125. _Have you any remarks to make on the clothing of a child?_

Children—boys and girls—especially if they be delicate, ought always to

wear high dresses up to their necks. The exposure of the upper part of

the chest (if the child be weakly) is dangerous. It is in the _upper_

part of the lungs, in the region of the collar bones, that consumption

first shows itself. The clothing of a child, more especially about the

chest, should be large and full in every part, and be free from tight

strings, so that the circulation of the blood may not be impeded, and

that there may be plenty of room for the full development of the rapidly

growing body.

His frock or tunic ought to be of woolen material—warm, light, and

porous, in order that the perspiration may rapidly evaporate. The

practice of some mothers in allowing their children to wear tight bands

round their waists, and tight clothes, is truly reprehensible.

_Tight_ bands or _tight_ belts around the waist of a child are very

injurious to health; they crib in the chest, and thus interfere with the

rising and the falling of the ribs—so essential to breathing. _Tight_

hats ought never to be worn; by interfering with the circulation they

cause headaches. Nature delights in freedom, and resents interference!

126. _What parts of the body in particular ought to be kept warm?_

The chest, the bowels, and the feet should be kept comfortably warm. We

must guard against an opposite extreme, and not keep them too hot. The

head alone should be kept cool, on which account I do not approve either

of night or of day caps.

127. _What are the best kinds of hat for a child?_

The best covering for the head, when he is out and about, is a

loose-fitting straw hat, which will allow the perspiration to escape. It

should have a broad brim, to screen the eyes. A sunshade, that is to

say, a sea-side hat—a hat made of cotton, with a wide brim to keep off

the sun—is also an excellent hat for a child; it is very light, and

allows a free escape of the perspiration. It can be bought, ready made,

at a baby-linen warehouse.

A knitted or crocheted woolen hat, with woolen rosettes to keep the ears

warm, and which may be procured at any baby-linen warehouse, makes a

nice and comfortable winter’s hat for a child. It is also a good hat for

him to wear while performing a long journey. The color chosen is

generally scarlet and white, which, in cold weather, gives it a warm and

comfortable appearance.

It is an abominable practice to cover a child’s head either with beaver

or with felt, or with any thick, impervious material. It is a

well-ascertained fact, that both beaver and silk hats cause men to

suffer from headache, and to lose their hair—the reason being that the

perspiration cannot possibly escape through them. Now, if the

perspiration cannot escape, dangerous, or at all events injurious,

consequences must ensue, as it is well known that the skin is a

breathing apparatus, and that it will not with impunity bear

interference.

Neither a child nor any one else should be permitted to be in the glare

of the sun without his hat. If he be allowed, he is likely to have a

sun-stroke, which might either at once kill him, or might make him an

idiot for the remainder of his life, which latter would be the worse

alternative of the two.

128. _Have you any remarks to make on keeping a child’s hands and legs

warm when, in the winter time, he is carried out?_

When a child either walks or is carried out in wintry weather, be sure

and see that both his hands and legs are well protected from the cold.

There is nothing for this purpose like woolen gloves, and woolen

stockings coming up over the knees.

129. _Do you approve of a child wearing a flannel night-gown?_

He frequently throws the clothes off him, and has occasion to be taken

up in the night, and if he has not a flannel gown on is likely to catch

cold; on which account I recommend it to be worn. The usual calico

night-gown should be worn _under_ it.

130. _Do you advise a child to be_ LIGHTLY _clad, in order that he may

be hardened thereby?_

I should fear that such a plan, instead of hardening, would be likely to

produce a contrary effect. It is an ascertained fact that more children

of the poor, who are thus lightly clad, die, than of those who are

properly defended from the cold. Again, what holds good with a young

plant is equally applicable to a young child; and we all know that it is

ridiculous to think of unnecessarily exposing a tender plant to harden

it. If it were thus exposed, it would wither and die!

131. _If a child be delicate, if he has a cold body or a languid

circulation, or if he be predisposed to inflammation of the lungs, do

you approve of his wearing flannel instead of linen shirts?_

I do; as flannel tends to keep the body at an equal temperature, thus

obviating the effects of the sudden changes of the weather, and

promotes, by gentle friction, the cutaneous circulation, thus warming

the cold body, and giving an impetus to the languid circulation, and

preventing an undue quantity of blood from being sent to the lungs,

either to light up or to feed inflammation. _Fine_ flannel, of course,

ought to be worn, which should be changed as frequently as the usual

shirts.

If a child has had an attack either of bronchitis or of inflammation of

the lungs, or if he has just recovered from scarlet fever, by all means,

if he has not previously worn flannel, _instantly_ let him begin to do

so, and let him, next to the skin, wear a flannel waistcoat. _This is

important advice, and ought not to be disregarded._

_Scarlet_ flannel is now much used instead of _white_ flannel; and as

scarlet flannel has a more comfortable appearance, and does not shrink

so much in washing, it may for the white be substituted.

132. _Have you any remarks to make on the shoes and stockings of a

child? and on the right way of cutting the toe-nails?_

He ought, during the winter, to wear lambs’ wool stockings that will

reach _above_ the knees, and _thick_ calico drawers that will reach a

few inches _below_ the knees; as it is of the utmost importance to keep

the lower extremities comfortably warm. It is really painful to see how

many mothers expose the bare legs of their little ones to the frosty

air, even in the depths of winter. “Tender little children are exposed

to the bitterest weather, with their legs bared in a manner that would

inevitably injure the health of strong adults.”[185]

Garters ought not to be worn, as they impede the circulation, waste the

muscles, and interfere with walking. The stocking may be secured in its

place by means of a loop and tape, which should be fastened to a part of

the dress.

Let me urge upon you the importance of not allowing your child to wear

_tight_ shoes; they cripple the feet, causing the joints of the toes,

which ought to have free play, and which should assist in walking, to

be, in a manner, useless; they produce corns and bunions, and interfere

with the proper circulation of the foot. A shoe ought to be made

according to the shape of the foot—rights and lefts are therefore

desirable. The toe-part of the shoe must be made broad, so as to allow

plenty of room for the toes to expand, and that one toe cannot overlap

another. Be sure, then, that there be no pinching and no pressure. In

the article of shoes you ought to be particular and liberal; pay

attention to having nicely fitting ones, and let them be made of soft

leather, and throw them on one side the moment they are too small. It is

poor economy, indeed, because a pair of shoes be not worn out, to run

the risk of incurring the above evil consequences.

_Shoes are far preferable to boots_; boots weaken instead of strengthen

the ankle. The ankle and instep require free play, and ought not to be

hampered by boots. Moreover, boots, by undue pressure, decidedly waste

away the ligaments of the ankle. Boots act on the ankles in a similar

way that stays do on the waist—they do mischief by pressure. Boots waste

away the ligaments of the ankle; stays waste away the muscles of the

back and chest: and thus, in both cases, do irreparable mischief.

