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The Book of the Child, by Frederick Douglas How—A Project Gutenberg eBook
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69896 ***</div>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 35%">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover">
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p>
<h1>The Book of the Child</h1>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<p class="center">The</p>
<p class="center fs150 wsp">Book of the Child</p>
<br>
<p class="center wsp">An Attempt to set down what<br>
is in the mind of Children</p>
<br>
<br>
<p class="center fs80">By</p>
<p class="center fs120 wsp">Frederick Douglas How</p>
<br>
<br>
<p class="center fs120 wsp">E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY</p>
<p class="p0 center fs120">31 WEST <span class="allsmcap">23RD</span> STREET, NEW YORK<br>
1907</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p class="center fs80">
<span class="smcap" style="margin-left: -1em;">Printed by<br>
Sir Isaac Pitman & Sons, Ltd.,<br>
Bath, England.</span><br>
(2319)<br>
</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="Preface">Preface</h2>
</div>
<p>I am rather shy about this little book.</p>
<p>If it were not for the kindness of some few
friends whose knowledge of children far
exceeds my own, it would never have seen
the light.</p>
<p>For their encouragement and for the gift
of their experiences and advice I am deeply
grateful. I know that they would rather
I did not mention them by name.</p>
<p>The thoughts which I have tried to put
together have been growing in my mind for
years. Some, in fact, I have quoted from
articles I wrote some time ago for a magazine
no longer in existence.</p>
<p>Perhaps my best excuse for letting this
book appear is that, though I have no
children of my own, other people’s children
have always been very good to me.</p>
<p class="right">
<span class="smcap">F. D. How.</span><br>
</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="fs80"><span style="margin-left: -2em;"><em>May, 1907.</em></span></p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="Contents">Contents</h2>
</div>
<table class="autotable">
<tr>
<td class="tdr">CHAP.</td>
<td class="tdl"></td>
<td class="tdr">PAGE</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">I.</td>
<td class="tdlx">THE CHILD—ITS ARRIVAL</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">II.</td>
<td class="tdlx">THE CHILD—ITS MEMORY</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">III.</td>
<td class="tdlx">THE CHILD—ITS IMAGINATION</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">IV.</td>
<td class="tdlx">THE CHILD—ITS RELIGION</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">V.</td>
<td class="tdlx">THE CHILD—ITS IMITATION</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VI.</td>
<td class="tdlx">THE CHILD—ITS PLEASURES</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VII.</td>
<td class="tdlx">THE CHILD—ITS PATHOS</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VIII.</td>
<td class="tdlx">WAYSIDE CHILDREN</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">IX.</td>
<td class="tdlx">CHILDREN’S MEETINGS</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">X.</td>
<td class="tdlx">APPENDIX</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p>
<p class="center fs150">The Book of the Child</p>
</div>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</h2>
<h3>THE CHILD—ITS ARRIVAL</h3>
<p>Children have come into greater prominence
during the last quarter of a
century than ever before in the history
of this country. Many things have been
written about them, many things have
been done for them,—some foolish and
some wise, but all suggested by a newly
aroused sense of the vital importance
attached to their proper upbringing.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Cause
of the
Children.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Legislation
for Children.</div>
<p>It is, of course, true that the Cause of
the Children has been used
by both political parties for
their own purposes, but,
for all that, there has been
a large amount of most valuable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>
legislation on the subject during the last
twenty years.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> The helplessness of children
and their rights as
citizens of this country have
been better understood and
provided for, while their impressionable
nature has been realised, and the
rigour of their training and discipline
considerably modified.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Better
Position of
Children.</div>
<p>It may be that there has been too great
a change in some directions. There may
be a freedom of intercourse
between children and their
parents or teachers that
borders on disrespect. But
taking one thing with another the position
of children has altered for the better, and
it is no bad thing that few subjects have
greater interest at the present day than
that of Children. It is an interest, too,
that has come to stay. Of a distinctly
softening and refining nature like the taste
for gardening, which has brought into the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>
world so many books during the last few
years, it is only now beginning to reveal
its true importance, and it will increase
as from year to year more people perceive
its fascination and trace its results.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Old-fashioned
Discipline.</div>
<p>Sixty or seventy years ago the chief
interest in children shown by parents and
teachers was of an extremely
disciplinary nature. Many
children were not allowed to
sit down without permission when in their
parents’ presence, and it was in many
families the rule that the father and
mother should be addressed as “Sir”
and “Ma’am.” Teachers of both sexes
ruled mainly by fear, and allowed no
intimacy between themselves and their
pupils. The rigour of such upbringing
and education must have withered many
a tender-natured child as a cold black
wind in spring will shrivel the opening
blossoms of the fruit trees.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Children
of the Poor.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Metropolitan
Working
Classes’
Association.</div>
<p>Among the working classes, until the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>
Church began to establish its schools, the
children grew up anyhow, and could
in few cases read or write.
Infant mortality and unhealthy
conditions of childhood
were prevalent. So much was
this the case that in 1847, while little
was yet being thought
or written about Children,
the Metropolitan Working
Classes’ Association for Improving
the Public Health
actually put out a pamphlet on their
proper rearing and training. This document
had some considerable circulation,
but its usefulness must have been greatly
curtailed by the inability of so many
people in those days to read.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Literature
Concerning
Children.</div>
<p>Before this publication the literature
on the subject of children
was extremely scanty. Not
only was this the case but
those people who did from time to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>
time write on the subject seem to have
been ashamed of doing so, and their
works, appearing once or twice in a
century, are for the most part anonymous.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Office of
Christian
Parents.</div>
<p>There exists a treatise printed by
Cantrell Legge, printer to the University
of Cambridge, in the year
1616, with the title “The
Office of Christian Parents,
showing how Children are
to be governed throughout all ages and
times of their life. With a brief Admonitorie
addition unto children to answer in
dutie to their Parents’ office.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Personal Care
of the
Mother.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Possible Extinction of Boarding Schools.</div>
<p>The writer, whoever he may have been,
appears to have at that very early date
grasped the importance of
his subject, for he says,
“The Parent is put in trust
to governe the chiefest creature
under heaven, to train up that which
is called the Generation of God.” Being
thus impressed with the value of children,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>
it is natural to find the author of the
treatise giving advice that is being more
and more strongly urged upon parents at
the present day. Eminent doctors insist
upon the advantage to infants of being
personally cared for by the mother, and
not handed over wholesale to a nurse.
Educational experts are more and more
inclined to take the view that children
should be kept at home as long as possible.
So far, indeed, has this theory
advanced that there is a
suggestion of the ultimate
extinction of our great public
boarding schools in favour of a larger
number of schools so situated that children
may attend them as day scholars while
still living at home under parental care
and influence.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Interference
of the
Grandmother.</div>
<p>The old writer of 1616 made a strong
point of the child being cared for by its
parents from birth onwards. He (possibly
from personal experience) did not even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>
approve of the interference of the grandmother,
for he quaintly observes, “In
some places there comes in
the child-wive’s mother.
She will not have her
daughter troubled with the
noursing: and the Father cannot abide
the crying of the child: therefore a nurse
is sent for in all hast”—a course of action
of which he entirely disapproves.</p>
<p>When the child is a little older
he still thinks that its committal to
the care of a servant should be
avoided.</p>
<p>“When a child beginneth to know his
mother from another, there groweth two
absurdities, either the mother’s fondness
maketh it a crying child and restless, or
els her careless committing it to a servant
spills it.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Spoiling
of Children.</div>
<p>Here comes in also his first advice as to
the disciplining of a child. He appears to
have held strong views as to the necessity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>
of firmness, but not to have been in
favour of the great severity which often
obtained in those days. His
observations are too valuable
even now to be passed
over. What could be better than the
following? “Here cometh in the cockling
of the parents to give the child the sway of
his owne desires to have whatsoever it
pointeth to, and so it maketh the parents
and all the house slaves, and there is no end
of noyse, of crying, and wraling; or els
there is such severitie as the heart of the
child is utterly broken.” Or again,
“When parents do either too much cockle
their children, or by home example do
draw them to worser things, or els neglect
the due discipline and good order, what
I pray you can come to passe? but as
we see in trees which beeing neglected at
the first are crooked and unfruitful;
contrarily, they which by the hand and
art of the husbandman are proined,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>
stayed up, and watered, are made upright,
faire, and fruitfull.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Parents to
Superintend
their
Children’s
Upbringing.</div>
<p>It will be observed that this writer
implies in all the advice he gives that the
parent is the proper person to
bring up a child, not a
servant at home or a teacher
at a distance. “Parents,”
he says, “should watch and
attend upon their children for the avoiding
of evil occasions and to see all duties
rightly performed.”</p>
<p>How far have we got nowadays from
this ideal! How greatly modern habits
of life have interfered with any such
possibility! What the ancient moralist
quoted above would have said to the
upbringing of most children at the present
day it is difficult to imagine. He sums
up his own point of view very pithily in
the words, “The egges are badly hatched
when the bird is away; and the children
are unluckily nurtured whose parents are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>
made careles, being absent through
pleasure.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Old-fashioned
Severity
Leads to
Dissimulation.</div>
<p>More than a century later, in 1748,
there appeared another anonymous
publication on the subject.
This had for its title “Dialogues
on the Passions,
Habits, and Affections peculiar
to Children.” The writer
was imbued with ideas so far in advance
of his time that fear of ridicule may have
caused him to conceal his name. His
sentiments about the proper treatment
of children are very much those at which
most people have arrived to-day, when
the subject has received much prominent
attention for a quarter of a century. He
combats the prevailing opinion of that
date that the right way to deal with
children is by a system of formal repression
and severity. Thus he makes one of his
characters say, “I think it necessary that
Children should be kept at some distance.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>
They are apt to grow pert, sawcy, and
ungovernable if we make too free with
them, or permit them the full liberty of
speech in our Company.” To this the
reply is made: “To discover the Diseases
of the mind ought to be and must be your
principal study. But in this you will
never be successful if you set out with a
practice which teaches them to conceal
every bad symptom.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Phase
of Lying.</div>
<p>The truth contained in these words is
very generally recognised nowadays. If
a parent wants to make a
child untruthful it can be
done at once by causing fear,
under the guise perhaps of respect, to be
the ruling sentiment. Children are only
too ready to learn! “As soon as they
are born they go astray and speak lies.”
It is a tendency of childhood in every class.
A gentleman whose work consists in
preparing little boys for the great public
schools once said that almost every small<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>
boy passes through a phase of lying. The
mistress of a little village school declared
not long ago that there was only one child
there upon whose word she could
absolutely rely.</p>
<p>It follows then that those in charge
of children, and especially the parents,
should note the advice of the writer of the
Dialogues. He insists again and again
upon the evil effects of fear.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Children
Susceptible
of Fear.</div>
<p>“Fear,” he says, “I think is the first
Passion which we can distinctly trace in
the Mind of a Child. They
are susceptible of it almost
sooner than they can conceive
the Nature of Danger;
and it is the Misfortune of Numbers that
the Nurses find this so easily improved
to their purposes that Children find the
effects of this passion as long as they live.”</p>
<p>Again, “As to Dread of Punishment
which I have observed to be the lowest
and most grovelling kind of Fear, you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>
must by gentle usage remove it from the
apprehension of such as have imbibed it
from harsh Parents or tyrannical Nurses.”</p>
<p>It is exceedingly remarkable to find a
writer in the middle of the eighteenth
century who had studied children to such
purpose, and who ventured to advance
opinions such as those quoted above.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Literature of
the last Half
Century.</div>
<p>The latter part of the nineteenth century
saw a rush of literature concerning
children. It is possible that
the great public efforts made
by the various agencies for
bettering the lot of homeless,
starving, and ill-treated children began
to call special attention to the treatment
of all children. It may be that the general
tendency of the age to level all distinctions
between one and another helped to gain
greater consideration for the younger
members of the community. It may even
be that a more general appreciation of
the Gospel teaching helped forward this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>
result. Or, as some will say, it may be
simply that a wave of sentiment swept
over the country and brought with it a
tenderer regard for little children. It
does not much matter what was the cause.
The fact remains that a new interest was
awakened, the people of England wanted
to understand childhood better, and books
and magazine articles on the subject
appeared in considerable numbers.</p>
<p>This result, even though some people
have thought the supply excessive, has
been of great service. The future of a
country largely depends upon the proper
upbringing of its children. This in its
turn depends upon a proper knowledge
of the nature of childhood. This knowledge
has been stimulated and increased
to an unprecedented degree by the works
of the best of the writers who have
recently dealt with the subject of children.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Books About
Children.</div>
<p>To mention only two or three. Which
of us has not been the wiser and the better<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>
for the books of Kenneth Graham, for
such an inimitable character study as
the Rebecca of Kate Douglas
Wiggin, and for the marvellously
tender insight into the
mystery of the mind of a little child
which has been shown by William Canton
in the “Invisible Playmate” and “W. V.
her Book”?</p>
<p>It may be hoped that what is practically
a new science may be studied with even
greater diligence in the future, and may
be given its proper position as of
paramount importance.</p>
<p>Up to the present date more time and
pains have been expended and more
literature published on the rearing and
training of horses and dogs than of the
little children upon whom the future
destiny of the world depends.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p>
<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> See <a href="#Page_187">Appendix.</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</h2>
</div>
<h3>THE CHILD—ITS MEMORY</h3>
<div class="sidenote">A Baby’s
Earliest
Impressions.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Bishop
Berkeley on
Blind Boys.</div>
<p>It is just this—the memory of a child—that
makes it so important to begin the
process of training at once.
The waxen tablets of a
baby’s mind are very soft.
It is impossible to say how
soon impressions are made upon them, or
how deep those impressions may be. It is
not impossible that with the very beginning
of separate existence some vague
markings are made upon these unsullied
tablets. It is exceedingly interesting to
try to imagine what the very earliest
impressions are like. Are they first
produced by the sense of sight or the
sense of touch? It has been conclusively
proved that the senses aid one another to
a large extent in the early stages of their
use. Bishop Berkeley in an appendix to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>
one of his treatises gives the reports of
two cases of boys born blind with what is
called congenital cataract.
Both cases were cured, one
at the age of nine, the other
at thirteen or fourteen.
Neither of these boys when first able to
see had the least idea what he was looking
at. They both thought that all objects
touched their eyes, and neither had any
conception of the shape or distance of an
object. They were perfectly familiar
with differences in shape and material by
the process of touch, but when they first
obtained sight the appearance of things
meant nothing to them until they had
handled them.</p>
<p>But in these cases the sense of touch
had existed for years and been greatly
cultivated. It was, therefore, natural
that the familiar sense should come to the
aid of the unfamiliar.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Memory
Markings.</div>
<p>In newborn babies the circumstances<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>
are altogether different. All senses alike
are novel, and it would be of great interest,
if such a thing were possible,
to determine whether the
earlier memory markings are
caused by the vision of light, the sound
of voices, or the touch of the hands that
first come in contact with the infant form.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Precocious
Infants.</div>
<p>But it seems altogether out of our power
to determine this question with any sort
of certainty. None of us is
able to remember the impressions
of early infancy,
and insufficient observation of the results
of ocular, aural, or other contact with
external things on the part of babies has
resulted in an absence of data upon which
to argue. Mothers, nurses, and maiden
aunts are often ridiculed for declaring
that “baby” has shown some astoundingly
precocious power of observation or
recognition, and no doubt these manifestations
are in a large number of cases<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>
accounted for by a desire on the part of
the narrator to be able to claim a special
share of the infantile affection, or a
special power of imparting infantile
accomplishments.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Case of Very
Early Memory.</div>
<p>At the same time there is every probability
that infants observe and think
more accurately than would
be generally allowed by their
casual male acquaintances.
The present writer can vouch for at least
one case where a permanent impression
was made upon the mind of a very young
child, and memory markings were indented
which certainly lasted for several
years. The facts are these: A man who
shall be called A. B. was invalided and
ordered to spend a winter at the seaside.
