A MOTHER'S DUTY.
I CLOSE my volume of rambling sketches, with a chapter more didactic
and serious. The duties of the housekeeper and mother, usually unite
in the same person; but difficult and perplexing as is the former
relation, how light and easy are all its claims compared with those
of the latter. Among my readers are many mothers--Let us for a
little while hold counsel together.
To the mind of a mother, who loves her children, no subject can have
so deep an interest as that which has respect to the well being of
her offspring. Young mothers, especially, feel the need, the great
need of the hints and helps to be derived from others' experience.
To them, the duty of rightly guiding, forming and developing the
young mind is altogether a new one; at every step they feel their
incompetence, and are troubled at their want of success. A young
married friend, the mother of two active little boys, said to me,
one day, earnestly,
"Oh! I think, sometimes, that I would give the world if I only could
see clearly what was my duty towards my children. I try to guide
them aright--I try to keep them from all improper influences--but
rank weeds continually spring up with the flowers I have planted.
How shall I extirpate these, without injuring the others?"
How many a young mother thus thinks and feels. It is indeed a great
responsibility that rests upon her. With the most constant and
careful attention, she will find the task of keeping out the weeds a
hard one; but let her not become weary or discouraged. The enemy is
ever seeking to sow tares amid her wheat, and he will do it if she
sleep at her post. Constant care, good precept, and, above all, good
example, will do much. The gardener whose eye is ever over, and
whose hand is ever busy in his garden, accomplishes much; the
measure of his success may be seen if the eye rest for but a moment
on the garden of his neighbor, the sluggard. Even if a weed springs
here and there, it is quickly plucked up, and never suffered to
obstruct or weaken the growth of esculent plants. A mole may enter
stealthily, marring the beauty of a flower-bed, and disturbing the
roots of some garden-favorite, but through the careful husbandman's
well set enclosure, no beasts find an entrance. So it will be with
the watchful, conscientious mother. She will so fence around her
children from external dangers and allurements, that destructive
beasts will be kept out; and she will, at the same time cultivate
the garden of their good affections, and extirpate the weeds, that
her children may grow up in moral health and beauty.
All this can be done. But the right path must be seen before we can
walk in it. Every mother feels as the one I have alluded to; but
some, while they feel as deeply, have not the clear perceptions of
what is right that others have. Much has been written on the subject
of guiding and governing children--much that is good, and much that
is of doubtful utility. I will here present, from the pen of an
English lady, whose work has not, we believe, been re-printed in
this country, a most excellent series of precepts. They deserve to
be written in letters of gold, and hung up in every nursery. She
says--
"The moment a child is born into the world, a mother's duties
commence; and of all those which God has allotted to mortals, there
are none so important as those which devolve upon a mother.
More feeble and helpless than any thing else of living creatures is
an infant in the first days of its existence--unable to minister to
its own wants, unable even to make those wants known: a feeble cry
which indicates suffering, but not what or where the pain is, is all
it can utter. But to meet this weakness and incapacity on the part
of the infant, God has implanted in the heart of the mother a
yearning affection to her offspring, so that she feels this almost
inanimate being to be a part of herself, and every cry of pain acts
as a dagger to her own heart.
And to humanity alone, of all the tribes of animated beings, has a
power been given to nullify this feeling. Beast, bird, and insect,
attend to the wants of their offspring, accordingly as those wants
require much or little assiduity. But woman, if she will, can drug
and stupefy this feeling. She can commit the charge of her child to
dependants and servants, and need only to take care that enough is
provided to meet that child's wants, but need not see herself that
those wants are actually met.
But a woman who does this is far, very far, from doing her duty. Who
is so fit to watch over the wants of infancy as she who gave that
infant birth? Can a mother suppose, that if she can so stifle those
sensibilities which prompt her to provide for the wants of her
children, servants and dependants, in whom no such sensibilities
exist, will be very solicitous about their charge? How many of the
infant's cries will be unattended to, which would at once have made
their way to the heart of a mother! and, therefore, how many of the
child's wants will in consequence remain uncared for!
No one can understand so well the wants of a child as a mother--no
one is ever so ready to meet those wants as she; and, therefore, to
none but a mother, under ordinary circumstances, should the entire
charge of a child be committed, And in all countries in which,
luxury has not so far attained the ascendency, that in order to
partake of its pleasures a mother will desert her offspring, the
cares and trials of maternal love are entered upon as the sweetest
of enjoyments and the greatest of pleasures. It was a noble saying
of a queen of France, "that none should share with her the
privileges of a mother;" and if the same sentiment found its way
into every heart, a very different aspect would soon be produced.
