CHAPTER XI.

Views of Matrimony, 161

CONCLUDING CHAPTER. 170

THE MOTHER’S BOOK.

CHAPTER I.

THE BODILY SENSES.

Few people think that the management of very young babes has anything

to do with their future dispositions and characters; yet I believe

it has more influence than can easily be calculated. One writer on

education even ventures to say, that the heaviness of the Dutch and

the vivacity of the French are owing to the different manner in which

infants are treated in those two countries.

The Dutch keep their children in a state of repose, always rocking,

or jogging them; the French are perpetually tossing them about, and

showing them lively tricks. I think a medium between these two extremes

would be the most favorable to a child’s health and faculties.

An infant is, for a while, totally ignorant of the use of the senses

with which he is endowed. At first, he does not see objects; and when

he sees them, he does not know that he can touch them. ‘He is obliged

to serve an apprenticeship to the five senses,’ and at every step he

needs assistance in learning his trade. Any one can see that assistance

tends to quicken the faculties, by observing how much faster a babe

improves, when daily surrounded by little brothers and sisters.

But in trying to excite an infant’s attention, care should be taken

not to confuse and distract him. His soul, like his body, is weak, and

requires to have but little sustenance at a time, and to have it often.

Gentleness, patience, and love, are almost everything in education;

especially to those helpless little creatures, who have just entered

into a world where everything is new and strange to them. Gentleness is

a sort of mild atmosphere; and it enters into a child’s soul, like the

sunshine into the rose-bud, slowly but surely expanding it into beauty

and vigor.

All loud noises and violent motions should be avoided. They pain an

infant’s senses, and distract his faculties. I have seen impatient

nurses thrust a glaring candle before the eyes of a fretful babe, or

drum violently on the table, or rock the cradle like an earth-quake.

These things may stop a child’s cries for a short time, because the

pain they occasion his senses draws his attention from the pain which

first induces him to cry; but they do not comfort or soothe him. As

soon as he recovers from the distraction they have occasioned, he will

probably cry again, and even louder than before. Besides the pain given

to his mind, violent measures are dangerous to the bodily senses.

Deafness and weakness of eye-sight may no doubt often be attributed to

such causes as I have mentioned; and physicians are agreed that the

dropsy on the brain is frequently produced by violent rocking.

Unless a child’s cries are occasioned by sharp bodily pain, they may

usually be pacified by some pleasing object, such as stroking a kitten,

or patting the dog; and if their tears are really occasioned by acute

pain, is it not cruel to add another suffering, by stunning them with

noise, or blinding them with light?

Attention should be early aroused by presenting attractive

objects--things of bright and beautiful colors, but not glaring--and

sounds pleasant and soft to the ear. When you have succeeded in

attracting a babe’s attention to any object, it is well to let him

examine it just as long as he chooses. Every time he turns it over,

drops it, and takes it up again, he adds something to the little stock

of his scanty experience. When his powers of attention are wearied, he

will soon enough show it by his actions. A multitude of new playthings,

crowded upon him one after another, only serve to confuse him. He does

not learn as much, because he does not have time to get acquainted

with the properties of any one of them. Having had his little mind

excited by a new object, he should be left in quiet, to toss, and turn,

and jingle it, to his heart’s content. If he look up in the midst of

his play, a smile should be always ready for him, that he may feel

protected and happy in the atmosphere of love.

It is important that children, even when babes, should never be

spectators of anger, or any evil passion. They come to us from heaven,

with their little souls full of innocence and peace; and, as far as

possible, a mother’s influence should not interfere with the influence

of angels.

The first and most important thing, in order to effect this is, that

the mother should keep her own spirit in tranquillity and purity; for

it is beyond all doubt that the state of a mother affects her child.

There are proofs that it is true, both with regard to mind and body.

A mere babe will grieve and sob at the expression of distress on a

mother’s countenance; he cannot possibly _know_ what that expression

means, but he _feels_ that it is something painful--his mother’s state

affects him.

Effects on the bodily constitution will be more readily believed than

effects on the mind, because the most thoughtless can see the one, and

they cannot _see_ the other. Children have died in convulsions, in

consequence of nursing a mother, while under the influence of violent

passion or emotion; and who can tell how much of _moral_ evil may be

traced to the states of mind indulged by a mother, while tending the

precious little being, who receives everything from her?

Therefore the first rule, and the most important of all, in education,

is, that a mother govern her own feelings, and keep her heart and

conscience pure.

The next most important thing appears to me to be, that a mother, as

far as other duties will permit, take the entire care of her own child.

I am aware that people of moderate fortune cannot attend exclusively

to an infant. Other cares claim a share of attention, and sisters,

or domestics, must be intrusted; but where this must necessarily be

the case, the infant should, as much as possible, feel its mother’s

guardianship. If in the same room, a smile, or a look of fondness,

should now and then be bestowed upon him; and if in an adjoining room,

some of the endearing appellations to which he has been accustomed,

should once in a while meet his ear. The knowledge that his natural

protector and best friend is near, will give him a feeling of safety

and protection alike conducive to his happiness and beneficial to his

temper.

You may say, perhaps, that a mother’s instinct teaches fondness, and

there is no need of urging that point; but the difficulty is, mothers

are sometimes fond by fits and starts--they follow impulse, not

principle. Perhaps the cares of the world vex or discourage you--and

you do not, as usual, smile upon your babe when he looks up earnestly

in your face,--or you are a little impatient at his fretfulness. Those

who know your inquietudes may easily excuse this; but what does the

innocent being before you know of care and trouble? And why should

you distract his pure nature by the evils you have received from a

vexatious world? It does you no good, and it injures him.

Do you say it is impossible always to govern one’s feelings? There is

one method, a never-failing one--prayer. It consoles and strengthens

the wounded heart, and tranquillizes the most stormy passions. You will

say, perhaps, that you have not leisure to pray every time your temper

is provoked, or your heart is grieved.--It requires no time--the inward

ejaculation of ‘Lord, help me to overcome this temptation,’ may be

made in any place and amid any employments; and if uttered in humble

sincerity, the voice that said to the raging waters, ‘Peace! Be still!’

will restore quiet to your troubled soul.

As the first step in education, I have recommended gentle, but constant

efforts to attract the attention, and improve the bodily senses. I

would here suggest the importance of preserving the organs of those

senses in full vigor. For instance, the cradle should be so placed

that the face of the infant may be in shade. A stream of light is

dangerous to his delicate organs of vision; and if it be allowed to

come in at one side, he may turn his eyes, in the effort to watch it.

Glaring red curtains and brilliantly striped Venetian carpeting are bad

things in a nursery, for similar reasons.

I have said nothing concerning the physical wants of children,--their

food, diseases, &c,--because such subjects are not embraced in the

design of the present work.

The judicious and experienced are universally agreed that the best

books for these purposes are, ‘DEWEES’ TREATISE UPON CHILDREN,’ and

‘ADVICE TO YOUNG MOTHERS, BY A GRANDMOTHER.’

CHAP. II.

THE AFFECTIONS.

The cultivation of the affections comes next to the development of the

bodily senses; or rather they may be said to begin together, so early

does the infant heart receive impressions. The uniform gentleness, to

which I have before alluded, and the calm state of the mother’s own

feelings, have much to do with the affections of the child.

Kindness toward animals is of great importance. Children should be

encouraged in pitying their distress; and if guilty of any violent

treatment toward them, they should see that you are grieved and

displeased at such conduct.

Before showing any disapprobation of his conduct, however, it should be

explained to a very young child when he really does hurt an animal; for

young children are often cruel from the mere thoughtlessness of frolic;

they strike an animal as they would strike a log of wood, without

knowing that they occasion pain.

I once saw a mother laugh very heartily at the distressed face of a

kitten, which a child of two years old was pulling backward by the

tail. At last, the kitten, in self-defence, turned and scratched the

boy. He screamed, and his mother ran to him, kissed the wound, and beat

the poor kitten, saying all the time, ‘Naughty kitten, to scratch John!

I’ll beat her for scratching John! There, ugly puss!’

This little incident, trifling as it seems, no doubt had important

effects on the character of the child; especially as a mother, who

would do such a thing once, would be very likely to do it habitually.

In the first place, the child was encouraged in cruelty, by seeing that

it gave his mother amusement. Had she explained to him that he was

hurting the kitten, and expressed her pity by saying, ‘Oh, don’t hurt

kitty--she is a good little puss--and she loves John’--what a different

impression would have been made on his infant heart!

In the next place, the kitten was struck for defending herself; this

was injustice to the injured animal, and a lesson of tyranny to the

boy. In the third place, striking the kitten because she had scratched

him, was teaching him retaliation. For that reason, a chair or a

foot-stool, against which he had accidentally hurt himself, should

never be struck, or treated in an angry manner. _You_ know, to be sure,

that an inanimate object is not capable of feeling pain; but your

infant does not know it; the influence upon _him_ is, that it is right

to injure when we are injured.

It is a common opinion that a spirit of revenge is _natural_ to

children. No doubt bad temper, as well as other evils, moral and

physical, are often hereditary--and here is a fresh reason for being

good ourselves, if we would have our children good. But allowing that

evil propensities are hereditary, and therefore born with children, how

are they excited, and called into action?

First, by the influences of the nursery--those early influences, which,

beginning as they do with life itself, are easily mistaken for the

operations of nature; and in the second place, by the temptations of

the world.

Now, if a child has ever so bad propensities, if the influences of the

nursery be pure and holy, his evils will never be excited, or roused

into action, until his understanding is enlightened, and his principles

formed, so that he has power to resist them. The temptations of the

world will then do him no harm; he will ‘overcome evil with good.’

