ACQUAINTANCE.
"The charming little dears!" exclaims a civil acquaintance, the moment
the children are introduced. "Won't you come to me, love?" At this
question, perhaps, the bashful child backs towards its nurse, or its
mother; but in vain. Rejected at this trying crisis by its natural
protectors, it is pushed forward into the middle of the circle, and
all prospect of retreat being cut off, the victorious stranger seizes
upon her little victim, whom she seats, without a struggle, upon her
lap. To win the affections of her captive, the lady begins by a direct
appeal to personal vanity: "Who curls this pretty hair of yours, my
dear? Won't you let me look at your nice new red shoes? What shall I
give you for that fine colour in your cheeks? Let us see what we can
find in my pocket!"
Amongst the pocket bribes, the lady never fails to select the most
useless trinkets; the child would make a better choice; for, if there
should appear a pocket-book, which may be drawn up by a ribbon from
its slip case, a screen that would unfold gradually into a green star,
a pocket-fan, or a tooth-pick case with a spring lock, the child would
seize upon these with delight; but the moment its attention is fixed,
it is interrupted by the officious exclamation of, "Oh, let me do that
for you, love! Let me open that for you, you'll break your sweet
little nails. Ha! there is a looking-glass; whose pretty face is that?
but we don't love people for being pretty, you know; (mamma says I
must not tell you you are pretty) but we love little girls for being
good, and I am sure you look as if you were never naughty. I am sure
you don't know what it is to be naughty; will you give me one kiss?
and will you hold out your pretty little hand for some sugar-plums?
Mamma shakes her head, but mamma will not be angry, though mamma can
refuse you nothing, I'll answer for it. Who spoils you? Whose
favourite are you? Who do you love best in the world? And will you
love me? And will you come and live with me? Shall I carry you away
with me in the coach to-night? Oh! but I'm afraid I should eat you up,
and then what would mamma say to us both?"
To stop this torrent of nonsense, the child's mother, perhaps,
ventures to interfere with, "My dear, I'm afraid you'll be
troublesome." But this produces only vehement assertions of the
contrary. "The dear little creature can never be troublesome to any
body." Wo be to the child who implicitly believes this assertion!
frequent rebuffs from his _friends_ must be endured before this errour
will be thoroughly rectified: this will not tend to make those friends
more agreeable, or more beloved. That childish love, which varies from
hour to hour, is scarcely worth consideration; it cannot be an object
of competition to any reasonable person; but in early education
nothing must be thought beneath our attention. A child does not retain
much affection, it is true, for every casual visiter by whom he is
flattered and caressed. The individuals are here to-day and gone
to-morrow; variety prevents the impression from sinking into the mind,
it may be said; but the general impression remains, though each
particular stroke is not seen. Young children, who are much caressed
in company, are less intent than others upon pleasing those they live
with, and they are also less independent in their occupations and
pleasures. Those who govern such pupils have not sufficient power over
them, because they have not the means of giving pleasure; because
their praise or blame is frequently counteracted by applause of
visiters. That unbroken course of experience, which is necessary for
the success of a regular plan of education, cannot be preserved. Every
body may have observed the effect, which the extraordinary notice of
strangers produces upon children. After the day is over, and the
company has left the house, there is a cold blank; a melancholy
silence. The children then sink into themselves, and feel the
mortifying change in their situation. They look with dislike upon
everything around them; yawn with ennui, or fidget with fretfulness,
till on the first check which they meet with, their secret discontent
bursts forth into a storm. Resistance, caprice, and peevishness, are
not borne with patience by a governess, though they are submitted to
with smiles by the complaisant visiter. In the same day, the same
conduct produces totally different consequences. Experience, it is
said, makes fools wise; but such experience as this, makes wise
children fools.
Why is this farce of civility, which disgusts all parties, continually
repeated between visiters and children? Visiters would willingly be
excused from the trouble of flattering and spoiling them; but such is
the spell of custom, that no one dares to break it, even when every
one feels that it is absurd.
Children, who are thought to be clever, are often produced to
entertain company; they fill up the time, and relieve the circle from
that embarrassing silence, which proceeds from the having nothing to
say. Boys, who are thus brought forward at six or seven years old, and
encouraged to say what are called _smart_ things, seldom, as they grow
up, have really good understandings. Children, who, like the fools in
former times, are permitted to say every thing, now and then blurt out
those simple truths which politeness conceals: this entertains people,
but, in fact, it is a sort of _naivete_, which may exist without any
great talent for observation, and without any powers of reasoning.
