THE PHILOSOPHY OF PUNISHMENT.
It is very desirable that every parent and teacher should have a distinct
and clear conception of the true nature of punishment, and of the precise
manner in which it is designed to act in repressing offenses. This is
necessary in order that the punitive measures which he may employ may
accomplish the desired good, and avoid the evils which so often follow in
their train.
_Nature and Design of Punishment_.
The first question which is to be considered in determining upon the
principles to be adopted and the course to be pursued with children in
respect to punishment, is, which of the two views in respect to the nature
and design of punishment which prevail in the minds of men we will adopt in
shaping our system. For,
1. Punishment may be considered in the light of a vindictive retribution
for sin--a penalty demanded by the eternal principles of justice as the
natural and proper sequel and complement of the past act of transgression,
with or without regard to any salutary effects that may result from it in
respect to future acts. Or,
2. It may be considered as a remedial measure, adopted solely with
reference to its influence as a means of deterring the subject of it, or
others, from transgression in time to come.
According to the first view, punishment is a _penalty_ which _justice_
demands as a satisfaction for the past. According to the other it is a
_remedy_ which _goodness_ devises for the benefit of the future.
Theologians have lost themselves in endless speculations on the question
how far, in the government of God, punishment is to be considered as
possessing one or the other of these two characters, or both combined.
There seems to be also some uncertainty in the minds of men in relation to
the precise light in which the penalties of violated law are to be
regarded by civil governments, and the spirit in which they are to be
administered--they being apparently, as prescribed and employed by most
governments, in some respects, and to some extent, retributive and
vindictive, and in other respects remedial and curative.
It would seem, however, that in respect to school and family government
there could be no question on this point. The punishment of a child by a
parent, or of a pupil by a teacher, ought certainly, one would think,
to exclude the element of vindictive retribution altogether, and to be
employed solely with reference to the salutary influences that may be
expected from it in time to come. If the injunction "Vengeance is mine, I
will repay it, saith the Lord" is to be recognized at all, it certainly
ought to be acknowledged here.
This principle, once fully and cordially admitted, simplifies the subject
of punishment, as administered by parents and teachers, very much. One
extremely important and very striking result of it will appear from a
moment's reflection. It is this, namely:
It excludes completely and effectually all manifestations of irritation or
excitement in the infliction of punishment--all harsh tones of voice, all
scowling or angry looks, all violent or threatening gesticulations, and
every other mode, in fact, of expressing indignation or passion. Such
indications as these are wholly out of place in punishment considered as
the _application of a remedy_ devised beneficently with the sole view of
accomplishing a future good. They comport only with punishment considered
as vengeance, or a vindictive retribution for the past sin.
This idea is fundamental. The mother who is made angry by the misconduct of
her children, and punishes them in a passion, acts under the influence of a
brute instinct. Her family government is in principle the same as that
of the lower animals over their young. It is, however, at any rate, a
_government_; and such government is certainly better than none. But human
parents, in the training of their human offspring, ought surely to aim at
something higher and nobler. They who do so, who possess themselves fully
with the idea that punishment, as they are to administer it, is wholly
remedial in its character--that is to say, is to be considered solely with
reference to the future good to be attained by it, will have established in
their minds a principle that will surely guide them into right ways, and
bring them out successfully in the end. They will soon acquire the habit of
never threatening, of never punishing in anger, and of calmly considering,
in the case of the faults which they observe in their children, what course
of procedure will be most effectual in correcting them.
Parents seem sometimes to have an idea that a manifestation of something
like anger--or, at least, very serious displeasure on their part--is
necessary in order to make a proper impression in respect to its fault on
the mind of the child. This, however, I think, is a mistake. The impression
is made by what we _do_, and not by the indications of irritation or
displeasure which we manifest in doing it. To illustrate this, I will state
a case, narrating all its essential points just as it occurred. The case is
very analogous, in many particulars, to that of Egbert and George related
in the last chapter.
_Mary's Walk_.
"Mary," said Mary's aunt, Jane, who had come to make a visit at Mary's
mother's in the country, "I am going to the village this afternoon, and if
you would like you may go with me."
Mary was, of course, much pleased with this invitation.
"A part of the way," continued her aunt, "is by a path across the fields.
While we are there you must keep in the path all the time, for it rained a
little this morning, and I am afraid that the grass may not be quite dry."
