THE LITTLE ONES OF THE FAMILY AND THE GLORY OF MOTHERHOOD.
“A joyful mother of children.”—Psa. cxiii. 9.
* * * * *
I called the subject of our two last talks all-important, because I
could hardly imagine one possessing wider interest for you. But when I
introduced it, I alluded to you, my dear girl friends, not only as the
wives, but as the mothers of the future. Marriage and motherhood are
alike sacred subjects—the latter certainly not less so than the former.
Before the day arrives when the sweet but solemn responsibility of
motherhood comes to the young wife, girls who are members of large
families have mostly shared in the toil, anxiety, and, let us hope,
also in the joy and brightness that the little ones bring into the
world with them.
It makes me glad as I call to mind many beautiful pictures of sisters
who have been second only to the real mother in their loving care of,
and tender sympathy with, the younger members of the family.
Many a delicate ailing mother has been aided on the path to renewed
health by the thought that the children, about whom she would otherwise
be painfully anxious, are being lovingly watched over by an elder
sister. As she has lain, so willing yet so unable to fulfil her
maternal duties, her heart has been full of joy, and her thoughts have
gone up in praise to God for the gift of the precious daughter who is
cheerfully carrying the weight under which she, unaided, must have sunk.
There are, thank God, many girls who are little mothers almost from
their cradles. We can find them in rich homes and poor ones. In courts
and slums where the direst poverty prevails, the baby, often unwelcome
to the elders, is passed over to the ceaseless care of one who is only
a few years past babyhood herself.
From the very first the little deputy-mother deems it her baby, her
choicest treasure, and finds beauties and charms in it which are
invisible to other eyes. Its increasing size and weight may cause her
greater weariness, but they are none the less sources of pride and joy,
and make her forget her own aching back.
She would go hungry that it might be well fed; cold, that it might be
warmly bundled up in the shawl that ought to do duty as covering for
both of them. Her baby may be but a caricature of the pink and white
loveliness of another infant clad in silk and lace and with two nurses
to watch its every movement; but let a ragged dweller in the same court
disparage the looks of her darling, and she would fight the slanderer
as stubbornly as ever knight of old did in defence of the charms of his
ladye love.
I must not dwell on this picture. Long ago when the “G. O. P.”[1] was
itself a baby under two years old, I wrote with heartfelt respect of
“Little Nurses.” I had studied them in many places, and the sight of
their devotion had inspired my admiration and loving sympathy.
[1] No. 69, vol. ii.
Turning from the baby devotee of the slums, and not for a moment
forgetting sweet pictures of sisterly devotion which I have seen in
other ranks of life, I am going to indulge in a little croak about the
decay of the maternal spirit in many of the girls of to-day.
I was journeying northward some three years ago, and during part of the
time I had only one companion. She was past girlhood, probably some
years over thirty, and in the course of conversation she spoke of her
old happy home and the gradual scattering of its inmates, until she
found herself the last one left. Her parents had died not long after
each other, and brothers’ and sisters’ homes were far apart. That there
had been true family union and affection amongst them I felt sure, for
my companion could not speak of the good father and mother without a
trembling of the voice and tears which she turned away to hide.
Later the talk turned on children. I suppose, as an old mother, I must
have expressed my deep love for them, and I was almost horrified when
my companion exclaimed—
“I loathe children. I cannot bear even to touch a child.”
The expression on her face proved her sincerity.
Need I tell you, dear girls, that a barrier seemed to rise up between
my companion and myself, as I heard these unwomanly, nay, I may say,
inhuman words? Only a short time before, the girl had been moved to
tears as she spoke of the loving devotion of which she had been an
object, both as a child and from her youth up. Yet her memories of her
own home life and of the parents she mourned, had not awakened in her
cold heart one spark of tenderness for the helpless little creatures
who are so dependent on those around them.
A truly feminine nature, with its motherly instincts fostered as they
ought to be, instead of being crushed down and stifled, regards every
child with tenderness, and would make the surroundings of all the
little ones brighter, purer, and holier if it were possible to do so.
It happened on that same journey that a comely Scotchwoman got into
our carriage at a country station. At the door she held out one of the
loveliest year-old babies I ever saw, and addressing my companion,
said, “Here, tak the bairn, please, whiles I lift in the others,” for
there were two more youngsters on the platform just a step above each
other in size.
