stage is reached their form -and length may be materially modified, as also their position.[254] - ------ - -Footnote 254: - - On the treatment of the arm, see Perez, _op. cit._, p. 190: _cf._ - Ricci, _op. cit._, pp. 6-8. I have met with no case of the arms being - attached to the legs such as Stanley Hall speaks of, _Contents of - Children’s Minds_, p. 267. - ------ - -The arm in these childish drawings early develops the interesting -adjunct of a hand. Like other features this is apt at first to be -amusingly forced into prominence by its size, and not infrequently by -heaviness of stroke as well. - -[Illustration: Fig. 21 (_a_).—Humpty Dumpty on the wall.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 21 (_b_).] - -The treatment of the hand illustrates the process of artistic evolution, -the movement from a bold symbolism in the direction of a more life-like -mode of representation. Thus one of the earliest and rudest devices I -have met with, though in a few cases only, is that of drawing strokes -across the line of the arm by way of digital symbols. Here we have -merely a clumsy attempt to convey the abstract idea of branching or -bifurcation. These cross-strokes are commonly continued upwards so that -the whole visible part of the arm becomes tree-like. It is an important -step from this to the drawing of twig-like lines which bifurcate with -the line of the arm (Fig. 21 (_a_) and (_b_)). - -It is a still more significant advance in the process of evolution when -the digital bifurcations are placed rightly, being concentrated in a -bunch-like arrangement at the extremity of the arm-line. Here, again, -various modes of treatment disclose themselves, marking stages in the -development of the artist. - -The simplest device would seem to be to draw one short line on either -side of the termination of the arm-line so as to produce a rude kind of -bird’s foot form. This may be done clumsily by drawing a stroke across -at right angles to the line of the arm, or better by two independent -strokes making acute angles with this line. These two modes of -delineation manifestly represent a restriction of the two varieties of -diffuse or dispersed treatment of the fingers already illustrated. Both -forms occur among children’s drawings. They may be found among the -drawings of savages as well.[255] - ------ - -Footnote 255: - - See Andree’s collection, _op. cit._, ii., II. - ------ - -In this terminal finger-arrangement the number of finger-lines varies -greatly, being, in the cases observed by me, frequently four and five, -and sometimes even as great as ten. It varies, too, greatly in the -drawings of the same child, and in some cases even in the two hands of -the same figure, showing that number is not attended to, as may be seen -in the two annexed drawings, both by boys of five (Fig. 22 (_a_) and -(_b_)). The idea seems to be to set forth a multiplicity of branching -fingers, and multiplicity here seems to mean three or more. The same way -of representing the hand by a claw-form, in which the number of fingers -is three or more, reappears in the drawings of savages (_cf._ above, p. -339, Fig. 4 (_c_)).[256] - ------ - -Footnote 256: - - Examples may be found in Catlin, Schoolcraft, Andree, Von den Steinen, - and others, also in the drawings in the Pitt-Rivers Museum, Farnham. - Von den Steinen gives a case of seven finger-strokes. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 22 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 22 (_b_).] - -An important advance on these crude devices is seen where an attempt is -made to indicate the hand and the relation of the fingers to this. One -of the earliest of these attempts takes the form of the well-known -toasting-fork or rake hand. Here a line at right angles to that of the -arm symbolically represents the hand, and the fingers are set forth by -the prongs or teeth (see above, p. 341, Fig. 6 (_a_), and p. 349, Fig. -18 (_a_)). Number is here as little attended to as in the radial -arrangements. It is worth noting that this _schema_ seems to be widely -diffused among children of different nationalities, and occurs in the -drawings of untaught adults. I have not, however, noticed any example of -it among savage drawings. - -Another way of bringing in the hand along with the fingers is by drawing -a dark central patch or knob. This not infrequently occurs without the -fingers as the symbol for hand. It becomes a complete symbol by -arranging finger-lines after the pattern of a burr about this (see -above, p. 347, Fig. 15 (_a_)). - -A further process of artistic evolution occurs when the fingers take on -contour. This gives a look of branching leaves to the hand. The -leaf-like pattern may be varied in different ways, among others by -taking on a floral aspect of petal-like fingers about a centre, as in -the two annexed drawings by boys of six (Fig. 23 (_a_) and (_b_); _cf._ -above, p. 350, Fig. 20 (_a_)). - -[Illustration: Fig. 23 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 23 (_b_).] - -One curious arrangement by which a thickened arm is made to expand into -something like a fan-shaped hand appears with considerable frequency. It -is zoologically interesting as being a kind of rough representation of -the fundamental typical form from which hand, fin, and wing may be -supposed to have been evolved. Here the arm sinks into insignificance, -the whole limb taking on the aspect of a prolonged hand, save where the -artist resorts to the device of making the double organ go across the -body (Fig. 24 (_a_) and (_b_)). - -[Illustration: Fig. 24 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 24 (_b_).] - -The legs come in for very much the same variety of treatment as the -arms. The abstract straight line here, as already pointed out, soon -gives place to the pair of lines representing thickness. They are for -the most part parallel and drawn at some distance one from the other, -though in certain cases there is a slight tendency to give to the figure -the look of the ‘forked biped’ (_cf._ above, p. 342, Fig. 7 (_c_)). In a -large proportion of cases there is a marked inclination of the legs, as -indeed of the whole figure, which seems to be falling backwards (see -above, pp. 340, 352, Figs. 5 (_c_) and 22 _(b_)). In many instances, in -front and profile view alike, one of the legs is drawn under the body, -leaving no room for the second, which is consequently pushed behind, and -takes on the look of a tail (see above, p. 352, Fig. 22 (_b_)s). - -[Illustration: Fig. 25.] - -Both legs are regularly shown alike in front and in profile view. Yet -even in this simple case attention to number may sometimes lapse. Among -the drawings collected by me is one by a boy of five representing the -monster, a three-legged ‘biped’ (Fig. 25).[257] - ------ - -Footnote 257: - - Unless this is a jocose suggestion of a tail. - ------ - -The shape of the leg varies greatly. With some children it is made short -and fat. It develops a certain amount of curvature long before it -develops a knee-bend. This is just what we should expect. The standing -figure needs straight or approximately straight legs as its support. -When the knee-bend is introduced it is very apt to be exaggerated (_cf._ -above, Fig. 24 (_b_)). This becomes still more noticeable at a later -stage, where actions, as running, are attempted. - -[Illustration: Fig. 26 (a).] - -The treatment of the foot shows a process of evolution similar to that -seen in the treatment of the hand. At first a bald abstract indication -or suggestion is noticeable, as where a short line is drawn across the -extremity of the leg. In place of this a contour-form, more especially a -circle or knob, may be used as a designation. Very interesting here is -the differentiation of treatment according as the booted or naked foot -is represented. Children brought up in a civilised community like -England, though they sometimes give the naked foot (see p. 342, Fig. 7 -(_d_), where the claw pattern is adopted), are naturally more disposed -to envisage the foot under its boot-form. Among the drawings of the -Jamaica children, presumably more familiar with the form of the naked -foot, I find both the toasting-fork and the burr arrangement, as also a -rude claw, or birch-like device used for the foot (see above, pp. 336, -338, 345, Figs. 2, 4 (_b_), and 12). The toasting-fork arrangement -appears in General Pitt-Rivers’ collection of savage drawings. Also a -bird’s foot treatment often accompanies a similar treatment of the hand -in the pictographs of savage tribes, and in the drawings of Von den -Steinen’s Brazilians (see above, pp. 338, 339, Fig. 4 (_a_) and (_c_)). - -[Illustration: Fig. 26 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 26 (_c_).] - -An attempt to represent the booted foot seems to be recognisable in the -early use of a triangular form, as in the accompanying drawing by a -small artist of five (Fig. 26 (_a_)).[258] Very curious is the way in -which the child seeks to indicate the capital feature of the boot, the -division of toe and heel. This is very frequently done by continuing the -line of the leg so as to make a single or a double loop-pattern, as in -the following (Fig. 26 (_b_), (_c_); _cf._ above, p. 342, Fig. 7 (_b_)). -A tendency to a more restrained and naturalistic treatment is sometimes -seen (see above, p. 354, Fig. 24 (_a_) and (_b_)). It may be added that -the notch between toe and heel is almost always exaggerated. This may be -seen by a glance at Figs. 17 and 22 (_a_), pp. 348, 352. The same thing -is noticeable in a drawing by a young Zulu in General Pitt-Rivers’ -collection. - ------ - -Footnote 258: - - This is hardly conclusive, as I find the triangular form used for the - foot of a quadruped, presumably a horse. - ------ - - _Front and Side View of Human Figure._ - -So far, I have dealt only with the treatment of the front view of the -human face and figure. New and highly curious characteristics come into -view when the child attempts to give the profile aspect. This comes -considerably later than the early lunar representation of the full face. - -Children still more than adults are interested in the full face with its -two flashing and fascinating eyes. ‘If,’ writes a lady teacher of -considerable experience in the Kindergarten, ‘one makes drawings in -profile for quite little children, they will not be satisfied unless -they see two eyes; and sometimes they turn a picture round to see the -other side.’ This reminds one of a story told by Catlin of the Indian -chief, who was so angry at a representation of himself in profile that -the unfortunate artist was in fear of his life. - -At the same time children do not rest content with this front view. -There is, I believe, ample reason to say that, quite apart from -teaching, they find their own way to a new mode of representing the face -and figure which, though it would be an error to call it a profile -drawing, has some of the characteristics of what we understand by this -expression. - -The first clear indication of an attempt to give the profile aspect of -the face is the introduction of the angular line of the side view of the -nose into the contour. The little observer is soon impressed by the -characteristic, well-marked outline of the nose in profile; and as he -cannot make much of the front view of the organ, he naturally begins at -an early stage, certainly by the fifth year, to vary the scheme of the -lunar circle, broken at most by the ears, by a projection answering to a -profile nose. - -[Illustration: Fig. 27.] - -This change is sometimes made without any other, so that we get what has -been called the mixed scheme, in which the eyes and mouth retain their -front-view aspect. This I find very common among children of five. It -may be found—even in the trunkless figure—along with a linear mouth (see -above, pp. 340-344, Figs. 5 (_c_) and following, also 11 (_a_)). The -nasal line is, needless to say, treated with great freedom. There is -commonly a good deal of exaggeration of size. In certain cases the nose -is added in the form of a spindle to the completed circle (Fig. 27; -_cf._ above, p. 340, Fig. 5 (_c_)). - -It may well seem a puzzle to us how a normal child of five or six can -complacently set down this irrational and inconsistent scheme of a human -head. We must see what can be said by way of explanation later on. It is -to be noticed, further, that in certain cases the self-contradiction -goes to the point of doubling the nose. That is to say, although the -interesting new feature, the profile nose, is introduced, earlier habit -asserts itself so that the vertical nasal line appears between the two -eyes (see above, p. 349, Fig. 18 (_c_)). - -The further process of differentiation of the profile from the primitive -full-face scheme is effected in part by adding other features than the -nose to the contour. Thus a notch for the mouth appears in some cases -below the nasal projection (Fig. 28 (_a_)), though the grinning front -view is apt to hold its own pertinaciously. A beard, especially the -short ‘imperial,’ as it used to be called, shooting out like the nose -from the side, also helps to mark profile.[259] Less frequently an ear, -and in a very few cases, hair, are added on the hinder side of the head, -and assist the impression of profile. Adjuncts, especially the pipe, and -sometimes the peak of the cap, contribute to the effect, as in the -accompanying drawing by a boy of six (Fig. 28 (_b_); _cf._ above, Figs. -6 (_a_), 18 (_c_), and 24 (_b_), pp. 341, 349, 354).[260] - ------ - -Footnote 259: - - I take the long line in Fig. 27 to represent the manly beard. - -Footnote 260: - - In rare cases the pipe sticks out from the side of what is clearly the - primitive full face. Schoolcraft gives an example of this, too, in - Indian drawing, _op. cit._, pt. ii., pl. 41. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 28 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 28 (_b_).] - -At the same time the front features themselves undergo modification. The -big grinning mouth is dropped and one of the eyes omitted. The exact way -in which this occurs appears to vary with different children. In certain -cases it is clear that the front view of the mouth cavity disappears, -giving place to a rough attempt to render a side view, before the second -eye is expunged; and in one case I have detected a survival of the two -eyes in what otherwise would be a consistent profile drawing of head and -figure (Fig. 29 (_a_); _cf._ above, p. 349, Fig. 18 (_b_)). This late -survival of the two eyes agrees with the results of observation on the -drawings of the uncultured adult. One of General Pitt-Rivers’ African -boys inserted the two eyes in a profile drawing. Von den Steinen’s -Brazilians drew by preference the full face, so that we cannot well -judge as to how they would have treated the profile. Yet it is curious -to note that in what is clearly a drawing of a side view of a fish one -of these Brazilians introduces both eyes (Fig. 29 (_b_)). The insertion -of two eyes is said by some never to occur in the drawings of savages on -stone, hide, etc.[261] But I have come across what seems to me a clear -example of it, and this in a fairly good sketch of a profile view of the -human figure on an Indian vase (Fig. 29 (_c_)).[262] Yet this late -retention of the two eyes in profile, though the general rule in -children’s drawings, is liable to exceptions. Thus I have found a child -retaining the big front view of the mouth along with a single eye. - ------ - -Footnote 261: - - Ricci’s remarks seem to me to come to this, _op. cit._, p. 25. - -Footnote 262: - - From _The Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology_, 1880-1, p. 406. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 29 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 29 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 29 (_c_).] - -It may be added that children at a particular stage show a preference -for some one arrangement; for example, the profile nose and mouth, and -the two front-view eyes, which tends to become the habitual form used, -though a certain amount of variation is observable. The differences -noticeable among different children’s drawings suggest that all of them -do not go through the same stages. Thus some may pass by the two-eyed -profile stage altogether, or very soon rise above it, whereas others may -linger in it.[263] - ------ - -Footnote 263: - - Ricci says that seventy per cent. insert two eyes in their first - profile drawings (_op. cit._, p. 17). But this seems a rather loose - statement. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 30.] - -One notices, too, curious divergences with respect to the mixture of -incompatible features. Differences in the degree of intelligence show -themselves here also. Thus in one case a child, throughout whose -drawings a certain feeble-mindedness seems to betray itself, actually -went so far as to introduce the double nose without having the excuse of -the two eyes (Fig. 30). In such odd ways do the tricks of habit assert -themselves. - -[Illustration: Fig. 31 (a).] - -The difficulty which the child feels in these profile representations is -seen in the odd positions given to the eyes. These are apt to be pushed -very high up, to be placed one above the other, and, what is more -significant, to be put far apart and close to the line of contour (see -above, Fig. 29 (_a_)). In the following drawing by a boy of five one of -the eyes may be said to be on this line (Fig 31 (_a_)). In General -Pitt-Rivers’ collection we find a still more striking instance of this -in a drawing by a boy of eleven, the second eye appearing to be -intentionally put outside the contour, as if to suggest that we must -look round to the other side of the facial disc in order to see it (Fig. -31 (_b_)). Curious variations of treatment appear, as in inserting two -eyes between the same pair of curves as in Fig. 20 (_b_), p. 350, and in -enclosing two pairs of dots or small circles in two larger circles as in -Figs. 14 (_b_), and 22 (_a_), pp. 346, 352 (both by the same boy).[264] - ------ - -Footnote 264: - - I assume that these are intended for two eyes; but the scheme is not - easy to interpret. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 31 (_b_).] - -It may be added that even when only one eye is drawn, a reminiscence of -the anterior view is seen in its form. It is the round or spindle-shaped -contour of the eye as seen in front. That is to say the eye of the -profile like that of the full face looks directly at the spectator, so -that in a manner the one-eyed profile is a front view (see for an -example, Fig. 5 (_a_), p. 339). The designs of savages, and the archaic -art of civilised races, including a people so high up as the Egyptians, -share this tendency of children’s drawings of the profile, though we -find scarcely a trace of the tendency to insert both eyes. - -A like confusion or want of differentiation shows itself in the -management of other features in the profile view. As observed, a good -large ear at the back sometimes helps to indicate the side view (see -above, p. 341, Fig. 6 (_a_)). But the wish to bring in all the features, -seen in the obstinate retention of the two eyes, shows itself also in -respect of the ears. Thus one occasionally finds the two ears as in the -front view (see above, p. 346, Fig. 14 (_a_), where the aspect is -clearly more front view than profile), and sometimes, according to M. -Passy—as if the profile nose interfered with this arrangement—both -placed together on one side. The treatment of the moustache when this is -introduced follows that of the mouth. So imposing a feature must be -given in all the glory of the front view (see above, p. 350, Fig. 20 -(_b_)). - -[Illustration: Fig. 32.] - -Other curious features of this early crude attempt to deal with the -profile show themselves in the handling of the trunk and the limbs. I -have met with only one or two instances of a profile head appearing -before the addition of the trunk as in Fig. 28 (_a_) (p. 358). In the -large majority of cases the trunk appears and retains the circular or -oval form of the primitive front view. When, as very frequently happens, -the interesting vertical row of buttons is added it is apt to be -inserted in the middle, giving a still more definitely frontal aspect. -The juxtaposition of this with the head turned to the left need cause no -difficulty to the little draughtsman, after what he has comfortably -swallowed in the shape of incompatibilities in the face itself (see -above, p. 347, Fig. 15 (_b_)). In rare cases, however, one may light on -a distinctly lateral treatment of the buttons. In one instance I have -found it in a drawing which would be a consistent profile but for the -insertion of the second eye, and the frontal treatment of the legs and -feet (Fig. 32). - -[Illustration: Fig. 33.] - -In the arrangement of the arms there is more room for confusion. The -management of these in the profile view naturally gives difficulty to -the little artist, and in some cases we find him shirking the point by -retaining the front view or spread-eagle arrangement. This occurs as a -rule where the profile modification is limited to the introduction of a -lateral nose or nose and pipe (see, _e.g._, Figs. 24 (_a_) and 28 (_b_), -pp. 354, 358). What is more surprising is that it appears in rare cases -in drawings which otherwise would be fairly consistent profile sketches. -[Fig. 33; all this child’s completed drawings, four in number, adopt the -same front-view scheme of arms.] - -The view of the profile with both arms stretched out in front seems, -however, early to impress itself on the child’s imagination, and an -attempt is made to introduce this striking arrangement. The addition of -the forward-reaching arms helps greatly to give a profile aspect to the -figure (see above, p. 349, Fig. 18 (_b_)). - -[Illustration: Fig. 34.] - -The addition of the forward-reaching arms is carried out more especially -when it is desired to represent an action, as in the drawing given -above, p. 342, Fig. 7 (_c_), by a boy of six, which represents a nurse -apparently walking behind a child, and in the accompanying figure, by a -boy of eight and a half, of an Irishman knocking a man’s head inside a -tent (Fig. 34). - -[Illustration: Fig. 35a.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 35b.] - -The crudest mode of representing the side view of the forward-reaching -arms is by drawing the lines from the contour, as in Fig. 35 (_a_). -Difficulties arise when the lines are carried across the trunk. Very -often both arms are drawn in this way, as in Fig. 35 (_b_). There is a -certain analogy here to the insertion of the two eyes in the profile -representation, a second feature being in each case added which in the -original object is hidden.[265] - ------ - -Footnote 265: - - According to Ricci the second arm is supposed to be seen through the - body. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 36.] - -When the two arms are thus introduced their position varies greatly, -whether they start from the contour or are drawn across the body. That -is to say, they may be far one from the other (as in Fig. 35 (_b_)), or -may be drawn close together. And again the point of common origin may be -high up at the meeting point of trunk and chin, as in a drawing by a boy -of five (Fig. 36), or at almost any point below this. - -In the cases I have examined the insertion of both arms in profile -representations is exceptional. More frequently, even when action is -described, one arm only is introduced, which may set out from the -anterior surface of the trunk, or, as we have seen, start from the -posterior surface and cross the trunk (see above, pp. 353, 356, Figs. 23 -(_a_) and 26 (_c_)). In most cases where no action such as walking and -holding a cane is signified both arms are omitted. The uncertainty of -the arms is hardly less here than in the front view. - -With respect to the legs, we find, as in the primitive frontal view, an -insertion of both. An ordinary child can still less represent a human -figure in profile with only one leg showing than he can represent it -with only one eye. As a rule, so long as he is guided by his own inner -light only he does not attempt to draw one leg over and partially -covering the other, but sets them both out distinctly at a respectful -distance one from the other. The refinement of making the second foot or -calf and foot peep out from behind the first, as in Fig. 29 (_a_) (p. -359), and possibly also Fig. 18 (_c_) (p. 349), shows either an -exceptional artistic eye, or the interference of the preceptor. - -[Illustration: Fig. 37.] - -The treatment of the feet by the childish pencil is interesting. It is -presumable that at first no difference of profile and front view -attaches to the position of the foot. It has to be shown, and as the -young artist knows nothing of perspective and foreshortening, and, -moreover, would not be satisfied with that mode of delineation if he -could accomplish it, he proceeds naturally enough to draw the member as -a line at right angles to that of the leg. This is done in one of two -ways, in opposed directions outwards, or in the same direction, -answering to what we should call the front or the side view. At first, I -believe, no significance of front and side view is attached to these -arrangements. Thus in some sketches by a little girl of four and a half -I find the primitive front view of the head combined with each of these -arrangements of the foot. In drawings, too, of older children of six and -upwards I have met with cases both of a profile representation of head -and trunk with spread-eagle feet, as also of a side view of the feet -with a front face (see Figs. 5 (_a_) and 13 (_c_), pp. 339, 345). This -last arrangement, I find, appears in a profile treatment of the whole -leg and foot among the drawings of North American Indians (Fig. 37); and -this suggests that the side view in which the two feet point one way is -more easily reached and fixed by the untutored draughtsman. - -[Illustration: Fig. 38.] - -A regular and apparently intelligent addition of the side view of the -feet to the child’s crude profile drawing of the human figure produces a -noticeable increase of definiteness. One common arrangement, I find, in -the handling of the profile is the combination of the side view of the -feet with a more or less consistent profile view of the head, while the -bust is drawn in front view (see above, Figs. 35 (_a_), 36). The effect -is of course greater where the side view of the bent leg is added (see -Fig. 38 and compare with this Fig. 37). I find a liking for this same -arrangement in the drawings of the unskilled adult. An example may be -seen in a drawing by an English carpenter in General Pitt-Rivers’ Museum -at Farnham. In the pictographs of the North American Indians we meet -with cases of a similar treatment.[266] In the drawings on the Egyptian -Mummy cases in the British Museum instances of a precisely similar -treatment are to be found. We seem to have here a sort of transition -from the first crude impossible conception to a more naturalistic and -truthful conception. This twist of the trunk does not shock the eye with -an absolutely impossible posture, as the early artistic solecisms shock -it, and it is an arrangement which displays much that is characteristic -and valuable in the human form.[267] - ------ - -Footnote 266: - - _Annual Report of Bureau of Ethnology_, 1882-3, p. 160. - -Footnote 267: - - Professor Petrie has pointed out to me that the Egyptian of to-day - with his more supple body easily throws himself into this position. - ------ - -One point to be noticed among these drawings of the profile by children -is that in a large majority of cases the figure looks to the left of the -spectator. In the drawings which I have examined this appears like a -rule to which there is scarcely any exception, save where the child -wants to make two figures face one another in order to represent a fight -or the less sensational incident of a salute. The way in which the new -direction of the figure is given in these cases shows that children are -not absolutely shut up to the one mode of representation by any -insuperable difficulty. There is a like tendency observable in the -treatment of the quadruped, which nearly always looks to the left. It -may be added that a similar habit prevails in the drawings of untutored -adults, as the pictographs of the North American Indians. The -explanation of this, as well as of other generalisations here reached, -will be touched on later. - -I conceive, then, that there reveals itself in children’s drawings of -the human figure between the ages of three or four and eight a process -of development involving differentiation and specialisation. This -process, instead of leading to a fuller and more detailed treatment of -the front view, moves in the direction of a new and quasi-profile -representation, although few children arrive at a clear and consistent -profile scheme. Different children appear to find their way to different -modifications of a mixed front and side view, some amazingly raw, others -less so according to the degree of natural intelligence, and probably -also the amount of good example put in their way by drawings in books, -and still more by model-drawings of mother or other instructor. - -I have met with only a few examples of a contemporaneous and -discriminative use of front view and profile. Here and there, it is -true, one may light on a case of the old lunar scheme surviving side by -side with the commoner mixed scheme; but this sporadic survival of an -earlier form does not prove clear discrimination. In the case of one boy -of five the two forms were clearly distinguished, but this child was -from a cultured family, and had presumably enjoyed some amount of home -guidance. In the case of the rougher and less sophisticated class of -children it appears to be a general rule that the draughtsman settles -down to some one habitual way of drawing the human face and figure, -which can be seen to run through all his drawings, with only this -difference, that some are made more complete than others by the addition -of mouth, arms, etc. Even the fact of the use of one or two eyes by the -same child at the same date does not appear to me to point to a clear -distinction in his mind between a front and side view. The omissions in -these cases may more readily be explained as the result of occasional -fatigue and carelessness, or, in some cases, of want of room, or as -indicating the point of transition from an older and cruder to a later -and more complete scheme of profile. This conclusion is supported by the -fact that a child of six or seven, when asked to draw from the life, -will give the same scheme, whether the model presents a front or a side -view. This has been observed by M. Passy in the drawings of himself -which he obtained from his own children, by General Pitt-Rivers in the -drawings of uneducated adults, and by others. We may say, then, that -children left to themselves are disposed each to adopt some single -stereotyped mode of representing the human figure which happens to -please his fancy.[268] - ------ - -Footnote 268: - - These results do not seem to agree with those of M. Passy or of - Professor Barnes. M. Passy distinguishes in children’s drawings a - front and a side view, both of which may be used by the same child at - the same time. The former consists of nose and mouth of profile and - eyes and ears of full face, the latter, of nose and mouth of profile - with one eye and one ear; that is to say the two differ only in the - number of eyes and ears (_Revue Philosophique_, 1891, p. 614 ff.). It - would be interesting to know on how large an examination this - generalisation is based. As suggested above, the occasional omission - of the second eye and ear where both are commonly used can be - explained without supposing the child to distinguish between profile - and full face. Professor Barnes goes so far as to state with numerical - exactness the relative frequency of profile and full face by children - at different stages. He makes, however, no serious attempt to explain - the criterion by which he would distinguish the two modes of - representation (see his article, _Pedagogical Seminary_, ii., p. 455 - ff.). - ------ - -In this naïve childish art of profile drawing we have something which at -first seems far removed from the art of uncivilised races. No doubt, as -Grosse urges, the drawings of savages discovered in North America, -Africa, Australia, are technically greatly superior to children’s clumsy -impossible performances. Yet points of contact disclose themselves. If a -North American Indian is incapable of producing the stupid scheme of a -front view of the mouth and side view of the nose, he may, as we have -seen, occasionally succumb to the temptation to bring both eyes into a -profile drawing. We may see, too, how in trying to represent action, and -to exhibit the active limb as he must do laterally, the untutored -nature-man is apt to get odd results, as may be observed in the -accompanying drawing by a North American Indian of a man shooting (Fig. -39 (_a_)).[269] This may be compared with the accompanying Egyptian -drawing (Fig. 39 (_b_)).[270] - ------ - -Footnote 269: - - Taken from Schoolcraft, vol. i., pl. 48. - -Footnote 270: - - From Maspero’s _Dawn of Civilisation_, p. 469. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 39 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 39 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 40 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 40 (_b_).] - -I have already touched on the modifications which appear in a child’s -drawing of the human figure when the sculpturesque attitude of repose -gives place to the dramatic attitude of action. This transition to the -representation of action marks the substitution of a more realistic -concrete treatment for the early abstract symbolic treatment. Very -amusing are some of the devices by which a child tries to indicate this. -As Ricci has pointed out, the arm will sometimes be curved in order to -make it reach, say, the face of an adversary (Fig. 40 (_a_)). A similar -introduction of curvature appears in the accompanying drawing from a -scalp inscription (Fig. 40 (_b_)). Sometimes a curious symbolism -appears, as if to eke out the deficiencies of the artist’s technical -resources, as when a boy of five represents the junction of two persons’ -hands by connecting them with a line (Fig. 40 (_c_)).[271] With this may -be compared the well-known device of indicating the direction of sight -by drawing a line from the eye to the object.[272] The most impossible -attitudes occur when new positions of the legs are attempted, as in the -accompanying endeavours to draw the act of running, kneeling to play -marbles, and kicking a football (Fig. 40 (_d_), (_e_), and (_f_)). - ------ - -Footnote 271: - - This I take to be the meaning of this odd arrangement. - -Footnote 272: - - _Cf._ Barnes, _loc. cit._ - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 40 (_c_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 40 (_e_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 40 (_d_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 40 (_f_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 41.] - -One other point needs to be referred to before we leave the human -figure, _viz._, the treatment of accessories. As pointed out, the child -when left to himself is for the most part oblivious of dress, though the -triangular cape-like form of the body may be a rude attempt to delineate -a clothed figure. In general he cares merely to crown his figure with -the hat of dignity, and, at most, to ornament the body with a row of -buttons. Even when he grows sophisticated and attempts clothes he still -shows his primitive respect for the natural frame. A well-known -anthropologist tells me that his little boy on watching his mother draw -a lady insisted on her putting in the legs before shading in the -petticoats. In General Pitt-Rivers’ collection there is a drawing by a -boy of ten which in clothing the figure naïvely indicates the limbs -through their covering (Fig. 41). This agrees with what Von den Steinen -tells us of the way the Brazilian Indians drew him and his companions. - -[Illustration: Fig. 42 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 42 (_b_).] - -Yet the artificial culture which children in the better classes of a -civilised community are wont to receive is apt to develop a precocious -respect for raiment, and this respect is reflected in their drawings. -The early introduction of buttons has been illustrated above. One boy of -six was so much in love with these that he covered the bust with them -(Fig. 42 (_a_)). Girls are wont to lay great emphasis on the lady’s -feathered hat and parasol, as in the accompanying drawing by a maiden of -six (Fig. 42 (_b_)). Throughout this use of apparel in the crude stage -of child-art we see the desire to characterise sex, rank, and office, as -when the man is given his hat, the soldier his military cap, and so -forth. This applies, too, of course, to such frequent accessories as the -walking-stick (or less frequently the whip, as in Fig. 35 (_b_), p. 363) -and the pipe, each of which is made the most of in giving manliness of -look. The pipe, it may be added, figures bravely in a drawing of a -European by one of Von den Steinen’s Brazilians. - - - _First Drawings of Animals._ - -Many of the characteristics observable in the child’s treatment of the -human figure reappear in his mode of representing animal forms. This -domain of child-art follows quickly on the first. Children’s interest in -animals, especially quadrupeds, leads them to draw them at an early -stage. In prescribed exercises, moreover, the cat and the duck appear to -figure amongst the earliest models. An example of this early attempt to -draw animals has been given above (p. 334, Fig. 1). - -[Illustration: Fig. 43 (_a_).—A duck.] - -The first crude attempts about the age of three or four to draw animal -forms exhibit great incompleteness of conception and want of a sense of -position and proportion. In one case the head seems to be drawn, but no -body—if, indeed, head and body are not confused; and in others where a -differentiation of head and trunk is attempted there is no clear local -separation, or if this is attempted there is no clear indication of the -mode of connexion (see, for example, Fig. 43 (_a_)). In the case of -animals the side view is for obvious reasons hit on from the first. But, -needless to say, there is no clear representation of the profile head. -As a rule we have the front view, or at least the insertion of the two -eyes. Both eyes appear in Mr. Cooke’s illustrations of drawings of the -cat by children between three and four (Fig. 43 (_b_)), as also commonly -in drawings of horses. The position of the eyes is often odd enough, -these organs being in one drawing by a boy of five pushed up into the -ears (Fig. 43 (_c_)).[273] The front view of the animal head along with -profile body appears occasionally in savage drawings also.[274] In some -of children’s drawings we see traces of a mixed scheme. Thus I have a -drawing by a boy of five in which a front view is reached by a kind of -doubling of the profile (Fig. 43 (_d_)). - ------ - -Footnote 273: - - Mr. Cooke kindly informs me that in an early Greek drawing in the - First Vase Room in the British Museum, the eye of a fish is placed in - the back part of the mouth. - -Footnote 274: - - An example is given by Schoolcraft, _op. cit._, pt. iv., pl. 18. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 43 (_b_).—Two cats.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 43 (_d_).—A horse.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 43 (_c_).—A horse.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 44 (_a_).—A horse.] - -More remarkable than all, perhaps, we have in one case a clear instance -of the scheme of the human face, the features, eyes, nose, and mouth -being arranged horizontally to suit the new circumstances (Fig. 44 -(_a_)). With this may be compared the accompanying transference of the -animal ear to the human figure, though this suggests—especially in view -of the pipe—a bit of jocosity on the part of the young draughtsman (Fig. -44 (_b_)). - -[Illustration: Fig. 44 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 44 (_c_).—A dog.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 44 (_d_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 44 (_e_).—A horse.] - -The forms of both head and trunk vary greatly. In a few drawings I have -found the extreme of abstract treatment in the drawing of the trunk, -_viz._, by means of a single line, a device which, so far as I have -observed, is only resorted to in the case of the human figure for the -neck and the limbs. An example of this was given above in Fig. 1 (p. -334). The following drawing of a dog by a little girl between five and -six years old illustrates the same thing (Fig. 44 (_c_)).[275] On the -other hand we see sometimes a tendency to give the trunk abnormal -thickness, as if the model used had been the wooden toy-horse, as in the -accompanying drawing by a boy of five (Fig. 44 (_d_)). Rectilinear -instead of rounded forms occur, and the head is often triangular, these -rectilinear contours being probably suggested by the teacher in his -model schemes (see Fig. 44 (_e_)). - ------ - -Footnote 275: - - Line drawings of animals as well as of men are found in savage art: - see, for example, Schoolcraft, _op. cit._, pt. iv., pl. 18. Mr. Cooke - gives examples from drawings of the Trojans. Hence line drawing may, - as he infers, be the primitive mode. - ------ - -[Illustration: - - Fig. 45 (_a_).—A cat. - 1 Whiskers; 2 Tail. -] - -[Illustration: Fig. 45 (_d_).—Some quadruped.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 45 (_b_).—A bird.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 45 (_c_).—A quadruped.] - -[Illustration: Fig. 45 (_e_).—A mouse.] - -The legs are of course all visible. The strangest inattention to number -betrays itself here. As we saw, a child in beginning his -scribble-drawing piles on lines for the legs (see above, p. 334, Fig. -1). A girl between three and four years of age endowed a cat with two -legs and a bird with three (see Fig. 45 (_a_) and (_b_)).[276] A boy in -his sixth year drew a quadruped with ten legs (Fig. 45 (_c_)). They are -often drawn absurdly out of position. In more than one case I find them -crowded behind, as in the accompanying drawing of some quadruped by the -same little girl that drew the cat and the bird, and in a drawing of a -mouse by another child about the same age, viz., three and a half years -(Fig. 45 (d) and (e)). They commonly remain apart from one another -throughout their course, following roughly a parallel direction. But -this simple scheme is soon modified, first of all by enlarging the space -between the fore and the hind legs, and then by introducing some change -of direction answering to the look of the animal in motion. This is most -easily effected by making the fore and the hind pair diverge downwards, -as in Fig. 43 (_b_) and (_c_) (p. 373). In rarer cases the divergence -appears between the two legs of the fore and of the hind pair (Fig. 45 -(_f_)). The knee-bend is early introduced as a means of suggesting -motion. Either the legs are all bent backwards, as in Fig. 45 (_g_) -(_cf._ above, Fig. 44 (_e_)); or, with what looks like a perverted -feeling for symmetry, each pair is bent inwardly, as in Fig. 45 (_h_). -The forms are often extraordinary enough, a preternatural thickness of -leg being not infrequently given, and the knee-joint occasionally taking -on grotesque shapes as if the little draughtsman had just been attending -a class on the anatomy of the skeleton. The hoof is drawn in a still -freer manner, various designs, as the bird-foot, the circle, and the -looped pattern, appearing here as in the case of the human foot (Fig. 45 -(_i_) and (_j_); _cf._ Figs. 43 (_c_) and 44 (_a_) (p. 373)). - ------ - -Footnote 276: - - This is the way in which Mr. Cooke, who sends me these two drawings, - explains them to me. The beak (?) in Fig. 45 (_b_) is added to the - contour, as is the human nose in a few cases. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 45 (_f_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 45 (_g_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 45 (_h_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 45 (_i_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 45 (_j_).] - -In this unlearned attempt to draw animal forms the child falls far below -the level of the untutored savage. The drawings of animals by the North -American Indians, by Africans, and others, have been justly praised for -their artistic excellence. A fine perception of form is, in many cases, -at least, clearly recognisable, the due covering of one part by another -is represented, and movement is vigorously suggested. Lover though he is -of animals, the child, when compared with the uncivilised adult, shows -himself to be woefully ignorant of his pets. - - _Men on Horseback, etc._ - -Childish drawing moves as the dialectic progress of the Hegelian thought -from distinction and antithesis to a synthesis or unity which embraces -the distinction. After illustrating the human biped in his -contradistinction to the quadruped he proceeds to combine them in a -higher artistic unity, the man on horseback. The special interest of -this department of childish drawing lies in the fresh and genial manner -of the combining. To draw a man and a horse apart is one thing, to fit -the two figures one to the other, quite another. - -At first the degree of connexion is slight. There is no suggestion of a -composite or mixed animal, such as may have suggested to the lively -Greek imagination the myth of the centaur. The human figure is pitched -on to the quadruped in the most unceremonious fashion. Thus in many -cases there is no attempt even to combine the profile aspects, the man -appearing impudently in frontal aspect, or what would be so but for the -lateral nasal excrescence, as in the accompanying drawing by a boy of -five (Fig. 46). - -[Illustration: Fig. 46.] - -With this indifference to a consistent profile there goes amazing -slovenliness in attaching the man to the animal, and this whether the -front or side view of the human figure is introduced. No attempt is made -in many cases to show attachment: the man is drawn just above the -quadruped, that is all. It seems to be a chance whether the two figures -meet, whether the feet of the man rest circus-fashion on the animal’s -back, or, lastly, whether the human form is drawn in part over the -animal, and, if so, at what height it is to emerge from the animal’s -back. Various arrangements occur in the same sheet of drawings (see Fig. -47 (_a_), (_b_) and (_c_)). - -[Illustration: Fig. 47 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 47 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 47 (_c_).] - -When this overlapping takes place the presence of the animal’s trunk -makes no difference in the treatment of the man. He is drawn with his -two legs just as if he were in relief against the horse; and this -arrangement is apt to persist even when a child can draw a rude -semblance of a horse and knows at what level to place the rider. So -difficult to the little artist is this idea of one thing covering -another that even when he comes to know that both the legs of the rider -are not seen, he may get confused and erase both (see above (p. 376), -Fig. 45 (_f_)).