How many, through ill-treatment and neglect in childhood, carry the
marks to their dying day in weak and sickly constitutions! how many
more in a distorted body and crippled limbs! These are but the too
sure consequences of the neglect of a mother, and, consequent upon
that, the neglect of servants, who, feeling the child a burden,
lessen their own trouble; and many a mother who, perhaps, now that
her child has grown up, weeps bitter tears over his infirmities,
might have saved his pain and her own sorrow by attending to his
wants in infancy.
"Can a mother forget her sucking child?" asks the inspired penman,
in a way that it would seem to be so great an anomaly as almost to
amount to an impossibility. Yet modern luxury not only proves that
such a thing can be done, but it is one even of common occurrence.
But if done, surely some great stake must be pending--something on
which life and property are concerned--that a mother can thus forget
the child of her bosom? Alas! no; the child is neglected, that no
interruption may take place in the mother's stream of pleasure. For
the blandishments of the theatre, or the excitements of the dance,
is a child left to the charge of those who have nothing of love for
it--no sympathy for its sufferings, no joyousness in sharing in its
pleasures.
A woman forfeits all claim to the sacred character of a mother if
she abandon her offspring to the entire care of others: for ere she
can do this, she must have stifled all the best feelings of her
nature, and become "worse than the infidel"--for she gives freely to
the stranger, and neglects her own.
Therefore should a woman, if she would fulfil her duty, make her
child her first care. It is not necessary that her whole time should
be spent in attending to its wants; but it is necessary that so much
of the time should be spent, that nothing should be neglected which
could add to the child's comfort and happiness. And not only is it
needful that a woman should show a motherly fondness for her child,
so that she should attend to its wants and be solicitous for its
welfare; it is also necessary that she should know how those wants
are best to be provided for, and how that welfare is best to be
consulted: for to the natural feelings which prompt animals to
provide for their offspring, to humanity is added the noble gift of
reason; so that thought and solicitude are not merely the effects of
blind instinct, but the produce of a higher and nobler faculty.
As we have already adverted to this point, we shall only say, that
without a knowledge of how the physical wants of a child are to be
met in the best manner, a mother cannot be said to be performing her
duty; for the kindness which is bestowed may be but the result of
natural feeling, which it would be far harder to resist than to
fulfil; whereas the want of knowledge may have resulted from
ignorance and idleness, and the loss of this knowledge will never be
made up by natural kindness and love: it will be like trying to work
without hands, or to see when the eyes are blinded.
But there is yet a higher duty devolving upon woman. She has to
attend to the mental and moral wants of her offspring, as well as to
the physical. And helpless as we are born into the world if
reference be made to our physical wants, we are yet more helpless if
reference be made to our mental and moral. We come into the world
with evil passions, perverted faculties, and unholy dispositions:
for let what will be said of the blandness and attractiveness of
children, there are in those young hearts the seeds of evil; and it
needs but that a note be taken of what passes in the every-day life
of a child, to convince that all is not so amiable as at first sight
appears, but that the heart hides dark deformity, headstrong
passions, and vicious thoughts. And to a mother's lot it falls to be
the instructress of her children--their guide and pattern, and she
fails in her duty when she fails in either of these points. But it
may be said, that the requirement is greater than humanity can
perform, and that it would need angelic purity to be able fully to
meet it; for who shall say that she is so perfect that no
inconsistencies shall appear between what she teaches and what she
practises?
It would be, indeed, to suppose mothers more than human to think
that their instructions should be perfect. The best of mothers are
liable to err, and the love a mother has for her child may tempt her
frequently to pass over faults which she knows ought to be
corrected. But making due allowance for human incompetency and human
weakness, still will a mother be bound to the utmost of her power to
be the instructress of her child, equally by the lesson she
inculcates and the pattern she exhibits.
There is, indeed, too much neglect shown in the instruction of
children. Mothers seem to think, that if amiable qualities are shown
in the exterior, no instruction is necessary for the heart. But this
is a most futile attempt to make children virtuous; it is like
attempting to purify water half-way down the stream, and leaving it
still foul at the source. The heart should be the first thing
instructed; a motive and a reason should be given for every
requirement--a motive and a reason should be given for every
abstinence called for--and when the heart is made to love virtue,
the actions will be those of virtue; for it is the heart which is
the great mover of all actions--and the moment a child can
distinguish between a smile and a frown, from that moment should
instruction commence--an instruction suited indeed to infantine
capacities, but which should be enlarged as the child's capacities
expand. It is very bad policy to suffer the first years of a child's
life to pass without instruction; for if good be not written on the
mind, there is sure to be evil. It is a mother's duty to watch the
expanding intellect of her child, and to suit her instructions
accordingly: it is equally so to learn its disposition--to study its
wishes, its hopes and its fears, and to direct, control, and point
them to noble aims and ends.