"Yes, Aunt Jane; I'll keep in the path," said Mary.
So they set out on the walk together. When they came to the gate which led
to the path across the fields, Aunt Jane said, "Remember, Mary, you must
keep in the path."
Mary said nothing, but ran forward. Pretty soon she began to walk a little
on the margin of the grass, and, before long, observing a place where the
grass was short and where the sun shone, she ran out boldly upon it, and
then, looking down at her shoes, she observed that they were not wet. She
held up one of her feet to her aunt as she came opposite to the place,
saying,
"See, aunt, the grass is not wet at all."
"I see it is not," said her aunt. "I _thought_ it would not be wet; though
I was not sure but that it might be. But come," she added, holding out her
hand, "I have concluded not to go to the village, after all. We are going
back home."
"Oh, Aunt Jane!" said Mary, following her aunt as she began retracing her
steps along the path. "What is that for?"
"I have altered my mind," said her aunt.
"What makes you alter your mind?"
By this time Aunt Jane had taken hold of Mary's hand, and they were walking
together along the path towards home.
"Because you don't obey me," she said.
"Why, auntie," said Mary, "the grass was not wet at all where I went."
"No," said her aunt, "it was perfectly dry."
"And it did not do any harm at all for me to walk upon it," said Mary.
"Not a bit of harm," said her aunt.
"Then why are you going home?" asked Mary.
"Because you don't obey me," replied her aunt.
"You see," said her aunt, "there is one thing about this that you don't
understand, because you are such a little girl. You will understand it
by-and-by, when you grow older; and I don't blame you for not knowing it
now, because you are so young."
"What is it that I don't know?" asked Mary.
"I am afraid you would not understand it very well if I were to explain
it," replied her aunt.
"Try me," said Mary.
"Well, you see," replied her aunt, "I don't feel safe with any child that
does not obey me. This time no harm was done, because the grass happened to
be dry; but farther on there was a brook. I might have told you not to go
near the brink of the brook for fear of your falling in. Then you might
have gone, notwithstanding, if you thought there was no danger, just as you
went out upon the grass because you thought it was not wet, notwithstanding
my saying that you must keep in the path. So you see I never feel safe in
taking walks in places where there is any danger with children that I can
not always depend upon to do exactly what I say."
Mary was, of course, now ready to make profuse promises that she would
obey her aunt in future on all occasions and began to beg that she would
continue her walk to the village.
"No," said her aunt, "I don't think it would be quite safe for me to trust
to your promises, though I have no doubt you honestly mean to keep them.
But you remember you promised me that you would keep in the path when we
planned this walk; and yet when the time of temptation came you could not
keep the promise; but you will learn. When I am going on some perfectly
safe walk I will take you with me again; and if I stay here some time you
will learn to obey me so perfectly that I can take you with me to any
place, no matter how dangerous it may be."
Aunt Jane thus gently, but firmly, persisted in abandoning the walk to the
village, and returning home; but she immediately turned the conversation
away from the subject of Mary's fault, and amused her with stories and
aided her in gathering flowers, just as if nothing had happened; and when
she arrived at home she said nothing to any one of Mary's disobedience.
Here now was punishment calculated to make a very strong impression--but
still without scolding, without anger, almost, in fact, without even any
manifestations of displeasure. And yet how long can any reasonable person
suppose it would be before Mary would learn, if her aunt acted invariably
on the same principles, to submit implicitly to her will?
_A Different Management_.
Compare the probable result of this mode of management with the scolding
and threatening policy. Suppose Aunt Jane had called to Mary angrily,
"Mary! Mary! come directly back into the path. I told you not to go out of
the path, and you are a very naughty child to disobey me. The next time you
disobey me in that way I will send you directly home."
Mary would have been vexed and irritated, perhaps, and would have said to
herself, "How cross Aunt Jane is to-day!" but the "next time" she would
have been as disobedient as ever.
If mothers, instead of scowling, scolding, and threatening now, and putting
off doing the thing that ought to be done to the "next time," would do
that thing at once, and give up the scowling, scolding, and threatening
altogether, they would find all parties immensely benefited by the change.
It is evident, moreover, that by this mode of management the punishment is
employed not in the way of retribution, but as a remedy. Mary loses her
walk not on the ground that she deserved to lose it, but because it was not
safe to continue it.
_An Objection_.
