CHILDREN.
Miss Edgworth says that the education of a child begins at three months
old. It is true that both bad and good habits may seem to commence at
this early age; but we do not believe that in so slight a soil they take
a very deep root, or that what is called a cross baby is sure to grow up
an ill-tempered adult. Infants, when they are not really sick,
frequently cry from some incidental annoyance, and not from a fretful
disposition. If they feel comfortably they will usually be good-humoured
and pleasant. Much of their comfort is sacrificed to the vanity of the
mother in dressing them fashionably and expensively. We knew a baby that
was very good in the morning, but very cross in the afternoon, or when
dressed for show. And no wonder, for in her show-costume she was
tortured with necklace, sleeve-loops, and bracelets of fine branchy, or
rather briary coral, scratching and irritating her delicate skin, and
leaving the print in red marks. On our representing this to the mother
as the probable cause of the baby's fretfulness, the thorny ornaments
were left off, and the child became amiable. Gold chains are also very
irritating to the neck and arms of an infant. Coral beads of a smooth
round form, strung evenly on a simple thread of silk, without any
intermingling of gold chain, are, perhaps, the most comfortable
necklaces for children, and are also very becoming; but as they are not
expensive, they are of course not fashionable.
Fortunately, the days of worked caps are over. Young ladies are no
longer expected to cover pieces of cambric with elaborate cotton
embroidery for the babies of their married friends, and the tender heads
of the babies are no longer chafed with rough needle-work rubbing
incessantly upon them, or heated with a silk lining to the cambric
already thickened all over with close, heavy patterns. We wish also that
mothers, generally, were less proud of seeing their babies with
"luxuriant heads of hair," which if it has no natural tendency to curl,
disfigures the child and gives it a wild, ungenteel look. If it does
curl, it still heats the head and neck, and is said to draw away much
strength from the system. The most healthy infants we have seen, had
very little hair, or it was judiciously kept closely cut. To curl
children's hair in papers is barbarous. They pay dearly for the glory of
appearing in ringlets during the day, if they are made to pass their
nights lying upon a mass of hard, rough bobs, about as pleasant as if
they had their heads in a bag of hickory-nuts. But then the mother has
the gratification of hearing their curls admired!
Among other sufferings inflicted on babies is that of sending them out
in bleak winter days with brimless hats, that, so far from screening
their faces from the cold wind, do not even afford the slightest shade
to their eyes, which are winking and watering all the time from the
glare of the sun and snow. We have seen false curls pinned to these
babies' hats, and dangling in their eyes.
Another detestable practice is that of making the waists of children's
frocks ridiculously long and painfully tight; particularly over the
chest and body, which are thus pressed flat, to the utter ruin of the
figure, and the risk of producing incurable diseases--such as
consumption of the lungs, and projection of the spine; to say nothing of
the various complaints connected with the stomach, which is thus
squeezed into half its natural compass. Also, the sleeve-holes are so
small and tight as to push up the shoulders. Then the hips are pressed
downward far below their proper place, and the legs are consequently in
danger of becoming short and bandy. Is it possible this vile fashion can
continue much longer?--and are "the rising generation" really to grow up
with high shoulders, round backs, flat chests, bodies that seem longer
than their legs, and hips almost where their knees ought to be?
Also, these limbs must suffer from cold in winter with no other covering
than cotton stockings, the skirts of the dress scarcely reaching to the
knees--the little boys disfigured with the ugliest of all garments,
short knee-breeches.
Add to all the rest of these abominations, tight boots with peaked toes,
and can we wonder that children, even beyond the period of infancy,
should, at times, be cross, irritable, and unamiable. How can they be
otherwise, when they seldom feel comfortably? Then, if the parents can
afford it, (or whether or not,) the unhappy children are bedizened with
all manner of expensive finery, and interdicted from romping, lest they
should injure it. But, what matter if the children suffer--the mother's
vanity _must_ be gratified, and she _must_ have the delight of seeing
that her boys and girls are as fashionably dressed as the little
Thomsons and Wilsons and Jacksons.