My companion fairly shrank into her corner and kept her hands firmly
clasped, whilst her face expressed disgust and vexation at the
unceremonious request. The mother’s astonishment was almost ludicrous,
but I promptly said, “Give me the bairn. I’m used to bairns, you see,
and this lady is not.” It was a delight to hold the bonny smiling
darling in my arms. Her beautiful clothing and the pretty neat garments
of the elder children were eloquent of loving care. And the mother was
eloquent too about the object of the half-hour’s journey which was to
show the children to “my ain guid mither, who is just wearyin’ for a
look at them,” I was told.
I heard about five older ones at home, and how they had to go, two at a
time and the baby, to see the grandmother, with many particulars which
brought this comparatively young mother into fullest sympathy with me,
the old one.
I was quite sorry to give up my pretty charge when parting time came.
Sorry, too, that my other travelling companion, who sat silent in her
corner with averted eyes, could not appreciate the charms of childhood,
or care to impress on her memory the beautiful picture of motherly
self-devotion and industry furnished by that sample batch from the
flock of eight. How each bright healthy face, each spotless tasteful
garment would appeal to the grandmother! How glad and proud she would
be to see the fruits of her own training, as she looked at her matronly
daughter and those “bonny bairns” of another generation!
Yet how kind was my first companion to me, when the others had left
us alone again! We parted at the next stopping-place, but during the
waiting interval she was like a good daughter in her care of me. I
think that in paying me sweet attentions she thought of the mother of
her girlhood whom she had lost. The pity of it was that memory did not
take her further back, so that, in thinking of the needs of infancy and
her own childhood, she might have been stirred to sympathy with other
helpless little ones of the human family.
Another girl, whom I know to be really warm-hearted and affectionate,
said of her sister’s baby, “She’s a horrid little creature, more like a
skinned rabbit than anything else. I cannot bear to look at her, and I
would not touch her for the world.”
We know that newly-born babies are not always beautiful to look upon,
but how soon the redness of their faces tones down to lovely pink and
white, and the puckered skin fills out and becomes soft as satin to the
touch. That girl’s heart must be unwomanly indeed for which a baby’s
smile and outstretched arms have not an irresistible charm.
Putting aside the fascination of external beauty, we should bear in
mind the great fact that the frailest, least attractive infant that
comes into the world is the home of an immortal soul. It brings with it
a burden of sweet but solemn responsibility to be borne, first of all
by the parents, but shared in a less degree by all whose companionship
must influence it for good or evil.
I am not going to imagine that amongst you, my dear girl friends and
twilight companions, any can be found who have no warm comers in their
hearts for helpless little ones, or who are insensible to the glory and
responsibility of motherhood. So, having given vent to the little croak
suggested by the sayings of sundry girls whom I have met elsewhere,
let us talk about the children over whom we have, or may have in the
future, the strongest influence of all. Strongest and best also; if
we are only true to our divinely-given instincts, and alive to the
vastness of the responsibilities of motherhood. I cannot help thinking
that the study of child life and character should form part of every
girl’s education. Surely no branch of natural history can be equally
interesting.
There can hardly be a more fascinating subject than natural history in
all its branches, and we can admire and sympathise with the earnest
student who spends the best part of a lifetime in observing the ways
of an insignificant insect. Every secret of structure or habit thus
revealed is another proof of the goodness and power of God, and adds
to His glory in the eyes of His believing children, who exclaim in the
words of the Psalmist, “O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom
hast Thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches.” The Revised
Version gives the word “creatures,” instead of riches, and truly when
you and I, my dear ones, call to mind the little we know about these
wondrous minute organisms that scientific research has revealed of
late, we are struck with the fitness of the change. It is hard to grasp
the idea alike of the vastness and the minuteness of God’s works.
If I had time I could quote many passages of His Word which prove that
some of the best men of old were close observers of nature, and to be
such is quite in accordance with its teachings. I would plead with all
nature students, but, above all, with girls, who will be the mothers
of the future, to give the closest, most prayerful study to the young
human beings on whose right training so much depends.
Lovers of horses, dogs or cats are generally eloquent about their
pets, and can indicate every point of excellence in them, or allude
regretfully to the smallest blemish. They spend money lavishly in order
to acquire perfect specimens, and are careful to maintain them in
health and more than comfort.
These costly pets are so much living capital, and it is safe to say
that many a parent could tell more about the disposition and doings of
a favourite horse or dog, than of the dispositions of the children who
call them father or mother.