But if, on the other hand, the influences of the nursery are bad, the

weak passions of the child are strengthened before his understanding

is made strong; he gets into habits of evil before he is capable of

perceiving that they are evil. Consequently, when he comes out into the

world, he brings no armor against its temptations. Evil is within and

without. And should the Lord finally bring him out of Egypt, it must

be after a dark, and weary bondage.

The mind of a child is not like that of a grown person, too full and

too busy to observe everything; it is a vessel empty and pure--always

ready to receive, and always receiving.

Every look, every movement, every expression, does something toward

forming the character of the little heir to immortal life.

Do you regard it as too much trouble thus to keep watch over yourself?

Surely the indulgence of evil is no privilege: the yoke of goodness is

far lighter and easier to bear, than the bondage of evil. Is not the

restraint you impose upon yourself for the good of your child, blessed,

doubly blessed, to your own soul? Does not the little cherub in this

way guide you to heaven, marking the pathway by the flowers he scatters

as he goes.

The rule, then, for developing good affections in a child is, that he

never be allowed to see or feel the influence of bad passions, even in

the most trifling things; and in order to effect this, you must drive

evil passions out of your own heart. Nothing can be real that has not

its home _within_ us. The only sure way, as well as the easiest, to

_appear_ good, is to _be_ good.

It is not possible to indulge anger, or any other wrong feeling, and

conceal it entirely. If not expressed in words, a child _feels_ the

baneful influence. Evil enters into his soul, as the imperceptible

atmosphere he breathes enters into his lungs: and the beautiful little

image of God is removed farther and farther from his home in heaven.

CHAP. III.

INTELLECT.--ATTENTION.

The first effort of intellect is to associate the names of objects with

the sight of them. To assist a babe in this particular, when you direct

his attention to any object, speak the name of the object, slowly and

distinctly. After a few times, he will know the thing by its name; and

if you say Dog, when the dog is not in the room, he will show that he

knows what you mean, by looking round in search of him.

By degrees, a few words can be added. He will soon learn to repeat,

‘Good little dog;’ and though he may not have very exact ideas of what

good means, the tone of the voice, and the manner in which you speak,

will make him think it is something pleasant. When you draw a child’s

attention to a living thing, it is well to accompany it with some

endearment to the animal; this will awaken his affections, as well as

his thoughts. In teaching a child to talk, low, mild tones should be

used.

Too much cannot be said on the importance of giving children early

habits of observation. This must be done by teaching them to pay

attention to surrounding objects, and to inquire the why and wherefore

of everything. No doubt many mothers will say, ‘I cannot thus train

the minds of my children; for it is my misfortune not to have had an

education myself.’ This answer is very frequently given; and if by

education is meant book-learning, the excuse is indeed a poor one.

Good judgment, kind feelings, and habitual command over one’s own

passions, are necessary in the education of children; but learning is

not necessary. The mother, who has had no other advantages than are

furnished by a public school in a remote country village, knows a great

many more things than a child of three or four years can possibly know.

Early accustom your children to inquire about the things they handle.

What if you cannot always answer them? You do them an immense deal of

good by giving their minds active habits. If a spirit of inquiry is

once aroused, it will, sooner or later, find means to satisfy itself;

and thus the inquisitive boy will become an energetic, capable man.

I will give some familiar instances of what I mean. Generally speaking,

when mothers have done superintending domestic concerns for the day,

and have seated themselves, to ‘take some comfort,’ as the phrase is,

‘with their children,’ they spend the time in trotting them, or shaking

the rattle, or dragging about the little cart, or repeating over and

over again, ‘pat a cake, pat a cake.’ Now this is extremely well; and

should on no account be omitted. But something ought to be mixed with

these plays to give the child habits of thought. Toys amuse him for

the time; but he grows weary of them, and when he does not hear, or

see them, they do not furnish anything for him to think about. But

should you, while tossing a ball, stop and say, ‘This ball is _round_;

this little tea-table is _square_. Now George knows what _round_ and

_square_ mean,’--it would give him something to think about. When he

has a new toy, he will think to himself whether it is round or square.

It is not well to tell him more than one thing at a time, or to enter

into any detailed explanations. It is a bad thing to have infant

attention wearied. It is enough for him to know that the ball is round

and the table square. When he is older, you can explain to him that a

square has always equal sides, and that the edge of a round thing is

always equally distant from the centre.

Another day, should you show him your ball of yarn, and ask him if it

be round or square, the chance is, he will answer correctly. If he does

recollect what you have told him, it will make his little heart very

happy; and should you reward his answer with a smile and a kiss, you

will undoubtedly have done much to awaken his powers of observation.

So much for the first step.--At another time, should you chance to be

spinning a dollar, or a cent, for his amusement, you can, in the midst

of the play, stop and say, ‘This dollar is round, as well as the ball;

but the dollar is flat, and the ball is not flat. If George puts his

hand on the dollar, he will feel that it is flat; and if he puts his

hand on the ball, he will feel that it is not flat. Now George knows

what _flat_ means.’ Here I would remark, that if the child is impatient

to have the dollar spinning, and does not love to hear about its form,

it is unwise to cross his inclinations. We never remember so well what

we do not love to hear; and forced instruction is apt to injure the

temper, and give an early aversion to knowledge.

We are apt to forget that things long familiar to us are entirely

unknown to an infant. There is hardly anything connected with his

little wants, which may not be made a pleasant medium of instruction.

When eating a piece of bread, the following questions may be asked and

answered. ‘What is bread made of?’ ‘I don’t know; what is it made of,

mother?’ ‘It is made of grain; sometimes of rye, sometimes of Indian

meal, and sometimes of flour.’ ‘What is grain made of?’ ‘It grows in

the field. The farmers plant it in the ground, and God causes it to

grow.’

When a child is playing with his kitten, it is easy to mix instruction

with his enjoyment, by saying, ‘Feel pussy’s fur--how smooth it is.

Feel this piece of coral--how rough it is. Pussy’s fur is smooth, and

the coral is rough. Now George knows what _smooth_ and _rough_ mean.’

As he grows older, the information given him may be of a higher

character. He can be told, ‘The andirons are made of brass. Brass is

called a metal; it is dug out of the earth.’ At another time, he may

be asked, ‘What is the cover of your book made of?’ If he answer,

‘Of leather,’ ask him what leather is made of. If he does not know,

tell him it is made of a calf’s skin. Then ask him whether the cover

of his book is a metal. If he say, ‘No,’ ask him what is the reason

it is not. If he cannot answer, tell him, ‘Because metals are always

dug out of the earth. Leather is not dug out of the earth; it is made

of calf-skin; therefore it is an _animal_ substance, not a metal.

Does George know what an animal is? It is a creature that grows, and

can move about from one place to another. Your kitten is an animal;

she grows bigger every day; and she moves about. The brass andirons

are not animals. They do not grow any larger, and they cannot move.’

Afterward, when a proper opportunity occurs, ask him to tell you the

difference between a metal and an animal.

If he bring you a rose, you can say, ‘Thank you, George, for this

rose. Now, can you tell me what it is? Is it a metal?’ ‘No.’ ‘Is it an

animal?’ ‘I should think not, mother.’ ‘What is it, then?’ ‘I don’t

know.’ ‘I will tell you. It is a vegetable. Vegetables grow out of the

earth. They are not like metals, because they grow larger and larger;

and they are not like animals, because they cannot move of themselves.

What are you, George?’ ‘I am not a metal, for I grow bigger every

day. I am not a vegetable, for I can walk. I think I am an animal.’

‘Right, my dear son. Now you know the meaning of metals, animals, and

vegetables.’

Such conversations as these will make his thoughts busy; and when he

takes a book he will probably ask, ‘What are the leaves of books made

of?’ ‘They are made of paper.’ ‘What is paper made of?’ ‘Of rags.’

‘What are rags made of?’ ‘Sometimes of linen, and sometimes of cotton.

Cotton grows in a pod, and linen is made from a plant called flax.’

‘Then the leaves of my book are vegetable.’ This discovery, simple as

it is, will afford the boy great pleasure, and will make it more easy

to exercise his powers of thought.

I dare say the preceding hints will sound silly enough to many mothers;

but they are nevertheless founded in reason and sound sense. It is

a fact that children, thus early accustomed to observe, will have a

wonderful power of amusing themselves. They will examine every figure

in the carpet, and think to themselves whether it is round, or square;

and will sit, by the half hour, quietly watching the figures on

copper-plate, or calico.

Arithmetic may very early be made a source of amusement; for children

can very soon learn to count sticks or marbles, and tell how many they

should have left, if you should take away any given number.

With regard to the kind of information conveyed, as well as the

quantity, that should depend upon the child’s age, intelligence, and

progress; things which no person can have an opportunity to observe

and know, so well as a mother. The system of making _use_ of all the

common incidents of life to convey knowledge, and improve the heart,

may be begun in the earliest childhood, and continued even until youth

ripens into manhood. I will give a simple instance: Quite a large boy,

when sailing in a boat, may be asked to observe how the hills and the

trees _seem_ to move from him, while in fact the boat alone is moving.

The simple fact may not be of much consequence to him; for if he is a

bright boy, he would have noticed it himself, without being asked to

attend to it: but you can make it the means of illustrating another

idea, by saying, ‘Just so the sun _seems_ to move round the earth; but

it does not move. The sun stands still, as the hills and trees do; but

the earth is moving all the time.’

I am aware that these habits of inquiry are at times very troublesome;

for no one, however patient, can be always ready to answer the

multitude of questions a child is disposed to ask. But it must be

remembered that all good things are accompanied with inconveniences.