A shoe for a child ought to be made with a narrow strap over the instep,

and with button and button-hole: if it be not made in this way, the shoe

will not keep on the foot.

It is a grievous state of things that in this nineteenth century there

are very few shoemakers in England who know how to make a shoe! The shoe

is made not to fit the real foot, but a fashionable imaginary one!

Let me strongly urge you to be particular that the sock or stocking fits

nicely—that it is neither too small nor too large; if it be too small,

it binds up the toes unmercifully, and makes one toe to ride over the

other, and thus renders the toes perfectly useless in walking; if it be

too large, it is necessary to lap a portion of the sock or stocking

either under or over the toes, which thus presses unduly upon them, and

gives pain and annoyance. It should be borne in mind that if the toes

have full play, they, as it were, grasp the ground, and greatly assist

in locomotion—which, of course, if they are cramped up, they cannot

possibly do. Be careful too, that the toe-part of the sock or stocking

be not pointed; let it be made square, in order to give room to the

toes. “At this helpless period of life the delicately feeble,

outspreading toes, are wedged into a narrow-toed stocking, often so

short as to double in the toes, diminishing the length of the

rapidly-growing foot! It is next, perhaps, tightly laced into a boot of

less interior dimensions than itself; when the poor little creature is

left to sprawl about with a limping, stumping gait, thus learning to

walk as it best can, under circumstances the most cruel and torturing

imaginable.”[186]

It is impossible for either a stocking or a shoe to fit nicely, unless

the toe-nails be kept in proper order. Now, in cutting the toe-nails

there is, as in everything else, a right and a wrong way. The _right_

way of cutting a toe-nail is to cut it straight—in a straight line. The

_wrong_ way is to cut the corners of the nail—to round the nail, as it

is called. This cutting the corners of the nails often makes work for

the surgeon, as I myself can testify; it frequently produces

“growing-in” of the nail, which sometimes necessitates the removal of

either the nail or of a portion of it.

133. _At what time of the year should a child leave off his winter

clothing?_

A mother ought not to leave off her children’s winter clothing until the

spring be far advanced: it is far better to be on the safe side, and to

allow the winter clothes to be worn until the end of May. The old adage

is very good, and should be borne in mind:

“Button to chin

Till May be in;

Ne’er cast a clout

Till May be out.”

134. _Have you any general remarks to make on the present fashion of

dressing children?_

The present fashion is absurd. Children are frequently dressed like

mountebanks, with feathers and furbelows and finery: the boys go

bare-legged; the little girls are dressed like women, with their

stuck-out petticoats, crinolines, and low dresses! Their poor little

waists are drawn in tight, so that they can scarcely breathe; their

dresses are very low and short, the consequence is, that a great part of

the chest is exposed to our variable climate; their legs are bare down

to their thin socks, or, if they be clothed, they are only covered with

gossamer drawers; while their feet are incased in tight shoes of paper

thickness! Dress! dress! dress! is made with them at a tender age, and,

when first impressions are the strongest, a most important

consideration. They are thus rendered vain and frivolous, and are taught

to consider dress “as the one thing needful.” And if they live to be

women—which the present fashion is likely frequently to prevent—what are

they? Silly, simpering, delicate, lackadaisical nonentities,—dress being

their amusement, their occupation, their conversation, their everything,

their thoughts by day and their dreams by night! Let children be dressed

as children, not as men and women. Let them be taught that dress is

quite a secondary consideration. Let health, and not fashion, be the

first, and we shall have, with God’s blessing, blooming children, who

will, in time, be the pride and strength of dear old England! Oh that

the time may come, and may not be far distant, “That our sons may grow

up as the young plants, and that our daughters may be as the polished

corners of the temple.”[187]

DIET.

135. _At_ TWELVE _months old, have you any objection to a child having

any other food besides that you mentioned in answer to the 34th

question_?

There is no objection to his _occasionally_ having for dinner either a

mealy, _mashed_ potato and gravy, or a few crumbs of bread and gravy.

Rice pudding or batter pudding may, for a change, be given; but

remember, the food recommended in a former Conversation is what, until

he be eighteen months old, must be principally taken. During the early

months of infancy—say, for the first six or seven—if artificial food be

given at all, it should be administered by means of a feeding-bottle.

After that time, either a spoon or a nursing-boat will be preferable. As

he becomes older, the food ought to be made more solid.

136. _At_ EIGHTEEN _months old, have you any objection to a child having

meat_?

He ought not to have meat until he has several teeth to chew it with.

If he has most of his teeth—which he very likely, at this age, will

have—there is no objection to his taking a small slice either of mutton

or occasionally of roast beef, which should be well cut into very small

pieces, and mixed with a mealy, _mashed_ potato, and a few crumbs of

bread and gravy, either _every_ day, if he be delicate, or every _other_

day, if he be a gross or a fast-feeding child. It may be well, in the

generality of cases, for the first few months to give him meat _every

other_ day, and either potato and gravy, or rice or suet-pudding or

batter pudding on the alternate days; indeed, I think so highly of rice,

of suet, and of batter puddings, and of other farinaceous puddings, that

I should advise you to let him have either the one or the other, even on

those days that he has meat—giving it him _after_ his meat. But

remember, if he have meat _and_ pudding, the meat ought to be given

sparingly. If he be gorged with food, it makes him irritable, cross, and

stupid; at one time, clogging up the bowels and producing constipation;

at another, disordering the liver, and causing either clay-colored

stools, denoting a _deficiency_ of bile, or dark and offensive motions,

telling of _vitiated_ bile; while, in a third case, cramming him with

food might bring on convulsions.

137. _As you are so partial to puddings for a child, which do you

consider the best for him?_

He ought, every day, to have a pudding for his dinner—either rice,

arrow-root, sago, tapioca, suet-pudding, batter pudding, or

Yorkshire-pudding, mixed with crumbs of bread and gravy—free from

grease. A well-boiled suet-pudding, with plenty of suet in it, is one of

the best puddings he can have; it is, in point of fact, meat and

farinaceous food combined, and is equal to and will oftentimes prevent

the giving of cod-liver oil. Before cod-liver oil came into vogue, suet

boiled in milk was _the_ remedy for a delicate child; he may,

occasionally, have fruit-pudding, provided the pastry be both plain and

light.