We look back with regret to the days when little girls, as well as boys,
wore their hair closely cropped; convenient and cool, and showing to
advantage the form of the head, till they were twelve or thirteen--and
they wore only washable dresses, descending far below the knees, and
with pantalets down to their ankles. In summer their frocks had short
wide sleeves, and were _not_ close up to the throat. The bodies were of
a natural length, the outside gathered full upon a moderately tight
lining. If there is no lining to a full frock-body it will puff out at
the back and front, and give the waist a look of deformity before and
behind. Then the little girls went out in close cottage-bonnets of straw
in summer, and beaver in winter--shading and screening their faces--and
were kept warm when out of doors with long wide cloaks or coats of cloth
or merino, instead of the fantastic short things now worn, with open
sleeves and open fronts. Then, when at home, how innocent and childlike
they looked in their long-sleeved convenient bib-aprons!--so much better
than the short silk ones now worn, trimmed and bordered and ribboned,
and rendered so fine that the children are expected to be as careful of
injuring their showy aprons as of soiling their showy frocks.
Formerly, children learned to play various amusing games, such as "Hot
buttered beans," "Blind-man's bluff," &c. Now their play is chiefly
running and squealing, and chasing each other about, without any
definite object, except that of making a noise. Then, at a juvenile
party, the amusement was chiefly in the varieties of these entertaining
games. Now it is dancing--for as many as can find places to dance--and
nothing at all for those who cannot, but to grow tired and sleepy. In
former times, children's parties commenced at two o'clock in the
afternoon in winter, and at four in summer. They played till they were
summoned to a large and well-supplied tea-table, and were sent for to
come home by eight o'clock, being then quite tired enough to go to bed
and sleep soundly, and waken with pleasant recollections of yesterday.
If the party was very large, the elder children sat round the room, and
tea, &c. was handed to them, while the little ones were accommodated at
a table where the hostess presided. The children of that time really
enjoyed these parties, and so would those of the present time, if they
could have such. The juvenile-party dress was then but a simple white
muslin frock with a ribbon sash. We have since seen little girls at a
summer party steadfastly refuse strawberries and cream, in obedience to
the interdiction of their mothers; who had enjoined them to do so, lest
they should stain or otherwise injure their elegant silk dresses.
Fortunately, it is no longer fashionable for mothers to take their
children with them on morning visits. On these occasions small children
rarely behave well. They soon grow tired, and restless, and begin
teazing to go somewhere else. Their presence is (or ought to be) a
restraint on conversation, as much may be said during a visit that is
not well for them to hear. They comprehend certain things far more
easily than is supposed. Great mischief has ensued from allowing
children to sit and listen; and there is no dependence on their
discretion or secrecy.
It is not well to put a small child "through its facings," by trying to
make it exhibit any of its little feats before strangers. They are
generally very reluctant to make this exhibition. Sometimes they are
bashful, sometimes perverse; but if the mother persists in her attempt
to show them off, it will probably prove a complete failure, and end in
a cry, or that outbreak usually called a tantrum. By-the-bye, there is
no better way of stopping a tantrum than quietly to divert the child's
attention to something else.
Beware of trusting an infant, too confidingly, to an European nurse; and
when she carries out the baby, it would be well if an older sister or
the mother herself could go along. Instead of carrying it to one of the
public squares, or to some other place where there is air and shade, she
may take it into dirty alleys, on a visit to some of her own relations,
perhaps newly arrived in an emigrant ship, with the filth and diseases
of a steerage passage still about them. This we know to have been done,
and the child has in consequence taken a disgusting disease. Or,
believing it a meritorious act, an Irish nurse may secretly carry the
infant to a priest, and have it baptized in the Catholic church, herself
standing godmother. Of this there have been numerous instances. Young
children frequently acquire, from being too much with ignorant and
vulgar nurses, bad habits of talking that are exceedingly difficult to
eradicate--so lasting are early impressions. We have heard an Irish
brogue from infantine lips; and the letter H sadly misused by the
American nursling of a low Englishwoman. Above all, do not permit your
own children to play with the children of their nurse. No good ever
accrues from it.
Children should not be brought to table till they are able to feed
themselves, first with a spoon, and next with a fork. And not then,
unless they can be depended on to keep quiet, and not talk. The
chattering of children all dinner-time is a great annoyance to grown
people. The shrill voice of a child can be distinguished annoyingly amid
those of a whole company. They should be made to understand that if they
talk at table, they are to be immediately taken away to finish their
dinner in the nursery. On no consideration should they be admitted to
table when there is a dinner-party. The foolish custom of having all the
children dressed for the purpose, and brought in with the dessert, is
now obsolete. It never was very prevalent, except in England.