Oh! not alone is it needful that a mother be solicitous for the
health and happiness of her child on earth: a far higher and more
important thought should engage her attention--concern for her child
as an immortal and an accountable being.
To all who bear the endearing name of mother, thus would we speak:
That child with whom you are so fondly playing--whose happy and
smiling countenance might serve for the representation of a
cherub, and whose merry laugh rings joyously and free--yes! that
blooming child, notwithstanding all these pleasing and attractive
smiles, has a heart prone to evil. To you is it committed to be the
teacher of that child; and on that teaching will mainly if not
entirely depend its future happiness or misery; not of a few brief
years--not of a life-time, but of eternity; for though a dying
creature, it is still immortal, and the happiness or misery of that
immortality depends upon your instruction.
Will you neglect or refuse to be your child's teacher? Shall the
world and its pleasures draw off your attention from your duty when
so much is at stake? or, will you leave your child to glean
knowledge as best it can, thus imbibing all principles and all
habits, most of them unwholesome, and many poisonous? You can
decide--you, the mother. You gave it life, you may make that life a
blessing or a curse, as you inculcate good or evil; for if
through your neglect, or through bad example, you let evil passions
obtain an ascendency, that child may grow into a dissolute and
immoral man; his career may be one of debauchery and profaneness;
and then, when he comes to die, in the agonies of remorse, in the
delirium of a conscience-stricken spirit, he may gasp out his last
breath with a curse on your head, for having given him life, but not
a disposition to use it aright, so that his has been a life of shame
and disgrace here, and will be one of misery hereafter. That child's
character is yet untainted; with you that decision rests--his
destiny is in your hands. He may have dispositions the most dark and
foul--falseness, hatred and revenge; but you may prevent their
growth. He may have dispositions the most bland and attractive; you
can so order it that contact with the world shall never sully them.
Yes, you--the mother--can prevent the evil and nurture the good. You
can teach that child--you can rear it, discipline it. You can make
your offspring so love you, that the memory of your piety shall
prevent their wickedness, and the hallowed recollection of your
goodness stimulate their own.
And equally in your power is it to neglect your child. By suffering
pleasure to lure you--by following the follies of fashion, or by the
charm of those baubles which the world presents to the eye, but
keeps from your grasp--you may neglect your child. But you have
neglected a plain and positive duty--a duty which is engraven on
your heart and wound into your nature: and a duty neglected is sure,
sooner or later, to come back again as an avenger to punish; while,
on the other hand, a duty performed to the best of the ability
returns back to the performer laden with a blessing.
But it may be said, how are children to be trained in order that
happiness may be the result?
It is quite impossible to lay down rules for the management of
children; since those which would serve for guidance in regulating
the conduct of one child, would work the worst results when applied
to another. But we mention a few particulars.
The grand secret in the management of children is to treat them as
reasonable beings. We see that they are governed by hope, fear, and
love: these feelings, then, should be made the instruments by which
their education is conducted. Whenever it is possible (and it is
very rarely that it is not), a reason should be given for every
requirement, and a motive for the undertaking any task: this would
lead the child to see that nothing was demanded out of caprice or
whim, but that it was a requirement involving happiness as well as
duty.
This method would also teach the child to reverence and respect the
parent. She would be regarded as possessed of superior knowledge;
and he would the more readily undertake demands for which he could
see no reason, from a knowledge that no commands of which he
understood the design were ever unreasonable.
The manner of behaving to children should be one of kindness, though
marked by decision of character. An over fondness should never allow
a mother to gratify her child in any thing unreasonable; and after
having once refused a request--which she should not do hastily or
unadvisedly--no coaxing or tears should divert her from her purpose;
for if she gives way, the child will at once understand that he has
a power over his mother, and will resort to the same expedient
whenever occasion may require; and a worse evil than this is, that
respect for the parent will be lost, and the child, in place of
yielding readily to her wishes, will try means of trick and evasion
to elude them.