[277] - -[Illustration: Fig. 48 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 48 (_b_).] - -The savage is in general as much above the child in the representation -of the rider as he is in that of the animal apart. Yet traces of similar -confusion do undoubtedly appear. Von den Steinen says that his -Brazilians drew the rider with both legs showing. Andree gives an -illustration, among the stone-carvings (petroglyphs) of savages, of the -employment of a front view of the human figure rising above the horse -with no legs showing below (Fig. 48 (_a_)).[278] Even among the drawings -of the North American Indians, in which the horse is in general so well -outlined, we occasionally find what appear to be the germs of confusions -similar to those of the child. Thus Schoolcraft gives among drawings -from an inscription on a buffalo skin one in which we have above the -profile view of a horse the front view of a man, with arms stretched out -laterally while the legs are wanting.[279] A clearer case of confusion -is supplied by the following drawing, also by a North American Indian, -in which the lines of the horse’s body cut those of the rider’s legs -(Fig. 48 (_b_)).[280] - ------ - -Footnote 277: - - _Cf._ Ricci, _op. cit._, Fig. 21 (p. 27). - ------ - -Footnote 278: - - _Op. cit._, pl. 2; _cf._ pl. 6, where a drawing from Siberia with the - same mode of treatment is given. - -Footnote 279: - - _Op. cit._, pt. iv, pl. 31 (p. 251). - -Footnote 280: - - From the _Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology_, 1882-83, p. 206. - The common appearance of both legs in these Indian drawings means, I - take it, that the rider is on the side of the horse. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 49 (_a_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 49 (_d_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 49 (_b_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 49 (_c_).] - -[Illustration: Fig. 49 (_e_).] - -The same tendency to show the whole man where the circumstances hide a -part appears in children’s drawings of a man in a boat, a railway -carriage and so forth. Ricci has shown that the different ways in which -the child-artist puts a human figure in a boat are as numerous as those -in which he sets it on a horse. The figure may stand out above the boat -or overlap, in which last case it may be cut across by the deck-line and -its lower part shown, or be clapped wholly below the deck, or again be -half immersed in the water below the boat, or, lastly, where an attempt -to respect fact is made, be truncated, the trunk appearing through the -side of the boat, though the legs are wanting.[281] A man set in a -house, train, or tram car, is seen in his totality (Fig. 49 (_a_) and -(_b_)). It is much the same thing when a child flattens out a house or -other object so as to show us its three sides, that is to say one which -in reality is hidden (Fig. 49 (_c_) and (_d_)). With these habits of the -child may be compared those of the savage. The impulse to show -everything, even what is covered, is illustrated in a drawing of a -singer in his wigwam by an Indian (Fig. 49 (_e_)).[282] Even where -colour comes in and one thing has to be hidden by a part of another -thing the savage artist, like the child insists on drawing the whole. -This is illustrated in a curious custom, the drawing of two serpents (in -dry, coloured powder) by North American fire-dancers. They are drawn -across one another, and the artist has first to draw completely the one -partly covered, and then the second over the first.[283] - ------ - -Footnote 281: - - See Ricci, _op. cit._, pp. 17-23. - -Footnote 282: - - Andree observes that in Australian drawings objects behind one another - are put above one another as in a certain stage of Egyptian art (_op. - cit._, p. 172). - -Footnote 283: - - _Annual Report of Bureau of Ethnology_, 1883-84, p. 444 ff. - ------ - -[Illustration: Fig. 50.] - -The child’s drawing of the house, though less remarkable than that of -the man and the quadruped, has a certain interest. It illustrates, as we -have just seen, not merely his determination to render visible what is -hidden, but also his curious feeling for position and proportion. In one -case I found that in the desire to display the contents of a house a -girl of six had actually set a table between the chimneys. The -accompanying drawing done by the boy C. at the age of five years five -months illustrates the fine childish contempt for proportion (Fig. 50). -A curious feature in these drawings of the house is the care bestowed on -certain details, pre-eminently the window. This is even a more important -characteristic feature than the chimney with its loops of smoke. Some -children give a quite loving care to the window, drawing the lace -curtains, the flowers, and so forth. - - - _Résumé of Facts._ - -We may now sum up the main results of our study. We find in the drawings -of untrained children from about the age of three to that of eight or -ten a curious mode of dealing with the most familiar forms. At no stage -of this child-art can we find what we should regard as elements of -artistic value: yet it has its quaint and its suggestive side. - -The first thing that strikes us here is that this child-delineation, -crude and bizarre as it is, illustrates a process of development. Thus -we have (_a_) the stage of vague formless scribble, (_b_) that of -primitive design, typified by what I have called the lunar scheme of the -human face, and (_c_) that of a more sophisticated treatment of the -human figure, as well as of animal forms. - -This process of art-evolution has striking analogies with that of -organic evolution. It is clearly a movement from the vague or indefinite -to the definite, a process of gradual specialisation. Not only so, we -may note that it begins with the representation of those rounded or -ovoid contours which seem to constitute the basal forms of animal -organisms, and proceeds like organic evolution by a gradual -differentiation of the ‘homogeneous’ structure through the addition of -detailed parts or organs. These organs in their turn gradually assume -their characteristic forms. It is, perhaps, worth observing here that -some of the early drawings of animals are strongly suggestive of embryo -forms (compare, _e.g._, Fig. 45 (_b_) and (_d_), p. 375). - -If now we examine this early drawing on its representative side we find -that it is crude and defective enough. It proceeds by giving a bare -outline of the object, with at most one or two details thrown in. The -form neither of the whole nor of the parts is correctly rendered. Thus -in drawing the foot it is enough for the child to indicate the angle: -the direction of the foot-line is comparatively immaterial. In this -respect a child’s drawing differs from a truly artistic sketch or -suggestive indication by a few characteristic lines, which is absolutely -correct so far as it goes. The child is content with a schematic -treatment, which involves an appreciable and even considerable departure -from truthful representation. Thus the primitive lunar drawing of the -human face is manifestly rather a diagrammatic scheme than an imitative -representation of a concrete form. - -In this non-imitative and merely indicative treatment there is room for -all sorts of technical inaccuracies. Form is woefully misapprehended, as -in the circular trunk, the oblong mouth, the claw foot, and so forth. -Proportion—even in its simple aspect of equality—is treated with -contempt in many instances (_cf._ the legs of the quadruped and the bird -in Fig. 45 (_a_), (_b_), and (_c_) (p. 375)). What is no less important, -division of space and relative position of parts, which seem vital even -to a diagrammatic treatment, are apt to be overlooked, as in drawing the -facial features high up, in attaching the arms to the head, and so -forth. Even the element of number is made light of, and this, too, in -such simple circumstances as when drawing the legs of an animal. - -[Illustration: Fig. 51 (_a_).] - -One of the most curious of these misrepresentations comes into view in -the third or sophisticated stage, _viz._, the introduction of more than -is visible. This error, again, assumes a milder and a graver form, -_viz._, (_a_) the giving of the features more distinctly and completely -than they appear in the object represented, and (_b_) the introducing of -features which have no place in the object represented. Examples of the -first are the introduction of the nasal angle into the front view of the -human face; the separation throughout their length of the four legs of -the horse; and such odd tricks as detaching the reins of the horse from -the animal, as in Fig. 51 (_a_). Illustrations of the second are -numerous and varied. They include first of all the naïve introduction of -features of an object which are not on the spectator’s side and so in -view, as the second eye and the second arm in what are predominantly -profile representations. With these may be classed the attempt to -exhibit three sides of a house. Closely related to these errors of -perspective is the exposure of objects or parts of objects which are -covered by others. It is possible that the spread-eagle arrangement of -the two joined arms is an attempt to represent a feature of childish -anatomy, _viz._, the idea that the arms run through and join in the -middle of the trunk. A clearer example of this attempt to expose to view -what is covered is the exhibition of the whole human figure in a boat, -house or carriage. With this may be compared the disclosure of the whole -head of a horse when drinking, as in the accompanying drawing by a boy -of five (Fig. 51 (_b_)), of the whole head of the man through his hat -(see above, p. 350, Fig. 20 (_b_)), and of the human limbs through the -clothes (Fig. 41, p. 371). - -[Illustration: Fig. 51 (_b_).] - -A class of confusions, having a certain similarity to some of these, -consists in the transference of the features of one object to a second, -as when a man or quadruped is given a bird-like foot (Figs. 7 (_d_) and -43 (_c_), pp. 342, 373), and still more manifestly when the facial -scheme of the man is transferred to the quadruped or _vice versâ_ (Fig. -44 (_a_) and (_b_), pp. 373, 374). - -These last errors clearly illustrate the tendency to a conventional -treatment, a tendency which, as I have observed already, runs through -children’s spontaneous drawings. This free conventional handling of -natural forms has been illustrated in the habitual drawing of the mouth -and eyes, and still more strikingly in that of the hands and feet. - -Paradoxical though it may seem, these drawings, while in general bare -and negligent of details, show in certain directions a quite amusing -attention to them. Thus, we find at a very early stage certain details, -as the pipe of the man, insisted on with extravagant emphasis; and may -observe at a somewhat later stage in the elaborate drawing of hair, -buttons, parasol, and so forth, a tendency to give some feature to which -the child attaches value a special prominence and degree of -completeness. - -The art of children is a thing by itself, and must not straight away be -classed with the rude art of the untrained adult. As adult, the latter -has knowledge and technical resources above those of the little child; -and these points of superiority show themselves, for example, in the -fine delineation of animal forms by Africans and others.[284] At the -same time, after allowing for these differences, it is, I think, -incontestable that a number of characteristic traits in children’s -drawings are reflected in those of untutored savages. - ------ - -Footnote 284: - - The tendency to identify the drawings of the child and the savage led - to an amusing error on the part of a certain Abbé Domenech, who in - 1860 published his so-called _Livre des Sauvages_, which purported to - contain the graphic characters and drawings of North American Aztecs, - but proved in reality to be nothing but the scribbling book of a boy - of German parentage. The drawings are of the crudest, and show the - artist to be much more nasty-minded than the savage draughtsmen. - ------ - - - _Explanation of Facts._ - -Let us now see how we are to explain these characteristics. In order to -do so we must try to understand what process a child’s mind goes through -when he draws something, and to compare this with what passes in the -mind of an adult artist. The problem has, it is evident, to do with -drawing from memory or out of one’s head, for though the child may begin -to draw by help of models, he develops his characteristic art in -complete independence of these. - -In order to draw an object from memory two things are obviously -necessary. We must have at the outset an idea of the form we wish to -represent, and this visual image of the form must somehow translate -itself into a series of manual movements corresponding to its several -parts. In other words, it presupposes both an initial conception and a -correlated process of execution. - -In psychological language this correlation or co-ordination between the -idea of a form and the carrying out of the necessary movements of the -hand is expressed by saying that the visual image, say, of the curve of -the full face, calls up the associated image of the manual movement. -This last, again, may mean either the visual image of the hand executing -the required movement, or the image of the muscular sensations -experienced when the arm is moved in the required way, or possibly both -of these. - -The process of drawing a whole form is of course more complex than this, -each step in the operation being adjusted to preceding steps. How far -the movements of the draughtsman’s hands are guided here by a visual -image of the form, which remains present throughout, how far by -attention to what has already been set down, may not be quite certain. -Judging from my own case, I should describe the process somewhat after -this fashion. In drawing a human face we set out with a visual image of -the whole, which is incomplete in respect of details, but represents -roughly size and general form or outline. This image is projected -indistinctly and unsteadily, of course, on the sheet of paper before us, -and this projected image controls the whole operation. But as we advance -we pay more and more attention to the visual presentation supplied by -the portion of the drawing already produced, and only realise with any -distinctness that part of the projected visual image which is just in -advance of the pencil. - -It is evident that the carrying out of such a prolonged operation -involves a perfected mechanism of eye, brain and hand connexions; for -much of the manual adjustment is instantaneous and sub-conscious. At the -same time the process illustrates a very high measure of volitional -control or concentration. Unless we keep the original design fixed -before us, and attend at each stage to the relations of the executed to -the unexecuted part, we are certain to go wrong. - -Practice tends, of course, to reduce the conscious element in the -process. In the case of a person accustomed to draw the outline of a -human head, a cat or what not, the operation is very much one of -hand-memory into which visual representations enter only faintly. The -movements follow one another of themselves without the intervention of -distinct visual images (whether that of the linear form or of the moving -hand). There is an approach here to what happens when we put last year’s -date to a letter, the hand following out an old habit. - -Now the child has to acquire the co-ordinations here briefly described. -He may have the visual image of the human face or the horse which he -wishes to depict. This power of visualising shows itself in other ways -and can be independently tested, as by asking a child to describe the -object verbally. But he has as yet no inkling of how to reproduce his -image. That his inability at the outset is due to a want of -co-ordination is seen in the fact that at this stage he cannot draw even -when a model is before his eyes. - -The process of learning here is very like what takes place when a child -learns to speak. The required movements have somehow to be performed and -attached to the effects they are then found to produce. Just as a child -first produces sounds, partly instinctively or spontaneously, partly by -imitating the seen movements of another’s lips, etc., so he produces -lines by play-like scribble and by imitating the visible movements of -another person’s hand. The tendency to imitate is observable in the -first loop-formations, and possibly also in the abrupt angular changes -which give a zig-zag look to some of these early tracings. - -In this early stage we see a marked want of control. The effort is -spasmodic and short-lived: the little draughtsman presently runs off -into nonsense scribble. The want of control is seen, too, in the -tendency to prolong lines unduly, and to repeat or multiply them, the -primitive play-movements being very much under the empire of inertia or -habit, _i.e._, the tendency to repeat or go on with an action. The -effect of limitating natural conditions in the motor apparatus is -illustrated, not only in the slightly curved form of these first -scribble lines, but in the general obliquity or inclination of the line; -it being manifestly easier for the hand when brought in front of the -body to describe a line running slightly upwards from left to right (or -in the reverse direction) than one running horizontally. The want of -control by means of a steady visual image is further seen in the absence -of any attempt at a plan, at a mapping out of the available space, and -at an observation of proportion. - -It might be thought that, though a child at this inexperienced stage -were unable to produce the correct form of a familiar object, he would -at once detect the incorrectness of the one he sets down. No doubt, if -he were in the attitude of cold critical observation, he would do so: in -fact, as Mr. Cooke and others have shown, he sees the absurdities of his -workmanship as soon as they are pointed out to him. But when drawing he -is in another sort of mood, akin to that imaginative mood in which he -traces forms in the plaster of the ceiling, or in the letters of his -spelling-book. He means to draw a man or a horse, and consequently the -formless jumble of lines becomes, to his fancy, a man or a horse. His -first drawings are thus, in a sense, playthings, which, like the -battered stump of a doll, his imaginative intention corrects, -supplements, and perfects. - -With repetition, and that amount of supervision and guidance which most -children who take a pencil in hand manage to get from somebody, he -begins to note the actual character of his line-effects, and to -associate these with the movements which produce them. A straight -horizontal line, a curved line returning upon itself, and so forth, come -to be differentiated, and to be co-ordinated with their respective -manual movements. - -We may now pass to the second stage, the beginning of true linear -representation, as illustrated in the first abstract schematic treatment -of the human face and figure. - -A question arises at the very outset here as to whether, and if so to -what extent, children re-discover this method of representation for -themselves. Here, as in the case of child-language, such as ‘bow-wow,’ -‘gee-gee,’ tradition and example undoubtedly play their part. A parent, -or an older brother and sister, in setting the first models, is pretty -certain to adopt a simple scheme, as that of the lunar face; and even -where there is no instruction a child is quick at imitating other -children’s manner of drawing. Yet this does not affect the contention -that such manner of drawing is eminently childish, that is, the one a -child finds his way to most readily, any more than the fact of the -nurse’s calling the horse ‘gee-gee’ in talking to baby affects the -contention that ‘gee-gee’ is eminently a baby-name. - -The scanty abstract treatment, the circle enclosing two dots and the -vertical and horizontal lines, points to the absence of any serious -attempt to imitate a form closely and fully. It seems absurd to suppose -that a child of three or four does not image a human face better than he -delineates it; and even if this were doubtful it is certain that when he -sets down a man without hair, ears, trunk, or arm, his execution is -falling far short of his knowledge. How is this to be accounted for? My -explanation is that the little artist is still much more of a symbolist -than a naturalist, that he does not in the least care about a full and -close likeness, but wants only a barely sufficient indication. This -scantiness of treatment issuing from want of the more serious artistic -intention is of course supported by technical limitations. The lunar -face with the two propping lines answers to what the child can do easily -and comfortably. Much more than his elder brethren our small limner is -bound by the law of artistic economy, the need of producing his effects -with the smallest expenditure of labour, and of making every touch tell. - -Defects of executive resource and of manual skill appear plainly in -other characteristics. The common inclination of the lines of the legs -points to the unconscious selection of easiest directions of manual -movement.[285] The unduly lengthened arm and leg, the multiplication of -legs—as seen most strikingly in the case of the quadruped—illustrate the -influence of motor or muscular inertia. There is, too, a noticeable want -of measurement and management of the space to be covered, as when one -eye is put in so large as to leave no room for a second, or when filling -in details from above downwards the eyes are put in too near the -occipital curve, and so all the features set too high up. The same want -of measurement of space may contribute to the child’s habit of drawing -the trunk so absurdly small in proportion to the head; for he begins -with the head, and by making this large finds he has not left, within -the limits of what he considers the right size of figure, space enough -for the trunk. - ------ - -Footnote 285: - - This is supported, in the case of children who have begun to wield the - pen, by the exercises of the copy-book. - ------ - -Very noticeable is the influence of habit in this abstract treatment. By -habit I here mean hand-memory, or the tendency to combine movements in -the old ways, though this is commonly aided, as we shall see, by -“association of ideas”. Thus a child falls into a stereotyped way of -drawing the human face and figure; line follows line in the accustomed -sequence; the only variation showing itself is in the insertion or -omission of nose, ears, or arms; these uncertainties being due to -fluctuations of energy and concentration. A child’s art is, in respect -of its unyielding sameness, a striking example of a conservative -conventionality. He gets used to his pencil-forms, and pronounces them -right, to the greater and greater neglect of their relation to natural -forms. Habit shows itself in other ways too. Notice, for example, how a -child, after adding the trunk, will go on inserting the arms into the -head as he used to do. Such a habit is an affair not only of the hand -but of the eye. The arms have by repeated delineation come in the -art-sphere to belong to the head. - -Coming now to the more elaborate and sophisticated stage of five or -thereabouts, in which the shape of eyes, mouth, and nose is shadowed -forth, the difficult appendages as hands and feet attempted, and the -profile aspect introduced, we notice first of all a step in the -direction of naturalism. The child like the race gets tired of his bald -primitive symbolism, and essays to bring more of concrete fulness and -life into his forms. Only this first attempt does not lead to a -continued progress, but stops short at what is rude and arbitrary -enough, substituting merely a second rigid conventionalism for the -first. - -This transition indicates an advance in technical skill; hence we find a -measure of free and bold invention, as in the management of the facial -features, _e.g._, the scissors-shaped nose, and still more in the -treatment of hands and feet, which is at once exaggerative, as in the -big burr forms, and freely conventional, as in the leaf-pattern for the -hand, and the wondrous loop-designs for the foot. - -Yet though this freer treatment shows a certain technical advance it -illustrates the effect of the limitations of the child’s executive -power. Thus the new partially profile figures are very apt to lean, -looking as if they were falling backwards. It is probable that the -wide-spread tendency to make the profile face look towards the -spectator’s left rather than his right is due to the circumstance that -the eye can much better follow and control the pencil in this case than -in the opposite one. In the latter the hand is apt to interfere with -seeing the line of the face, especially if the pencil is held near its -point. - -Habit, too, continues to assert its dominion. The tendency noticeable -now and again, even among English children, to treat the feet after the -manner of the hands illustrates this. Habit is further illustrated in -the tendency to a transference of forms appropriate to the man to the -animal; or, when (owing to the interposition of the instructor) the -drawing of animals is in advance of the other, in the reverse process; -as when a cat is drawn with two legs, or a horse is given a man’s face, -or the human form develops a horse’s ears, or a bird’s feet. With these -may be compared the transference of a bird-like body and tail to a -quadruped in Fig. 45 (_i_), p. 377. The accompanying two drawings by a -child of six show how similar forms are apt to be used for the man and -for the animal (Fig. 52). - -[Illustration: - - Man. Bird. - Fig. 52. -] - -But the really noticeable thing in this later sophisticated treatment is -the bringing into view of what in the original is invisible, as the -front view of the eye as well as both eyes into what otherwise looks a -side view of the face, the two legs of the rider and so forth. Here, no -doubt, we may still trace the influence of technical limitations and of -habit. The influence of the former is seen in the completing of the -contour of the head before or after drawing the hat: for the child would -not know how to start with the lines which form the commencement of the -visible part of the head. The influence of habit is also recognisable -here. A child having learned first of all to draw the front view of the -eye, the two eyes and the two legs side by side, tends partly as the -result of organised hand-trick, partly in consequence of ‘association of -ideas,’ to go on drawing in the same fashion in the new circumstances. A -specially clear illustration of this effect of habit already alluded to -is the introduction of the front view of the nose in the mixed scheme. -These cases are exactly paralleled by the Egyptian drawing in which -while one shoulder is pulled round the other is left in square front -view (see above, p. 369, Fig. 39 (_b_)). Still, habit does not account -for everything here. It does not, for example, explain why the child -brings into view three sides of a house. The technical deficiencies of -the small draughtsman, his want of serious artistic purpose, seem an -insufficient explanation of these later sophistries. They appear to -point plainly to certain peculiarities of the process of childish -conception. We are compelled then to inquire a little more closely into -the characteristics of children’s observation and of their mental -representation of objects. - -We are apt to think that children when they look at things at all -scrutinise them closely, and afterwards imagine clearly what they have -observed. But this assumption is hardly justified. No doubt they often -surprise us by their attention to small unimportant details of objects, -especially when these are new and odd-looking. But it is a long way from -this to a careful methodic investigation of objects. Children’s -observation is for the most part capriciously selective and one-sided. -They apprehend one or two striking or especially interesting features -and are blind to the rest. This is fully established in the case of -ordinary children by the wondrous ignorance they display when questioned -about common objects. It is hardly necessary to add that their -spontaneous untrained observation is quite unequal to that careful -analytical attention to form-elements in their relations which underlies -all clear grasp of the direction of linear elements, the relative -position of the several parts of a figure, and proportion. - -This being so it maybe said that defects of observation are reflected in -children’s drawing through all its phases. Thus the primitive bare -schematism of the human face answers to an incomplete observation and -consequently incomplete mode of imagination, just as it answers to a -want of artistic purpose and to technical incapacity. How far defective -observation assists at this first stage I do not feel sure. Further -experimental inquiries are needed on this point. I lean to the view -already expressed, that at this stage manual reproduction is far behind -visual imagination. - -When, however, we come on to the delineation of an object under its -different aspects the defects of mental representation assume a much -graver character. We must bear in mind that a child soon gets beyond the -stage of recalling and imagining the particular look of an object, say -the front view of his mother’s face, or of his house. He begins as soon -as he understands and imitates others’ language to synthesise such -pictorial images of particular visual presentations or appearances into -the wholes which we call ideas of things. A child of four or five -thinking of his father or his house probably recalls in a confused way -disparate and incompatible visual aspects, the front view as on the -whole the most impressive being predominant, though striking elements of -the side view may rise into consciousness also. With this process of -synthesising aspects into the concrete whole we call a thing there goes -the further process of binding together representations of this and that -thing into generic or typical ideas answering to man, horse, house, in -general. A child of five or six, so far from being immersed in -individual presentations and concrete objects, as is often supposed, has -carried out a respectable measure of generalisation, and this largely by -the help of language. Thus a ‘man’ reduced to visual terms has come to -mean for him (according to his well-known verbal formula) something with -a head, two eyes, etc., etc., which he does not need to represent in a -mental picture because the verbal formula serves to connect the features -in his memory. - -Hence when he comes to draw he has not the artist’s clear mental vision -of the actual look of things to guide him. He is led not by a lively and -clear sensuous imagination, but by a mass of generalised knowledge -embodied in words, _viz._, the logical form of a definition or -description. This, I take it, is the main reason why with such supreme -insouciance he throws into one design features of the full face and of -the profile; for in setting down his linear scheme he is aiming not at -drawing a picture, an imitative representation of something we could -see, but rather at enumerating, in the new expressive medium which his -pencil supplies, what he knows about the particular thing. Since he is -thus bent on a linear description of what he knows he is not in the -least troubled about the laws of visual appearance, but setting -perspective at naught compels the spectator to see the other side, to -look through one object at another, and so forth. - -Since the process at this sophisticated stage is controlled by knowledge -of things as wholes and not by representations of concrete appearances -or views, we can understand why the visible result does not shock the -draughtsman. The little descriptor does not need to compare the look of -his drawing with that of the real object: it is right as a description -anyhow. How strongly this idea of description controls his views of -pictures has already been pointed out. Just as he objects to a correct -profile drawing as an inadequate description, so he objects to a drawing -of the hind part of a horse entering the stable, and asks, ‘Where is his -head?’ We may say then that what a lively fancy did in the earlier -play-stages childish logic does now, it blinds the artist to the actual -look of what his pencil has created. - -Use soon adds its magic force, and the impossible combination, the two -eyes stuck on at the side of the profile nose, the two legs of the rider -untroubled by the capacious trunk of the animal which he strides, the -man wholly exposed to view inside the boat or carriage, gets stereotyped -into the right mode of linear description. - -All this shows that the child’s eye at a surprisingly early period loses -its primal ‘innocence,’ grows ‘sophisticated’ in the sense that instead -of seeing what is really presented it sees, or pretends to see, what -knowledge and logic tell it is there. In other words his -sense-perceptions have for artistic purposes become corrupted by a too -large admixture of intelligence. This corruption is closely analogous to -what we all experience when we lose the primal simplicity of the eye for -colour, and impart into our ‘visual impressions,’ as we call them, -elements of memory and inference, saying, for example, that a distant -mountain side is ‘green’ just because we can make out that it is -grass-covered and know that grass when looked at nearer is of a green -colour. - -I have dwelt on what from our grown-up standpoint we must call the -defects of children’s drawing. Yet in bringing this study to a close it -is only just to remark that there are other and better qualities well -deserving of recognition. Crude, defective, self-contradictory even, as -these early designs undoubtedly are, they are not wholly destitute of -artistic qualities. The abstract treatment itself, in spite of its -inadequacy, is after all in the direction of a true art, which in its -essential nature is selective and suggestive rather than literally -reproductive. We may discern, too, even in these rude schemes a nascent -sense of values, of a selection of what is characteristic. Even the -primitive trunkless form seems to illustrate this, for though, as we -have seen in a previous essay, the trunk plays an important part in the -development of the idea of self, it is for pictorial purposes less -interesting and valuable than the head. However this be, it is clear -that we see this impulse of selection at work later on in the addition -of the buttons, the pipe, the stick, the parasol and so forth. - -It is to be noted, too, that even in these untutored performances, where -convention and tradition exercise so great a sway, there are faint -indications of a freer individual initiative. Witness, for example, the -varying modes of representing hair, hands, and feet. We may say then -that even rough children in elementary schools who are never likely to -develop artistic talent display a rudiment of art-feeling. It is only -fair to them to testify that in spite of the limitations of their stiff -wooden treatment they express a certain individuality of feeling and -aim, that like true artists they convey a personal impression. These -traits appear most plainly in the later representations of action, but -they are not altogether absent from the earlier statuesque figures. -Compare, for example, the look of alert vigour in Fig. 5 (_a_) (p. 339), -of grinning impudence in Fig. 6 (_a_) (p. 341), of provoking -‘cheekiness’ in Fig. 20 (_b_) (p. 350), of a seedy ‘swagger’ in Fig. 32 -(p. 362), of inebriate gaiety in Fig. 17 (p. 348), of absurd -skittishness in Fig. 24 (_b_) (p. 354), of insane flurry in Fig. 26 -(_a_) (p. 355), of Irish easy-goingness even when somebody has to be -killed in Fig. 34 (p. 363), of wiry resoluteness in Fig. 29 (_a_) (p. -359), of sly villainy in Fig. 38 (p. 365), and of demure simplicity in -Fig. 26 (_c_) (p. 356); and note the delicious variety of equine -character in Fig. 45 (_f_) (p. 376) and following. - -If a finer æsthetic feeling is developed the first rude descriptive -drawing loses its attractions. A friend, a well-known psychologist, has -observed in the case of his children that when they try to draw -something pretty, _e.g._, a beautiful lady, they abandon their customary -mode of description and become aware of the look of their designs and -criticise them as bad. This seems to me a most significant observation. -It is the feeling for what is beautiful which makes a child attend -closely to the bare look of things, and the beginning of a finer -observation of forms commonly takes its rise in this nascent sense of -beauty. Indeed, may one not say that only when a germ of the æsthetic -feeling for beauty arises, and a child falls in love with the mere look -of certain things, can there appear the beginnings of genuinely artistic -work, of a conscientious endeavour to render on paper the aspect which -pleases the eye? - - - - - XI. - EXTRACTS FROM A FATHER’S DIARY. - - -There has just come into my hands a curious document. It is a sort of -diary kept by a father in which he chronicles certain of the early -doings and sayings of his boy. It makes no pretence to being a regular -and methodical register of progress, such as Mr. F. Galton has shown us -how to carry out. It may be said by way of extenuation that the diary -sets out in the year 1880, that is to say, two years before Professor -Preyer published his model record of an infant’s progress. _En -revanche_, it is manifestly the work of a psychologist given to -speculation, and this of a somewhat bold type. In the present paper I -propose to cull from this diary what seem to me some of the choicer -observations and comments on these. If these do not always come up to -the requirements of a rigidly scientific standard in respect of -completeness, precision, and grave impartiality, they may none the less -prove suggestive of serious scientific thought, while any extravagances -of fancy and any levity of manner may well be set down to the play of a -humorous sentiment, which betrays the father beneath the observer. - -I may begin my sketch of the early history of this boy by remarking that -he appears to have been a normal and satisfactory specimen of his -class,—healthy, good-natured, and given to that infantile way of -relieving the pressure of his animal spirits which is, I believe, known -as crowing. Not believing in the classifications of temperament adopted -by the physiologists of a past age, the father forbears from describing -his child’s. For my lady readers I may add that he seems, at least by -his father’s account, to have been a good-sized, chubby little fellow, -fair and rosy in tint, with bright blue eyes, and a limited crop of -golden hair of an exceptionally rich, I don’t know how many carat gold, -hue. I shall speak of him under his initial, C. - - - _First Year._ - -The early pages of the record do not, one must confess, yield any very -striking observations. This is, no doubt, due to the circumstance that -the observer, not being a naturalist, was not specially interested in -the dim mindless life of the first weeks. For the first few days Master -C. appears to have been content to vegetate like other babies of a -similar age. Although a bonny boy, he began life in the usual way—with a -good cry; though we now know, on scientific authority, that this, being -a purely reflex act, has not the deep significance which certain -pessimistic philosophers have attributed to it. Science would probably -explain in a similar way a number of odd facial movements which this -baby went through on the second day of his earthly career, and which, -the father characteristically remarks, were highly suggestive of a -cynical contempt for his new surroundings. - -Yet, though content in this early stage to do little but perform the -vegetal functions of life, the infant comes endowed with a nervous -system and organs of sense, and these are very soon brought into active -play. According to this record, the sense of touch is the first to -manifest itself.