being generally so much taller and stronger than the people in England
are. Their forefathers went, for the greater part, from England. In the
four Northern States they went wholly from England, and then, on their
landing, they founded a new London, a new Falmouth, a new Plymouth, a
new Portsmouth, a new Dover, a new Yarmouth, a new Lynn, a new Boston,
and a new Hull, and the country itself they called, and their
descendants still call, NEW ENGLAND. This country of the best and
boldest seamen, and of the most moral and happy people in the world, is
also the country of the tallest and ablest-bodied men in the world. And
why? Because, from their very birth, they have an _abundance_ of _good_
food; not only of _food_, but of _rich_ food. Even when the child is at
the breast, a strip of _beef-stake_, or something of that description,
as big and as long as one's finger, is put into its hand. When a baby
gets a thing in its hand, the first thing it does is to poke some part
of it into its mouth. It cannot _bite_ the meat, but its gums squeeze
out the juice. When it has done with the breast, it eats meat constantly
twice, if not thrice, a day. And this abundance of _good_ food is the
cause, to be sure, of the superior size and strength of the people of
that country.
276. Nor is this, in any point of view, an unimportant matter. A tall
man is, whether as labourer, carpenter, bricklayer, soldier or sailor,
or almost anything else, _worth more_ than a short man: he can look over
a higher thing; he can reach higher and wider; he can move on from place
to place faster; in mowing grass or corn he takes a wider swarth, in
pitching he wants a shorter prong; in making buildings he does not so
soon want a ladder or a scaffold; in fighting he keeps his body farther
from the point of his sword. To be sure, a man _may_ be tall and _weak_;
but, this is the exception and not the rule: _height_ and _weight_ and
_strength_, in men as in speechless animals, generally go together. Aye,
and in enterprise and courage too, the powers of the body have a great
deal to do. Doubtless there are, have been, and always will be, great
numbers of small and enterprizing and brave men; but it is _not in
nature_, that, _generally speaking_, those who are conscious of their
inferiority in point of bodily strength, should possess the boldness of
those who have a contrary description.
277. To what but this difference in the _size_ and _strength_ of the
opposing combatants are we to ascribe the ever-to-be-blushed-at events
of our last war against the United States! The _hearts_ of our seamen
and soldiers were as good as those of the Yankees: on both sides they
had sprung from the same stock: on both sides equally well supplied with
all the materials of war: if on either side, the superior skill was on
ours: French, Dutch, Spaniards, all had confessed our superior prowess:
yet, when, with our whole undivided strength, and to that strength
adding the flush and pride of victory and conquest, crowned even in the
capital of France; when, with all these tremendous advantages, and with
all the nations of the earth looking on, we came foot to foot and
yard-arm to yard-arm with the Americans, the result was such as an
English pen refuses to describe. What, then, was the _great cause_ of
this result, which filled us with shame and the world with astonishment?
Not the want of _courage_ in our men. There were, indeed, _some moral
causes at work_; but the main cause was, the great superiority of size
and of bodily strength on the part of the enemy's soldiers and sailors.
It was _so many men_ on each side; but it was men of a different size
and strength; and, on the side of the foe, men accustomed to daring
enterprise from a consciousness of that strength.