Every thing in our manners, in the customs of the world, is new to
children, and the relations of apparently dissimilar things, strike
them immediately from their novelty. Children are often witty, without
knowing it, or rather without intending it; but as they grow older,
the same kind of wit does not please; the same objects do not appear
in the same point of view; and boys, who have been the delight of a
whole house at seven or eight years old, for the smart things they
could say, sink into stupidity and despondency at thirteen or
fourteen. "Un nom trop fameaux, est un fardeau tres pesant," said a
celebrated wit.
Plain, sober sense, does not entertain common visiters, and children
whose minds are occupied, and who are not ambitious of exhibiting
themselves for the entertainment of the company, will not in general
please. So much the better; they will escape many dangers; not only
the dangers of flattery, but also the dangers of nonsense. Few people
know how to converse with children; they talk to them of things that
are above, or below, their understandings; if they argue with them,
they do not reason fairly; they silence them with sentiment, or with
authority; or else they baffle them by wit, or by unintelligible
terms. They often attempt to try their capacities with quibbles and
silly puzzles. Children, who are expert at answering these, have
rarely been well educated: the extreme simplicity of sensible
children, will surprise those who have not been accustomed to it, and
many will be provoked by their inaptitude to understand the
common-place wit of conversation.
"How many sticks go to a rook's nest?" said a gentleman to a boy of
seven years old; he looked very grave, and having pondered upon the
question for some minutes, answered, "I do not know what you mean by
the word go." Fortunately for the boy, the gentleman who asked the
question, was not a captious querist; he perceived the good sense of
this answer; he perceived that the boy had exactly hit upon the
ambiguous word which was puzzling to the understanding, and he saw
that this showed more capacity than could have been shown by the
parrying of a thousand witticisms. We have seen S----, a remarkably
intelligent boy of nine years old, stand with the most puzzled face
imaginable, considering for a long half hour the common quibble of
"There was a carpenter who made a door; he made it too large; he cut
it and cut it, and he cut it _too little_; he cut it again, and it
fitted." S---- showed very little satisfaction, when he at length
discovered the double meaning of the words "too little;" but simply
said, "I did not know you meant that the carpenter cut _too little
off_ the door."
"Which has most legs, a horse or no horse?" "A horse has more legs
than no horse," replies the unwary child. "But," continues the witty
sophist, "a horse, surely, has but four legs; did you ever see a horse
with five legs?" "Never," says the child; "no horse has five legs."
"Oh, ho!" exclaims the entrapper, "I have you now! No horse has five
legs, you say; then you must acknowledge that _no_ horse has more legs
than _a_ horse. Therefore, when I asked you which has most legs, _a
horse_ or _no horse_, your answer, you see, should have been, _no
horse_."
The famous dilemma of "you have what you have not lost; you have not
lost horns; then you have horns;" is much in the same style of
reasoning. Children may readily be taught to chop logic, and to parry
their adversaries technically in this contest of false wit; but this
will not improve their understandings, though it may, to superficial
judges, give them the appearance of great quickness of intellect. We
should not, _even_ in jest, talk of nonsense to children, or suffer
them _even_ to hear inaccurate language. If confused answers be given
to their questions, they will soon be content with a confused notion
of things; they will be satisfied with bad reasoning, if they are not
taught to distinguish it scrupulously from what is good, and to reject
it steadily. Half the expressions current in conversation, have merely
a nominal value; they represent no ideas, and they pass merely by
common courtesy: but the language of every person of sense has
sterling value; it cheats and puzzles nobody; and even when it is
addressed to children, it is made intelligible. No common
acquaintance, who talks to a child merely for its own amusement,
selects his expressions with any care; what becomes of the child
afterwards, is no part of his concern; he does not consider the
advantage of clear explanations to the understanding, nor would he be
at the pains of explaining any thing thoroughly, even if he were able
to do so. And how few people are able to explain distinctly, even when
they most wish to make themselves understood!
The following conversation passed between a learned doctor (formerly)
of the Sorbonne, and a boy of seven years old.