While there a young married couple with
their first baby shared his lodgings. The
child, a boy, was just six months old,
and for some eighteen weeks he was the
frequent companion of A. B., especially<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>
when the weather prevented either from
going out. During many an hour the
baby boy lay on the cushions of a low
basket chair kicking and crowing with
delight while his man friend talked or
sang to him, and so a firm friendship grew
up between the two, though its verbal
expression was entirely confined to the
elder of them.</p>
<p>When the baby was ten months old the
inevitable parting came, and for about
two years they saw nothing of one
another. At last, however, it became
possible for the child’s mother to bring
him to a house where his old friend was
staying. During the journey she said
to the little chap, “Do you know who you
are going to see? You are going to see
A. B.” Without a moment’s hesitation
the boy said, “A. B. with beard?”
showing that he remembered what was
no doubt to him the most striking item
in his friend’s appearance, though at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>
time that the memory mark was made on
his mind he was too young to pronounce
the word describing the thing that made
the impression. But further evidence of
the child’s memory was forthcoming, for
as soon as he was set down on arrival at
the front door of the house he ran straight
to A. B. with every mark of affectionate
joy at seeing him again.</p>
<p>Here is an instance of infant memory
that is absolutely true, and, as the boy
was in no way precocious or unnatural,
it is fair to assume that there must be
plenty of cases where the impressions
made upon an infant’s mind during the
period when its age is marked by months
and not by years are of a far more permanent
nature than is generally assumed.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Memory at a
Later Age.</div>
<p>But for most illustrations of children’s
memory we are compelled
to begin at a later age. Few
people remember much that
happened before they were three years<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>
old, but from about that time it is
common to find a remarkably clear
recollection of certain scattered events
or experiences.</p>
<p>It is a usual thing to hear it said by
those who have passed middle age, that
their remembrance of their childhood
grows clearer as time goes on. This is
accounted for by the fact that <em>fewer</em>
impressions were made upon their minds
during their earliest years, whereas in
later life the memory tablets get crowded
with all sorts and kinds of markings
which become confused and partially
unintelligible in a very short time.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Emotions of
Surprise,
Pleasure,
or Pain.</div>
<p>Besides being fewer in number it is
also probable that in early childhood
the memory markings that
endure are those of such
experiences as caused strong
emotions of surprise, pleasure,
or pain. One of the
very earliest recollections of the writer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>
is of attending a wedding when he was
three years old. But none of the usual
incidents impressed him at all. The
dresses of the bridesmaids, the appearance
of the bride, the bouquets, bells and other
accompaniments of a wedding have been
completely forgotten. No remembrance
of any single person or circumstance
remains excepting two things which struck
him with astonishment. First of all, he,
in common with others attending the
service, was taken across a wide river in
a boat, and, secondly, he was put to
stand close against the back of a harmonium,
the noise of which at such close
quarters was to him extraordinary and
rather disagreeable.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Joys Better
Remembered
than Griefs.</div>
<p>The complete obliteration of everything
connected with this visit—for
the ceremony took
place a day’s journey from
his home—seems to point
clearly to the fact that the unusual is not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>
by itself enough to permanently impress
a child’s mind, but it must be coupled
with sensations of peculiar surprise, or
special pleasure or pain. With regard to
the two latter it is a beneficent provision
that the joys of early life are remembered
long after its sadnesses have been
forgotten.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Summer Days
at a Country
Rectory.</div>
<p>A man looks back on the summers he
spent as a child in a country rectory.
It appears to him that the
days were ever sunny: he
recalls the sharp hiss of the
whetstone on the scythe,
which told him as he lay in his little bed
that the parson’s man was mowing the
lawn before the dew was off the grass;
he can remember the wild strawberries
in the less conventional part of the garden;
he can in fancy take his way to the cowhouse,
mug in hand, to get a drink of new
and frothy milk; he can climb about
the lower branches of a favourite tree; he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>
can rake and water his little square of
garden; he can come home atop of the
last load of hay from the glebe fields; but
it is always in the dancing sunlight that
he moves; it would seem to him that
there could never have been any single
day in all his childhood when rain came
down and skies were grey and cold.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Old
Nursery.</div>
<p>And so, too, of the life indoors. He
remembers much of this in comparison
with the later years. He
remembers exactly where
each piece of furniture stood
in the old nursery. He can tell you with
what colour the ottoman was covered in
which his brothers’ and sisters’ outdoor
things were kept, and he vividly remembers
standing upon it to look out of the
window and watch the gardener at work.
He can recall exactly how much of the
spout was broken belonging to the old
grey teapot in which was brewed the
senna tea, but he cannot tell you what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>
the stuff tasted of—though he is sure that
it was nasty. The nursery, the stairs, and
the passages are in his memory so many
playgrounds; he forgets the many childish
tears that he shed, and the childish
tragedies that befell him, while the games
and the laughter and the pleasantness of
his early surroundings are easily recalled.</p>
<p>But if he examines carefully into his
early impressions he will find that the
events which older persons might be
expected to remember are forgotten, while
the little matters that brought to his
babyhood’s experience sensations of pain
or pleasure—but especially the latter—are
clear. That is to say, the memory
markings made in early childhood do not
include the greater number of things
which came in contact with the various
senses of the child, but are really few in
number and connected invariably with
special sensations.</p>
<p>It is a vast mistake to measure the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>
importance of a child’s interests by those
of a grown-up person. It is easy for the
latter to forget every detail of a house
in which he has passed some months or
even years of middle age, but he will
remember a shallow step leading down
from one of his nurseries to the other.</p>
<p>How small a thing! Yes, but it was
productive of great sensations. It was
the first step he had ever known—by it
was revealed to him the entirely new idea
that one room could be on a different
level from another. Then he found that
it was a splendid place to sit upon—just
the right height for him—and a still
better place upon which to set up bricks
and toys in order to knock them down
and hear the crash of their fall. But, best
of all, it was the place where his first deed
of daring was performed. There came
a day when he ventured to jump down!
It was the first time that he had really
cared for spectators: it was the first time<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>
that he had looked round for applause.
For all these reasons—all connected with
new sensations of pleasure—that little
shallow wooden step made a deeper
memory mark upon his mind than many
subsequent places or events that have
perhaps helped to turn the current of his
life. But, after all is said, it is impossible
not to feel that the unknown is so largely
in excess of the known, in this as in many
other subjects, that the only thing to be
done is to try to induce those who have
to do with little children to remember
that much is possible and even probable—to
act, that is, as if the youngest child may
possibly remember for its good or ill any
smallest fact or object with which its
senses are brought into contact.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</h2>
</div>
<h3>THE CHILD—ITS IMAGINATION</h3>
<p>The imagination of the poet, of the
novelist, of the advertiser of a patent
medicine, is as nothing compared with
that of a little child. No one who is
unable to realise this will understand
children or be really successful in their
upbringing.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Riotous
Imagination
of Children.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Unimaginative
Parents.</div>
<p>Whence come all the marvellous ideas
that people the brain of a mere baby of
two or three years? Is it
that it has descended but a
step or two down the staircase
and still has a mind to
some extent untrammelled by human
limitations and the hard dry facts of
earth? Or is it that, possessed of a
keenly receptive power, it has not learnt
to control or arrange the multitudes of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>
facts that present themselves daily to its
senses? This wonderful imagination is
no doubt closely allied with the early
powers of memory of which mention has
been made, and may also have something
at least to do with the early propensity to
untruthfulness. Many a
child has suffered at the
hands of an unimaginative
parent for words which have been ruthlessly
called lies though they have been
so strongly prompted by a vivid imagination
that they have seemed as true to the
utterer as much that is unintelligible but
has to be accepted.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Arrangement
of the
Numerals.</div>
<div class="sidenote">The Circle of
the Months.</div>
<p>A moment’s thought will show at what
an early age imagination came into play
with most people. By far
the greater number have
by its aid clothed certain
abstract ideas in definite
concrete forms, and have done this when
so young that it is impossible for them to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>
remember the time when these things
first took shape. For instance, most
people have a definite arrangement of the
numerals. A common form for this to
take is that of the numbers one to twelve
appearing to run slightly upwards and
towards the right, those from twelve to
twenty taking a downward turn in the
same direction. At the number twenty
a sharp turn is taken to the left, and from
that point to one hundred they run
uphill with an increasing steepness. Many
other directions and shapes are discovered
by questioning people on this subject, but
it is very rare to find an example of the
numerals being nothing but an abstract
idea. The same thing occurs with the
months. To most people
they appear in a circle,
winter being in some cases
at the top, and summer in others. In one
case a person imagines them in a semicircle,
and in another (the strangest yet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span>
met with) they are in a zig-zag, three
months running up, and three down, and
so on, the form being like that of a rather
straggling M.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Effects of
Colour.</div>
<p>Colour also is occasionally imagined,
and there is no doubt that children are
specially susceptible to its
influence at a very early age.
A writer in the eighteenth
century to whom allusion has been made
in Chapter I makes the following observation:
“There are some children so
tenderly organised that many kinds of
sounds are harsh to their Infant Ears and
apt to fright them, and some colours strike
them with too great and quick a Glare and
have the same Effect till by Custom they
are made familiar to their Organs.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Colour of
the Days.</div>
<p>It is certain at all events that colour
has played an important
part in the imagination of
many people from their
earliest years. A lady declares that all her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>
life long the days of the week have
appeared to her to be of certain definite
colours. Thus, Sunday is brick red,
Monday the same, Tuesday lilac, Wednesday
white, Thursday dark brown, Friday
grey, and Saturday mauve and yellow.
All this imagining took place so near the
start of her life that the colour, form, etc.,
of the days appear to this lady to be facts
dating from the beginning of time itself.
It should be noted that in these and all
similar instances the imagination is apparently
independent of outside influences
such as pictures or descriptions which
might be supposed to have affected a
little child.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Imaginary
Child-Friend.</div>
<p>It is possible to go further than this
and to say that the most vivid imaginings
are as a rule those which a
child produces absolutely
and apart from the suggestion
of others. Under this head comes
the imaginary child-friend called into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>
existence in most cases by one who has no
playmate of similar age. The grown-up
people in the house know nothing of this
imaginary friend until the real child is
overheard talking to it and calling it by
name. It is remarkable to notice how
nothing seems to disturb the commonplace
reality of the whole thing in the
mind of the child. When the imaginary
friend is in the room his or her presence
is never for a moment forgotten, and plans
are gravely made to suit the convenience
not of one only but of <em>both</em> the children.</p>
<p>Next in importance to the unsuggested
imaginings are those to which a sensitive
child gives way on the slightest hint.
This is a very practical matter, and one
to which those who have to do with
children should take heed.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Imaginary
Terrors.</div>
<p>It is impossible to say at how early an
age a suggestion of any kind may bear
fruit. A lady once said that her childhood
was one long misery owing to a vivid<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>
imagination of the terrors that awaited
her for having committed a certain fault
when a baby in the nursery.
It was not, she said, that
much had been made of it
at the time, but there was some suggestion
of an awful unknown punishment, which
her childish brain worked upon and
developed until she dared not be left alone
and became a thoroughly morbid and
wretched little being.</p>
<p>It is obvious that too great care cannot
possibly be taken by those to whom
children are entrusted, inasmuch as a
chance word may set a child’s imagination
working and affect the tendency of its
thoughts and actions for years.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Untruthfulness
and
Imagination.</div>
<p>It was suggested at the beginning of
this chapter that there is probably some
relation between this power of imagination
and the tendency to untruthfulness
which is found in so many children. It
is one of the most difficult things<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>
possible to define exactly where the
knowledge of untruthfulness comes in.
Probably no two children are
alike in this, and it requires
the utmost tact and a close
knowledge of a particular
child’s character to determine the point
where the one thing ends and the other
begins.</p>
<p>Here is an example. A short time ago
a little boy still in the nursery was taken
out by his father in the carriage for a
drive. When they arrived at the farther
end of the town the little chap was sent
home in the carriage by himself, his father
having been deposited at his place of
business. When the carriage arrived back
at the door of the house the parlourmaid
came out and carried the child indoors,
being surprised to find him in tears.
Struggling out of her arms he set off
upstairs to the nursery, sobbing bitterly
all the way. “What is the matter,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>
dear?” said the nurse. “I’se had to
walk by mine own self all froo the town,
and I was dreffly frightened,” was the
reply. “How ever did you get across
the High Street, my poor darling?”
“There was lots of cabs and cawwiages
and things, and I knewed I would be
runned over!” All this with many sobs
and much burying of his head in nurse’s
lap. Hearing the wailing in the nursery
up came the parlourmaid, to whom the
nurse poured out her indignation. “Just
fancy! Making this poor lamb walk
home all through the town by himself!
It’s a mercy he was not killed again and
again!” “Walk through the town!
Why, whatever do you mean? Why, I
lifted him out of the carriage at this very
door not ten minutes ago!”</p>
<p>Well, the temptation to punish the
little fellow must have been great. One
hopes it was resisted. There can be small
doubt that a vivid imagination had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>
mastered him as he drove home alone.
It was all “what might have been,” and
it became so real to him that it seemed
to be “what was.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Confession
of an
Imaginary Sin.</div>
<p>Again, a case recurs to the recollection
of the writer where a small child was
summoned into the presence
of an angry parent who
listened to no excuses, but
insisted so strongly and so
often on the guilt of the small boy, that
at last he actually seemed convinced by
the reiterated accusation and, imagining
that his parent must know best, actually
confessed to a sin which subsequent events
proved the impossibility of his having
committed.</p>
<p>Now for an example where it is probable
that the imagination of the child is used
for ulterior purposes and the borderland
between fancy and untruthfulness is
likely to be crossed.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Jinks.</div>
<p>There is a little girl who a few years
ago was possessed of many dolls, but the
supreme favourite was an old monkey-doll
by name “Jinks.” He
was so much hugged and
cuddled from the first that
he soon became shabby. He quickly lost
all his hair except a tuft on each side of
his face, and his clothes were reduced to
a pair of dark blue trousers and a sort of
shabby white jersey. But the shabbier
he became the more she loved him, and
in time, being an ingenious little person,
she began to make use of him, as is often
the case among grown-up people. The
first instance on record is of the simplest
kind, but showed much insight into human
nature. The little girl had been disobedient
and was being duly lectured on
her fault. She stood there looking very
serious with “Jinks” tightly clasped
in her arms. All of a sudden the length
of the lecture became more than she
could bear. Something must be done.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>
Suddenly she held up the ugly old doll and
with a pleasant smile upon her face
remarked, “Look at Jinks! ’ow ’e’s
laughing!” It was an ingenious and
effective ruse, but a ruse it was and not
mere play of imagination.</p>
<p>On another more recent occasion she
made use of “Jinks” in a rather more
elaborate fashion. Her everyday gloves
were knitted woollen ones and these she
disliked intensely. One day she was seen
starting out in a pair which were properly
kept for Sundays. She was stopped and
asked why she had put on her best gloves.
“Why,” she answered at once, “You see
when I was getting ready I thought
p’raps I should meet Jinks on the stairs—and
he can’t <em>bear</em> to see me in those woolly
gloves!”</p>
<p>Most people who have little children
among their friends can remember similar
instances, and these are just the cases
where firm but sympathetic interference<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>
is necessary to prevent confusion between
imagination and want of truth.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Idea
of Death.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Desire for
a Legacy.</div>
<p>Possessed as they are of such great
powers of imagination in many directions
it is curious to notice how
often children seem unable
to realise or picture to themselves
matters with which they will be
familiar enough in after life. Take, for
instance, the subject of death. A child
will imagine the death of a doll. This is
a fancy that occurs rarely, and the imagination
goes as a rule no further. A child
does not picture to itself the sorrow and
loss commonly caused by the death of a
real person. A little girl of three years
old was sitting on her godfather’s knee.
There was an immense affection between
the two, and either would have missed the
other sadly. An old man in the village
known by sight to the little girl had lately
died, and she had just remarked to her
godfather quite as a bit of cheerful gossip,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>
“Old John is dead.” The conversation
then turned upon a certain gold watch
which the little maiden desired more than
anything in the world. Once more she
was told, “No, I really can’t give it to
you; I want it so badly myself.” Then
followed these apparently callous words.
“Your hair is <em>rather</em> white
like old John’s. I s’pect you
will be dead soon. Then can
I have the watch?”</p>
<p>At first sight this sounds heartless and
calculating, but as a matter of fact it was
certainly not the former. The subject of
death was too big for her imagination,
that was all.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Small
Imagination
of Suffering.</div>
<p>In this same connection it is found that
pain as affecting others is often very
slightly realised by children,
and they seem to be unable
to imagine suffering such as
has not come within their own
experience. It is for this reason that little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>
children often inflict tortures on animals,
especially on flies and other small creatures
which are at their mercy. It is not
from a love of cruelty as some people have
said, but simply because their imagination
falls short in this direction, and they do
not realise the effects of their actions.</p>
<p>But, with certain exceptions, a child
has invariably an immense capability for
imagining. As has been stated, the most
vivid fancies seem to spring up unbidden,
but it is equally true that it is possible
in a large degree to influence the <em>kind</em> of
imagination. Happiness is an essential
atmosphere for the upbringing of a child,
and happiness is to a large extent dependent
in childhood upon imagination. By
supplying this atmosphere the best kind
of imaginings can be ensured.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Parental
Sympathy.</div>
<p>A child whose parents are occupied
entirely with themselves and their own
affairs and have no sympathy with
childish fancies will shrink up into itself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>
and have a stunted mental and spiritual
growth: the terrified child will grow up
amid horrible imaginings;
it is only the child to whom
gentleness and sympathy
are as the very air it breathes who will
imagine happy and beautiful things, and
live to enjoy the fulfilment of them here
and hereafter.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Poetic
Imaginings.</div>
<p>This leads naturally to the poetic
imaginings of many children who have
outgrown their babyhood,
but have not yet had their
fancies blurred and obscured
by the tasks and troubles of the world.
They possess a gift which all may envy—the
gift of endowing all manner of things,
both those which are beautiful in themselves
and those which are not, with a
glory not their own. This gift comes
from the power of connecting one thought
with another, or perhaps of allowing one
idea unconsciously to suggest another,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>
which is the root of all imagination. It
is a gift that has brought sunshine and
happiness to thousands of children, and
is preserved by some in after life. All our
great poets and painters have kept hold of
this power, and many persons share
vicariously in its delights as they read
the glorious thoughts or gaze on the
exquisite pictures that have been thus
inspired.</p>
<p>And yet there are some who scoff.
They have forgotten their childhood’s
gift, and are too self-satisfied to regret it.