278. Why are abstinence and fasting enjoined by the Catholic Church?
Why, to make men _humble_, _meek_, and _tame_; and they have this effect
too: this is visible in whole nations as well as in individuals. So that
good food, and plenty of it, is not more necessary to the forming of a
stout and able body than to the forming of an active and enterprizing
spirit. Poor food, short allowance, while they check the growth of the
child's body, check also the daring of the mind; and, therefore, the
starving or pinching system ought to be avoided by all means. Children
should eat _often_, and as much as they like at a time. They will, if at
full heap, never take, of _plain food_, more than it is good for them to
take. They may, indeed, be stuffed with _cakes_ and _sweet things_ till
they be ill, and, indeed, until they bring on dangerous disorders: but,
of _meat plainly_ and _well cooked_, and of _bread_, they will never
swallow the tenth part of an ounce more than it is necessary for them to
swallow. Ripe fruit, or cooked fruit, if no _sweetening_ take place,
will never hurt them; but, when they once get a taste for sugary stuff,
and to cram down loads of garden vegetables; when ices, creams, tarts,
raisins, almonds, all the endless pamperings come, the _doctor_ must
soon follow with his drugs. The blowing out of the bodies of children
with tea, coffee, soup, or warm liquids of any kind, is very bad: these
have an effect precisely like that which is produced by feeding young
rabbits, or pigs, or other young animals upon watery vegetables: it
makes them big-bellied and bare-boned at the same time; and it
effectually prevents the frame from becoming strong. Children in health
want no drink other than skim milk, or butter-milk, or whey; and, if
none of those be at hand, water will do very well, provided they have
plenty of _good meat_. Cheese and butter do very well for part of the
day. Puddings and pies; but always _without sugar_, which, say what
people will about the _wholesomeness_ of it, is not only of _no use_ in
the rearing of children, but injurious: it forces an appetite: like
strong drink, it makes daily encroachments on the taste: it wheedles
down that which the stomach does not want: it finally produces illness:
it is one of the curses of the country; for it, by taking off the bitter
of the tea and coffee, is the great cause of sending down into the
stomach those quantities of warm water by which the body is debilitated
and deformed and the mind enfeebled. I am addressing myself to persons
in the middle walk of life; but no parent can be _sure_ that his child
will not be compelled to labour hard for its daily bread: and then, how
vast is the difference between one who has been pampered with sweets and
one who has been reared on plain food and simple drink!
279. The next thing after good and plentiful and plain food is _good
air_. This is not within the reach of every one; but, to obtain it is
worth great sacrifices in other respects. We know that there are
_smells_ which will cause _instant death_; we know, that there are
others which will cause death _in a few years_; and, therefore, we know
that it is the duty of parents to provide, if possible, against this
danger to the health of their offspring. To be sure, when a man is so
situated that he cannot give his children sweet air without putting
himself into a jail for debt: when, in short, he has the dire choice of
sickly children, children with big heads, small limbs, and ricketty
joints: or children sent to the poor-house: when this is his hard lot,
he must decide for the former sad alternative: but before he will
convince me that this _is_ his lot, he must prove to me, that he and his
wife expend not a penny in the _decoration_ of their persons; that on
his table, morning, noon, or night, _nothing_ ever comes that is not the
produce of _English soil_; that of his time not one hour is wasted in
what is called pleasure; that down his throat not one drop or morsel
ever goes, unless necessary to sustain life and health. How many scores
and how many hundreds of men have I seen; how many thousands could I go
and point out, to-morrow, in London, the money expended on whose
guzzlings in porter, grog and wine, would keep, and keep well, in the
country, a considerable part of the year, a wife surrounded by healthy
children, instead of being stewed up in some alley, or back room, with a
parcel of poor creatures about her, whom she, though their fond mother,
is almost ashamed to call hers! Compared with the life of such a woman,
that of the labourer, however poor, is paradise. Tell me not of the
necessity of _providing money for them_, even if you waste not a
farthing: you can provide them with no money equal in value to health
and straight limbs and good looks: these it is, if within your power,
your _bounden duty_ to provide for them: as to providing them with
money, you deceive yourself; it is your own avarice, or vanity, that you
are seeking to gratify, and not to ensure the good of your children.
Their most precious possession is _health_ and _strength_; and you have
_no right_ to run the risk of depriving them of these for the sake of
heaping together money to bestow on them: you have the desire to see
them rich: it is to gratify _yourself_ that you act in such a case; and
you, however you may deceive yourself, are guilty of _injustice_ towards
them. You would be ashamed to see them _without fortune_; but not at all
ashamed to see them without straight limbs, without colour in their
cheeks, without strength, without activity, and with only half their due
portion of reason.