The care of children requires a great many sacrifices, and a great deal

of self-denial; but the woman, who is not willing to sacrifice a good

deal in such a cause, does not deserve to be a mother. Besides, the

thoughtless, indolent parent, who is not willing to make sacrifices,

and take trouble, does in fact have the most trouble; for the evils

she would not check at first, when it might easily have been done,

afterward grow too strong for her management.

But to return to the subject of asking questions. It is a spirit which

should not be discouraged; but at the same time, children should be

taught that they cannot _always_ be attended to. If you are otherwise

occupied, and their inquiries distract you, think a moment, and collect

yourself, lest you should answer pettishly.

Do not say, ‘How you plague me, Jane! I wish you would go away, and

keep still!’ But say, ‘I am very busy now, Jane. I cannot attend to

you. If you will remember to ask me by and by, when I can attend to

you, I will talk with you about it.’ If the child persists, the answer

should be, ‘You know I always tell you what you ask, when I am not

very busy. I cannot attend to you now; and if you teaze me, I shall be

very sorry; for I shall be obliged to put you out of the room.’ After

this threat is once made, nothing should induce you to refrain from

observing it. In order that your child may be easily satisfied with

these kind, but firm refusals, when you are busy, you should try to

bear in mind the question she has asked, and take the first leisure

moment to reply to it. This will give her confidence in what you have

said; and she will know it was not done merely to put her off.

Perhaps another difficulty may occur; your children may ask questions

that you do not know how to answer In that case, as in all others, the

honest truth should be told. The reply should be, ‘I do not know. When

father comes home, we will ask him; perhaps he can tell us.’ If father

does not know, the answer should be, ‘As soon as you have money enough,

I will buy you a book, that will tell all about it:’ and this, like all

other things that are promised, should be done.

If, as is often the case, a child asks an explanation, which would be

altogether above his powers of comprehension, the answer should be,

‘If I were to tell you, you could not understand it now. You must wait

till you are older.’ If your child has been early accustomed to the

strictest regard to truth, he will believe what you say, and try to be

satisfied. Some children, being too much praised for their quickness,

or their wit, ask a number of useless, pert questions. This disposition

should be promptly and decidedly checked; for it is the germ of vanity

and affectation. To avoid exciting this evil in the mind of a bright

child, a very intelligent question, or remark, should never be quoted

as anything remarkable, nor should he be at all encouraged to show off

before company. The habit of reciting verses, and displaying other

acquirements before strangers, seems to me the worst of all possible

things for children. They should be taught to love knowledge for the

sake of the good it will enable them to do others, not because they

will gain praise by it. An inordinate love of reputation is always

a powerful temptation to active minds; and the more the evil is

fostered in the nursery, the harder it is to overcome. Children should

hear learning, and wealth, and all other external gifts, spoken of

according to their true value--that is, their usefulness. They should

be told, ‘The more knowledge you gain, the more useful you can be, when

you become a man.’

Perhaps you will say, that as your children grow older, they cannot

help learning that a rose is a vegetable, the andirons a metal, &c.;

and you will ask what is the use of teaching it to them a few years

earlier than they would naturally take to find it out of themselves. I

readily allow that the knowledge itself is of very little consequence

to them; but the _habits of attention and activity of mind_, which you

give them, are worth everything.

If you take the trouble to observe, you will find those who are the

most useful, and of course the most successful, in any department, are

those who are in the habit of observing closely, and thinking about

what they observe.

Why is it that a botanist will see hundreds of plants in a field, which

the careless stroller may pass again and again without perceiving? It

is because his _attention_ has been fixed upon plants. How is the great

novelist enabled to give you such natural pictures of life and manners?

A close _attention_ to all the varieties of human character, enables

him to represent them as they are.

You will find that a smart, notable housewife is always an ‘_observing_

woman.’ What constitutes the difference between a neat, faithful

domestic, and a heedless, sluttish one? One pays _attention_ to what

she is about, and the other does not. The slut’s hands may be very

dirty, but she does not _observe_ it; every time she takes hold of

the door, she may leave it covered with black prints, but she does

not _observe_ it. One educated to _attend_ to things about her, would

immediately see these defects and remedy them.

We often hear it said, ‘Such a person has good sense, and good

feelings; but, somehow or other, he has no faculty.’ The ‘faculty’ that

is wanting is nothing more or less than active habits of observation

acquired in early life.

Those who give their attention exclusively to one thing, become

great in that one thing; and will in all probability be careless and

unobserving about everything else. This sort of character is not

desirable; for if it makes a man greater in one particular branch,

it much impairs his general usefulness. In a woman it is peculiarly

unfortunate; for, whether she be rich or poor, the sphere allotted her

by Providence requires attention to many things.

Literary women are not usually domestic; not because they cannot

easily be so--but because they early acquired the habit of attending

to literary things, and of neglecting others. It is not true that

intellectual pursuits leave no time to attend to the common concerns

of life. A fashionable woman spends more time and thought about her

dress, than the most learned woman spends about books. It is merely

_attention_ that is wanted to make the belle literary, and the learned

lady domestic.

All the faculties of a child’s mind should be cultivated, and they

should early acquire a power of varying their attention, so as to

be able to bestow it easily upon any subject whatsoever. Some think

it a sign of good sense to despise good taste; hence the universal

complaint that scholars are awkward and slovenly. Unquestionably this

is better than the silly pursuit of ever-varying fashion; but there is

no need of either extreme--extremes always lie on one side or the other

of truth and nature.

Some, seeing the disastrous effects of an over-heated imagination,

think that any degree of imagination is inconsistent with good

judgment. This is a mistake.--The finest imagination may be kept

perfectly in check by good sense, provided all the powers of the mind

are _equally_ cultivated in early life. A great writer has said, ‘In

forming the human character, we must not proceed as a statuary does in

forming a statue, who works sometimes on the face, sometimes on the

limbs, and sometimes on the folds of the drapery; but we must proceed

(and it certainly is in our power) as nature does in forming a flower,

or any other of her productions; she throws out altogether and at once

the whole system of being, and the rudiments of all the parts.’

To a woman, the power of changing attention is peculiarly valuable.

I have said that an exclusive attention to learning was a fault, as

well as an exclusive attention to fashion; but while I condemn the

_excessive_ love of books, I must insist that the power of finding

enjoyment in reading is above all price, particularly to a woman.

A full mind is a great safeguard to virtue and happiness in every

situation of life. Multitudes of people do wrong from mere emptiness of

mind, and want of occupation.

Children should be early taught by example to listen attentively

to intelligent conversation, and should afterward be encouraged in

referring to it. This will occasion a thirst for information, which

will lead to a love of reading. But while you try to encourage a love

of books, remember to direct their attention to other things at the

same time. For instance, show your daughter at which end you begin to

grate a nutmeg, and explain to her that if you began at the end once

fastened to the branch, it would grate full of holes; because the

fibres which held it together were fastened at that place, and being

broken, they fall out. When sewing, you can call attention to the fact

that sewing-silk splits much better for being first drawn through the

wax; and that a wristband is put on before the sleeve is sewed, because

it can be managed more conveniently.

I mention these merely as familiar instances how the attention may be

kept awake, and ready to devote itself to little things, as well as

great. If a girl feels interested in nothing but books, she will in all

probability be useless, or nearly so, in all the relations dearest to a

good woman’s heart; if, on the other hand, she gives all her attention

to household matters, she will become a mere drudge, and will lose many

valuable sources of enjoyment and usefulness. This may be said in favor

of an over-earnest love of knowledge--a great mind can attend to little

things, but a little mind cannot attend to great things.

CHAP. IV.

MANAGEMENT.

This phrase is a very broad and comprehensive one. Under it I mean to

include all that relates to rewards and punishments, and the adaptation

of education to different characters and dispositions.

The good old fashioned maxim that ‘example is better than precept,’ is

the best thing to begin with. The great difficulty in education is that

we give _rules_ instead of inspiring _sentiments_. The simple fact that

your child never saw you angry, that your voice is always gentle, and

the expression of your face always kind, is worth a thousand times more

than all the rules you can give him about not beating his dog, pinching

his brother, &c. It is in vain to load the understanding with rules,

if the affections are not pure. In the first place, it is not possible

to make rules enough to apply to all manner of cases; and if it were

possible, a child would soon forget them. But if you inspire him with

right _feelings_, they will govern his _actions_. All our thoughts and

actions come from our affections; if we love what is good, we shall

think and do what is good. Children are not so much influenced by

what we say and do in particular reference to them, as by the general

effect of our characters and conversation. They are in a great degree

creatures of imitation. If they see a mother fond of finery, they

become fond of finery; if they see her selfish, it makes them selfish;

if they see her extremely anxious for the attention of wealthy people,

they learn to think wealth is the only good.

Those whose early influence is what it should be, will find their

children easy to manage, as they grow older.

An infant’s wants should be attended to without waiting for him to cry.

At first, a babe cries merely from a sensation of suffering--because

food, warmth, or other comforts necessary to his young existence, are

withheld; but when he finds crying is the only means of attracting

attention, he soon gets in the habit of crying for everything. To

avoid this, his wants should be attended to, whether he demand it or

not. Food, sleep, and necessary comforts should be supplied to him

at such times as the experience of his mother may dictate. If he has

been sitting on the floor, playing quietly by himself a good while,

take him up and amuse him, if you can spare time, without waiting for

weariness to render him fretful. Who can blame a child for fretting and

screaming, if experience has taught him that he cannot get his wants

attended to in any other manner?