_Doctor._ So, Sir, I see you are very advanced already in your
studies. You are quite expert at Latin. Pray, Sir, allow me to ask
you; I suppose you have heard of Tully's Offices?
_Boy._ Tully's Offices! No, Sir.
_Doctor._ No matter. You can, I will venture to say, solve me the
following question. It is not very difficult, but it has puzzled some
abler casuists, I can tell you, though, than you or I; but if you will
lend me your attention for a few moments, I flatter myself I shall
make myself intelligible to you.
The boy began to stiffen at this exordium, but he fixed himself in an
attitude of anxious attention, and the doctor, after having taken two
pinches of snuff, proceeded:
"In the Island of Rhodes, there was once, formerly, a great scarcity
of provisions, a famine quite; and some merchants fitted out ten ships
to relieve the Rhodians; and one of the merchants got into port sooner
than the others; and he took advantage of this circumstance to sell
his goods at an exorbitant rate, finding himself in possession of the
market. The Rhodians did not know that the other ships laden with
provisions were to be in the next day; and they, of course, paid this
merchant whatsoever price he thought proper to demand. Now the
question is, in morality, whether did he act the part of an honest man
in this business by the Rhodians? Or should he not rather have
informed them of the nine ships which were expected to come with
provisions to the market the ensuing day?"
The boy was silent, and did not appear to comprehend the story or the
question in the least. In telling his story, the doctor of the
Sorbonne unluckily pronounced the words _ship_ and _ships_ in such a
manner, that the child all along mistook them for _sheep_ and
_sheeps_; and this mistake threw every thing into confusion. Besides
this, a number of terms were made use of which were quite new to the
boy. Getting into port--being in possession of the market--selling
goods at an exorbitant rate; together with the whole mystery of buying
and selling, were as new to him, and appeared to him as difficult to
be understood, as the most abstract metaphysics. He did not even know
what was meant by the ships being expected _in_ the next day; and
"_acting the part_ of an honest man," was to him an unusual mode of
expression. The young casuist made no hand of this case of conscience;
when at last he attempted an answer, he only exposed himself to the
contempt of the learned doctor. When he was desired to repeat the
story, he made a strange jumble about some people who wanted to get
some _sheep_, and about one man who got in his sheep before the other
nine sheep; but he did not know how or why it was wrong in him not to
tell of the other sheep. Nor could he imagine why the _Rhodians_ could
not get sheep without this man. He had never had any idea of a famine.
This boy's father, unwilling that he should retire to rest with his
intellects in this state of confusion, as soon as the doctor had taken
leave, told the story to the child in different words, to try whether
it was the words or the ideas that puzzled him.
"In the AEgean sea, which you saw the other day in the map, there is an
Island, which is called the Island of Rhodes. In telling my story, I
take the opportunity to fix a point in geography in your memory. In
the AEgean sea there is an Island which is called the Island of Rhodes.
There was once a famine in this Island, that is to say, the people had
not food enough to live upon, and they were afraid that they should be
starved to death. Now, some merchants, who lived on the continent of
Greece, filled ten ships with provisions, and they sailed in these
vessels for the Island of Rhodes. It happened that one of these ships
got to the Island sooner than any of the others. It was evening, and
the captain of this ship knew that the others could not arrive until
the morning. Now the people of Rhodes, being extremely hungry, were
very eager to buy the provisions which this merchant had brought to
sell; and they were ready to give a great deal more money for
provisions than they would have done if they had not been almost
starved. There was not half a sufficient quantity of food in this one
ship, to supply all the people who wanted food; and therefore those
who had money, and who knew that the merchant wanted as much money as
he could get in exchange for his provisions, offered to give him a
large price, the price which he asked for them. Had these people
known that nine other ships full of provisions would arrive in the
morning, they would not have been ready to give so much money for
food, because they would not have been so much afraid of being
starved; and they would have known, that, in exchange for their money,
they could have a greater quantity of food the next day. The merchant,
however, did not tell them that any ships were expected to arrive, and
he consequently got a great deal more of their money for his
provisions, than he would have done, if he had told them the fact
which he knew, and which they did not know. Do you think that he did
right or wrong?"
The child, who now had rather more the expression of intelligence in
his countenance, than he had when the same question had been put to
him after the former statement of the case, immediately answered, that
he "thought the merchant had done wrong, that he should have told the
people that more ships were to come in the morning." Several different
opinions were given afterwards by other children, and grown people who
were asked the same question; and what had been an unintelligible
story, was rendered, by a little more skill and patience in the art of
explanation, an excellent lesson, or rather exercise in reasoning.