[286] Even when only two hours old, at a period of life -when there is certainly no sound for the ear and possibly no light for -the eye, C. immediately clasped the parental finger which was brought -into the hollow of its tiny hand. The functional activity of touch was -observed still more plainly on the second day, when the child was seen -to carry out awkwardly enough what looked like exploring movements of -the hands over his mouth and face. This early development in the child -of the tactual sense agrees, says the biographer, with what Aristotle -long since taught respecting the fundamental character of this sense, an -idea to which the modern doctrine of evolution has given a new -significance. - ------ - -Footnote 286: - - Taste, as involved in the necessary act of taking nourishment, is - probably at first hardly differentiated from touch. - ------ - -A distinct step is taken during the first four days towards acquiring -knowledge of things through a progressive use of the eyes and hands. -C.’s father noticed on the second day that a good deal of ocular -movement was forthcoming. Much of this was quite irregular, each eye -following its own path. Sometimes, however, the eyes moved harmoniously -or symmetrically now to this side, now to that, and now and again seemed -to converge and fix themselves on some near object in front of them. -Sufficiently loud sounds increased these ocular movements. - -On the third day the father, when chuckling and calling to the child at -a short distance, fondly supposed that his offspring showed appreciation -of these attentions by regarding him with a sweet expression and -something like the play of a smile about the lips and eyelids. But it is -possible that this apparent amiability was nothing but a purely animal -satisfaction after a good meal. As to _seeing_ his father’s face at that -early age, there is room for serious doubt. Preyer found that long -before the close of the first day his child wore a different expression -when his face, turned towards the window, was suddenly deprived of light -by the intervention of the professor’s hand. If the child is thus -sensible to the pleasure of light it is, of course, conceivable that -C.’s eyes, happening in their aimless wanderings to be brought together -opposite the bright patch of the father’s face, might maintain that -attitude under the stimulus of the pleasure. The father argues in favour -of this view by quoting the fact that C.’s sister was observed on the -fourth day to have her eyes arrested by a light or the father’s face if -brought pretty near the child; yet such blank staring at mere brightness -is, of course, a long way off from distinct vision of an object. - -On the fourth day, continues the sanguine father, the child showed a -distinct advance in the use of the hands. Having clasped his sire’s -finger he now moved it in what looked like an abortive attempt to carry -it to his mouth. There follow some remarks on the impulse of infants to -carry objects to their mouths, in which again there seems an approach to -frivolity in the conjecture that the human animal previous to education -is all-devouring. It is to be noted, however, that these early movements -are probably quite accidental. As we shall see, it is some weeks before -the child learns to carry objects to his mouth. As to the connexion -between this movement and infantile greed our observer is not so poor a -psychologist as not to see that it may be due to the circumstance that -the lips and the tip of the tongue form one of the most delicate parts -of the _tactual_ organ. It is not improbable that in the evolution of -man before the tactual sensibility of the hand was developed these parts -were chiefly employed as a tactual apparatus in distinguishing and -rejecting what is hard, gritty and so forth in food. However this be, it -is probable that, as Stanley Hall has suggested, an infant may get a -kind of “æsthetic” pleasure by bringing objects into contact with the -lips and the gums. - -At this period, the diary remarks, the child was very cross for some -weeks and not a good subject for observation. This new difficulty, added -to that of overcoming natural scruples in his guardians, appears to have -baffled the observer for a time, for the next observations recorded take -up the thread of the child’s history at the sixth week. - -About this date, the father notes, the power of directing the eyes had -greatly improved. The child could now converge his eyes comfortably and -without going through a number of unpleasant squinting-like failures on -a near object. The range of sight had greatly increased, so that the -boy’s universe, instead of consisting merely of a tiny circle of near -objects, as his mother’s face held close to him, began to embrace -distant objects, as the clock, the window, and so forth. He was -observed, too, to carry out more precise movements of the head and eyes -in correspondence with the direction of sounds. This ability to look -towards the direction of a sound is an important attainment as implying -that the infant mind has now come to learn that things may exist when -not actually seen. - -This new command of the visual apparatus led to a marked increase in -observation. The boy may indeed be said to have begun about this date -something like a serious scrutiny of objects. Like other children he was -greatly attracted by brightly coloured objects. When just seven weeks -old he acquired a fondness for a cheap showy card with crudely brilliant -colouring and gilded border. When carried to the place where it hung, -above the glass over the fire-place, he would look up to it and greet -his first-love in the world of art with a pretty smile. By the ninth or -tenth week, the father adds, he began to notice the pattern of the -wall-paper and the like. - -In these growing intervals of observation between the discharge of the -vegetal functions of feeding and sleeping, C. was observed to examine -not only any foreign object, such as his mamma’s dress, which happened -to be within sight, but also the visible parts of his own organism. In -the ninth week of his existence he was first surprised in the act of -surveying his own hands. Why he should at this particular moment have -woke up to the existence of objects which had all along lain within easy -reach of the eye, is a question which has evidently greatly exercised -the father’s ingenuity. He hints, but plainly in a half-hearted, -sceptical way, at a possible dim recognition by the little contemplator -of the fact that these objects belong to himself, forming, indeed, the -outlying portion of the Ego. He also asks (and here he seems to grow -positively frivolous) whether the child is taking after the somewhat -extravagant ways of his mother and beginning to dote on the exquisite -modelling of his tiny members. - -Psychologists are now agreed that our knowledge of the properties of -material objects is largely obtained by what they call _active_ touch, -that is, by moving the hands over objects and exploring the space around -them. This is borne out by the observations made on C. at this period of -his existence. While viewing things about him he actively manipulated -them. The organs of sight and touch worked indeed in the closest -connexion. Thus our little visitor was no mere passive spectator of his -new habitat; he actively took possession of his surroundings: like the -Roman general, he at once saw and conquered. From the eighth to the -tenth week his manual performances greatly improved in quality. He was -rapidly learning to carry the organ of touch to the point of which his -eye told him. An account of his progress in reaching objects may however -be postponed till we come to speak of the development of his active -powers. - -The growing habit of looking at, reaching out to, and manually -investigating objects, soon leads to the accumulation of a store of -materials for the construction of those complex mental products which we -call perceptions. And often-repeated perceptions, when they become more -clearly distinguished, supply the basis of definite acts of recognition. -The first object that is clearly recognised through a special act of -attention is, of course, the face of the mother. In the case of C., the -father’s face was apparently recognised about the eighth week—at least, -the youngster first greeted his parent with a smile about this time—an -event, I need hardly say, which is recorded in very large and easily -legible handwriting. The occurrence gives rise to a number of odd -reflexions in the parental mind. The observer’s belief in the necessary -co-operation of sight and touch in the early knowledge of material -objects leads him to remark that C.’s manual experience of his face, and -more particularly of the bearded chin, has been extensive—an experience -which, he adds, has left its recollection in his own mind, too, in the -shape of a certain soreness. He then goes on to consider the meaning of -the smile. “I cannot,” he writes, “be of any interest to him as a -psychological student of his ways. No, it must be in the light of a -bearded plaything that he regards my face.” Further observation bears -out this argument by going to show that the recognition was not -individual but specific: that it was simply a recognition of one of a -class of bearded people; for when a perfect stranger also endowed with -the entertaining appendage presented himself, C. wounded his father’s -heart by smiling at him in exactly the same way. Here the diary goes off -into some abstruse speculations about the first mental images being what -Mr. Galton calls generic images—speculations into which we need not -follow the writer. As we shall see, the father takes up the subject of -childish generalisation more fully later on. The power of recognising -objects appeared to undergo rapid development towards the end of the -fourth month. The father remarks that the child would about this time -recognise him in a somewhat dark room at a distance of three or four -yards.[287] - ------ - -Footnote 287: - - The clear recognition of individual objects is said to show itself in - average cases from about the sixth month (Tracy, _op. cit._, pp. - 15-16). - ------ - -The germ of true imagination, of the formation of what Höffding calls a -free or detached image of something not seen at the moment, appeared -about the same time. The moment when the baby’s mind first passes on -from the sight of his bottle to a foregrasping or imagination of the -blisses of prehension and deglutition—a moment which appears to have -been reached by C. in his tenth week—marks an epoch in his existence. He -not only perceives what is actually present to his senses, he pictures -or represents what is absent. This is the moment at which, to quote from -the parent’s somewhat high-flown observations on this event, “mind rises -above the limitations of the actual, and begins to shape for itself an -ideal world of possibilities”. - -This rise of the ideal to take the place of the real appeared in other -ways too. Thus when just eighteen weeks old the child had been lying on -his nurse’s lap and gazing on some pictures on the wall of which he was -getting fond. The nurse happening to turn round suddenly put an end to -his happiness. Still the child was not to be done, but immediately began -twisting his head back in order to bring the pictures once more into his -field of view. Here we have an illustration of a mental image appearing -immediately after a perception, a rude form of what psychologists are -now getting to call a primary memory-image. - -The expression of the _gourmet’s_ delight at the sight of the bottle -(tenth week) involves a simple process of association. Between the ages -of five and six months the child’s progress in building up associations -was very marked. Thus he would turn from a reflexion of the fire on the -glass of a picture to the fire itself, and a little later would look -towards a particular picture, Cherry Ripe, when the name was uttered. -Further, not only had he now learnt to connect the sight of the bottle -with the joys of a repast, but on seeing the basin in which his food is -prepared he would glance towards the cupboard where the bottle is kept. - -The diary contains but few observations on the growth of the power of -understanding things and reasoning about them during the first year. One -of the most interesting of these relates to the understanding of -reflexions, shadows, etc. We know that these things played a -considerable part in the development of the first racial ideas of the -supernatural, and we might expect to see them producing an impression on -the child’s mind. C. when he first began to notice reflexions of the -fire and other objects in a mirror showed considerable marks of -surprise. What quaint fancies he may have had respecting this odd -doubling of things we cannot of course say. What is certain is that he -distinctly connected the reflexion with the original, as is shown by the -fact already mentioned, his turning from the first to the second. By the -end of the sixth month the marks of surprise had visibly lessened, so -that the child was apparently getting used to the miracle, even though -he could not as yet be said to understand it. It is worth notice that -though the experiment of showing him his own reflexion was repeated -again and again he remained apparently quite indifferent to the image. -Perhaps, suggests the father, he did not as yet know himself as visible -object sufficiently to recognise nature’s portrait of him in the glass. - -The above may perhaps serve as a sample of the observations made on the -intellectual development of this privileged child during the first year -of his earthly existence. I will now pass on to quote a remark or two on -his emotional development. I may add that the record of this phase of -the boy’s early mental life is certainly the most curious part of the -document, containing many odd speculations on the course of primitive -human history. - -The earliest manifestations of the life of feeling are the elemental -forms of pain and pleasure, crying and incipient laughing in the form of -the smile.[288] In C.’s case, as in others, crying of the genuine -miserable kind preceded smiling by a considerable interval. The child, -remarks our observer, seems to need to learn to smile, whereas his -crying apparatus is in good working order from the first. - ------ - -Footnote 288: - - With the smile there ought perhaps to be taken the infantile crow. - ------ - -The growth of the smile is a curious chapter in child-psychology, and -has been carefully worked out by Preyer. The observations on C. under -this head are incomplete. The father thought he detected an attempt at a -smile on the third day, when the child was lying replete with food, in -answer to certain chuckling sounds with which he sought to amuse him. -The movements constituting this quasi-smile are said to have been the -following: a drawing in of the under lip; a drawing inwards and -backwards of the corners of the mouth: increase of oblique line from the -corner of the mouth upwards; and a furrowing or ridging of the eyelids. -It is probable, however, that this was not a true smile, _i.e._, an -expression of pleasure. He remarks, moreover, that in the case of the -child’s sister the first approach to a smile was not observed before the -tenth day, this, too, by-the-bye, in that state of blissful complaisance -which follows a good meal. It may be added that in the case of the -brother, too, the smile seems to have grown noticeably bright and -significant about the same time (eighth to tenth week). At this stage -the boy expressed his pleasure at seeing his father’s face not only by a -“bright” smile, but by certain cooing sounds. At the same date a playful -touch on the child’s cheek was sufficient to provoke a smile.[289] - ------ - -Footnote 289: - - Darwin puts the first true smile on the forty-fifth day. The first - _quasi_-smiles are probably quite mechanical and destitute of meaning. - ------ - -Very early in the infant’s course the germs of some of our most -characteristic human feelings begin to appear. One of the earliest is -anger, which though common to man and many of the higher animals, takes -on a peculiar form in his case. Angry revolt against the order of things -showed itself early in C.’s case as in that of his sister, the occasion -being in each instance a momentary difficulty in seizing the means of -appeasing appetite. It is of course difficult to say at what moment the -mere vexation of disappointment passes into true wrath, but in this -boy’s case the father is compelled to admit that the ugly emotion -displayed itself distinctly by the third week. - -To detect the first clear signs of a _humane_ feeling, of kindliness and -sympathy, is still more difficult. Reference has already been made to -the signs of pleasure, the smile and the cooing sounds, which C. -manifested at the sight of his father’s face. About the same time, -_viz._, the ninth and tenth weeks, he began to show himself particularly -responsive to soothing sounds. The impulse to imitate soft low sounds -was of great service in checking his misery. When utterly broken by -grief he would often pull himself together if appealed to by the right -soothing sound and join in a short plaintive duet. Such responses like -the early imitative smile may, it is true, be nothing but a mechanical -imitation, destitute of any emotive significance. It is probable, -however, that the first crude form of fellow-feeling, of the impulse to -accept and to give sympathy in joy and grief, takes its rise in such -simple imitative movements. The first advance to signs of a truer -fellow-feeling was made when the child was six and a half months old. -His father pretended to cry. Thereupon C. bent his head down so that his -chin touched his breast and began to paw his father’s face, very much -after the manner of a dog in a fit of tenderness. Oddly enough, adds the -chronicler, there was no trace of sadness in the child’s face. The -experiment was repeated and always with a like result. A smile on the -termination of the crying completed the curious little play. Who would -venture to interpret that falling of the head and that caressing -movement of the hand? The father saw here something of a divine -tenderness; and I am not disposed to question his interpretation. - -Emotion soon begins to manifest itself, too, in connexion with the -child’s peerings into his new world. As the little brain grows stronger -and the organs of sense come under better management, the child spends -more time in examining things, and this examination is accompanied by a -profound wonder. C. would completely lose himself in marvelling at some -new mystery, as the face of a clock, to which he appeared to talk as to -something alive, or the play of the sunlight on the wall of his room; -and the closeness of his attention was indicated by the occurrence of a -huge sigh when the strain was over. - -The directions of this early childish attention are, as in the example -of the clock and the sunlight, towards what has some attraction of -brightness, or other stimulating quality. The fascination of bright -colour for C. has already been referred to. Sounds, too, very soon began -to capture his attention and hold it spellbound. Thus it is recorded -that in the tenth week the sound produced by striking a wine-glass -excited an agreeable wonder. The sound of the piano, by-the-bye, made -him cry the first time he heard it, presumably because it was strange -and disconcertingly voluminous. But he soon got to like it, and his -mother remarked that when his father played the child seemed to grow -heavier in her lap, as if all his muscles were relaxed in a delicious -self-abandonment.[290] - ------ - -Footnote 290: - - See above, p. 195 and p. 308. - ------ - -Certain things became favourite objects of this quasi-æsthetic -contemplation. When six weeks old the child got into the way of taking -special note of one or two rather showy coloured pictures on the wall. -In these it seemed to be partly the brightness of colouring in the -picture or the frame, partly the reflexions of objects in the glass -covering, which attracted him. Other things which appeared to give him -repeated and endless enjoyment of a quiet sort were the play of sunlight -and of shadow on the walls of his room, the reflexion of the shooting -fire-flame sent back by the window-pane or the glass covering of a -picture, the swaying of trees, and the like. He soon got to know the -locality of some of his favourite works of art, and to look out -expectantly, when taken into the right room, for his daily show. - -Yet the new does not always awaken this pleasurable admiration. The -child’s organism soon begins to adapt itself to what is customary, and -sudden departures from the usual order of things come as a shock, jar -the nerves, and produce the first crude form of fear. C.’s sensitiveness -to the disturbing effect of new and loud sounds has been referred to in -speaking of the first impression of the piano. A strong wind making -uproar in the trees quite upset him when he was about five months old, -though he soon got over his dislike and would laugh at the wind even -when it blew cold. In like manner he appeared to be much put out by the -voices of strangers, especially when these were loud. A similar effect -of shock showed itself when something in the familiar scene was suddenly -transmuted. For example, when just twelve weeks old, he was quite upset -by his mother donning a red jacket in place of the usual flower-spotted -dress. He was just proceeding to take his breakfast when he noticed the -change, at the discovery of which all thoughts of feasting deserted him, -his lips quivered, and he only became reassured of his whereabouts after -taking a good look at his mother’s face. - -This clinging to the familiar and alarm at a sudden intrusion of the new -into his little world showed themselves in a curious way in his attitude -towards strangers. When ten weeks old he would still greet new faces -with a gracious smile. But this amiable disposition soon underwent a -change. When he began to discriminate people one from another and to -single out particular faces, those of the mother, father, sister, etc., -as familiar, he took up what looked like a less hospitable attitude -towards strangers. By the fifteenth week he no longer greeted their -advent with his welcoming smile. A month later the diary chronicles a -new development of timidity. He now turned away from a stranger with all -the signs of shrinking.[291] - ------ - -Footnote 291: - - Compare what was said above, p. 201. - ------ - -That this repugnance to the new depends on a kind of shock-like effect -on the nervous system seems to be borne out by the fact that the same -object would produce now joyous admiration, now something -indistinguishable from fear, according to the boy’s varying condition of -health and spirits. - -Changes of sentiment analogous to those which marked his behaviour -towards strangers occurred in his treatment of inanimate objects. For -instance, a not very alarming-looking doll belonging to his sister, -after having been a pleasant object of regard, suddenly acquired for -him, when he was nearly five months old, a repulsive aspect. Instead of -talking to it and making a sort of amiable deity of it as heretofore, he -now shrieked when it was brought near. There seems to have been nothing -in his individual experience which could account for this sudden -accession of fear. - -These observations led C.’s father to some characteristic speculations -as to the inheritance of certain feelings. Thus he hints that the eerie -sort of interest taken by his child in the reflexions of things in the -glass may be a survival of the primitive feeling of awe for the ghosts -of things which certain anthropologists tell us was first developed in -connexion with the phenomena of reflected images and shadows. He goes on -to ask whether the fear called forth by the doll and the face of -strangers at a certain stage of the child’s development is not clearly -due to an instinct now fixed in the race by the countless experiences of -peril in its early, pre-social, and Ishmaelitic condition. But here, -too, perhaps, his speculations appear, in the light of what has been -said above, a little wild. - -Among other feelings displayed by the child was that of amusement at -what is grotesque and comical. When between four and five months old he -was accustomed to watch the antics of his sister, an elfish being given -to flying about the room, screaming, and other disorderly proceedings, -with all the signs of a sense of the comicality of the spectacle. So far -as the father could judge, this sister served as a kind of jester to the -baby monarch. He would take just that distant, good-natured interest in -her foolings that Shakespeare’s sovereigns took in the eccentric -unpredictable ways of their jesters. The sense of the droll became still -more distinctly marked at six months. About this date the child -delighted in pulling his sister’s hair, and her shrieks would send him -into a fit of laughter. Among other provocatives of laughter at this -time were sudden movements of one’s head, a rapid succession of sharp -staccato sounds from one’s vocal organ (when these were not -disconcerting by their violence), and of course sudden reappearances of -one’s head after hiding in the game of bo-peep.[292] - ------ - -Footnote 292: - - Darwin tells us that his boy uttered a rude kind of laugh when only - one hundred and ten days old, after a pinafore had been thrown over - his head and suddenly withdrawn. C.’s sense of humour was hardly as - precocious as this. - ------ - -It is hardly necessary to follow the diary into its record of the first -stirrings of what psychologists used to call the Will (with capital _W_ -of course). If a baby in the first months can be said to have a will in -any sense it must be that unconscious metaphysical “will to live” about -which we have recently heard so much. On the other hand it is certainly -true that the child manifests in the first weeks certain active -impulses, the working out of which leads in about four months to the -acquisition of the power of carrying out movements for a purpose. -Reference has already been made to this progress in motor activity when -speaking of the senses. It may suffice to add one or two further -observations. - -The father remarks that about the end of the ninth week there was a -vigorous use of the muscles of the arms and hands in aimless movement. -This superabundance of muscular activity is important, as giving -children the chance of finding out the results of their movements. C. -was just ten and a half weeks old when he first showed himself capable -lying on his back of turning his head to the side, and even of half -turning his body also, in order to have a good view of his father moving -away to a distant part of the room. - -About the same date, too, purposive movements began to be clearly -differentiated from expressive movements; such, for example, as the -quick energetic movement of the limbs when excited by pleasure. For -instance, on the seventy-second day the father was surprised and -delighted to see the boy add to the usual signs of joy at his approach -the movement of leaning forward and holding out the arms as if to try to -get near. Was this, he asks, the sudden emergence of an unlearnt -instinct, or was it an imitation in baby fashion of his elders’ -behaviour when they took possession of him? - -The gradual growth of a voluntary movement into a perfect artistic -action nicely adjusted to some desired end was strikingly illustrated in -the boy’s mastery of the grasping movement, the movement of stretching -out the hand to seize an object seen. On the seventy-sixth day, the -father writes, he had carefully watched to see whether the child could -voluntarily direct his hand to an object. He had tried him by holding -before him attractive objects, as a bit of coloured rag or his hand, -which he would regard very attentively. For the last week or ten days he -had been very observant of objects, including his own hands. - -Among the objects that attracted him was his mamma’s dress, which had a -dark ground with a small white flower pattern. On this memorable day his -hand accidentally came in contact with one of the folds of her dress -lying over the breast. Immediately, it seemed to strike him for the -first time that he could _reach_ an object, and for a dozen times or -more he repeated the movement of stretching out his hand, clutching the -fold and giving it a good pull, very much to his own satisfaction. - -A hasty reasoner might easily suppose that the child had now learnt to -reach out to an object when only seen. But the sequel showed that this -was not the case. Four weeks later the diary observes that the child as -yet made no attempt to grasp an object offered to him (although there -were manifest attempts to uncover the mother’s breast). The clutching at -the dress was thus a blind movement due to the stimulus of pleasurable -elation. Yet it was doubtless a step in the process of learning to -grasp. - -The next advance registered occurred when the boy was a little over four -months old. He would now bring his two hands together just above the -level of his eyes and then gaze on them attentively, striking out one -arm straight in front of him, and upwards almost vertically, as if he -were trying some new gymnastic exercises, while he accompanied each -movement with his eye, and showed the deepest interest in what he was -doing. By such exercises, we may suppose, he was exploring space with -hand and eye conjointly and noting the correspondences between looking -in a given direction and bringing his hand into the line of sight. - -The next noticeable advance occurred at the end of the nineteenth week. -The boy’s father held a biscuit (the value of which was already known) -just below his face and well within his reach. There was a very earnest -look and then a series of rapid jerky movements of the hands. These were -uncertain at first, but on repetition of the experiment soon grew more -precise. At first the biscuit was dropped (the child had not yet learnt -to handle things). But after repeated trials he managed to hold on to -the treasure and bear it triumphantly to his mouth. The discovery of the -new delight of thus feeding himself led to more violent efforts to seize -the biscuit when presented again. Indeed, the youngster’s impatience led -him to reach forward with the upper part of his body so as to seize the -biscuit with his mouth. It may be added here as throwing light on the -carrying of the biscuit to the mouth that the child had before this -acquired considerable facility in raising his hand to his mouth and to -the region of his head generally. Thus he had been noticed to scratch -his head with a comical look of sage reflexion when he was fifteen weeks -old. - -The consummation of the act of seizing an object involving a perception -of distance was observed when he was just six months old. The father -writes: “I held an object in front of him two or three inches beyond his -reach. The astute little fellow made no movement. I then gradually -brought it closer, and when it came within his reach he held out his -hand and grasped it. I repeated the experiment with slight variations, -and satisfied myself that he could now distinguish with some degree of -precision the near and the far, the attainable and the unattainable, -that his eyes could now inform him by what Bishop Berkeley called visual -language of the exact limit, the ‘Ultima Thule’ of his tangible world.” -It is natural, no doubt, that the father should go off into another high -flight here. But being a psychologist he might have moderated his -parental elation by reflecting that his wonderful boy had after all -taken six months to learn what a chick seems to know as soon as it -leaves the shell. It is doubtful, indeed, whether Master C.’s hand could -as yet aim with the precision of the beak of the newly hatched chick. If -he had only chanced on a later decade he might have known that five -months is the time given by a recent authority (Raehlmann) as the period -commonly taken in learning the grasping movements, and so had his pride -in his boy’s achievement wholesomely tempered.[293] - ------ - -Footnote 293: - - Preyer’s boy perfected the action in the fifth month. For differences - in precocity here, see F. Tracy, _The Psychology of Childhood_, pp. - 12, 13. - ------ - -These early movements are acquired under the stimulus of certain -impulses which constitute the instinctive basis of volition. Thus it is -obvious that the movement of carrying to the mouth as also that of -reaching and grasping was inspired by the nutritive or feeding instinct, -that deep-seated impulse which is common to man and the whole animal -kingdom, and is the secret spring of so much of his proud achievement. -The impulse to seize and appropriate may perhaps be regarded as an -instinct which has become detached from its parental stock, the -nutritive impulse. Our observer remarks, with a touch of cynicism, that -the predominance of the grasping propensities of the race was -illustrated by the fact that his boy only manifested the impulse to -relinquish his hold on an object some time after he had displayed in its -perfection the impulse to seize or grasp an object. Thus it was some -months later that he was first observed deliberately to cast aside, as -if tired of it, a thing with which he had been playing. - -One of the deepest and most far-reaching instincts is to get rid of pain -and to prolong pleasure. In C.’s case the working of the first was -illustrated in a large number of movements, such as twisting the body -round, scratching the head, and so forth. An illustration of the impulse -to renew an agreeable effect occurred in the early part of the eighth -month. The child was sitting on his mother’s lap close to the table -playing with a spoon. He accidentally dropped it and was impressed with -the effect of sound. He immediately repeated the action, now, no doubt, -with the purpose of gaining the agreeable shock for his ear. After this -when the spoon was put into his hand he deliberately dropped it. Not -only so, like a true artist, he went on improving on the first effect, -raising the spoon higher and higher so as to get more sound, and at -length using force in dashing or banging it down. - -Children, as everybody knows, are wont to render their elders that -highest form of flattery, imitation. Our chronicle is unfortunately -rather meagre in observations on the first imitative movements. There is -no evidence that the writer went to work in Preyer’s careful way to test -this capability. He thinks he saw distinct traces of imitation (of the -pointing movement) at the end of the fifteenth week, though he admits -that a deliberate attempt to copy a movement was only placed beyond -doubt some time later. - -There is, I regret to say, a terrible gap in the chronicle between the -ninth and the sixteenth month. This is particularly unfortunate because -this is just the period when the child is making a beginning at some of -the most difficult of accomplishments, _e.g._, mastering the speech of -his ancestors. To make up for this loss, the record becomes fuller and -decidedly more interesting as we enter upon the second year. To this -next stage of the history we may now pass. - - - _Second Year._ - -The observations from the date of the resumption of the diary, at the -age of sixteen months, begin to have more of human interest about them. -It is not till this year has advanced that the child makes headway in -handling the knotty intricacies of an elaborate language like ours, and -it is through the medium of this mastered speech that he is best able to -disclose himself to the observer. The observations on C.’s progress -during the second year relate largely to language and intelligence as -expressing itself in language. We may, accordingly, begin this section -by giving a brief sketch of the child’s linguistic progress.[294] - ------ - -Footnote 294: - - This should be read in connexion with Study V. - ------ - -During the first six months nothing was observable in the way of vocal -sounds but the ordinary baby-singing utterances of the ‘la-la’ category. -In this tentative vocalisation vowel sounds, of course, preponderated. -There was quite a gamut of quaint vowel sounds, ranging from the broad -_a_ to the cockney _ow_, that is, _a-oo_. These sounds were purely -emotional signs. Thus a prolonged _ā_ sound indicated surprise with a -dash of displeasure when the child suddenly encountered an obstacle to -his movements, as on catching his dress or striking his head gently. -Again, a kind of _ō_ or _oo_ sound, formed by sucking in the breath, -appeared to indicate that the small person was pleased with some new -object of contemplation, as a freshly discovered picture. - -A sudden enlargement of the range of articulatory excursion was -noticeable on the completion of the twenty-seventh week, when C. -astonished his parents by breaking out into a series of ‘da-da’s’ and -‘ba-ba’s’ or ‘pa-pa’s’. These reduplications were quite in keeping with -his earlier sounds, _e.g._, _a-oo_, _a-oo_. He soon followed up this -brilliant success by other experiments, as in the production of the -sounds _ou-a_ and _ditta_, also _ung_ and _ang_.[295] - ------ - -Footnote 295: - - This rather bald account of early vocal sounds should be contrasted - with those of Preyer and others referred to in Study V. - ------ - -Coming now to the commencement of the true linguistic period, that is to -say, when C. had attained the age of sixteen months, we find him by no -means precocious in the matter of speech. He reproduced very few of the -many names the meaning of which he perfectly understood. As to other -verbal signs he seems to have acted on the principle of biological -economy, saving himself the articulatory effort. Thus although he used -sounds for expressing assent, _viz._, “ey,” with falling inflection, he -contented himself in the case of negation with the old declining or -refusing gesture, _viz._, shaking the head. The movement of nodding -seems to have been first used as an affirmative sign at the age of -seventeen months when he was asked whether his food was hot.[296] - ------ - -Footnote 296: - - Perez speaks of both the affirmative and negative movement of the head - appearing about the fifteenth month (_First Three Years of Childhood_, - Engl. transl., p. 21). Darwin finds that the sign of affirmation - (nodding) is less uniform among the different races of men than that - of negation. According to Preyer, while the gesture of negation - appears under the form of a turning away or declining movement as an - instinct in the first days of life, the accepting gesture of nodding - (which afterwards becomes the sign of affirmation) is acquired and - appears much later (see his full account of the growth of these - movements, _Die Seele des Kindes_, p. 242). - ------ - -C. illustrated the common childish impulse to mimic natural sounds. Thus -when sixteen months old he spontaneously imitated in a rough fashion the -puffing sound produced by his father when indulging in the solace of -tobacco; and he uttered a similar explosive sound when hearing the wind. -Yet this child does not seem to have been a particularly good -illustration of the onomatopoetic impulse. - -While the imitative impulse thus aids in the growth of an independent -baby vocabulary, it contributes, as we have seen, to the adoption of the -language of the community. At first, however, the little learner will -not repeat a sound merely in response to another’s lead. Many a mother -is doubtless able to recall the chagrin which she experienced when on -trying to trot out her baby’s linguistic powers by giving the lead, -_e.g._, “Say ta-ta to the lady!” the little autocrat obdurately refused -to comply with the parental injunction. It is only when what the child -himself considers to be the appropriate circumstances recur, and, what -is more, when the corresponding feeling is excited in his breast, that -he utters the sound. Thus C.’s father observes that though the child -will not say “ta-ta” when told to do so, he will say it readily enough -when he sees him, hat in hand, moving towards the door. In like manner -the father remarks: “He will say, ‘Ta’ (‘thank you’), on receiving -something, yet not do so in mere response to me when I say it”. Herein, -it would seem, the vocal imitation of children is less mechanical and -more intelligent than that of animals, as the parrot. - -It was not until he was well on in his second year that C. condescended -to let his young speech-organ be played on by another’s will. By this -time, it may be conjectured, associations between sounds and vocal -actions had become firm enough to allow of such imitation without a -consciousness of exertion or strain. Having no special reason to refuse -he very sensibly fell in with others’ suggestions. It is not at all -improbable, too, that at this stage of development the little vocalist -found a pleasure in trying his instrument and producing new effects. - -Of course these first tentatives in verbal imitation were far from -perfect. At first there was hardly more than a reproduction of the -rhythm and the rise and fall of voice, as in rendering ‘All gone,’ the -sign of disappearance, by _a_, _a_, with rise and fall of voice. Like -other little people, C. displayed a lordly disposition to save himself -trouble and to expect infinite pains from others in the way of -comprehension. He was in the habit of reducing difficult words to -fragments, the comprehension of which by the most loyal of attendants -was a matter of considerable difficulty. In thus chopping off splinters -of words he showed the greatest caprice. In many cases he selected the -initial sounds, _e.g._, “bŏ” for ball, “nō” for nose, “pē” for please. -In other cases he preferred the ending, _e.g._, “ĕk” for cake, “bĕ” for -Elizabeth. It looked as if certain sounds and combinations, _e.g._, _l_, -_s_, _fl_, _sh_, etc., lay altogether beyond his gamut. And others -seemed to be specially difficult, and so were avoided as much as -possible.[297] - ------ - -Footnote 297: - - _Cf._ above, p. 148 ff. - ------ - -While C.’s parents could not help resenting at times an economising of -speech-power which imposed so heavy a burden on themselves, they were -often amused at the way in which the astute little fellow managed after -softening down all the asperities of a name to retain a certain rough -semblance of the original. Thus, for instance, sugar became “ooga,” -biscuit “bĭk,” bread and butter “bup,” fish “gish” (with soft _g_), and -bacon-fat, that is bread dipped in the same, “ak”. In some cases it -might have puzzled his father to say whether the sound was a -reproduction or an independent creation. This remark applies with -particular force to the name he gave himself. His real name as commonly -used was, I may say, Clifford. Instead of this he employed as the name -for himself “Ingi” or “Ningi” (with hard _g_). He stuck to his own -invention in spite of many efforts to lead him to adopt the name chosen -for him by his parents. And perhaps the sovereignty of the baby was -never more clearly illustrated than in the fact that in time he -constrained his parents and his sister to adopt his self-chosen -prænomen. Possibly his real name was to his ear a hopelessly difficult -mass of sound, and “Ningi” seemed to him a fair equivalent within the -limits of practicable linguistics for so uncouth a combination.[298] -These changes are interesting as illustrating how the child attends to -the general form of the word-sound rather than to its constituent -elements.[299] The same thing is seen in the modified form of “Ningi,” -which he adopted at the beginning of the third year, _viz._, “Kikkie,” -where, too, the special impressiveness of the initial sound is -illustrated. - ------ - -Footnote 298: - - The supposition that ‘Ningi’ was easy seems reasonable. First of all - it is in part a reduplication like his later name ‘Kikkie’. Again, we - know that children often add the final _y_ or _ie_ sound, as in saying - ‘dinnie’ for dinner, ‘beddie’ for bread. Once more, from the early - appearances of ‘ng’ sound in ‘ang,’ ‘ung,’ etc., we may infer it to be - easy. Indeed, one observer (Dr. Champneys) tells us that an infant’s - cry is exactly represented by the sound ‘ngä’ as pronounced in Germany - (_Mind_, vi., p. 105). - -Footnote 299: - - See above, p. 157 f. - ------ - -It is now time to pass to the most important phase of baby-speech from a -scientific point of view, namely, the first use of sounds as general -signs, or as registering the results of a generalising process, as when -the child begins to speak of man or boy. - -It must be confessed that our diary does not give us much that is -startling in the way of original generalisation. So far as we can judge, -C. was a steady-going baby, not given to wanton caprices. Yet though not -a genius he had his moments of invention. One of the earliest -illustrations of a free working of the generalising impulse was the -extension of the sound “ŏt” (hot). At first he employed this sign in the -conventional manner to indicate that his milk or other viand was -disagreeably warm. When, however, he was seventeen and a half months old -he struck out an original extension of meaning. He happened to have -placed before him cold milk. On tasting this he at once exclaimed, “Ot!” -It looks as though the sound now meant something unpleasant to taste, -though, as we shall see presently, the boy had another sound (“kaka”) -for expressing this idea.[300] But “ot” was being extended in another -way by a process of association. This was illustrated a month later, -when the boy pointed to an engraving of Guido’s _Aurora_, and exclaimed, -“Ot!” His dull parents could not at first comprehend this bold -metaphoric use of language, until they bethought them that the clouds on -which the aeronauts are sailing are a good deal like a volume of -ascending steam. - ------ - -Footnote 300: - - It has been found that the sensations of hot and cold are readily - confused even by adults. - ------ - -The sounds “kĕ,” “kă,” and “kăkă” were employed by C. from about the -same age (seventeen and a half months) to express what is actually known -or simply suspected to be disagreeable to taste or smell, such as a pipe -held near him, a glass of beer, a vinegar bottle, and so forth. He had -smelt the beer, and learnt its disagreeable odour, and in pronouncing -the untried vinegar “kăkă” he was really carrying out a form of -reasoning of a simple kind. This sound came to represent a much higher -effort of abstraction some weeks later, when it was applied to things so -unlike in themselves as milk spilt on the cloth, crumbs on the floor, -soiled hands, etc. The idea here seized was plainly that of something -soiled or dirty. But this half-æsthetic, half-ethical idea was reached -largely by the help of others, more particularly perhaps his sister, -who, as elder sisters are wont to do, supplemented the parental -discipline by a vigorous inculcation of the well-recognised proprieties. - -Another extension of the range of application of names used by others -occurred about the same time (end of twentieth month). He employed the -sound ‘ga’ (glass) so as to include a plated drinking cup, which of -course others always called ‘cup’. This was curious as showing at this -stage the superior interest of use (that of drinking utensil) to that of -form and colour. - -The generalisations just touched on have to do with those qualities and -relations of things which strongly impress the baby mind, because they -bear on the satisfaction of his wants and his feelings of pleasure and -pain. In order to watch the calm movements of the intellect, when no -longer urged by appetite and sense, we must turn to the child’s first -detection of similarities in the objective attributes of things, as -their shape, size, colour, and so forth. Here the first generalisations -respecting the forms of bodies are a matter of peculiar interest to the -scientific observer. The young thinker, with whom we are now specially -concerned, achieved his first success in geometric abstraction, or the -consideration of pure form, when just seventeen months old. He had -learnt the name of his india-rubber ball. Having securely grasped this, -he went on calling oranges “bŏ”. This left the father in some doubt -whether the child was attending exclusively to form, as a geometrician -should, for he was wont to make a toy of an orange, as when rolling it -on the floor. This uncertainty was, however, soon removed. One day C. -was sitting at table beside his sire, while the latter was pouring out a -glass of beer. Instantly the ready namer of things pointed to the -bubbles on the surface, and exclaimed, “Bŏ!” This was repeated on many -subsequent occasions. As the child made no attempt to handle the -bubbles, it was evident that he did not view them as possible -playthings. As he got lost in contemplation, muttering, “Bŏ! bŏ!” his -father tells us that he had the satisfaction of feeling sure that the -young mind was already learning to turn away from the coarseness of -matter, and fix itself on the refined attribute of form. - -Although this was the most striking instance of pure or abstract -consideration of form, attention to the shape of things was proved by -many of the simple ideas reached at this stage. It is obvious, indeed, -that a ready recognition of any member of a species of animals, as dog, -in spite of considerable variations in size and colour, implies a power -of singling out for special attention what we call relations of form. -And this conclusion is borne out by the fact that by the end of the -eighteenth month C. was quite an adept in recognising uncoloured -drawings of animal and other familiar forms. - -Colour is of course in itself of much more interest to a child than -form, since it gives a keen sensuous enjoyment. Our diary furnishes a -curious illustration of a propensity to classify things according to -their colour. In his nineteenth month C. was observed to designate by -the sound “appoo” (apple) a patch of reddish colour on the mantelpiece, -which bore in its form no discoverable resemblance to an apple. At the -same time, the effect of growing experience and of a deeper scrutiny of -things in bringing out the superior significance of form is seen in the -fact that this same word “appoo” came subsequently to be habitually -applied to things of unlike colours, namely, apples, oranges, lemons, -etc. It may be added that the history of this word “appoo” illustrates a -process analogous to what Archbishop Trench (if I remember rightly) has -called the degradation of words. When C. first used this name it -designated objects simply as visible and tangible ones; he knew nothing -of their taste. After he was permitted to try their flavours, the less -worthy sensations now added naturally contributed a prominent ingredient -to the meaning of the word. Thus, he began to use “appoo” for all edible -fruits, including such shapeless masses as stewed apples. - -It is not to be expected that children in their first attempts at -scrutinising objects should be able to take in completely a complex -form, as that of an animal, with all its parts and their relations one -to another. C. gave ample proof of the fact that the first -generalisations respecting form are apt to be rough and ready, grounded -simply on a perception of one or two salient points. Thus, his first use -of “bow-wow” showed that the name meant for him simply a four-legged -creature. About the fifteenth month this word was thrown about in the -most reckless way. Later on, when the canine form began to be disengaged -in his mind from those of other quadrupeds, the pointed nose of the -animal seems to have become a prominent feature in the meaning of the -word. Thus, in his eighteenth month, C. took to applying the name -‘bow-wow’ to objects, such as fragments of bread or biscuit, as well as -drawings, having something of a triangular form with a sharp angle at -the apex. It is probable that if our little thinker had been able at -this stage to define his terms, he would have said that a “bow-wow” was -a four-legged thing with a pointed nose. - -Here, however, it is only fair to C. to mention that his mind had at -this time become prepossessed with the image of “bow-wow”. Not long -before the date referred to he had been frightened by a small dog, which -had crept unobserved into the room behind a lady visitor, lain quiet for -some time under the table, and then, forgetting good manners, suddenly -darted out and barked. There were many facts which supported the belief -that the child’s mind was at this period haunted by images of dogs which -approximated in their vividness to hallucinations; and this persistence -of the canine image in the child’s brain naturally disposed him to see -the “bow-bow” form in the most unpromising objects. - -The use of the word “gee-gee,” which towards the end of the second year -competed with “bow-wow” for the first place in C.’s vocabulary, -illustrates the same fact. A horse was first of all distinguished from -other quadrupeds by the length of his neck. Thus, when twenty months -old, C. in a slovenly way, no doubt, applied the name “gee-gee” to the -drawing of an ostrich, and also to a bronze figure representing a -stork-like bird. This is particularly curious, as showing how a -comparatively unimportant detail of form, as length of neck, -overshadowed in his mind at this time what we should consider the much -more important feature, the possession of four legs. The following are -selected from among many other illustrations of the imperfect -observation of complex forms. When twenty-one and a half months old he -took to calling all triangular objects, including drawings, “ship”. The -feature of the ship—as seen in real life and in his picture-books—which -had fixed itself in his mind was the triangular sail.