Not so the old poet Wordsworth. He felt
the power leaving him. The brightness
of his poetic imagination was on the wane,
and he thus lamented it:—</p>
<div class="poetry-container2 fs80">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">There was a time when meadow, grove and stream,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">The earth and every common sight,</div>
<div class="verse indent8">To me did seem</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Apparell’d in celestial light,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">The glory and the freshness of a dream.</div>
<div class="verse indent0">It is not now as it hath been of yore;</div>
<div class="verse indent8">Turn wheresoe’er I may</div>
<div class="verse indent8">By night or day,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">The things which I have seen I now can see no more.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span></p>
<p>There are many people who have never
troubled to understand children and who
are mightily sceptical as to the powers
and the charm that is claimed for them.
It is hardly possible to do better here
than to ask such persons to read the
example given below of a child’s poetical
imaginings.</p>
<p>The story is told in the first person, and
is in the main literally true. It is called</p>
<p class="p0 center">“I Wonders”</p>
<div class="sidenote">“I Wonders”</div>
<p class="p0">“It was a lovely September day. I
had any number of duties to fulfil at home.
There was a pile of letters
waiting to be answered, there
was a magazine article
hardly begun for which I had received
an urgent demand from the publishers
only that morning, and there was a meeting
of school managers which my conscience
told me I ought on no account to
miss. But, as I said before, it was a
simply lovely day and nature (human<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>
and the other) cried shame on staying
indoors. Whether I should have had
sufficient strength of mind to have
resisted the temptation had I been left
to fight it out with nature I shall never
know, for the enemy received a sudden
reinforcement before which I yielded
ignominiously and at once. I had gone
so far as to clear my blotting-pad of loose
letters and to open my ink bottle when
there came a tiny tap at the study door.
‘Come in!’ I called, and there ensued
a curious twisting at the handle of the
door, productive of no result. ‘Come
in!’ I called again, and this time there
was no further delay.</p>
<p>“With a little burst the door flew
open and revealed that my visitor was
no less and no greater a person than
Helen.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Helen.</div>
<p>“Now Helen needs some description,
and no better time for giving it could be
found than as she stood there at the top<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>
of the three or four steps which lead
up to my sanctum, her face flushed
with her struggle with the
door handle.</p>
<p>“Helen was a town-bred
child of five years old, and the colour gave
her usually pale face an added charm.
Charm is the right word to use, for, though
she did not possess any very great beauty
(excepting her large dark eyes and lashes),
it was impossible not to fall under her
charm. She fascinated by her various
moods, often serious almost to melancholy,
but suddenly bursting out into
utter and abandoned joyousness. She
fascinated again by her vivid imagination,
by the sensitiveness with which she shrank
from an unresponsive look or word, and
by the gradual unfolding of her nature to
anyone who <em>understood</em>. She had come to
stay with us in our completely country
house, and was entranced with the mystery
and delight of all she saw.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p>
<p>“On that particular morning she had
come to demand that I should fulfil a
promise to go out and pick blackberries,
for had not I said that I had passed
quantities of big ones, all ripe and ready,
only the day before? There she stood in
her white sun bonnet and her short red
flannel jacket, beneath which came the
bottom of her white frock and a little pair
of legs which country sun and air were
already beginning to assimilate to those
of our village bairns in colour though not
in thickness.</p>
<p>“‘Well?’ I said, to which her only
reply was to hold up and shake at me an
empty basket with which she had provided
herself. ‘What’s that for?’ said I.
‘I wonders!’ she answered, using an
expression with which we had already
become familiar. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘you
had better tell me.’ ‘Can’t you
guess?’—with some scorn—and then
triumphantly, ‘Backberwies, o’ course!’</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p>
<p>“There was very little more to be said.
Nature might have been resisted alone,
but nature <em>and</em> Helen would have proved
too much for a stronger and more reluctant
man than I. And so it was arranged.
Helen was to meet me in the hall in a
quarter of an hour, which would give me
time to scribble a couple of notes, one
(by the way) to the publishers to say
that great pressure prevented my finishing
the article that day, which was true—in
a sense!</p>
<p>“I have been many walks with many
people, but none that I can compare with
the one upon which Helen and I started
that sunny September morning. I have
walked as an undergraduate with learned
dons who discoursed of matters beyond
my ken. I have walked with ladies of
sentiment, who vainly appealed to my
sympathy and imagination. But never
till that morning did I walk with a
companion who carried me with her into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>
another world and who obtained complete
sway over my every thought and action.
This did not begin all at once.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Through the
Village.</div>
<p>“There was a little bit of the village
through which we must pass, and here
there were sundry dangers.
Old Sawyer’s black and white
sow had got loose and certainly
looked formidably large and fierce
as she shoved her snout with deep grunts
into the ditch beside the road. Then a
farmer’s collie-dog—a particular friend of
mine, but a stranger and therefore a
possible foe to my companion—came
prancing up. These and other sources
of terror, such as the village flock of
geese, made it essential that we should
proceed with caution and with such
strength as a union of hands might afford.
However, it did not take long to bring
us to the end of the cottages and out on
to the road beside which I had seen the
blackberries hanging all ready to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>
picked. It was a good wide road with a
broad strip of grass on either side, along
one of which was a row of telegraph posts
which brought the single wire by which
we were connected with the busy world.
The hedges were high and bushy—full of
honeysuckle, now out of bloom, wild roses
by this time showing only their scarlet
fruit, wild hops climbing everywhere
with rapid eager growth, clematis giving
promise of a hoary show of old man’s
beard, and in and out and over and
through it all the long thorny brambles
with their many-coloured leaves and their
shiny black and red and green berries.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The
Backberwy
People.</div>
<p>“With just one look round to assure
herself that nobody and nothing was
about, Helen let go my hand
and rushed off like a mad
thing along the grass, just
recovering herself with a
gasp from a bad stumble over a dried and
hidden heap of road scrapings. All of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>
sudden she stopped. She had caught
sight of the ‘backberwies’ and of the
numberless other brilliant and tempting
objects in the hedge. In a moment
her imagination had caught fire. ‘I
wonders!’ she said as I came up. Then,
when her breath was quite recovered, she
added very earnestly, ‘Can us get them
backberwy people? It’s vewy dangewous,
isn’t it? Look at them nettles and
fistles! Is them the backberwies’
policemen—I wonders?’</p>
<p>“If they were, they proved very useful
as far as warding off attacks on the part
of a little bare-legged maiden went.
However, by dint of <em>very</em> careful steering
she managed to get close up to a splendid
cluster of fruit and had picked some four
or five when one of the sharp hooky
thorns tore her finger and brought tears
into her eyes. Even so, the play went on.
‘Oh! the backberwies’ dog has bit me!’
she cried, as she held up the poor little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>
finger for me to see. It was really a nasty
prick, and I could see that it hurt her a
good deal, so I tied her handkerchief
round it, and said we would try to find
a place further on where the dogs were
not so savage.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The
Backberwy
Ball.</div>
<p>“We went on a yard or two and passed
close to one of the telegraph posts through
which a light breeze was
humming. Helen stopped
short with eyes dilated and
open mouth. ‘Oh! I
<em>wonders</em>!’ she cried. ‘What is it?’ I
asked her. She whispered to me to keep
quite still while she went to see, and
proceeded to put her ear against the post,
holding up one finger of the injured hand
in warning to me not to stir. ‘There’s
beautiful music,’ she said at last very
softly, ‘there’s a ball, and all the little
backberwies is dancing!’ I said that if
the old blackberries let the young ones
go to a ball without them it served them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>
right if they got picked themselves. I
then suggested that we should go on to
the next post and see what was going on
there. As we went Helen noticed that
near each one there was a heap of stones
and a bare gravelly patch of ground.
‘Them is the backberwy houses,’ she said,
‘and all the backberwies are out, and the
children are gone to a dancing class, so
the old backberwies send them by theirselves.’
So the little difficulty which I
had mentioned was explained away,
though to the vividness of her imagination
it had evidently presented a real difficulty
and had not been forgotten.</p>
<p>“Presently, after listening to the music
in several telegraph posts, saying that
there was an organ in one and fiddles in
another, while in a third she declared
that the blackberries were singing, she
returned to the hedge and the more
serious duty of filling her little basket.
All the time, however, she kept up a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>
comment upon what she saw. The red
hips and haws were ‘the backberwies’
soldiers,’ the elderberries were their
clergymen, and the sloes were guards.
Every few minutes she stopped in a sort
of ecstasy at all that was around her, and
gazing in one direction and another
would softly say, ‘Oh! I wonders!’
It was evidently a revelation of beauty to
her, and at the same time a scene of mystery,
a sort of fairyland where everything
thought and lived and breathed.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Wicked
Soldiers.</div>
<p>“At last the basket was getting nearly
full, and in stretching up for some
specially fine berries a dog-rose
thorn tore the back of
my hand, leaving a long
scratch. Helen’s anger knew no bounds.</p>
<p>“‘The wicked, wicked soldiers,’ she said,
and then taking several of the bright red
hips she tore them into fragments and
threw them away. And now we had
wandered backwards and forwards along<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>
that special bit of hedge until all the
blackberries within reach were picked,
and only the baby green ones were left.
‘Will they die if we leaves them all
alone?’ she said, and then she gathered
as many as possible, and carrying them
in her two hands placed them in little
heaps near each telegraph post that they
might be noticed when the balls and
concerts were over.</p>
<p>“I said that I wondered what the young
blackberries would do when they came
out and found all their fathers and
mothers gone, and only the little babies
left. And Helen said ‘I wonders.’”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</h2>
</div>
<h3>THE CHILD—ITS RELIGION</h3>
<div class="sidenote">Three Kinds
of Parents.</div>
<div class="sidenote">A
French Work
on Children.</div>
<p>Probably one of the earliest perplexities
that presents itself to a parent is the
question of the child’s religion.
And yet it is doubtful
whether in the generality of
cases the matter is considered early
enough. There are, evidently, three kinds
of parents taking three separate views of
the question. There are those who hold
distinctly materialistic opinions, and who
therefore deliberately decline to enter
into the subject at all. They agree with
the sentiments expressed in
a French work on children
published some quarter of a
century ago in which the following passages
occur: “We may boldly assert
that the sense of religion exists no more
in the intelligence of a little child than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>
does the supernatural in nature.” And
again: “In our opinion parents are very
much mistaken in thinking it their duty
to instruct their little ones in such things,
which have no real interest for them—as
who made them, who created the world,
what is the soul, what is its present and
future destiny, and so forth.”</p>
<p>It is a happiness to believe that few
English parents endorse these views. The
extraordinary stir made by an Education
Bill, the chief concern of which was to
affect the religious teaching of children,
is evidence of a widespread belief in the
necessity of such teaching.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Careless
Parents.</div>
<p>But, in the second place, there are some
parents who are simply careless. They
would be rather shocked at
being told that they themselves
were irreligious, but,
when they forget all about their children’s
religion, it cannot be supposed that their
own is of much real concern to them.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Anxious
Parents.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Early
Impressions
of Good
and Evil.</div>
<p>Thirdly, there are the parents who
desire beyond all things that their
children shall lead religious
lives, and are anxious to do
their utmost to start the
little feet on the right path. It is this
class of parent who is often perplexed
to know what is best. The difficulties
are certainly great. Children differ so
widely that what is good for one child
may be harmful for another. But in
almost all cases the tendency is to put off
religious teaching too long. The mind
of a very young child—one who would be
commonly described as a
baby—has been proved again
and again to be remarkably
receptive of evil as well as
of good influences and impressions,
and the earlier a baby’s mind
can be filled with the very simplest
religious truths the less room there will be
for evil, and the greater the likelihood of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>
a firm belief in truths that have been
absorbed almost with the mother’s milk.</p>
<p>This leads to the question of how far
a very young child has any direct personal
religion; any feeling, that is, of a direct
communication even of the most elementary
kind between itself and its <span class="smcap">God</span>
without the intervention of any human
being.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Child’s
Direct
Personal
Religion.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Religion
through the Mother.</div>
<p>It would probably be true to say that
<em>at first</em> this is impossible, but that at a
very early age the sense can
be imparted. To quote the
words of a mother who has
brought up a number of
children in the fear and love
of <span class="smcap">God</span>, personal religion in children “of
course begins by being mixed up with
<em>Mother</em>, who, if she is a real mother, is to
her babies the representative of warmth,
comfort, love, and everything that they
want.” When, in addition to this a child
has depended for months upon its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span>
mother for food, and has constantly
slept in her arms, the influence of that
mother is so great that
her religion naturally becomes
the religion of the
child, who accepts every
word she says absolutely. Thus, the
“<span class="smcap">God</span> bless you” and the words of
loving prayer which come so often and
so naturally to a mother’s lips are
absorbed by the child until its faith in
some unconscious way grows into its
life and becomes a real thing between
itself and its <span class="smcap">God</span>.</p>
<p>Thus, it will be seen that there is a
certain truth underlying a statement
made by the French author quoted above
when he says: “Children’s reverence and
love attaches itself to the human beings
who are kind to them, but to nothing
which is invisible or distinct from their
species. Their instinct of finality is
wholly objective and utilitarian.” It is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>
true that in the first instance a baby’s
reverence and love attaches itself to the
mother, but to assert that afterwards it
rejects anything invisible or apart from
its own species is to deny the influence
of a religious feeling flowing through the
mother to the child, and to limit the power
of the Spirit of <span class="smcap">God</span> who can surely dwell
in the heart of a very little child.</p>
<p>An example of the way in which children
of very tender years can and often do
grasp the great truths of the religion
which they inherit from their parents
has lately been told to the writer by the
mother of the child in question.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Where She
was
Heavened.</div>
<p>She was a little girl of three and a half
years old, and was taken one day by her
father into the church in
which she had been baptized.
Pointing to the font, he said,
“Do you know what happened to you
there?” For a moment the child looked
perplexed, and nestling up to her father<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>
said, “<em>You</em> tell me, daddy.” “No,” he
replied, “I want you to tell me.” There
was another moment’s hesitation, and
then she looked up at him and very
solemnly said, “I was <em>heavened</em> there!”</p>
<p>Probably no answer that she could
have made would have been so comprehensive
and so convincing of the real
grasp of the truth as this word her baby
intelligence had coined.</p>
<p>Examples can easily be found to show
at how early an age a child may be
influenced for good or evil. “I have
seen,” says a parent, “a baby trained to
habits of cleanliness in six weeks of life,”
and it is doubtless true that the difference
between good and evil first of all means
to a child what is allowed or what is
forbidden. But together with this it
must always be remembered that there
is the sense of safety and of love which,
originally connected with “Mother,” is
(in the case of a religious parent) speedily<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>
carried onwards and upwards to the love
and care of <span class="smcap">God</span>.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Olive
Schreiner.</div>
<p>In this connection a passage in Olive
Schreiner’s “Story of an African Farm”
can hardly be omitted. It
runs thus: “The souls of
little children are marvellously
delicate and tender things, and keep
for ever the shadow that first falls on them,
and that is the mother’s, or, at best, a
woman’s. There never was a great man
who had not a great mother: it is hardly
an exaggeration. The first six years of
our life make us: all that is added later
is veneer. And yet some say, if a woman
can cook a dinner or dress herself well, she
has culture enough.”</p>
<p>All that has been so far written in this
chapter on Children’s Religion is of
necessity vague and rather difficult. To
arrive at <em>facts</em> is almost impossible. The
best that can be done is to speak of
probabilities in the light of that faith<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>
which has been handed down. The
religion of children of less tender years
presents fewer difficulties, and to the
consideration of this it is proposed now
to turn.</p>
<p>But while the difficulties are fewer, they
do not altogether disappear. It is often,
for instance, extraordinarily difficult to
determine in the case of a child of six or
seven years how far his or her religion
has even at that age become directly
personal, or whether <span class="smcap">God</span> is not often a
Being to whom access is only possible
through someone else.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Religion of
Rather Older
Children.</div>
<div class="sidenote">A Child’s
Faith.</div>
<p>The evidence obtainable on this point
is most contradictory. A mother writes,
“Children’s faith soon becomes
a real thing between
them and their <span class="smcap">God</span>. My
little boy of five is perfectly
delightful in the fulness of his faith.
Only to-night when I had gone up, as I
always do, to tell him a Bible story or sing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>
some hymns before he went off to sleep,
he suddenly said, ‘Mother, don’t you
wish Jesus was on earth
now?’ When I said, ‘Why
do you wish it?’ he answered
without the least hesitation, ‘Because
I should go to Him and ask Him to
make me good for always.’ And then,
a little time afterwards, he suddenly
started up, when I thought he was asleep,
and said, ‘Oh! mother, wouldn’t it be
<em>dreadful</em> if we had not got a <span class="smcap">God</span>!’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Doubting
Thomas.</div>
<p>Another mother tells of a little daughter
who has been “a doubting Thomas from
her babyhood.” To her the
personality of <span class="smcap">God</span> was very
real, but she refused to
accept anything at first through the
medium of another—even of her mother.
A good many of her quaint sayings have
been preserved—and her mother still
remembers how disconcerting these often
were in the course of a Bible lesson. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>
would suddenly break in with “<em>Why</em> was
<span class="smcap">God</span> so cruel? I hate Him. Can’t you
explain? I don’t think much of Him
if He doesn’t let fathers and mothers know
everything!” At the same time she was
seldom willing to accept much on anyone’s
judgment but her own. A little brother
shared her lessons, and often sighed with
impatience at her interruptions. “Oh,
R——,” he would say, “I do wish you
could get some trust!” When learning
the Catechism this little girl refused to
say, “Yes, verily, so I will.” “No,” she
said, “I shan’t say that. I haven’t made
up my mind whether I want to be good
or not, and I <em>certainly</em> shan’t say that.”