It is often said that the baby brings a vast heritage of love with
it into the world, and I believe in the truth of this. But sometimes
the love gets into the wrong heart, if I may use such an expression,
instead of filling that of the mother, who, regarding the helpless
creature as a hindrance to what she calls “pleasure,” is willing to
relinquish the privilege of caring for her child to other hands. If
these are truly womanly hands, and the nurse has in her a motherly
heart, the child may lose little by the change during its first years.
Later on, Nature asserts herself and only a mother’s love can satisfy a
child’s yearnings.
On this subject of motherhood, as in all that you and I, my dear girl
friends, have talked about together, we need to look into the Book of
books for light and guidance.
Motherhood is part of Nature’s—or should I not rather say of God’s—plan
for womanhood. Let us look back together at the earliest chapter of
human history, and note how children were regarded then.
Eve, so named because she was “the mother of all living,” or “life,”
as the Revised Version gives it, clasped her first-born to her breast
and cried in her exultant joy, “I have gotten a man from the Lord.”
She looked upon her babe as the direct gift of God. She, like many a
mother in after days, could not foresee the sin and the sorrow that
would shadow his manhood and her own heart. But in holding her infant
treasure to her breast, she would have a present joy and sense of
riches that words cannot describe. She, the only human mother, with the
only human infant in the wondrous new world which was to be peopled by
her children, must have had sensations which none of her descendants
could possibly repeat.
And yet, believe me, every loving mother who is worthy of the name, has
a like feeling of riches, when she can say, “This is my child, my very
own. This wonderful little body is given me to feed, clothe and guard.
It is my privilege to see that it is fed with food convenient for it,
that the tender frame is shielded from too great heat or biting cold,
that it is kept from places and things which might injure its health,
or prevent its growth into sturdy boyhood or girlhood.” The true mother
was proud of her name in the old days of Bible history, and to be
childless was to be a sad and dissatisfied woman.
When Seth was born, after Abel had been slain by his brother, the
joyful thought of Eve was that the vacant place in her motherly heart
was filled again, and she cried, “God hath appointed me another seed
instead of Abel whom Cain slew.”
She had sons and daughters, we know not how many, during the ages which
followed, but there is no detailed history of them. Still it gladdens
our hearts to know of the joy of that first mother, when Seth was given
to her in place of the good son who “was not.”
Pass with me down the ages and look into the tent of Sarah, when she
held in her arms the child of promise, so long hoped for, even against
hope as it seemed. “And Sarah said, ‘God hath made me to laugh;
everyone that heareth will laugh with me.’”
Childless Rachel bemoaned her hard fate and cried, “Give me children,
or else I die.” Then when Joseph was born she gave him the name which
meant “added,” and said, “The Lord add to me another son.”
Yet another picture for us to look at together, my dear ones. It is
that of Jacob as he met his brother Esau. After the brothers had
embraced and kissed each other, Esau “lifted up his eyes and saw the
women and the children, and said, ‘Who are these with thee?’ And he
said, ‘The children which God hath graciously given thy servant.’”
Why are we studying all these Bible pictures, and glancing at the
domestic stories which they illustrate? Is it not that we may all
realise more fully the glory of motherhood, the value set upon children
by the mothers of old, and the universal acknowledgment that a child
was a precious gift from God?
Ah, there was no talk of loathing children then! No shrinking from
the touch of a fair, innocent, helpless babe! No talking lightly or
contemptuously of the little ones. The Psalmist calls children “the
heritage of the Lord—His reward,” and says that “He makes the barren
women to keep house” (or to dwell in a house) “and to be a joyful
mother of children.”
Motherhood conferred dignity and made the woman mistress of a home and
the head of a household. Ever and always the presence of a child or
children added to the sense of riches, being regarded as the special
gift of God and a token of His favour.
It is not easy to exhaust Scripture on this beautiful subject, for one
Bible mother seems to rise after another and claim our attention and
admiration. We see Hannah appearing in the house of the Lord, first
pleading that she too may know the glory and joy of motherhood, and
then, taking her weaned child to dedicate him to the lifelong service
of the Giver. “For this child I prayed, and the Lord hath given me my
petition which I asked of Him, therefore also I have lent him to the
Lord; as long as he liveth he shall be lent to the Lord.”
How self-sacrificing, how sublime was this act on the part of the
mother! Just when her little Samuel had twined himself round her heart
by the imperishable cords of love; as each day witnessed some new
growth and charm in the boy; and the parting must have become almost
too great a trial for the tender mother to contemplate, for “the child
was young.” Hannah brought him to Shiloh and left him there.