[301] A similar -propensity to select one characteristic feature was illustrated in -another quaint observation of the diary. When twenty-three months old -C.’s mother showed him a number of drawings of patterns of dresses, some -surmounted by faces, some not. He pointed to one of the latter and said: -“No nose!” From this, writes the father, lapsing again into his -frivolous vein, it would seem that at this early age he had acquired a -dim presentiment of the supreme dignity of the nasal organ among the -features of the human countenance. - ------ - -Footnote 301: - - I think this supposition more probable than that the child saw the - whole form—hull, masts and sails—as a triangle. - ------ - -Progress in the accurate use of words was curiously illustrated in C.’s -way of looking at and talking about his fellow-creatures. Oddly enough -he began apparently by confusing his two parents, extending the name -“ma” to his father till such time as he learnt “papa”. Then he proceeded -after the manner of other children to embrace within the term “papa” all -male adults, whether known to him or not. Thus he applied the name to -photographs of distinguished savants, artists, and poets, which he found -in his father’s album. When just eighteen months old he was observed to -introduce the word ‘man’. For instance, he took to calling an etching of -a recent British philosopher, and a terra-cotta cast of an ancient Roman -one, “man,” as well as “papa”. Oddly enough, however, members of the -other sex were still called exclusively by the name “mamma,” though the -words “woman” and “lady” were certainly used at least as frequently as -“man” in his hearing. This earlier discrimination of individual men than -of individual women leads the father into some jocose observations about -the more strongly marked individuality of men than of women, -observations which would do very well in the mouth of a misogynist of -the old school, but are altogether out of date in this advanced age. - -By the twentieth month the extension of the name “papa” to other men was -discontinued. His father tried him at this date with a photographic -album. “Man” was now instantly applied to all male adults, except old -ones with a grey beard. To these he invariably applied the name of an -old gentleman, a friend of his. A woman was still called “mamma,” though -the term “lady” (“’ady”) was clearly beginning to displace it; and no -distinction was drawn between women of different ages. Finally, children -were distinguished as boys or girls, apparently according as they were -or were not dressed in petticoats. - -The reservation of the names “papa” and “mamma” for his parents -naturally gave pleasure to these worthy persons. It was something, they -said, to feel sure at length that they were individualised in the -consciousness of their much-cared-for offspring. This restricted use of -the terms may be supposed to have involved a dim apprehension of a -special relation of things to the child. “Papa” now carried with it the -idea of the man who stands in a particular connexion with C. or “Ningi”; -or, to express it otherwise, “man” began to signify those papas who have -nothing specially to do with this important personage. This antecedent -conjecture is borne out by the fact that the act of distinguishing -between his father and other men followed rapidly, certainly within two -or three weeks, the first use of his own name “Ningi”. In other words, -as soon as his attention began to direct itself to himself, as the -centre of his little world-circle, he naturally went on to distinguish -between those persons and things that had some special connexion with -this centre and those that had not. - -The consciousness of self was noticed to grow much more distinct in the -second half of this year. As might be expected the first idea of ‘self’ -was largely a mental picture of the body. Thus the father tells us that -when eighteen months old the child would instantly point to himself when -he heard his name. If his father touched his face asking who that was, -he replied, ‘Ningi’. Here the corporeal reference is manifest. When just -over nineteen months, however, he showed that the idea was becoming -fuller and richer with the germ of what we mean by the word personality. -Thus when asked to give up something he liked, as the remnant of a -biscuit, he would say emphatically, ‘No, no! Ningi!’ Similarly, when he -saw his sister wipe her hands, he would say ‘Ningi!’ and proceed to -imitate the action. By the end of the twenty-first month the child began -to substitute ‘me’ for ‘Ningi’. - -As we saw above, the child and the poet have this in common, that they -view things directly as they are, free from the superficial and -arbitrary associations, the conventional trappings, by the additions of -which we prosaic people are wont to separate them into compartments with -absolutely impenetrable walls. Hence the freshness, the charming -originality of their utterances. - -For example, C., when eighteen months old, was watching his sister as -she dipped her crust into her tea. He was evidently surprised by the -rare sight, and after looking a moment or two, exclaimed, “Ba!” (bath), -laughing with delight, and trying, as was his wont when deeply -interested in a spectacle, to push his mother’s face round so that she -too might admire it. The boy delighted in such a figurative use of -words, now employing them as genuine similes, as when he said of a dog -panting after a run, “Dat bow-wow like puff-puff,” and of the first real -ship which he saw sailing with a rocking movement, “Dat ship go -marjory-daw” (_i.e._, like marjory-daw in the nursery rhyme). Like many -a poet he had his recurring or standing metaphors. Thus, as we have -seen, “ship” was the figurative expression for all objects having a -pyramidal form. A pretty example of his love of metaphor was his habit -of calling the needle in a small compass of his father’s “bir” (bird). -It needs a baby mind to detect here the faint resemblance to the slight -fragile form and the fluttering movement of a bird poised on its wings. - -C. illustrates the anthropocentric impulse to look at natural objects as -though they specially aimed at furthering or hindering our well-being. -Thus he would show all the signs of kingly displeasure when his serenity -of mind was disturbed by noises. When he was taken to the sea-side -(about twenty-four months old) he greatly disappointed his parent, -expectant of childish wonder in his eyes, by merely muttering, “Water -make noise”.[302] Again, he happened one day in the last week of this -year to be in the garden with his father while it was thundering. On -hearing the sound he said with an evident tone of annoyance, “Tonna mâ -Ningi noi,” _i.e._, thunder makes noise for C., and he instantly added -“Notty tonna!” (naughty thunder). Here, remarks the father, he was -evidently falling into that habit of mind against which philosophers -have often warned us, making man the measure of the universe. - ------ - -Footnote 302: - - He had been at the sea-side a year before this, but there was no - evidence of his having remembered it. - ------ - -The last quarter of this year was marked in C.’s case by a great -enlargement of linguistic power. A marked advance was noticeable in the -mastering of the mechanical difficulties of articulation. Thus he would -surprise his father by suddenly bringing out new and difficult -combinations of sound, as ‘flower,’ ‘water’ and ‘fetch’. Up to about the -twenty-first month C.’s vocabulary had consisted almost entirely of what -we should call substantives, such as, ‘papa,’ ‘man,’ which were used to -express the arrival on the scene and the recognition of familiar -objects. A few adjectives, as “ŏt” (hot), “co” (cold), “ni-ni” (nice), -and “goo” (good), were frequently used, and were apparently beginning to -have a proper attributive function assigned them. But these referred -rather to the effect of things on the child’s feeling than to their -inherent qualities. His father failed before this date to convey to him -the meaning of “black” as applied to a dog. It is noteworthy that the -child made considerable advance in the use of “me” and “my” before he -was capable of qualifying objects by appending adjectives to them. The -first use of an adjective for indicating some objective quality in a -thing occurred at the end of the twenty-first month, when he exclaimed -on seeing a rook fly over his head, “Big bir!” - -At about the same date other classes of words came to be recognised and -used as such, giving to the child’s language something of texture. Thus -relations of place began to be set forth, as in using simple words like -‘up,’ ‘down,’ ‘on’. In some cases the designation of these relations was -effected by original artifices which often puzzled the father. For -instance the sound ‘da’ (or ‘dow’) was used from about the seventeenth -month for the departure of a person, the falling of a toy on the ground, -the completion of a meal. It seemed to be a general sign for ‘over’ or -‘gone’.[303] It is doubtful whether this implied a clear consciousness -of a relation of place. Sometimes the attempt to express such a relation -in the absence of the needed words would lead to a picturesque kind of -circumlocution. Thus when about twenty-one months old C. saw his father -walking in the garden when he and his sister were seated at the luncheon -table. He shouted out, ‘Papa ’at off!’ thus expressing the desirability -of his father’s entering and taking part in the family meal. - ------ - -Footnote 303: - - Compare above, p. 162. - ------ - -Similar make-shifts would be resorted to in designating other and more -subtle relations. Sometimes, indeed, the child would expect his hearers -to supply the sign of relation, as when after having smelt the pepper -box he put it away with an emphatic ‘Papa!’ which seemed to the somewhat -biassed observer an admirably concise way of expressing the judgment -that the pepper might suit his father, but it certainly did not suit -him. A month later (_æt._ twenty-two months) he condescended to be more -explicit. Having been told by his father that the cheese was bad for -Ningi, he indulged a growing taste for antithesis by adding, ‘Good, -papa!’ - -His ideas of time-relations were at this date of the haziest. He seems -to have got a dim inkling of the meaning of ‘by-and-by’. His father had -managed to stop his crying for a thing by promising it ‘by-and-by’. -After this when crying he would suddenly pull up, and with a heroic -effort to catch his breath would exclaim, ‘By-’n’-by!’ “What (asks the -father) was the equivalent of this new symbol in the child’s -consciousness? Was he already beginning to seize the big boundless -future set over against the fleeting point of the present moment and -holding in its ample bosom consolatory promises for myriads of these -unhappy presents?” and so forth; but here he seems to grow even less -severely scientific than usual. It may be added that about the same time -(twenty-one months) the child began to use the word ‘now’. Thus after -drinking his milk he would point to a little remainder at the bottom of -his cup and say, ‘Milk dare now,’ that is presumably ‘there is still -milk there’. - -His ideas of number at this time were equally rudimentary. Oddly enough -it was just as he was attaining to plurality of years that he began to -distinguish with the old Greeks the one from the many. One was correctly -called ‘one’. Any number larger than one, on the other hand, was -sometimes styled ‘two,’[304] sometimes ‘three,’ and sometimes ‘two, -three, four’. He had been taught to say ‘one, two, three, four,’ by his -mother, but the first lesson in counting had clearly failed to convey -more than the difference between unity and multitude. The series of -verbal sounds, ‘two, three, four,’ probably helped him to realise the -idea of number, and in any case it was a forcible way of expressing it. - ------ - -Footnote 304: - - I find that another little boy when two years old used ‘two’ in this - way for more than one. - ------ - -As suggested above, primitive substantive-forms probably do duty as -verbs in the language of the child as in that of primitive man. True -verbs as differentiated signs of action came into use at the date we are -speaking of, and these began to give to the boy’s embryonic speech -something of the structure, the sentence. - -As one might naturally conjecture from the disproportionate amount of -attention manifestly bestowed on this child, he had all the -masterfulness of his kind, and the first form of the verb to be used was -the imperative. Thus by the end of the twentieth month he had quite a -little vocabulary for giving effect to his sovereign volitions, such as, -‘On!’ (get on), ‘Ook!’ (look). It was in the use of commands that he -showed some of his finest inventiveness. Thus when just seventeen months -old he wanted his mother to get up. He began by lifting his hands and -saying, ‘Ta, ta!’ (sign of going out). Finding this to be ineffective, -he tried, with a comical simulation of muscular strength, to pull or -push her up, at the same time exclaiming, “Up!” The lifting of the hands -looked like a bit of picturesque gesture-language. In his twenty-first -month he acquired a new and telling word of command, _viz._, ‘Way’ -(_i.e._, out of my way), as well as the invaluable sign of prohibition, -‘Dō’ (_i.e._, don’t), both of which, it need hardly be said, he began to -bandy about pretty freely, especially in his dealings with his sister. - -A landmark in C.’s intellectual development is set by the father at the -age of nineteen and a half months. Before this date he had only made -rather a lame attempt at sentence-building by setting his primitive -names in juxtaposition, _e.g._, ‘Tit, mamma, poo,’ which being -interpreted means, ‘Sister and mamma, have pudding’. But now he took a -very decided step in advance, and by a proper use of a verb as such -constructed what a logician calls a proposition with its subject and -predicate. He happened to observe his sister venting some trouble in the -usual girlish fashion, and exclaimed, ‘Tit ki’ (sister is crying), -following up the assertion by going towards her and trying to stop her. -Another example of a sentence rather more complex in structure which -occurred a fortnight later had also to do with his sister. He saw her -lying on her back on the grass, and exclaimed with all the signs of -joyous wonder, ‘Tit dow ga!’ (_i.e._, sister is down on the grass). -Evidently the unpredictable behaviour of this member of his family -deeply impressed the young observer. It is noticeable that these first -exceptional efforts in assertion were prompted by feeling.[305] - ------ - -Footnote 305: - - Compare above, p. 171 f. - ------ - -These first tentatives in verbal assertion, we are told, sounded very -odd owing to the slowness of the delivery and the stress impartially -laid on each word. C. had as yet no inkling of the subtleties of -rhetoric, and was too much taken up with the weighty business of -expressing thought somehow to trouble about such niceties as relative -emphasis, and variation of pitch and pace. - -As a rule, remarks the father, it was surprising how suddenly, as it -seemed, the boy hit on the right succession of verbal sounds. Only very -rarely would he stumble, as when after having seen a fly taken out of -his milk, and on being subsequently asked whether he would not be glad -to see his sister on her return from a visit, he said, ‘(Y)es, tell -Ningi ’bout fy’ (Yes, Ningi will tell her about the fly).[306] - ------ - -Footnote 306: - - See above, p. 173. - ------ - -The impulse to express himself, to communicate his experiences and -observations to others, seemed to be all-possessing just now, and odd -enough it was to note the make-shifts to which he was now and again -driven. One day, when just twenty and a half months old, he sat in a -chair with a heavyish book which he found it hard to hold up. He turned -to his mother and said solemnly, “Boo go dow” (the book is going down or -falling). Then, as if remarking a look of unintelligence in his -audience, he threw it down and exclaimed, “Dat!” by which vigorous -proceeding he gave a vivid illustration of his meaning. - -It was noticeable that he would at this time play at sentence-making in -a varied imitation of others’ assertions, thereby hitting out some -quaint fancy which appeared to amuse him. Thus when told that there is a -man on the horse he would say, ‘Ningi on horse,’ ‘Tit on horse,’ and so -forth. Such playful practice in utterance probably furthers the growth -of readiness and precision in the use of sentences. - -The point in the intellectual growth of a child at which he acquires -such a mastery of language as to carry on a sustained conversation is a -proud and happy one for the fond parent. In the case of C. this date, -twenty-three months and ten days, is, of course, marked with red -letters. He made a great noise running about and shouting in his -bedroom. His mother came in and rebuked him in the usual form (‘Naughty! -naughty!’). He thereupon replied, “Tit mak noi” (Sister makes the -noise). Mother (seriously): “Sister is at school”. C., with a still -bolder look: “Mamma make noi”. Mother (with convulsive effort to -suppress laughing, still more emphatically): “No, mamma was in the other -room”. C. (looking archly at his doll, known as May): “May make noi”. -This sally was followed by a good peal of boyish laughter. - -The father evidently feels that this incident is highly suggestive of a -lack of moral sense. So he thinks it well to add to the observation that -the child had all the normal moral sensibility. But of this more -presently. - -We may now pass to the comparatively few observations (other than those -already dealt with under verbal utterance) which refer to the child’s -feelings. As already remarked, he was, like most other children, peevish -and cross in the first year, and I regret to say that the diary refers -more than once to violent outbursts of infantile rage in the second year -also. Here is one sample entry (_æt._ nineteen months): Feelings of -greediness, covetousness and spite begin to manifest themselves with -alarming distinctness. When asked to give up a bit of pudding he says, -“No,” in a coy, shy sort of manner, turning away. When further pressed -he grows angry. On the other hand, he clamours for his sister’s dolls, -and bears refusal with very ill grace. When, given up as hopelessly -naughty, he is handed over to the nurse, and carried out of the room by -this long-suffering person, he ferociously slaps her on the face. This -slap appears not to be a pure invention, his sister having been driven -more than once to visit him with this chastisement. He will also go up -and slap his sister when she cries. He probably puts the nurse who -carries him out and the sister who cries in the same category of naughty -people. Sometimes he seems quite overpowered by vexation of spirit, and -will lie down on the floor on his face and have a good, long, satisfying -cry. - -The child’s timidity has already been touched on. At the age of sixteen -months, we are told, the sight of the drawing of a lion accompanied by -roaring noises imitated by the father would greatly terrify him, driving -him to his mother, in whose bosom he would hide his face, drawing down -his under lip in an ominous way. Two months later the diary tells us -that the child has had a fright. One day a lady called with a dog, which -secreted itself under the table, and later on suddenly rushed out and -made for Master C. The shock was such that since that time whenever he -hears a strange noise he runs to his mother, exclaiming, ‘Bow-wow!’ in a -terrified manner. - -Before the close of the year, however, he began to show a manlier -temper. The sight of a dog still made him run towards his mother and -cling to her, but as soon as the animal moved off he would look up into -her face laughingly and repeat the consolatory saying which she herself -had taught him: “Ni (nice) bow-wow! bow-wow like Ningi”. In this humble -fashion did he make beginning at the big task of manning himself to face -the terrors of things. - -As pointed out above, he extended his dislike to sudden and loud noises -to inanimate objects. Thus in the last week of the year he was evidently -put out, if not actually frightened, by hearing distant thunder; and -about the same date, as we have seen, he showed a similar dislike to the -sea when first taken near it. He would not approach it for some days, -and he cried when he saw his father swimming in it. - -It is sad in going through the pages of the diary to note that there is -scarcely any observation during this second year on the development of -kindly feelings. One would have supposed that with all the affection and -care lavished on him C. might have manifested a little tenderness in -response. The only incident put down under the head of social feeling in -this year is the following (_æt._ twenty months): “When he eats porridge -in the morning at the family breakfast he takes a look round and says: -‘Mamma, Tit, papa, Ningi,’ appearing to be pleased at finding himself -sharing in a common enjoyment. This (continues the narrator) is a step -onward from the anti-social attitude which he took up not long since -when some of his mother’s egg was given to his sister and he shouted -prohibitively: ‘No! no!’” - -The worthy parent appears to be making the most of very small mercies -here. Yet in justice to this child it must be said that he seems to have -shown even at this tender age the rudiment of a conscience. The father -is satisfied, indeed, that he displayed an instinctive respect for -command or law. “Thus,” he says, “when sixteen months old the child hung -down his head or hid it in his mother’s breast when for the first time I -scolded him.” He goes on to say that after having been forbidden to do a -thing, as to touch the coal scuttle or to take up his food with his -fingers, he will stop just as he is going to do it, and take on a -curious look of timidity or shamefacedness. - -He seemed, too, before the end of the second year, to be getting to -understand something of the meaning of that recurrent nursery-word -‘naughty,’ and the less frequent ‘good’. When seventeen months old his -father tried him, on what looked like the approach of an outburst of -temper, with a ‘Cliffy, be good!’ uttered in a firm peremptory manner. -The child’s noise was at once arrested, and on the father’s asking: ‘Is -Cliffy good?’ he answered, ‘Ea,’ his sign for ‘yes’. A little later he -showed that he strongly disliked being called naughty,—vigorously -remonstrating when so described with an emphatic, ‘No, no! good!’ He -seems to have followed the usual childish order in beginning to apply -“naughty” to others, his sister more particularly, much sooner than -“good”. It was not till the middle of the twenty-first month that he -recognised moral desert in this long-suffering sister. After a little -upset of temper on her part, when the crying was over, he remarked in a -quiet approving tone, ‘Goo!’ and on being asked by his mother who was -good he answered, ‘Tit’. - -As our example of his dawning powers of conversation may suggest, C. -early developed the childish sense of fun. Most if not all children love -pretence or make-believe. Here is an example of this childish tendency. -When about eighteen months old during a short visit to his father’s room -C. happened to be walking in the direction of the door. His father at -once said, ‘Ta ta,’ just as if the child were really going away. C. -instantly entered into the joke, repeating the ‘ta ta,’ moving towards -the door, then returning, and so renewing the pretty little fraud. - -Sometimes, as parents know, this impish love of make-believe comes very -inconveniently into conflict with discipline and authority. One day, -about the same date, he got hold of a photograph portrait of an uncle of -his. His mother bade him give it up to her. He walked towards her -looking serious enough, nearly put it into her hand, and then suddenly -drew his hands back laughing. - -In other examples of laughter given in this chapter we see something -very like contempt. When two years and eight months old he was observed -to laugh out loudly on surveying his small india-rubber horse, the head -of which had somehow got twisted back and caught between the hind legs -and the tail. He then waxed tender and said pityingly, “Poor gee-gee!” -“Here,” writes the father in his most ponderous manner, “we see an -excellent example of the capricious and variable attitude of the -childish mind towards its toys, an attitude closely paralleled by that -of the savage towards his fetich.” - -The two or three notes on the development of the active powers have to -do with the application of intelligence to manual and other -performances. Here is one. At the age of seventeen months he was sitting -at table with the family when he found himself in want of some bread and -butter. He tried his customary petition, ‘Bup,’ but to no purpose. He -then stretched out his hand towards the bread knife, repeating the -request. A day or two after this the father put his inventive powers to -a severer proof. He placed the knife out of his reach. When the desire -for more recurred he grew very impatient, looking towards his father and -saying ‘Bup’ with much vehemence of manner. At length, getting more -excited, he bethought him of a new expedient and pointed authoritatively -to his empty plate. - -Some of these practical tentatives were rather amusing. One day, just a -month after the date of the last incident, he had two keys, one in each -hand. With one of these he proceeded to try the keyhole of the door, -oddly enough, however, holding it by the wrong end and inserting the -handle. Now came the difficulty of turning it. Two hands at the very -least were needed, but unhappily the other hand was engaged with the -second key, which was not to be relinquished for an instant. So the -little fellow, with the inventive resource of a monkey (the father -naturally says of an ‘engineer’), proceeded to use his teeth as pincers, -clutching the obstinate key between these and trying to turn it with the -head. At this date he had acquired considerable skill in the -manipulation of door handles and keys. A certain cupboard was a -peculiarly fascinating mystery, appealing at once to the desires of the -flesh and to a disinterested curiosity, and he was soon master of the -‘open sesame’ to its spacious and obscure recesses. - -By far the most respectable exhibition of will about this time was in -the way of self-restraint. I have already remarked how he would try to -pull himself together when prostrated by fear of the dog. A similarly -quaint attempt at self-mastery would occur during his outbreaks of -temper. The father says he had got into the way, when the child was -inclined to be impatient and teasing, of putting up his finger, lowering -his brow, and saying with emphasis: ‘Cliffy, be good!’ After this when -inclined to be naughty he would suddenly and quite spontaneously pull -himself up, hold up his finger and lower his brow as if reprimanding -himself. “The observation is curious,” writes the father, in his graver -manner, “as suggesting that self-restraint may begin by an imitation of -the action of extraneous authority.”[307] - ------ - -Footnote 307: - - Compare the similar instances given above, p. 287. - ------ - - - _Third Year._ - -One cannot help regretting on entering upon the third chapter of C.’s -biography that the father gives us no account of his physical -development. This is a desideratum not only from a scientific but from a -literary point of view. Biographers rightly describe the look of their -hero, and, if possible, they aid the imagination of their reader by a -portrait. The reader of this child’s history has nothing, not even a -bare reference to height, by which he can form an image of the concrete -personality whose sayings and doings are here recorded; and these -sayings and doings begin now to grow really interesting. - -There is very little in the notes of this year respecting the growth of -observation. When the child was two years five months old the father -appears to have made a rather lame attempt to determine the order in -which he learnt the colours. He says that he placed the several colours -before him and taught him the names, and found as a result that the -order of acquisition was the following: red, blue, yellow, and green. It -is added that blue was distinguished some time before green. His -observations, taken along with those of Preyer and others, are -interesting as seeming to suggest that the order in which the colours -are learnt differs considerably in the case of individual children.[308] -In the eighth month of this year we find a note to the effect that the -boy discriminates and recognises colour well. This is illustrated by the -fact that he at once calls grey with a slightly greenish tinge ‘green’. -The connexion between the possession of suitable vocables and explicit -discrimination is seen in the fact that whereas he applies the name blue -not only to the several varieties of that colour but also to violet, he -uses “red” as the name for certain reds only, excepting pink, which is -called “pink,” and deep purple red, which is called “brown”. - ------ - -Footnote 308: - - See above, p. 19 f. - ------ - -The third year is epoch-making in the history of memory. It is now that -impressions begin to work themselves into the young consciousness so -deeply and firmly that they become a part of the permanent -stock-in-trade of the mind. The earliest recollections of most of us do -not reach back beyond this date, if indeed so far. In C.’s case the -father was able to observe this fixing and consolidating of impressions. -For instance, when two years and two months old he had been staying for -a month or so at a farmhouse in a little sea-side village, D——, where -there was a sheep dog yclept Bob. Some three and a half months later he -happened, during one of his walks in his London suburb, to see a sheep -dog, whereupon he remarked, ‘Dat old Bob, I dink’. A week or two after -this, on seeing the picture of a wind-mill, he remarked, "Dat like down -at D——". Later on, six months after this visit, on being asked what -honey was, he remarked that he had had some at D——. Nine months after -this visit his father was talking to him about the game of cricket. He -then said, "_Oh_, yes (his favourite expression just now when he -understands), I ’member, Jingo ran after ball down at D——". As a matter -of fact his father and friends used to play tennis at D——, and Jingo, -the sheep dog, did pretend to ‘field’ the balls, often in a highly -inconvenient fashion. - -It is evident from these quotations that the experiences at D——, just at -the beginning of the third year, had woven themselves into the tissue of -his permanent memory. The father remarks in a footnote that C. retains a -certain recollection of D—— at present, that is to say, in his -fourteenth year. - -These lively recallings show a growth of imaginative power, and this was -seen in other ways too. Thus it is remarked by the father in the fourth -month of the year that he was getting much comfort from anticipation. If -there are apples or other things on the table which he likes but must -not have, he will philosophically remark, “Ningi have apples by-and-by -when he big boy”. He says this with much emphasis, rising at the end to -a shouting tone, and half breaking out into jubilant laughter. - -The childish power of vivid imaginative realisation was abundantly -illustrated in his play. Here is a sample (end of fourth month). His -sister went to the end of the room and said (with a reference to their -recent visit to the sea-side): ‘I’m going far away on the beach’. He -then began to whisper something, and went under the table and said -distinctly: ‘Ningi go away from Tit, far away on beach’. He repeated -this with tremulous voice, and at length burst out crying. He wept also -when his sister pretended to do the same, so that these little tragic -representations had to be stopped as dangerously exciting. - -It has often been said that ‘fibbing’ in young children is the outcome -of a vivid imagination. C. illustrated this. As the example given under -the second year shows, his daring in inventing untruth and passing it -off as truth was pure play, and frankly shown to be so by the -accompaniment of a hearty laugh. This tendency to invent continued to -assert itself. Thus when (in the eighth month) he is asked a question, -as, “Who told you so?” and has no suitable answer ready he will say, -‘Dolly,’ showing his sense of the fun of the thing by a merry laugh. The -father remarks that it is a little difficult to bring heavy moral -artillery to bear on this playful fibbing which is evidently intended -much more to astonish than to deceive.[309] - ------ - -Footnote 309: - - Compare above, p. 254. - ------ - -We may now see what progress C. was making in thinking power during this -year. It is during the third year that children may be expected to get a -much better hold on the slippery forms of language, and at the same time -to show in connexion with a freer and more extensive use of language a -finer and deeper insight into the manifold relations of things. - -In C.’s case, to judge by the journal, the progress of speech advanced -at a normal pace, neither hurrying nor yet greatly loitering. -Articulation, the father remarks early in the year, has got much more -precise, only a few sounds seeming to occasion difficulty, as for -example the initial _s_, which he transforms into an aspirate, saying, -for example, ‘huga’ for sugar. - -A noticeable linguistic advance is registered in the fourth month of the -year, _viz._, a kind of sudden and energetic raid on the names of -objects and persons. “He is always asking the names of things now -(writes our chronicler). Thus, after calling a common object, as a -brush, by its name he will ask me, ‘What is the _name_ of this?’ Perhaps -he thinks that everything has its own exclusive or ‘proper’ name as he -has. He is beginning to note, too, that some things have more than one -proper name, that his mother, for example, though called ‘ma’ by -himself, is addressed by her Christian name by me, and so forth. When -asked, ‘What is Ningi’s name?’ he now answers, ‘Kifford’.” - -What is far more significant, he now (_æt._ two years three months) -began to use ‘you’ in addressing his father or mother, also ‘me’ and -‘I’. But these changes are so momentous and epoch-making in the history -of the young intelligence that they will have to be specially considered -later on. - -Like other children he showed a fine contempt for the grammatical -distinctions of pronominal forms. Thus ‘me’ was used for ‘mine,’ ‘her’ -for ‘she,’ ‘she’s’ for ‘hers,’ ‘him’ for ‘he’ and for ‘his,’ ‘us’ for -‘our,’ and so forth.[310] It is pretty clear that none of these -solecisms was due to an imitation of others’ incorrect speech, and they -appear to show the action of the principle of biological economy, a few -word-sounds being made to do duty for a number of relations (_e.g._, in -the use of ‘me’ for ‘my’), and familiar word-sounds being modified -according to analogy of other modifications where older people use a -quite new form (‘she’s’ for ‘hers’). A similar disposition to simplify -and rationalise the tongue of his ancestors showed itself in the use of -verbs. Thus, if his mother said, ‘Cliffy, you are not good,’ he would -reply in a perfectly rational manner, “Yes, I are”. “It was odd,” writes -the father, “to hear him bring out in solemn judge-like tones such -terrible solecisms as ‘Him haven’t,’ yet there was a certain logical -method in his lawlessness.” Another simplification on which he hit in -common with other children was the use of ‘did’ as a sign of past tense, -thus saving himself all the trouble of understanding the irregular -behaviour of our verbs.[311] - ------ - -Footnote 310: - - Later on towards the end of the year he oddly enough seemed disposed - to reverse his early practice, using for example ‘she’ for ‘her,’ and - even going to the length of correcting his sister for saying ‘Somebody - gave her,’ by remarking with all the dogmatism of the most pedantic of - grammarians, “No, E., you must say ‘Gave she’”. - -Footnote 311: - - Compare above, p. 176 f. C.’s father probably makes too much of the - principle of economy here. Thus, like other children, the boy was wont - to use double negatives, _e.g._, “Dare isn’t no water in dat cup,” - where there is clearly a redundance. - ------ - -One or two quaint applications of words are noted. Thus towards the end -of the third month of this year he took to using ‘cover’ in a somewhat -puzzling fashion. Thus he once pointed to the back of his hand and -remarked, ‘No milk on this cover’. The father suspects that the term -connoted for his consciousness an outside part or the outer surface of -an object. - -A very noticeable improvement took place in the forming of sentences. -All sorts of questions (writes the chronicler) are now put correctly and -neatly, as, ‘Where are you going to?’ ‘Where did that come from?’ He is -now striking out most ambitiously in new and difficult directions, not -fighting shy even of such school-horrors as conditional clauses (as they -used to be called, at least). Very funny it must have been to watch -these efforts, and the ingenuities of construction to which the little -learner found himself driven. For example, he happened one morning (end -of fourth month) when in his father’s bedroom to hear a knocking in the -adjoining room. He walked about the room remarking to himself, ‘I can’t -make out somebody,’ which seemed his own original fashion of avoiding -the awkwardness of our elaborate form, “I can’t make out who the person -is (that is knocking)”. A still quainter illustration of the skill with -which he found his way out of linguistic difficulties is the following. -His sister once said to him (first week of fifth month), ‘You had better -not do that,’ whereupon he replied, “I think me better will”. Here is a -sample of his mode of dealing with conditionals (end of sixteenth -month), “If him (a tree) would be small, I would climb up”. - -His highly individualised language, remarks the father, was rendered -more picturesque by the recurrence of certain odd expressions which he -picked up and applied in his own royal fashion. One of these was, “Well, -it might be different,” which he often used when corrected for a fault, -and on other occasions as a sort of formula of protestation against what -he thought to be an exaggerated statement. - -We may now notice some new manifestations of thinking power. All -thought, we are told, proceeds by the finding out of similarities and -dissimilarities. C. continued to note the resemblances of things. Thus -one day (end of second month) he noticed the dog Jingo breathing quickly -after a smart run and observed, ‘Like puff-puff’. But what was much more -noticeable this year was the boy’s impulse to draw distinctions and -contrasts. It may certainly be said in his case that likeness was -distinctly apprehended before difference, that in the development of his -rhetoric the antithesis followed the simile. One of the first contrasts -to impress the tender consciousness of children is that of size. This -comes out among other ways in their habit of setting their own puny -persons in antithesis to big grown-up folk, a habit sufficiently -attested by the recurring expressions, “When I am big,” “When I am a -man”. C., like other children, took to denoting a contrast of size by a -figurative extension of the relation, mamma—baby. Thus it was noted (end -of seventh month) that he would call a big tree “mamma tree,” and a -shrub “baby tree”. One day he pointed to the clock on the mantel-piece -and talked of the ‘big mamma clock’. He had, it seems, just before been -playing with his father’s watch, which he also called clock.[312] - ------ - -Footnote 312: - - Compare above, p. 163 f. - ------ - -This love of contrasting appeared in a striking manner in connexion with -the use of propositions. If, for example (third month), his father says, -“That’s a little watch,” he at once brings out the point of the -statement by adding, ‘That not a big watch’. The same perception of -contrast would sometimes help him to take the edge off a disagreeable -prohibition when unguardedly worded. Thus when told one day not to make -much noise, he considered and rejoined, “Make _little_ noise”. - -A more subtle perception of contrast betrayed itself towards the end of -the ninth month. His father had been speaking to him of the little calf -which made a big noise. He mentally turned over this astonishing bit of -contrariness in the order of things, and then observed with a sage -gravity, “Big calf not make little noise,” which so far as the limited -faculties of the observer could say appeared to mean that the contrast -between size and sound did not hold all round, that the big sound -emerging from the little thing was an exception to the order of nature. - -In connexion with this habit of opposing qualities and statements -reference may be made to the curious manner in which the boy expressed -negation. It was evidently a difficulty for him to get hold of the -negative particle, and to deny straight away, so to speak. At first -(beginning of the year) he seemed to indicate negation or rejection -merely by tone of voice. Thus he would say about something which he -evidently did not like, ‘Ningi like that,’ with a peculiar querulous -tone which was apparently equivalent to the appendage ‘N.B. ironical’. -About a fortnight later he expressed negation by first making the -correlative affirmation and adding ‘No,’ thus: "Ningi like go in -water—no!" A week later, it is noted, ‘no’ was prefixed to the -statement, as when he shouted, ‘No, no, naughty Jingo,’ in contradiction -of somebody who had called the dog naughty. Towards the end of the third -month ‘not’ came to be used as an alternative for ‘no’ which little by -little it displaced. - -The father remarks that C.’s sister had had a similar trick of opposing -statements, _e.g._, “Dat E.’s cup, not mamma’s cup”. He then proceeds to -observe in his somewhat heavy didactic manner that these facts are of -curious psychological and logical interest, showing us that negation -follows affirmation, and can at first only be carried out by a direct -mental confronting of an affirmation, and so forth.[313] - ------ - -Footnote 313: - - On the use of antithesis in children’s language and on the early forms - of negation, see above, p. 174 f. - ------ - -As already shown by the reference to the use of ‘somebody’ C.’s thought -was growing slightly more abstract. Yet how slow this advance was is -illustrated in his way of dealing with time-relations, some of the most -difficult, as it would seem, for the young mind to grapple with. At the -end of the second month the ideas of time, we are told, were growing -more exact, so far at least that he was able to distinguish a present -time from both a past and a future. He called the present variously -‘now,’ ‘a day’ (to-day) or ‘dis morning’.