So for about six months that question
was never put to her, and at last one day
she remarked, “I could say that now if
you like!”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Relative
Importance of
Authorities.</div>
<p>In both these instances there can be
little doubt that no one came in any way
between the child and the Creator, but,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>
on the other hand, a good many parents
consider that there is for some years
a difficulty in the minds of
children as to the intervention
of human beings
between them and <span class="smcap">God</span>,
arising either from their habit of connecting
their prayers and religious experiences
mainly with their mother or nurse, or
from a curious inability to realise the
supremacy of the Almighty. An example
of this latter difficulty may be given in the
words of a little child in Yorkshire who
was overheard to say to a companion,
“Don’t do that or perhaps <span class="smcap">God</span> will see
you, and He’ll tell the Vicar.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Children’s
Prayers.</div>
<p>Much has been written by others about
children’s prayers, but it is impossible to
ignore what is to them the
most real and important part
of their religion. A lady
living in Cheltenham says: “I think that
children get a belief in prayer very early.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>
My youngest girl the other day looked
tired, so I said that she had better
not come to the evening service. ‘Oh,
but I must,’ she said, ‘I want to pray
for Miss Beale.’” This was at the beginning
of that well-known lady’s fatal illness.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Implicit Faith
in Prayer.</div>
<p>Another example of belief in prayer on
the part of a child was brought to the
notice of the present writer
by a sister of the boy of
whom the story is told.
When a very little chap his brothers and
sisters were all invited to a children’s
party at a neighbouring house, but he
had not been included. Much to his
grief it was decided that he had better
be put to bed when the others started
for the party. When saying his prayers
he earnestly asked that even yet he might
go to the party. He had hardly been
tucked up in bed before a messenger
came to say that the omission of his name
had been an accident and that it was hoped<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>
he might still come. He was hurriedly
dressed, and in a few minutes had joined
the others in their festivity. The impression
made upon the boy’s mind was never
erased. From that day forward he never
failed to pray about every smallest event.
If he went to a shop to buy a knife he
would pray to be guided in his choice.
If he went out to dinner he would silently
pray as he took off his coat in the hall
that the evening might be enjoyable.
Nothing ever again shook him in his belief
in the power of prayer.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Children’s
Quaint
Petitions.</div>
<p>Some of the original petitions in children’s
prayers are often exceedingly quaint,
but they go to prove their
belief in their words being
heard, and it would be cruel
to laugh at them or snub
the expression of their desires. Some
friends of the writer when they were little
used to be very fond of interpolating their
special wishes into their prayers. One<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>
of them when a tiny girl kneeling at her
mother’s side after praying for her father
and mother and brothers and sisters,
said, “And please <span class="smcap">God</span> make mother less
strict.”</p>
<p>Another child in the same family had
been shown a coloured picture of Noah’s
sacrifice and the rainbow, which impressed
her so much that she added to her evening
prayers, “And oh! <span class="smcap">God</span>, please show
me a rainbow very soon!”</p>
<p>From the same source comes a charming
story of a small boy who had taken a
dislike to a cousin of his own age called
Malcolm. It so happened that each of
them had a baby brother, and the little
boy in question broke off in the middle
of his prayers one evening to ejaculate,
“Please <span class="smcap">God</span> make me and my baby
brother stronger and stronger, and
Malcolm and his little brother weaker and
weaker, so that when we fight we may
conquer!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Children’s
Churchgoing.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Danger of
Too Much.</div>
<p>The next point to be noticed in dealing
with the religion of children is the vexed
question as to the wisdom
of enforcing attendance at
public worship. There can
be no doubt at all that, if overdone,
compulsory churchgoing may lead to
disastrous results. A man to whom
frequent attendance at services
has all his life been
irksome, looks back to his
childhood when he was expected to be
present at Sunday services, week-day
services, Sunday School, choir practices,
missionary and other meetings, until he
became weary of the very name of such
things. Rather nervous of blame, he
never ventured to express a wish to
absent himself, and to those early days
and their discipline he ascribes his present
reluctance.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Danger of
Too Little.</div>
<p>On the other hand, it is no doubt true
that it is dangerous to use no compulsion,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>
and to allow the formation of a habit
of staying away from church on the
smallest excuse. The real
difficulty is to steer a course
between making Sunday the
dull, cold, miserable day that it too
frequently became in the earlier part of
the last century and allowing it to be
as secular as it so often is at present.</p>
<p>A lady who has been specially successful
in bringing up her children to love
Sunday and its observances, says, “I
make a point of extra nice clothes and nice
food on Sundays (it sounds horribly
material!) but I want to make <em>everything</em>
connected with goodness and religion
attractive, and, however much we may
wish they were not so, our souls and
bodies affect each other in an extraordinary
way. My youngest child of five
and a half, having begun Churchgoing
regularly six months ago, begs to stay on
through the whole service, only saying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>
at the end, ‘What a lot of kneeling! But
I like it; can I stay again?’ Of course,
there were two reasons for his wish:
his love of being near me, and the music
which he also loves.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Service
Held by
Children.</div>
<p>Another instance may be quoted here,
taken, as was the last, from the family
of lay people. Here again
everything was done to make
Sundays bright and happy
and to bring up the children
to consider Churchgoing a treat. So
fond did they become of the services that
the two youngest—a girl of seven and a
boy of five—were accustomed to hold a
special service of their own when with
their mother in the drawing-room after
tea on Sundays. Their mother describes
these functions as follows, and, though
they may seem to some people to have
a spice of “play acting,” yet the
children were extremely in earnest in all
they did. Here is her account: “They<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>
used to put on pinafores, the opening to
come in front, and wore sashes for stoles.
My duty was to sit at the piano as
organist. I had to play a voluntary as
they came in. They chose the hymns,
and each chose a chapter in the Bible to
read. They stood on a chair to read their
chapters. One day I remember that the
little boy, who could not yet read very
fluently, chose the one in St. Luke
with seventy-two verses and went straight
on with it to the end! They took it in
turns to preach, again standing on the
chair. The elder child always wrote her
sermon, but the little boy’s was extempore.
After the sermon the missionary
box was handed round and we each put
something in. The service ended by
their kneeling down side by side and
singing ‘Jesu, tender Shepherd, hear
me.’ One evening the younger child
stood up on his chair to preach, and began
to get redder and redder and looked very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span>
much worried, but I did not dare to move
from my seat as organist. At last his
sister whispered, ‘What’s the matter,
darling?’ on which he said, ‘Every
word of the sermon has gone out of my
head.’ So she promptly stood on her
chair and said, ‘The congregation will
excuse the sermon this evening. Hymn
No. 348.’ I have come across one of the
little girl’s written sermons, and give it
here:—</p>
<p class="p0 center">“‘<span class="smcap">Little Children Love one Another.</span>’</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Child’s
Sermon.</div>
<p class="p0">“‘You love your brother and sister
very much indeed though you do fight
with them. Yes, that noutty,
noutty Sayten gets inside
us, and then we can’t fight
without Jesus’ help. Yes,
if we ask Him to help us I know He will.
He is so kind. He will do almost anything
you ask Him to do for you, if it is
not wrong. Yes, we all go wrong sometimes
and feel very cross with ourselfs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>
Little children sometimes think that all
big people are very good indeed, but they
all go wrong, too, as well as you or I might,
but <span class="smcap">God</span> knows all our ways and what
we do and sees and hears what we say.
Oh! then, little children, love one
another, and so we must love Him.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Simplicity
in Speaking to
Children.</div>
<p>As to the number and kind of services
to which children should be taken it
is impossible to lay down
a general rule. Where
“Children’s Services” are
held by a man who has the
gift of attracting and interesting children,
the difficulty is partially solved. But
these are not much use when they are
conducted by persons who cannot sufficiently
simplify their language, or by
those who are so far out of sympathy with
their audience as to appear to be condescending
or in the smallest degree pompous—characteristics
which are readily
observed and resented by all children.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p>
<p>But probably many people will agree
that “Children’s Services” alone cannot
supply all that is required, in so far as
they do not accustom children to the
ordinary Church services, as to which it
is not too much to say that a certain
amount of familiarity breeds affection
rather than contempt.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Differences
in Children’s
Temperament.</div>
<p>But in considering the advisability of
taking little children to Church, due
regard must be had to the
individual child. As has
been said, it is absolutely
impossible to lay down a
general rule. Even the members of the
same family are frequently so different in
disposition as to make it unwise to treat
them all alike. Some may be so sensitive
to the awe-inspiring atmosphere of religious
services as to cause a fear lest their
mind should become morbid on the
subject. Very probably such children
would express a strong wish to attend on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>
every possible occasion, but their pleasure
is akin to that which is sometimes felt by
people of unhealthy mind who delight
in torturing themselves by picturing
nameless horrors. Other children, and
these are the most frequently found, look
upon Churchgoing as an entertainment
enjoyed by grown-up people and therefore
much to be desired, though they themselves
soon grow weary of the whole
thing.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Two Children
at Church.</div>
<p>An example of what is meant came to
the notice of the writer a short time ago
when staying in the same
house with two little children,
a brother and sister, who
were taken to an afternoon service for
almost the first time in their lives. The
boy, a year or two the elder, was a rather
nervous, highly-strung little chap, and he
spent nearly the whole time in saying in
a very low voice, “O <span class="smcap">God</span>, help me!
I <em>will</em> be good!” He seemed unable to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>
think of anything but the fact that he
was in <span class="smcap">God</span>’s house, and unable to get
relief from the overpowering sensation of
awe. His little sister, on the other hand—a
fat, merry, matter-of-fact child—evidently
considered the whole thing to be
a kind of social function interfered with
by most unnecessary restrictions. She
turned herself about from side to side
and nodded and smiled at her numerous
acquaintances, paying especial attention
to the seats occupied by the servants from
the house where she was staying. After
a time she yawned audibly and gave
obvious signs of getting bored, finally
nestling against her mother’s side and
falling sound asleep. It is obvious to
everyone that two children such as these
would need very different treatment in
the matter of Churchgoing and religious
education generally.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Children’s
Unintentional
Irreverence.</div>
<p>Such a child as the little girl described
above may be said to possess the normal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>
feelings of her age. Most very young
children are entirely unable to grasp the
greatness of <span class="smcap">God</span> and the seriousness
of religion. If they appear
to older people to be
irreverent, it must not be
counted to them for a sin.
It is simply caused by the limitations of
their understanding. Thus, a small child
was heard to call out during the baptism
of a baby, “Why <em>doesn’t</em> he use a sponge?”
No irreverence was meant, but the remark
showed that the child’s mind was further
developed in practical than in spiritual
matters. So, again, the absurd questions
so often put by little children when told
that <span class="smcap">God</span> is everywhere. It is very
common for them at once to suggest all
kinds of ridiculous places without meaning
in any way to be irreverent.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Great
Patience
Necessary.</div>
<p>Such things of course add to the
difficulties of teaching religion to those
who are very young, but it is certain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>
that great patience and tenderness is
necessary for those who attempt the
task. Forgetfulness of the
point of view of the child
often leads to expressions of
horror and even of anger
at apparently profane remarks, but such
expressions are unjust and may not
seldom give the child a permanent dislike
to what ought to be the happiest of all
its lessons.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Little Children
have Long
Ears.</div>
<p>One other caution may be given here.
It is a fatal mistake for those who are
bringing up little children to
speak in their presence of
religious matters in a way
which they do not desire the
children to absorb and do not fancy that
they understand. A child may be building
a house of bricks in a far corner of
the room and yet be listening with all its
ears to the talk going on between its
elders. A very little boy was once taken<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>
to Church when a sermon was preached
about the Will of <span class="smcap">God</span>. No one thought
it possible that he understood a word of
it, but at tea that afternoon he was, being
slightly out of sorts, allowed no jam, on
which he promptly said, “Well, if it’s
<span class="smcap">God</span>’s Will that I should have nothing
but bread and butter, it’s no good fighting
against it!”—a practical and excellent
comment upon the morning’s sermon.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>Lest anything that has been written in
this chapter should seem to be discouraging
as to the religious training of children,
two things may be set down here as full
of hope.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Influence
of Women.</div>
<p>The first may be disposed of in a few
words. There is little doubt that women
are naturally more religious
than men, or at least that
they more easily give expression
to their feelings and beliefs.
What a great matter it is, then, that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>
earliest training of children is in the hands
of women! It is quite possible that the
reason for the greater religious expression
on the part of women lies to some extent
in the fact that girls remain so much
longer under the direct influence of their
mother. But that is by the way; what
is important is that there are multitudes
of truly religious women who may best
of all be trusted to impart their own faith
to little children.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Children’s
Delight in the
Unseen.</div>
<p>The other matter for hopefulness lies
in the fact that the very things that
often present difficulties to
grown-up people are specially
attractive to children. Anything
connected with the
unseen world, anything quite impossible
according to the laws of nature as we
know them, interests and takes hold of
children at once. This is plain from the
often-repeated request, “Do tell us a
fairy story.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Impression
made by
Beauties
of Nature.</div>
<p>When to this is added the impression
made on a child’s mind by the vision
of a gorgeous sunset, or of a
great wide-spreading view,
there seems to be a good deal
upon which it is possible to
work. A man friend of the
writer has told him that his first real
impressions of the greatness and goodness
of <span class="smcap">God</span> came to him as a child when
contemplating beautiful scenery; and an
aunt of the late Bishop Walsham How
used to say that when he was a very little
boy, and was looking from a window at
the sunset, he was heard to say, “Oh!
<span class="smcap">God</span>!”</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Higher
Criticism.</div>
<p>How easy it would be to kill these
beginnings of faith! How easy for a
teacher who had studied the
Higher Criticism to wither
the growth of a belief in the
unseen and incomprehensible! Is it
worth while to risk this by scrupulously<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>
teaching that Elijah’s chariot of fire and
Jonah’s whale had better be taken as
allegories? A teacher with great experience
of little children has said, and said
most truly, “Religion attracts greatly
because of the mystery which surrounds
the unseen. Besides this, the beauty
and the wonderful fitness of all things in
nature strengthen more than anything
a child’s belief in a Divine Creator.”</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>Perhaps, as one last word, it may be
said that that mother will succeed best
in the religious training of her children
who feels that it is the chief and highest
work she has to do.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</h2>
</div>
<h3>THE CHILD—ITS IMITATION</h3>
<div class="sidenote">Selection of
those about
the Path of
a Child.</div>
<p>No one who has to do with children can
fail to be struck by their almost universal
habit of imitation. This
begins at a very early age,
and, while some imitative
expressions and gestures are
partly the result of heredity,
others are obviously copied from the
persons with whom the child is most
familiar. This makes it, of course, extremely
important that the servants and
even the friends who are brought most
closely into contact with a child should
be selected with the greatest care.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Meals in the
Servants’ Hall.</div>
<p>How often a bad accent or “twang” is
picked up as soon as a child begins to
speak, and with what difficulty it is
eradicated afterwards! The habit, too,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>
which obtains with some parents (who
do not want to be bothered with their
children) of letting them
have their meals with the
servants is greatly to be
deprecated. It saves the trouble of a
special nursery dinner, and it often happens
that the servants in a house are fonder of
the company of the children than are their
parents, but for all that the tendency to
imitate is so strong that habits are pretty
sure to be learnt which it will be very
troublesome to get rid of afterwards.
Here is an example:</p>
<p>A little girl, whom circumstances had
relegated to the entire charge of servants,
was taken out to a children’s tea-party,
when she was scarcely four years old.
It was a splendid tea, and she was a fine
healthy little girl with an equally fine
healthy appetite. Bread and butter,
cake, jam sandwiches, and buns all
disappeared with equal ease, and there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>
came a time when the rest had finished
and she had just one mouthful left....
There was a slight pause in the general
chatter, and at that unlucky moment the
little girl in question gave an unmistakable
hiccough. Many of the children
there would have blushed with distress
at such an incident, but this little maiden,
accustomed to the manners of the
servants’ hall, looked round with an
ingratiating smile and merely remarked—“Copplyments!”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Swear Words.</div>
<p>Everyone has heard of children who
have occasionally used “swear words”
in imitation of their elders,
and some may possibly have
heard the true story of a
little girl who was given a cup of tea to
hand to a visitor. As she crossed the
short space with careful footsteps and
eyes fixed anxiously on her burden she
was heard to mutter to herself “By
George, baby, you must be ’teady!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p>
<p>Examples such as these show the
readiness with which children pick up the
phraseology of their seniors, and it is a
mistake to suppose that, because a child
does not exactly understand what is said,
therefore no impression is made upon its
mind.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Desire to be
Like Father.</div>
<p>The greater the admiration of a child
for an older person the greater the desire
to imitate it. A small boy
usually considers his father
the most wonderful man he
knows, and consequently spends a good
deal of time and effort in trying to be like
him. A little chap of four or five years
old will throw himself into a chair and
cross his legs in absurd imitation of his
father, and nothing seems too small for
children to notice and copy. The manner
of carrying a stick, the attitude of standing
on the hearthrug, the little trick of
clearing the throat, will all be reproduced
to the life, and it has sometimes been a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>
matter of surprise to an onlooker that the
mimicry of some small but absurd trick
has not been the means of breaking the
older person of the habit.</p>
<p>An excellent example of the desire of
a little boy to become like his father was
brought to the writer’s notice a year or
two ago. A small girl, the daughter of
very “horsey” parents, was trying to
entertain a boy cousin a little younger
than herself. After taking him into the
stables and showing him the horses, she
turned to him and said, “I daresay, if
you are <em>very</em> good, you might be a groom
some day.” To which came the reply,
“No, I shan’t! When I grows up I shall
be exactly like father—skin showing
through my hair and all!”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Individuality
to be
Encouraged.</div>
<p>There will often be a great desire on
the part of one parent that a child shall
imitate and resemble the other. If this
natural wish be carried too far there is
a danger lest the individuality of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>
child be interfered with. It must never
be forgotten that no two people can be
or were meant to be exactly
alike, and that in every
child that is born there are
seeds of good qualities and
faculties belonging specially to that child.