In order to really manage a child well, a mother should become a
child herself; she should enter into its hopes and fears, and share
its joys and sorrows; she should bend down her mind to that of her
offspring, so as to be pleased with all those trivial actions which
give it pleasure, and to sorrow over those which bring it pain. This
would secure a love firm and ardent, and at the same time lasting;
for as a child advanced in strength of intellect, so might the
mother, until the child grew old enough to understand the ties which
bound them; and then, by making him a friend, she would bind him to
her for life.
There are none of the human race so sagacious and keensighted
as children: they seem to understand intuitively a person's
disposition, and they quickly notice any discrepancies or
inconsistencies of conduct. On this point should particular
attention be paid, that there be nothing practised to cheat the
child. Underhand means are frequently resorted to, to persuade a
child to perform or abstain from some particular duty or object; but
in a very short time it will be found out, and the child has been
taught a lesson in deception which it will not fail to use when
occasion requires.
And under this head might be included all that petty species of
deceit used towards children, whether to mislead their apprehension,
or to divert their attention. If any thing be improper for a child
to know or do, better tell him so at once, than resort to an
underhand expedient. If a reason can be given for requiring the
abstinence; it should; but if not tell the child that the reason is
such that he could not comprehend it, and he will remain satisfied.
But if trick or scheming be resorted to, the child will have learned
the two improper lessons of first being cunning, and then telling a
falsehood to avoid it.
In whatever way you wish to act upon a child, always propose the
highest and noblest motive--this will generally be a motive which
centres in God. Thus, in teaching a child to speak the truth, it
should be proposed not so much out of obedience to parents, as out
of obedience to God; and in all requirements the love and fear of
God should be prominently set forth.
A child is born with feelings of religion; and if these feelings are
properly called forth, the actions will generally have a tendency to
good. Thus, with a child whose disposition is to deceive, a mother
has no hold upon such an one; for the child will soon perceive that
his mother cannot follow him every where, and that he can commit
with impunity many actions of deceit. But, impress the child with
the truth that a Being is watching these actions, and that though
done with the greatest cunning, they cannot be committed with
impunity, and it is more than probable that they will never be
committed at all. A temptation may be thrown in the way of such a
child, but it will not be powerful enough to overcome the feeling
that the action is watched. That child may eagerly pant to perform
the forbidden action, or to partake of the forbidden pleasure; but
he will not be able to rid himself of the feeling that it cannot be
done without being observed. He will stand in a state of anxiety,
and steal a glance around, in order to see the Being he feels is
looking upon him, and every breeze that murmurs will be a voice to
chide him, and every leaf that whistles will seem a footstep, and
never will he be able to break the restraint; for wherever he goes
and whatever he does, he will feel that his actions are watched by
one who will punish the bad and reward the good.
And in the same way might this be applied to all dispositions and
feelings. How cheering is it to a timid child to be told that at no
time is he left alone: but that the Being who made every thing
preserves and keeps every thing, and that nothing can happen but by
his permission! This is to disarm fear of its terrors, and to
implant a confidence in the mind, for the child will feel that while
his actions are good he is under the protection of an Almighty
Parent. In the same way, in stimulating a child to the performance
of a duty, the end proposed should be the favour of God. This would
insure the duty being entered upon with a right spirit--not merely
for the sake of show and effect, but springing from the heart and
the mind--and, at the same time, it would prevent any thing of
hypocrisy. If it were only the estimation of the world which was to
be regarded, a child could soon understand that the applause would
be gained by the mere exterior performance, be the motive what it
might: but when the motive is centered in God, it is readily
understood that the feeling must be genuine; otherwise, whatever the
world may say, God will look upon it as unworthy and base. We
believe it would be found to work the best results, if all the
actions of a child were made thus to depend upon their harmony with
the will of God; for it would give a sacredness to every action,
make every motive a high and holy one, and harmonise the thoughts of
the heart with the actions of the life.
But in this mode of teaching, it is essentially necessary that a
mother should herself be an example of the truth she teaches. It
will be worse than useless to teach a child that God is always at
hand, 'and spieth out all our ways,' if she act as though she did
not believe in the existence of a Deity.