The objection to fruit pies and puddings is, that the pastry is often

too rich for the delicate stomach of a child: there is no objection,

certainly not, to the fruit—cooked fruit being, for a child, most

wholesome; if, therefore, fruit puddings and pies be eaten, the pastry

part ought to be quite plain. There is, in “Murray’s Modern Cookery

Book,” an excellent suggestion, which I will take the liberty of

quoting, and of strongly urging my fair reader to carry into practice:

“_To prepare fruit for children, a far more wholesome way than in pies

and puddings_, is to put apples sliced, or plums, currants,

gooseberries, etc. into a stone jar, and sprinkle among them as much

Lisbon sugar as necessary. Set the jar on an oven or on a hearth, with a

teacupful of water to prevent the fruit from burning; or put the jar

into a saucepan of water, till its contents be perfectly done. Slices of

bread or some rice may be put into the jar, to eat with the fruit.”

_Jam_—such as strawberry, raspberry, gooseberry—_is most wholesome for a

child_, and ought occasionally to be given, in lieu of sugar, with the

rice, with the batter, and with the other puddings. Marmalade, too, is

very wholesome.

Puddings ought to be given _after_ and not _before_ his meat and

vegetables; if you give him pudding before his meat, he might refuse to

eat meat altogether.

By adopting the plan of giving puddings _every_ day, your child will

require _less_ animal food: _much_ meat is injurious to a young child.

But do not run into an opposite extreme: a _little_ meat ought, every

day, to be given, _provided he has cut the whole of his first set of

teeth_; until then, meat every _other_ day will be often enough.

138. _As soon as a child has cut the whole of his first set of teeth,

what ought to be his diet? What should be his breakfast?_

He can, then, have nothing better, where it agrees, than scalding-hot

new milk poured on sliced bread, with a slice or two of bread and butter

to eat with it. Butter, in moderation, is nourishing, fattening, and

wholesome. Moreover, butter tends to keep the bowels regular. These

facts should be borne in mind, as some mothers foolishly keep their

children from butter, declaring it to be too rich for their children’s

stomachs! New milk should be used in preference either to cream or to

skimmed milk. Cream, as a rule, is too rich for the delicate stomach of

a child, and skim-milk is too poor when robbed of the butter which the

cream contains. But give cream and, water, where new milk (as is

_occasionally_ the case) does not agree; but never give skim-milk.

_Skim_-milk (among other evils) produces costiveness, and necessitates

the frequent administration of aperients. Cream, on the other hand,

regulates and tends to open the bowels.

Although, as a rule, I am not so partial to cream as I am to good

genuine fresh milk, yet I have found, in cases of great debility, more

especially where a child is much exhausted by some inflammatory disease,

such as inflammation of the lungs, the following food most serviceable:

Beat up, by means of a fork, the yolk of an egg, then mix, little by

little, half a teacupful of very weak _black_ tea, sweeten with one lump

of sugar, and add a tablespoonful of cream. Let the foregoing, by

teaspoonfuls at a time, be frequently given.

The above food is only to be administered until the exhaustion be

removed, and is not to supersede the milk diet, which must, at stated

periods, be given, as I have recommended in answers to previous and

subsequent questions.

When a child has costive bowels, there is nothing better for his

breakfast than well-made and well-boiled oatmeal stir-about, which ought

to be eaten with milk fresh from the cow. Scotch children scarcely take

anything else, and a finer race is not in existence; and, as for physic,

many of them do not even know either the taste or the smell of it!

139. _Have you any remarks to make on cow’s milk, as an article of

food?_

Cow’s milk is a valuable, indeed, an indispensable article of diet for

children; it is most nourishing, wholesome, and digestible. The finest

and the healthiest children are those who, for the first four or five

years of their lives, are fed _principally_ upon it. Milk ought then to

be their staple food.

No young child, as a rule, can live, or, if he live, can be healthy,

unless milk is the staple article of his diet. There is no substitute

for milk. To prove the fattening and strengthening qualities of milk,

look only at a young calf who lives on milk, and on milk alone! He is a

Samson in strength, and is as fat as butter; and all young things are

fat if they are in health!

Milk contains every ingredient to build up the body, which is more than

can be said of any other known substance. A child may live entirely, and

become both healthy and strong, on milk, and on milk alone, as it

contains every constituent of the human body. A child cannot “live by

bread alone,” but he might on milk alone! Milk is animal and

vegetable—it is meat and bread—it is a fluid, but as soon as it reaches

the stomach it becomes a solid[188]—solid food; it is the most important

and valuable article of diet for a child in existence. It is a glorious

food for the young, and must never, in any case, be dispensed with.

“Considering that milk contains in itself most of the constituents of a

perfect diet, and is capable of maintaining life in infancy without the

aid of any other substance, it is marvelous that the consumption of it

is practically limited to so small a class; and not only so, but that in

sick-rooms, where the patient is surrounded with every luxury,

arrow-root, and other compounds containing much less nutriment, should

so often be preferred to it.”[189]

Do not let me be misunderstood. I do not mean to say but that the mixing

of farinaceous food—such as Lemann’s Biscuit Powder, Robb’s Biscuit,

Hard’s Farinaceous Food, Brown and Polson’s Corn Flour, and the like,

with the milk, is an improvement—a great improvement; but still I

maintain that a child might live and thrive, and that for a lengthened

period, on milk—and on milk alone!

A dog will live and fatten for six weeks on milk alone! while he will

starve and die in a shorter period on strong beef-tea alone!

It is a grievous sin for a milkman to adulterate milk. How many a poor

infant has fallen a victim to that crime!—for crime it may truly be

called.

It is folly in the extreme for a mother to bate a milkman down in the

price of his milk; if she does, the milk is sure to be either of

inferior quality, or adulterated, or diluted with water; and woe betide

the poor unfortunate child if it be either the one or the other! The

only way to insure good milk is to go to a respectable cow-keeper, and

let him be made to thoroughly understand the importance of your child

having _genuine_ milk, and that you are then willing to pay a fair

remunerative price for it. Rest assured, that if you have to pay one

penny or even twopence a quart more for _genuine_ milk, it is one of the

best investments that you ever have made, or that you are ever likely to

make, in this world! Cheap and inferior milk might well be called cheap

and nasty; for inferior or adulterated milk is the very essence, the

conglomeration, of nastiness; and, moreover, is very poisonous to a

child’s stomach. One and the principal reason why so many children are

rickety and scrofulous, is the horrid stuff called milk that is usually

given to them. It is a crying evil, and demands a thorough investigation

and reformation, and the individual interference of every parent.

Limited Liability Companies are the order of the day; it would really be

not a bad speculation if one was formed in every large town, in order to

insure good, genuine, and undiluted milk.

_Young_ children, as a rule, are allowed to eat too much meat. It is a

mistaken notion of a mother that they require so much animal food. If

more milk were given, and less meat, they would be healthier, and would

not be so predisposed to disease, especially to skin disease.

I should strongly recommend you, then, to be extravagant in your milk

score. Each child ought, in the twenty-four hours, to take at least a

quart of good, fresh, new milk. It should, of course, be given in

various ways,—as bread and milk, rice puddings, milk, and different

kinds of farinaceous food, stir-about, etc. etc.