A slavish copy of anyone else, however
worthy, will assuredly tend to choke the
growth of these. It would be impossible
to compute how many artists with the
seeds of greatness within them have been
condemned to mediocrity by a life-long
endeavour to reproduce the master from
whom they have learned, instead of
making an endeavour to work out their
own salvation.</p>
<div class="sidenote">An Affected
Child.</div>
<p>So it is with children. Nothing is more
sad than to see a child, at an age when
his or her natural freshness
and simplicity should be
most clearly in evidence,
already cramped and artificial through an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>
effort to copy some older person. A
gentleman once took shelter in a house
during a heavy storm. The master and
mistress were both out, but their little
daughter was summoned from her A B C
to talk to the unexpected guest. He told
her he was sorry to have brought her
downstairs, to which came the simpering
reply, “Oh! pray don’t mention it!”
<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Imitatio ad nauseam!</i></p>
<div class="sidenote">Dressing Up.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Dumb
Crambo.</div>
<p>One way in which the love of imitation
comes out is in the delight all children
take in “dressing up,” and
in any form of charades or
dumb crambo. This is probably
a very useful way of developing
originality and of setting children’s wits
to work. Where it is not coupled with
the putting on of gorgeous raiment, and
is not merely an excuse for “showing
off,” the very variety of character
assumed ensures its being a wholesome
exercise. Dumb crambo is especially<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>
helpful, for in that pastime there is
practically no opportunity for self-glorification,
while it tends directly
to stimulate the children’s
ingenuity and to kill their
self-consciousness.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Tricks of
Posturing.</div>
<p>All observers of child life have noticed
in some little ones an unhealthy trick of
making faces, posturing, or
otherwise trying to attract
attention. This is unnatural
and should be carefully watched and
eradicated. But it should be remembered
that in most cases of that kind the <em>cause</em>
is physical—generally a weakness in the
nervous system—and the child must be
dealt with most tenderly though firmly.</p>
<p>On the other hand, many people can
recall instances where what may be
described as a true theatrical tendency
has shown itself in a perfectly healthy
and charming manner in very young
children. No better example of this can<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>
be found than is contained in a little paper
lying under the writer’s hand. To transpose
it would be to spoil the vividness of
the story, so it is given here just in its
original form.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Tea at the
Vicarage.</div>
<p>“I was more or less of a newcomer in
our village when I one day received a
pressing invitation to tea
at the Vicarage. When I
arrived I found my hostess, a
charming white-haired and white-shawled
old lady, in her usual arm-chair by the
drawing-room fire, and, seeing the chair
on the other side of the hearth empty,
I dropped into it with a delicious feeling
of comfort after my walk through the chill
and gloom of a foggy evening. I had not
been many minutes installed when tea
was brought in, and the hot cakes which
my soul loved were deposited on the little
brass stand inside the fender at my feet.</p>
<p>“Following fast on the arrival of the
tea came the two daughters of the house,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span>
who had been busy in various parts of
the parish, and were eager to compare
notes and exchange the gossip they had
gleaned between the gulps of hot tea
with which they refreshed the inner
woman.</p>
<p>“Meantime, I confess to wondering
why I had been honoured with an invitation
which was almost as pressing as a
three-line whip. My curiosity was quickened
by the fact that no sooner had we
finished our meal than the tea-table was
carried off to a distant part of the room,
and a smile and look of enquiry went
round, followed by a nod on the part of
my hostess, the signal for one of the
daughters to run away for a minute or
two from the room. There was just that
little silence which precedes an ‘event,’
and then she returned to be greeted by
‘Well?’ ‘All right,’ she replied, and
silence fell on us again, to be broken
almost immediately by a tap at the door,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>
a tap that would never have been heard
had it not been for our stillness of expectation.
The elder and more impetuous
of the daughters made a rush from her
chair but was called back, and then in
a moment I knew why I had been asked.
From behind the high screen just inside
the door there peeped a baby face!
And such a baby face! Roguishness,
bashfulness, mirth, and indecision were
mingled in the little dimpling face and
twinkling blue eyes.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Entry
of Baby.</div>
<p>“There was a shake of golden curls—no,
not quite curls, and yet nothing else
expresses the tangle of light
that formed a background to
that beauty of two summers—and
then the vision disappeared. Shyness
had won a momentary victory, but
was routed on a friendly hand being held
out round the screen to encourage the
merry mischief that was never far to seek
in her to assert itself.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p>
<p>“A little shriek of pleasure, and she
had run into the middle of the room
towards granny’s chair, but stopped short
just where the circle of light from a reading
lamp fell upon her. I shall not soon
forget the picture. I had never seen her
before, and, coming upon me in this
unexpected way with her brightness and
her beauty and her marvellous expression,
she made an impression out of all
proportion to her years.</p>
<p>“It was, I fear, the sight of me that
caused her to stop so suddenly in her run
to the loving arms that were stretched out
for her.</p>
<p>“Neither she nor I had been prepared
for the sight of the other, and a strange
and bearded man may well alarm a little
lady of two.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Baby
Actress.</div>
<p>“There <em>was</em>, no doubt, at first a distinct
look of alarm, but she rose to the occasion.
It might no doubt be possible to overawe
this new and ferocious-looking being:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>
at all events it would be well to try,
or he might perhaps be open to a joke
and be propitiated in that
way! Some such thoughts
were evidently in her mind,
for first of all she stared at me with a
frown, then made a deliciously dignified
bow towards me, and then, almost before
the bow was finished, stooped down, and
drew her frock round her feet, saying,
‘Baby dot no legs!’ going off into a fit
of decidedly forced laughter by way of
carrying off her joke, should I prove too
dense to see it.</p>
<p>“Well, it served her purpose: it was
a kind of introduction, and it enabled her
to get over the awkward moments of her
first shyness and to reach the haven of
granny’s chair. We were soon firm friends
after that. I happened to have a watch
‘like daddy’s,’ which was an assurance
of my respectability, and I openly and
fervently admired a certain pair of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>
little red shoes, and what lady can
resist a well-timed compliment on her
turn-out?</p>
<p>“After a short time spent in such polite
conversation, it suddenly occurred to the
little fairy that she was not doing her
proper share towards entertaining the
company. A little wriggle freed her from
any restraining hands or inconvenient
people, and she ran to the far end of the
room. From this vantage ground she
ran forward from time to time into the
better-lit part at our end with all the
anxiety to be well received of a born
actress. The first ‘act’ consisted in her
picking up her tiny skirts and walking on
her toes, saying ‘Muddy, muddy! Baby’s
feet wet!’ Then with a shriek of delight
she rushed off, to come back the next
minute waving her hands over her head
and gazing solemnly upwards, saying,
‘Wind b’owing! Clouds and wind!
Baby’s f’ightened!’ But this only lasted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>
for a minute before she dashed off and
returned declaring that she was another
child, a little girl she had not seen more
than once or twice, but whom she
evidently desired to imitate.</p>
<p>“It is impossible to describe the effect
produced upon me by this extraordinary
performance by so young a child. Her
rapid change of mood bewildered me:
the mischievous laughter of one moment
was so quickly followed by a look of
wonder or terror or sadness, to be succeeded
in its turn by a sudden scream
of delight, that I felt as if I were watching
something not altogether canny. It was
really almost a relief when at last she
buried her face in a friendly lap and cried
for bed and ‘nanna.’</p>
<div class="sidenote">Baby’s Exit.</div>
<p>“Even then the rapid change of mood
was not all over, for in the midst of her
tears she was gathered into
nurse’s comfortable arms,
and as she left the room a decidedly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>
pert little voice was heard to say,
‘Baby <em>did</em> c’y!’</p>
<p>“So I found out why my friends at the
Vicarage, who knew my weakness for
children, had asked me to tea, but I have
never been able to analyse the exact
impression left on my mind beyond that of
a lovely and excited baby.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</h2>
</div>
<h3>THE CHILD—ITS PLEASURES</h3>
<div class="sidenote">Love and
Happiness.</div>
<p>What a happiness it is that in the
memories of most people the joys of
childhood so far exceed its
griefs. Two of the most
powerful agents for good in
the life of a child are love and happiness,
and it may be confidently assumed that
where there is an abundance of the
former the existence of the latter is
assured.</p>
<p>It may happily be asserted that it has
been the sad lot of few of those who read
these lines to have known an unloved
childhood. To this may be ascribed
the happy recollections of most who
look back upon their earliest years.</p>
<p>But in this chapter some attempt will
be made to examine certain special<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>
pleasures rather than to generalise as to
the atmosphere of happiness in which
alone a child will really thrive.</p>
<div class="sidenote">No Stereotyped
Rule.</div>
<p>While happiness is necessary for all
children, those who have most closely
studied child life will agree
that the old saying “<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Quot
homines tot sententiæ</i>” may
well be applied to the great variety of
ways in which this happiness is sought.
It is impossible to treat all children alike,
or to lay down any general rule. A little
girl will find her chief delight in dogs and
horses, while her brother steals away to
play with dolls. Two small boys will go
out into the garden, and, while one is keen
to learn any sort of manly game, the other
stands about cold and listless, bored to
death by the mere sight of bat or
ball.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Failure of
Compulsory
Pleasures.</div>
<p>Nothing is less likely to produce happiness
than to attempt to <em>force</em> little children
to amuse themselves in any set way.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>
How many people have been disappointed
by their efforts in this direction! A
“recreation” ground has perhaps
been provided by some
charitable person at great
expense. Ten to one it will
be deserted by the little ones for whom it
was primarily intended and given over to
the tender mercies of lads and lasses in
their “teens.” The <em>small</em> children find
nothing left to their imagination, and
infinitely prefer some dirty, and, to adult
eyes, disadvantageous corner.</p>
<p>There was just such a case in a large
northern town. The recreation ground was
opened with pomp, and was elaborately
fitted with swings, parallel bars, etc. For
a week or two a few children made efforts
to amuse themselves there, but it was
quickly deserted. In the immediate
neighbourhood were sundry patches of
ground where no houses had as yet
been built, and on which lay fascinating<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>
heaps of brick bats and refuse. Needless
to say these offered far greater attractions
than the new and orderly playground.
Small children do not care to play “to
order.” They have enough of that during
school hours. When they get a bit older
they will be willing enough to join in
games on specified grounds and governed
by codes of rules, but while they are little
they like to find their own playgrounds
and invent their own games.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Game in a
Stackyard.</div>
<p>Memory brings a vision of two children,
one a little girl with soft dark hair and
big black eyes, who is dressed
in a blue and white cotton
frock, and a big white straw
hat; the other a sturdy, but commonplace
boy, in grey knickerbockers, a
holland blouse, with a broad black leather
belt, and a flannel cap. They are about
the same age, neither of them being yet
seven, and they are playing in a stack-yard.
It is not the stacks that are the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>
attraction, for just now there are none
there, but for all that it is a glorious playground.
In the first place, it is well out
of the way of the grown-up people, and
in the next place, though there are no
stacks, there are the stone supports on
which they once stood. What excellent
tables they make, these old grey upright
blocks, of which the flat round tops
project like real tables, and are practically
useful in preventing rats and mice from
climbing up. But there is something else
which has drawn the children to that spot,
for all about in the yard there is to be
found a tall plant with a quantity of red
seed, which must, I fancy, be some kind of
sorrel. It is delicious to draw your hand
up the stalk and bring it away full of this
seed, and that is what these children are
busy doing.</p>
<p>Next they put it in a heap on a slate
which they have discovered, and then
search for pieces of brick and flat stone,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>
which are piled on the top. In this way a
certain quantity of the seed is compressed,
and called a cheese, which is deposited with
ceremony upon one of the stone tables.</p>
<p>The little girl has been the leader
throughout; she has decided which
plants were ripe enough to be stripped,
how much seed was necessary to form a
cheese, and upon which of the stones the
feast should be spread. The boy has been
her obedient servant, a position of things
which reaches its climax when the little
lady suddenly states that she doesn’t like
cheese, and orders him to eat it all up!</p>
<p>This is a vision that has come from time
to time for more than forty years, and
few playgrounds have seemed so attractive.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Old Tree
in the Garden.</div>
<p>Then there is the old tree of the garden.
Who does not love the memory of the
games played beneath it, and
the seats it afforded among
its boughs? Maybe it was a
mulberry, or merely an ancient laurel.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>
Playgrounds may be found in and under
both. In another case it was a mighty
yew, noted in the annals of the county.
A few feet up upon its massive stem, the
children had special seats, and woe betide
intruders caught trespassing! Beneath it
was a long bench, of which the supports
were obviously at one time a part of one
of the great boughs, while the seat had
in the distant ages been green.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Playing at
Shop.</div>
<p>What feasts were spread upon this seat—what
shops were kept with this for the
counter! There is a dust
that forms beneath old yews,
and consists of the dead and
crumbled petals. What splendid stuff it
is to play with! It can be sold as snuff,
or almost anything, and it pours out of a
teapot as easily as water. But there is
no need to say more; everyone can
remember the invented games, and the
best-loved haunts of their childhood.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p><div class="sidenote">A Whitby
Playground.</div>
<p>One more playground of a thoroughly
unconventional character may well be
mentioned here. It is just where the base
of one of the Whitby piers
starts from the end of a narrow
street or passage. The huge
stones worn and rounded at their edge
make a couple of steps down to the
water’s edge, but steps so big that, if you
are still a small boy, they compel you to
sit down and slide and scramble, holding
on as best you may, till you have reached
the bottom. It is great fun to watch
the children descending by their various
methods. Big boys (and girls too) manage
it easily, laughing and shouting as they
bump their way down. But with the
little ones it is different. A girl arrives,
with a baby wrapped up in a shawl; this
requires management: baby is set down
on the top step, and told to stay quite
still, then away slides the small nurse
on to the intermediate resting-place some
three or four feet below; then a pair of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>
arms are stretched up, and baby struggles
into them with a chuckle of satisfaction,
and is once more deposited, while the
elder sister springs down on to the soft
wet sand, and next minute baby, too, is
safe in the desired corner. This is what
it practically is, this desirable playground,
just a corner in the harbour laid bare at
low tide, and having the pier on its one
side, and the walls of the old town on the
other. How lovely those old walls were!
Looking right up one sees the ends projecting
above the gables of red-tiled roofs,
while below are the grey walls—no, not
grey, though many seem so at first sight,
but yellow, blue, red, green—every colour,
in fact, that stones will take, when long
exposed to sea and weather. Then at the
bottom just above the sand runs a long
wide course of stones that are covered
by every tide, and have in consequence
become clothed with a fringe of brown
and green and golden seaweed.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p>
<p>There are small windows here and there,
high up in the walls, and now and again
a sheet or a towel is hung out to dry, a
picturesque object enough against a mass
of building; and from above the wall of
a yard a number of poles, leaning in the
corner, project and break the monotony
of the surface.</p>
<p>It lies right inside the harbour, and
every time the tide goes down it leaves
a certain quantity of semi-decomposed
objects to scent the atmosphere of this
special spot.</p>
<p>Then again, what is far worse, there are
small square openings here and there in
the wall and from these there trickle
continuously the contents of many washtubs
and slop-pails. Yet here it is that
a group of children come whenever the
tide allows, to play their quiet games—quiet,
for they never run about or make
much noise, but seem happiest crawling
on hands and knees, or squatting in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>
circle and playing with the garbage and
refuse which has stranded there.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Treasure
Trove.</div>
<p>This is doubtless the attraction; the
beauties of the scene evidently never occur
to them at all, the evil
smells affect them not. But
there are new playthings
there continually. As the water recedes
fresh treasures day by day are left upon
the shiny floor—half sand, half mud—of
their playground. What opportunities
for their invention and imagination!
Yesterday there were two small dead
crabs, a broken saucer, and an empty
sardine box; to-day’s chief items are the
wicker end of a worn-out lobster-pot,
a bit of rope, and a whole quantity of
mussel shells which have been thrown
away after the baiting of a long line.