Young children should never be made to cry by plaguing them, for the

sake of fun; it makes them seriously unhappy for the time, and has an

injurious effect upon their dispositions. When in any little trouble,

they should be helped as quick as possible. When their feet are caught

in the rounds of a chair, or their playthings entangled, or when any

other of the thousand-and-one afflictions of baby-hood occur, it is an

easy thing to teach them to wait by saying, ‘Stop a minute, and I will

come to you.’ But do not say this, to put them off; attend to them as

quick as your employments will permit; they will then wait patiently

should another disaster occur. Children, who have entire confidence

that the simple truth is always spoken to them, are rarely troublesome.

A silent influence, which they do not perceive, is better for young

children than direct rules and prohibitions. For instance, should a

child be in ill humor, without any apparent cause, (as will sometimes

happen)--should he push down his playthings, and then cry because

he has injured them--chase the kitten, and then cry because she has

run out of his reach--it is injurious to take any direct notice of

it, by saying, ‘How cross you are to-day, James! What a naughty boy

you are! I don’t love you to-day.’ This, in all probability, will

make matters worse. The better way is to draw off his attention to

pleasant thoughts by saying, ‘I am going in the garden’--or, ‘I am

going out to see the calf. Does James want to go with me?’ If, in the

capriciousness of his humor, he says he does not want to go, do not

urge him: make preparations to go, and he will soon be inclined to

follow. A few flowers, or a little pleasant talk about the calf, will,

in all probability, produce entire forgetfulness of his troubles. If

the employment suggested to him combine usefulness with pleasure,--such

as feeding the chickens, shelling peas for dinner, &c., so much

the better. The habit of assisting others, excites the benevolent

affections, and lays the foundation of industry.

When a little child has been playing, and perhaps quarrelling, out of

doors, and comes in with his face all of a blaze, sobbing and crying,

it is an excellent plan to take him by the hand and say, ‘What is

the matter, my dear boy? Tell me what is the matter. But, how dirty

your face is! Let me wash your face nicely, and wipe it dry, and then

you shall sit in my lap and tell me all about it.’ If he is washed

gently, the sensation will be pleasant and refreshing, and by the time

the operation is finished, his attention will be drawn off from his

vexations; his temper will be cooled, as well as his face. Then seat

him in your lap, encourage him to tell you all about his troubles, comb

his hair gently in the mean time, and in a few minutes the vexation of

his little spirit will be entirely soothed. This secret of calling off

the attention by little kind offices is very valuable to those who have

the care of invalids, or young children. Bathing the hands and feet, or

combing the hair gently, will sometimes put a sick person asleep when

he can obtain rest in no other way.

An experienced and very judicious mother told me that, in the course

of twenty years’ experience, she had never known washing the face and

combing the hair, fail to soothe an angry and tired child. But then it

must be done gently. The reason children frequently have an aversion to

being washed is that they are taken hold of roughly, and rubbed very

hard. If you occasion them pain by the operation, can you wonder they

dread it?

By such expedients as I have mentioned, ill-humor and discontent are

driven away by the influence of kindness and cheerfulness; ‘evil is

overcome with good.’ Whipping and scolding could not have produced

quiet so soon; and if they could, the child’s temper would have been

injured in the process.

I have said that example and silent influence were better than direct

rules and commands. Nevertheless, there are cases where rules must be

made; and children must be taught to obey implicitly. For instance, a

child must be expressly forbidden to play with fire, to climb upon the

tables, &c. But whenever it is possible, restraint should be invisible.

The first and most important step in management is, that whatever a

mother says, always _must_ be done. For this reason, do not require

too much; and on no account allow your child to do at one time, what

you have forbidden him at another. Sometimes when a woman feels easy

and good-natured, and does not expect any company, she will allow

her children to go to the table and take lumps of sugar; but should

visiters be in the room, or she out of humor with the occurrences of

the day, she will perhaps scold, or strike them, for the self-same

trick. How can a mother expect obedience to commands so selfish and

capricious? What inferences will a child draw from such conduct? You

may smile at the idea that very young children draw inferences; but

it is a fact, that they do draw inferences--and very just ones too.

We mistake, when we trust too much to children’s not thinking, or

observing. They are shrewd reasoners in all cases where their little

interests are concerned. They know a mother’s ruling passion; they soon

discover her weak side, and learn how to attack it most successfully.

I will relate a little anecdote, to show that children are acute

observers of character. A wealthy lady, fond of dress and equipage, was

the mother of a thoughtless little rogue. One day, he seized hold of a

demijohn of wine, which a larger boy had placed upon the side-walk of

a secluded alley, while he joined his companions in play; the little

fellow persisted in striking the demijohn on the pavement, for his

amusement. He was repeatedly warned that he would break the bottle and

spill the wine; and at last this did happen. His mother, being told of

the mischief he had so wantonly done, immediately paid for the wine,

and ordered him to be undressed and put to bed, although it was then

in the middle of the day. While this operation was performed by the

nursery maid, he said, ‘Betsy, it is my private opinion, that I should

have had a whipping _if mother hadn’t had her best gown on_.’[1]

To return to my subject.--The necessity of obedience early instilled

is the foundation of all good management. If children see you governed

by a real wish for their good, rather than by your own selfishness,

or capricious freaks, they will easily acquire this excellent habit.

Wilful disobedience should never go unpunished. If a little child

disobeys you from mere forgetfulness and frolic, it is best to take

no notice of it; for his intention is not bad, and authority has

greater effect when used sparingly, and on few occasions. Should he

forget the same injunction again, look at him very seriously, and

tell him that if he forgets it again, you shall be obliged to punish

him. Should he commit the offence the third time, take from him the

means of committing it; for instance, if you tell him not to tear his

picture-book, and he does tear it, take it away from him. Perhaps he

will pout and show ill humor;--will push off with his little chair,

and say, ‘I don’t love you, mother.’--If so, take no notice. Do not

laugh, for that would irritate him, without performing the least use;

do not seem offended with him, for that will awaken a love of power in

his little mind. It excites very bad feelings in a child to see that

he can vex a parent, and make her lose her self-command. In spite of

his displeasure, therefore, continue your employment tranquilly, as

if nothing had happened. If his ill humor continue, however, and show

itself in annoyances to you, and others around him, you should take

him by the hand, look very seriously in his face, and say, ‘James, you

are such a naughty boy, that I must punish you. I am very sorry to

punish you; but I must, that you may remember to be good next time.’

This should be done with perfect calmness, and a look of regret. When

a child is punished in anger, he learns to consider it a species of

revenge; when he is punished in sorrow, he believes that it is done for

his good.

The punishment for such peevishness as I have mentioned should be

being tied in an arm-chair, or something of that simple nature. I do

not approve of shutting the little offender in the closet. The sudden

transition from light to darkness affects him with an undefined species

of horror, even if he has been kept perfectly free from frightful

stories. A very young child will become quite cold in a few minutes, at

midsummer, if shut in a dark closet.

If the culprit is obstinate, and tries to seem as if he did not care

for his punishment, let him remain in confinement till he gets very

tired; but in the meanwhile be perfectly calm yourself, and follow your

usual occupations. You can judge by his actions, and the expression

of his countenance, whether his feelings begin to soften. Seize a

favorable moment, and ask him if he is sorry he has been so naughty;

if he says, ‘Yes,’ let him throw himself into your arms, kiss him, and

tell him you hope he will never be naughty again; for if he is you must

punish him, and it makes you very sorry to punish him. Here is the key

to all good management: always punish a child for wilfully disobeying

you in the most trifling particular; but never punish him in anger.

I once heard a lady very pertly say, ‘Well, I should be ashamed of

myself if I _could_ punish a child when I was not angry. Anybody must

be very hard-hearted that can do it.’ Several of her companions laughed

at this speech; but for myself, I saw neither wit nor wisdom in it.

The woman who punishes her child because she is angry, acts from the

selfish motive of indulging her own bad passions; she who punishes

because it is necessary for the child’s good, acts from a disinterested

regard to his future happiness.

As for the kind and degree of punishment, it should be varied according

to the age and character of the child, and according to the nature of

the offence. We must remember that very young children do not know

what is right and wrong, until we explain it to them. A child should

not be punished the first time he tears his picture-book, or cuts his

gown. He should be told that it is very naughty, and that he must not

do it again. It is well to show the torn book to his father, and other

members of the family, saying with a look of concern, ‘See how George

has torn his picture-book! What a pity. I am _so_ sorry.’ This will

impress the magnitude of the fault upon his mind, and he will not be

so likely to forget it.

But should he make a grieved lip, and appear distressed at your

conversation, change the current of his feelings by saying, ‘But I am

sure he will never do such a naughty thing again. He is sorry for it.’

Having thus impressed his mind, do not recur to the subject again.

The form of punishment should always be as mild as it can be and

produce the desired effect. Being sent to bed in the middle of the

day is a great privation; and it does not excite bad feelings so much

as some other forms of punishment. Small children may be tied in an

arm-chair, sent out of the room and forbidden to return, put to bed

without supper, &c. Eating dinner separate from the family, or not

being allowed to kiss father and mother, is a grievous penance to

children of sensibility. Privation of any expected pleasure usually

makes a deep impression.

Where it is possible, it is a good plan to make the punishment similar

to the offence. If a child is quarrelsome, or mischievous, among his

companions, make him play in a room by himself. If he is studying with

others, and chooses to be very disobliging, or annoying, send him to

another room to study alone; or, if this is not convenient, make him

sit at a table by himself, and allow no one to speak to him during the

evening. His offences having been anti-social, his punishment should be

so likewise. Being deprived of social intercourse will teach him its

value.