Some mother may perhaps say, in reference to the case of Mary and her aunt,
that it may be all very well in theory, but that practically mothers have
not the leisure and the means for adopting such moderate measures. We can
not stop, she may say, every time we are going to the village, on important
business perhaps, and turn back and lose the afternoon on account of the
waywardness of a disobedient child.
My answer is that it will not have to be done _every time,_ but only very
seldom. The effect of acting once or twice on this principle, with the
certainty on the part of the child that the mother or the aunt will always
act so when the occasion calls for it, very soon puts an end to all
necessity for such action. Indeed, if Mary, in the instance above given,
had been managed in this way from infancy, she would not have thought of
leaving the path when forbidden to do so. It is only in some such case as
that of an aunt who knows how to manage right, coming as a visitor into the
family of a mother who manages wrong, that such an incident as this could
occur.
Still it must be admitted that the gentle methods of discipline, which
reason and common sense indicate as the true ones for permanently
influencing the minds of children and forming their characters, do, in
each individual case, require more time and care than the cuffs and slaps
dictated by passion. A box on the ear, such as a cat gives to a rebellious
kitten, is certainly the _quickest_ application that can be made. The
measures that are calculated to reach and affect the heart can not vie with
blows and scoldings in respect to the promptness of their action. Still,
the parent or the teacher who will begin to act on the principles here
recommended with children while they are young will find that such methods
are far more prompt in their action and more effectual in immediate results
than they would suppose, and that they will be the means of establishing
the only kind of authority that is really worthy of the name more rapidly
than any other.
The special point, however, with a view to which these illustrations are
introduced, is, as has been already remarked, that penalties of this
nature, and imposed in this spirit, are not vindictive, but simply remedial
and reformatory. They are not intended to satisfy the sense of justice for
what is past, but only to secure greater safety and happiness in time to
come.
_The Element of Invariableness_.
Punishments may be very light and gentle in their character, provided they
are certain to follow the offense. It is in their _certainty_, and not in
their _severity_, that the efficiency of them lies. Very few children are
ever severely burnt by putting their fingers into the flame of a candle.
They are effectually taught not to put them in by very slight burnings,
on account of the _absolute invariableness_ of the result produced by the
contact.
Mothers often do not understand this. They attempt to cure some habitual
fault by scoldings and threats, and declarations of what they will
certainly do "next time," and perhaps by occasional acts of real severity
in cases of peculiar aggravation, instead of a quiet, gentle, and
comparatively trifling infliction in _every instance_ of the fault, which
would be altogether more effectual.
A child, for example, has acquired the habit of leaving the door open. Now
occasionally scolding him, when it is specially cold, and now and then
shutting him up in a closet for half an hour, will never cure him of the
fault. But if there were an automaton figure standing by the side of the
door, to say to him _every time_ that he came through without shutting it,
_Door_! which call should be a signal to him to go back and shut the door,
and then sit down in a chair near by and count ten; and if this slight
penalty was _invariably_ enforced, he would be most effectually cured of
the fault in a very short time.
Now, the mother can not be exactly this automaton, for she can not always
be there; but she can recognize the principle, and carry it into effect as
far as possible--that is, _invariably, when she is there_. And though she
will not thus cure the boy of the fault so soon as the automaton would do
it, she will still do it very soon.
_Irritation and Anger_.
Avoid, as much as possible, every thing of an irritating character in the
punishments inflicted, for to irritate frequently the mind of a child
tends, of course, to form within him an irritable and unamiable temper. It
is true, perhaps, that it is not possible absolutely to avoid this effect
of punishment in all cases; but a great deal may be done to diminish the
evil by the exercise of a little tact and ingenuity on the part of the
mother whose attention is once particularly directed to the subject.
The first and most important measure of precaution on this point is
the absolute exclusion of every thing like angry looks and words as
accompaniments of punishment. If you find that any wrong which your child
commits awakens irritation or anger in your mind, suspend your judgment
of the case and postpone all action until the irritation and anger have
subsided, and you can consider calmly and deliberately what to do, with
a view, not of satisfying your own resentment, but of doing good to the
child. Then, when you have decided what to do, carry your decision into
effect in a good-natured manner--firmly and inflexibly--but still without
any violence, or even harshness, of manner.
_Co-operation of the Offender_.
There are many cases in which, by the exercise of a little tact and
ingenuity, the parent can actually secure the _co-operation_ of the child
in the infliction of the punishment prescribed for the curing of a fault.