140. _But suppose my child will not take milk, he having an aversion to

it, what ought then to be done?_

Boil the milk, and sweeten it to suit his palate. After he has been

accustomed to it for awhile, he will then, probably, like milk.

Gradually reduce the sugar until at length it be dispensed with. A child

will often take milk this way, whereas he will not otherwise touch it.

If a child will not drink milk, he _must_ eat meat; it is absolutely

necessary that he should have either the one or the other; and, if he

has cut nearly all his teeth, he ought to have both meat and milk—the

former in moderation, the latter in abundance.

141. _Supposing milk should not agree with my child, what must then be

done?_

Milk, either boiled or unboiled, almost always agrees with a child. If

it does not, it must be looked upon as the exception, and not the rule.

I would, in such a case, advise one-eighth of lime-water to be added to

seven-eighths of new milk—that is to say, two tablespoonfuls of

lime-water should be mixed with half a pint of new milk.

142. _Can you tell me of a way to prevent milk, in hot weather, from

turning sour?_

Let the jug of milk be put into a crock containing ice—either in the

dairy or in the cellar. The ice should be kept, wrapped either in

flannel or in a blanket, in a cool place until it be wanted.

143. _Is it necessary to give a child luncheon?_

If he want anything to eat between breakfast and dinner, let him have a

piece of _dry_ bread; and if he has eaten very heartily at dinner, and,

like Oliver Twist, “asks for more!” give him, to satisfy his craving, a

piece of _dry_ bread. He will never eat more of that than will do him

good, and yet he will take sufficient to satisfy his hunger, which is

very important.

144. _What ought now to be his dinner?_

He should now have meat, either mutton or beef, daily, which must be cut

up very small, and should be mixed with mealy _mashed_ potato and gravy.

He ought _always_ to be accustomed to eat salt with his dinner. Let a

mother see that this advice is followed, or evil consequences will

inevitably ensue. Let him be closely watched, to ascertain that he well

masticates his food, and that he does not eat too quickly; for young

children are apt to bolt their food.

145. _Have you any objection to pork for a change?_

I have a great objection to it for the young. It is a rich, gross, and

therefore unwholesome food for the delicate stomach of a child. I have

known it, in several instances, produce violent pain, sickness, purging,

and convulsions. If a child be fed much upon such meat, it will be

likely to produce “breakings-out” on the skin. In fine, his blood will

put on the same character as the food he is fed with. Moreover, pork

might be considered a _strong_ meat, and “_strong_ meat and _strong_

drink can only be taken by _strong_ men.”

146. _Do you approve of veal for a child?_

My objection to pork was, that it was rich and gross; this does not

apply to veal; but the objection to it is, that it is more difficult of

digestion than either mutton or beef.

147. _Do you disapprove of salted and boiled beef for a child?_

If beef be _much_ salted it is hard of digestion, and therefore ought

not to be given to him; but if it has been but _slightly_ salted, then

for a change there will be no objection to a little.

There is no necessity in the _winter_ time to _salt_ meat intended for

boiling; then, boiled _unsalted_ meat makes a nice change for a child’s

dinner. Salt, of course, _must_ with the unsalted meat be eaten.

148. _But suppose there is nothing on the table that a child may with

impunity eat?_

He should then have either a grilled mutton-chop, or a lightly boiled

egg; indeed, the latter, at any time, makes an excellent change.

149. _Are potatoes an unwholesome food for a child?_

New ones are; but old potatoes, well cooked and mealy, are the best

vegetable he can have. They ought to be _well mashed_, as I have known

lumps of potatoes cause convulsions.

150. _Do you approve of any other vegetables for a child?_

Occasionally. Either asparagus, or broccoli, or cauliflower, or turnips,

or French beans, which latter should be cut up fine, may with advantage

be given.

151. _Might not a mother be too particular in dieting her child?_

Certainly not. If blood can be too pure and too good she might! When we

take into account that the food we eat is converted into blood; that if

the food be good, the blood is good; and that if the food be improper or

impure, the blood is impure likewise; and, moreover, when we know that

every part of the body is built up by the blood, we cannot be considered

to be too particular in making our selection of food. Besides, if

indigestible or improper food be taken into the stomach, the blood will

not only be made impure, but the stomach and the bowels will be

disordered.

Do not let me be misunderstood: I am no advocate for a child having the

same food one day as another—certainly not. Let there be variety, but

let it be _wholesome_ variety. Variety in a child’s (not in an infant’s)

food is necessary. If he were fed, day after day, on mutton, his stomach

would at length be brought into that state that in time it would not

properly digest any other meat, and a miserable existence would be the

result.

152. _What ought a child to drink with his dinner?_

Toast and water, or, if he prefer it, plain spring water. Let him have

as much as he likes. If you give him water to drink, there is no fear of

his taking too much; Nature will tell him when he has had enough. Be

careful of the quality of the water, and the source from which you

procure it. Soft spring water from a moderately deep well is the best.

If it come from a land spring, it is apt, indeed is almost sure to be

contaminated by drains, etc., which is a frequent cause of fevers, of

diphtheria, of Asiatic cholera, and of other blood poisons.

Guard against the drinking water being contaminated with lead; never,

therefore, allow the water to be collected in leaden cisterns, as it

sometimes is if the water be obtained from Water-works’ companies. Lead

pumps, for the same reason, ought never to be used for drinking

purposes. Paralysis, constipation, lead colic, dropping of the wrist,

wasting of the ball of the thumb, loss of memory and broken and ruined

health might result from neglect of this advice.

All honor to the man who first invented the Drinking Fountain, and all

honor to the mayors and corporations of towns who see that they are kept

in good, efficient working order! The drinking fountains are a great

boon to poor children, as water, and plenty of it, is one of the chief

necessaries of their very existence: and, unfortunately, at their own

homes they are not, oftentimes, able to obtain a sufficient supply.

Moreover, drinking fountains are the best advocates for temperance.

Some parents are in the habit of giving their children beer with their

dinners, making them live as they live themselves! This practice is

truly absurd, and fraught with great danger—not only so, but it is

inducing a child to be fond of that which in after-life might be his

bane and curse. No good end can be obtained by it; it will _not_

strengthen so young a child; it will, on the contrary, create fever, and

will thereby weaken him; it will act injuriously upon his delicate,

nervous, and vascular systems, and might be a means of producing

inflammation either of the brain or of its membranes, and might thus

cause water on the brain (a disease to which young children are

subject), or it might induce inflammation of the lungs.

153. _What ought a child who has cut his teeth to have for his supper?_

The same that he has for breakfast. He should sup at six o’clock.