If a child abuse any good thing, it is well to take it from him, and

make him feel the want of it. Thus if he abuse your confidence, do not

trust him again for some time. But if he is really repentant, restore

it to him; and when you do trust him, trust him entirely. Allusions to

former faults have a disheartening effect, particularly on sensitive,

affectionate children.

Above all things, never suffer a child to be accused of a fault, until

you are perfectly sure he has been guilty of it. If he is innocent,

the idea that you could think him capable of wickedness will distress

him, and will in some degree weaken the strength of his virtue. I would

rather lose the Pitt diamond, if it were mine, than let an innocent

child know he had been for one moment suspected of stealing it. The

conscious dignity of integrity should always be respected.

While speaking of punishments, I would suggest one caution. Never

undertake to make a child do a thing unless you are very sure you can

make him do it. One instance of successful resistance to parental

authority will undo the effects of a year’s obedience. If a boy is

too bad to be governed by any other means than flogging, and is too

strong for you, do not attempt to manage him: tell his father, or his

guardians, of his disobedience, and request them to punish him.

Fear should on no occasion be used as a preventive, or a punishment.

If children want anything improper for them to have, do not tell

them it will bite them. It is not true; and the smallest child will

soon learn by experience that it is not true. This will teach him to

disbelieve you, when you really do tell the truth, and will soon make a

liar of him. Care should be taken not to inspire a terror of animals,

such as beetles, mice, spiders, &c. Fortunately we have no venomous

creatures in New-England, which are likely to infest the nursery. As

for spiders, they are quite as likely to bite a child who is afraid

of them, as one who is not; and if such a thing should happen, a

little swelling, and a few hours’ pain, are not half as bad as fear,

that troubles one all his life long. Children would never have fear

of animals, unless it were put into their heads. A little girl of my

acquaintance once came running in with a striped snake, exclaiming ‘Oh,

what a beautiful creature I have found!’ Her mother acknowledged that

she shuddered, because she had herself been taught to fear snakes; but

she knew the creature would not hurt her daughter, and she would not

allow herself to express any horror; she merely advised her to set the

animal at liberty.

Not to kill any animal, seems to me an excess of a good thing. The

vermin that infest our houses and gardens must be destroyed, and

children must see them destroyed. But it should always be done with

expressed regret, and as mercifully as possible. The explanation that

we kill them to prevent the evil they would do, is very good, and very

satisfactory. But the fact is, there are very few creatures in this

climate which do us harm; more than half our aversions to animals are

mere prejudices.

However, it is not evils which can be seen, met, and understood, that

usually frighten children. A child is told that fire will burn him if

he touches it, and if he has been accustomed to the truth, he believes

it; but he will stay in the room where there is a fire without fear;

for he knows by experience, that the fire cannot come to him. But they

are frightened with mysterious ideas of something in the dark--with

stories of old men prowling about to steal them--rats and mice that

will come and bite them, when they are shut up in the closet, &c.

I cannot find language strong enough to express what a woman deserves,

who embitters the whole existence of her offspring by filling their

minds with such terrific images. She who can tell a frightful story to

her child, or allow one to be told, ought to have a guardian appointed

over herself.

Let us examine what the motives must be, that lead to such measures.

It is indolence--pure indolence; a mother is not willing to take the

pains, and practise the self-denial, which firm and gentle management

requires; she therefore terrifies her child into obedience. She

implants in his mind a principle that will, in all probability, make

him more or less wretched through his whole life, merely to save

herself a few moments’ trouble! Very strong minds may overcome, or

nearly overcome, early impressions of this kind; but in cases of

weak nerves, or acute natural sensibility, it is utterly impossible

to calculate the extent of the evil. And all this to save a little

trouble! What selfishness!

However, Divine Providence has so ordered it, that whatever is wrong,

is really bad _policy_, as well as bad _morality_. ‘Lazy people _must_

take the most pains’ in the end. Fill your children with fears to make

them obedient, and those very fears become your tyrants. They cannot go

into the dark without you; and you must sit by their bedside till sleep

relieves them from terror. All this is the consequence of avoiding

a little trouble in the beginning. Is it not a dear price for the

whistle?

The management of children should vary according to their character.

A very active mind, full of restless curiosity, does not need to be

excited; but a feeble or sluggish character should be aroused, as much

as possible, by external means. For instance, if there is any wonderful

sight to be seen in the neighborhood, such as a caravan of animals, a

striking picture, wonderful mechanism, &c., and if it be inconvenient

for you to take more than one of the children under your care, let the

treat be given to the one whose character most needs to be aroused. Of

course, I do not mean that _lazy_ children should be entertained, in

preference to industrious ones; I mean where there is a pre-disposition

to dulness, owing to early disease, an afflicted state of his mother’s

mind before his birth, or while nursing him, &c;--in such cases, the

thoughts and affections should be excited with an extraordinary degree

of care. A timid child should be encouraged more than a bold and

confident one; and if necessary to punish him, means should be used as

little likely to break his spirit as possible. A boy whose perceptions

are slow, and who learns with labor and difficulty, should be indulged

in reading a new book, or attending to a new branch of study, which

particularly interests him; but a boy of quick perceptions, and ready

memory, should be kept at one thing as long as possible. Such different

characters are in danger of totally different defects. One is in danger

of never getting his mind interested in knowledge, and the other of

getting so much interested in everything, that he will learn nothing

well; therefore they should be managed in a manner entirely opposite.

The same rule holds good with regard to the affections: cultivate most

those faculties and good feelings, which appear to be of the slowest

growth. If a love of power early develope itself in one member of your

family with more strength than in the others, subject that child to

more restraint than you do the others. But in checking him, do not

yourself act from a love of power: explain to him, at every step, that

you govern him thus strictly, only to assist him in overcoming a great

evil. If you really act from this motive, your child will perceive it

to be true, and will respect you.

There is such an immense variety in human character, that it is

impossible to give rules adapted to all cases. The above hints will

explain my general meaning; and observation and experience will

enable a judicious mother to apply them with wisdom and kindness. I

will merely add to what I have said, the old proverb, that ‘An ounce

of prevention is worth a pound of cure.’--If a child has any evil

particularly strong, it is far better to avoid exciting it, than to

punish it when it is excited. Whatever may be the consequences of evil,

it always gains fresh power over us by every instance of indulgence.

As much as possible, keep a young child out of the way of temptation

which it is peculiarly hard for him to resist; and by reading, by

conversation, by caresses, make him in love with the opposite good;

when once his _feelings_ are right on the subject, temptation will do

him good instead of harm.

When a child is to be punished, he should always be told calmly, ‘I

am obliged to do this for your good. If I do not punish you, you will

not remember next time. You have promised two or three times to do as

I bade you, but you always forget it; now I must make you suffer a

little, that you may remember it.’

A very young child can understand and appreciate this management. I

knew a girl of five years old, who had the habit of biting her nails

so close, that her fingers were perpetually inflamed. Her mother had

tried arguments, and various privations, without producing much effect.

One day, the child, as usual, put her fingers to her mouth, to bite

her nails; but suddenly withdrawing them, she came up to her mother’s

writing table, and said, ‘Mother, slap my hand smartly with your ruler

every time I bite my nails, and then I shall remember.’ Her mother did

as she was desired, saying, ‘I hope you will remember now, and that

I shall never have to do this again.’ The girl winced a little,--for

her mother did slap her smartly, though but a very few times; but

she seemed perfectly satisfied, and said, ‘I think that will make me

remember it.’ For several days afterward, if she moved her fingers to

her mouth, she would look at the writing table and smile; and if her

mother perceived her, she would hold up her finger in a cautioning

manner, and smile also. All this was done in perfect good-nature on

both sides. After a while she forgot herself, and bit her nails again;

her mother was not in the room; but she went, of her own accord, and

avowed the fact, saying, ‘Mother, give me a few more slaps than you did

before; and see if that will make me remember it any longer.’ After

that, she never needed correction for the same fault. This little girl

understood the real use of punishment; she did not look upon it as

a sign of anger, but as a means of helping her to overcome what was

wrong.

Mere fear of suffering never makes people really better. It makes them

_conceal_ what is evil, but it does not make them _conquer_ it. They

must be taught to dislike what is wrong merely because it is wrong, and

to look upon punishment as a means to help them to get rid of it. Does

sickness, and misery, and ruin deter the vicious from the commission of

sin? Is not theft indulged at the very foot of the gallows? If a man

do not hate what is wrong, the mere fear of consequences will never

cleanse his heart, though it may regulate his outward behavior; and

what will mere outward goodness avail him in another world, where there

is no possibility of concealment, or hypocrisy? What the child is, the

man will probably be; therefore never make the avoidance of punishment

a _reason_ for avoiding sin.

Having mentioned that a mother slapped her little girl smartly, I

shall very naturally be asked if I approve of whipping. I certainly do

not approve of its very frequent use; still I am not prepared to say

that it is not the best punishment for some dispositions, and in some

particular cases. I do not believe that most children, properly brought

up from the very cradle, would need whipping; but children are not

often thus brought up; and you may have those placed under your care

in whom evil feelings have become very strong. I think whipping should

be resorted to only when the same wrong thing has been done over and

over again, and when gentler punishments have failed. A few smart slaps

sometimes do good when nothing else will; but particular care should be

taken not to correct in anger.