There are many advantages in this, when it can be done. It gives the child
an interest in curing himself of the fault; it makes the punishment more
effectual; and it removes almost all possibility of its producing any
irritation or resentment in his mind. To illustrate this we will give a
case. It is of no consequence, for the purpose of this article, whether it
is a real or an imaginary one.
Little Egbert, seven years old, had formed the habit so common among
children of wasting a great deal of time in dressing himself, so as not to
be ready for breakfast when the second bell rang. His mother offered him
a reward if he would himself devise any plan that would cure him of the
fault.
"I don't know what to do, exactly, to cure you," she said; "but if you will
think of any plan that will really succeed, I will give you an excursion in
a carriage."
"How far?" asked Egbert.
"Ten miles," said his mother. "I will take you in a carriage on an
excursion anywhere you say, for ten miles, if you will find out some way to
cure yourself of this fault."
"I think you ought to punish me," said Egbert, speaking in rather a timid
tone.
"That's just it," said his mother, "It is for you to think of some kind of
punishment that won't be too disagreeable for me to inflict, and which will
yet be successful in curing you of the fault. I will allow you a fortnight
to get cured. If you are not cured in a fortnight I shall think the
punishment is not enough, or that it is not of a good kind; but if it works
so well as to cure you in a fortnight, then you shall have the ride."
Egbert wished to know whether he must think of the punishment himself, or
whether his sister Mary might help him. His mother gave him leave to
ask any body to help him that he pleased. Mary, after some reflection,
recommended that, whenever he was not dressed in time, he was to have only
one lump of sugar, instead of four, in his tumbler of water for breakfast.
His usual drink at breakfast was a tumbler of water, with four lumps of
sugar in it. The first bell was rung at half-past six, and breakfast was
at half-past seven. His sister recommended that, as half an hour was ample
time for the work of dressing, Egbert should go down every morning and
report himself ready before the clock struck seven. If he failed of this,
he was to have only one lump of sugar, instead of four, in his glass of
water.
There was some question about the necessity of requiring him to be ready
before seven; Egbert being inclined to argue that if he was ready by
breakfast-time, that would be enough. But Mary said no. "To allow you a
full hour to dress," she said, "when half an hour is enough, may answer
very well in respect to having you ready for breakfast, but it is no way to
cure you of the fault. That would enable you to play half of the time while
you are dressing, without incurring the punishment; but the way to cure you
is to make it sure that you will have the punishment to bear if you play at
all."
So it was decided to allow only half an hour for the dressing-time.
Egbert's mother said she was a little afraid about the one lump of sugar
that was left to him when he failed.
"The plan _may_ succeed," she said; "I am very willing that you should try
it; but I am afraid that when you are tempted to stop and play in the midst
of your dressing, you will say, I shall have _one_ lump of sugar, at any
rate, and so will yield to the temptation. So perhaps it would be safer for
you to make the rule that you are not to have any sugar at all when you
fail. Still, _perhaps_ your plan will succeed. You can try it and see. I
should wish myself to have the punishment as slight as possible to produce
the effect."
By such management as this, it is plain that Egbert is brought into actual
co-operation with his mother in the infliction of a punishment to cure him
of a fault. It is true, that making such an arrangement as this, and then
leaving it to its own working, would lead to no result. As in the case of
all other plans and methods, it must be strictly, firmly, and perseveringly
followed up by the watchful efficiency of the mother. We can not
_substitute_ the action of the child for that of the parent in the work of
early training, but we can often derive very great advantage by securing
his cooperation.
_Playful Punishments_.
So true is it that the efficacy of any mode of punishment consists in the
_certainty of its infliction_, that even playful punishments are in many
cases sufficient to accomplish the cure of a fault. George, for example,
was in the habit of continually getting into disputes and mild quarrels
with his sister Amelia, a year or two younger than himself. "I know it is
very foolish," he said to his mother, when she was talking with him on the
subject one evening after he had gone to bed, and she had been telling
him a story, and his mind was in a calm and tranquil state. "It is very
foolish, but somehow I can't help it. I forget."
"Then you must have some punishment to make you remember," said his mother.
"But sometimes _she_ is the one to blame," said George, "and then she must
have the punishment."
"No," replied his mother. "When a lady and a gentleman become involved in
a dispute in polite society, it is always the gentleman that must be
considered to be to blame."