154. _Have you any general remarks to make on a child’s meals?_

I recommended a great sameness in an _infant’s_ diet; but a _child’s_

meals, his dinners especially, ought to be much varied. For instance, do

not let him have, day after day, mutton; but ring the changes on mutton,

beef, poultry, game, and even occasionally fish—sole or cod.

Not only let there be a change of meat, but let there be a change in the

manner of cooking it: let the meat sometimes be roasted; at other times

let it be boiled. I have known a mother who has prided herself as being

experienced in these matters, feed her child, day after day, on

mutton-chops! Such a proceeding is most injurious to him, as after

awhile his unfortunate stomach will digest nothing but mutton-chops,

and, in time, not even those!

With regard to vegetables, potatoes—_mashed_ potatoes—ought to be his

staple vegetable; but, every now and then, cauliflower, asparagus,

turnips, and French beans should be given.

With respect to puddings, vary them,—rice, one day; suet, another;

batter, a third; tapioca, a fourth; or, even occasionally, he might have

either apple or gooseberry or rhubarb-pudding, provided the pastry be

plain and light.

It is an excellent plan, as I have before remarked, to let a child eat

jam—such as strawberry, raspberry, or gooseberry—and that without stint,

either with rice or with batter puddings.

_Variety of diet_, then, is _good for a child_: it will give him muscle,

bone, and sinew; and, what is very important, it will tend to regulate

his bowels, and it will thus prevent the necessity of giving him

aperients.

But do not stuff a child—do not press him, as is the wont of some

mothers, to eat more than he feels inclined. On the contrary, if you

think that he is eating too much—that he is overloading his stomach—and

if he should ask for more, then, instead of giving him either more meat

or more pudding, give him a piece of dry bread. By doing so, you may

rest assured that he will not eat more than is absolutely good for him.

155. _If a child be delicate, is there any objection to a little wine,

such as cowslip or tent, to strengthen him?_

Wine ought not to be given to a child unless it be ordered by a medical

man: it is even more injurious than beer. Wine, beer, and spirits

principally owe their strength to the alcohol they contain; indeed,

nearly _all_ wines are _fortified_ (as it is called) with brandy. Brandy

contains a large quantity of alcohol, more than any other liquor,

namely, 55.3 per cent. If, therefore, you give wine, it is, in point of

fact, giving diluted brandy—diluted alcohol; and alcohol acts, unless it

be used as a medicine, and under skillful medical advice, as a poison to

a child.

156. _Suppose a child suddenly to lose his appetite: is any notice to be

taken of it?_

If he cannot eat well, depend upon it there is something wrong about the

system. If he be teething, let a mother look well to his gums, and

satisfy herself that they do not require lancing. If they be red, hot,

and swollen, send for a medical man, that he may scarify them. If his

gums be not inflamed, and no tooth appears near, let her look well to

the state of his bowels; let her ascertain that they be sufficiently

opened, and that the stools be of a proper consistence, color, and

smell. If they be neither the one nor the other, give a dose of aperient

medicine, which will generally put all to rights. If the gums be cool,

and the bowels be right, and his appetite continue bad, call in medical

aid.

A child asking for something to eat is frequently, in a severe illness,

the first favorable symptom; we may generally then prognosticate that

all will soon be well again.

If a child refuse his food, neither coax nor tempt him to eat: as food

without an appetite will do him more harm than it will do him good; it

may produce either sickness, bowel complaint, or fever. Depend upon it,

there is always a cause for a want of appetite;—perhaps his stomach has

been overworked, and requires repose; or his bowels are loaded, and

Nature wishes to take time to use up the old material;—there might be

fever lurking in his system; Nature stops the supplies, and thus

endeavors, by not giving it food to work with, to nip it in the

bud;—there might be inflammation; food would then be improper, as it

would only add fuel to the fire; let, therefore, the cause be either an

overworked stomach, overloaded bowels, fever, or inflammation, food

would be injurious. Kind Nature, if we will but listen to her voice,

will tell us when to eat and when to refrain.

157. _When a child is four or five years old, have you any objection to

his drinking tea?_

Some parents are in the habit of giving their children strong (and

frequently green) tea. This practice is most hurtful. It acts

injuriously upon their delicate, nervous system, and thus weakens their

whole frame. If milk does not agree, a cup of very weak tea, that is to

say, water with a dash of _black_ tea in it, with a tablespoonful of

cream, may be substituted for milk; but a mother must never give tea

where milk agrees.

158. _Have you any objection to a child occasionally having either cakes

or sweetmeats?_

I consider them as so much slow poison. Such things both cloy and weaken

the stomach, and thereby take away the appetite, and thus debilitate the

frame. Moreover, “sweetmeats are colored with poisonous pigments.” A

mother, surely, is not aware that when she is giving her child sugar

confectionery she is, in many cases, administering a deadly poison to

him? “We beg to direct the attention of our readers to the Report of the

Analytical Sanitary Commission, contained in the _Lancet_ of the present

week,[190] on the pigments employed in coloring articles of sugar

confectionery. From this report it appears that metallic pigments, of a

highly dangerous and even poisonous character, containing chromic acid,

lead, copper, mercury, and arsenic, are commonly used in the coloring of

such articles.”[191]

If a child be never allowed to eat cakes and sweetmeats, he will

consider a piece of dry bread a luxury, and will eat it with the

greatest relish.

159. _Is bakers’ or is home-made bread the most wholesome for a child?_

Bakers’ bread is certainly the lightest; and, if we could depend upon

its being unadulterated, would, from its lightness, be the most

wholesome; but as we cannot always depend upon bakers’ bread, home-made

bread, as a rule, should be preferred. If it be at all heavy, a child

must not be allowed to partake of it; a baker’s loaf ought then to be

sent for, and continued to be eaten until light home-made bread can be

procured. Heavy bread is most indigestible. He must not be allowed to

eat bread, until it be two or three days old. If it be a week old, in

cold weather, it will be the more wholesome.

160. _Do you approve either of caraway seeds or of currants in bread or

in cakes—the former to disperse wind, the later to open the bowels?_

There is nothing better than plain bread: the caraway seeds generally

pass through the bowels undigested, and thus might irritate, and might

produce, instead of disperse wind.[192] Some mothers put currants in

cakes, with a view of opening the bowels of their children; but they

only open them by disordering them.

161. _My child has an antipathy to certain articles of diet: what would

you advise to be done?_

A child’s antipathy to certain articles of diet should be respected: it

is a sin and a shame to force him to eat what he has a great dislike to:

a child, for instance, sometimes dislikes the fat of meat, underdone

meat, the skin off boiled milk and off rice pudding. Why should he not

have his likes and dislikes as well as “children of a larger growth?”