280. Besides _sweet air_, children want _exercise_. Even when they are
babies in arms, they want tossing and pulling about, and want talking
and singing to. They should be put upon their feet by slow degrees,
according to the strength of their legs; and this is a matter which a
good mother will attend to with incessant care. If they appear to be
likely to _squint_, she will, always when they wake up, and frequently
in the day, take care to present some pleasing object _right before_,
and _never on the side_ of their face. If they appear, when they begin
to talk, to indicate a propensity to _stammer_, she will stop them,
repeat the word or words slowly herself, and get them to do the same.
These precautions are amongst the most sacred of the duties of parents;
for, remember, the deformity is _for life_; a thought which will fill
every good parent's heart with solicitude. All _swaddling_ and _tight
covering_ are mischievous. They produce distortions of some sort or
other. To let children creep and roll about till they get upon their
legs of themselves is a very good way. I never saw a _native American_
with crooked limbs or hump-back, and never heard any man say that he had
seen one. And the reason is, doubtless, the loose dress in which
children, from the moment of their birth, are kept, the good food that
they always have, and the sweet air that they breathe in consequence of
the absence of all dread of poverty on the part of the parents.
281. As to bodily exercise, they will, when they begin to get about,
take, if you let them alone, just as much of it as nature bids them, and
no more. That is a pretty deal, indeed, if they be in health; and, it is
your duty, now, to provide for their taking of that exercise, when they
begin to be what are called _boys_ and _girls_, in a way that shall tend
to give them the greatest degree of pleasure, accompanied with the
smallest risk of pain: in other words, to _make their lives as pleasant
as you possibly can_. I have always admired the sentiment of ROUSSEAU
upon this subject. 'The boy dies, perhaps, at the age of ten or twelve.
Of what _use_, then, all the restraints, all the privations, all the
pain, that you have inflicted upon him? He falls, and leaves your mind
to brood over the possibility of your having abridged a life so dear to
you.' I do not recollect the very words; but the passage made a deep
impression upon my mind, just at the time, too, when I was about to
become a father; and I was resolved never to bring upon myself remorse
from such a cause; a resolution from which no importunities, coming from
what quarter they might, ever induced me, in one single instance, or for
one single moment, to depart. I was resolved to forego all the means of
making money, all the means of living in any thing like fashion, all the
means of obtaining fame or distinction, to give up every thing, to
become a common labourer, rather than make my children lead a life of
restraint and rebuke; I could not be _sure_ that my children would love
me as they loved their own lives; but I was, at any rate, resolved to
deserve such love at their hands; and, in possession of that, I felt
that I could set calamity, of whatever description, at defiance.
282. Now, proceeding to relate what was, in this respect, my line of
conduct, I am not pretending that _every_ man, and particularly every
man living in _a town_, can, in all respects, do as I did in the rearing
up of children. But, in many respects, any man may, whatever may be his
state of life. For I did not lead an idle life; I had to work constantly
for the means of living; my occupation required unremitted attention; I
had nothing but my labour to rely on; and I had no friend, to whom, in
case of need, I could fly for assistance: I always saw the possibility,
and even the probability, of being totally ruined by the hand of power;
but, happen what would, I was resolved, that, as long as I could cause
them to do it, my children should lead happy lives; and happy lives they
did lead, if ever children did in this whole world.