We have seen children so well and so early trained that they could be
trusted to come to table every day without the least fear of their
misbehaving by talking or otherwise. They sat quietly, asked for
nothing, took contentedly whatever was put on their plates, made no
attempt at helping themselves, and neither greased nor slopped the
table-cloth; and when done, wiped their mouths and hands on their
napkins, before they quitted their chairs, which they did at a sign from
their mother; going out without noise, and neither leaving the door open
nor slamming it hard. It is very easy to accustom children to these
observances. Also, they may be taught very early, how to behave to
visiters. For instance, not to pass between them and the fire, not to
hang on the back of a lady's chair; or to squeeze close to her; or to
get on her lap; or to finger her dress; or to search her reticule, or
her pocket; or to ask a stranger for pennies or sixpences; or to tell
her that she is not pretty; or to enquire "why she wears such an ugly
bonnet?"
We have known a fine little boy, not three years old, who, on the
entrance of a friend of his mother's, would haul up a chair for her, and
invite her to a seat near the fire, place a footstool at her feet, ask
her to let him take her bonnet, and invite her to stay to dinner, to
stay all day, and to "stay for ever," adding, "I try to be polite."
There are very little girls who, if their mother is from home, can do
the honours in her place; seat the visiter on the sofa, and press her to
stay till their mother comes in; and if the lady declines doing so,
they will ask her at least to stay awhile, and rest herself, and have a
glass of cool water; and while she stays, they will do their best to
entertain her. Such children always grow up with polished manners, if
not removed from the influence that made them so in early life.
Children should be early taught not to repeat the conversation of grown
persons, and never to tell the servants any thing they have heard in the
parlour. When they come home from school, they ought not to be
encouraged in telling school-tales. If they dine out, never question
them concerning what they had for dinner. Forbid their relating any
circumstances concerning the domestic economy of the house at which they
have been entertained.
If a child purloins cakes or sweetmeats, punish him by giving him none
the next time they are on table.
At four years of age, a beginning should be made in teaching them to
read, by hearing them the alphabet every day till they have learned it
perfectly; and afterwards the first spelling-tables. With a quarter of
an hour's daily instruction, a child of common capacity will, in six
months, be able to spell in two or three syllables, and to read short
easy stories with the syllables divided. At the end of the year, if her
lessons are regular, and not so long as to tire her, she will, in all
probability, take pleasure in reading to herself, when her lessons are
over. Were they taught _out of story-books only_, there are few children
that at the age of six years would find any difficulty in reading
fluently. If _very_ intelligent, they often can read well at five. When
they can once read, encourage them in the love of books; but do not set
them at any other branch of education till they are eight. Then, their
hands being strong enough to guide the pen firmly, they may commence
writing copies. They should be supplied with slates and pencils at three
years old. If they have any dormant talent for drawing, this will call
it out. Little girls may begin to sew at four or five, but only as an
amusement, not as a task. The best and most satisfactory dolls for young
children are those of linen or rag, made very substantially. Much money
is wasted in toys that afford them no amusement whatever; and toys that,
being merely to look at, they grow tired of immediately, and delight in
breaking to pieces.
Never give an infant a book to play with. He will most assuredly tear
it; that being the only amusement it can afford him. It is possible at a
very early age to teach a tractable female child such a respect for
books that she will never attempt to injure them. When they are old
enough to take pleasure in looking at the pictures, it is easy to
accustom them to be always satisfied with the books being shown to them
in the hands of grown persons. Do not buy those books that have absurd
and revolting prints of people with gigantic heads and diminutive
bodies. Children always dislike them, and so they ought.
Rejoice when a little girl shows a fondness for reading, and by all
means encourage it. Keep her well supplied with good and entertaining
books, and you will have little trouble with her. Do not needlessly
interrupt, and call her off--but let her read in peace. It will do her
more good than any thing else, and lay the foundation of an intelligent
mind. A taste for reading, if not formed in early childhood, may perhaps
never come at all. And then what a solace it is in bodily illness! How
patiently a reading child, whose mind is stored with "pleasant
memories," can bear pain, and submit to the confinement of a sick-bed.