Besides, there is an idiosyncrasy—a peculiarity of the constitution in

some children—and Nature oftentimes especially points out what is good

and what is bad for them individually, and we are not to fly in the face

of Nature. “What is one man’s meat is another man’s poison.” If a child

be forced to eat what he dislikes, it will most likely not only make him

sick, but will disorder his stomach and bowels: food, if it is really to

do him good, must be eaten by him with a relish, and not with disgust

and aversion. Some mothers, who are strict disciplinarians, pride

themselves on compelling their children to eat whatever they choose to

give them! Such children are to be pitied!

162. _When ought a child to commence to dine with his parents?_

As soon as he be old enough to sit up at the table, provided the father

and mother either dine or lunch in the middle of the day. “I always

prefer having children about me at meal-times. I think it makes them

little gentlemen and gentlewomen in a manner that nothing else

will.”[193]

THE NURSERY.

163. _Have you any remarks to make on the selection, the ventilation,

the warming, the temperature, and the arrangements of a nursery? and

have you any further observations to offer conducive to the well-doing

of my child?_

The nursery ought to be the largest and the most airy room in the house.

In the town, if it be in the topmost story (provided the apartment be

large and airy) so much the better, as the air will then be purer. The

architect, in the building of a house, ought to be particularly directed

to pay attention to the space, the loftiness, the ventilation, the

light, the warming, and the conveniences of a nursery. A bath-room

attached to it will be of great importance and benefit to the health of

a child.

It will, also, be advantageous to have a water-closet near at hand,

which should be well supplied with water, be well drained, and be well

ventilated. If this be not practicable, the evacuations ought to be

removed as soon as they are passed. It is a filthy and an idle habit of

a nurse-maid to allow a motion to remain for any length of time in the

room.

The VENTILATION of a nursery is of paramount importance. There ought to

be a constant supply of fresh, pure air in the apartment. But how few

nurseries have fresh, pure air? Many nurseries are nearly hermetically

sealed—the windows are seldom, if ever, opened; the doors are

religiously closed; and, in the summer time, the chimneys are carefully

stuffed up, so that a breath of air is not allowed to enter! The

consequences are, the poor unfortunate children “are poisoned by their

own breaths,” and are made so delicate that they are constantly catching

cold; indeed, it might be said that they are laboring under chronic

catarrhs, all arising from Nature’s laws being set at defiance.

The windows ought to be large, and should be made to freely open both

top and bottom. Whenever the child is out of the nursery the windows

ought to be thrown wide open; indeed, when he is in it, if the weather

be fine, the upper sash should be a little lowered. A child should be

encouraged to change the room frequently, in order that it may be freely

ventilated; for good air is as necessary to his health as wholesome

food, and air cannot be good if it be not frequently changed. If you

wish to have a strong and healthy child, ponder over and follow this

advice.

I have to enter my protest against the use of a stove in a nursery. I

consider a gas stove _without a chimney_ to be an abomination, most

destructive to human life. There is nothing like the old-fashioned open

fire-place, with a good-sized chimney, so that it may not only carry off

the smoke, but also the impure air of the room.

Be sure to have a fire-guard around the grate, and be strict in not

allowing your child either to touch or to play with fire; frightful

accidents have occurred from mothers and nurses being on these points

lax.

The nursery ought to have a large fire-guard, to go all round the

hearth, and which should be sufficiently high to prevent a child from

climbing over. Not only must the nursery have a guard, but every room

where he is allowed to go should be furnished with one on the bars.

Moreover, it will be necessary to have a guard in every room where a

fire is burning, to protect the ladies, who, in accordance with the

present fashion, wear such preposterous crinolines, and thus to prevent

the frightful deaths which are at the present time of such frequent and

startling occurrence; lady-burning is now one of the institutions of our

land!

A nursery is usually kept too hot; the temperature in the winter time

ought _not to exceed_ 60 degrees Fahrenheit. A _good_ thermometer should

be considered an indispensable requisite to a nursery. A child in a hot,

close nursery is bathed in perspiration; if he leave the room to go to

one of lower temperature, the pores of his skin are suddenly closed, and

either a severe cold, or an inflammation of the lungs, or an attack of

bronchitis, is likely to ensue. Moreover, the child is both weakened and

enervated by the heat, and thus readily falls a prey to disease.

A child ought never to be permitted to sit with his back to the fire; if

he be allowed, it weakens his spine, and thus his whole frame; it causes

a rush of blood to the head and face, and predisposes him to catch cold.

Let a nurse make a point of opening the nursery window every time that

she and her little charge leave the nursery, if their absence be only

for half an hour. The mother herself ought to see that this advice is

followed, pure air is so essential to the well-being of a child. Pure

air and pure water,[194] and, let me add, pure milk, are for a child the

grand and principal requirements of health.

Look well to the DRAINAGE of your house and neighborhood. A child is

very susceptible to the influence of bad drainage. Bad drains are

fruitful sources of scarlet fever, of diphtheria, of diarrhœa, etc. “It

is sad to be reminded that, whatever evils threaten the health of a

population, whether from pollutions of water or of air,—whether from bad

drainage or overcrowding, they fall heaviest on the most innocent

victims—upon children of tender years. Their delicate frames are

infinitely more sensitive than the hardened constitutions of adults, and

the breath of poison or the chill of hardships easily blights their

tender life.”[195]

A nursery floor ought not to be _washed_ oftener than once a week; and

then the child or children should, until it be dry, be sent into another

room. During the drying of the floor, the windows must, of course, be

thrown _wide_ open.

The constant _wetting_ of a nursery is a frequent source of illness

among children. The floor ought, of course, to be kept clean; but this

may be done by the servant thoroughly sweeping the room out every

morning before her little charge makes his appearance.

Do not have your nursery walls covered with _green_ paper-hangings.

Green paper-hangings contain large quantities of arsenic—arsenite of

copper (Scheele’s green)—which, I need scarcely say, is a virulent

poison, and which flies about the room in the form of powder. There is

frequently enough poison on the walls of a room to destroy a whole

neighborhood.

There is another great objection to having your nursery walls covered

with _green_ paper-hangings; if any of the paper should become loose

from the walls, a little child is very apt to play with it, and to put

it, as he does everything else, to his mouth. This is not an imaginary

state of things, as four children in one family have just lost their

lives from sucking green paper-hangings.

Green dresses, as they are colored with a preparation of arsenic, are

equally as dangerous as green paper-hangings; a child ought, therefore,

never to wear a _green_ dress. “It may be interesting to some of our

readers,” says _Land and Water_, “to know that the new green, so

fashionable for ladies’ dresses, is just as dangerous in its nature as

the green wall-paper, about which so much was written some time since.

It is prepared with a large quantity of arsenic; and we have been

assured by several of the leading dressmakers that the work-women

employed in making up dresses of this color are seriously affected with

all the symptoms of arsenical poison. Let our lady friends take care.”