283. The first thing that I did, when the fourth child had come, was to
_get into the country_, and so far as to render a going backward and
forward to London, at short intervals, quite out of the question. Thus
was _health_, the greatest of all things, provided for, as far as I was
able to make the provision. Next, my being _always at home_ was secured
as far as possible; always with them to set an example of early rising,
sobriety, and application to something or other. Children, and
especially boys, will have some out-of-door pursuits; and it was my duty
to lead them to choose such pursuits as combined future utility with
present innocence. Each his flower-bed, little garden, plantation of
trees; rabbits, dogs, asses, horses, pheasants and hares; hoes, spades,
whips, guns; always some object of lively interest, and as much
_earnestness_ and _bustle_ about the various objects as if our living
had solely depended upon them. I made everything give way to the great
object of making their lives happy and innocent. I did not know what
they might be in time, or what might be my lot; but I was resolved not
to be the cause of their being unhappy _then_, let what might become of
us afterwards. I was, as I am, of opinion, that it is injurious to the
mind to press _book-learning_ upon it at an _early age_: I always felt
pain for poor little things, set up, before 'company,' to repeat verses,
or bits of plays, at six or eight years old. I have sometimes not known
which way to look, when a mother (and, too often, a father), whom I
could not but respect on account of her fondness for her child, has
forced the feeble-voiced eighth wonder of the world, to stand with its
little hand stretched out, spouting the _soliloquy of Hamlet_, or some
such thing. I remember, on one occasion, a little pale-faced creature,
only five years old, was brought in, after the _feeding_ part of the
dinner was over, first to take his regular half-glass of vintner's
brewings, commonly called wine, and then to treat us to a display of his
wonderful genius. The subject was a speech of a robust and bold youth,
in a Scotch play, the title of which I have forgotten, but the speech
began with, 'My name is Norval: on the Grampian Hills my father fed his
flocks...' And this in a voice so weak and distressing as to put me in
mind of the plaintive squeaking of little pigs when the sow is lying on
them. As we were going home (one of my boys and I) he, after a silence
of half a mile perhaps, rode up close to the side of my horse, and said,
'Papa, where _be_ the _Grampian Hills_?' 'Oh,' said I, 'they are in
Scotland; poor, barren, beggarly places, covered with heath and rushes,
ten times as barren as Sherril Heath.' 'But,' said he, 'how could that
little boy's father feed _his flocks_ there, then?' I was ready to
tumble off the horse with laughing.
284. I do not know any thing much more distressing to the spectators
than exhibitions of this sort. Every one feels, not for the child, for
it is insensible to the uneasiness it excites, but for the parents,
whose amiable fondness displays itself in this ridiculous manner. Upon
these occasions, no one knows what to say, or whither to direct his
looks. The parents, and especially the fond mother, looks sharply round
for the so-evidently merited applause, as an actor of the name of
MUNDEN, whom I recollect thirty years ago, used, when he had treated us
to a witty shrug of his shoulders, or twist of his chin, to turn his
face up to the gallery for the clap. If I had to declare on my oath
which have been the most disagreeable moments of my life, I verily
believe, that, after due consideration, I should fix upon those, in
which parents, whom I have respected, have made me endure exhibitions
like these; for, this is your choice, to be _insincere_, or to _give
offence_.
285. And, as towards the child, it is to be _unjust_, thus to teach it
to set a high value on trifling, not to say mischievous, attainments; to
make it, whether it be in its natural disposition or not, vain and
conceited. The plaudits which it receives, in such cases, puffs it up in
its own thoughts, sends it out into the world stuffed with pride and
insolence, which must and will be extracted out of it by one means or
another; and none but those who have had to endure the drawing of
firmly-fixed teeth, can, I take it, have an adequate idea of the
painfulness of this operation. Now, parents have _no right_ thus to
indulge their own feelings at the risk of the happiness of their
children.
286. The great matter is, however, the _spoiling of the mind_ by forcing
on it thoughts which it is not fit to receive. We know well, we daily
see, that in men, as well as in other animals, the body is rendered
comparatively small and feeble by being heavily loaded, or hard worked,
before it arrive at size and strength proportioned to such load and such
work. It is just so with the mind: the attempt to put old heads upon
young shoulders is just as unreasonable as it would be to expect a colt
six months old to be able to carry a man. The mind, as well as the body,
requires time to come to its strength; and the way to have it possess,
at last, its natural strength, is not to attempt to load it too soon;
and to favour it in its progress by giving to the body good and
plentiful food, sweet air, and abundant exercise, accompanied with as
little discontent or uneasiness as possible. It is universally known,
that ailments of the body are, in many cases, sufficient to _destroy_
the mind, and to debilitate it in innumerable instances. It is equally
well known, that the torments of the mind are, in many cases, sufficient
to _destroy_ the body. This, then, being so well known, is it not the
first duty of a father to secure to his children, if possible, sound and
strong bodies? LORD BACON says, that 'a sound mind in a sound body is
the greatest of God's blessings.' To see his children possess these,
therefore, ought to be the first object with every father; an object
which I cannot too often endeavour to fix in his mind.