What endless games are played with these
materials! First of all the shells are
pushed into the sand squares, making
little gardens, which are duly furnished<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>
with bits of green seaweed. To them
comes a small market woman carrying the
fragment of wicker-work in which she
places the green stuff she purchases and
pays for with pebbles, the bit of rope
being used to sling the laden basket on her
bent back, as she walks off to market
under the heavy load.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Another Game
of Shop.</div>
<p>Then the shells are hurriedly gathered
up, and baby is established with her back
against the wall, and in
front of her the total accumulation
of odds and ends
is arranged in lots, each one marked off
by a line drawn in the sand, and then the
children come to buy at baby’s shop—a
matter of huge delight to the shopkeeper,
who distributes her goods rashly and
impulsively, and is evidently bored at
being made to receive payment!</p>
<p>But an end comes at last: a voice is
heard shouting, baby is lifted up on to
the first step again, and all the little bare<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>
legs and ruddy feet go scampering off to
tea!</p>
<div class="sidenote">Playing at
Being
Grown Up.</div>
<p>It would be easy enough to give many
more examples than these two or three,
but they will be sufficient to
illustrate the preference of
little children of all and
every class for unconventional
playgrounds and games proceeding
from their own vivid imaginations. Imagination
supplies the keynote to so many
of the pleasures of children. How
greatly, for instance, they delight in
playing at being grown up! Nothing
gives them keener pleasure than being
treated like their elders. It is partly the
importance of it, but largely also the
exercise of imagination and an appreciation
(duly suppressed) of the fun of the
situation.</p>
<p>A few years ago it fell to the lot of the
writer to witness the joys of two very
small people who came by themselves (oh!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>
the importance of it) upon a regular
visit.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Visit from
Two Children.</div>
<p>They were some six and seven years old,
and a most reserved and old-fashioned
little couple in their ways.
The elder, Reggie, was singularly
quiet and thoughtful.
His face, of considerable beauty of feature,
with large grey eyes, wore ordinarily an
expression of solemnity, if not of melancholy,
and it required an intimacy of some
considerable standing to obtain more
than monosyllabic replies in his high but
very gentle voice.</p>
<p>His companion was a little sister
properly called Marjorie, but who had
hardly yet outgrown “Baby.” Such an
upright, delicate dimpled, flower of a child,
with the same big eyes and curling lashes
as her brother, but with a reserve far
more easily overcome, and a much greater
readiness to break into smiles or even
indulge in romps. She completely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>
“mothered” Reggie, and her anxiety
that he should do the right thing, and
her little quick orders to him, were most
amusing.</p>
<p>Their hostess met them a few days
before their visit, and their excitement
about it all was intense.</p>
<p>“What luggage shall you bring?”</p>
<p>“Oh! just a hat-box or two!”</p>
<p>“It’s all arranged about our visit to you.
I do so love arranging things. Couldn’t
we have some more arrangements?”</p>
<p>This, of course, Baby. So every conceivable
thing was “arranged,” and every
minute of the two days planned out.
Their hostess told them she should expect
them to bring lots of things in their
luggage.</p>
<p>“Oh!” said Baby, “I shall bring my
tea-gown. And what shall <em>you</em>
wear?”</p>
<p>The day arrived, and they were met at
the station.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p>
<p>“Well, what luggage have you
brought?”</p>
<p>“Twelve hat-boxes,” promptly replied
Reggie with a flicker of humour just
lighting up his face. One turned up, and
was found to contain the entire clothing,
etc., of the pair. This vast piece of
luggage was put in Baby’s room, and then
came the request that they might be
allowed to unpack for themselves. Reggie
was quickly hurried into his own room
with his tiny pile of belongings, and then
Baby began to unpack hers. She was
shown a large wardrobe, as well as a good-sized
chest of drawers, and evidently felt
that it would be <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">infra dig.</i> not to use them
both, so, after putting one wee garment
in one drawer and one in another till each
held something, she gravely took the
little bag which held her shoes and hung
it up in solitary grandeur in the wardrobe!</p>
<p>The extreme politeness and consideration
of these little visitors were continually<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>
coming out. Baby was asked whether
she would like a room to herself or a sofa
in her hostess’s room.</p>
<p>“You see, Aunt E., I don’t know what
to say,” was the reply. On being pressed
further, she said, “Well, I was thinking
about the beds! It seems a good deal of
trouble just for us. You see, they are big
beds.”</p>
<p>Reggie, too, was just as anxious to
consider others. “If it isn’t too much
trouble,” he said, on being asked whether
something should be brought him. “I’m
afraid when we are gone you will say
‘bother those troublesome children’!”</p>
<p>He was just as attentive, too, to his
sister, buttoning her little petticoat for
her and anything she couldn’t manage
for herself.</p>
<p>The whole of the proceedings described
so far were practically part of a charade
or play. The children were for these
two days grown-up people, and being<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>
endowed with an extra allowance of
imagination, played their part in every
detail.</p>
<p>Not that they could keep it up quite
all the time! There were games at hide-and-seek
that entirely dispelled illusion
for a while. Then there were visits to the
poultry yard and animals, when it was
impossible to put such restraint upon one’s
feelings of surprise and delight as to
appear properly blasé and grown up.
For instance, when Baby suddenly discovered
a large field-spider, there was a
scream of astonishment as she exclaimed,
“Oh, Aunt E., here’s a thing with a lot
of legs and a dot in the miggle!” And
again, in the poultry yard, it was scarcely
in keeping with the part of a lady who
had arrived at years of discretion to say,
“How I should like to lay in those nice
lickle nests!”</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Children
Leave.</div>
<p>But on the whole these two little people
carried out their intention of paying a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>
real grown-up visit with perfect success
up to the very moment when they were
once more in the train by
themselves on their return
journey of some six miles,
each one grasping firmly their half-ticket,
and the last glimpse we had was of Reggie
gravely lifting his little straw hat, as the
train steamed out of the station. There
is all the difference in the world between
this sort of playing at being grown up, and
the assumption of airs and graces which
some children display. The one is real
pleasure, the other the merest mockery.
Children who are no sooner out of the
nursery than they ape their elders in an
insatiable desire for a succession of smart
clothes and evening parties are seldom
happy children. Those who care for their
little ones and want to fill their early
years with real pleasures will take care
to avoid the causes which produce children
such as these.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p>
<p>It may perhaps be said that the main
factors are two.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Modern
Defiance of
Authority.</div>
<p>If children be allowed to absorb the
spirit that is pervading the world at the
present day—the spirit of
revolt against all authority,
the notion, that is, that
everyone is to do exactly
as he or she chooses—that will of itself
bring about a state of mind which is
destructive of real happiness. Notions
such as these are quickly picked up, and
parents who themselves set all rules and
authority at defiance cannot expect their
children to submit to control.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Self-Conscious
Jealous
Children.</div>
<p>Then there is a second cause which is
too often at work, and which does a great
deal towards turning some
children into disagreeable
and discontented young folk.
When people are continually
trying to emulate if not excel their
neighbours in appearance and in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>
entertainments they provide, children are
quick enough to take their cue from what
they see and overhear, with the result
that they are miserable if they think their
frocks are less fashionable than their
neighbours’, and are rude and discontented
if at one party they do not get as
handsome presents as at some other.</p>
<p>This is all wrong, and distinctly diminishes
the pleasure that these children
might otherwise enjoy.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Desirability
of Simpler
Children’s
Parties.</div>
<p>It would without doubt add enormously
to the real happiness of children
if a league could be formed
of all parents who should be
bound to limit children’s
parties within certain specified
bounds of simplicity and within
certain reasonably early hours.</p>
<p>But this is by the way. It is pleasanter
to turn for another minute or two to speak
of the pleasures childlike children find in
the simple joys that lie around their path.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Natural
Pleasures
the Most
Enjoyed.</div>
<p>There can be no doubt that the more
natural the employment or amusement
the greater the pleasure. A
little girl is given a tiny
dustpan and allowed to
sweep the carpet, or she has
a drawer full of odds and
ends and is asked to sort and arrange
them. She will spend an entire morning
in such an occupation with the keenest
pleasure, and if anyone who has watched
her should also see her when dressed up
at some “smart” party that same evening
there would be no doubt in the mind of
the onlooker as to which brought most
real happiness to the child.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Story-telling.</div>
<p>One of the greatest delights that can be
afforded to children must come in for a
word of mention. Who does
not remember the story-teller
of his or her childhood?
Perhaps it was “father,” who when he
came in at tea time would let the whole<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>
family swarm on and about his arm-chair,
and would tell another bit of the thrilling
tale which he always broke off each
evening at the very most exciting point.
Or sometimes it would be one of the bigger
children, gifted with an extraordinary
power of calling up robbers and demons,
who enthralled an audience by the narration
of horrors which stimulated their
imagination and made them feel deliciously
“creepy.” No such things as
“chestnuts” exist for children. The
oftener the story has been told the better
they like it, and never hesitate to choose
an old favourite before a brand new tale.</p>
<p>But this chapter is already becoming
too long. It would be easy to enumerate
numberless simple amusements which
bring real pleasure to children. But the
same moral can be drawn in every case.
The simpler and more natural the occupation
the greater the pleasure. Do not
all children revel in playing with the earth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span>
and water that lie about their feet?
Whether they are the lucky ones who can
build sand castles and let the sea-water
fill the moats, or whether they can only
play in the gutter by their door, they are
ten times happier in such pleasures as
these than in any grander or more
elaborate amusements. To the recognition
of this fact those who plan children’s
pleasures will owe their chief success.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</h2>
</div>
<h3>THE CHILD—ITS PATHOS</h3>
<p>Just as there is no summer without its
cool grey days, so among the sunny
crowd of children about our path there is
here and there a child who seems to live
beneath a shadow.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Quiet
Children.</div>
<p>Just, too, as the tender colouring of the
grey landscape has a special charm which
only needs the seeking, so
these quiet little ones amply
repay the observation of
those who do not let them steal away and
escape notice as they always wish to do.</p>
<p>No one who cares for children can have
failed to have come in contact with some
who are silent when their comrades shout,
grave when the rest are laughing, and
look wistfully on when games are in
progress.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p>
<p>They are, possibly, well enough liked
by the rest, but somehow they are
<em>different</em>, and because of this difference
go their own way to which the others have
become accustomed.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Reasons for
the Difference.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Lonely
Children.</div>
<p>There are, of course, sometimes obvious
reasons. In the greater number of cases
the child’s health—or want
of health—accounts for the
separateness of its life and
pursuits. Sometimes, it may be feared
that harsh surroundings in its home have
crushed the spirit out of it and made it
timid and suspicious. But sometimes it
is a mere question of temperament. The
child has, perhaps, inherited some queer
strain of sentimental self-consciousness,
or some nervous dread of publicity, which
causes it to be like the famous parrot
which said little but thought a lot—a
condition of things exactly the reverse
of what may usually be found in a
thoroughly healthy-minded child. But,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span>
whatever the cause, it is for the most
part true that it is well worth while to
lay siege to the affections of such a child,
and try to establish confidential relations.
The result of a habit of thoughtfulness
and of a life a little lonelier
than that of others will
generally tend to the laying
up a store of quaint fancies and imaginings
about the objects of everyday life, as well
as often developing a sympathy which
the lonely child has no wish and few
chances to exhibit. These things are
well worth bringing to the light by anyone
who is sufficiently persevering to win the
affection and confidence of the little one.</p>
<p>Such children are not averse to <em>all</em>
companionship, but are terribly afraid of
anyone who does not understand. They
have often enough been laughed at, and
they keep their thoughts and interests
carefully hidden from all who cannot be
absolutely trusted, and it is so very few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>
indeed whom they discover to belong to
this category. Once, however, they are
perfectly sure of anyone, they will lead
them to their secret haunts in field or
garden, will confide to them their dread
of certain places and people, and finally
will allow their most cherished wishes to
escape them. In almost all cases the
great desire of such children is for something
to love, or for somebody in whose
affections they may be first.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Early Natural
Bents.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Not a Mother
Yet!</div>
<p>In this connection it is curious to notice
how early the natural bent of a child will
show itself. This is especially
the case with girls
whose mothering propensity
comes out at a very tender age. A
wistful little maiden who always seemed
to want something more than satisfied
her more boisterous companions had slid
her hand into that of a grown-up friend
in whom she had learnt to confide, and
who was trying to amuse her by telling<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>
her about a litter of puppies which had
been born to a retriever called Topsy.
Looking down, the lady saw that the
child’s face had grown serious even to
sadness, which was accounted for by the
conversation that followed.
“How old is Topsy?” said
the little girl. “I think she
is four,” was the answer. At once the
child’s eyes filled with tears as she sighed,
“And I am six and I’m not a mother yet!”</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Boy’s
Secrets.</div>
<div class="sidenote">The Toad.</div>
<p>With boys it will generally be found
that, if they have taken to solitary ways,
and belong to the class of
children who are pathetically
different to the rest, they
have some bent, some special interest,
which they keep carefully to themselves
until a really sympathetic friend wins
their secret from them. Not infrequently
it is a hiding-place inside a bush or in
some corner of the garden where rubbish
has been thrown and where the small boy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>
has made himself a “house” with pieces
of an old packing case and any other
oddments that have come to hand.
Sometimes it is an animal of which he has
found the home and with which he spends
most of his spare time. A toad in a hole
in a wall was for a long time
the secret joy of a very
small boy until his little
sister confided to him that she had got a
toad in a hole close by, which on examination
proved to be the same animal
which had two outlets to its abode! The
boy’s secret being thus discovered all his
pleasure was gone, and he at once deserted
his pet.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Very Dead
Frogs!</div>
<p>The present writer happened once to
pay a visit to some friends who had a
little son of about three or
four years old. This little
fellow used often to disappear
in the garden, and was evidently
in enjoyment of some secret which he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>
too shy to impart to anyone. After a few
days his confidence was gained, and he led
off his new friend to a spot where there
was a muddy little pool about two feet
in diameter. On the edge of this were
two frogs which he had found dead, and
had brought here hoping that they would
revive. They had been dead for some
time and were anything but sweet, but
he stroked them and looked up in the
most wistful way to see whether his pets
were properly appreciated. It was really
pathetic to see his eyes fill with tears
when he was told that they were quite,
<em>quite</em> dead, and must be buried without
further delay.</p>
<p>Sometimes, of course, the pathos in a
child is accounted for by some physical
infirmity which separates him or her
from the rest. Here is an instance.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Children
and the
Painter Man.</div>
<p>A painter had one day set up his
umbrella and easel close to a little hamlet,
and when school was over there was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span>
the usual rush of the children to look at
“the man” and see what he was doing.
Hating solitude and delighting
in children, he faced
quickly round upon his stool
and gave them a nod of
welcome. “Come to see what sort of a
picture I’m making, eh?” was his greeting.
“Yezzur,” was the reply in the broad
dialect of the district. “Well, now,
what do you think of it?” he asked,
as he held it up for them to see. At
first there is only much drawing in of
breath and many an “Oh!” as they
look at what seems to them at first
sight a meaningless kaleidoscope of
colours. At last one makes out one
thing and one another in the unfinished
drawing. “There’s the tree, look!”
“See the blue sky!” “I can see
William Timms’s house, <em>I</em> can!” And
so on for some minutes until almost every
part of the picture had been properly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>
identified. Just then a shout from one
or two women proclaimed the fact that
those who wanted any dinner had better
make haste and get it while they had a
chance. This gave “the man” a few
quiet minutes during which he ate his own
sandwiches, but before he had swallowed
the last mouthful the troop of children
was back again to see all that might be
seen before the school bell rang.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Jacob.</div>
<p>It was during these last few minutes
that the painter noticed a boy whom
he had not seen among the
others before. He was a
little chap—not more than
six or seven years old—with soft fair hair
and a pink and white complexion. Two
things attracted his attention to the boy.
One was the extreme neatness and cleanness
of his dress. His clothes were not
of better material than those of the other
boys, but they were so very <em>tidy</em>. His
collar, too, was spotlessly white, and his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span>
hair glossy and unruffled. The other
thing about him which seemed peculiar
was the amount of deference and consideration
that was shown him by the
rest. He was given a good place close
behind “the man’s” elbow, and once or
twice, when there was some pushing, one
of the children called out, “Now, then,
keep quiet, can’t you? Don’t you see
you’re shovin’ against Jacob Joyce?”</p>
<p>Now and then, too, there would be a
curious sort of appeal to the little fellow:
someone would say, “Isn’t it lovely,
Jacob? There’s red and blue and all
manner of colours?” And Jacob would
solemnly answer “I likes yed!” Then a
whisper would go round, “Hearken to
him; he likes red, Jacob does.”</p>
<p>And all the while to the painter as he
worked away there seemed something odd
about the boy, and something unusual
if not uncanny in the way in which the
others treated him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p>
<p>At last the school bell rang, and all but
three of the children rushed off helter
skelter to their lessons. The three who
stayed behind were a big girl of twelve
who was looking after a baby sister, and
Jacob Joyce.</p>
<p>The picture was nearing completion.
That most absorbing half-hour had
arrived when just a little deepening of a
shadow here, and the wiping out of a curl
of smoke there, made all the difference,
and the painter was wrapped up in his
work, and scarcely noticed the three
children.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Jacob Sings.</div>
<p>The elder girl was busy plaiting grasses,
and the baby had crawled nearer and
nearer to the easel until a
paint brush suddenly shaken
out sprinkled her little face
and she set up a dismal cry. In vain the
sister hushed and rocked her. Nothing
seemed of any use until the girl said,
“Shall Jacob sing to baby?” Then the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>
sobs were instantly quieted, and from
close behind him the painter heard a
strangely sweet voice begin clear and true
“Once in ’oyal David’s City.” Right
through the dear old children’s hymn the
singer went, and long before the end
each of the three listeners were enthralled
by the melody.</p>
<p>Leaning a little backwards the big
grown man, whose thoughts had gone back
to the days when he, too, sang carols,
stretched out a hand to caress the little
singer who edged himself along the grass
till he was able to rest his head against the
painter’s knee. So they stayed quietly
for a time, a detail being now and then
added to the picture, while a little hand
crept up every few minutes to touch the
coat or stroke the knee of the boy’s
new-found friend.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Jacob was
Blind.</div>
<p>So the other children found them when
they came back from school. Now the
picture was more easily understood<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>
and far more to their liking, but in all
their anxiety to see, no one pushed in front
of little Jacob. “Bootiful
picture,” he said, and all
of them echoed his words.