Punishments which make a child ashamed should be avoided. A sense

of degradation is not healthy for the character. It is a very bad

plan for children to be brought into a room before strangers with

a foolscap, or some bad name, fastened upon them. Indeed, I think

strangers should have as little as possible to do with the education of

children; to be either praised, or mortified, before company, makes us

care too much about the opinion of others. I do not mean to inculcate a

defiance of public opinion; such contempt springs from no good feeling,

and like all wrong things, is neither becoming, nor expedient. The

approbation of others does make us happy, and there is no reason why

it should not; but when we do right _because_ people will approve of

it, we begin at the wrong end. If we follow conscientiously what we

perceive to be good, we shall be certain never to be misled; but if we

do what others think right, we shall follow a very uncertain guide,

and pollute the best of actions with a wrong motive. Nay, worse than

all, we shall gradually lose the perception of what is right; and if

folly and sin are the fashion, we shall first _feel_ that they are

fascinating, and then begin to _reason_ openly (when we dare) that

there is no harm in them.

Nothing is a safe guide but the honest convictions of our own hearts.

A good man _will_ always be respected; but he cannot be really good

_because_ he shall be respected for it. Indeed those who have been

taught no holier motive than that of gaining the good opinion of

others, rarely succeed in permanently keeping what they covet so much.

The _heart_ is not right; and however clean they may try to keep the

outside, at some unlucky moment hypocrisy will fail them, and their

real character will peep through.

You may tell a cross, discontented looking woman that the world would

like her face a great deal better, if it were cheerful and benevolent;

but how is she to alter the expression of her face? The mere selfish

wish to be pleasing will not enable her to do it. She must begin

with her _heart_, and religiously drive from thence all unkind and

discontented feelings.

What a change would take place in the world if men were always governed

by internal principle! If they would make pure the hidden fountain,

the light might shine upon the wandering stream, and find it clear and

stainless in all its windings!

I have heard parents say to children, ‘If you don’t get your lessons

better, you will grow up a dunce, and _everybody will laugh at you_.’

The thing to which they are urged is good, but the motive is wrong.

If young people are taught to regulate their actions by a dread of

the world’s laugh, they will be full as likely to be deterred from

good, as from evil. It would be much better to say, ‘If you grow up in

ignorance, you cannot _do half as much good_ in the world, as you can

if you gain all the knowledge in your power. Now, while you are young,

is the best time to fit yourself for being useful.’

I once heard a boy say, ‘Well, mother, I got a grand ride to-day. Last

week I told a man one of his wagon wheels was coming off; and when I

was walking home from school to-day, the same man overtook me, and

asked me to get in and ride. You always told me, _if I helped others,

they would help me_.’ This is a common case. Parents are in the habit

of telling children, ‘If you will be good, you will _lose nothing by

it_.’ This is poisoning the act in the motive. It is not true that we

always meet a return for kindness and generosity; they who expect it

will be disappointed; and not being accustomed to act from any better

motive, they will cease to be benevolent, except when they are sure

of reward. We should look for the recompense of goodness in our own

hearts; there we shall certainly find it. The reward is _in_ keeping

the commandments, not _for_ keeping them.

Children should be induced to kindness by such motives as the

following: ‘God is very good to us, and ought we not to be so to

others? The Bible tells us to do to others as we would be done by; and

you know very well how pleasant it is when you are in trouble to have

other people pity you and help you. When you do good to others, does it

not make you very happy?’

People sometimes double a boy’s lesson because he has not behaved

well. This is a very bad plan. If his book is used as a punishment,

how can you expect him to love it? For the same reason, never tell a

child he shall stay at home from school if he is good; this gives him

the idea that going to school is a task. On the contrary, make all his

associations with school as pleasant as possible. Speak of the kindness

of the instructer in taking so much pains to teach him; encourage him

in telling you about what he has learned; show pleasure at the progress

he makes; and tell him how useful he will be when he is a man, if he

continues so industrious and persevering.

Never offer money as a reward for doing right. Money and praise become

necessary if once habituated to them; so much so, that it is impossible

to act without some selfish excitement. Money is the worst stimulus of

the two; for avarice is more contemptible and injurious in its effects

than a too earnest desire for the good opinion of others.

At the same time guard against wastefulness and prodigality. Teach

children to be very economical--never to cut up good pieces of calico,

or paper, for no purpose--never to tear old picture-books, destroy

old playthings, burn twine, or spend every cent they receive for cake

and sugar-plums. But as a reason for not destroying, tell them these

things will come in _use_. Encourage them in laying up money to buy

an orange for a sick neighbor, a pair of shoes for a poor boy, or a

present to surprise his sister on her birth-day--anything,--no matter

what,--that is not for himself alone. He will thus learn the value of

money, without becoming selfish. To avoid the danger of engrafting

avarice upon habits of care, earnestly encourage children to be

generous in giving and lending to each other; and show peculiar delight

when they voluntarily share anything of which they are particularly

fond. If a child has in any way acquired a tendency to parsimony, take

extraordinary pains to make him feel happy when he has been generous.

Praise him even more than you would think safe under any other

circumstances; for it is always prudent to assist a child most in those

points where he is the weakest. To be sure, your approbation is not the

best motive he might have; but it is better than the hope of public

applause; and moreover it is the best motive from which he _can_ act,

until he gets rid of his bad habit. Help him to overcome the obstacle

which habit has thrown in his way, and he will gradually learn to love

generosity for its own sake.

Habits of carelessness, such as leaving things lying about, blotting

books, reciting in a jumbled manner, or jumping hastily at incorrect

conclusions, &c., should be resolutely and promptly checked. Defects of

this sort are the origin of numerous evils. Many a failure in business,

many a disordered household, may be traced to the indulgence of these

habits in early life. I speak feelingly on this subject; for years of

self-education have hardly yet enabled me to cure the evil. I have made

mistakes both in conversation and writing, concerning things which I

knew perfectly well, merely from an early habit of heedlessness. It

is has cost me much mortification and many tears; punishments which

certainly have improved my habits, and may in time cure them.

No single instance of carelessness should be overlooked. If a little

girl cannot find her gloves, or her bonnet, when you are about to take

a walk, oblige her to stay at home. Let no tears and entreaties induce

you to excuse it. I dare say, it may sometimes be painful to you to

pursue this course; but for your child’s sake, have resolution enough

to do it.

If a boy loses his book, and cannot therefore get his lesson at the

usual time, see that he is deprived of his play-hours in order to

learn it. If he habitually forgets his book, send him back to the

school-house for it, even if it be cold weather, and a great distance.

If a girl is always losing her thimble, do not lend her one; let her

hurt her finger a little by sewing without one. These small cruelties

in the beginning will save a great deal of future suffering. In order

to leave no excuse for carelessness, children should be provided with

a proper place for everything, and taught always to put it there, as

soon as they have done using it.

Perhaps there is no evil into which children so easily and so

universally fall as that of lying.

The temptation to it is strong, and therefore the encouragement to

veracity should be proportionably strong. If a child breaks anything

and honestly avows it, do not be angry with him. If candor procures a

scolding, besides the strong effort it naturally costs, depend upon it,

he will soon be discouraged. In such cases, do not speak till you can

control yourself--say,’I am glad you told me. It was a very valuable

article, and I am truly sorry it is broken; but it would have grieved

me much more to have had my son deceive me.’ And having said this, do

not reproachfully allude to the accident afterward. I was about to say

that children should _never_ be punished for what was honestly avowed;

but perhaps there may be _some_ cases where they will do again and

again what they know to be wrong, from the idea that an avowal will

excuse them; in this case, they tell the truth from policy, not from

conscience; and they should be reasoned with, and punished. However,

it is the safe side to forgive a good deal, rather than run any risk

of fostering habits of deception. Should you at any time discover your

child in a lie, treat it with great solemnity. Let him see that it

grieves you, and strikes you with horror, as the worst of all possible

faults. Do not restore him to your confidence and affection, until you

see his heart is really touched by repentance. If falsehood becomes

a habit with him, do not tempt him to make up stories, by asking him

to detail all the circumstances connected with the affair he has

denied. Listen coldly to what he says, and let him see by your manner,

that you do not ask him questions, because you have not the least

confidence in his telling the truth. But remember to encourage, as well

as discourage. Impress upon his mind that God will help him to get rid

of the evil whenever he really wishes to get rid of it; and that every

temptation he overcomes will make the next one more easy. Receive any

evidence of his truth and integrity with delight and affection; let him

see that your heart is full of joy that he has gained one victory over

so great a fault.

Let your family never hear trifling deceptions glossed over by any

excuses; speak of them with unlimited abhorrence and contempt.

Above all things, let your own habits be of the strictest truth.

Examine closely! You will be surprised to find in how many little

things we all act insincerely. I have at this moment in my memory a

friend, who probably would be very indignant to be told she did not

speak the truth; and I dare say, on all that she deemed important

occasions, she might be relied on; yet she did deceive her children.

True, she thought it was for their good; but that was a mistake of

hers; deception never produces good. I one evening saw her remove a

plate of plum-cake from the tea-table to the closet. Her youngest

daughter asked for a piece; the reply was, ‘It is all gone.--Puss came

and ate it up;’ at the same time the mother winked to a little girl,

two or three years older, not to _tell_ that she had seen her put it in

the closet. There is an old proverb about killing two birds with one

stone--here two daughters were injured by one lie. The youngest was

deceived, and the oldest was taught to participate in the deception.

Mere experience would soon teach the little girl that the cat did not

eat the cake; and having found that her mother would lie, she would in

all probability dispute her even when she spoke the truth. And after

all, what use is there in resorting to such degrading expedients? Why

not tell the child, ‘The plum-cake is in the closet; but it is not good

for you at night, and I shall not give you a piece until morning?’ If

she had been properly educated, this would have satisfied her; and if

she chose to be troublesome, being put to bed without her supper would

teach her a lesson for the future.

A respect for the property of others must be taught children; for until

they are instructed, they have very loose ideas upon the subject.