[314] The present seemed, so -far as the father could judge, to be conceived of as a good slice of -time. ‘To-morrow’ and ‘by-and-by’ now served to express the idea of -futurity, the former referring to a nearer and more definitely conceived -tract of time than the latter. That the child had no clear apprehension -of our time-divisions is seen not only in his loose employment of ‘dis -morning,’ but in his habitual confusion of the names of meals, as in -calling dinner ‘tea,’ tea ‘dinner’ or ‘breakfast,’ and so forth. - ------ - -Footnote 314: - - A note in the diary says that C.’s sister had also used ‘this morning’ - in a similar way for any present. Can this curious habit arise, he - asks, from the circumstance that children hear ‘this morning’ more - frequently than ‘this afternoon’ and ‘this evening,’ or that they are - more wakeful and observant in the early part of the day? - ------ - -Another abstruse idea for the child’s mind is that of absence. It would -seem as if this were thought of at first as a disappearance. As all -mothers know, when a child is asked where somebody is he answers, ‘All -gone’. C., on his return from D—— (end of second month), when asked -where the people and the highly interesting Jingo were, would say, ‘All -gone,’ and sometimes add picturesquely, ‘in the puff-puff’.[315] - ------ - -Footnote 315: - - (Note of the father.) C., on leaving D——, had travelled by the train. - He may, therefore, have intended merely to say “removed from sight - through the agency of the locomotive”. From other examples, however, - it would look as if the boy meant to explain all disappearance as a - removal from his own local sphere. - ------ - -The acquisition of clearer ideas about self and others has been touched -on in connexion with the growth of the boy’s language. The first use of -‘I’ and the contemporaneous first use of ‘you’ (end of third month) seem -to point to a new awakening of the intelligence to the mystery of self, -and of its unique position in relation to other things. There is to the -father evidently something pathetic in the gradual abandonment of the -self-chosen name, ‘Ningi,’ of the early days, and the adoption of the -common-place ‘I’ of other people. But we need not attend to his -sentimental musings on this point. The exchange, we are told, was -effected gradually, as if to make it easier to his hearers. At first -(beginning of year) we have ‘me’ brought on the scene, which, be it -observed, did duty both for ‘me’ and for ‘my’.[316] Later on followed -‘I,’ as an occasional substitute for ‘me,’ as if he were beginning to -see a difference between the two, though unable to say wherein precisely -it lay. Within less than a month, we are told, the child was beginning -to use “Kikkie” as his name in place of “Ningi,” which “Kikkie” was -afterwards improved into “Kifford”. “It was evident (writes the -narrator) that in venturing on the slippery ground of ‘I’ and ‘you’ he -experienced a sudden accession of manly spirit, as a result of which he -began to despise the ‘Ningi’ of yore.” But dear old ‘Ningi’ did not go -out all at once, and we read so late as the end of the third month of -his amusing his mother when standing on the window-sill of the nursery -by remarking thoughtfully, “How am I, Ningi, come down?” Here, it would -seem evident, the addition of ‘Ningi’ was intended to help the faculties -of his mother in case this still puzzling “I” should prove too much for -them. By the end of the fourth month we read that ‘I’ was growing less -shy, not merely coming on the scene in familiar and safe verbal -companionship, as in expressions like ‘I can,’ but boldly pushing its -way alone or in new combinations.[317] By the sixth month (_æt._ two and -a half) the name Ningi may be said to have disappeared from his -vocabulary. His rejection of it was formally announced at the age of two -years seven and a half months. On being asked at this date whether he -was Ningi he answered, “No, my name Kiffie”. He then added, “Ningi name -of another little boy,” very much as in a remarkable case of double -personality described by M. Pierre Janet, the transformed personality -looking back on the original observed, “That good woman is not myself”. -He looked roguish in saying this, as if there were something funny in -the idea of altered personality. The determination to be conventional -was shown at the same date in the fact that when, for example, the -mother or father, following the old habit, would bid him go and ask the -nurse to wash “Cliffie’s hands,” he would, in delivering the message, -substitute “my hands”. By the end of the year ‘I’ came to be habitually -used for self, as in answering a question, _e.g._, “Who did this or -that?” Tyrannous custom had now completely prevailed over infantile -preferences. - ------ - -Footnote 316: - - The chronicler observes here that C.’s sister had also used the same - expression for ‘I’ and ‘mine,’ _viz._, “my”. It looks as if the me and - its belongings were not at first differentiated. Even of the later and - maturer ideas of self a well-known American psychologist writes: - “Between what a man calls _me_ and what he simply calls _mine_ the - line is difficult to draw”. Compare above, p. 181. - -Footnote 317: - - The same holds true of ‘me,’ which was first used only in particular - connexions, as ‘Give me’. - ------ - -During the third year C. seemed determined to prove to his parents and -sister that he had attained the age of reason. He began to ply these -well-disposed persons with all manner of questionings. Sometimes, -indeed, as when in the case already referred to he would ask for the -names of things just after calling them by their names, the -long-suffering mother was half inclined to regret the acquisition of -speech, so much did it present itself at this stage in the light of an -instrument of torture. But the child’s questionings were rarely -attributable to a spirit of persecution or to sheer “cussedness”. He -began in the usual manner of children to ask: ‘Who made this and that?’ -(early in the fourth month). That there is a simple process of reasoning -behind this question is seen in his sometimes suggesting an answer thus: -“Who made papa poorly? Blackberries;” where there was obviously a -reference to an unpleasant personal experience. His mind about this time -seemed greatly exercised in the matter of sickness and health. One day -(middle of sixth month) walking out with his mother he met a man, -whereupon ensued this dialogue: C. ‘Is that a poorly gentleman?’ M. -‘No.’ C. ‘Is that a well gentleman?’ M. ‘Yes.’ C. ‘Then who made him -well?’ From which (writes the father) it would look as if, just as Plato -could only conceive of pleasure as a transition from pain, Master C. -could only conceive of health as a process of convalescence.[318] - ------ - -Footnote 318: - - This reminds one of the childish use of ‘broken’ and ‘mended,’ - illustrated above, p. 98. - ------ - -Another way of prying into the origin of things seems worth mentioning. -Having found out that certain pretty things in the house had been -“bought,” he proceeded with the characteristic recklessness of the -childish mind to assume that all nice things come to us this way. One -day (middle of third month) he asked his father, “Who bought lady?” lady -being an alabaster figure of Sappho. The father then asked him, and he -answered: “Mamma”. Asked further where, he replied: “In town”. This -looked like romancing, but it is hard to draw the line between childish -romancing and serious thought. He may have really inferred that the -alabaster lady had come to the house that way. A still funnier example -of the application of his purchasing idea occurred at the date, three -months and one week. Stroking his mother’s face he said: “Nice dear -mother, who bought you?” What, asks the father, did he understand by -"bought"? Perhaps only some mysterious way of obtaining possession of -nice pretty things. - -The other form of reason-hunting question, ‘What for?’ or ‘Why?’ came to -be used about the same time as “Who made?” etc. In putting these -questions he would sometimes suggest answers of a deliciously childish -sort (as the writer has it). Thus one day (beginning of fourth month) he -saw his father putting small numbered labels on a set of drawers, and -after his customary “What dat for?” added half inquiringly, “To deep -drawers nice and warm?” C. would pester his parents by asking not only -why things were as they were, but why they were not different from what -they were. Thus (end of third month) on seeing in a nursery book a -picture of Reynard the fox waving his hat he asked in his slow emphatic -way: ‘Why not dat fox put on his hat?’ In a similar way he would ask his -mother why she did not go to school, and so forth.[319] - ------ - -Footnote 319: - - Compare above, p. 86 ff. - ------ - -With this questioning there went a certain amount of confident assertion -respecting the reasons of things. At first C. proceeded modestly, -reproducing reasons given by an adequate authority. Thus when told -during his stay at D—— that he would not go into the sea to-day, he -would supplement the announcement by adding the reason as given before -by his mother, _e.g._, “’Cause it’s too cold,” or, “’Cause big waves -to-day”. Very soon, however, he took a step forward and discovered -reasons for himself. One day (end of fifth month) his father was seating -him at table, and was about to add a second cushion to the chair when he -remarked in his gravest of manners, “I can’t put my leg in, you know -(_i.e._, under the table), if me be higher”. Here is another of these -specimens of reasoning, dating two weeks later, and based like the first -on direct observation. His father was walking out with him on the famous -Heath of their suburb. The former, probably more than half lost in one -of his trains of philosophic speculation, observed absent-mindedly, “Why -are these babas (sheep) running away?” C. promptly took up the question -and answered with vigour, “’Cause the bow-wow dare with man”. As a -matter of fact a man was approaching with a small dog, which the father -in his reverie had failed to see. - -Of course, the reasoning was not always so consonant with our standard -as in these two examples. C. appears to have had his own ideas about the -way in which things come about. For example, he seems to have argued, -like certain scholastic logicians, that the effect must resemble the -cause. At least, after finding out that his milk came from the cow, he -referred the coldness of his milk one morning (towards end of fourth -month) to the coldness of the cow,—which property of that serviceable -quadruped was, of course, a pure invention of his own. Just three months -later he came out one morning with the momentous announcement, "Milk -comes from the white cow down at D——"; and on being asked by his -ever-attentive father what sort of milk the brown cow gave, instantly -replied, ‘Brown milk’; where, again, it must be admitted, he came -suspiciously near romancing. - -He seems, further, to have shown slight respect for the logical maxim -that the same effect may be brought about in more than one way. For C. -nature was delightfully simple, and everything happened in one way, and -in one way only. So that, for example, when during a walk (end of sixth -month) his glove happened to slip off, he proceeded in a most hasty and -unfair manner to set down the catastrophe to the malignity of the wind, -exclaiming, “Naughty wind to blow off glove”. - -A like want of maturity of judgment in dealing with the subtle -connexions of nature’s processes showed itself in other ways. Thus he -argued as if the same agency would always bring about like results, -whatever the material dealt with. An amusing illustration of this -occurred in the latter half of the tenth month. He was observed towards -the end of a meal pouring water on sundry bits of bread on his plate, -and on being asked why he was doing this, said: ‘To melt them, of -course’. - -One of his thoroughly original ideas was that other things besides -living ones grow bigger with time. One day (middle of sixth month) he -began to use a short stick as a walking-stick. His mother objected that -it was not big enough, on which he observed: “Me use it for -walking-stick when stick be bigger”. In like manner just a month later -he remarked, _apropos_ of a watch-key which was too small for the -father’s watch, that it would be able to wind up the watch ‘when it grow -bigger’. So far as the father could observe it was only little things -which he thought would increase in size. It thus looked, adds the -father, like a kind of extension of the supreme law of his own small -person to the whole realm of wee and despised objects.[320] - ------ - -Footnote 320: - - Compare above, p. 97 f. - ------ - -C. followed other children and the race which he so well represented in -supposing that sensation is not confined to the animal world. Thus -towards the end of the eleventh month when warned in the garden not to -touch a bee as it might sting, he at once observed: “It might sting the -flower”. “It is odd,” interpolates the father here, “that C.’s sister, -when, towards the end of her fourth year, she was bidden not to touch a -wasp on the window-pane, had gone further than C. by suggesting that it -might sting the glass. Everything seems to live and to feel in the -child’s first fancy-created world.”[321] - ------ - -Footnote 321: - - Compare above, p. 96 ff. - ------ - -Towards the end of the year, it appears, C. developed considerable -smartness in logical fencings with his mother and others, warding off -unpleasant prohibitions by a specious display of argument. For example, -when told that something he wanted would make him poorly, he rejoined: -‘I _am_ poorly,’ evidently thinking that he had convicted his estimable -parent of what logicians call irrelevant conclusion. - -One cannot say that these first incursions into the domain of logic do -Master C. particular credit. Perhaps we may see later on that he came to -use his rational faculty with more skill and precision, and to turn it -to nobler uses than the invention of subterfuges whereby he might get -his wilful way. - -The notes on the development of the feelings continue to be rather -scanty. I will reproduce one or two of the more note-worthy. - -The visit to D—— was attended with a great change in his feeling for -animals. He no longer feared them. Jingo, spite of his warlike name, was -an amiable creature, and seems to have reconciled him to the canine -species. Cats, too, now came in for special affection. He would watch -the animals in D——, horses, cows, and especially ducks, with quiet -delight for many minutes, imitating their sounds. Strange to say, now -that fear had gone he showed himself disposed to take liberties with -animals. Thus he would slap Jingo and even his favourite cat in moments -of displeasure, just as he and his sister before him used to slap their -dolls. - -A new emotion showed itself towards the end of the fourth month, _viz._, -shyness. If his parents unguardedly spoke about him at table he would -hang down his head and put his hands over his face. So far as the father -could observe this expression of shyness was unlearned. His sister, it -appears, had not been remarkable for the feeling. The father observes -that the fact of this new feeling synchronising with the acquisition of -the use of ‘I,’ ‘my,’ etc., seems to show that it was connected with the -growth of self-consciousness. - -His sense of fun continued to develop, though it still had a decidedly -rude and primitive character. When just four months on in the year his -father amused him by battering in an old hat of his own. He broke into -loud laughter at this performance. We know, writes the observer, how the -sight of a hat in trouble convulses the grown mind. Can it be that C. -was already forming associations of dignity with this completion and -crown of human apparel? - -Tender emotion, as became a boy, perhaps, was in abeyance. He rarely -indulged in manifestations of love, or if he did, it must have been -towards his mother secretly in a confidence that was never violated. -Here is one of the few instances recorded (beginning of eighth month). -He happened to see his own picture in his mother’s eye and said in a -highly sentimental tone: “Dear pitty little picture, I do love ’oo,” and -then proceeded to kiss his mother’s eyelid. It was little things, as -kittens, flowers, and so forth, which seemed to move him to this -occasional melting mood. - -The sympathetic feelings though still weak may be said to be slowly -developing. Thus in the first month of the year it is remarked that he -now thinks of his sister when absent, so that if he has the -highly-prized enjoyment of a biscuit he will suggest that ‘Tit have bisc -too’. - -This year witnessed the formation of more definite æsthetic likings in -the matter of colours and forms. His dislike for a black cat and black -things generally, may perhaps be called in a way a preference of taste. -In his animal picture-books, of which he was now growing very fond, he -showed a marked dislike for a monkey with an open mouth, also for the -rhinoceros, and strong likings, on the other hand, for birds in general, -also for horses and zebras. - -He began to learn nursery rhymes, and showed a good ear for rhyme. Thus -in saying:— - - Goosey goosey gander, - Where shall I wander? - -he was observed (end of tenth month) to correct the rhyme by first -pronouncing the _a_ in “wander” less broadly than is our wont, just as -in “gander,” and then substituting the conventional pronunciation. - -The moral side of the child’s nature appears during this year to have -undergone noticeable changes. The most striking fact which comes out in -the picture of the boy as painted in the present chapter is the sudden -emergence of self-will. He began now to show himself a veritable rebel -against parental authority. Thus we read (about the end of the sixth -week) that when corrected for slapping Jingo, or other fault, he would -remain silent and half laugh in a cold contemptuous way, which must have -been shocking to his worthy parents. A month later we hear of an -alarming increase of self-will. He would now strike each of these august -persons, and follow up the sacrilege with a profane laugh. As might be -expected from his general use of subterfuge about this time, he showed a -lamentable want of moral sensibility in trying to shirk responsibility. -Thus (middle of seventh month) he was noticed by his mother putting a -spill of paper over the fire-guard into the fire so as to light it. His -mother at once said: “Ningi mustn’t do that”. Whereupon he impudently -retorted: “Ningi not doing that, paper doing it”.[322] - ------ - -Footnote 322: - - Compare above, p. 273 f. - ------ - -All this is dreadful enough, yet it is probable that many children go -through a longer or shorter stage of rebellion, who afterwards turn out -to be well-behaved, respectable persons. And, as his father is not slow -to point out, C., even in these rebellious outbursts, showed the -rudiments of moral feeling in the shape of a deep sensitiveness to -injury and more definitely to unjust treatment. Thus we are told (middle -of seventh month) that when his sister eats the leavings of his pudding -or other dainty he shows a well-marked moral indignation. He gets very -excited at such moments, his eyes dilating, his voice rising in pitch, -and his arms executing a good deal of violent gesticulation. When -scolded by his mother for doing a thing which he has only appeared to -do, he will turn and exclaim, with all the signs of righteous wrath, -“Mamma naughty say dat!” One day (end of seventh month) when, after -being very naughty, his mother had to carry him upstairs, he broke out -into a more than usually violent fit of crying. His mother asked him -what he meant by making such a noise when being carried upstairs; -whereupon he replied, “’Cause you carry me up like a pig” (as -represented in one of his picture-books). - -There is nothing particularly meritorious in all this, yet it is -significant as showing how, in this third year, the consciousness of -self was developing not only on its intellectual but on its moral side, -as a sense of personal dignity and rightful claim, which, after all, is -a very essential element in a normal and robust moral sentiment. - - - _Fourth Year._ - -The reports of progress during the fourth year are still scantier than -their predecessors: perhaps the observer was getting tired of his -half-playful work. Nevertheless, there are some interesting observations -in this chapter also. - -C.’s observation seems to have been decidedly good, to judge by an -incident that occurred at the end of the third week of the year. He had -been to the Zoological Gardens. His father asked him about the seals, -and more particularly as to whether they had legs. He answered at once, -“No, papa, they had foot-wings”. The chronicler is evidently proud of -this feat, and thinks it would have satisfied Professor Huxley himself. -But allowance must here as elsewhere be made for parental pride. - -The child’s colour-sense, we are told about the same time, was -developing quite satisfactorily. He could now (end of fifth week) -discriminate and name intermediate shades of colour. Thus he called a -colour between yellow and green quite correctly ‘yellowish green,’ and -this way of naming colours was, so far as the father could ascertain, -quite spontaneous. Later (three and a half months), on being questioned -as to violet, which he first said was blue, he replied correcting his -first answer, “and purple”. Later on (beginning of last quarter), he -could distinguish a ‘purplish blue’ from a “purplish pink”. - -Along with a finer observation we find a more active and inventive -imagination. It was during this year that he began to create fictitious -persons and animals, and to surround himself with a world, unseen by -others, but terribly real to himself. - -About the middle of the third month he made his first essay in -story-fabrication. Considering that he had a lively and imaginative -elder sister, who was constantly regaling him with fairy and other -stories, this argues no particular precocity. His first style in fiction -was crude enough. He would pile up epithets in a way that makes the most -florid of journalistic diction seem tame by comparison. Thus he would -begin the description of a dog by laying on a miscellaneous pile of -colour-adjectives, blue, red, green, black, white, and so forth. With a -similar disregard for verisimilitude and concentration of aim on strong -effect, he would pile up the agony in a story, relating, for example, -how the dog that had killed a rabbit (“bunny”) had his head beaten off, -was then drowned, and so on, through a whole Iliad of canine calamity. -Here is another example of his literary sensationalism (middle of ninth -month). While he and his father were taking a walk in the country, where -the family was staying, they found the feathers and bones of a bird in a -tiny cleft in the tree. The father thereupon began to weave for him a -little story about the unfortunate bird, how it had taken shelter there -one cold winter’s day weary and hungry, and had grown too weak to get -away. This did not satisfy the strong palate of our young poet, who -proceeded to improve on the tragedy. “P’haps a snake there, p’haps dicky -bird flew there one cold winter day and snake ate it up, and then spit -it out again,” and so forth. “P’haps (he ended up) he (the bird) thought -there was nothing but wind (air) there.” - -He had, of course, his super-sensible world, made up of mysterious -beings of fairy-like nature, who, like the spirits of primitive -folk-lore, were turned to account in various ways. The following -incident (seven months one week) may illustrate the _modus operandi_ of -the child’s myth-making impulse. He was eagerly looking forward to going -to a circus. His father told him that if it rained he would not be able -to go, for nobody could drive away the rain. Whereupon he instantly -remarked: “The Rainer can”. His father asked him who this wonderful -person was, and he replied: "A man who lives in the forest—_my_ -forest—and has to drive rain away". The expression “drive away” used by -the father had been enough to give this curious turn to his fancy. - -His fairy-world was concocted from a medley of materials drawn from his -observations of animals, his experiences at the circus, including the -ladies in beautifully tinted short dresses, whom, with childish awe, he -named ‘fairies,’ and the book-lore that his sister was imparting to him -from _Stories of Uncle Remus_, and other favourites. In the ninth month -he got into the way of talking of his fairy-world, of the invisible -fairies, horses, rabbits, and so forth, to which he gave a local -habitation in the wall of his bedroom. When in a difficulty he thinks -his fairies can help him out. Nothing is too wonderful for their powers: -they can even solace his pitiful heart by making a dead dog alive again. -For the rest, like other imaginative children, he peoples the places he -knows, especially dark and mysterious ones, with imaginary beings. Thus -one day, on walking in a wood with his mother, he was overheard by her -talking to himself dreamily in this wise: “Here there used to be wolves, -but long, long time ago”. - -It is noticeable that at this same period of his myth-making activity he -began to speak of his dreams. He evidently takes these dream-pictures -for sensible realities, and when relating a dream insists that he has -actually seen the circus-horses and fairies which appear to him when -asleep. Possibly, writes the father, this dreaming, as in the case of -the primitive race, had much to do in developing his intense belief in a -supernatural world. It may be added that during this same period he was -in the habit of seeing the forms of his animals, as lions, “gee-gees,” -in such irregular and apparently unsuggestive groupings of line as those -made by the cracks in the ceiling of his nursery.[323] - ------ - -Footnote 323: - - Compare above, p. 28 ff. - ------ - -There is little to note in the way of verbal invention. Here is one -amusing specimen (third week of third month). His father asked him -whether his toy-horse was tired, whereupon he answered: ‘No, I make him -untired’. This leads off the writer to an abstruse logical discussion of -“negative terms,” and how it comes about that we do not all of us talk -in C.’s fashion and say ‘untired,’ ‘unfatigued’. Another quaint -invention was the use of ‘think’ as a noun. It was funny, writes the -father, to hear him rejecting his sister’s statements by the -contemptuous formula: “That’s only your thinks”. - -His understanding was slowly ripening in spite of his free indulgence in -the intoxicating pleasures of the imagination. He could understand much -that was said to him by the aid of a liberal application of metaphor. -Thus one day (end of the year) his father when walking with him late in -the evening in a park where sheep were grazing told him that animals did -not want bed-clothes, but could lie on the grass wet with dew and -afterwards be dried with the sun. He said: “Yes, the sun is their towel -to make them dry”. - -The subtleties of time were still too much for him. In the fourth month -of the year when his sister was narrating an incident of the evening -before and used the term ‘yesterday,’ he corrected her saying: “No, E., -last night”. Yet he was now beginning to penetrate into the mysteries of -the subject. His father happened one day (end of seventh month) to speak -of to-morrow. C. then asked: “When is to-morrow? To-morrow morning?” He -then noticed that his hearers were remarking on his question, and -proceeded to expound his own view of these wonderful things. “There are -two kinds of to-morrow, to-morrow morning and this morning;” and then -added with the sagest of looks: “To-morrow morning is to-morrow _now_”. - -At this the father tells us both he and the mother were sorely puzzled, -and if one may be allowed to read between the lines, it is not -improbable that the latter must have indulged in some such exclamation -as this: “There! this comes of your stimulating the child’s brains too -much”. However this be, it is certain that the observer’s mind was -greatly exercised about this dark and oracular deliverance of the child. -What could he have meant? At length he bethought him that the child was -unable as yet to think of pure abstract time. To-morrow had to be filled -in with some concrete experience, wherefore his wishing to define it as -“to-morrow _morning_” with the interesting experiences of the early -hours of the day. And if “to-morrow” means for his mind to-morrow’s -experience, he is quite logical in saying that it becomes to-day’s -_experience_. Whether the father has here caught the subtle thread of -childish thought may be doubted.[324] Who among the wisest of men could -be sure of seizing the precise point which the child makes such -praiseworthy effort to render intelligible to us? - ------ - -Footnote 324: - - Compare what was said above, p. 119. - ------ - -It would appear as if C. were still rather muddled about numbers. One -day (end of third month) he was looking at some big coloured beads on a -necklace, and touching the biggest he said to his mother: “These are -six,” then some smaller ones: “these five,” then some still smaller -ones: “these four,” and so on. He was apparently failing as yet to -distinguish number from that other mode of quantity which we call -magnitude. - -The use of the word “self” at this time showed that it had reference -mainly to the body, and apparently to the central trunk. Thus one -evening towards the end of the eleventh month, after being put to bed, -he was heard by his mother crying out peevishly. Asked by her what was -the matter he answered, “I can’t get my hands out of the way of myself”; -which, being interpreted by his mother, was his way of saying that he -could not wriggle about and get into cool places (the evening was a warm -one) as he would like to do. - -As might be inferred from his essays in fictitious narrative, he was -getting quite an expert in the matter of assertion. It was odd -sometimes, observes the journal, to hear the guarded manner in which he -would proffer a statement. Thus, on one occasion (beginning of twelfth -month), he reported to his father, who had been from home for some days, -that he had been behaving quite satisfactorily during his absence, and -then added cautiously, “I did not see mamma punish me, anyhow”. - -During this year he followed up his questioning relentlessly, often -demanding the reasons of things, as children are wont to do, in a sorely -perplexing fashion. His interrogatory embraced all manner of objects, -both of sense-perception and of thought. Thus he once asked his mother -(seventh month) how it was that he could put his hand through water and -not through the soap. A matter that came to puzzle him especially just -now was growth. Thus, when told by his father (tenth month) that a -little tree would grow big by-and-by, he asked, "How is it that -everything grows—flowers, trees, horses, and people?" or, as he worded -it a few days later, “How can trees and sheep grow without anybody -making them?” He seems now (notes the father) to have given up his -belief in the growth of lifeless things. The inequalities of size among -fully grown things were also a puzzle to him. Thus, when just four years -old, he was much concerned to know why ponies did not grow big like -other horses.[325] - ------ - -Footnote 325: - - Compare what was said above, pp. 88, 104. - ------ - -The father must doubtless at this time have had his hands full in -satisfying the intellectual cravings of the child. But, happily, the -small inquirer would sometimes come forward to help out the explanation. -One day (end of the year) his father, when walking out with him, pointed -to a big dray-horse and said: “That is a strong horse”. On which the -child observed: “Ah! that horse can gallop fast”. He was then told that -heavy horses did not go fast. He looked puzzled for a moment and then -asked: “Do you mean can’t lift themselves up?” “Had he,” asks the -father, “noticed that when weighted with thick clothes or other -_impedimenta_ he was less springy, and so found his way, as is the -manner of children, from his own experience to explaining the apparent -contradiction of the strong and slow horse?” - -Other questionings were less amenable to purposes of instruction. He -would often get particularly thoughtful immediately after going to bed, -and put posers to his mother. For example, one evening (tenth month) he -asked in his slow, earnest way, “Where was I a hundred years ago?” and -then more precisely, “Where was I before I was born?” These are, as -everybody knows, stock questions of childhood, and, perhaps, are hardly -worth recording. It is otherwise with a curious poser which he set his -father about the middle of the last month: “When are all the days going -to end, papa?” It is a pity that the diary does not record the answer -given to the question. In lieu of this we have the customary pedantic -style of speculation about the “concept” of infinity with references to -Sir W. Hamilton and I don’t know what other profound metaphysicians. The -answer, if any was attempted, does not appear to have been very -satisfactory to Master C., for we read further on that more than three -months after this date he put the same question about all the days -ending to his mother. - -With this questioning about the causes of things there went much -assigning of reasons. By the end of the fourth month, it is remarked, he -was getting more accurate in his thinking, substituting limited -generalisations such as, “Some people do this,” for the first hasty and -sweeping ones. He appears, further, to have grown much more ready in -finding reasons, bringing out “’cause” (because) on all manner of -occasions, much to his own satisfaction and hardly less to that of his -observant father. He continued, it is added, to display the greatest -ingenuity in finding reasons for his own often capricious-looking -behaviour, and especially in discovering excuses whereby a veil of -propriety might be thrown over actions which he knew full well would, if -left naked, have a naughty look. - -The tendency to give life to things observable in the last year was less -marked, but broke out now and again, as when sitting one day (beginning -of tenth month) on his chair on a loose cushion and wriggling about as -his manner was, he felt the cushion slipping from under him and -exclaimed: “Hullo! I do b’lieve this cushion is alive. It moves itself.” -About a month after this the father set about testing the state of his -mind by asking him whether trees did not feel pain when they were cut. -This “leading question” was not to entrap Master C., who answered with -something of contempt in his tone: “No, they only made of wood”. He was -not so sure about dead rabbits, however, saying first “yes” and then -“no”. - -The intricate relations of things continued to trouble his mind. His -father chanced one day (end of eleventh month) to remark at table that -C. did not take his milk so nicely as he used to do. C. pondered this -awhile and then said: “It’s funny that little babies behave better than -big boys. They don’t know so much as boys.” From which the father -appears to have inferred that children, like certain Greek philosophers, -are wont to identify virtue with cognition. - -There are not many brilliant strokes of childish rationality to record -during this year. It is worth noting, perhaps, that when just seven -months and one week of the year had passed, he showed that he had found -his own way to an axiomatic truth familiar to students of geometry. He -had been to the circus the day before, where a gorgeous pantomimic -spectacle had greatly delighted him. He talked to his father of the -beautiful things, and among others, of “the fairies going up in the -air”. His father asked him how they were able to fly. Whereupon with -that good-natured readiness to enlighten the darkness of grown-up people -which makes the child the most charming of instructors, he proceeded to -explain in this wise: “They had wings, you know. Angels have wings like -birds, and fairies are like angels, and so you see fairies are like -birds.” - -The first development of reason in the child is apt to be trying to -parents and others, on account not only of the thick hail-like pelting -of questions to which it gives rise, but still more, perhaps, of the -circumstance that the young reasoner will so readily turn his new -instrument to a confusing criticism of his elders. The daring -interference of childish dialectic with moral discipline in C.’s case -has already been touched on. Sometimes he would follow up a series of -questions so as to put his logical antagonist into a corner, very much -after the manner of the astute Socrates. Here is an example of this -highly inconvenient mode of dialectical attack (middle of seventh -month). He was at this time like other children, much troubled about the -killing of animals for food. Again and again he would ask with something -of fierce impatience in his voice: “_Why_ do people kill them?” On one -occasion he had plied his mother with these questionings. He then -contended that people who eat meat must like animals to be killed. -Finally, to clench the matter, he turned on his mother and asked: “Do -_you_ like them to be killed?” Here is another example of his persistent -dialectical attack (end of eleventh month). A small caterpillar -happening to drop on the shoulder of the father, the mother expressed -the common dislike for these creatures. C. was just now championing the -whole dumb creation against hard-hearted man, and he at once saw his -opportunity. ‘Why,’ he demanded in his peremptory catechising tone, -‘don’t you like caterpillars?’ To which the mother, amused perhaps with -his grave argumentative manner, thought to escape the attack by -answering playfully: “Because they make the butterflies”. But there was -no room for jocosity in C.’s mind when it was a matter of liking or -disliking a living creature. So he followed up his questioning with the -true Socratic irony, asking: “Why don’t you like butterflies?” On this -both the parents appear to have laughed; but he was not to be upset, and -ignoring the patent subterfuge of the butterfly returned to the -caterpillar. “Caterpillars,” he observed thoughtfully, “don’t make a -noise.” He had doubtless generalised that the pet aversions of his -parents, more especially his father, were dogs, cocks and other -noise-producing animals. Whether he returned to the subject of the -caterpillar is not stated. Perhaps his mother’s dislike for the wee soft -noiseless thing was to be added to the stock of unexplained childish -mysteries. - -Passing to manifestations of feeling, we have a curious note on a new -emotional expression. It seems that when a suckling the child had got -into the way of accompanying the bliss of an ambrosial meal by soft -caressing movements of the fore-finger along the mother’s eyebrows. When -three years and ten months old he was sitting on his father’s lap in one -of his softer moods when he touched this parent’s eyebrows in the same -dainty caressing manner. The observer suspects that we have here an -example of a movement becoming an emotional sign by association and -analogy. At first associated with the _ne plus ultra_ of infantile -happiness it came to indicate the oncoming of any analogous state of -feeling, and especially of the luxurious mood of tenderness. - -Two or three curious examples of fear are recorded in this chapter. In -the second week of the fourth month he went with his mother to the -photographer’s to have his likeness taken. When he reached the house he -strongly objected, clung to his mother and showed all the signs of a -true fear. On entering the room he told the photographer in his quiet -authoritative manner that he was not going to have his likeness taken. -The process, an instantaneous one, was accomplished, however, without -his knowing it. Next morning when asked by his sister how he liked -having his likeness taken, he answered snappishly: “Haven’t had my -likeness taken. Don’t you see I can talk?” The father suspects that the -child feared he would be transformed by the black art of the camera into -a speechless photograph. It is curious that savages appear to show a -similar dread of the photographic camera. Thus, in a recent number of -the _Graphic_ (November, 1893) there was a drawing of Europeans and -natives having their likeness taken in a camp in South Africa. One -native, terror-struck, is hiding behind a tree so as not to be taken. -The text explains that the drawing represents a real incident, and that -the fear of the native came from his belief that there is an evil spirit -in the camera, and adds that, on finding out that after all he was in -the group, the poor fellow instantly disappeared from the camp. Is there -not for all of us something uncanny in that black box turned towards us -bent on snatching from us the film or image of our very self? - -The other instances of C.’s fear point to a like superstitious frame of -mind at this time. Thus in the last month he happened one day to see -some white linen swaying in the breeze on a hill not far off. He took it -for a light and was afraid, saying it was a wolf. This was, we are told, -his first experience of ghosts. At the same date he showed fear when -passing through a wood with his father about nine o’clock on a summer -evening. Though his father was carrying him he said he could not help -being afraid of the dark. He fancied there must be wolves in the dark. -He afterwards informed his father that his sister had told him so. The -wolf appears at this time (by a quaint confusion of zoology) to have -been the descendant of his old _bête noire_, the “bow-wow”. “Have we,” -writes the father, “a sort of parallel here to the superstition of the -were-wolf so familiar in folk-lore?” - -A new development of angry outburst is recorded. In the third month, to -the horror of his parents and the disgust of his sister, he positively -took to biting others, an action, it is needless to say, which he could -not have picked up from his highly respectable human environment. Was -this, asks the father, with praiseworthy detachment of mind, an -instinct, a survival of primitive brute-like habit, and happily destined -in the case of a child born into a civilised society, like other -instincts, as pilfering, to be rudimentary and transient? - -As implied in the account of his much questioning, the feeling which was -most strongly marked and dominant during this year was wonder. His -father would surprise him sometimes standing on the sofa and looking at -an engraving of Guido’s “Aurora” hanging on the wall above. The woman’s -figure in front, perfectly buoyant on the air, the horses and chariot -firmly planted on the cloud, all this fascinated his attention and -filled him with delightful astonishment. - -With wonder there often went in these days sore perplexity of spirit. -The order of things was not only intricate and difficult to take apart, -it seemed positively wrong. That animals should be beaten, slaughtered, -eaten by his own kith and kin, this, as already hinted, filled him with -dismay. In odd contrast to this, he would protest with equal warmth -against any ordinance which affected his own comfort. Thus, having on -one occasion (middle of seventh month) taken a lively interest in the -manufacture of jellies, custards, and other dainties, and having learned -the next day that they had been disposed of by a company of guests, he -asked his mother querulously why she had “wisitors,” and then added in a -comical tone of self-compassion, “Didn’t the ‘wisitors’ know you had a -little boy?” “It is odd to note,” writes the father, “how a humane -concern for the lower creation coexisted with utter indifference to the -duties of hospitality. Perhaps, however,” he adds, succumbing to -paternal weakness, and saying the best he can for his boy, “there was no -real contradiction here. The compassionateness of childhood goes forth -to weak, defenceless things, and to C.’s mind the ‘wisitors’ may very -likely have appeared as over-fed, greedy monsters who robbed poor -children of their small perquisites.” - -The wondering impulse of the child assumed now and again a -quasi-religious form in speculations about death and heaven. Early in -the year he had lost his grandpapa by sudden death, and the event set -his thoughts in this direction. In the ninth month his mother read him -Wordsworth’s well-known story, “Lucy Gray”. He was much saddened by the -account of Lucy’s death. On hearing the line “In heaven we all shall -meet,” he began questioning his mother about heaven. She gave him the -popular description of heaven, but apparently in a way that left him -uncertain as to whether she believed what she said. Whereupon he -exclaimed: ‘We _shall_ meet,’ and then after a moment’s pause, as though -not quite certain, added, ‘shan’t we?’ Five weeks later, when driving in -the country with his mother on a lovely May day, he was in his happiest -mood, looking at the flowers in the fields and hedgerows, and suddenly -exclaimed: “I shall never die!” The question of immortality (observes -the father) had thus early begun to wring the child’s soul. - -There are, I regret to say, in this chapter, hardly any remarks about -the development of the child’s will and moral character. The father -appears to have been disproportionately interested in the boy’s -intellectual advancement. The reader is left to hope that Master C. was -growing a more orderly and law-abiding child than the incident of the -biting would suggest. The one remark which can be brought under this -head refers to the growth of practical intelligence in applying rules to -action. C. had been told it was well to keep nice things to the end, and -he proceeded to work out the consequences of the rule in an amusing -fashion. Thus we read (end of eleventh month) that he would take all the -currants out of his cake and stick them round the corner of his plate so -as to eat them last. A still more amusing instance of the same thing -occurred about the same date. On putting him to bed one evening his -mother noticed that he carefully sought out the middle of the bed, -saying to himself, “I’ll keep these last”. Questioned by her as to what -he meant by ‘these,’ he explained, “These nice cool places at the edge -of the bed”. “Children,” remarks the chronicler, “do not drop their -originality even when they make a show of following our lead. Obedience -would be far more tedious than it is but for the occasional -opportunities of a play of inventive fancy in the application of a rule -to new and out-of-the-way cases.” - - - _Fifth Year._ - -With the fifth year we enter upon a new phase of the diary. The father -appears now to have finally abandoned the transparent pretence of a -methodical record of progress, and he limits himself to a fuller account -of a few selected incidents. Very noticeable is the introduction of -something like prolonged dialogue between the child and one of his -parents. - -The boy continued to take a lively interest in objects and to note them -with care. Here is an illustration of his attention to natural -phenomena. He was walking out (end of fifth month) with his father on -their favourite Heath towards sunset, when he asked: “What are these -pretty things I see after looking at the sun? When I move my eyes they -begin to move about.” The father said he might call them fairy suns. He -then wanted to know whether they were real. He said: “When they seem to -be on the path they disappear when I go up to them”. Later on he began -to romance about the spectral discs that he saw after looking at a red -sun, calling them fire balloons and saying that there was a fairy in -each one of them.