Hers was no temporary sacrifice. She renewed it year by year, rejoicing
that her son, God’s gift, was accepted by Him in turn as she gave him
back, “and was in favour both with the Lord and with men.”
We have passed by the mother of Moses and her plan to save, if
possible, the life of her infant, and other Bible mothers, around whom
we might well pause. We must, however, glance for a moment at the
Virgin Mother and her Babe lying in His lowly manger-bed, the infant
Saviour, “Christ the Lord.”
Stretching across the years, we see Jesus in His manhood taking the
little ones in His kind arms, blessing them and saying, “Suffer the
little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is
the kingdom of Heaven.”
Now, my dear girl friends, what impression has this talk left on your
minds? Has it not elevated your ideas of motherhood, and taught you how
it was regarded amongst the men and women of the Bible? Is it not a
sacred and glorious trust as well as a joyful one?
Are not the little ones, of whom some girls of to-day speak slightingly
and worse, to be regarded as God’s good and precious gifts to be nursed
for the Lord, fitted for and dedicated to His service?
(_To be concluded._)
FROCKS FOR TO-MORROW.
BY “THE LADY DRESSMAKER.”
Just now there is a very general feeling that women need more oxygen
than they get. I do not know if it be owing to the largely-published
fact that the Queen spends most of her day in the open air; but certain
it is that one of the newest fashions is that of walking, and this has
taken, with the leaders of London fashions, the place of cycling, to
which they were so devoted two seasons ago. Most of the great ladies
might have been seen in the Park during the past spring taking an early
walk, frequently accomplishing the round of the Park at a good even
pace, which meant exercise and health. Of course, now we know that the
best way to avoid fat and keep the slender figure of youth is to walk
regularly and constantly, and that any dietary or starving process is
unsafe, it is easy to decide the matter for ourselves. Three miles a
day is said to be enough, though some people say more. At any rate,
it is the regularity which contains the charm and makes its success.
And the doctors say that oxygen is what is needed to keep the eyes
bright and the skin fair and healthy. So, fortunately, walking is cheap
besides being fashionable, and it is the only way to find that physical
energy without which one is inert and languid. So, now that I have told
my readers the latest development in this way, they should try to lay
in such a stock of energy during the coming autumn and winter as shall
make them perfect giants in ordinary life.
[Illustration: BRAIDED FAWN CLOTH GOWN FOR AUTUMN.]
There is another subject which is rather akin to this one, of which I
find a note, and that is the general complaints of eye-trouble made
this spring and summer by cyclists. It is said to be a form of spring
ophthalmia, caused by the particles of dust and decaying matter with
which the atmosphere is loaded, which also affect the throats of those
who are in the habit of riding with the mouth open. One of the great
London dailies has mentioned this subject, and a London specialist of
renown has declared that the remedy for the first trouble is to have a
pair of spectacles with crape sides—as the wire sides are too hot—and
to keep the mouth shut while cycling. A mild antiseptic is used for the
eye-trouble, for which a doctor should be consulted.
[Illustration: CASHMERE AUTUMN GOWN.]
And now, having informed you of the very latest modes in this
direction, we may turn to another note of mine, made at the Women’s
Congress in July last, when I quickly noticed one thing, that American
women, who are strong on matters of hygiene and ready to take advice on
it, had all dismissed veils both with hats and bonnets, and that all
the Englishwomen present, with hardly an exception, wore them—of every
kind and colour. In fact, an Englishwoman feels her face unclothed
without a veil to hide it, and the idea of its becomingness and that it
hides the ravages of time is a constantly alleged reason. The American
woman, like Gallio, cares for none of these things, and she looks as
well. Certainly her skin is as clear and healthy as anyone else’s,
and perhaps it is better and rosier in hue. She has attended lectures
innumerable on personal hygiene and on physical culture until she knows
a few things by heart. They are, that neither sun nor air are enemies
to woman’s beauty; and that science declares that veils of all kinds
are of no good for anything, and that they affect the eye and its sight
most injuriously. The subject of the danger of spotty veils has been
frequently ventilated, and yet our women and girls do not seem to have
taken notice of the warning. I was much struck with the docility of the
Americans in this way; they really tried to follow out every suggestion
and discovery which made for better health and improved powers and
energies in daily life.
[Illustration: AN AUTUMN HAT.]