It is scarcely possible that a stranger, who sees a child only for a
few hours, can guess what he knows, and what he does not know; or that
he can perceive the course of his thoughts, which depends upon
associations over which he has no command; therefore, when a stranger,
let his learning and abilities be what they will, attempts to teach
children, he usually puzzles them, and the consequences of the
confusion of mind he creates, last sometimes for years: sometimes it
influences their moral, sometimes their scientific reasoning. "Every
body but my friends," said a little girl of six years old, "tells me I
am very pretty." From this contradictory evidence, what must the child
have inferred? The perplexity which some young people, almost arrived
at the years of discretion, have shown in their first notions of
mathematics, has been a matter of astonishment to those who have
attempted to teach them: this perplexity has been at length discovered
to arise from their having early confounded in their minds the ideas
of a triangle, and an angle. In the most common modes of expression
there are often strange inaccuracies, which do not strike us, because
they are familiar to us; but children, who hear them for the first
time, detect their absurdity, and are frequently anxious to have such
phrases explained. If they converse much with idle visiters, they will
seldom be properly applauded for their precision, and their
philosophic curiosity will often be repressed by unmeaning replies.
Children, who have the habit of applying to their parents, or to
sensible preceptors, in similar difficulties, will be somewhat better
received, and will gain rather more accurate information. S---- (nine
years old) was in a house where a chimney was on fire; he saw a great
bustle, and he heard the servants and people, as they ran backwards
and forwards, all exclaim, that "the chimney was on fire." After the
fire was put out, and when the bustle was over, S---- said to his
father, "What do people mean when they say the _chimney is on fire_?
What is it that burns?" At this question a silly acquaintance would
probably have laughed in the boy's face; would have expressed
astonishment as soon as his visit was over, at such an instance of
strange ignorance in a boy of nine years old; or, if civility had
prompted any answer, it would perhaps have been, "The chimney's being
on fire, my love, means that the chimney's on fire! Every body knows
what's meant by 'the chimney's on fire!' There's a great deal of
smoke, and sparks, and flame, coming out at the top, you know, when
the chimney's on fire. And it's extremely dangerous, and would set a
house on fire, or perhaps the whole neighbourhood, if it was not put
out immediately. Many dreadful fires, you know, happen in towns, as we
hear for ever in the newspaper, by the chimney's taking fire. Did you
never hear of a chimney's being on fire before? You are a very happy
young gentleman to have lived to your time of life, and to be still at
a loss about such a thing. What burns? Why, my dear Sir, the chimney
burns; fire burns in the chimney. To be sure fires are sad accidents;
many lives are lost by them every day. I had a chimney on fire in my
drawing room last year."
Thus would the child's curiosity have been baffled by a number of
words without meaning or connection; on the contrary, when he applied
to a father, who was interested in his improvement, his sensible
question was listened to with approbation. He was told, that the
chimney's being on fire, was an inaccurate common expression; that it
was the soot in the chimney, not the chimney, that burned; that the
soot was sometimes set on fire by sparks of fire, sometimes by flame,
which might have been accidentally _drawn up_ the chimney. Some of the
soot which had been set on fire, was shown to him; the nature of
burning in general, the manner in which the chimney _draws_, the
meaning of that expression, and many other things connected with the
subject, were explained upon this occasion to the inquisitive boy, who
was thus encouraged to think and speak accurately, and to apply, in
similar difficulties, to the friend who had thus taken the trouble to
understand his simple question. A random answer to a child's question,
does him a real injury; but can we expect, that those who have no
interest in education, should have the patience to correct their whole
conversation, and to adapt it precisely to the capacity of children?
This would indeed be unreasonable; all we can do, is to keep our
pupils out of the way of those who _can_ do them no good, and who
_may_ do them a great deal of harm. We must prefer the permanent
advantage of our pupils, to the transient vanity of exhibiting for the
amusement of company, their early wit, or "lively nonsense." Children
should never be introduced for the amusement of the circle; nor yet
should they be condemned to sit stock still, holding up their heads
and letting their feet dangle from chairs that are too high for them,
merely that they may appear what is called _well_ before visiters.