[326] - ------ - -Footnote 326: - - Compare above, p. 102 f. - ------ - -A quaint example of his attention to the form of objects, as well as of -his odd childish mode of thought, comes out in a talk with his mother -(end of seventh month). She had been reading to him from _Alice in -Wonderland_, where the caterpillar tells Alice that one side of a -mushroom would make her grow taller, and one side shorter, which set -Alice wondering what the side of a mushroom could be. C. could not -sympathise with Alice’s perplexity, and said to his mother: “Why, a -mushroom is all ends and sides. Wherever you stand it’s an end or a -side.” The father thinks he sees here a dim apprehension of the idea -that a circle is formed by an infinite number of straight lines, but he -is possibly reading too much into the boy’s thought. - -His observation of colour continued. One day (end of seventh month) he -was overheard by his father saying to himself (without any suggestion -from another) that a particular colour “came next” to another. His -father thereupon questioned him and elicited that orange came next to -red. Asked ‘What else?’ he answered yellow. Dark brown came next to -black, a lighter brown to red, purple next to blue, pink to red, and so -forth. Asked what green came next to, he answered: “I don’t know”; from -which it would appear that he had pretty clearly observed the affinities -of colours. - -He showed himself observant of people’s ways too. Here is a funny -example of his attention to his sister’s habits of speech. One evening -(end of sixth month) when his sister was out at a party he had a cracker -which he wished to give her “as a surprise”. So he told his mother to -put it under the table, and added: “When E. comes in, and after she -says, ‘Well! how’ve you been getting on?’ then you must say: ‘Look under -the table’”. - -His memory, as the foregoing incident may show, was growing tenacious -and exact. This exactitude showed itself in almost a pedantic fashion -with respect to words. Here is a funny example (end of sixth month). He -had a new story-book, _The Princess Nobody_, illustrated by R. Doyle. -His mother had read it to him about four or five times during the three -weeks he had possessed it. One Sunday evening his father read it to him -as a treat. In one place the story runs: “One day when the king had been -counting out his money all day,” which the father carelessly read as -“counting out all his money”. The child at once pulled up and corrected -his sire, saying, “No, papa, ’tis ‘counting out all the day his money’”. -He had remembered the ideas and the words though not the precise order. -The jealous regard of the child for the text of his sacred books in the -face of would-be mutilators is one of those traits which, while -perfectly childish, have a quaint old-fashioned look. - -The dreamy worship of fairies passed into a new and even more blissful -phase this year. Before the close of the third month C. was actually -brought into contact with one of these dainty white-clad beings. The -memorable occasion was a girl’s costume ball, to which he was taken as a -spectator. Among the younger girls present was one dressed as a fairy, -in short white gauze, golden crown, and the rest. C. was at first dazed -by the magnificence of the assembly and shrank back shyly to his -mother’s side; but after this white sylph had been pointed out to him as -a fairy, and when she came up to him and spoke to him, he was -transported with delight. Hitherto the fairy had never been nearer to -him than on a circus stage: now he had one close to him and actually -talked with her! He firmly believed in the supernatural character of -this small person, and on his return home proceeded to tell cook with -radiant face how he had seen a live fairy and spoken to her. He added -that his sister had never spoken to one. This last might easily look -like a touch of malicious ‘crowing’: yet the father appears to think -that the boy meant only to deepen the mystery of the revelation by -pointing out that it was without precedent. - -The weaving of fairy legend now went on vigorously. Sometimes when out -on a walk and observing a scene he would suddenly drop into his -dream-mood and spin a pretty romance. This happened one Sunday in winter -(beginning of seventh month), as he stood and watched the skaters on a -pond. He said his fairies could skate, and he talked more particularly -of his favourite Pinkbill, whom, he said, he now saw skating, though -nobody else was privileged to see her, and who loved to skate at night -on tiny pools which were quite big for her. “Delightful days (writes the -father, who is rather apt to gush in these later chapters), when one -holds a wondrous world of beauty in one’s own breast, safe from all -prying eyes, to be whispered of perhaps to one’s dearest, but never to -be shown.” - -The full enjoyment of this supernal world was during sleep. C. often -spoke of his lovely dreams. One morning (middle of fourth month) when -still in bed, he engaged his mother in the following talk: C. “Do you -have beautiful dreams, mamma?” Mother. “No, dear, I don’t dream much.” -C. “Oh, if you want to dream you must hide your head in the pillow and -shut your eyes tight.” Mother. “Is dreaming as good as hearing stories?” -C. “Oh, yes, I should think so. One gets to know about all sorts of -things one didn’t know anything about before.” Dreams (writes the -father) came to him like his fire-balloons by shutting his eyes tight, -and perhaps his story-books were the real suns of which his dreams were -the ‘after-images’. - -As the use of the grown-up and high-bred vocable "one"—the first -instance observed, by-the-bye,—suggests, C. was making rapid strides in -the use of language. By the middle of the year, we are told, he could -articulate all sounds including the initial _y_ and _th_ when he tried -to do so. He gave to the _a_ sound an unusual degree of broadness, a -fact which lent to his speech a comical air of learned superiority. This -was of course especially the case when, as still happened, he would slip -into such solecisms as ‘I were’ and ‘Weren’t I?’ He would still use some -quaint original expressions. It may interest the philologist to know -that he quite spontaneously got into the way of using ‘spend’ for -‘cost,’ as in asking one day (beginning of third month), on seeing a -frill in a shop window: ‘How much does this frill spend?’ and also of -making ‘learn’ do duty for ‘teach,’ as when (end of tenth month) he -asked his mother, pointing to a globe: “When are you going to learn me -that ball?” - -He continued quite seriously and with no thought of producing an effect -to frame new words more or less after the analogy of those in use. Thus -one day (middle of third month) he surprised his parents by bringing out -the verb ‘fireworking’ in reference to the coming festivities of the -fifth of November. Sometimes, too, he would amuse them by trotting out -some ‘grown-up’ phrase which he generally used with clear insight, -though now and again he would miss the precise shade of meaning. Thus it -happened (about middle of fifth month) that he had been taking tea at -the house of some girl friends, and on his return his mother questioned -him about his doings, and in particular what his host had said to him. -C. pondered for a moment and then said: “Oh! nothing surprising”. - -This progress in the use of language indicated a higher power of mental -abstraction. This was seen among other ways in the attainment of much -clearer ideas about number. In the second month of the year he was able, -we are told, to define the relations of the simpler numbers, saying that -four was one less than five, and so on. That he had his own way of -counting is evident from the following story, which dates from the -middle of the same month. When walking with his mother on the Heath he -found four crab apples. He observed to her: “How nice it would be, -mamma, if I could find two more!” His mother replied: “Yes. How many -would you have then, C.?” To this C. responded in his grave -business-like tone: “Wait a minute,” then got down on his knees, put the -four apples in a row, and then proceeded to the mysterious ceremony of -counting. He began by saying ‘one, two’ to himself, then on reaching the -“three” he pointed to the first of the row, using the apples to help him -in adding the four last digits. He appears, says the father, to have -imagined or ‘visualised’ the first two units, and then used the visible -objects for the rest of the operation—not a bad way, one would say, of -turning the apples to this simple arithmetical use. - -That he visualised distinctly when counting is illustrated by another -incident dating three weeks later. His mother, as was her wont, was -seeing him into bed. Before climbing on to the bed he put on the -coverlid a number of small toy treasures. When tucked up he opened up -the following dialogue. C. “Put my toys in the drawer, mamma.” M. “I -have done it, dear.” C. “How many were there?” M. ‘Three.’ C. “Oh no, -there were four.” M. “Are you sure, dear? What were they?” C., after -sitting up and pointing successively to imaginary objects on the -coverlid: "One, two, three, four,—two dollies, a tin soldier, and a -shell". - -His interest in physical phenomena continued to manifest itself in -questionings. He would spring his problems in physics on his patient -parents at the most unexpected moments. For instance, when sitting at -table one day (end of first month) he observed quite suddenly, and in no -discoverable connexion with what had been happening before: “There’s one -thing I _can’t_ imagine. How is it, papa, that when we put our hand into -the water we don’t make a hole in it?” It would be curious to know how -the father dealt with this hydrostatic problem. - -The other inquiries recorded about this time have, oddly enough, to do -with water. It looks as if water were dividing with number just now the -activity of his brain. Thus he asked one day when staying at the -sea-side (middle of second month): “How does all the water come into the -world?” His mind was also greatly exercised about the hydrostatic puzzle -of things sinking and swimming (floating). - -There are hardly any examples of a reasoning process this year. One of -these, however, is perhaps characteristic enough to deserve -reproduction. One day (middle of fourth month) when his mind was running -on the great problems of counting, his sister happened to speak about a -large number of chestnuts (over 200). This excited C.’s imagination, and -he exclaimed: “Why, even Goliath couldn’t count them”. The idea that -mere bulk should measure intellectual capacity was delicious, and C.’s -remark was no doubt received with a peal of laughter to which the -bewildered little inquirer into the mysteries of things must by this -time have been getting hardened. And yet, writes the apologetic father, -C.’s reasoning was not so utterly silly as it looks, for in his daily -measurement of his own faculties with those of others what had impressed -him most deeply was that knowledge is the prerogative of big folk. - -With respect to C.’s emotional development during this year, I am -pleased to be able to record a diminution in the outbursts of angry -passion. There seems to have been no more biting, and altogether he was -growing less homicidal and more human. It is only to be expected that -the father should set down these paroxysms of rage to temporary physical -conditions. - -Among feelings which were still strong and frequently manifested was -fear. He had no fear of the dark, and did not in the least mind being -left alone when put to bed. But he was weakly timid in relation to other -things, _e.g._, the tepid morning bath, from which he shrank as from a -horror. His bravery was as yet an infinitesimal quantity, as we may see -from the following anecdote. His mother was one day (end of fourth -month) talking to him about the self-denying bravery of captains of -ships when shipwrecked. She asked him whether he would not like to be -brave too, adding for his encouragement that many timid little boys like -him had grown up to be brave men. Upon this I regret to say that C. -asked sceptically, “Do they?” and then added, with a little impatient -wriggle of his body, “I am going to be a painter, and painters don’t -need to be brave”. The mother pursued the subject saying: “But if when -you are big we all go to sea and get shipwrecked, wouldn’t you wish -mamma and E. to get into the boat before you?” C. managed to parry even -this home-drive, answering: “Oh, yes, but I should get in the very -minute after you”. - -A noticeable change occurred during this period in what the Germans call -“self-feeling”. A consciousness of growing power gave a certain feeling -of dignity and even of superiority which often betrayed itself in his -words and actions. Although, so far as I can gather, a pretty boy, and a -good deal admired for his golden hair, he does not seem to have set much -store by his good looks. One day (towards end of sixth month) a grown-up -cousin remarked at table that he had had his hair cut: whereupon ensued -this talk. Mother (to cousin). “It looks better now that it is cut.” C. -“Oh, no, it was prettier before.” Cousin. “Oh, you think you’ve got -pretty hair.” C. (unhesitatingly). “Oh, yes.” Cousin. “Who told you your -hair was pretty?” C. “Mamma.” “All this,” writes the father, “was said -very quietly, and without the least appearance of vanity. He might have -been talking about the hair of another person, or of a head in one of -his pictures. His interest here seemed to be much more in correcting his -mother and bringing her into consistency with former statements than in -laying claim to prettiness.” - -On the other hand, the child does certainly appear to have plumed -himself a good deal on his intellectual possessions. It is to be noted -that about this time he grew unpleasantly assertive and controversial. -He would even sometimes stick to his own view of things when -contradicted by his parents. He prided himself more particularly on -being “sensible,” as he called it. His eagerness to be thought so may be -illustrated by the following incident. He and his mother had been -reading a story in which a little girl speaks of her mother as the best -mother in the world. Whereupon in a weak moment his mother asked him, -“Do you think your mother the best in the world, dear?” To this C. -replied, “Well, I think you are good, but not _the best in the world_. -That would not be sensible, would it, mamma?” We are not told how this -Cordelia-like moderation was received. - -To many people, mothers especially, there might well seem to be a touch -of the prig in this exact weighing of words when it was a question only -of the exaggeration of love. I regret to say that about this same time a -tendency to priggishness did certainly show itself in a critical air of -superiority towards girls of his own age. When about four years eight -months he was sent to stay for a few days at the house of a lady friend -where there was a girl about his own age, who seems to have been a -lively mischievous young person, delighting in ‘drawing’ her grave boy -comrade. On his return home he entertained his mother by expressing his -feeling respecting his new companion. He said: “I don’t like E.’s looks. -She looks naughty. Her cheeks look naughty” (and he puffed out his own -cheeks by way of illustration). He added: “She looks naughty about -here,” pointing to his forehead just above the eyes. He then proceeded -to describe the measures he had taken for correcting her naughtiness. - -“One day,” he said, “when she was naughty, I told her about dynamite -men, and she was naughty after that. And then I told her about the -dynamite men being put in prison, and she was naughty even then.” On -this his mother interposed: “Why ever did you talk about dynamite men, -dear?” C. “Because I thought it would make her better. Perhaps if I -could have told her what sort of a place a prison was that would have -made her better. But I didn’t know.” Then after a pause: “What do they -put people in prison for, mamma?” - -M. “For stealing, hurting other people, and telling stories.” - -C. (abruptly). “Oh, E. tells a lot of stories.” - -M. “Oh no, E. doesn’t tell stories.” - -C. “Yes, she does. When I say yes she says no, and I know that I am -right.” - -He talked of this same experience of feminine frailty to others, -remarking to one of his lady friends that E. had not said a sensible -thing all the week he was staying with her. He also attacked his father -on the subject, and after illustrating her odd way of contradicting -others, he observed: “She’s are never as sensible as he’s, I suppose, -are they, papa? especially if a boy is older”. - -The father asked him if he had shown his displeasure to his girl -playmate, to which he replied: “I didn’t show my angriness;” and after a -pause: “I’d better not show how angry I can be, I’m too strong and too -big, ain’t I?” As a matter of fact he had once, at least, been so -ungallant as to strike his companion on her nose with one of his toys, -selecting this objective for his attack apparently for no other reason -than that it was already disfigured by a scratch. He wound up this -disquisition on E.’s shortcomings by an attempt at a magnanimous -allowance for her weakness: “I b’lieve she tries not to say these things -because she knows they will tease me, but I think she can’t help it;” -and he repeated this as if to emphasise the point. - -Even our much-biassed chronicler is obliged to own that all this is a -lamentable exhibition of boyish swagger, and particularly out of place -in one born in these enlightened days, when, as we all know, ‘she’s’ are -as good as ‘he’s,’ if not a great deal better. The only palliation of -the unpleasant picture of coxcombry which he offers is the information -that a year or too later C.’s views about girls were profoundly modified -when he found himself in a school where a girl of his own age could beat -him at certain things of the mind. - -The growing vigour of his self-consciousness was shown in other ways -too. He was much hurt by anything which seemed to him an invasion of his -liberty. About the end of the sixth month, we read, he had got into -‘finicking’ ways of taking his food. Thus he conceived a strong dislike -for the ‘cream’ on his boiled milk. If anybody attempted to cross him in -these faddish ways he would be greatly offended. It looks as if he were -at this time getting a keen sense of private rights, any interference -with which he regarded as an offence. - -The story about what he would do if his family were ship-wrecked -suggests that self-sacrifice was as yet not a strong element in the -boy’s moral constitution. Egoism, it might well seem, was still the -foundation of his character. This egoism would peep out now and again in -his talk. One day (middle of eighth month) when the family was lodging -in a cottage his mother had reason to scold him for walking on the -flower-beds in the cottage garden. Whereupon he answered: “It isn’t your -garden, it’s Mr. G.’s”. To this the mother observed: “I know, dear, but -I have to be all the more particular because it is not mine”; which -observation drew forth the following: “I should think Mr. G. would be -all the more particular because it is his”. It was evident, writes the -father, from this somewhat cynical observation that caring for things -and resenting any injury to them seemed to C. to devolve on the owner -and on nobody else. - -He himself certainly did repel any encroachment on his rights. Here is -an amusing illustration. One day (the end of seventh month) he was -playing on the Heath under the eye of his mother. He had put on one of -the seats a lot of grass and sand as fodder for his wooden horse. While -he went away for a minute a strange nurse and children arrived, making a -perfectly legitimate use of the bench by seating themselves on it, and -in order to get room brushing away the precious result of his foraging -expedition. On coming back and seeing what had happened he turned to his -mother and swelling with indignation exclaimed loudly: “What do you mean -by it, letting these children move away my things?” Of course this was -intended to intimidate the real culprits, the children. Finding that -they were not abashed at this, but on the contrary were looking at one -another with a look of high-bred astonishment, he turned to them and -shouted: “What do you mean by it?” This outburst, observes the father, -showed a preternatural heat of indignation, for in general he was very -distant and reserved towards strange children. - -Yet C. was very far from being wholly absorbed in himself and his own -interests. It cannot be said indeed that self monopolised the intensest -of his feelings, for he felt just as strongly for others too. There was, -we are told, a marked development of sympathy during this year. His -sister was now away from home at school, and the absence seems to have -drawn out kindly feeling. So that when, on one occasion (middle of -seventh month), his father and aunt were going to visit her, and to take -her to the Crystal Palace, though he wanted dreadfully to go himself, he -made a great effort, and in answer to his father’s question, what -message he had for his sister, answered a little tremulously, “Give her -my love,” and then, waxing more valiant, added, “I hope she will enjoy -herself at Crystal Palace”. - -Some months later (end of ninth month), he proved himself considerate -for his father, whose repugnance to noises has already been alluded to. -A man had come to repair a window and his father had been forced to stop -his work and to go out. On his return C. met him in the garden and asked -him loudly, evidently so that the man might hear, “Does that man disturb -you, papa?” He had previously talked to his mother in an indignant way -about the noises which disturbed his father. About a fortnight after -this, on hearing some children make an uproar in the passage, he asked -indignantly, “What are those children about, making papa not do his -work?” “He was at this time,” writes the father, “transferring some of -that chivalrous protection which he first bestowed on animals to his own -kith and kin. He became to me just at this time something of a guardian -angel.” - -His compassion for the lower creation had meanwhile by no means -lessened. Here is a story which shows how the killing of animals by -human hands still tortured his young heart. One day (towards end of -fourth month) he was looking at his beloved picture-book of animals. -_Apropos_ of a picture of some seals he began a talk with his mother in -the usual way by asking her a question. - -C. “What are seals killed for, mamma?” - -M. “For the sake of their skins and oil.” - -C. (turning to a picture of a stag). “Why do they kill the stags? They -don’t want _their_ skins, do they?” - -M. “No, they kill them because they like to chase them.” - -C. “Why don’t policemen stop them?” - -M. “They can’t do that, because people are allowed to kill them.” - -C. (loudly and passionately). “Allowed, allowed? People are not allowed -to take other people and kill them.” - -M. “People think there is a difference between killing men and killing -animals.” - -C. was not to be pacified this way. He looked woe-begone and said to his -mother piteously, “You don’t understand me”. He added that he would tell -his friend the Heath-keeper about these things. - -The father observes on this: “There was something almost heart-breaking -in that cry ‘You don’t understand me’. How can we, with minds blinded by -our conventional habits and prejudices, hope to catch the subtle and -divine light which is reflected from the untarnished mirror of a child’s -mind?” Somehow, the father’s sentimental comments seem less out of place -here. But already the boy’s wrestlings of spirit with the dreadful -‘must,’ which turns men into killers, were proving too much for his -young strength. He was learning, sullenly enough, to adjust his eye to -the inevitable realities. This accommodation of thought to stern -necessity was illustrated by an incident which occurred at the end of -the fourth month. He had had some leaden soldiers given him at -Christmas. Some time after this he had been observed to break off their -guns. His mother now asked him why he had broken them off. He replied: -“Oh! that was when I didn’t know what soldiers were for, when I thought -they were just naughty men who liked to kill people”. On his mother then -asking him what he now thought soldiers were for, he explained: “Oh! -when some people want to do harm to some _other_ people, then those -other people must send their soldiers to fight them, to stop them from -doing harm”. - -One moral quality had, it seems, always been distinctly marked in C., -_viz._, a scrupulous regard for truth. His father believes the child had -never knowingly made a false statement, save playfully, when throwing -for a moment the reins on the neck of fancy and allowing it to come -dangerously near the confines of truth. This scrupulosity the father -connects, reasonably enough, with certain intellectual qualities, as -close observation and accurate description of what was observed. -Sometimes this scrupulous veracity would display itself in a quaint -form. One morning (end of tenth month) C. was obstinate and would not -say his lesson to his mother, so that she had to threaten him with -forfeiture of his toys till the lesson was got through. On this C. said -rebelliously: “Very well, I won’t say them”. His mother then talked to -him about his naughtiness. He grew very unhappy, and said sobbing and -looking the very picture of misery: “It’s a good deal worse to break my -promise than not to say my lesson”. - -Another incident of about the same date throws a curious light on the -quality of his moral feeling at this period. He had been out one -afternoon in the garden with a girl companion of about his own age, and -the two little imps between them had managed to strip that unpretending -garden of its spring glory, to wit, about twenty buds of peonies. The -sacrilege betrayed itself in C.’s red-dyed fingers. A condign -chastisement was administered by the mother, and the culprit was sent to -bed immediately after tea in the hope that solitude might bring -reflexion and remorse. In order to ensure so desirable a result the -mother before leaving him in bed enlarged on the heinousness of the -offence. At last he began to get downright miserable, and the mother, -expectant of a confession of guilt, overheard him say to himself: “I’m -_so_ sorry I picked the flowers. I didn’t have half enough tea.” The -next day, referring to his mischievous act, his mother happened to say: -“You were not sorry for it at the time”. Whereupon he burst out in a -contemptuous tone: “Eh! you didn’t suppose I was sorry at the time? I -liked doing it.” “Shocking enough, no doubt,” writes the father on this -in his characteristic manner, “yet may we not see in this defiant avowal -of enjoyment in wrong-doing the germ of a true remorse, which in its -essence is the resolute confronting of the lower by the higher self?” - -His mind was still occupied about the mysteries of God, death, and -heaven. Following the example of his sister he would occasionally on -going to bed quite spontaneously say his prayers. One evening at the end -of the eleventh month, having knelt down and muttered over some words, -he asked his mother whether she had heard him. She said no, and he -remarked that he had not wished her to hear. On her asking why not, he -rejoined: “If anybody hears what I say perhaps God won’t listen to me,” -which seems to suggest that talking to God was to him something -particularly confidential, what he himself once described as telling -another a “private secret”.[327] - ------ - -Footnote 327: - - Compare above, p. 283 f. - ------ - -When his mother asked him what he had been praying for he said it was -for a fine day on his birthday. He thought much of God as the maker of -things, and wondered. One day (middle of tenth month) he asked how God -made us and “put flesh on us,” and made “what is inside us”. He then -proceeded to invent a little theory of creation. “I s’pose he made stone -men and iron men first, and then made real men.” “This myth,” writes the -father, “might readily suggest that the child had been hearing about the -stone and the iron age, and about sculptors first modelling their -statues in another material. It seems probable, however, that it was -invented by a purely childish thought as a way of clearing up the -mystery of the living thinking man.” There is subsequent evidence that -his theory did not fully satisfy him. In the eleventh month he continued -to ask how God made things, and wanted to know whether ‘preachers’ could -resolve his difficulty. (His sister appears about this time to have had -the common childish awe for the clergy.) On learning from his mother -that even these well-informed persons might not be able to satisfy all -his questions, he observed: “Well, anyhow, if we go to heaven when we -die we shall know,” and added after a pause, “and if we don’t it doesn’t -much matter”. “From this,” writes the father, “it seems fully clear that -the child was beginning to adjust his mind to the fact of mystery, to -the existence of an impenetrable region of the unknown.” - -C.’s deepest interest just now in religious matters grew out of the -feelings awakened by the thought of death. In the early part of the year -he plied his mother with questions about death and burial. He was -manifestly troubled about the prospect of being put under ground. One -night (end of third month) when his mother was seeing him to bed, he -said: “Don’t put earth on my face when I am buried”. The touch of the -bed-clothes on his face had no doubt suggested the stifling effect of -the earth. About the same date he remarked in his characteristic abrupt -manner, after musing for some time: “Mamma, perhaps the weather will be -_very_, _very_ fine, much finer than we have ever seen, when we are not -there”. The mother was not unnaturally puzzled by this dark utterance -and asked him what he meant. He replied: “I mean when we are buried, and -then we shall be very sorry”. “Who can tell,” writes the father, “what -this fancy of lying under the ground, yet catching the whispering of the -most delicious of summer breezes, and the far-off touch of the gladdest -of sunbeams, and the faint scent of the sweetest of flowers, may have -meant for the wee dreamy sensitive creature?” - -The following dialogue between C. and his mother at the beginning of the -fourth month may further illustrate his feeling about this subject. - -C. “Why must people die, mamma?” - -M. “They get worn out, and so can’t live always, just as the flowers and -leaves fade and die.” - -C. “Well, but why can’t they come to life again just like the flowers?” - -M. “The same flowers don’t come to life again, dear.” - -C. “Well, the little seed out of the flower drops into the earth and -springs up again into a flower. Why can’t people do like that?” - -M. “Most people get very tired and want to sleep for ever.” - -C. “Oh! _I_ shan’t want to sleep for ever, and when I am buried I shall -try to wake up again; and there won’t be any earth on my eyes, will -there, mamma?” - -The difficulty of coupling the fact of burial with after-existence in -heaven then began to trouble him. One day (middle of eighth month) he -and his mother were passing a churchyard. He looked intently at the -gravestones and asked: “Mamma, it’s only the naughty people who are -buried, isn’t it?” Being asked why he thought so he continued: “Because -auntie said all the good people went to heaven”. On his mother telling -him that all people are buried he said: “Oh, then heaven must be under -the ground, or they couldn’t get there”. Another way by which he tried -to surmount the difficulty was by supposing that God would have to come -up through the ground to take us to heaven. He clung tenaciously to the -idea of heaven as an escape from the horror of death. That the hope of -heaven was the core of his religious belief is seen in the following -little talk between him and his mother and sister one evening at the end -of the first month. - -C. “Does God ever die?” - -E. (the sister). “No, dear, and when we die God will take us to live -with him in heaven.” - -C. (to mother). “Will he, mamma?” - -M. “I hope so, dear.” - -C. “Well, what is God good for if he won’t take us to heaven when we -die?”[328] - ------ - -Footnote 328: - - On children’s attempts to understand about being buried and going to - heaven, see above, p. 120 ff. - ------ - - - _Sixth Year._ - -The sixth year, the last with which the diary attempts to deal, is very -meagrely represented. The observation was plainly becoming intermittent -and lax. I have, however, thought it worth while to complete this sketch -of a child’s mental development by a reference to this fragmentary -chapter. - -The child continued to be observant of the forms of things. He began to -attend the Kindergarten at the beginning of this year, and this probably -served to develop his visual observation. We have, however, no very -striking illustrations of his perceptual powers. It might interest the -naturalist to know that he compared the head of Mr. Darwin, which he saw -in a photograph, to that of an elephant, and being asked why he thought -them like one another, answered: “Because it is so far from the top of -the head to the ear”. Perhaps admirers of our great naturalist may be -ready to pardon the likening of their hero’s head to that of one of the -most intelligent of the large animal family which he showed to be our -kinsfolk. - -Another remark of his at about the same date seems to show that he still -entertained a particularly gross form of the animistic conception that -things are double, and that there is a second filmy body within the -solid tangible one. He was looking at the pictures in Darwin’s _Descent -of Man_, and came on some drawings of the human embryo. His mother asked -him what they looked like, and he replied: “Why, like the inside of -persons of course”. Asked to explain this he pointed to the head, the -eye, the stomach, and so forth. - -He spontaneously began to talk (middle of eighth month) about opposition -of colours. He was looking at his coloured soldiers and talking to -himself in this wise: “Which colour is most opposite colour to blue?” He -said that red was its opposite, not yellow as suggested by his father, -in which opinion he probably has a good many older people on his side. -He also observed to his father at the same date: “I tell you, papa, what -two colours are very like one another, blue and green”. The father -remarks, however, that he was now mixing pigments and using them, and -that the knowledge so gained probably made him bring blue and green -nearer to one another than he used to do. - -An opportunity of testing his memory occurred at the beginning of the -sixth month. He met a gentleman who had been kind to him during that -memorable visit to the sea-side village D—— just three and a half years -before, and whom he had not seen since. His father asked the child -whether he knew Mr. S. He looked at him steadily, and answered yes. -Asked where he had seen him, he answered: "Down at ——". He had forgotten -the name of the place. On his father further asking him what he -remembered about him he said: “He made me boats and sailed them in a -pool”. This was quite correct. So far as the father can say the fact had -not been spoken of to him since the time. If this is so, it seems worth -recording that a child of five and a half should recall such distinct -impressions of what had occurred when he was only just two. - -Fancy, the old frisky, wonder-working fancy, was now getting less -active. At least, we meet this year with none of the pretty fairy-myths -of earlier years. So far as the journal tells us, it was only in sleep -that C. entered the delightful region of wonderland. Here is a quaint -dream of his (end of fifth month). It was Christmas time, and he had -been seeing a huge prize-ox, a shaggy Highland fellow with big head and -curled horns. He had taken a violent fancy to it and wanted his father -to draw it for him. A morning or two afterwards he told his father that -he had had a funny dream. Both his father and his mother were turned -into oxen, and it was a “very nice dream”. - -For the rest, the brain of our little Kindergärtner was being engrossed -with the business of getting knowledge, and, as a result of this fancy, -was being taken in hand by sober understanding and drilled to the useful -and necessary task of discovering truth. - -We get one or two pretty glimpses of the boy trundling his hoop beside -his father in a late evening walk and now and again stopping to ask -questions. Here is one (end of third month): They were walking home -together across the sands at Hunstanton at the rosy sun-set hour. C. was -much impressed and began asking his father how far off the sun was. On -finding out that the clouds were not a hard substance but could be -passed through, he wanted to know what was on the other side. “Is it -another world, papa, like this?” - -Shortly after this date he was talking about the size of the sun, when -he remarked: “I s’pose the sun’s big enough to put on the world and make -see-saw”. He seemed to think of the sun as a disc, and imagined that it -might be balanced on the earth-globe. - -What with home instruction and the ‘lessons’ at the Kindergarten his -little brain was being confronted with quite a multitude of new -problems. It was interesting, remarks the father, to note how he would -try to piece together the various scraps of knowledge he thus gathered. -For instance, we find him in the ninth month trying hard to make -something out of the motley presentations of the ‘world’ which he had -got from classical myths as known through the _Tanglewood Tales_ and -from his elementary geography lessons. He asked whether Atlas could -stand in the middle of the sea and not be drowned. On his father’s -trying to evade this awkward question, the boy inquired whether the sea -came half way up the world. Asked to explain what he meant, he -continued: “You know the shore gets lower and lower or else the sea -would not go out; and out in the middle it goes down very deep. Now, -where the sea comes in, is that half way up the world?” One would like -to know how the father met this dark inquiry. - -He would sometimes apply his newly-gained knowledge in an odd fashion. -One day (middle of ninth month), he observed that his porridge was -hottest in the middle, and remarked: “That’s just like the earth. It’s -hottest in the middle. There’s real fire there.” This smacks just a -little perhaps of pedantry, and the child, on entering the new world of -school-lore, is, we know, apt to display the pride of learning. Yet we -must beware, writes the ever-apologetic father, of judging the child’s -ways too rigorously by our grown-up standards. - -The progress in the more abstract kind of thinking and in the -correlative use of abstract language was very noticeable at this stage. -An odd example of an original way of expressing a newly attained -relation of thought occurred towards the end of the third month. C. was -at this time much occupied with the subject of the bearing-rein, the -cruelty of which he had learnt from a favourite story, the autobiography -of a horse, called _Black Beauty_. One day when walking out, and, as was -his wont, vigilantly observant of all passing horses, he said: “That -horse has bearing-rein at all,” by which he seems to have meant that the -horse had it somewhere or wore it sometimes. The use of expressions like -these, which at once made his statements more cautious and showed a -better grasp of the full sweep of a proposition, was very characteristic -at this period. - -Even now, however, he found himself sometimes compelled to eke out his -slender vocabulary by concrete and pictorial descriptions of the -abstract. Thus one day (end of eighth month) he happened to overhear his -father say that he should oppose a proposal of a member of the Library -Committee to which he belonged. C., boy-like, interested in the prospect -of a tussle, asked: "Who is the greatest man, you or Mr. ——?" Asked by -his father, who imagined that the child was thinking of a physical -contest with the honourable gentleman, “Do you mean taller?” he -answered: “No. Who is most like a king?” In this wise, observes the -chronicler, did he try to express his new idea of authority or influence -over others. - -While he thus pushed his way into the tangle of abstract ideas, he found -himself now and again pulled up by a thorny obstacle. Some of us can -remember how when young we had much trouble in learning to recognise the -difference between the right and the left hand. C. experienced the same -difficulty. One evening (towards the end of the eleventh month) after -being put to bed he complained of a sore spot on his foot. Being asked -on which foot, the right or the left, he said: “I can’t tell when in -bed. I can’t say when my clothes are off. I know my right side by my -pockets.” It would seem as if the differences in the muscular and other -sensations by help of which we come to distinguish the one side of the -body from the other are too slight to be readily recognised, and that a -clear intuition of this simple and fundamental relation of position is -the work of a prolonged experience.[329] - ------ - -Footnote 329: - - According to Professor Baldwin’s observations the infant shows a - decided right-handedness, that is, a disposition to reach out with the - right hand rather than with the left, by the seventh or eighth month - (quoted by Tracy, _The Psychology of Childhood_, p. 55). But of course - this is a long way from a definite intuition and idea of the right and - the left hand. Mr. E. Kratz finds that more than one-fourth of - children of five coming to a primary school cannot distinguish the - right hand from the left. - ------ - -By the end of the fourth month—a month after joining the Kindergarten—he -was able to count up to a century. His interest in counting, which was -particularly lively just now, is illustrated in the fact that in the -fifth month, after showing himself very curious about the word -‘fortnight,’ saying again and again that it was a funny word, and asking -what it meant, he put the question: “Does it mean fourteen nights?” - -About the same date he proffered a definition of one of the most -difficult of subjects. His mother had been trying to explain the -difference between poetry and prose by saying that the former describes -beautiful things, when he suddenly interrupted her, exclaiming: “Oh yes, -I know, it’s language with ornaments”. But here the diary has, it must -be confessed, the look of wishing to display the boy’s accomplishments, -a fault from which, on the whole, it is creditably free. - -As might be expected, the boy’s reasoning was now much sounder, that is -to say, more like our own. Yet now and again the old easy fashion of -induction would crop up. Thus one day (towards end of ninth month) he -was puzzled by the fact that boys of the same age might be of unequal -size. This brought him to the old subject of growth, and he suggested -quite seriously that the taller boys had had more sun. On his father -saying: ‘The sun makes _plants_ grow,’ he added: “And people too”. - -His questionings took about this time the direction of origins or -beginnings. As with other children, God did not appear to be the -starting-point in the evolution of things, and he once asked quite -seriously (end of sixth month): “What was God like in his younger days?” -With a like impulse to go back to absolute beginnings he inquired about -the same date, after learning that chicken-pox was only caught from -other animals: “What was the person or thing that first had -chicken-pox?” A little later (beginning of ninth month) he and a boy -companion of nearly the same age were talking about the beginnings of -human life. C. said “I can’t make out how the first man in the world was -able to speak. A word, you know, has a sound, and how did he find out -what sound to make?” His friend then said that his puzzle was how the -first babies were nursed. This child seems to have set out with the -supposition that the history of our race began with the arrival of -babies. - -Very little is told us in this unfinished chapter of the child’s -emotional and moral development. As might be expected from the increase -of intellectual activity the movements expressive of the feelings of -strain and perplexity which accompany thought grew more distinct. In -particular it was noticeable at this time that during the fits of -thought the child’s face would take on a quaint old-fashioned look, the -eye-brows being puckered up and the eye-lids twitching. - -He continued very sensitive about the cruelties of the world, more -especially towards animals. One day (at the end of the fifth month) his -mother had been reading to him his favourite, _Black Beauty_, in which a -war-horse describes to the equine author the horrors of war. C. was -deeply affected by the picture, and at length exclaimed with much -emphasis, “Oh, ma! why do they do such things? It’s a _beastly_, -_beastly_ world,” at the same time bursting into tears and hiding his -face in his mother’s lap. “So hard,” writes the father, “did the boy -still find it, notwithstanding his increased knowledge, to accept this -human world as a right and just one.” - -The religious thought and sentiment remained thoroughly childish. He was -still puzzled about the relations of heaven and the grave. One day (end -of sixth month) his father observed, looking at the Christmas pudding on -the table wreathed with violet flame: “Oh, how I should like to be -burned after death instead of being buried”. On this C. looking alarmed -said: “_I_ won’t be burned. I shouldn’t go to heaven then.” On his -father remarking: “’Tisn’t your body that goes to heaven,” he continued: -“But my _head_ does”. Here, writes the father, we seem to perceive a -transition from the old gross materialism of last year to a more refined -form. C. was now, it may be presumed, localising the soul in the head, -and clinging to the idea that at least that limited portion of our frame -might manage to get away from the dark grave to the bright celestial -regions. It may be too, he adds, that this fancy was aided by seeing -pictures of detached cherub heads.