We have known more than one instance of the illness of a reading child
taking a turn for the better, from the time she was indulged with an
amusing and interesting book.
There is no place in which children appear to greater disadvantage or
are less ungovernable than at hotels or boarding-houses. We are always
sorry when the circumstances of parents oblige them permanently to live
thus in public, with their young families, who are consequently brought
up in a manner which cannot but have an unfavourable effect in forming
the characters of the future men and women. By way of variety, and that
they may not always be confined up-stairs, the children are encouraged,
or at least permitted by their mothers, to spend much of their time in
the drawing-room, regardless of the annoyance which their noise and
romping never fails to inflict upon the legitimate occupants of that
apartment. The parents, loving their children too much to be incommoded
themselves by any thing that their offspring can say or do, seem not
aware that they can possibly interrupt or trouble the rest of the
company. Or else, conscious of their own inability to control them,
they are afraid to check the children lest they should turn restive,
rebel, or break out into a tantrum. "Any thing for the sake of peace,"
is a very foolish maxim where juveniles are concerned. By being firm
once or twice, and dismissing them from the room when they deserve it,
you may have peace ever after. The noisiest and most inconvenient time
to have children in a public parlour is in the interval between their
tea and their bed-time. Some children have no bed-time. And when they
are tired of scampering and shouting, they lie about sleeping on the
sofas, and cry if they are finally wakened, to go up with their mother
when she retires for the night.
Still worse is the practice that prevails in some hotels and
boarding-houses, of the mothers sending the nurse-maids with the babies,
to sit in the drawing-room among the ladies; who are thus liable to have
a vulgar and obtrusive servant-girl, most probably "from the old
country," boldly taking her seat in the midst of them, or conspicuously
occupying one of the front-windows; either keeping up a perpetual
undercurrent of fulsome, foolish talk to the baby, or listening eagerly
to the conversation around her, and, perhaps, repeating it invidiously
as soon as she gets an opportunity. If one lady sends her nurse-maid to
sit in the drawing-room with the child, all the other mothers of babies
immediately follow suit, and the drawing-room becomes a mere nursery.
Every hotel should have a commodious and airy parlour set apart entirely
for the children and nurses. The proprietors could easily afford to
keep one good room for that purpose, if they would expend a little less
on the finery of the parlours, &c. We have heard of an embroidered
piano-cover, in a great hotel, costing fourteen hundred dollars, and the
children pulling it down and dragging it about the floor. With a
piano-cover of the usual cost, and other things less ostentatious, a
children's parlour might well have been afforded in this very
establishment.
At a hotel, if the children come to the ladies' table, they are always
in danger of eating food that is highly improper for them, and they very
soon learn to help themselves to much more than they want, and to eat
voraciously, in their desire to "have something of every thing." There
is always a table purposely for those children whose parents pay
half-price for them; and at which the housekeeper presides. However good
this table may be, and though the pies and puddings may be excellent,
the mothers are frequently dissatisfied with the absence of ice-cream,
blanc-mange, charlotte-russe, &c., though certainly, were they in houses
of their own, they would not have such things every day. Therefore,
though it is "not in the bond," the mothers carry away from the table
saucers of these delicacies, and the children learn to expect a daily
supply of them from the ladies' dining-room. This, we must say, is a
mean practice. We have, however, known some mothers, who, really being
"honourable women," sent every day to a confectioner's to _buy_
ice-cream for their children.
There is danger at a hotel of little boys loitering about the bar or
office, encouraged by unthinking young men, who give them "tastes of
drink," and even amuse themselves by teaching them to smoke segars.
And no children, either boys or girls, can live at a public house
without hearing and seeing much that it is best they should not know.
The English travellers deprecate the American practice of bringing up
young people in hotels or boarding-houses. And they are right.
When a lady, having with her a young child, and no nurse-maid, stops for
a day at a hotel, she can avoid the inconvenience of taking the child
with her to table, and incommoding herself and all who sit near her. She
has only to entrust the little traveller to a chambermaid up-stairs;
directing the girl how to take care of it, and promising her a gratuity
for her trouble. She will rarely have cause to regret such an
arrangement. It will spare the annoyance and mortification of having the
child make a noise at table, and perhaps compelling the mother to go
away with it.