OUR YOUNG PERSON.
I well remember a girl's tearful appeal to me when she was stigmatized
and reproved for her "giddy youth!" "It is not my fault that I was
born young! And I am not responsible for the fact that I entered upon
existence seventeen, instead of seventy, years ago. At all events, it
was not a sin even if I was guilty of such a folly!"
Perhaps we older people are too prone to forget that youth is not a
sin to be condemned, or even a folly to be sneered at. "Wad some power
the giftie gie us" to remember that we were not always cool-headed,
clear-seeing and middle-aged! Trouble and responsibility come so soon
to all, that we err in forcing young heads to bow, and strong
shoulders to bend, beneath a load which should not be laid upon them
for many years. As we advance in age, our weaknesses and temptations
change, and no longer take the form of heedlessness, intolerance,
extravagance, and most trying of all to the critical and dignified
observer,--freshness.
We may describe this last-named quality somewhat after the fashion of
the little boy who defined salt as "What makes potatoes taste bad
when they don't put any on 'em!"
So "freshness" is that which makes youth delightful by its absence.
Unfortunately, it is almost inseparable from this period, and while
there are girls, and even boys, in whom the offending quality is
nearly, if not entirely, lacking, they are almost as the red herring
of the wood, and the strawberry of the sea, in nursery rhyme.
Freshness takes many and varied forms, the most common being that of
self-conceit and the desire to appear original and eccentric in
feelings, moods, likes and dislikes. Like the fellows of the club of
which Bertie, in "The Henrietta," was an illustrious member, the
average boy winks, nods, looks wise and "makes the other fellows think
that he is a Harry of a fellow,--but he isn't!"
The desire to be considered worldly-wise--"tough"--is rampant in the
masculine mind between the ages of fifteen and twenty. The boy who has
been to a strict preparatory boarding-school and is just entering upon
his college course, whose theatre-goings have been limited to the
"shows" to which his father has given him tickets, or to which he has
escorted his mother or sisters, and whose wildest dissipations have
consisted in a surreptitious cigarette and glass of beer, neither of
which he enjoyed, but both of which he pretended to revel in for the
sake of being "mannish,"--will talk knowingly of "the latest
soubrette," "a jolly little ballet-dancer," "the wicked ways of this
world," and "the dens of iniquity in our large cities." Dickens tells
us that "when Mr. Feeder spoke of the dark mysteries of London, and
told Mr. Toots that he was going to observe it himself closely in all
its ramifications in the approaching holidays, and for that purpose
had made arrangements to board with two old maiden aunts at Peckham,
Paul regarded him as if he were the hero of some book of travel or
wild adventure, and was almost afraid of such a slashing person."
Why it is considered manly to be "tough" is one of the unsolved
mysteries of the boyish mind. Any uneducated, weak fool can go wrong.
It takes a man to be strong enough to keep himself pure and good.
Another "fresh" characteristic of this age is the pretence of doubt. A
fellow under twenty-one is likely to have doubts, to find articles in
the creed of his church "to which he cannot agree. That kind of thing
is well enough for women and children, but for a man of the
world,"--and then follows an expressive pause, accompanied by a shrug
of the shoulders and lift of the brows.
With a girl this trying age is often given over to sentimental musings
and blues. She is convinced that nobody understands her, her mother
least of all, that she is too sensitive for this harsh world, that she
will never receive the love and consideration due her. Cynicism
becomes her main characteristic, and she bitterly sneers at friendship
and gratitude, declaring that true, disinterested affection exists
only in the imagination. Is it any wonder that mothers sometimes
become discouraged? Poor mothers! whose combined comfort and distress
is the knowledge that the time is fast approaching when their boys and
girls will blush for shame at the remembrance of their "salad days,
when they were green in judgment."
Parents have need of vast patience, and let them, before uttering
condemnation, carefully consider if they themselves are not a little
to blame for the state of their children's minds; if over-indulgence
and unwise consideration have not had much to do with the trouble. One
excellent woman has made of her son an insufferable boor by constantly
deferring to him, no matter in what company, and by allowing him to
see that she considers his very ordinary intellect far above the
average. In a parlor full of educated men and women she went out of
her way to tell what remarkable views "Charlie" had upon certain
religious subjects, and, after attracting the attention of the
assembled company, called upon "Charlie" to give vent to his
sentiments that all present might observe how original they were.
Whereupon the hulk of a son, consequential and patronizing, discoursed
bunglingly, and at length, on his opinions and beliefs, until he was
inflated to speechlessness by conceit, and his hearers disgusted into
responsive silence.