Children’s toys are frequently painted of a green color with arsenite of

copper, and are, consequently, highly dangerous to play with. The best

toy for a child is a box of unpainted wooden bricks, which is a constant

source of amusement to him.

If you have your nursery walls hung with paintings and engravings, let

them be of good quality. The horrid daubs and bad engravings that

usually disfigure nursery walls, are enough to ruin the taste of a

child, and to make him take a disgust to drawing, which would be a

misfortune. A fine engraving and a good painting expand and elevate his

mind. We all know that first impressions are the most vivid and the most

lasting. A taste in early life for everything refined and beautiful

purifies his mind, cultivates his intellect, keeps him from low company,

and makes him grow up a gentleman!

Lucifer matches, in case of sudden illness, should, both in the nursery

and in the bedroom, always be in readiness; but they must be carefully

placed out of the reach of children, as lucifer matches are a deadly

poison.[196]

164. _Have you any observation to make on the_ LIGHT _of a nursery?_

Let the window, or, what is better, the windows, of a nursery be very

large, so as to thoroughly light up every nook and corner of the room,

as there is nothing more conducive to the health of a child than an

abundance of light in the dwelling.

A room cannot, then, be too light. The windows of a nursery are

generally too small. A child requires as much light as a plant.

Gardeners are well aware of the great importance of light in the

construction of their greenhouses, and yet a child, who requires it as

much, and is of much greater importance, is cooped up in dark rooms!

The windows of a nursery ought not only to be frequently opened to let

in fresh air, _but should be frequently cleaned_, to let in plenty of

light and of sunshine, as nothing is so cheering and beneficial to a

child as an abundance of light and sunshine!

_With regard to the best artificial light for a nursery._—The air of a

nursery cannot be too pure; I therefore do not advise you to have gas in

it, as gas in burning gives off quantities of carbonic acid and

sulphuretted hydrogen, which vitiate the air. There is no better light

for a nursery than either Price’s patent candles or the old-fashioned

tallow candle.

Let a child’s _home_ be the happiest _house_ to him in all the world;

and to be happy he must be merry, and all around him should be merry and

cheerful; and he ought to have an abundance of playthings, to help on

the merriment.

If he has a dismal nurse, and a dismal home, he may as well be

incarcerated in a prison, and be attended by a jailer. It is sad enough

to see dismal, doleful men and women, but it is a truly lamentable and

unnatural sight to see a doleful child! The young ought to be as playful

and as full of innocent mischief as a kitten. There will be quite time

enough in after-years for sorrow and for sadness.

Bright colors, plenty of light, _clean_ windows (mind this, if you

please), an abundance of _good_-colored prints, and toys without number,

are the proper furnishings of a nursery. Nursery! why, the very name

tells you what it ought to be—the home of childhood,—the most important

room in the house,—a room that will greatly tend to stamp the character

of your child for the remainder of his life.

165. _Have you any more hints to offer conducive to the well-doing of my

child?_

You cannot be too particular in the choice of those who are in constant

attendance upon him. You yourself, of course, must be his

_head-nurse_—you only require some one to take the drudgery off your

hands!

You ought to be particularly careful in the selection of his nurse. She

should be steady, lively, truthful, and good-tempered; and must be free

from any natural imperfection, such as squinting, stammering, etc., for

a child is such an imitative creature that he is likely to acquire that

defect, which in the nurse is natural. “Children, like babies, are quick

at ‘taking notice.’ What they see they mark, and what they mark they are

very prone to copy.”[197]

She ought not to be very young, or she may be thoughtless, careless, and

giggling. You have no right to set a child to mind a child; it would be

like the blind leading the blind. No! a child is too precious a treasure

to be intrusted to the care and keeping of a young girl. Many a child

has been ruined for life by a careless young nurse dropping him and

injuring his spine.

A nurse ought to be both strong and active, in order that her little

charge may have plenty of good nursing; for it requires great strength

in the arms to carry a heavy child for the space of an hour or two, at a

stretch, in the open air; and such is absolutely necessary, and is the

only way to make him strong, and to cause him to cut his teeth easily,

and at the same time to regulate his bowels; a nurse, therefore, must be

strong and active, and not mind hard work, for hard work it is; but

after she is accustomed to it, pleasant notwithstanding.

Never should a nurse be allowed to wear a mask, nor to dress up and

paint herself as a ghost, or as any other frightful object. A child is

naturally timid and full of fears, and what would not make the slightest

impression upon a grown-up person, might throw a child into fits—

“The sleeping, and the dead,

Are but as pictures: ’tis the age of childhood

That fears a painted devil.”[198]

Never should she be permitted to tell her little charge frightful

stories of ghosts and hobgoblins; if this be allowed, the child’s

disposition will become timid and wavering, and may continue so for the

remainder of his life.

If a little fellow were not terrified by such stories, the darkness

would not frighten him more than the light. Moreover, the mind thus

filled with fear, acts upon the body, and injures the health. A child

must never be placed in a dark cellar, nor frightened by tales of rats,

etc. Instances are related of fear thus induced impairing the intellect

for life; and there are numerous examples of sudden fright causing a

dangerous and even a fatal illness.

_Night-terrors._—This frightening of a child by a silly nurse frequently

brings on night-terrors. He wakes up suddenly, soon after going to

sleep, frightened and terrified; screaming violently, and declaring that

he has seen either some ghost, or thief, or some object that the silly

nurse had been previously in the day describing, who is come for him to

take him away. The little fellow is the very picture of terror and

alarm; he hides his face in his mother’s bosom, the perspiration streams

down him, and it is some time before he can be pacified—when, at length,

he falls into a troubled, feverish slumber, to awake in the morning

unrefreshed. Night after night these terrors harass him, until his

health materially suffers, and his young life becomes miserable, looking

forward with dread to the approach of darkness.

_Treatment of night-terrors._—If they have been caused by the folly of

the nurse, discharge her at once, and be careful to select a more

discreet one. When the child retires to rest, leave a candle burning,

and let it burn all night; sit with him until he be asleep; and take

care, in case he should rouse up in one of his night-terrors, that

either you yourself or some kind person be near at hand. Do not scold

him for being frightened—he cannot help it; but soothe him, calm him,

fondle him, take him into your arms, and let him feel that he has some

one to rest upon, to defend and to protect him. It is frequently in

these cases necessary before he can be cured to let him have change of

air and change of scene. Let him live in the daytime, a great part of

the day, in the open air.