“I can’t do a picture,” he added, and the
other children said not a word. “No,”
said the painter, “but Jacob can make
beautiful music,” and stooping down he
lifted the little fellow on to his knee.
Then for the first time he understood.
Jacob Joyce was blind.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Child’s
Perception
of Sorrow.</div>
<p>Although children frequently fail to
realise the great shadows which from time
to time darken the lives of
their elders, yet sometimes
a perception of a great sorrow
will force its way to the
mind of a child, and nothing more pathetic
can be witnessed than the dumb perplexity
with which a child faces such
trouble. There is something in it that
reminds one of the wistful expression in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span>
the face of a favourite dog when it is
restlessly wandering about a house watching
the preparations for its master’s
departure, or has incurred a measure of
chastisement for an offence that it does
not understand.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Two Little
Boys Blue.</div>
<p>Two little boys lived at a small farmhouse
on the outskirts of a Cotswold
village. One evening the
grey homestead with its
deep stone-slatted roof was
all aglow in the sunset, the latticed windows
blazing like so many separate suns,
while beneath them chrysanthemums—yellow,
red, and white—added their
brilliance to the picture. Close by an
immense elm tree shone in the golden
glory of its autumn robe. Beneath it on
an old dry wall the two little boys were
perched just where some of the stones
had been knocked away. One was sitting
astride, the other faced the road with his
two little brown legs dangling side by side.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p>
<p>The boys seemed much the same age,
and to the eyes of a lady who was passing
by very much alike, but this was no doubt
owing to the fact that they were each
dressed in a blue blouse and each had a
little blue flannel cap on the top of a
cluster of fair curls.</p>
<p>It was not long before the lady had
made friends with the little chaps, and she
always kept an eye on the watch for the
blue blouses when she was walking in the
fields or lanes near the farm. It was
soon obvious that one was not only decidedly
the elder of the two, but leader,
protector, champion, and hero of his
little brother. The devotion of the
younger child was touching. If he were
asked a question he mutely referred it to
the other. If he were given anything he
never failed to see whether it would be
acceptable in the eyes of the superior
being whom he worshipped. The two
little boys blue were inseparable, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>
were bound by the best of all ties in which
each needs something that the other has
to give.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Where is
Willie?</div>
<p>There came a day when the lady, who
had taken the pair of them into her
affections, went away from home. She
did not return for several
weeks, and when she did so
she determined to walk the
mile and a half from the station to the
village to enjoy the freshness of the
country air after that of a stuffy railway
carriage. Her shortest way was by a
footpath which led through the fields at
the back of the farmhouse. Near the
stack-yard was a bit of grass ground,
once an orchard, where a few old apple
trees were still standing. Here the clothes
lines were accustomed to be stretched
between two or three sloping posts. Here
she had often noticed the bit of colour
against the greys of the house and the old
tree stems when the two blue blouses had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span>
undergone the necessary wash, and were
hanging out to dry.... On this particular
afternoon the lady was hurrying
home, delighting in every well-known
sight and sound. She heard the geese
in the yard, and saw the smoke curling up
against the great elm-tree. Then she
reached the orchard wall and looked
across. The patch of blue caught her eye
at once: but there was something wrong:
never before had she seen only <em>one</em> blouse
on the line, just as she had never seen one
of the boys alone. What did it mean?
In another moment she caught sight of
the younger child. “Why, where is
Willie?” was the quick question. But
there was no answer. For a moment the
boy looked at her with big wondering eyes,
then turned and was gone in an instant.
She lost sight of him behind the laurel
bush near the farmhouse door.</p>
<p>So long as she lived that lady will never
forget the dumb pathos of the child’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>
expression. Its explanation was one
more little grave in the children’s corner
of the churchyard.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<p>These examples that have been given
are of cases where the cause of the pathos
discerned in children can be easily traced.
It is not infrequently the case that something
unhappy—something appealing—is
noticed in a child, but that nothing can
be discovered to account for it. The
observer feels sure that there is something
wrong, but all efforts to bring it to
light or to be of any help are baffled.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Deserted
Cottage.</div>
<p>It was not so long ago that a man for
whom children had a special interest
found himself compelled to
pass along the same country
lane for many days in succession.
At one point there stood a
cottage which presented a blank end to
the road, its windows and door facing a
small garden and being in full view of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>
passers-by for some distance. It had at
first a most melancholy appearance owing
to its having been for a long time unoccupied.
The windows looked gloomy
and black, the scrap of garden was overgrown
and bedraggled, the old pear tree
on the front had been blown loose and one
branch hung in a dissipated manner over
the porch, while on the path lay a couple
of broken stone tiles which had fallen
from the roof.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Yellow
Curtains.</div>
<p>One day, however, the passer-by noticed
a great change. Evident signs of habitation
made their appearance, and
signs of a most unusual kind
in a primitive country-place,
for in every window in the house there
appeared bright fresh yellow muslin
curtains.</p>
<p>Needless to say, conjecture was rife as
to the newcomers but no one seemed to
know who they were or whence they came.</p>
<p>At last one day the above-mentioned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>
pedestrian passed a child whom he had
not seen before, and by that time he knew
the face of every child who lived within a
mile or two.</p>
<p>She was about nine years old, and better
dressed than most of the cottage children.
Her white pinafore was spotlessly clean,
and of fine material, and there was something
dainty about the white linen hat
which shaded her from the June sunshine.
But the most striking things about her
were her hair and her complexion. The
former was of a particularly beautiful
shade of red, and fell thick and curling
beneath the white brim of her hat. The
latter was pink and white, and, though
perfectly healthy, a strong contrast to
the browns and reds of the villagers’
bairns. She was pushing a perambulator
containing a thoroughly well-appointed
baby, and seemed so absorbed in the task
that she gave no sort of response to the
man’s greeting as he passed by.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></p>
<div class="sidenote">The
Mysterious
Child.</div>
<p>After this they met on most days, and
more than once he saw her entering or
leaving the house with the
yellow curtains. She never
seemed to speak to anybody,
and never had anything to
do with other children who were playing
in the lane.</p>
<p>Do what he would the man could never
get so much as an answering smile from
the child’s full and sensitive-looking lips.
There was a curious air of mystery about
her, and a reserve and habitual melancholy
of expression that went to his heart.
Added to this there was an appearance of
loneliness about her life, for no other
member of the family ever seemed to come
to the door when she went or came, and
for all that could be seen she and the baby
might have been living all alone.</p>
<p>To a child-lover this daily vision of
an unnaturally solitary and probably
unhappy life was insupportable. He was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>
continually on the look out for a chance
of breaking through the girl’s reserve,
and trying to brighten her life.</p>
<p>At last one day it seemed as if the
opportunity had come.</p>
<div class="sidenote">On the Low
Stone Bridge.</div>
<p>A mile or so beyond the cottage the lane
crossed a stream by a low stone bridge.
It was a cheerless spot in the
dusk of evening, for the
water ran dark and stealthily
between old grey willow-trees, but here
it was that he found her, by herself and
leaning over the low stone parapet. He
went straight up to her and said “Good
evening,” before he noticed that she was
crying quietly, as those people do whose
tears are frequent. Putting his hand
over hers as it lay on the wall he asked
her what was amiss. For one second she
looked up in his face, and he made sure
that he would learn her secret. The next
instant a look of terror passed over her,
and she snatched her hand away. Before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>
he could say a word or recover from his
surprise she was gone. He saw the white
flutter of her pinafore as she ran homewards
down the murky lane, and he never
saw her again. By the next evening the
house was unoccupied once more, and he
had nothing but the memory of a child’s
pathos which could never be explained.</p>
<hr class="tb">
<div class="sidenote">A Slighted
Child.</div>
<p>There is just one other bit of pathos
which crops up now and again in children’s
lives. It happens sometimes
that their devotion to someone
who has shown them
kindness or taken notice of them is
accidentally overlooked, and the consequent
feeling of desertion is most
pathetic. Girls are more liable to this
experience than boys, and when it is borne
in upon a small child for the first time
that she is less attractive than her fellows
and must in consequence expect to
receive less notice even from those upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>
whom she has poured out her chief store
of affection, the suffering entailed is
frequently acute.</p>
<p>In selecting a teacher or companion for
children it would be no bad plan to
observe those who on an occasion when
many little ones are gathered together
take notice of the ugly children. They
are the true child-lovers.</p>
<p>An example of the kind of pathos
referred to came to the notice of the
writer some years ago at a children’s
party, and he set down the sensations of
the little girl in question in some lines
which she is supposed to speak.</p>
<p class="center fs80">“<span class="smcap">My Bissop.</span>”</p>
<div class="poetry-container2 fs80">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">I went to the Bissop’s party</div>
<div class="verse indent2">In my vi’let velveteen:</div>
<div class="verse indent0">The others went last year, you know,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">But I hadn’t never been.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">I was only four; and mother said</div>
<div class="verse indent2">It was really <em>much</em> too late!</div>
<div class="verse indent0">But now I’m five—though all a year</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Was a <em>’mendous</em> time to wait!</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">I knew the Bissop very well,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">For didn’t I sit on his knee</div>
<div class="verse indent0">When he came for Confummation,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And stopped at our house for tea?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">He’s a dear old man—our Bissop—</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And he’ll hardly ever miss</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Stroking the hair of a little girl</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And giving her a kiss.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">So I <em>did</em> look forward to going,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">(And I whispered it all to my doll)—</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Though Tom said he didn’t see the good</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Of taking a mealy-faced Moll.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">But I didn’t know I was ugly,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And nothing about being shy,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">So I couldn’t sit still with ’citement</div>
<div class="verse indent2">All the whole way in the fly!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">We got there at last: there was numbers</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Of boys and girls at their teas,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">And oh!—in the corner—the Bissop!—</div>
<div class="verse indent2">With two little girls on his knees.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">I knew they was much more pretty</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Than me; but I thought perhaps</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Their turn would be over bye and bye</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And he’ld take <em>me</em> up on his laps!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">So I went quite close, till Susie</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Told me I mustn’t stare—</div>
<div class="verse indent0">But I don’t b’lieve it mattered,</div>
<div class="verse indent2"><em>He</em> didn’t know I was there!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">Then the rest of the children got dancing,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And I was knocked down on the floor,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">So I w’iggled my way to a corner,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And sat just close to the door.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">For I thought <em>he</em>’ld pass and see me,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And once he did really stand</div>
<div class="verse indent0">Quite close to me—<em>my</em> Bissop!—</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And I touched his coat with my hand.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">But oh! he never noticed;</div>
<div class="verse indent2">He didn’t seem to see:</div>
<div class="verse indent0">And when he was kissing anyone</div>
<div class="verse indent2">They was other children than me.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">I fink I <em>must</em> be ugly.</div>
<div class="verse indent2">It wasn’t the velveteen,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">’Cause when she had it on last year</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Susie looked like a queen!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">Yes; I had some toys and a bootiful tea,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And my cracker had got a ring!</div>
<div class="verse indent0">And I <em>fink</em> I enjoyed the party</div>
<div class="verse indent2">’Cept p’raps for only one fing!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent0">And when I got home to dolly,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And she was in bed by my side,</div>
<div class="verse indent0">I <em>twied</em> to tell her about it—</div>
<div class="verse indent2">But she was asleep—and I <em>cwied</em>.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</h2>
</div>
<h3>WAYSIDE CHILDREN</h3>
<p>The study of some particular child is of
great interest. If the child be one with
whom one is brought into daily contact
the study may become most exhaustive
and may prove the means of imparting
a new and helpful knowledge of childhood
generally.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Study of
Flowers
and
Children.</div>
<p>A noted botanist has devoted years to
the study of the chickweed. He has
added to his own and to the
general knowledge of botany
a vast store of information
by his temporarily exclusive
attention to this one plant. But he would
be the last to deny the charm of a stroll
through lanes or fields where multitudes
of flowers claim passing attention and
admiration. To pause every few minutes
to observe a cluster of primroses, a bank<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>
of mercury, or even a pink-tipped daisy—to
halt suddenly as a whiff of sweet perfume
tells us of a hidden nest of violets—to
gather two or three of the cowslips
that spangle the meadows—all this may
belong to the lightest side of the study of
botany. But it has a charm that few can
resist, and thus far at least the veriest
beginner can follow.</p>
<p>So it is with the study of childhood.
Almost everywhere we go on our daily
road of life there are children to be found,
children differing one from another as
widely as the primrose from the violet,
but each one worth our notice and
possessed of a special charm.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Loss to
those who
Fail to Notice
Children.</div>
<p>It is extraordinary to find on talking to
one and another how few
people realise the pleasure
that they lose by failing
to observe the little wayside
children. There are many
persons capable of passing by without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span>
seeing the loveliest of wayside flowers, but
there are more who take no heed at all of
our wayside children. And yet, if the loss
to the former is great, the loss to the latter
is greater far. A flower can charm the
eye or delight the sense of smell: it can
interest the scientific observer who notes
its construction and mode of growth;
but that is all. There is no reflected
light, no joy felt by the flower and
flashed back in happy answering glance,
be its eye never so bright. For most
people there is no increase of knowledge
from day to day, and certainly there is
none of that increase of understanding
between observer and observed which
lends such charm to the chance meetings
with the children who are about our path.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Self-important
People.</div>
<p>Some people are too busy and rush
along in too great a hurry. Some people
are too self-important. They are grown
up, and fancy that the fact that they
are older has so greatly increased their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span>
value that it would be lowering themselves
to take notice of children. They will
assert that they cannot be
bored with them. They will
brush them impatiently aside
if they are too closely approached by
children when other people are present.
There is a certain amount of insincerity
in all this, for when such people fancy
that they are unobserved they not
infrequently yield to the natural temptation
of noticing and even playing with
little children.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Keeping the
Proper
Balance.</div>
<p>Some people, again, fancy that to let
children know that they are observed is
bad for their character, and,
of course, it is possible to
make them self-conscious
and conceited by taking too
much notice of them. On the other hand,
there is a danger of children becoming
morbid, nervous, and secret if they find
themselves ignored and unappreciated.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>
A child’s nature is essentially responsive.
It opens out and expands to a show of
affection just as a flower to the sunshine,
and, as a bud will become withered and
diseased when continuously exposed to
grey skies and rain, so the character of a
child will suffer irretrievable damage
from a prolonged course of neglect and
cold looks.</p>
<p>Taking it, then, for granted that
nothing but good is likely to follow from
a habit of noticing the children whom we
meet, it is interesting to remember how
greatly our days have been brightened
and our own enjoyment increased by this
very thing.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Children
Under the
Wall.</div>
<p>There is a long grey wall leading
towards the centre of the village. It is
what is called a “dry”
wall, that is to say, it is built
without mortar. There is,
therefore, no great interest in
it nor any special beauty except where the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span>
tints of the little lichens catch the eye of
the close observer. The monotony is
broken here and there by a bulge in the
stonework where an elm-tree in the field
has gradually pushed its roots against the
foundations.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Two Nests of
Children.</div>
<p>But the path beside the wall is seldom
lacking in attractions. It is the daily
playground of the children
from the cottages which lie
back from the road between
where the wall ends and the big barn
juts out endways on to the footpath.
These cottages are but two in number and
have all the picturesqueness of old gables
and steep stone-slab roofs. Hoary and
bent and lined with the passage of years
they seem to speak of old age in every
feature. But they echo to-day with the
sound of children’s voices, and their old
stone flags speak from morning to night
with the patter of little footsteps. From
these two houses come the troop of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span>
children who play beneath the long grey
wall. As a matter of fact there are ten of
them altogether—six from one cottage,
four from the other. Of these the two
eldest boys of the six are just getting too
old to play, and are generally doing jobs
for mother, or even sometimes for the
farmer for whom their father works, on
the days when they are free from school.
Then there is in each house a baby too
small to be trusted anywhere except in
its cot or in its mother’s arms. This
leaves six children for the wayside, when
the two little girls who are old enough to
go to school have returned to superintend
the amusements of the rest, or four who
may be found there at any hour of the
day when the weather is at all propitious.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Good
Marnin’.</div>
<p>What bits of sunshine they make!
Let the day be as dull and the road as
monotonous as possible it cannot be
altogether cheerless when a couple of
little chaps with sunny tousled hair and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>
ruddy cheeks stop pulling their soap box
full of mud and stones to laugh up in
your face and say “Good
marnin’, Sir,” though it be
four o’clock in the afternoon.
Whereby hangs a tale. These two urchins
are somewhere between two and four
years old, and it had been their habit
to greet a friend with a friendly pat and
a shout of “Hey!” Thereupon one day,
the friend, thinking that their manners
might now be taken in hand and it being
then shortly after breakfast, said “You
must say ‘Good morning, Sir,’” which
after one or two tries they very creditably
did, and have continued at all hours
from that day forward.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Friendly
Children.</div>
<p>But further down the wall is a little
group of three. One, a still smaller boy,
evidently the next in order
of the fair-haired family.