It is difficult to say whether the revival, which has been very
evident, of this early Victorian poke will be a lasting one; but
I think it will probably extend into the winter in the form of
comfortable velvet and feather creations, in which we shall all look
more or less like our grandmothers. Some of us will find them very
becoming indeed. The new pokes differ from the old ones in showing
entirely that pretty coil of back hair which is so charming a feature
of present-day hair-dressing. The old pokes of the beginning of the
present reign were not made to do this, nor were they furnished with
the pretty tulle strings which add so much to their becomingness. To
me, this ancient head-covering is always associated with black ostrich
tips and pink roses, but I may find out as the seasons roll that new
discoveries have been made in this also, and that will be a decided
gain, for there was, if pictures may be trusted, an unpleasant sameness
about the headgear of one’s forebears.
The French sailor has been really distinctively the hat of the season.
It is a wonderful hat, for it suits everyone, and especially all those
difficult to suit on account of either having thin faces or possessed
of a few years too many. The brim, moreover, is not too wide, and
does not cast an unbecoming shadow. Many women invariably select this
shape, and fortunately it is always to be found, as its popularity is
quite assured. It is easy also to trim them for oneself, and select a
black one trimmed with black net, relieved, if you choose, with a paste
buckle; or else a white one trimmed entirely with white tulle or net.
These were the most fashionable things of this last season. Fancy gauze
is also worn, and the net and gauze ruchings that can be purchased
ready-made can be used for them.
It has been also much in vogue during the last few weeks to have hats
of this French sailor shape in colours, _i.e._, greys, fawns, browns,
even drabs, trimmed with tulles of the same colour. These have been
very pretty, and will be in good taste for the autumn season, as they
are suitable for wearing with travelling dresses, and they will be
found to survive a good deal of hard wear. It is rather the fashion to
wear a veil of the same colour with these hats, the meshes of which are
chosen large and the veiling clear, with dots very far apart. Violets
and blues seem to me very becoming, but I cannot say that I think the
same of reds and pinks. Veils of white lace—washing lace as it is
called—are very much used with sailor hats again.
[Illustration: A GOWN OF LACE AND VOILE.]
Our illustration of a braided gown of fawn-coloured cloth shows the
last new style for autumn wear. The braiding is done in a darker shade
of fawn; or, in some cases, in black, or in white; but the dark shade
of the same hue is more fashionable. The hat is a lace straw, trimmed
with ostrich feathers and shaded roses of a dark hue, and strings of
black gauze. This hat, and that shown in our illustration of the single
head, are good examples of the autumn afternoon hat; and they are
suitable both for visiting, and for garden-parties in the country. The
autumn hat is of a white chip, or Panama straw, with black feathers,
black gauze, and a paste buckle; while under the brim is a cluster of
chrysanthemums in mauve and red.
I wonder whether my readers have discovered for themselves the extreme
usefulness of voile as a material? I have illustrated a dress which
is, of course, suitable for dress occasions only, but which might be
modified, and would be just as suitable during the winter for quiet
evenings, as it would be for autumn garden parties.
The gown of cashmere is far more simple. It has revers of satin to
match the colour of the cashmere, which is rather an uncommon shade of
borage-blue—that delightful shade, so clear and yet not at all crude
in tone. The hat is of blue, with a wreath of very tiny mauve flowers
resting on a scarf of blue, of the very palest shade of the same.
If it should prove to be a fine autumn and winter, I hear it prophesied
on all sides that red will be more worn than even during last winter:
indeed, that all bright hues will be in favour.
My last few lines must be devoted to the question of “hats in church,”
which seems just now a burning question in America. I read an account
lately, in an American journal, of the movement in a part of the
Methodist body to do away with the wearing of large hats in church,
where their use is even more objectionable than elsewhere in any place
where people gather together in numbers. It is said by the advocates
of the change that it is not contrary to Scripture, for at the time
when St. Paul wrote, the women were in a state of servitude and more
or less seclusion, and they are not so now. It seems probable that the
movement will spread throughout America. You will find that at many
public meetings there, and even here during the Congress, many women
took their hats off while the meetings were going on.
HOUSEHOLD HINTS.
THE register of a bedroom fireplace should never be closed, but left
open for free ventilation from above.
FIRE-IRONS and fenders not in use in the summer should not be
neglected, but kept constantly rubbed up and not allowed to rust.
PARSLEY is injurious to fowls, and should not be given to them.
THREE GIRL-CHUMS, AND THEIR LIFE IN LONDON ROOMS.
BY FLORENCE SOPHIE DAVSON.