If your girl is clever, do not tell her so, or repeat to others in her
presence her bright observations. But, on the other hand, do not snub
her, or allow her to feel that her intellect is of an inferior order.
The best way to make a fool of the Young Person is to tell him that he
is a fool. Stimulate your child by all the love and appreciation at
your command, but let it be intelligent appreciation, not blind
admiration or prejudiced disapproval. Do you recollect how you felt
and dreamed and gushed when you were a girl, the pages of sentimental
twaddle (as you now call it) which you confided to the diary which you
burned in disgust at twenty-one? Do you remember how genuine your
distresses then seemed? You can smile at the girl you once were, but
still you find it in your heart to pity her, poor, silly child,
foolishly sobbing late into the night over some broken friendship or
imaginary heart-trouble. Perhaps she had no mother to whom to go, or
perhaps her mother "did not understand." See that you do not make the
same mistake, but, while you recognize the folly of the trouble, think
of the heartache back of it all. When your girl was a tiny child, you
petted and comforted her as she wailed over her broken dolly. Was that
grief so much more sensible than this, or do you love her less now?
When your four-year-old boy came to you with his stories of what he
would do when he was "a great big man," you drew him close to you and
encouraged him to "talk it all out." Now, when he is a head taller
than you, and tells you of his hopes and aspirations, you sigh that
"boys are so fresh and visionary!"
It is not necessary to condone or to condemn all. What would you say
to the gardener who let your choice young vines run in straggling
lines all over the ground and in all directions,--or who ruthlessly
cut off all the stalks within an inch of the roots? Young people need
training, encouragement and urging in some directions, repression and
pruning in others. Above all, they need tender forbearance.
Another trying feature of the Young Person is his wholesale
intolerance of everything and everybody. Only himself and perhaps one
or two of his own friends escape his censure. These being covered
with the mantle of his approbation, are beyond criticism. This habit
of uncharitableness is such an odious one that our boy or girl should
avoid it carefully.
If you would acquire the custom of saying no evil, it is advisable to
guard against thinking it. Difficult as it may seem, it is quite
possible to put such a guard upon the mind as to accustom it to look
on the best side of persons and things. Nobody is wholly bad, or, at
least, few people are so entirely given over to disagreeable traits as
the Young Person would lead us to think. Only a few days ago a young
man was speaking in my presence of another fellow, who was, as far as
I know, a respectable, well-bred boy.
"Oh!" said the Young Person, when his name was mentioned, "he is no
good."
"Why not?" queried I. "Is he bad?"
"He is too much of a fool to be bad."
"Is he such a fool? I thought he was considered rather bright?"
"Well, he thinks himself awfully bright. He is a regular donkey."
"Are his manners disagreeable?"
"No-o-o, I don't know that they are. In fact, I believe he prides
himself on the reputation he has acquired for gentlemanliness."
"Then, what is so disagreeable about him?"
"Perhaps," dryly suggested the father of the Young Person, "he is not
particularly fond of you, and that it why you disapprove of him."
"No, sir!" was the indignant rejoinder, "that is not it. To be sure,
he never troubles himself to pay me any marked attention. Nor do I
care to have him do so. He is a low fellow."
Deny it as he might, the reason my young friend disliked the "low
fellow" was because the tiny thorn of neglect had wounded his vanity
and pricked and rankled into a fester. This is human nature, but as we
advance in years, we appreciate that people may be really excellent in
many respects, and yet have no great fondness for us. Youth still has
much to learn.
Ten girls whom I know formed a society for the repression of unkind
criticism. The members pledged themselves to try, as far as in them
lay, to speak kindly of people when it was possible for them to do so,
and when impossible to say nothing. At first it was hard, for
self-conceit would intrude, and it is hard for one girl to praise
another who dislikes her. Little by little the tiny seed of effort
grew into a habit of kindly speech.
What volumes it argues for a woman's gentle ladyhood and Christianity
when it can truthfully be said of her, "She never speaks uncharitably
of anybody!"
Let us older people set an example of tolerance and charitable speech.
Too often our children are but reproductions, perhaps somewhat highly
colored, of ourselves, our virtues, and our faults. And this is
especially true of the mothers. John Jarndyce gives us a word of
encouragement when he says--
"I think it must somewhere be written that the virtues of the
mothers shall occasionally be visited upon the children, as
well as the sins of the father."
Such being the case, let us children of a larger growth show such
tact, unselfishness and tender charity, that our children, seeing
these virtues, may copy them, and thereby aid in removing the
disagreeable traits of, at least, our Young Persons.