Whenever any conversation is going forward which they can understand,
they should be kindly summoned to partake of the pleasures of society;
its pains and its follies we may spare them. The manners of young
people will not be injured by this arrangement; they will be at ease
in company, because whenever they are introduced into it, they will
make a part of it; they will be interested and happy; they will feel a
proper confidence in themselves, and they will not be intent upon
their courtesies, their frocks, their manner of holding their hands,
or turning out their toes, the proper placing of Sir, Madam, or your
Ladyship, with all the other innumerable trifles which embarrass the
imagination, and consequently the manners, of those who are taught to
think that they are to sit still, and behave in company some way
differently from what they behave every day in their own family.
We have hitherto only spoken of acquaintance who do not attempt or
desire to interfere in education, but who only caress and talk
nonsense to children with the best intentions possible: with these,
parents will find it comparatively easy to manage; they can contrive
to employ children, or send them out to walk; by cool reserve, they
can readily discourage such visiters from flattering their children;
and by insisting upon becoming a party in all conversations which are
addressed to their pupils, they can, in a great measure, prevent the
bad effects of inaccurate or imprudent conversation; they can explain
to their pupils what was left unintelligible, and they can counteract
false associations, either at the moment they perceive them, or at
some well-chosen opportunity. But there is a class of acquaintance
with whom it will be more difficult to manage; persons who are,
perhaps, on an intimate footing with the family, who are valued for
their agreeable talents and estimable qualities; who are, perhaps,
persons of general information and good sense, and who may yet never
have considered the subject of education; or who, having partially
considered it, have formed some peculiar and erroneous opinions. They
will feel themselves entitled to talk upon education as well as upon
any other topic; they will hazard, and they will support, opinions;
they will be eager to prove the truth of their assertions, or the
superiority of their favourite theories. Out of pure regard for their
friends, they will endeavour to bring them over to their own way of
thinking in education; and they will by looks, by hints, by inuendoes,
unrestrained by the presence of the children, insinuate their advice
and their judgment upon every domestic occurrence. In the heat of
debate, people frequently forget that children have eyes and ears, or
any portion of understanding; they are not aware of the quickness of
that comprehension which is excited by the motives of curiosity and
self love. It is dangerous to let children be present at any
arguments, in which the management of their minds is concerned, until
they can perfectly understand the whole of the subject: they will, if
they catch but a few words, or a few ideas, imagine, perhaps, that
there is something wrong, some hardships, some injustice, practised
against them by their friends; yet they will not distinctly know, nor
will they, perhaps, explicitly inquire what it is. They should be sent
out of the room before any such arguments are begun; or, if the
conversation be abruptly begun before parents can be upon their guard,
they may yet, without offending against the common forms of
politeness, decline entering into any discussion until their children
are withdrawn. As to any direct attempt practically to interfere with
the children's education, by blame or praise, by presents, by books,
or by conversation; these should, and really must, be resolutely and
steadily resisted by parents: this will require some strength of mind.
What can be done without it? Many people, who are convinced of the
danger of the interference of friends and acquaintance in the
education of their children, will yet, from the fear of offending,
from the dread of being thought singular, submit to the evil. These
persons may be very well received, and very well liked in the world:
they must content themselves with this reward; they must not expect to
succeed in education, for strength of mind is absolutely necessary to
those who would carry a plan of education into effect. Without being
tied down to any one exclusive plan, and with universal toleration for
different modes of moral and intellectual instruction, it may be
safely asserted, that the plan which is most steadily pursued, will
probably succeed the best. People who are moved by the advice of all
their friends, and who endeavour to adapt their system to every
fashionable change in opinion, will inevitably repent of their weak
complaisance; they will lose all power over their pupils, and will be
forced to abandon the education of their families to chance.
It will be found impossible to educate a child at home, unless all
interference from visiters and acquaintance is precluded. But it is of
yet more consequence, that the members of the family must entirely
agree in their sentiments, or at least in the conduct of the children
under their care. Without this there is no hope. Young people perceive
very quickly, whether there is unanimity in their government; they
make out an alphabet of looks with unerring precision, and decipher
with amazing ingenuity, all that is for their interest to understand.