A family of children cannot be too much urged and encouraged to be

generous in lending and giving to each other; but they should be taught

a scrupulous regard for each other’s property. They should never use

each other’s things, without first asking, ‘Brother, may I have your

sled?’ ‘Sister, may I have your book?’ &c. They should be taught to put

them carefully in place, when they have done using them; and should be

impressed with the idea that it is a greater fault to injure another’s

property, than to be careless of our own. If any little barter has been

made, and a dispute afterwards arises, hear both sides with perfect

impartiality, and allow no departure from what was promised in the

bargain. From such little things as these, children receive their first

ideas of honesty and justice.

Some children, from errors in early management, get possessed with the

idea that they may have everything. They even tease for things it would

be impossible to give them. A child properly managed will seldom ask

twice for what you have once told him he should not have. But if you

have the care of one who has acquired this habit, the best way to cure

him of it is never to give him what he asks for, whether his request is

proper or not; but at the same time be careful to give him such things

as he likes, (provided they are proper for him,) when he does not ask

for them. This will soon break him of the habit of teasing.

I have said much in praise of gentleness. I cannot say too much.

Its effects are beyond calculation, both on the affections and the

understanding. The victims of oppression and abuse are generally

stupid, as well as selfish and hard-hearted. How can we wonder at it?

They are all the time excited to evil passions, and nobody encourages

what is good in them. We might as well expect flowers to grow amid the

cold and storms of winter.

But gentleness, important as it is, is not all that is required in

education. There should be united with it firmness--great firmness.

Commands should be reasonable, and given in perfect kindness; but once

given, it should be known that they must be obeyed. I heard a lady once

say, ‘For my part, I cannot be so very strict with my children. I love

them too much to punish them every time they disobey me.’ I will relate

a scene which took place in her family. She had but one domestic,

and at the time to which I allude, she was very busy preparing for

company. Her children knew by experience that when she was in a hurry

she would indulge them in anything for the sake of having them out

of the way. George began, ‘Mother, I want a piece of mince-pie.’ The

answer was, ‘It is nearly bed-time; and mince-pie will hurt you. You

shall have a piece of cake, if you will sit down and be still.’ The

boy ate his cake; and liking the system of being hired to sit still,

he soon began again, ‘Mother, I want a piece of mince-pie.’ The old

answer was repeated. The child stood his ground, ‘Mother, I want a

piece of mince-pie--I _want_ a piece--I _want_ a piece,’ was repeated

incessantly. ‘Will you leave off teasing, if I give you a piece?’ ‘Yes,

I will,--certain true.’ A small piece was given, and soon devoured.

With his mouth half full, he began again, ‘I want another piece--I want

another piece.’ ‘No, George; I shall not give you another mouthful. Go

sit down, you naughty boy. You always act the worst when I am going to

have company.’ George continued his teasing; and at last said, ‘If you

don’t give me another piece, I’ll roar.’ This threat not being attended

to, he kept his word. Upon this, the mother seized him by the shoulder,

shook him angrily, saying, ‘Hold your tongue, you naughty boy!’ ‘I will

if you will give me another piece of pie,’ said he. Another small piece

was given him, after he had promised that he certainly would not tease

any more. As soon as he had eaten it, he, of course, began again; and

with the additional threat, ‘If you don’t give me a piece, I will roar

after the company comes, so loud that they can all hear me.’ The end

of all this was, that the boy had a sound whipping, was put to bed,

and could not sleep all night, because the mince-pie made his stomach

ache. What an accumulation of evils in this little scene! His health

injured,--his promises broken with impunity,--his mother’s promises

broken,--the knowledge gained that he could always vex her when she was

in a hurry,--and that he could gain what he would by teasing. He always

acted upon the same plan afterward; for he only once in a while (when

he made his mother very angry) got a whipping; but he was _always_ sure

to obtain what he asked for, if he teased her long enough. His mother

told him the plain truth, when she said the mince-pie would hurt him;

but he did not know whether it was the truth, or whether she only said

it to put him off; for he knew that she did sometimes deceive. (She was

the woman who said the cat had eaten the cake.) When she gave him the

pie, he had reason to suppose it was not true it would hurt him--else

why should a kind mother give it to her child? Had she told him that if

he asked a second time, she should put him to bed directly--and had she

kept her promise, in spite of entreaties,--she would have saved him a

whipping, and herself a great deal of unnecessary trouble. And who can

calculate all the whippings, and all the trouble, she would have spared

herself and him? I do not remember ever being in her house half a day

without witnessing some scene of contention with the children.

Now let me introduce you to another acquaintance. She was in precisely

the same situation, having a comfortable income and one domestic; but

her children were much more numerous, and she had had very limited

advantages for education. Yet she managed her family better than any

woman I ever saw, or ever expect to see again. I will relate a scene I

witnessed there, by way of contrast to the one I have just described.

Myself and several friends once entered her parlor unexpectedly, just

as the family were seated at the supper-table. A little girl, about

four years old, was obliged to be removed, to make room for us. Her

mother assured her she should have her supper in a very little while,

if she was a good girl. The child cried; and the guests insisted that

room should be made for her at table. ‘No,’ said the mother; ‘I have

told her she must wait; and if she cries, I shall be obliged to send

her to bed. If she is a good little girl, she shall have her supper

directly.’ The child could not make up her mind to obey; and her mother

led her out of the room, and gave orders that she should be put to bed

without supper. When my friend returned, her husband said, ‘Hannah,

that was a hard case. The poor child lost her supper, and was agitated

by the presence of strangers. I could hardly keep from taking her on

my knee, and giving her some supper. Poor little thing! But I never

will interfere with your management; and much as it went against my

feelings, I entirely approve of what you have done.’ ‘It cost me a

struggle,’ replied his wife; ‘but I know it is for the good of the

child to be taught that I mean exactly what I say.’

This family was the most harmonious, affectionate, happy family I ever

knew. The children were managed as easily as a flock of lambs. After a

few unsuccessful attempts at disobedience, when very young, they give

it up entirely; and always cheerfully acted from the conviction that

their mother knew best. This family was governed with great strictness;

firmness was united with gentleness. The indulgent mother, who said

she loved her children too much to punish them, was actually obliged to

punish them ten times as much as the strict mother did.

The husband’s remark leads me to say something of the great importance

of a perfect union between husband and wife. A want of this in

education is like mildew in spring. A mother should never object to a

father’s punishing a child when he thinks proper; at least she should

not do it before the child. Suggestions to each other may, of course,

be made in all the freedom of mutual respect and affection. One parent

should never allow a child to do what the other has forbidden; no

expression of disapprobation concerning management should ever be

made by either party, except when alone. A young child ought never to

suspect it is possible for his parents to think differently concerning

what relates to his education. Perhaps you will ask, if, after all I

have said in praise of truth, I approve of concealment and deception

in this particular. But you will please to recollect it is not _truth_

which I advise to have concealed in this instance; it is only _a

difference of opinion_. The child, not being old enough to understand

the reasons why his parents differ, cannot receive any good from the

discussion. Implicit obedience is the first law of childhood. The

simple belief that their parents know what is best, is all the light

children have to follow, at first. If they see their parents do not

agree between themselves as to what is right, it naturally weakens

their confidence, and makes them uncertain which they ought to obey.

‘My dear, I don’t approve of your management’--or, ‘I should not have

allowed him to do as you have done’--or, ‘Your father may approve of

it, but I don’t’--are very improper and injurious expressions. If you

differ in your ideas of education, take a proper opportunity to discuss

the matter in freedom and kindness; but do not weaken the respect of

your children by expressing doubts of each other’s good judgment in

their presence. It is hardly possible to exaggerate the bad effects of

discord between parents; and the blessed influence of domestic union

may well be compared to a band of guardian angels protecting innocence

from all evil things.

If your marriage has been an unfortunate one--if the influence of

a father may not be trusted--or if he delights in thwarting your

well-meant endeavors--I know not what to say. If patience, humility

and love cannot win him to a sense of duty, the only thing you can

do, is to redouble your vigilance for the good of your children, and

as far as possible withdraw them from his influence. Until it becomes

an imperious duty, never speak of a parent’s errors; unless there is

great danger of their being imitated, let a thick veil rest upon them.

But why should I dwell upon a case so unnatural, so wretched, and so

hopeless? If such be your unhappy lot, pray to God, and he will give

you light to make the path of duty clear before you. He alone can help

you.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] It is but justice to this boy to state; that he was prompt in

confessing his fault, and eager to atone for it.

CHAP. V.

PLAYTHINGS.--AMUSEMENTS.--EMPLOYMENTS.

In infancy, the principal object is to find such toys as are at once

attractive and safe. During the painful process of teething, a large

ivory ring, or a dollar worn smooth, are good, on account of the ease

they give the gums; they should be fastened to a string--but not a

green one, or any other from which a babe can suck the colors. Some

people think nothing so good for teething children as a large, round

piece of India rubber, from which it is impossible to bite a piece.

Painted toys are not wholesome at this age, when children are so prone

to convey everything to the mouth. A bunch of keys is a favorite

plaything with babies. Indeed anything they can move about, and cause

to produce a noise, is pleasant to them. I have seen infants amuse

themselves, for hours, with a string of very large wooden beads, or

shining buttons; perhaps it is needless to say that no buttons but

steel, wood, or ivory, are safe; if they have any portion of brass

about them, they are injurious: another caution, perhaps equally

unnecessary, is, that playthings small enough to be swallowed should

be tied together with a very strong string, from which no color can

be extracted. When children are a few months older, blocks of wood,

which can be heaped up and knocked down at pleasure, become favorite

playthings. A pack of old cards are perhaps liked still better, on

account of their bright colors and pictured faces. Such toys are a

great deal better than expensive ones. I do not think it a good plan

to give children old almanacs, pamphlets, &c., to tear up. How can they

distinguish between the value of one book and another? Children, who

have been allowed to tear worthless books, may tear good ones, without

the least idea that they are doing any harm.