He cannot yet keep up with
his brothers, and so is taken in hand by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span>
the two dark-haired little girls who look
up shyly and smilingly from beneath long-fringed
lashes. The younger, “Nellie,”
has been ill and is a queer little figure
pinned up in a shawl which reaches to
the ground; the elder is a fat roundabout
lady of nearly four, with dark beady eyes,
and a trick of sliding a grubby little hand
into that of her special friends when they
stop for a minute’s chat. She is full of
character and thoroughly appreciates the
importance of being in charge of the
other two, looking up with an absurd
apologetic smile when the little invalid
thrusts forward a few bits of dusty grass
and a much-mauled daisy as an offering
to the powers that be.</p>
<p>But, meantime, school has come out,
and the number of wayside children is
rapidly increasing. A girl of ten or so is
quietly knitting as she strolls homewards,
her busy fingers hardly stopping as
she smiles and curtseys, turning as an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>
afterthought to ask whether she may
bring some water-cresses to the house.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Over the
Garden Wall.</div>
<p>Leaning over a garden wall is a delightful
little person. She has a very short
way to go home and knows
that tea will not be ready
yet. So she stops as soon
as she is inside the wicket to indulge in
a further look at the “busy world,” of the
lane in which she lives, and to seize any
chance there may be of a gossip. The
garden ground inside the wall is considerably
above the level of the road—a most
convenient thing for this sturdy little lady
of five, for it enables her to lean her arms
upon the wall and her face upon her arms,
and so to survey the world in much
comfort.</p>
<p>Should any one approach whom she
wishes to avoid, nothing is simpler than
to crouch down and hide until the undesirable
passer-by is out of sight. Should,
however, a friend appear who is welcome,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>
but whose presence causes a sudden fit
of shyness, the rosy cheeks are quickly
hidden in the dimpled arms and a cloud of
dark curls tossed over all until a finger
judiciously inserted somewhere where the
crease of the fat little neck may be supposed
to be causes a chuckle of delight,
and a crimson face and two great blue
eyes are momentarily lifted to be buried
again in an instant beneath the mass of
soft dark hair. But this is a regulation bit
of by-play which never lasts long. Confidences
are soon exchanged and news
imparted about the sort of day it has
been in school and the health of a doll
which fell to her lot at the last treat.
Then sometimes—when she is in her
tenderest humour—a pair of bright red
lips are put up for a kiss, and she trots
off down the path to where mother is
waiting under the porch of clematis.</p>
<p>And so it would be possible to go on for
long enough.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p>
<div class="sidenote">In the
Country.</div>
<p>By the roadside, in the field ways, by
the pathway near the brook, at many a
cottage doorway, by many a
wicket-gate, our country
children, in the beauty of
healthfulness and youth, add a hundredfold
to the happiness of those who passing
by have eyes to see and hearts to
understand.</p>
<div class="sidenote">And in
the Town.</div>
<p>But there are others. It is impossible
to pass along the side streets of our many
towns without finding the
little wayside children. They
are mostly those who are of
that specially attractive age which makes
them just too young to go to school and
just too old to be kept in the house, so
they get somewhere between the two places,
and are generally playing in the gutter.</p>
<p>They have not often the same beauty
as the country children, and they have
not the same readiness to accept the
approaches of “grown-ups.” Their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>
surroundings almost from their birth make
them suspicious and on their guard against
possible dangers. But they are children
for all that. They will notice and
respond to a friendly smile. It is wonderful
how a sharp and anxious little face is
beautified by the smile that after a
moment of doubt will come in answer.</p>
<p>Go down a long street of mean houses,
each one the counterpart of every other,
and see if there be anything to brighten
the way that can compare with the laughter
and the play of the wayside children.
It is more difficult perhaps to appreciate
these little ones, but it should be remembered
that a friendly greeting is worth
more to them than to a country child who
gets a dozen such on its way from school.
The reflected light, the responsive happiness
is not so evident at first sight as in
the case of country children, but it is even
more real when once confidence has been
established.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p>
<div class="sidenote">How a Child’s
Friendship
was Won.</div>
<p>A man whose daily walk led him down
a certain dingy street saw a tiny boy with
grimy face and badly developed
limbs playing with a
banana skin in the gutter.
The man nodded to him—the
boy shrank away in terror. Next day
the man nodded again. The boy had
decided there was nothing to be afraid
of, and spat at the man. Next day the
boy only stared. The day after he
shouted “Hi!” as the man went on.
In time the little fellow smiled back at
the greeting which he now began to
expect. Finally the triumph was complete
when the boy—a tiny chap—was
waiting at the corner and seized the man’s
fingers in his dirty little fist. It was a
dismal street, but it became one of the
very brightest spots in all that man’s
walk through life.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</h2>
</div>
<h3>CHILDREN’S MEETINGS</h3>
<p>In these days, when the teaching of any
virtue necessitates a special Society, and
when no Society is complete without its
Children’s Branch, children’s meetings are
matters of almost everyday occurrence.</p>
<p>To say that these meetings are for the
most part successful would be scarcely
accurate. They are too numerous, and
speakers to whom children will listen are
too few.</p>
<div class="sidenote">To Whom
will
Children
Listen?</div>
<p>To whom, then, <em>will</em> they give a hearing?
That is a difficult question, almost
as difficult to answer as if it
were asked “Who can
whistle a tune?” At all
events it is quite as difficult
to tell people how to gain the attention of
children as it is to tell them how to whistle
a tune. If they can, they can; and if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>
they can’t, it isn’t much use telling them.
However, it is just possible that anyone
who has looked through the pages of this
little book may have been stirred to think
about children, and to try to understand
them. In that case a step has been taken
on the road to being one of those lucky
people to whom children will listen.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Children
Know their
Friends.</div>
<p>Small boys and girls, like dogs, know
by intuition the people who are fond
of them, and unless the
would-be speaker belongs to
this class he need not hope
to get their attention.
Grown-up people listen to someone whom
they do not like on the chance of finding
something to criticize or ridicule. Children
simply do not listen at all.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Children
must be
Understood.</div>
<p>But a love for children is not enough.
There must be the effort to understand
them. Unless there be at least some
comprehension of their characters, there
is bound to be a lack of that sympathy
which is the essential requisite.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span>
Somehow or other, children seem to feel
at once whether or not
there exists that subtle link
between themselves and the
speaker, and if they cannot discover
it they will not—perhaps even cannot—listen.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Difficult
Art.</div>
<p>The mistake so often made is to imagine
that it is easy to understand children.
The exact opposite is the
fact. It is far easier for anyone
to understand grown-up
people whose minds work much in the
same way as his own than to comprehend
and sympathise with the curiously complex
thoughts and reasonings of children.</p>
<div class="sidenote">An Honest
Saleswoman.</div>
<p>It has been seen how strangely imaginative
all children are, but at the same time
they are often most literal. There is a
well-known story of a little girl selling
artificial flowers at a bazaar who was so
anxious that there should be no mistake
on the part of the purchasers that she
said to each, “They are not <em>real</em>, you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>
know; they are <em>stuffed</em>!” No doubt
this same child would have
treated these same flowers
as absolutely real if she had
had them to play with, and would have
let her imagination run riot with them.</p>
<p>Again, children are often so tender-hearted
that they cannot bear to hear of
the sufferings of other children, but will
inflict intense pain on some insect with
complete callousness, the reason being
that the one comes within their
comprehension while the other does not.</p>
<p>These simple matters are mentioned
here merely to show the complicity of
children’s characters, and to try to induce
those who wish to teach them to abandon
the idea that it is perfectly easy to
understand children.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Infection
Spreads
Rapidly.</div>
<p>The next necessity for anyone who
wants to gain the attention
of a group of little ones is
to remember that they are
extraordinarily liable to infection.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span></p>
<p>Just as chicken-pox introduced into
a children’s party by one child will spread
to most of the others, so if one person at a
meeting be thoroughly interested and
keen, the rest will be sure to catch the
infection. That person must, of course,
be the speaker.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Platitudes
Useless.</div>
<div class="sidenote">Simplicity
Essential.</div>
<p>It is no sort of use talking to children
because the speaker has got to say
something. It is essential
that he should have something
to say. Further, it is
no use his having something to say unless
he is himself enthusiastically interested.
Anyone who has tried to speak to children
will know how their attention is gone in
a moment so soon as he says half-a-dozen
words of mere platitude. All this points
to the need of careful preparation and
thorough knowledge of what he has to say.
Then he must say it simply.
Children do not understand
long words, and cannot follow
involved sentences. It is not unusual<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>
to hear the chairman of a children’s
meeting begin by saying, “My dear
young friends,—if I may be allowed so
to designate some whose acquaintance
I have hitherto not been so fortunate as
to cultivate—the admirable society to
which, as I understand, you have given
your adherence inculcates those principles
of self-abnegation which have long been
designated as the true foundations of all
existence at once joyous and altruistic.”
Can anything be more hopeless? The
succeeding speakers must be uncommonly
vivacious and interesting if the children
are to recover from such a fatal beginning.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Sermon in
Monosyllables.</div>
<p>It is no bad thing to try to speak
in words of one syllable. If that is
thought hopeless it may be mentioned
that the Bishop of Bristol
not long ago published a
whole sermon in monosyllables,
just to show what can be done.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Children
Resent
Feeble Talk.</div>
<p>But, on the other hand, it is a serious
mistake to talk down to children. That<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>
is to say, the stuff must be good though
the language be simple.
Children resent having washy
sentiments served up to
them in baby language.
They can understand great thoughts if
properly presented.</p>
<p>It has been suggested that when very
young indeed they dislike the nonsensical
manner in which they are addressed
by many adoring women. This
has been given as one reason why a baby
on being first introduced to a strange
man and a strange woman will generally
prefer to go to the man. The supposition
is that the baby thinks he will stand more
chance of hearing rational language. It
is certain that most people have heard
ladies speak to little children in a babble
which they would not use to a self-respecting
dog for fear he should bite
them!</p>
<div class="sidenote">The
Ingredients
of a Speech
to Children.</div>
<p>But to speak more seriously: yet
another matter to bear in mind is that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>
monotony must at all costs be avoided.
A speech which, however
good in other ways, is entirely
pathetic, will fail to keep
children’s attention, while a
speech that is entirely funny will fail to
rouse their interest in the object of the
meeting. There may be tears—a few—there
must be laughter—now and then.
There must be stories and there must be
morals: the art is to make the one almost
as interesting as the other.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Position of
Speaker
Important.</div>
<p>It may perhaps be allowed to insert
here one or two practical hints. For
instance, it is absolutely essential that the
children should be able to see the face
of the speaker clearly. It is
well that he, too, should be
able to see the faces of his
audience. But the former
is the more important. If a room, then,
has windows so placed that either the
speaker or the children must face them,
it is better that the speaker should do so.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>
Children find it almost impossible to
listen to anyone whom they cannot see,
a fact which points to the value of a
sustained effort on the part of the speaker
to catch the eye of first one and then
another of his audience.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Meetings as
Informal
as Possible.</div>
<p>That leads on to the desirability of
getting rid so far as possible
of <em>formality</em>. There should
be no barriers between the
speaker and the children. A
high platform is fatal. It is even more
fatal when there is also a table and a
water bottle. The speaker should be
as close to the children as he can,
consistently with being able to see and
be seen.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Successful
Meeting.</div>
<p>Here is a description of a thoroughly
successful children’s meeting. A large low
room with old oak beams
and a dark polished floor.
The only light a blazing fire
of logs. In the darker corners a few
groups of mothers and other “grown<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>
ups.” Near the centre of the floor, two
or three large Indian mats, and in front
of them a big low easy chair facing the fire
light. In this chair is the speaker, and
on his knees and on the arms of the chair
cluster three or four of the smallest
children. The rest are sitting just
anyhow upon the coloured mats. They
are all perfectly quiet and well inclined
for a rest, for they have just had a succession
of games—blind man’s buff and
“Jacob, where art thou?” the favourites.
For half-an-hour or so they sit and listen
to the story of other children less happy
than themselves, and learn how best to
help them. Then comes “Good-night,”
and they go away with impressions still
vivid, and with new and brave resolutions.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Garden
Meetings.</div>
<p>Some such happy informal talks as this
may often be held in summer on the grass
beneath the trees, but the
many distractions of the
open air—a butterfly may
turn away all thoughts—make such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>
meetings more difficult than those held
indoors.</p>
<p>The hints given in these few pages seem
utterly inadequate, and to include only
such matters as must occur to all. They
have been set down here as some reply
to the frequent question “How can
children’s meetings be made successful?”</p>
<p>There is but one more word to be said.
Grown-up people are so greatly distracted
by the cares and occupations of their daily
life that it needs special preparation before
they can understand little children. To
anyone who wishes to influence their
simple yet imaginative minds the task is
almost hopeless unless he will try to fulfil
that most difficult command and himself
“become as a little child.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="Appendix">Appendix</h2>
</div>
<p class="no-indent">It is of considerable interest, and may be in some
cases of practical value to those interested in the
well-being of children to notice in order some of the
principal Acts of Parliament which have been passed
during the last twenty-five years on behalf of
children:—</p>
<p class="indent">1883. 46 & 47 Vic., c. 53. Employment of Children<br>
in Factories and Workshops.</p>
<p class="indent">1885. 48 & 49 Vic., c. 69. Criminal Law Amendment<br>
Act, relating to criminal assaults on<br>
children and to the finding of children in<br>
disorderly houses.</p>
<p class="indent">1887. 50 & 51 Vic., c. 58. Employment in Coal<br>
Mines.</p>
<p class="indent">1889. 52 & 53 Vic., c. 44. The Prevention of<br>
Cruelty to Children Act. This was the first<br>
of the three Acts, the others being passed in<br>
1894 and 1904 respectively. Sometimes called<br>
“The Children’s Charter.” It is very wide in<br>
application, making it an offence to assault,<br>
illtreat, neglect, abandon, or expose a child under<br>
sixteen years of age in a manner likely to cause<br>
such child unnecessary suffering or injury to<br>
its health.</p>
<p class="indent">1891. 54 & 55 Vic., c. 3. The Custody of Children<br>
Act, dealing with the power of the Court to<br>
decline to issue a writ for the production of a<br>
child to an unfit parent, and with the power of<br>
the Court to order repayment of costs of bringing<br>
up a child.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span></p>
<p class="indent">1891. 54 & 55 Vic., c. 75 & 76. Further enactments<br>
concerning employment in Factories and<br>
Workshops.</p>
<p class="indent">1892. 55 & 56 Vic., c. 4. Betting Act, whereby<br>
it became a misdemeanour for anyone for the<br>
purpose of earning commission to send circulars,<br>
etc., to invite an infant to make any bet or wager.</p>
<p class="indent">1893. 56 & 57 Vic., c. 48. Reformatory Schools<br>
Act, giving power to a Court to remand a youthful<br>
offender to a prison or to any other place,<br>
which has in practice always been assumed to<br>
be a workhouse.</p>
<p class="indent">1894. 57 & 58 Vic., c. 33. Industrial Schools Act.<br>
Education.</p>
<p class="indent">1897. 60 & 61 Vic., c. 57. Infant Life Protection<br>
Act, concerning persons receiving infants for<br>
hire for the purpose of maintenance. An Act<br>
for the abolition of illicit baby-farming.</p>
<p class="indent">1899. 62 & 63 Vic., c. 37. Poor Law Act, concerning<br>
the control of guardians over orphans and<br>
children of persons unfit to have control of them.</p>
<p class="indent">1901. 1 Ed. VII, c. 20. Youthful Offenders Act,<br>
providing for (1) the removal of disqualifications<br>
attaching to felony, (2) the liability of parent<br>
or guardian in the case of youthful offenders,<br>
(3) the remand of youthful offenders to other<br>
places than prisons, (4) the recovery of expenses<br>
of maintenance from parent or person legally<br>
liable, etc., etc.</p>
<p class="indent">1901. 1 Ed. VII, c. 27. Intoxicating Liquors (Sale<br>
to Children) Act, forbidding the sale or delivery<br>
save at the residence or working place of the<br>
purchaser of any description of intoxicating<br><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>
liquor to any person under the age of fourteen<br>
years, except in corked and sealed vessels, in<br>
quantities not less than one reputed pint. It<br>
should be noticed that the Licensing Act of 1872<br>
prohibited the sale of any description of spirits<br>
to any person apparently under the age of<br>
sixteen years.</p>
<p class="indent">1903. 3 Ed. VII, c. 45. The Employment of<br>
Children Act, containing restrictions on the<br>
hours of employment, age of employees, nature<br>
of employment, etc., etc.</p>
<p>There have also been several Education Acts
either passed or proposed, but it is doubtful whether
these have not usually had their origin in the exigencies
of party politics rather than in a <em>bonâ fide</em>
desire for the welfare of children. An honourable
exception is the Elementary Education (Defective
and Epileptic Children) Act of 1899.</p>
<br>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<p class="center"><em>Printed by Sir Isaac Pitman & Sons, Ltd., Bath.</em></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
<div class="transnote">
<h2>Transcriber’s Notes</h2>
<ul>
<li>pg 10 Changed The helpless ness to: helplessness</li>
<li>pg 58 Changed my finishing he to: the</li>
<li>pg 126 Added period after: our visit to you</li>
<li>The cover page was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69896 ***</div>
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