[330] - ------ - -Footnote 330: - - Compare above, p. 123. - ------ - -A month or two later (beginning of ninth month) he began to attack the -difficult problem of Divine fore-knowledge and free-will. His mother had -been remonstrating with him about his naughty ways. He grew very -miserable and said: “I can’t make out how it is God doesn’t make us -good. I pray to him to make me good.” To this his mother replied that he -must help himself to be good. This only drew from C. the following -protest: “Then what’s the use of having God if we have to help -ourselves”. “Even now,” writes the father, "it looks as if God and -heaven were for him institutions, the _raison d’être_ of which was their -serviceableness to man." - -He brought to the consideration of prayer a childish sense of propriety -which sometimes wore a quaint aspect. One day (end of third month) on -his return from the Kindergarten he asked his mother: “Does God teach -us?” and when bidden explain his question continued: “Because they said -that at school” (“Teach us to be good”). He then added: “But anyhow that -isn’t a proper way to speak to God”. His notion of what was the proper -way was illustrated in his own practice. One evening (end of sixth -month) after his bath he was kneeling with his head on his mother’s lap -so that she might dry his hair. He began to pray half audibly in this -wise: “Please, God, let me find out before my birthday, but at least on -my birthday.... So now good-bye!” This ending, obviously borrowed from -his sister’s letters, was varied on another occasion in this way: “With -my love, good-bye”.[331] - ------ - -Footnote 331: - - Compare above, p. 283. - ------ - -It seems strange that the diary should break off at a time when there -was so much of the quaint and pretty child-traits left to be observed. -No explanation of the abrupt termination is offered, and I am only able -to conjecture that the father was at this time pressed with other work, -and that when he again found the needed leisure he discovered to his -chagrin that time, aided by the school-drill, was already doing its -work. We know that it is about this time that the artist, Nature, is -wont to rub out the characteristic infantile lines in her first crude -sketch of a human mind, and to elaborate a fuller and maturer picture. -And while the onlooking parent may rejoice in the unfolding of the -higher human lineaments, he cannot altogether suppress a pang at the -disappearance of what was so delightfully fresh and lovely. - -I will close these extracts, following the father’s own fashion, with a -word of apology. C.’s doings and sayings have seemed to me worth -recording, not because their author was in any sense a remarkable child, -but solely because he was a true child. In spite of his habitual -association with grown-up people he retained with childish independence -his own ways of looking at things. No doubt something of the -intellectual fop, of the assertive prig, peeps out now and again. Yet if -we consider how much attention was given to his utterances, this is not -surprising. For the greater part the sayings appear to me the direct -naïve utterance of genuine childish conviction. And it is possible that -the inevitable impulse of the parent to show off his child has done C. -injustice by making too much, especially in the last chapter of the -diary, of what looks smart. Heaven grant that our observations of the -little ones may never destroy the delightful simplicity and -unconsciousness of their ways, and turn them into disagreeable little -performers, all conscious of their _rôle_, and greedy of admiration. - - - - - XII. - GEORGE SAND’S CHILDHOOD. - - - _The First Years._ - -Much has been written about George Sand, but singularly little about her -childhood. Yet she herself, when she set to work, between forty and -fifty, to write the _Histoire de ma Vie_, thought it worth while to fill -the best part of two volumes of that work with early reminiscences; and -herein surely she judged wisely. Good descriptions of childish -experience are rare enough. George Sand gives us a singularly full story -of childhood; and, allowing for the fact of its author being a novelist, -one may say that this story reads on the whole like a record of memory. -That a narrative at once so charming and so pathetic should have been -neglected, by English writers at least, can only be set down to the -circumstance that it is not clearly marked off from the tediously full -account of ancestors which precedes it.[332] - ------ - -Footnote 332: - - A selection of scenes from the story, with notes, has been prepared - for young English students by M. Eugène Joël, under the title, - _L’Enfance de George Sand_ (Rivingtons). - ------ - -The early reminiscences of a great man or woman have a special interest. -Schopenhauer has ingeniously traced out the essential similarity of the -man of genius and the child. Whatever the value of this analogy, it is -certain that the gifted child seems not less but more of a child because -of his gifts. This is emphatically true of the little lady with whom we -are now concerned, and of whom, since we are interested in her on her -own account and not merely as the precursor of the great novelist, we -shall speak by her rightful name, Aurore Dupin. - -The reader need not be told that the child who was to become the -representative among modern women of the daring irregularities of genius -was an uncommon child. She would certainly have been set down as strange -and as deficient in childish traits by a commonplace observer. Yet close -inspection shows that the untamed and untamable ‘oddities’ were, after -all, only certain common childish impulses and tendencies exalted, or, -if the reader prefers, exaggerated. Herein lies the chief value of the -story. To this it may be added that this exaggeration of childish -sensibility was set in a _milieu_ admirably fitted to stir and strain it -to the utmost. It was a motley turbulent world into which little Aurore -was unceremoniously pitched, and makes the chronicle of her experience a -thrilling romance. And all this experience, it may be said finally, is -set down with the untroubled regard and the patient hand of one of the -old chroniclers. The forty years had left the memory tenacious and clear -to a remarkable degree—in this respect the story will bear comparison -with the childish recallings of Goethe and the other famous -self-historians; at the same time these years had brought the woman’s -power of quiet retrospect and the artist’s habit of calm complacent -envisagement. Herein lies a further element of value. The writer feels -her identity with the subject of her memoir: she lives over again the -passion-storms and ennuis, the reveries and hoydenish freaks of little -Aurore; yet she can detach herself from her heroine too, and discuss her -and her surroundings with perfect artistic aloofness. - -Aurore—or, to give her her full appellation, Amandine Lucile Aurore -Dupin—was born in 1804. Her father, a distinguished officer of the -Empire, was grandson of Maurice de Saxe, natural son of Augustus II., -King of Poland. Her mother was a daughter of a Parisian bird-seller, and -a true child of the people. The student of heredity may, perhaps, find -in this commingling of noble and humble blood a key to much of the wild -and bizarre in the child as well as in the later woman. However this may -be, it is certain that the disparate alliance gave the sombre and almost -tragic hue to the child’s destiny. Through the precious years that -should be given over to happy play and dreams, she was to hear the harsh -and dismal contention of classes, and hear it, too, in the shape of a -bawling strife for the possession of herself. - -The first home was a humble lodging in Paris. The father was away. The -mother, disdained by the father’s family, had to be hard at work, and -the baby had its irregular career foreshadowed by being often handed -over to a male nurse, one Pierret, an ugly and quarrelsome though really -good-natured creature, whom an accident suddenly made a devoted friend -of the small family, faithfully dividing his time between the -_estaminet_ and the Dupin _ménage_. - -Beyond a recollection of an accident, a fall against the corner of the -chimney-piece, which shock, she tells us, ‘opened my mind to the sense -of life,’ the first three years yield no reminiscences. From that date -onwards, however, her memory moves without a hitch, and gives us a -series of delightful vignette-like pictures of child-life. - -Her mother had a fresh, sweet voice, and the first song she sang to -Aurore was the nursery rhyme:— - - Allons dans la grange - Voir la poule blanche - Qui pond un bel œut d’argent - Pour ce cher petit enfant. - - I was vividly impressed [she writes] with that white hen and that - silver egg which was promised me every evening, and for which I never - thought of asking the next morning. The promise returned always, and - the naïve hope returned with it. - -The legend of little Father Christmas, a good old man with a white -beard, who came down the chimney exactly at midnight and placed a simple -present, a red apple or an orange, in her little shoe, excited the -infantile imagination to unusual activity. - - Midnight, that fantastic hour which children know not, and which we - point out to them as the unattainable limit of their wakefulness! What - incredible efforts I made not to fall asleep before the appearance of - the little old man. 1 had at once a great desire and a great fear to - see him; but I could never keep awake. - -The love of sound, so strong in children, found an outlet in playing -with some brass wirework on the doors of an alcove near her bed. - - My special amusement before going to sleep was to run my fingers over - the brass network. The little sounds that I drew thence seemed to me a - heavenly music, and I used to hear my mother say, “There’s Aurore - playing the wirework.” - -Her vivid recollection enables her to describe with a sure touch the -oddly mixed and capriciously changeful feeling of children towards their -dolls and other simulacra of living creatures. She somehow had presented -to her a superb Punch, brilliant with gold and scarlet, of whom she was -greatly afraid at first, on account of her doll. Before going to bed she -securely shut up this last in a cupboard, and laid the brilliant monster -on his back on the stove; but her anxieties were not yet over. - - I fell asleep very much preoccupied with the manner of existence of - this wicked being who was always laughing, and could pursue me with - his eyes into all the corners of the room. In the night I had a - frightful dream: Punch had got up, his hump had caught on fire on the - stove, and he ran about in all directions, chasing now me, now my - doll, which fled distractedly. Just as he was overtaking us with long - jets of flame, I awoke my mother with my cries. - -Her childish way of looking at dolls is thus described in another -place:— - - I do not remember to have ever believed that my doll was an animated - being; nevertheless, I have felt for some of my dolls a real maternal - affection.... Children are between the real and the impossible. They - need to care for, to scold, to caress, and to break this fetish of a - child or animal that is given them for a plaything, and with which - they are wrongly accused of growing disgusted too quickly. It is quite - natural, on the contrary, that they should grow disgusted with them. - In breaking them they protest against the lie. - -She only broke those, she adds, that could not stand the test of being -undressed, or that proclaimed their unfleshly substance by falling and -breaking their noses. The fluctuations of childish feeling in this -matter, and the triumph of faith over doubt in the case of a real -favourite, are prettily illustrated in a later story of how she parted -from her doll when she was going from home on a long journey. - - At the moment of setting out I ran to give it a last look, and when - Pierret promised to come and make it take soup every morning, I began - to fall into a state of doubt, which children are wont to feel - respecting the reality of these creatures, a state truly singular, in - which nascent reason on one side and the need of illusion on the other - combat in their heart greedy of maternal love. I took the two hands of - my doll and joined them over its breast. Pierret remarked that this - was the attitude of a dead person. Thereupon I raised the hands, still - joined, above the head, in the attitude of despair or of invocation. - With this I associated a superstitious idea, thinking that it was an - appeal to the good fairy, and that the doll would be protected, - remaining in this position all the time of my absence.[333] - ------ - -Footnote 333: - - What George Sand here writes about the intrusion of doubt and disgust - into the child’s feeling for the doll does not, I think, contradict - what was said above in chapter ii. on the intensity and persistence of - his faith. In truth these are illustrated in the very resistance to - the occasional attack of the child’s nascent reason, just as they are - illustrated in the resistance to others’ sceptical assaults. - ------ - -The gift of vivid imagination is probably quite as much a torment as a -joy to a child, as the story of Punch suggests. Aurore’s finely strung -nervous organisation exposed her to a preternatural intensity of fear, -and made any clumsy attempt to ‘frighten’ by suggestion of ‘black hole,’ -or other childish horror, more than ordinarily cruel. One day she had -been with her mother and Pierret on a visit to her aunt. On returning -towards the evening she was lazy and wanted the amiable Pierret to carry -her. So to spur her on her mother threatened in fun to leave her alone -if she did not come on. The child knew it was not meant, and daringly -stopped while the others made a feint of moving on. It happened that a -little old woman was just then lighting a lamp hard by, and, having -overheard the talk, turned to the child and said in a broken voice, -‘Beware of me; it is I who take up the wicked little girls, and I shut -them in my lamp all the night’. - - It seemed as if the devil had whispered to this good woman the idea - that would most terrify me. I do not remember ever experiencing such a - terror as she caused me. The lamp, with its glittering reflector, - instantly took on fantastic proportions, and I saw myself already shut - in this crystal prison consumed by the flame which the Punch in - petticoats made to burst forth at her pleasure. I ran towards my - mother uttering piercing cries. I heard the old woman laugh, and the - grating sound of the lamp as she remounted gave me a nervous shiver. - -At bottom Aurore’s nature was a happy one, and if it encountered in the -real world the terrors of childhood, it found in the ideal world of -fiction its supreme delights. Before she learned to read (about four) -she had managed to stock her small brain with an odd jumble of -supernatural imagery, the outcome of fairy stories recited to her, and -of picture-books setting forth incidents from classical mythology and -the lives of the saints; and she soon began to make artistic use of this -motley material. Her mother, she tells us, used to shut her within four -straw chairs in order to keep her from playing with the fire. She would -then amuse herself by pulling out the straws with her hands (she always -felt the need of occupying her hands) and composing in a loud voice -interminable stories. They were of course modelled on the familiar -fairy-tale pattern. The principal characters were a good fairy, a good -prince, and a beautiful princess. There were but few wicked beings, and -never great misfortunes. ‘All arranged itself under the influence of a -thought, smiling and optimistic as childhood.’ These stories, carried on -day after day, were the subject of amusing comment. ‘Well, Aurore,’ the -aunt used to ask, ‘hasn’t your prince got out of the forest yet?’ - -To Aurore’s ardent imagination, play, as the story of the doll suggests, -was more than the half-hearted make-believe it often is with duller -children. She was able to immerse her whole consciousness in the scene, -the occupation imagined, so as to lose all account of her actual -surroundings. One evening, at dusk, she and her cousin were playing at -chasing one another from tree to tree, for which the bed-curtains did -duty. The room had disappeared for these little day-dreamers; they were -really in a gloomy country at the oncoming of night and when they were -called to dinner they heard nothing. Aurore’s mother had finally to -carry her to the table, and she could ever after recall the astonishment -she felt on seeing the light, the table, and other real objects about -her. - -Even at this tender age the child came into contact with the large -mysterious outer world. At her aunt’s home at Chaillot there was a -garden, the one garden she knew, a small square plot, seeming a vast -region to Aurore, shut in by walls. At the bottom of this garden, on a -green terrace, she and her cousin used to play at fighting battles. - - One day we were interrupted in our games by a great commotion outside. - There were cries of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ marchings with quick step, and - then retirings, the cries continuing all the while. The emperor was, - in fact, passing at some distance, and we heard the tread of the - horses and the emotion of the crowd. We could not look over the walls, - but the whole thing seemed very beautiful to my fancy, and we cried - with all our strength, ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ transported by a sympathetic - enthusiasm. - -She first saw the Emperor in 1807, from the good Pierret’s shoulders, -where, being a conspicuous object, she attracted Napoleon’s quick eye. -‘I was, as it were, magnetised for a moment by that clear look, so hard -for an instant, and suddenly so benevolent and so sweet.’ - -The political storm that was then raging on the sea of Europe made -itself felt even in the far-off and seemingly sheltered creek of -Aurore’s small life. Her father was aide-de-camp to Murat at Madrid, and -in 1808 the mother resolved to betake herself to him with her child. It -was a singular experience for a girl just completing her fourth year, -and the narrative of it is romantic enough. Her imagination was -strangely affected by the sight of the great mountains, which seemed to -shut them in and to forbid their moving forwards or backwards. Yet she -felt no fear at the postillion’s malicious fictions about brigands which -quite horrified her mother. In Madrid they found themselves quartered in -a large and magnificent palace. The unaccustomed space and splendour at -first troubled the child. She was tormented by the huge pictures from -which big heads seemed to come out and follow her, and she was further -alarmed by a low mirror which gave her the first sight of her whole -figure and made her feel how big she was. - -Murat was not over well pleased at the arrival of his aide-de-camp’s -wife and child, so an attempt was made to propitiate him by decking the -little maid in a gay and coquettish uniform. The child, who was no -coquette, seems to have cared but little for this performance, though -she soon began to find amusement in her new sumptuous dwelling. - - As soon as I found myself alone in this large room I placed myself - before the low glass, and I tried some theatrical poses. Then I took - my white rabbit, and tried to force it to do likewise; or rather I - pretended to offer it as a sacrifice to the gods, using a footstool as - altar.... I had not the least feeling of coquetry; my pleasure came - from the make-believe that I was playing in a quartette scene in which - were two little girls and two rabbits. The rabbit and I addressed, in - pantomime, salutations, threats, and prayers to the personages of the - mirror, and we danced the bolero with them. - -It was at Madrid that she first made acquaintance with one of Nature’s -most fascinating mysteries, the echo. - - I studied this phenomenon with an extreme pleasure. What struck me as - most strange was to hear my own name repeated by my own voice. Then - there occurred to me an odd explanation. I thought that I was double, - and that there was round about me another “I” whom I could not see, - but who always saw me, since he always answered me. - -She then combined with this strange phenomenon another, _viz._, the red -and blue balls (ocular spectra) that she got into her eyes after looking -at the golden globe of a church glittering against the sky, and so found -her way to a theory that everything had its double—a theory which, Mr. -Tylor and others tell us, was excogitated in very much the same way by -uncivilised man. She spent days in trying to get sight of her double. -Her mother, who one day surprised her in this search, told her it was -echo, ‘the voice in the air!’ - - This voice in the air no longer astonished me, but it still charmed - me. I was satisfied at being able to name it, and to call to it, - ‘Echo, are you there? Don’t you hear me? Good-day, Echo!’[334] - ------ - -Footnote 334: - - Compare above, p. 113. - ------ - -The next event of deep import for Aurore was the sudden death of her -father by a fall from his horse, which occurred in the autumn of the -same year. The first visit of the King of Terrors to a home has been a -black landmark in many a child’s life. Aurore was at first ‘annihilated’ -by excess of grief and fear, for, as she says, ‘childhood has not the -strength to suffer’. The days that immediately followed the bringing in -of the lifeless body were passed in a sort of stupor. Clear recollection -dates only from the moment when she was to be clad in the conventional -black. - - The black made a strong impression on me. I cried in submitting to it; - for though I had worn the black dress and veil of the Spaniards, I had - certainly never put on black stockings, and the stockings frightened - me terribly. I would have it that they were putting on me the legs of - death, and my mother had to show me that she wore them also.[335] - ------ - -Footnote 335: - - Compare this with other accounts of the first impression of death - given above, p. 237 f. - ------ - -The father’s death brought a profound change into the child’s life. The -despised mother had already been recognised by the paternal grandmother, -and a certain advance made towards a show of amity. Visits were paid to -the grandmother’s château at Nohant, and it was, in fact, when they were -staying there that the fatal accident occurred. - -The common loss drew the two women together for a time, but the -contrasts of temperament and of education were too powerful, and the -jealousy which had first directed itself to the father now found a new -object in his talented child. She has given us more than one excellent -description of mother and grandmother. The latter, a blonde with white -and red complexion, imposing air, always dressed in a brown silk robe -and a white wig frizzled in front, was grave and quiet, ‘a veritable -Saxon,’ a friend of the _ancien régime_, a disciple of Voltaire and -Rousseau, albeit a stickler for the conventionalities of high life. The -mother was a brunette, of an ardent temperament, endowed with -considerable talent, yet timid and awkward before grand folk, a Spanish -nature, jealous and passionate, a true democrat withal, and a worshipper -of the Emperor. The problem of dividing poor little Aurore between two -such women, habiting two distinct worlds, would have baffled Solomon -himself. The grandmother insisted on the advantages of bringing up the -child as a lady, and the mother, after a hard struggle, relinquished her -claims, the girl being handed over to the grandmother and transported -into the new world of Nohant. - -The story of this struggle, which tore the heart of Aurore as much as -that of her mother, is a tragedy of child-life. Aurore’s instincts bound -her to her mother. She implored her not to give her up for money—she -understood she was to be the richer for the change. She was beside -herself with joy when her grandmother allowed her to visit the maternal -home, and she has given us a charming account of these visits. The rooms -were poor and ugly enough by the side of her grandmother’s salons; yet— - - How good my mother seemed, how amiable my sister, how droll and - agreeable my friend Pierret! I could not stop repeating, ‘I am here at - home: down there I am at the house of my grandmother’. ‘Zounds!’ said - Pierret; ‘don’t let her go and say _chez nous_ before Madame Dupin. - She would reproach us with teaching her to talk as they do - _aux-z-halles_!’ And then Pierret would burst out into a fit of - laughter, for he was ready to laugh at anything, and my mother made - fun of him, and I cried out, ‘How we are enjoying ourselves at home!’ - -When she found that she was to live at Nohant she was beside herself -with grief, and implored her mother to take her away, and to let her -join her in some business enterprise. The mother seemed at first to -yield to these entreaties; but the barriers of rank proved to be -inexorable, and would not let the little orphan pass. The narrative of -the final departure of the mother from Nohant is deeply pathetic. It was -the eve of the parting: and the child resolved to write a letter to her -mother in which for the last time she poured out her passionate love and -her implorings to be taken with her. But the house was sentinelled with -hostile maids, and how to get the letter to its destination? At last, -lover-like, she bethought her of putting it behind a portrait of her -grandfather in her mother’s room. To make sure of her finding it, she -hung her nightcap on the picture, writing on it in pencil ‘Shake the -portrait!’ The mother came, but a provoking maid stayed a long half-hour -with her. Aurore dared not move. Then, having waited another half-hour -for the maid to fall asleep, she crept to her mother, whom she found -reading the letter and weeping. She pressed her child to her heart, but -would listen to no more proposals of flight from Nohant. - - I cried no more—I had no more tears; and I began to suffer from a - trouble more profound and lacerating than absence. I said to myself, - ‘My mother does not love me as much as I love her’. - -In the distraction of her grief she resolved that if it was unbearable -she would walk to Paris and rejoin her mother; and, with characteristic -inventiveness, thought out, by help of her fairy stories, how she would -avoid the anguish of begging by disposing of some precious trinkets. - -But the grief, like many another that looks crushing at first, proved -not unbearable. In time the child learnt to take kindly to her new home, -and even to love the stately and severe-looking grandmamma. - - _The Grandmother’s Regime._ - -It was verily a new home, this country house at Nohant. Besides the -grave grandmamma bent on drilling Aurore into the proprieties, there was -another solemn figure in Deschartres, her friend and counsellor, who -combined the functions of steward of the estate and tutor of the young -people. His pupils were Aurore herself, a half-brother Hippolyte, whose -birth added one more irregularity to the family history, and of whom the -_Histoire_ has much to say. Hippolyte was a wild-tempered youth, more -given to mischievous adventure and practical joking than to serious -study, and proved a considerable set-off to the formal gravity of the -elders of the household. A second youthful companion was supplied in -Clotilde, a girl of humble parentage, who was probably introduced by the -authorities as a concession to Rousseau’s teaching, and supplied a link -between the young lady and the peasant world she was to love and to -portray. Beyond the house was the unpretending country of Le Bas Berry, -with its ‘landes’ or wastes, the ‘Valée Noire’ of Aurore’s early -descriptions, which more than one of our writers have found half English -in character, and which was to become to Aurore what the Midlands were -to George Eliot. - -The first effect of this forced separation from the mother seems to have -been to throw Aurore in upon herself, and to confirm her natural -tendency to reverie. She says much at this stage of her day-dreaming, -which overtook her both when alone and when joining her companions in -play. It visited her regularly as she sat at her mother’s feet in the -evening listening to her reading, with an old screen covered with green -taffeta between her and the fire. - - I saw a little of the fire through this worn taffeta, and it formed on - it little stars, whose radiation I increased by blinking my eyes. Then - little by little I lost the meaning of the phrases which my mother - read. Her voice threw me into a kind of moral stupor, in which it was - impossible for me to follow an idea. Images began to shape themselves - before me, and came and settled on the green screen. They were woods, - meadows, rivers, towns of a grotesque and gigantic architecture, as I - have often seen them in dreams; enchanted palaces with gardens like - nothing that exists, with thousands of birds of azure, gold, and - purple, which sprang on the flowers and let themselves be caught.... - There were roses—green, black, violet, and especially blue.[336]... I - closed my eyes and still saw them, but when I reopened them I could - only find them again upon the screen. - ------ - -Footnote 336: - - A blue rose was for a long time the favourite dream of Balzac. - ------ - -As at Madrid, so at Nohant: the splendour of her new home caused her -alarm at first. On the wall-paper of her bedroom above each door was a -large medallion with a figure: the one a joyous dancing Flora; the other -a grave, severe Bacchante, standing with arm stretched out leaning on -her thyrsus. The first was beloved, the second dreaded. The child’s bed -was so placed that she had to turn her back on her favourite. She hid -her head under the bed-clothes and tried not to see that terribly stern -Bacchante, but in vain. - - In the middle of the night I saw it leave its medallion, glide along - the door, grow as big as a real person (as children say), and, walking - to the opposite door, try to snatch the pretty nymph from her niche. - She uttered piercing cries, but the Bacchante paid no heed to them. - She pulled and tore the paper till the nymph detached herself and fled - into the middle of the chamber. The other pursued her thither, and as - the poor fugitive threw herself on my bed in order to hide herself - under my curtain, the furious Bacchante came towards me and pierced us - both with her thyrsus, which had become a steeled lance, whose every - stroke was to me a wound of which I felt the pain. - -In her play with Ursule and Hippolyte she continued to indulge in her -passion for vivid imaginative realisation. When playing at crossing the -windings of a river, rudely marked with chalk on the floor, five minutes -would suffice to generate this kind of hallucination. - - I lost all notion of reality, and believed I could see the trees, the - water, the rocks—a vast country—and the sky, now bright, now laden - with clouds which were about to burst and increase the danger of - crossing the river. In what a vast space children think they are - acting when they thus walk from table to bed, from the fireplace to - the door! - -On one of these occasions, Hippolyte, with the boy’s bent to realism, -took the water jug, and pouring its contents on the floor, produced a -closer semblance of the river. The natural consequence followed: the -children, wholly absorbed in their little drama, were caught by Aurore’s -mother in the very act of paddling with naked feet and legs in a dirty -puddle formed by the water and the staining of the floor, and were -visited with summary chastisement. - -More daring pranks would sometimes be ventured on with Hippolyte. One -day, as Deschartres was away shooting, the boy got one of his works on -Incantation, and tried, much in the fashion of Tom Sawyer and -Huckleberry Finn, to get a peep at the supernatural. Mysterious lines, -digits, etc., were duly traced on the floor with chalk, and other -preparations carried out. Then they awaited with deepening agitation the -first indication of success, the darting out of a blue flame on certain -digits or figures. Long minutes passed, yet no blue flame, no devil’s -horns, appeared to thrill the eager watchers. At length Hippolyte, in -order to keep up the girl’s excitement, put his ear to the floor and -declared that he could hear the crackling sound of a flame. But it was -all in vain. After all it was but a game, ‘though a game that made our -hearts beat’. - -Hippolyte was given to dangerous experiments, which he dignified by -high-sounding names. Thus he one day put gunpowder into a big log and -threw this into the fire, with the view of blowing the saucepan into the -kitchen, an occupation which he cheerfully described as studying the -theory of volcanoes. He succeeded in leading on Aurore into pranks of a -decidedly hoydenish character, such as must have sadly grieved the -decorous grandmamma had she known of them. They one day went so far as -to dig a trough across the garden-path, fill this with light wet earth, -duly cover it with sticks and leaves, and then watch Deschartres, who -was particularly vain of his white stockings, as with the stiff, pompous -gait of the pedagogue he marched straight into the trap. - -Such a child as Aurore, with her fits of reverie alternating with -somewhat rude outbursts of animal spirits, was not easily drilled into -those proprieties on which Madame Dupin set so high a value. This good -lady took great pains to make Aurore walk properly, wear her gloves, -give up the familiar ‘thou,’ and adopt the stilted mode of address of -the fashionable world. But she did not appreciate these educational -experiments. ‘It seemed to me that she shut me in with herself in a big -box when she said to me, “Amusez-vous tranquillement”.’ While, for the -sake of pleasing her guardian, she outwardly conformed to the rules of -society, in her heart she remained a rebel, and was dreadfully bored, -when she ceased to be amused, by her grandmother’s ‘old Countesses’. One -exception to her general dislike of the grand personages she had now to -meet was made in the case of her great-uncle, the Abbé of Beaumont. He -seems to have been a man of ability and culture, as well as of amiable -heart, and he proved a good friend of the family after the death of -Colonel Dupin by improvising the distraction of a comedy at Nohant, in -which Deschartres’ flute did duty as orchestra, and the little Aurore -was called on to dance a ballet all by herself. The Abbé’s house, which -was decorated throughout in the style of Louis XIV., filled her with -admiration, and she loved to wander, candle in hand, alone through its -vast salons while the older people were absorbed in their cards. This -grand-uncle, by-the-bye, served in part as the prototype of the Canon in -_Consuelo_. - -The formal teaching was mostly handed over to Deschartres, though the -grandmother gave instruction in music. Aurore can hardly be said to have -been a backward child. She read well at four. Towards five she learnt to -write, but not having patience to copy out the alphabet, struck out an -original orthography of her own, and indited letters in this to Ursule -and Hippolyte. It was, she tells us, very simple and full of -hieroglyphics. She devoured a certain class of books, and found delight -for five or six months in the stories of Madame d’Aulnoy and of -Perrault, which she came across at Nohant. She adds that though she has -never re-read them since, she could repeat them all from beginning to -end. She tried, out of regard for her grandmamma, to take kindly to -arithmetic, Latin, and French versification, which Deschartres taught -her, but she could not master her dislike. After a little scene, in -which the passionate Deschartres threw a big dictionary at the girl’s -head, the Latin had to be given up altogether. The study she liked best -was history, since it gave her the chance of indulging in the pleasures -of imagination. She had to prepare extracts from a book for her -grandmother, and as she soon found that these were not compared with the -original, she began to introduce additions of her own. Without altering -essential facts, she tells us, she would place the historical personage -in new imaginary situations, so as to develop the character more -completely. In truth, she seems to have used history very much after the -fashion which Aristotle, and after him Lessing, recommend to the poets, -varying the situation, but leaving the character intact. - -In addition to these more solid studies, the young lady had special -lessons in dancing and in calligraphy. Both the dancing-master and the -writing-master came in for her ridicule. The latter, she tells us, was - - a professor of large pretensions, capable of spoiling the best hand - with his systems.... He had invented various instruments by which he - compelled his pupils to hold up the head, to keep the elbow free, - three fingers extended on the pen, and the little finger stretched on - the paper in such a way as to support the weight of the hand. - -It must have been a joyous moment for Aurore when she was set free from -the restraints and impositions of the château for a couple of hours’ -visit to some adjoining farm, where she could shout, laugh, and romp -with the peasant girls. Here she would climb the trees, rush wildly down -from the top to the bottom of a mountain of sheaves in the barn, and do -other outrageous things; or when the dream-mood was on her she would -quietly contemplate her rustic friends as they tended the lambs, hunted -for eggs, or gathered fruit from the orchard, weaving their figures into -one of her interminable romances. - -Among the charming rural pictures that her pen has drawn for us in these -recollections there is one of a swineherd, called Plaisir, for whom she -conceived a strange friendship. She loved to watch his odd figure, -always clothed in a blouse and hemp trousers, ‘which with his hands and -naked feet had taken the colour and the hardness of the earth,’ armed -with a triangular iron instrument, ‘the sceptre of swineherds,’ and -looking like ‘a gnome of the glebe, a kind of devil between man and -werwolf’. As the swine turned up the soil with their snouts, the birds -would come to forage. - - Sometimes these birds perched on the hog merely to get warm, or in - order the better to observe the labour from which they were to profit. - I have often seen an old ashy rook balancing himself there on one leg - with a pensive and melancholy air, while the hog bored deeply in the - soil, and by these labours caused it oscillations which disturbed it, - rendered it impatient, and finally drove it to correct this clumsiness - by strokes of its beak. - -Nor was it merely as playmates that the young lady from the château -deigned to associate with the peasantry. She threw herself with ardent -sympathy into the hard toilsome life of the people. One day, as she -chanced to see an old woman stooping, as well as her stiff limbs allowed -her, to gather sticks in her grandmother’s garden, she set vigorously to -work with bill-hook cutting dry wood, working late into the evening, and -forgetting all about her meal, for she was ‘strong as a peasant girl’. -She then set out with blood-stained face and hands, and with a weight -greater than that of her own body, for the poor woman’s hut, where she -enjoyed a well-earned slice from her black loaf. - -This contact with the rustic mind, so oddly introduced into the -fashionable scheme of education, exerted a profound effect on the -child’s imagination. She listened eagerly to the superstitious stories -which the hemp-dressers related when they came to crush the hemp, -sitting in the moonlight within view of the crosses of a cemetery. Among -these were a sacristan’s gruesome stories of interments and of the rats -that lived in the belfry. The doings of those rats, she tells us, would -of themselves fill a volume. He knew them all, and had given them the -names of the more important among the deceased villagers. They were very -clever, and could, among other exploits, arrange grains or beans given -them in the form of a circle enclosing a cross. It is hardly surprising -to learn that these stories robbed Aurore of her sleep. - -The rustic legend of the _grande bête_ much exercised the girl’s brain. -She tried to reconcile the superstition with what she had learnt about -the animal kingdom. And in this way she concluded that the creature must -be a member of a species almost entirely extinct. She imagined that it -was leading a solitary existence, being able to survive the rest of its -species by hiding during the day and wandering at night. This weird -conception soon began to expand into a zoological romance. - -If the girl’s imaginative impulse had been excited by her historical -studies, it could not but be roused to preternatural activity by the -stirring political events of the time. In 1812, when she was just eight -years old, occurred Napoleon’s disastrous invasion of Russia. The -absence of all news of the army for fifteen days gave a new direction to -her reverie. - - I imagined that I possessed wings, that I darted through space, and - that peering into the abysses of the horizon I discovered the vast - snows and the endless steppes of White Russia. I hovered, took my - bearings in the air, and at last spied the wandering columns of our - unhappy legions. I guided them towards France—for that which tormented - me the most was that they did not know where they were, and that they - were moving towards Asia, plunging more and more into deserts as they - turned their backs on the West. - -A quaint illustration of the conflict the child’s mind was passing -through under the contradictory impressions of Napoleon’s character -received from her mother and from her new instructors at Nohant, is -given us in the following:— - - Once I dreamt I carried him (the Emperor) through space and set him on - the cupola of the Tuileries. There I had a long talk with him, put him - a thousand questions, and said to him, ‘If thou prove thyself by thy - answers, as people say, a monster, an ambitious man, a drinker of - blood, I will cast thee down and dash thee to pieces on the threshold - of thy palace; but if thou justify thyself, if thou be what I have - believed, the good, the great, the just Emperor, the father of the - French, I will replace thee on thy throne, and with my sword of fire - defend thee from thy enemies’. He thereupon opened his heart and - confessed that he had committed many faults from too great a love of - glory, but he swore that he loved France, and that henceforth he would - only think of the happiness of the people. On this I touched him with - my sword of fire, which rendered him invulnerable. - - _A Self-evolved Religion._ - -Perhaps there is no domain of children’s thought and feeling that is -more remote from our older experience, and consequently less easily -understood by us, than that of religion. Their first ideas about the -supernatural are indeed, as we have seen above, though supplied by us, -not controlled by us. - -To most children, presumably, religious instruction comes—at first at -least—with a commanding, authoritative force. The story of the -supernatural, of the Divine Father, of Heaven, and the rest, cannot be -scrutinised by the child—save, indeed, in respect of its inner -consistency—for it tells of things unobservable by sense, and so having -no direct contact with childish experience. Their natural tendency is to -believe, in a submissive, childish way, not troubling about the proof of -the mystery. - -But even in this submissive acceptance there lies the germ of a -subsequent transformation. If the child is to believe, he must believe -in his own fashion; he must give body and reality to the ideas of Divine -majesty and goodness, and of spiritual approach and worship. Hence the -way in which children are apt to startle the reverent and amuse the -profane by divulging their crude material fancies about things -spiritual. - -Such materialisation of spiritual conceptions is apt to bring trouble to -the young mind. It is all so confusing—this exalted Personage, who -nevertheless is quite unlike earthly dignitaries, this all-encompassing -and never-failing Presence, which all the time refuses to reveal itself -to eye or ear. How much real suffering this may entail in the case of -children at once serious and imaginative we shall never know. The -description of the boy Waldo, in that strangely fascinating book, _The -Story of an African Farm_, kneeling bare-headed in the blazing sun and -offering his dinner on an altar to God, may look exaggerated to some; -but it is essentially true to some of the deepest instincts of -childhood. The child that believes at all, believes intensely, and his -belief grows all-commanding and prolific of action. - -While, however, it is the common tendency of children passively to adopt -their elders’ religious beliefs, merely inventing their own modes of -giving effect to them, there is a certain amount of originality -exercised in the formation of the beliefs themselves. Stories of -independent creations of a religious cult by children are no doubt rare; -and this for the very good reason that it needs the greatest force of -self-assertion to resist the pressure of the traditional faith on the -childish mind. The early recollections of George Sand furnish what is -probably the most remarkable instance of childish daring in fashioning a -new religion, with its creed and ritual all complete. - -Poor little Aurore’s religious difficulties and experiments at solution -can only be understood in the light of her confusing surroundings. From -her mother—ardent, imaginative, and of a ‘simple and confiding -faith’—she had caught some of the glow of a fervent piety. Then she -suddenly passed into the chilling air of Nohant, where the grandmother -equalled her master Voltaire in cynical contempt of the revered -mysteries. The effect of this sudden change of temperature on the warm -young heart was, as might have been anticipated, extremely painful. -Madame Dupin at once recognised the girl’s temperament, and saw with -dismay the leaning to ‘superstition,’ a trait which she disliked none -the less for recognising in it a bequest from the despised _grisette_ -mother. So she applied herself with all the energy of her strong -character to counteract the child’s religious tendencies. Now this might -have proved neither a difficult nor lengthy process if she had -consistently set her face against all religious observances. But though -a disciple of Voltaire, she was also a lady with a conspicuous social -position, and had to make her account with the polite world and the -_‘bienséances’_. So Aurore was not only allowed but encouraged to attend -Mass and to prepare for the ‘First Communion’ like other young ladies of -her station. Madame Dupin well knew the risk she was running with so -inflammable a material, but she counted on her own sufficiency as a -prompt extinguisher of any inconveniently attaching spark of devotion. -In this way the young girl underwent the uncommon if not unique -experience of a regular religious instruction, and, concurrently with -this and from the very hand that had imposed it, a severe training in -rational scepticism and contempt for the faith of the vulgar. - -Even if Aurore had not been in her inmost heart something of a _dévote_, -this parallel discipline in outward conformity and inward ridicule would -have been hurtful enough. As it was, it brought into her young life all -the pain of contradiction, all the bitterness of enforced rebellion. - -The attendance on Mass could hardly have seemed dangerous to Madame -Dupin. The old _curé_ of Nohant was not troubled with an excess of -reverence. When ordering a procession, in deference to the mandate of -his archbishop, he would seize the occasion for expressing his contempt -for such mummeries. In his congregation there was a queer old lady, who -used to utter her disapproval of the ceremony with a frankness that -would have seemed brutal even in a theatre, by exclaiming, ‘Quelle -diable de Messe!’ And the object of this criticism, on turning to the -congregation to wind up with the familiar _Dominus vobiscum_, would -reply in an under-tone, yet loudly enough for Aurore’s ear, ‘Allez au -diable!’ That the child attached little solemnity to the ritual is -evident from her account to the grandmother of her first visit to the -Mass: ‘I saw the _curé_ who took his breakfast standing up before a big -table, and turned round on us now and then to call us names’. - -The preparation for the ‘First Communion’ was a more serious matter. The -girl had now to study the life of Christ, and her heart was touched by -the story. ‘The Gospel (she writes) and the divine drama of the life and -death of Jesus drew from me in secret torrents of tears.’ Her -grandmother, by making now and again ‘a short, dry appeal to her -reason,’ succeeded in getting her to reject the notion of miracles and -of the divinity of Jesus. But though she was thus unable to reach ‘full -faith,’ she resolved _en revanche_ to deny nothing internally. -Accordingly she learnt her catechism ‘like a parrot, without seeking to -understand it, and without thinking of making fun of its mysteries’. For -the rest, she felt a special repugnance towards the confessional. She -was able to recall a few small childish faults, such as telling a lie to -her mother in order to screen the maid Rose, but feared the list would -not satisfy the confessor. Happily, however, he proved to be more -lenient than she had anticipated, and dismissed his young penitent with -a nominal penance. - -The day that makes an epoch in the Catholic girl’s life at length -arrived, and Aurore was decked out like the rest of the candidates. The -grandmother, having given a finishing touch to her instructions by -bidding Aurore, while going through the act of decorum with the utmost -decency, ‘not to outrage Divine wisdom and human reason to such an -extent as to believe that she was going to eat her Creator,’ accompanied -her to the church. It was a hard ordeal. The incongruous appearance of -the deistic grandmamma in the place sufficed in itself to throw the -girl’s thoughts into disorder. She felt the hollowness of the whole -thing, and asked herself whether she and her grandmother were not -committing an act of hypocrisy. More than once her repugnance reached -such a pitch that she thought of getting up and saying to her -grandmother, ‘Enough of this: let us go away’. But relief came in -another shape. Going over the scene of the ‘Last Supper’ in her -thoughts, she all at once recognised that the words of Jesus, ‘This is -my body and my blood,’ were nothing but a metaphor. He was too holy and -too great to have wished to deceive his disciples. This discovery of the -symbolism of the rite calmed her by removing all feeling of its -grotesqueness. She left the Communion table quite at peace. Her -contentment gave a new expression to her face, which did not escape the -anxious eyes of Madame Dupin: ‘Softened and terrified, divided between -the fear of having made me devout and that of having caused me to lie to -myself, she pressed me gently to her heart and dropped some tears on my -veil’. - -It was out of this conflicting and agitating experience, the full sense -of the beauty of the Christian faith and the equally full comprehension -of the sceptic’s destructive logic, that there was born in Aurore’s -imagination the idea of a new private religion with which nobody else -should meddle. She gives us the origin of this strange conception -clearly enough:— - - Since all religion is a fiction (I thought), let us make a story which - may be a religion, or a religion which may be a story. I don’t believe - in my stories, but they give me just as much happiness as though I - did.[337] Besides, should I chance to believe in them from time to - time, nobody will know it, nobody will dispel my illusion by proving - to me that I am dreaming. - ------ - -Footnote 337: - - She here refers to the stories she had long been accustomed to compose - for her own private delectation. - ------ - -The form and the name of her new divinity came to her in a dream. He was -to be called ‘Corambé’. His attributes must be given in her own words:— - - He was pure and charitable as Jesus, radiant and beautiful as Gabriel; - but it was needful to add a little of the grace of the nymphs and of - the poetry of Orpheus. Accordingly he had a less austere form than the - God of the Christian, and a more spiritual feeling than those of - Homer. And then I was obliged to complete him by investing him on - occasion with the guise of a woman, for that which I had up to this - time loved the best, and understood the best, was a woman—my mother. - And so it was often under the semblance of a woman that he appeared to - me. In short, he had no sex, and assumed all sorts of aspects.... - Corambé should have all the attributes of physical and moral beauty, - the gift of eloquence, the omnipotent charm of the arts—above all, the - magic of musical improvisation. I wished to love him as a friend, as a - sister, while revering him as a God. I would not be afraid of him, and - to this end I desired that he should have some of our errors and - weaknesses. I sought that one which could be reconciled with his - perfection, and I found it in an excess of indulgence and kindness. - -The religious idea took an historical form, and Aurore proceeded to -develop the several phases of Corambé’s mundane existence in a series of -sacred books or songs. She supposed that she must have composed not less -than a thousand of such songs without ever being tempted to write down a -line of them. In each of these the deity Corambé, who had become human -on touching the earth, was brought into a fresh group of persons. These -were all good people; for although there existed wicked ones, one did -not see them, but only knew of them by the effects of their malice and -madness. Corambé always appears, like Jesus—and one may add, like -Buddha—as the beneficent one, spending himself, and suffering -persecutions and martyrdom, in the cause of humanity. - -This occupation of the imagination developed ‘a kind of gentle -hallucination’. Aurore soon learned to betake herself to her -hero-divinity for comfort and delight. Even when her peasant companions -chattered around her she was able to lose herself in her world of -religious romance. - -The idea of sacred books was followed by that of a temple and a ritual. -For this purpose she chose a little wood in her grandmother’s garden, a -perfect thicket of young trees and undergrowth, into which nobody ever -penetrated, and which, during the season of leaves, was proof against -any spying eye. Here, in a tiny, natural chamber of green, carpeted with -a magnificent moss, she proceeded to erect an altar against a tree stem, -decking it with shells and other ornaments and crowning it with a wreath -of flowers suspended from a branch above. The little priestess, having -made her temple, sat down on the moss to consider the question of -sacrifices. - - To kill animals, or even insects, in order to please him, appeared to - me barbarous and unworthy of his ideal kindliness. I persuaded myself - to do just the opposite—that is, to restore life and liberty on his - altar to all the creatures that I could procure. - -Her offering included butterflies, lizards, little green frogs, and -birds. These she would put into a box, lay it on the altar, and then -open it, ‘after having invoked the good genius of liberty and -protection’. - -In these mimic rites, hardly removed from genuine childish play, the -doubt-agitated girl found repose: ‘I had then delicious reveries, and -while seeking the marvellous, which had for me so great an attraction, I -began to find the vague idea and the pure feeling of a religion -according to my heart’. - -But the sweet sanctuary did not long remain inviolate. One day her boy -playmate came to look for her, and tracked her to her secret grove. He -was awe-struck at the sight, and exclaimed: ‘Ah, miss, the pretty little -altar of the _Fête-Dieu_!’ He was for embellishing it still further, but -she felt the charm was destroyed. - - From the instant that other feet than mine had trodden his sanctuary, - Corambé ceased to dwell in it. The dryads and the cherubim deserted - it, and it seemed to me as if my ceremonies and my sacrifices were - from this time only childishness, that I had not in truth been in - earnest. I destroyed the temple with as much care as I had built it; I - dug a hole at the foot of the tree, where I buried the garlands, the - shells, and all the rustic ornaments, under the ruins of the altar. - -This story of Aurore’s religious experiment cannot fail to remind the -reader of biography of the child Goethe’s well-known essays in the same -direction. The boy’s mind, it will be remembered, had been greatly -exercised with the religious problem, first of all under the impression -of horror caused by the earthquake at Lisbon, and later from having to -listen to accounts of the new sects—Separatists, Moravians, and the -rest—who sought a closer communion with the deity than was possible -through the somewhat cold ritual of the established religion. Stirred by -their example, he tried also to realise a closer approach to the Divine -Being. He conceived him, he tells us, as standing in immediate connexion -with Nature. So he invented a form of worship in which natural products -were to represent the world, and a flame burning over these to symbolise -the aspirations of man’s heart. A handsome pyramid-shaped music-stand -was chosen for altar, and on the shelves of this the successive stages -in the evolution of Nature were to be indicated. The rite was to be -carried out at sunrise, the altar-flame to be secured by means of -fumigating pastils and a burning-glass. The first performance was a -success, but in trying to repeat it the boy-priest omitted to put the -pastils into a cup, so the lacquered stand, with its beautiful gold -flowers, was disastrously burnt—a _contretemps_ which took away all -spirit for new offerings. - -In comparing these two instances of childish worship, one is struck -perhaps more by their contrast than by their similarity. Each of the two -incidents illustrates, no doubt, a true childish aspiration towards the -great Unseen, and also an impulse to invent a form of worship which -should harmonise with and express the little worshipper’s individual -thoughts. But here the resemblance ceases. The boy-priest felt, -apparently, nothing of the human side of religion: he was the true -precursor of Goethe, the large-eyed man of science and the poet of -pantheism, and found his delight in symbolising the orderliness of -Nature’s work as a whole, and its Divine purpose and control. Aurore -Dupin, on the other hand, approached religion on the human and emotional -side, the side which seems more appropriate to her sex. She thought of -her deity as intently occupied with humanity and its humble kinsfolk in -the sentient world; and she endowed him above all other qualities with -generosity and pitifulness, even to excess. Goethe seems to represent -the speculative, Aurore the humanitarian, element in the religious -impulse of the child. - -To follow Aurore into her later religious experiences in the ‘Couvent -des Anglaises’ would be clearly to go beyond the limits of these studies -of childhood. I hope I may have quoted enough from the first chapters of -the autobiography to illustrate not only their deep human and literary -interest, but their special value to the psychological student. - - - - - BIBLIOGRAPHY. - - - (A) GENERAL WORKS ON CHILD PSYCHOLOGY. - -D. Tiedemann, _Memoiren_ (memoirs of a two-year-old son, the biologist - F. Tiedemann, b. 1781). English Translation: _Record of Infant Life_, - Syracuse, U.S.A. French Translation by B. Perez: _Th. Tiedemann et la - science de l’enfant_, 1881. - -J. E. Löbisch, _Entwicklungsgeschichte der Seele des Kindes_, 1851. - -B. Sigismund, _Kind und Welt_, 1856. - -C. Darwin, “Biographical Sketch of an Infant,” in _Mind_, vol. ii., - 1877, pp. 285-294. - -B. Perez, _Les trois premières années de l’enfant_, 1878. English - Translation by Miss A. M. Christie (Sonnenschein & Co., London). - - With this should be read the following by the same author, - _L’Education dès le Berçeau_, 1880; _L’Enfant de trois à sept ans_, - 1886. - -W. Preyer, _Die Seele des Kindes_, 1882; fourth edition, 1895. English - Translation, by H. W. Brown, in two parts (published by Appleton & - Co., of New York); also selections from the same under the title _Die - geistige Entwicklung in der ersten Kindheit_. English Translation by - H. W. Brown (Appleton & Co.). - -F. Tracy, _The Psychology of Childhood_ (Boston, U.S., 1893; second - edition, 1894). - -G. Compayré, _L’Evolution intellectuelle et morale de l’Enfant_, 1893. - -M. W. Shinn, _Notes on the Development of a Child_ (Berkeley, U.S.A., - 1893-94). - -Paola Lombroso, _Saggi di Psicologia del Bambino_ (Roma, 1894). - -J. M. Baldwin, _Mental Development in the Child and the Race_, 1895. - - (B) SPECIAL WORKS. - - (1) IMAGINATION AND PLAY. - -J. Klaiber, _Das Märchen und die kindliche Phantasie_, 1866. - -F. Queyrat, _L’imagination et ses variétés chez l’Enfant_, 1893. - -Reference may also be made to the works of Perez and Compayré already -named, to Madame Necker’s _L’Education progressive_, to George Sand’s -_Histoire de ma vie_, and to the writings of Froebel and his followers -on the nature of Play. - - (2) THOUGHTS AND REASONINGS. - -E. Egger, _Observations et reflexions sur le developpement de - l’intelligence et du langage chez les enfants_, 1881. - -_Thoughts and Reasonings of Children._ Classified by H. W. Brown. - Reprinted from the _Pedagogical Seminary_, vol. ii., No. 3 (Worcester, - U.S.A.). - -See also the works of Preyer, Perez, and Compayré mentioned above. - -Reference may further be made to the inquiries into the contents of -children’s minds carried out in Germany and elsewhere: see Bartholmai, -“Psychologische Statistik,” in Stoy’s _Allgem. Schulzeitung_, 1871; -Lange, “Der Vorstellungskreis unserer sechsjährigen Kleinen,” in Stoy’s -_Allgem. Schulzeitung_, 1879; Hartmann, _Analyse des kindischen -Gedankenkreises_, 2^e auflage, 1890; Dr. Stanley Hall, ‘Contents of -Children’s Minds,’ _Princeton Review_, New Series, vol. II, 1883. p. -249, and _Pedagogical Seminary_, vol. i., No. 2, and _The Contents of -Children’s Minds on entering School_, 1894. - - (3) LANGUAGE. - -A. Keber, _Zur Philosophie der Kindersprache_, 1868; 2^e Aufgabe, 1890. - -H. Taine, “On the Acquisition of Language by Children,” _Mind_, ii., - 1877, pp. 252-259. - -Sir F. Pollock, “An Infant’s Progress in Language,” _Mind_, iii., 1878, - pp. 392-401. - -F. Schultze, _Die Sprache des Kindes_, 1880. - -E. Egger, _Observations et reflexions sur le developpement de - l’intelligence et du langage chez les enfants_, 1881. - - L. Treitel, _Ueber Sprachstörung und Sprachentwicklung_, Berlin, 1892. - -H. Gutzmann, _Des Kindes Sprache und Sprachfehler_, 1894. - -J. Dewey, “The Psychology of Infant Language,” _Psychological Review_, - 1894. - -Other authorities on children’s language are quoted by Preyer in -connexion with his own full account of the subject, _Die Seele des -Kindes_, 4^e Auflage, Dritter Theil, vi. - - (4) FEAR. - -Reference can be made here to Locke’s _Thoughts on Education_, -Rousseau’s _Emile_, and to the works of Madame Necker, George Sand, -Preyer, Perez, and Compayré, already named. - - (5) MORAL CHARACTERISTICS. - -These are dealt with by Locke, Rousseau, Madame Necker, by Perez and -Compayré in the works already named, also by Perez in his volume _Le -Caractère de l’enfant à l’homme_, and by most writers on Education. The -subject of Children’s Lies is more fully dealt with by G. Stanley Hall, -in _The American Journal of Psychology_, vol. iii., 1, and _The -Pedagogical Seminary_, vol. i., 2, and by G. Compayré, _L’Evolution -intell. et morale de l’enfant_, chap. xiv. - - (6) ART. - -B. Perez, _L’art et la poésie chez l’enfant_, 1888. - - (7) DRAWING. - -Corrado Ricci, _L’arte dei Bambini_ (Bologna, 1887). - -J. Passy, “Note sur les dessins d’enfants,” _Revue Philosophique_, 1891. - -Earl Barnes, “A Study of Children’s Drawings,” _Pedagogical Seminary_, - vol. ii., No. 3, p. 455 ff. - -The names of other books on child-psychology may be found in Tracy’s -volume, _The Psychology of Childhood_, p. 162 ff.; in the _Handbook of -the Illinois Society for Child Study_, 1895; in B. Hartmann’s article, -“Alterstypen,” in Rein’s _Encyclop. Handbuch der Pädagogik_, Band i., p. -49; and in C. Shubert’s Essay, “Elternfragen,” in Rein’s _Aus dem -pädagog. Universitätsseminar zu Jena_, 1894. - - INDEX. - - - - - A. - - Abstraction, abstract ideas, beginnings of, 443; - growth of, 483. - Acting, relation of, to play, 36, 326; - as early form of art, 323; - first attempts at, 434, 496. - _See_ Dramatic representation. - Activity, action. _See_ Movement. - Adjectives, first use of, 171, 427. - Adornment, child’s instinct of, 318. - _See_ Dress. - Æsthetic aspect of child, 2; - feelings of child, 300, 397, 409, 451. - _See_ Art. - Affirmation, sign of, 417. - After-images, child’s ideas of, 102, 465. - Altruism, germs of, in child, 242. - _See_ Sympathy. - Amiel, H. F., 3. - Andree, R., 337 note, 338, 345 note, 348 note, 352 note, 379, 381 note. - Anger, early manifestations of, 232, 407, 432. - Animal, child compared with, 5; - ideas of child respecting, 123; - dread of musical sounds by, 195; - fear of uncaused movements by, 205, 220; - child’s fear of, 207, 433; - child’s ill-treatment of, 239; - his sympathy with, 247, 460, 475, 485; - recognition of portraits by, 309; - care of body by, 318; - child’s mode of drawing, 372; - his liking for, 450. - Animism, of nature-man, 104; - traces of, in child-thought, 480. - Anthropocentric ideas of child, 82, 98, 102, 427. - Anthropomorphic ideas of children, 79. - Anti-social tendencies of child, 230. - Antithesis, child’s use of, 174, 429, 442. - Argument. _See_ Dialectic. - Arms, child’s manner of drawing, 348; - treatment of, in profile representation, 362. - Art; - art-impulse of child, 298; - first responses to natural beauty, 300; - pleasure of light and colour, 300; - germ of æsthetic feeling for form, 303; - feeling for flowers, 305; - feeling for scenery, 306; - rudimentary appreciation of art, 307; - effects of music, 308; - interpretation of pictures, 309; - understanding of stories, 314; - realism of child, 314; - attitude towards dramatic spectacle, 315; - feeling for comedy and tragedy, 316; - beginnings of art-production, 318; - love of adornment, 318; - grace in action, 321; - relation of art to play, 321, 326; - germ of imitative art, 323; - invention, 325; - roots of artistic impulse, 327. - Artfulness of children, 272. - Articulation, first rudimentary, 135; - transition to true, 138; - defects of early, 148, 418; - process of, 154; - growth of, 158, 416, 427, 439, 467. - _See_ Language. - Assertion, child’s manner of making, 457, 471. - _See_ Sentence. - Assimilation. _See_ Similarity. - —— phonetic, 156. - Association of ideas, in imaginative transformation of objects, 32; - seen in extension of names, 164; - first manifestations of, 405. - Assonance, in early vocalisation, 137. - - B. - - Baby, new-born, helpless condition of, 5, 400. - Baby-worship, 17. - Bagehot, Walter, 280. - Baldwin, J. Mark, 11 note, 20, 40 note, 335 note, 484 note. - Barnes, Earl, 125 note, 224, 368 note. - Beard, drawing of, 358. - Beauty. _See_ Æsthetic Feeling and Art. - Binet, A., 19, 82. - Birth, child’s ideas of, 1, 107, 117. - _See_ Origins. - Black, instinctive dislike of, 202, 204, 215, 451, 497. - Body, relation of, to self, 110, 113, 115, 457; - treatment of, in early drawings, 344; - representation of, in profile, 362; - drawing of animal, 374; - first examination of, 403. - Bridgman, Laura, 169, 244. - Bright objects, attraction of, 300, 403, 409. - Brown, H. W., 22 note, 74, 95, 97, 105, 112, 121, 255, 275, 313. - Burial, child’s ideas of, 121; - his shrinking from, 478, 486. - Burnett, F. H., 43, 44, 237, 257. - Burnham, W. H., 27 note, 30 note. - - C. - - Canton, W., 39, 96, 102, 173 note, 186, 209. - Catlin, G., 356. - Causation, cause, first inquiries into, 78, 446, 457; - child’s ideas of, 79, 80, 448; - effect and, confused, 80, 99, 165. - Ceremonial observances of child, 281. - Champneys, F. H., 196 note, 420 note. - Child, modern interest in, 1; - scientific inquiry into, 3; - psychological investigation of, 7; - relation of, to race, 8; - concern of education with, 10; - observation of, 10; - qualifications for observing, 14; - individuality of, 23. - Coleridge, Hartley, 113. - Colour, order of discrimination of, 19, 437; - child’s delight in, 300; - preferences for certain, 301; - liking for contrast of, 302; - first observation of, 422; - recognition of affinities of, 465; - recognition of opposition of, 481. - Coloured hearing, 33. - Comic, sense of the. _See_ Fun. - Commands, child’s first use of, 172, 430. - _See_ Law. - Comparison, beginnings of, 71. - Compayré, G., 37 note, 76, 169 note, 173 note, 208, 217, 249. - Concretism, 163. - Contrast, early use of. _See_ Antithesis. - Contrast of colours, early perception of, 481. - Conversation, child’s first attempt at, 431. - Cooke, E., 333 note, 334, 338, 339, 373, 374 note, 375 note, 388. - Courage, attempt to inculcate, 470. - Creation. _See_ Origin of things. - Cruelty, towards children, 226, 292; - nature of children’s, 239. - Crying, of child at birth, 400; - precedes smiling, 406. - Curiosity, as characteristic of child, 83; - as counteractive of fear, 225; - as motive to maltreatment of animals, 241. - _See_ Questioning. - Custom, child’s respect for, 280. - - D. - - Dark, child’s fear of, 211, 462. - Destructiveness, as characteristic of child, 240. - Darwin, C., 139, 141, 146, 233 note, 407 note, 411 note, 417 note. - Deaf-mutes, gesture language of, 173, 175. - Death, child’s ideas respecting, 120, 463; - his feeling on witnessing, 237, 238, 496; - dread of losing mother by, 245; - his shrinking from, 478. - Defiance. _See_ Law. - De Quincey, T., 251. - Dialectic, child’s skill in, 275, 449, 460. - Dickens, Charles, 53. - Difference, dissimilarity, perception of, 67, 441. - Disappearance, puzzle of, for the child, 84; - child’s first ideas of, 444. - Discipline, moral, lying as related to, 258; - resistance to, 268; - criticism of, 275, 286; - child’s imitation of, 285; - problem of, 290. - Discrimination. _See_ Difference. - Disobedience, child’s attitude of. _See_ Law. - Distance, child’s inadequate ideas of, 99; - first perception of, 414. - Doll, place of, in child’s play, 42; - treatment of, by child, 43; - illusion of, 44, 492; - fear of, 204, 410. - Domenech, Abbé, 385 note. - Dramatic representation, effects of, on child, 315. - Drawings of children; - general characteristics of, 331; - crude beginnings of, 333; - first attempts at human figure, 335; - treatment of head, 335; - facial features, 337; - evolution of features, 340; - treatment of the trunk, 344; - of the arms, 348; - of the hand, 351; - of the legs, 354; - of the foot, 355; - introduction of profile elements, 356; - mixed schemes of human figure, 367; - representation of action, 369; - treatment of accessories, 370; - of animals, 372; - of man on horseback, 377; - of man in boat, house, etc., 380; - of house, 381; - _résumé_ of facts, 382; - defects of, 382; - showing what is invisible, 383, 392; - explanation of facts, 385; - mental process involved in, 385; - child’s observation as reflected in, 393; - his ideas of objects as illustrated in, 394; - rudiments of artistic value in, 396. - Dreams, child’s first ideas of, 103; - as excitants of fear, 218; - early examples of, 455, 481, 500, 505, 506. - Dress, child’s dislike of new, 202, 319, 410; - his treatment of, in drawings, 371. - Droz, G., 21. - - E. - - Ears, drawing of, 343, 361. - Earth, the, child’s ideas of, 100, 482. - Echo, childish interpretation of, 496. - Education, importance of child-study for, 10. - Egger, E., 40 note, 47, 107 note, 153. - Egoism of child. _See_ Morality. - Egyptians, drawings of, 361, 366, 369. - Emotion. _See_ Feelings. - Envy, as childish characteristic, 231. - Erasmus, D., 87. - Evolution, doctrine of, bearing of, on child-study, 5, 8; - on children’s fear, 208; - on their angry outbursts, 234; - illustrated in child’s drawings, 382. - Exaggeration, child’s tendency to, 255. - Excuses, child’s invention of, 271. - Experiment, carrying out of, on child, 17. - Expression of feeling, through sounds, 136; - original form of, 461. - Eyes, drawings of, 340; - treatment of, in profile, 359, 360; - treatment of animal, 373; - learning to control movements of, 401, 402. - - F. - - Fairies, child’s belief in, 59, 124, 454, 466. - Fancy. _See_ Imagination. - Fatalism, traces of, in child-thought, 273. - Fear, in children, the observation of, 193; - startling effects of sounds, 194; - feeling of bodily insecurity, 197; - of visible objects, 198; - of strange things, 199; - of strange persons, 201, 410; - of new clothes, 202, 410; - of the sea, 202; - of ugly dolls, 204, 410; - of moving things, 205; - of shadows, 206; - of animals, 207, 433; - of the dark, 211, 462; - explanation of, 219; - comparison of child’s with animal’s, 220; - with savage’s, 220; - with abnormal terror, 221; - action of experience upon, 221; - palliatives of, 223; - of bath, 470; - of lamp, 493. - Feelings of child, problem of studying, 191; - expression of, 192. - Flowers, child’s love of, 305. - Folk-etymology, 188. - Foot, child’s mode of drawing, 355; - representation of, in profile, 364. - Form, child’s observation of, 60, 393, 421, 465. - Fry, I., 224, 253. - Fun, child’s sense of, 316, 411, 434, 450. - -G. - - Galton, F., 45, 404. - Games. _See_ Play. - General ideas, generalisation, first rudiments of, 141, 161; - early examples of, 162, 404, 420. - Gesture, early use of, as signs, 138; - of deaf-mutes, 173, 175. - Ghosts, germ of fear of, in child, 462. - God; - child’s ideas of his form, 126; - of his dwelling-place, 126; - of his creative activity, 127, 478; - of his omniscience, 128; - of his omnipresence, 129; - of his goodness, 130; - of his eternity, 131; - of his triune being, 331. - Goethe, J. W. von, 241 note, 315, 512. - Goltz, B., 42, 53, 185 note, 186 note. - Government. _See_ Discipline. - Grace of child, 321. - Grammatical forms, child’s indifference to, 161, 440. - Grasping, movement of, 412. - Grave. _See_ Burial. - Greed of child, 231, 432. - Grosse, E., 319, 327, 368. - Growth, ascribed by child to lifeless things, 97, 449; - child’s inquiries into, 80, 457; - his ideas of, 104, 485; - and subsequent shrinkage, 105. - Guyau, J. M., 253. - - H. - - Habit, influence of, seen in children’s drawings, 390, 392. - Hair, drawing of, 343. - Hale, Horatio, 145. - Hall, G. Stanley, 34, 101, 122, 125, 135 note, 140, 188, 256, 262, 264 - note, 338 note, 350 note. - Hallucination, traces of, in child, 423, 500, 501, 511. - Hands, child’s manner of drawing, 351; - first use of, 400, 401; - discrimination of right and left, 484. - Happiness of child, problem of, 222. - Harte, Bret, 65. - Heaven, children’s ideas of, 122, 126, 479. - Heavenly bodies, children’s ideas of, 99, 100, 482. - Heine, H., 3. - Hell, child’s fear of, 224. - Helpfulness of child, 246. - History, child’s treatment of, 503. - Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 61. - Hugo, Victor, 3, 213. - Humane feelings, compassion for animals, etc. _See_ Sympathy. - Humorous aspect of child, 3. - Hypnotic suggestion, hypnotism, 13, 254, 257, 261, 294. - - I. - - ‘I,’ ‘me,’ first use of, 178, 428, 439, 444. - Idealism, traces of, in child, 117. - Ideas of children. _See_ Imagination and Thought. - Illusion, in transformation of objects by imagination, 31, 500; - in play, 47; - tendency to morbid, 62. - Image. _See_ Semblance. - Imagination, age of, 25; - differences in power of, among children, 26; - transformation of objects of sense by, 29, 500; - relation of, to play, 35; - free projection of images of, 51; - and Storyland, 54; - connexion between, and thought, 70; - as element in fear, 218; - relation of, to lying, 254, 438; - early development of, 405, 438. - Imitation, imitative movement; - in early language-signs, 142, 147, 417; - in early forms of sympathy, 243, 408; - beginnings of, 322, 415. - Incantation, playing at, 501. - Indignation, moral, manifestations of, in child, 248, 452, 474. - Individuality of child, 23. - Ingelow, Jean, 31, 118. - Inheritance of fear, 208, 411. - Inquisitiveness. _See_ Curiosity. - Insensibility of child, 236. - Instinct, in articulation, 134; - in fear, 198; - in angry passion, 235; - in truth-telling, 264; - in respect for law, 279. - Invention, artistic, 325; - practical, 435; - of language forms, _see_ Language. - - J. - -Janet, Pierre, 445. - - K. - - Kipling, Rudyard, 12. - Kratz, H. E., 82, 126. - - L. - - La Fontaine, J. de, 239. - Lamb, Charles, 213. - Language, linguistics of child; - early instinctive sounds, 134, 416; - transition to true speech, 138; - imitation of sounds, 142, 147, 417; - original inventions of language signs, 145; - transformation of our sounds, 148, 419; - process of learning to speak, 154, 160; - transposition of sounds of words, 155; - reduplication of sounds, 156; - assimilation of sounds, 156; - logical side of language, 160; - first use of general signs, 161; - spontaneous extension of verbal signs, 162, 420, 440; - designation of correlative ideas, 164, 468; - formation of compound names, 167; - other inventions, 168, 182, 455, 468; - first sentences, 170, 420; - inversion of order of words, 173; - mode of expressing negation, 174, 442; - early solecisms, 176, 440; - use of pronouns, ‘I,’ ‘you,’ 178, 444; - trying to get at our meanings, 183; - word-play, 187; - stickling for accuracy of words, 189, 466. - Laughter. _See_ Fun. - Law, early struggles with, 267, 451; - devices for evading, 270; - instinctive respect for, 277, 434; - relation of custom to, 280; - child’s spontaneous extension of, 281; - his jealous insistence on, 285; - his voluntary submission to, 287. - Law-giver, the wise, 290. - Leg, child’s mode of drawing, 354; - representation of, in profile, 364; - treatment of animal’s, 375. - Liberty, respect for, in moral training, 296; - child’s love of, 473. - Lies, lying, viewed as characteristic of child, 251; - early forms of, 252, 432, 438; - permanent, 260; - contagiousness of, 261; - shrinking from, 261. - Likeness. _See_ Portrait and Similarity. - Locke, John, 9, 34, 213, 218. - Lombroso, P., 119 note, 166 note, 169, 255 note, 271 note. - Loti, Pierre, 203. - Lubbock, Sir John, 45. - - M. - - Maillet, E., 173. - Make-believe, as characteristic of child, 38, 434. - _See_ Play and Acting. - Man, first drawings of, 335; - first use of name, 425; - theory of creation of, 478. - Marshall, H. Rutgers, 327 note. - Maspero, G., 369 note. - Materialism of child, 125, 507. - Memory, of our early experiences, 15; - of words of story, 57, 466; - tenacity of children’s, 69; - illusion of, 258; - beginnings of permanent, 437, 481. - Metaphor, in children’s use of language, 163, 175, 426, 442, 455, 483. - Metathesis, 155. - Minto, W., 164. - Mirror-reflexions, as aiding in growth of self-knowledge, 112; - understanding of, 309. - Moral depravity, doctrine of, 1, 229. - Morality of child, question of, 228; - anti-social tendencies, 230, 473; - altruistic tendencies, 242; - lying, 251; - summary of moral traits, 265. - Motet, A. A., 261 note. - Mother, child’s love of, 243, 245, 498; - first recognition of, 404. - Mouth, modes of drawing, 340; - carrying objects to, 401, 415; - use of, in turning key, 435. - Movement, as sign of life, 96. - Movements, muscular, in early attempts to draw, 333; - first aimless, 412; - early purposive, 412. - Müller, F. Max, 147 note, 177. - Multitude of things, child’s perplexity at, 84. - Music, musical sounds, disconcerting effect of, 195, 409; - enjoyment of, 308, 492. - Myth, child’s belief in, 59. - _See_ Story. - - N. - - Names, asking for, 77. - _See_ Language. - Natural phenomena, nature; - child’s ideas of, 90, 469, 482; - early æsthetic feeling for, 306. - Neck, drawing of, 346. - Negation, early verbal forms of, 174, 442; - early gesture for, 417. - Neophobia, 221. - Nervous system of child, imperfect development of, 61; - sounds as disturbing shock to, 195, 197. - Noirée, L., 144 note. - Nose, modes of drawing, 341, 357. - Novelty, effect of, on children’s feeling, 199, 409, 410. - Number, disregard of, in drawing, 352; - first ideas of, 456; - growth of clearer ideas of, 468, 484. - - O. - - Obedience and disobedience of children, 267. - _See_ Law. - Observation, of children’s minds, 10; - characteristics of children’s, 66; - selectiveness of, 67; - defects of, in children, 393; - early examples of, 402, 452, 464, 465, 480. - Onomatopoetic sounds, in children’s language, 143, 418. - Origin of things, child’s inquiries into, 79, 85, 446, 483, 485; - his theories respecting, 107, 478. - Ornament. _See_ Adornment. - - P. - - Passy, J., 339 note, 361, 368. - Payn, James, 12 note, 185, 215 note. - Peasants, association with, 504. - Perez, Bernard, 106 note, 193 note, 195 note, 199 note, 232, 241, 252, - 260 note, 298, 305 note, 306, 315, 320, 337, 341, 417 note. - Perplexity, child’s feeling of, 83, 463. - Personal identity, altered personality; - child’s notions respecting, 116, 445, 461. - Personification. _See_ Vivification. - Pestalozzi, J. H., 47. - Petrie, W. M. F., 310, 311 note, 366 note. - Photographs, child’s feeling about, 461. - Pictures, treatment of, by child, 50; - dislike of cruel, 250; - interpretation of, 309. - Pitt-Rivers, A., General, 336, 340 note, 344, 355, 356, 359, 360, 366, - 368, 371. - Pity, for animals. _See_ Sympathy. - Play, and imaginative realisation, 35, 438, 494, 501; - imitative, 37; - as acting a part, 38; - part of surroundings in, 39; - solitary, 40; - with toys, 42; - illusion of, 47; - relation of, to art, 321. - Please, wish to, as social tendency in child, 246; - as leading to exaggerated statement, 256. - Pleasure and pain, instinctive expression of, 191; - action of, as motives, 415. - Pollock, Sir F., 172, 173, 174, 175. - Portrait, dog’s fear of, 220; - recognition of, 309. - _See_ Photographs. - Position, of pictures, child’s indifference to, 310; - his neglect of relative, in drawing, 338. - Postgate, J. P., 149 note, 157 note. - Power, love of, as element in childish cruelty, 240. - Prayer, child’s manner of, 127, 130, 283, 477, 486. - Prevarication. _See_ Lies. - Preyer, W., 19, 110, 113, 135, 136, 140, 141 note, 142, 143, 145, 148 - note, 152, 153, 155, 159, 160 note, 162, 165, 169, 171 note, 172, - 177 note, 179, 181, 182 note, 191, 195, 196, 198 note, 201, 202, - 208, 210, 233, 285, 301, 333, 335 note, 414 note, 417 note. - Priggishness of child, 286, 471. - Profile, child’s manner of drawing, 356, 384, 392, 394. - Pronouns, first use of, 178, 440. - Proportion, defective perception of, 304; - want of, in early drawings, 339, 346, 381, 383. - Psychology, importance of child for, 7. - Punishment, child’s protests against, 276; - his insistence on undergoing, 288; - self-infliction of, 289. - Punning, 187. - Purpose, child’s projection of idea of, 81. - _See_ Cause. - - Q. - - Queyrat, F., 27. - Questioning, children’s, date of first, 75; - significance of, 75; - various directions of, 76; - as to reasons and causes, 77, 447, 457; - rage of, 83, 446; - about origins, 85, 485; - metaphysical direction of, 87; - about nature’s processes, 87; - how to deal with, 89. - Quinet, Edgar, 57. - - R. - - Reaching out to objects. _See_ Grasping. - Realism, æsthetic, of child, 314. - Reason, reasoning, the dawn of, 64; - early practical form of, 71; - seen in comparison, 71; - in discovering connexions of things, 73; - child’s manner of, 80, 93, 448, 458, 459, 469, 470; - growth of power of, 447, 459. - Rebelliousness of child, 269, 452. - _See_ Law. - Recognition of objects, beginnings of, 68, 404; - of pictures, 309. - Reduplication of sounds, 137, 156. - Reflexions, early attention to, 405, 406. - _See_ Mirror. - Religion, child’s experience of, 506; - invention of, 510. - Remorse after lying, 262; - after disobedience, 278; - nature of child’s, 477. - Rhyme, child’s feeling for, 451. - Rhythm, child’s feeling for, 308. - Ricci, Corrado, 335, 360 note, 363 note, 369, 379 note, 380. - Robinson, Dr. Louis, 17. - Romancings. _See_ Story. - Romanes, G. J., 139 note, 164 note, 220. - Rousseau, J. J., 1, 214, 218, 228, 272. - Rules. _See_ Law. - Ruskin, J., 25, 32, 41, 241 note, 247. - - S. - - Sand, George, 43, 109, 113, 223; - childhood of, 489. - Savage, his fondness for toys, 45; - names of, 168; - æsthetic taste of, 306, 307; - adornment of, 318; - drawings of, 331 note, 332, 336, 337, 338, 340, 344, 345 note, 346 - note, 348, 349, 352, 353, 355, 356, 358 note, 359, 361, 365, 366, - 368, 371, 372, 373, 374 note, 377, 379, 381. - Schoolcraft, H. R., 337 note, 344, 352 note, 369 note, 373 note, 374 - note, 379. - Schultze, F., 153. - Science and childhood, 3. - Scott, Sir Walter, 196. - Sea, curiosity respecting, 83; - child’s first impression of, 202, 433. - Secrets, secreting objects, 252. - Self, child’s first ideas about, 109, 113, 457; - consciousness of, 114, 426; - way of speaking of, 178, 444. - Self-feeling, as element in child’s anger, 235, 471. - Self-restraint, germ of, 288, 436. - Self-will in child, 451. - _See_ Law. - Semblance, child’s production of, 323; - his understanding of, 313. - Sensation, attribution of, to objects, 449. - _See_ Vivification. - Sensibility, sensitiveness, of child, 191. - Sentence, first formation of, 171, 420; - growth of, 430, 440. - Sentence-words, 171. - Shadows, child’s ideas of, 113; - his fear of, 206. - Shinn, M. W., 18 note, 86, 129, 173, 196, 221 note, 239, 301, 302, 308, - 309, 310, 311, 312. - Shrinkage, ascribed by child to inanimate objects, 97; - child’s ideas of, in old age, 105. - Shyness, child’s feeling of, 450. - Sigismund, B., 4. - Sight, sense of, first exercises of, 401, 404. - Sign-making, as spontaneous impulses in child, 138, 431. - _See_ Gesture and Language. - Sikorski, Dr., 213. - Similarity, child’s feeling for, 33; - play of, seen in extension of names, 162, 426; - early perception of, 72, 441. - Sky, children’s ideas of distance of, 99; - their conception of form of, 100. - Smile, first appearance of, 11, 401; - growth of, 407. - Sociability, social feelings, germs of, in child, 242, 433. - _See_ Sympathy. - Soul, child’s idea of. _See_ Animism. - Sounds, as sign of life, 97; - early spontaneous, 134; - fear of, 194, 409. - _See_ Articulation. - Space, first perceptions of, 4. - Speech. _See_ Language. - Spencer, Herbert, 125. - Steinen, Karl von den, 331 note, 336 note, 338, 345, 348 note, 352 - note, 355, 371, 372, 379. - Stephen, Leslie, 307 note. - Stevens, E. M., 81 note, 124, 212. - Stevenson, R. L., 36, 39, 95 note, 206, 214, 225 note, 323, 326. - Story, as stimulus to imagination, 54; - child’s respect for exact words of, 57; - acting out of, in play, 58; - early attempts at invention of, 59, 328, 453, 467, 494; - understanding of, 314. - Strangers, child’s fear of, 201, 410. - Substantive, first use of, 170. - _See_ Language. - Subterfuges of children, 262, 271, 451. - Supernatural, the, child’s ideas of, 124; - fear of, 212, 491, 505. - _See_ Fairies. - Symbolism, in art representation, 325, 336, 383, 390. - Sympathy, as qualification of the child-observer, 14; - with inanimate objects, 30; - lack of, in children, 236; - early forms of, 243, 408, 433; - beginnings of genuine, 244, 451, 474; - with animals, 247, 467, 475, 485; - with toys, etc., 249. - Sweet, H., 155 note. - - T. - - Taine, H., 141, 142. - Teasing, as characteristic of child, 242. - Tender emotion, 450, 461. - Terrifying children, 226. - Thackeray, W. M., 56. - Theological ideas, 120. - _See_ God. - Thought of children, the process of, 64; - products of, 91; - tendency to system in, 91; - compared with thought of primitive man, 92; - _modus operandi_ of, 93. - Thunder, child’s ideas of, 101; - his fear of, 196, 433. - Tiedemann, D., 140. - Time, first notions of, 119, 429, 443, 455. - Tolstoi, Count L., 192 note, 238 note. - Touch, first sensations of, 400; - examination of things by, 403. - Toys, imaginative transformation of, 42; - affection lavished on, 249. - _See_ Doll and Play. - Tracy, F., 148 note, 205 note, 405 note. - Training, moral, wrong and right methods of, 291. - _See_ Discipline. - Trunk. _See_ Body. - Truth, child’s instinctive respect for, 264, 476. - _See_ Lies. - Tylor, E. B., 168 note. - - U. - - Unseen, as field for imagination, 52. - Untruth. _See_ Lies. - - V. - - Vanity of child, 320, 471. - Veracity. _See_ Truth and Lies. - Verb, first use of, 176, 429. - Verse, child’s feeling for, 308, 491; - his early attempts at, 329. - Vivification, of lifeless objects, 30, 96, 459; - of toys, 46. - - W. - - Will, first manifestation of, 412. - Wiltshire, S. E., 258, 262. - Wind, children’s ideas of, 95; - dislike of, 409. - Women as observers of children’s minds, 18. - Wonder, child’s tendency to, 77; - early manifestations of, 408, 462. - Worcester Collection of Thoughts and Reasonings of Children. _See_ - Brown, H. W. - Words, power of, on child’s imagination, 54; - scrupulous regard for, in stories, 57. - _See_ Language. - Writing, invention of, 503. - - THE END. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note - -Several footnotes appeared without identifying numbers, though the -anchors in the text are present, and have been included in the sequence. - -Those errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, -and are noted here. Minor lapses in the punctuation in the Index have -been corrected. The references below are to the page and line in the -original. The following issues should be noted, along with the -resolutions. - - 7.6 “state of conscio[n/u]sness,” Inverted. - 23.15 the movements[ ]of children’s minds. Inserted. - 68.36 retaining it even at meals[.] Added. - 137.28 to repeat the per[f]ormance Inserted. - 156.2 ‘jaymen’ for ‘geranium[’] Added. - 178.11 ‘you,’ ‘me,’ [‘]mine,’ Added. - 187.26 called his doll [‘]Shakespeare’ Added. - 187.31 ‘ham-chovies[’], Added. - 210.5 shyings of the horse[.] Added. - 215.32 gives no clear indications of fear[.] Added. - 224.20 nastily (from its brimstone)[.] Added. - 243.26 introduced by ‘naughtiness’[.] Added. - 257.26 with other forces[.] Added. - 251.24 in a world of evil and strife.[”/’] Replaced. - 440.39 there is clearly a redundance[.] Added. - 441.38 first contrasts to impr[e]ss Inserted. - 492.6 “There’s Aurore playing the wirework[.]” Added. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Studies of childhood, by James Sully - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STUDIES OF CHILDHOOD *** - -***** This file should be named 62175-0.txt or 62175-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/1/7/62175/ - -Produced by KD Weeks, Turgut Dincer and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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