287. I am to speak presently of that sort of _learning_ which is derived
from _books_, and which is a matter by no means to be neglected, or to
be thought little of, seeing that it is the road, not only to fame, but
to the means of doing great good to one's neighbours and to one's
country, and, thereby, of adding to those pleasant feelings which are,
in other words, our happiness. But, notwithstanding this, I must here
insist, and endeavour to impress my opinion upon the mind of every
father, that his children's _happiness_ ought to be _first_ object; that
_book-learning_, if it tend to militate against this, ought to be
disregarded; and that, as to money, as to fortune, as to rank and title,
that father who can, in the destination of his children, think of them
more than of the _happiness_ of those children, is, if he be of sane
mind, a great criminal. Who is there, having lived to the age of thirty,
or even twenty, years, and having the ordinary capacity for observation;
who is there, being of this description, who must not be convinced of
the inadequacy of _riches_ and what are called _honours_ to insure
_happiness_? Who, amongst all the classes of men, experience, on an
average, so little of _real_ pleasure, and so much of _real_ pain as the
rich and the lofty? Pope gives us, as the materials for happiness,
'_health_, _peace_, and _competence_.' Aye, but what _is_ peace, and
what _is_ competence? If, by _peace_, he mean that tranquillity of mind
which innocence and good deeds produce, he is right and clear so far;
for we all know that, without _health_, which has a well-known positive
meaning, there can be no happiness. But _competence_ is a word of
unfixed meaning. It may, with some, mean enough to eat, drink, wear and
be lodged and warmed with; but, with others, it may include horses,
carriages, and footmen laced over from top to toe. So that, here, we
have no guide; no standard; and, indeed, there can be none. But as every
sensible father must know that the possession of riches do not, never
did, and never can, afford even a chance of additional happiness, it is
his duty to inculcate in the minds of his children to make no sacrifice
of principle, of moral obligation of any sort, in order to obtain
riches, or distinction; and it is a duty still more imperative on him,
not to expose them to the risk of loss of health, or diminution of
strength, for purposes which have, either directly or indirectly, the
acquiring of riches in view, whether for himself or for them.
288. With these principles immoveably implanted in my mind, I became the
father of a family, and on these principles I have reared that family.
Being myself fond of _book-learning_, and knowing well its powers, I
naturally wished them to possess it too; but never did I _impose it_
upon any one of them. My first duty was to make them _healthy_ and
_strong_ if I could, and to give them as much enjoyment of life as
possible. Born and bred up in the sweet air myself, I was resolved that
they should be bred up in it too. Enjoying rural scenes and sports, as I
had done, when a boy, as much as any one that ever was born, I was
resolved, that they should have the same enjoyments tendered to them.
When I was a very little boy, I was, in the barley-sowing season, going
along by the side of a field, near WAVERLY ABBEY; the primroses and
blue-bells bespangling the banks on both sides of me; a thousand linnets
singing in a spreading oak over my head; while the jingle of the traces
and the whistling of the ploughboys saluted my ear from over the hedge;
and, as it were to snatch me from the enchantment, the hounds, at that
instant, having started a hare in the hanger on the other side of the
field, came up scampering over it in full cry, taking me after them many
a mile. I was not more than eight years old; but this particular scene
has presented itself to my mind many times every year from that day to
this. I always enjoy it over again; and I was resolved to give, if
possible, the same enjoyments to my children.
289. Men's circumstances are so various; there is such a great variety
in their situations in life, their business, the extent of their
pecuniary means, the local state in which they are placed, their
internal resources; the variety in all these respects is so great, that,
as applicable to _every_ family, it would be impossible to lay down any
set of rules, or maxims, touching _every_ matter relating to the
management and rearing up of children. In giving an account, therefore,
of _my own_ conduct, in this respect, I am not to be understood as
supposing, that _every_ father _can_, or ought, to attempt to do _the
same_; but while it will be seen, that there are _many_, and these the
most important parts of that conduct, that _all_ fathers may imitate, if
they choose, there is no part of it which thousands and thousands of
fathers might not adopt and pursue, and adhere to, to the very letter.