"But Amelia and I are not polite society," said George.
"You ought to be," said his mother. "At any rate, when you, an older
brother, get into disputes with your sister, it is because you have not
sense enough to manage so as to avoid them. If you were a little older and
wiser you would have sense enough."
"Well, mother, what shall the punishment be?" said George.
"Would you really like to have a punishment, so as to cure yourself of the
fault?" asked his mother.
George said that he _would_ like one.
"Then," said his mother, "I propose that every time you get into a dispute
with Amelia, you turn your jacket wrong side out, and wear it so a little
while as a symbol of folly."
George laughed heartily at this idea, and said he should like such a
punishment as that very much. It would only be fun, he said. His mother
explained to him that it would be fun, perhaps, two or three times, but
after that it would only be a trouble; but still, if they decided upon that
as a punishment, he must submit to it in every case. Every time he found
himself getting into any dispute or difficulty with his sister, he must
stop at once and turn his jacket inside out; and if he did not himself
think to do this, she herself, if she was within hearing, would simply say,
"Jacket!" and then he must do it.
"No matter which of us is most to blame?" asked George.
"You will always be the one that is most to blame," replied his mother,
"or, at least, almost always. When a boy is playing with a sister younger
than himself, _he_ is the one that is most to blame for the quarrelling.
His sister may be to blame by doing something wrong in the first instance;
but he is the one to blame for allowing it to lead to a quarrel. If it is a
little thing, he ought to yield to her, and not to mind it; and if it is
a great thing, he ought to go away and leave her, rather than to stop and
quarrel about it. So you see you will be the one to blame for the quarrel
in almost all cases. There may possibly be some cases where you will not
be to blame at all, and then you will have to be punished when you don't
deserve it, and you must bear it like a man. This is a liability that
happens under all systems."
"We will try the plan for one fortnight," she continued. "So now remember,
every single time that I hear you disputing or quarrelling with Amelia, you
must take off your jacket and put it on again wrong side out--no matter
whether you think you were to blame or not--and wear it so a few minutes.
You can wear it so for a longer or shorter time, just as you think is best
to make the punishment effectual in curing you of the fault. By the end of
the fortnight we shall be able to see whether the plan is working well and
doing any good."
"So now," continued his mother, "shut up your eyes and go to sleep. You are
a good boy to wish to cure yourself of such faults, and to be willing to
help me in contriving ways to do it. And I have no doubt that you will
submit to this punishment good-naturedly every time, and not make me any
trouble about it."
Let it be remembered, now, that the efficacy of such management as this
consists not in the devising of it, nor in holding such a conversation as
the above with the boy--salutary as this might be--but in the _faithfulness
and strictness with which it is followed up_ during the fortnight of trial.
In the case in question, the progress which George made in diminishing his
tendency to get into disputes with his sister was so great that his mother
told him, at the end of the first fortnight, that their plan had succeeded
"admirably"--so much so, she said, that she thought the punishment of
taking off his jacket and turning it inside out would be for the future
unnecessarily severe, and she proposed to substitute for it taking off his
cap, and putting it on wrong side before.
The reader will, of course, understand that the object of such an
illustration as this is not to recommend the particular measure here
described for adoption in other cases, but to illustrate the spirit and
temper of mind in which all measures adopted by the mother in the training
of her children should be carried into effect. Measures that involve no
threats, no scolding, no angry manifestations of displeasure, but are even
playful in their character, may be very efficient in action if they are
firmly and perseveringly maintained.
_Punishments that are the Natural Consequence of the Offense_.
There is great advantage in adapting the character of the punishment to
that of the fault--making it, as far as possible, the natural and proper
consequence of it. For instance, if the boys of a school do not come in
promptly at the close of the twenty minutes' recess, but waste five minutes
by their dilatoriness in obeying the summons of the bell, and the teacher
keeps them for _five minutes beyond the usual hour of dismissal_, to make
up for the lost time, the punishment may be felt by them to be deserved,
and it may have a good effect in diminishing the evil it is intended
to remedy; but it will probably excite a considerable degree of mental
irritation, if not of resentment, on the part of the children, which will
diminish the good effect, or is, at any rate, an evil which is to be
avoided if possible.