In the same way will it hold good of every requirement. It will be
vain to teach a child that lying is a great crime in God's sight,
when a mother in her own words shows no regard to truth; and equally
so of all other passions and feelings. It is idle to teach a child
that pride--hatred--revenge--anger, are unholy passions, if a
mother's own conduct displays either of them. How useless is it to
teach that vanity should never be indulged in, when a mother
delights in display! Such instruction as this is like the web of
Penelope--unpicked as fast as done. The greatest reverence is due to
a child; and previously to becoming a teacher, a mother should learn
this hardest of all lessons--'Know thyself.' Without this, the
instruction she gives her children will at best prove very
imperfect. It is quite useless to teach children to reverence any
thing, when a mother's conduct shows that, practically at least, she
has no belief in the truths she inculcates. And a very hard
requirement this is: but it is a requirement absolutely necessary,
if education is meant to be any thing more than nominal. The finest
lesson on the beauty of truth is enforced by a mother never herself
saying what is false; for children pay great regard to consistency,
and very soon detect any discrepancies between that which is taught
and that which is practised.
The best method of inculcating truth on the minds of children is by
analogy and illustration. They cannot follow an argument, though
they readily understand a comparison: and, by a judicious
arrangement, every thing, either animate or inanimate, might be made
to become a teacher. What lesson on industry would be so likely to
be instructive as that gathered from a bee-hive? The longest
dissertation on the evils of idleness and the advantages of industry
would not prove half so beneficial as directing the observation to
the movements of the bee--that ever-active insect, which, without
the aid of reason, exercises prudence and foresight, and provides
against the wants of winter. A child will readily understand such
instruction as this, and will blush to be found spending precious
hours in idleness. And in the same way with other duties, whether to
God or mankind, the fowls of the air and the flowers of the field
might be made profitable teachers, and the child would, wherever he
went, be surrounded with instruction.
This mode of teaching has this special recommendation--it raises up
no evil passions: and a child which would display an evil temper by
being reproved in words, will feel no such rancor at a lesson being
inculcated in a way like this.
This instruction will also be much longer remembered than one
delivered in words, forasmuch as the object upon which the
instruction is based would be continually presented to the eye.
And, we believe, almost all duties might be inculcated in this
manner. Thus, humility by the lily, patience by the spider,
affection by the dove, love to parents by the stork,--all might be
rendered teachers, and in a way never to be forgotten. And that this
mode of teaching is the best, we have the example of Christ himself,
who almost invariably enforced his instructions by an allusion to
some created thing. What, for instance, was so likely to teach men
dependence upon God as a reference to the 'ravens and the lilies,'
which without the aid of reason had their wants cared for? And in
the same way with children--what is so likely to teach them their
duties, as a reference to the varied things in nature with whose
uses and habits they are well acquainted?
God should be the object upon which the child's thoughts are taught
to dwell--for the minds even of children turn to the beautiful, and
the beautiful is the Divine. All thoughts and actions should be
raised to this standard; and the child would raise above the
feelings of self-gratification and vanity, and the panting for
applause, to the favor and love of God. Thus should religion be the
great and the first thing taught; and a mother should be careful
that neither in her own actions, nor in the motives she holds out to
her children, should there be any thing inimical or contrary to
religion.
And by this course the best and happiest results may be expected to
follow. The perverse and headstrong passions of the human heart are
so many, that numerous instructions may seem to be useless, and a
mother may have often to sigh over her child as she sees him
allowing evil habits to obtain the mastery, or unholy dispositions
to reign in his heart; but, as we have before said, we do not think
that the instruction will be lost, but that a time will come when
she will reap the fruits of her toil, care and anxiety.
Such then is the duty of woman as a mother--to tend and watch over
the wants of her child, to guard it in health, to nurse it in
sickness, to be solicitous for it in all the changes of life, and to
prevent, as much as possible, those many ills to which flesh is heir
from assailing her fondly cherished offspring.
It is also her province to instruct her children in those duties
which will fall to their lot both as reasonable and as immortal
creatures; and by so doing she will make her own life happy--leave
to her children a happy heritage on earth, and a prospect of a
higher one in heaven. But if a mother neglect her duty, she will
reap the fruits of her own negligence in the ingratitude of her
children--an ingratitude which will bring a double pain to her, from
the thought that her own neglect was the cause of its growth, as an
eagle with an arrow in his heart might be supposed to feel an agony
above that of pain on seeing the shaft now draining its life's blood
feathered from its own wing.
Mrs. Child, in her excellent "Mother's Book," a volume that should
be in the hands of every woman who has assumed the responsibilities
of a parent, gives some valuable suggestions on the subject of
governing children. I make a single extract and with it close my
present rambling work. She says:
"Some children, from errors in early management, get possessed with
the idea that they may have every thing. 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 storm 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 any thing 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. 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 would 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 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 gave 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 END.