When children are blamed or punished, they always know pretty well who
pities them, who thinks that they are in the wrong, and who thinks
that they are in the right; and thus the influence of public opinion
is what ultimately governs. If children find that, when mamma is
displeased, grandmamma comforts them, they will console themselves
readily under this partial disgrace, and they will suspect others of
caprice, instead of ever blaming themselves. They will feel little
confidence in their own experience, or in the assertions of others;
they will think that there is always some chance of escape amongst the
multitude of laws and law-givers. No tutor or preceptor can be
answerable, or ought _to undertake to answer for measures which he
does not guide_. Le Sage, with an inimitable mixture of humour and
good sense, in the short history of the education of the robbers who
supped in that cave in which dame Leonardo officiated, has given many
excellent lessons in education. Captain Rolando's tutors could never
make any thing of him, because, whenever they reprimanded him, he ran
to his mother, father, and grandfather, for consolation; and from them
constantly received protection in rebellion, and commiseration for the
wounds which he had inflicted upon his own hands and face, purposely
to excite compassion, and to obtain revenge.
It is obviously impossible, that all the world, the ignorant and the
well-informed, the man of genius, the man of fashion, and the man of
business, the pedant and the philosopher, should agree in their
opinion upon any speculative subject; upon the wide subject of
education they will probably differ eternally. It will, therefore, be
thought absurd to require this union of opinion amongst the
individuals of a family; but, let there be ever so much difference in
their private opinions, they can surely discuss any disputed point at
leisure, when children are absent, or they can, in these arguments,
converse in French, or in some language which their pupils do not
understand. The same caution should be observed, as we just now
recommended, with respect to acquaintance. It is much better, when any
difficulties occur, to send the children at once into any other room,
and to tell them that we do so because we have something to say that
we do not wish them to hear, than to make false excuses to get rid of
their company, or to begin whispering and disputing in their presence.
These precautions are advisable whilst our pupils are young, before
they are capable of comprehending arguments of this nature, and whilst
their passions are vehemently interested on one side or the other. As
young people grow up, the greater variety of opinions they hear upon
all subjects, the better; they will then form the habit of judging for
themselves: whilst they are very young, they have not the means of
forming correct judgments upon abstract subjects, nor are these the
subjects upon which their judgment can be properly exercised: upon the
subject of education, they cannot be competent judges, because they
cannot, till they are nearly educated, have a complete view of the
means, or of the end; besides this, no _man_ is allowed to be judge in
his own case.
Some parents allow their children a vast deal of liberty whilst they
are young, and restrain them by absolute authority when their reason
is, or ought to be, a sufficient guide for their conduct. The contrary
practice will make parents much more beloved, and will make children
both wiser and happier. Let no idle visiter, no intrusive, injudicious
friend, for one moment interfere to lessen the authority necessary for
the purposes of education. Let no weak jealousy, no unseasonable love
of command, restrain young people after they are sufficiently
reasonable to judge for themselves. In the choice of their friends,
their acquaintance, in all the great and small affairs of life, let
them have liberty in proportion as they acquire reason. Fathers do not
commonly interfere with their sons' amusements, nor with the choice of
their acquaintance, so much as in the regulation of their pecuniary
affairs: but mothers, who have had any considerable share in the
education of boys, are apt to make mistakes as to the proper seasons
for indulgence and control. They do not watch the moments when
dangerous prejudices and tastes begin to be formed; they do not
perceive how the slight conversations of acquaintance operate upon the
ever-open ear of childhood; but when the age of passion approaches,
and approaches, as it usually does, in storms and tempest, then all
their maternal fears are suddenly roused, and their anxiety prompts
them to use a thousand injudicious and ineffectual expedients.
A modern princess, who had taken considerable pains in the education
of her son, made both herself and him ridiculous by her anxiety upon
his introduction into the world. She travelled about with him from
place to place, to _make him see_ every thing worth seeing; but he was
not to stir from her presence; she could not bear to have him out of
sight or hearing. In all companies he was _chaperoned_ by his mother.
Was he invited to a ball, she must be invited also, or he could not
accept of the invitation: he must go in the same coach, and return in
the same coach with her. "I should like extremely to dance another
dance," said he one evening to his partner, "but you see I must go; my
mother is putting on her cloak." The tall young man called for some
negus, and had the glass at his lips, when his mamma called out in a
shrill voice, through a vista of heads, "Eh! My son no drink wine! My
son like milk and water!" The son was at this time at years of
discretion.