If now, on the other hand, he assigns precisely the same penalty in another
form, the whole of the good effect may be secured without the evil. Suppose
he addresses the boys just before they are to go out at the next recess, as
follows:
"I think, boys, that twenty minutes is about the right length of time for
the recess, all told--that is, from the time you go out to the time when
you are _all_ back in your seats again, quiet and ready to resume your
studies. I found yesterday that it took five minutes for you all to come
in--that is, that it was five minutes from the time the bell was rung
before all were in their seats; and to-day I shall ring the bell after
_fifteen_ minutes, so as to give you time to come in. If I find to-day that
it takes ten minutes, then I will give you more time to come in to-morrow,
by ringing the bell after you have been out _ten_ minutes."
"I am sorry to have you lose so much of your recess, and if you can make
the time for coming in shorter, then, of course, your recess can be longer.
I should not wonder if, after a few trials, you should find that you could
all come in and get into your places in _one_ minute; and if so, I shall
be very glad, for then you can have an uninterrupted recess of _nineteen_
minutes, which will be a great gain."
Every one who has had any considerable experience in the management of boys
will readily understand how different the effect of this measure will be
from that of the other, while yet the penalty is in both cases precisely
the same--namely, the loss, for the boys, of five minutes of their play.
_The Little Runaway_.
In the same manner, where a child three or four years old was in the habit,
when allowed to go out by himself in the yard to play, of running off into
the street, a very appropriate punishment would be to require him, for the
remainder of the day, to stay in the house and keep in sight of his mother,
on the ground that it was not safe to trust him by himself in the yard.
This would be much better than sending him to bed an hour earlier, or
subjecting him to any other inconvenience or privation having no obvious
connection with the fault. For it is of the greatest importance to avoid,
by every means, the exciting of feelings of irritation and resentment
in the mind of the child, so far as it is possible to do this without
impairing the efficiency of the punishment. It is not always possible to do
this. The efficiency of the punishment is, of course, the essential thing;
but parents and teachers who turn their attention to the point will find
that it is much less difficult than one would suppose to secure this
end completely without producing the too frequent accompaniments of
punishment--anger, ill-temper, and ill-will.
[Illustration: "IT IS NOT SAFE"]
In the case, for example, of the child not allowed to go out into the yard,
but required to remain in the house in sight of his mother, the mother
should not try to make the punishment _more heavy_ by speaking again and
again of his fault, and evincing her displeasure by trying to make the
confinement as irksome to the child as possible; but, on the other hand,
should do all in her power to alleviate it. "I am very sorry," she might
say, "to have to keep you in the house. It would be much pleasanter for you
to go out and play in the yard, if it was only safe. I don't blame you very
much for running away. It is what foolish little children, as little as
you, very often do. I suppose you thought it would be good fun to run out
a little way in the street. And it is good fun; but it is not safe.
By-and-by, when you grow a little larger, you won't be so foolish, and then
I can trust you in the yard at any time without having to watch you at all.
And now what can I get for you to amuse you while you stay in the house
with me?"
Punishment coming in this way, and administered in this spirit, will
irritate the mind and injure the temper comparatively little; and, instead
of being less; will be much more effective in accomplishing the _right
kind_ of cure for the fault, than any stern, severe, and vindictive
retribution can possibly be.
_The Question of Corporal Punishment_.
The question of resorting to corporal punishment in the training of the
young has been much, very much, argued and discussed on both sides by
writers on education; but it seems to me to be mainly a question of
competency and skill. If the parent or teacher has tact or skill enough,
and practical knowledge enough of the workings of the youthful mind, he can
gain all the necessary ascendency over it without resort to the violent
infliction of bodily pain in any form. If he has not these qualities, then
he must turn to the next best means at his disposal; for it is better that
a child should be trained and governed by the rod than not trained and
governed at all. I do not suppose that savages could possibly control their
children without blows; while, on the other hand, Maria Edgeworth would
have brought under complete submission to her will a family of the most
ardent and impulsive juveniles, perhaps without even a harsh word or a
frown. If a mother begins with children at the beginning, is just and true
in all her dealings with them, gentle in manner, but inflexibly firm in
act, and looks constantly for Divine guidance and aid in her conscientious
efforts to do her duty, I feel quite confident that it will never be
necessary for her to strike them. The necessity may, however, sooner or
later come, for aught I know, in the case of those who act on the contrary
principle. Under such management, the rod may come to be the only
alternative to absolute unmanageableness and anarchy.
There will be occasion, however, to refer to this subject more fully in a
future chapter.