As soon as it is possible to convey instruction by toys, it is well to

choose such as will be useful. The letters of the alphabet on pieces of

bone are excellent for this purpose. I have known a child of six years

old teach a baby-brother to read quite well, merely by playing with his

ivory letters. In all that relates to developing the intellect, very

young children should not be hurried or made to attend unwillingly.

When they are playing with their letters, and you are at leisure, take

pains to tell them the name of each one, as often as they ask; but do

not urge them. No matter if it takes them three weeks to learn one

letter; they will not want their knowledge in a hurry. When the large

letters are learned, give them the small ones. When both are mastered,

place the letters together in some small word, such as CAT; point to

the letters, name them, and pronounce _cat_ distinctly. After a few

lessons, the child will know what letters to place together in order to

spell cat. Do not try to teach him a new word, until he is perfectly

master of the old one; and do not try to force his attention to his

letters, when he is weary, fretful and sleepy, or impatient to be doing

something else. In this, as indeed in all other respects, an infant’s

progress is abundantly more rapid, if taught by a brother, or sister,

nearly of his own age. The reason is, their little minds are in much

the same state as their pupil’s; they are therefore less liable than

ourselves to miscalculate his strength, or force him beyond his speed.

Among instructive toys may be ranked balls arranged together so as to

be counted.

Every step of infantile progress should be encouraged by expressions

of surprise and pleasure. When a child is able to spell a new word,

or count a new number, kiss him, and show delight at his improvement.

Sir Benjamin West relates that his mother kissed him eagerly, when he

showed her a likeness he had sketched of his baby-sister; and he adds,

‘_That kiss made me a painter!_’

I have before shown that the same rule applies to the affections--that

it is better to encourage what is right, than to punish what is wrong.

Nothing strengthens a child in goodness, or enables him to overcome

a fault, so much as seeing his efforts excite a sudden and earnest

expression of love and joy.

For children of two or three years old, pictures are great sources of

amusement and instruction. Engravings of animals on large cards are

very good things. It is a great object to have proportion observed;

if a child have a very small picture of an elephant, and a very large

one of a mouse, it will lead him to the conclusion that a mouse is as

large as an elephant. Children should be encouraged in talking about

the engravings they look at; and the different parts should be pointed

out and explained to them. Thus if a palm-tree is placed near the

picture of an elephant, the attention should be drawn to it, and it

should be explained to them that it is not the picture of any tree in

this country, (that is, in New England,) but that in Asia and Africa,

where elephants live, palm-trees are very common. If a child is old

enough to understand it, some account of this useful tree may be given

advantageously; he can be told that it yields palm-oil, palm-wine, that

its leaves are manufactured into fans, &c. But if he is not old enough

to feel interested in such an account, do not trouble him with it. The

object of pointing out all the details of an engraving, and explaining

them, when they differ from what he is accustomed to see, is merely to

give _habits of observation_, and arouse a spirit of inquiry.

I think it is very important that disproportioned, badly drawn pictures

should not be placed in the hands of children. No matter how coarse

or common they are, but let them be correct imitations of nature; if

they are graceful, as well as correct, so much the better. Good taste

is of less consequence than good feelings, good principles, and good

sense; but it certainly is of consequence, and should not uselessly be

perverted or destroyed. I believe the sort of pictures children are

accustomed to see have an important effect in forming their taste. The

very beggar-boys of Italy will observe a defect in the proportions of

a statue, or a picture; and the reason is, that fine sculpture and

paintings are in their churches, and about their streets.

Playthings that children make for themselves are a great deal better

than those which are bought for them. They employ them a much longer

time, they exercise ingenuity, and they really please them more. A

little girl had better fashion her cups and saucers of acorns, than

to have a set of earthen ones supplied. A boy takes ten times more

pleasure in a little wooden sled he has pegged together, than he would

in a painted and gilded carriage brought from the toy-shop; and I do

not believe any expensive rocking-horse ever gave so much satisfaction,

as I have seen a child in the country take with a long-necked squash,

which he had bridled and placed on four sticks. There is a peculiar

satisfaction in inventing things for one’s self. No matter if the

construction be clumsy and awkward; it employs time (which is a great

object in childhood), and the pleasure the invention gives is the first

impulse to ingenuity and skill. For this reason, the making of little

boats, and mechanical toys, should not be discouraged; and when any

difficulty occurs above the powers of a child, assistance should be

cheerfully given. If the parents are able to explain the principles on

which machines are constructed, the advantage will be tenfold.

Cutting figures in paper is a harmless and useful amusement for

those who are old enough to be trusted with scissors; which, by the

way, should always be blunt-pointed, when placed in the hands of a

very young child. Any glaring disproportion in the figures should be

explained to a child, and he should be encouraged to make his little

imitations as much like nature as possible. There is at present a

little boy in Boston, who at two years old took a great fancy to

cutting figures in paper. In the course of six or eight years, he

actually wore out five or six pairs of scissors in the service. He cuts

with astonishing rapidity, and apparently without any thought; yet he

will produce little landscapes, or groups, as beautiful and spirited

as the best engravings. At first he began by copying things he had

before him; but he afterward attained to so much skill, that he easily

invented his own designs. This talent has enabled him to do a great

deal for the support of his parents, who are not rich.

Drawing figures on a slate is a favorite amusement with children;

and it may prove a very useful one, if pains are taken to point out

errors, and induce them to make correct imitations. Young people should

be taught that it is not well to be careless in doing even the most

trifling things--that whatever is worthy of being done at all, is

worthy of being well done.

Some distinguished writers on education have objected to dolls, as

playthings which lead to a love of dress and finery. I do not consider

them in this light. If a mother’s influence does not foster a love of

finery, I think there is very little danger of its being produced by

dressing dolls. I like these toys for various reasons. They afford

a quiet amusement; they exercise ingenuity in cutting garments, and

neatness in sewing; they can be played with in a prodigious variety

of ways; and so far as they exercise the affections, their influence

is innocent and pleasant. No doubt dolls sometimes excite very strong

affection. Miss Hamilton tells of a little girl, who had a limb

amputated at the hospital. She bore the operation with great fortitude,

hugging her doll in her arms all the time. When it was completed, the

surgeon playfully said, ‘Now let me cut off your doll’s leg.’ This

speech produced a torrent of tears, and the little creature could

hardly be pacified. She had borne her own sufferings patiently, but

she could not endure that her doll should be hurt. I know that this

tenderness for inanimate things is not the best employment for the

affections; but so far as it goes, it is good. For the same reason,

and in a similar degree, I think pet animals have a good effect; but

care should be taken to choose such as are happy in a domesticated

state. I cannot think it is right to keep creatures, that must be

confined in cages and boxes; no pleasure can be good, which is so

entirely selfish.

It is a benefit to children to have the care of feeding animals, such

as lambs, chickens, &c. It answers two good purposes--it excites

kindness, and a love of usefulness.

Amusements and employments which lead to exercise in the open air have

greatly the advantage of all others. In this respect, I would make

no difference between the management of boys and girls. Gardening,

sliding, skating, and snow-balling, are all as good for girls as for

boys. Are not health and cheerful spirits as necessary for one as the

other? It is a universal remark that American women are less vigorous

and rosy, than women of other climates; and that they are peculiarly

subject to disorders of the chest and the spine. I believe the sole

reason of this is, that our employments and amusements lead us so

little into the open air.

I am aware that many people object to such plays as I have recommended

to girls, from the idea that they will make them rude and noisy. I

do not believe this would be the case if the influences within doors

favored gentleness and politeness; and even if there were any danger

of this sort, how much easier it is to acquire elegance in after life,

than it is to regain health! When it is considered what a loss of

usefulness, as well as comfort, is attendant upon ill health, I think

all will agree that a vigorous constitution is the greatest of earthly

blessings.

When I say that skating and sliding are proper amusements for girls, I

do not, of course, mean that they should mix in a public crowd. Such

sports, when girls unite in them, should be confined to the inmates

of the house, and away from all possibility of contact with the rude

and vicious. Under these circumstances, a girl’s manners cannot be

injured by such wholesome recreations. To snow-ball, or slide, with

well-behaved brothers every day, cannot, I am sure, tend to make a

girl rude and boisterous. I know one very striking instance of the

truth of what I assert; and no doubt the memory of my readers will

supply similar proofs. Mrs. John Adams, wife of the second President

of the United States, and mother of the sixth, was very remarkable for

the elegance and dignity of her manners. Even amid the splendor of

foreign courts, she was considered a distinguished ornament. Yet Mrs.

Adams had not been brought up in petted indolence, or shut from the

sun and air, for fear of injury to her beauty, or her gracefulness.

She was a capable, active, and _observing woman_; and while she was

the admiration of European courts, she knew how to make butter and

cheese as well as any woman in Weymouth, which was her native place.

In the latter part of her life, she was one day passing the home of

her childhood, in company with an intimate friend; she paused, and

looked at a long lane near the house, saying in an animated tone, ‘Oh,

how many hours and hours I have driven hoop up and down that lane!’ As

might be expected, Mrs. Adams enjoyed a hale and happy old age. Among

the other good effects of her example, she has left a practical lesson

to her country-women, that refined elegance is perfectly compatible

with driving hoop in the open air.