A nurse-maid should never, on any account whatever, be allowed to whip a

child. “Does ever any man or woman remember the feeling of being

‘whipped’ as a child, the fierce anger, the insupportable ignominy, the

longing for revenge, which blotted out all thought of contrition for the

fault or rebellion against the punishment? With this recollection on

their own parts, I can hardly suppose any parents venturing to inflict

it, much less allowing its infliction by another under any circumstances

whatever. A nurse-maid or domestic of any sort, once discovered to have

lifted up her hand against a child, ought to meet instant severe rebuke,

and on a repetition of the offense instant dismissal.”[199]

I have seen in the winter time a lazy nurse sit before the fire with a

child on her lap, rubbing his cold feet just before putting him to his

bed. Now this is not the way to warm his feet. The right method is to

let him romp and run either about the room, or the landing, or the

hall—this will effectually warm them; but, of course, it will entail a

little extra trouble on the nurse, as she will have to use a little

exertion to induce him to do so, and this extra trouble a lazy nurse

will not relish. Warming the feet before the fire will give the little

fellow chilblains, and will make him when he is in bed more chilly. The

only way for him to have a good romp before he goes to bed, is for the

mother to join in the game. She may rest assured, that if she does so,

her child will not be the only one to benefit by it. She herself will

find it of marvelous benefit to her own health; it will warm her own

feet, it will be almost sure to insure her a good night, and will make

her feel so light and buoyant as almost to fancy that she is a girl

again! Well, then, let every child, before he retire to bed, hold a high

court of revelry, let him have an hour—the Children’s Hour—devoted to

romp, to dance, to riot, and to play, and let him be the master of the

revels—

“Between the dark and the daylight,

When the night is beginning to lower,

Comes a pause in the day’s occupation,

Which is known as the Children’s Hour.”[200]

Let a child be employed—take an interest in his employment, let him

fancy that he is useful—_and he is useful_, he is laying in a stock of

health. He is much more usefully employed than many other grown-up

children are!

A child should be happy; he must, in every way, be made happy;

everything ought to be done to conduce to his happiness, to give him

joy, gladness, and pleasure. Happy he should be, as happy as the day is

long. Kindness should be lavished upon him. Make a child understand that

you love him; prove it in your actions—these are better than words; look

after his little pleasures—join in his little sports; let him never hear

a morose word—it would rankle in his breast, take deep root, and in due

time bring forth bitter fruit. Love! let love be his pole-star; let it

be the guide and the rule of all you do and all you say unto him. Let

your face, as well as your tongue, speak love. Let your hands be ever

ready to minister to his pleasures and to his play. “Blessed be the hand

that prepares a pleasure for a child, for there is no saying when and

where it may again bloom forth. Does not almost everybody remember some

kind-hearted man who showed him a kindness in the dulcet days of

childhood? The writer of this recollects himself, at this moment, a

bare-footed lad, standing at the wooden fence of a poor little garden in

his native village, while, with longing eyes, he gazed on the flowers

which were blooming there quietly in the brightness of the Sabbath

morning. The possessor came from his little cottage. He was a woodcutter

by trade, and spent the whole week at work in the woods. He had come

into the garden to gather flowers to stick in his coat when he went to

church. He saw the boy, and breaking off the most beautiful of his

carnations (it was streaked with red and white), he gave it to him.

Neither the giver nor the receiver spoke a word, and with bounding steps

the boy ran home. And now, here, at a vast distance from that home,

after so many events of so many years, the feeling of gratitude which

agitated the breast of that boy, expressed itself on paper. The

carnation has long since faded, but it now bloometh afresh.”[201]

The hearty ringing laugh of a child is sweet music to the ear. There are

three most joyous sounds in nature—the hum of a bee, the purr of a cat,

and the laugh of a child. They tell of peace, of happiness, and of

contentment, and make one for awhile forget that there is so much misery

in the world.

A man who dislikes children is unnatural; he has no “milk of human

kindness” in him; he should be shunned. Give me, for a friend, a man—

“Who takes the children on his knee,

And winds their curls about his hand.”[202]

166. _If a child be peevish, and apparently in good health, have you any

plan to offer to allay his irritability?_

A child’s troubles are soon over—his tears are soon dried; “nothing

dries sooner than a tear”—if not prolonged by improper management:

“The tear down childhood’s cheek that flows,

Is like the dewdrop on the rose;

When next the summer breeze comes by,

And waves the bush, the flower is dry.”[203]

Never allow a child to be teased; it spoils his temper. If he be in a

cross humor take no notice of it, but divert his attention to some

pleasing object. This may be done without spoiling him. Do not combat

bad temper with bad temper—noise with noise. Be firm, be kind, be

gentle,[204] be loving, speak quietly, smile tenderly, and embrace him

fondly; but _insist upon implicit obedience_, and you will have, with

God’s blessing, a happy child:

“When a little child is weak,

From fever passing by,

Or wearied out with restlessness,

Don’t scold him if he cry.

Tell him some pretty story—

Don’t read it from a book;

He likes to watch you while you speak,

And take in every look.

Or sometimes singing gently—

A little song may please,

With quiet and amusing words,

And tune that flows with ease.

Or if he is impatient,

Perhaps from time to time

A simple hymn may suit the best,

In short and easy rhyme.

The measured verses flowing

In accents clear and mild,

May blend into his troubled thought,

And soothe the little child.

But let the words be simple,

And suited to his mind,

And loving, that his weary heart

A resting-place may find.”[205]

Speak _gently_ to a child; speak _gently_ to all; but more especially

speak _gently_ to a child. “A gentle voice is an excellent thing in

woman,” and is a jewel of great price, and is one of the concomitants of

a _perfect_ lady. Let the hinges of your disposition be well oiled. “‘I

have a dear friend. He was one of those well-oiled dispositions which

turn upon the hinges of the world without creaking.’ Would to heaven

there were more of them! How many there are who never turn upon the

hinges of this world without a grinding that sets the teeth of a whole

household on edge! And somehow or other it has been the evil fate of

many of the best spirits to be so circumstanced; both men and women, to

whom life is ‘sweet habitude of being,’ which has gone far to reconcile

them to solitude as far less intolerable! To these especially the

creakings of those said rough hinges of the world is one continued

torture, for they are all too finely strung; and the oft-recurring grind

jars the whole sentient frame, mars the beautiful lyre, and makes cruel

discord in a soul of music. How much of sadness there is in such

thoughts! Seems there not a Past in some lives to which it is impossible

ever to become reconciled?”[206]

Pleasant words ought always to be spoken to a child! there must be

neither snarling, nor snapping, nor snubbing, nor loud contention toward

him. If there be it will ruin his temper and disposition, and will make

him hard and harsh, morose and disagreeable.

Do not be always telling your child how wicked he is; what a naughty boy

he is; that God will never love him, and all the rest of such twaddle.

Do not, in point of fact, bully him, as many poor little fellows are

bullied! It will ruin him if you do; it will make him in after-years

either a coward or a tyrant. Such conversations, like constant droppings

of water, will make an impression, and will cause him to feel that it is

of no use to try to be good—that he is hopelessly wicked! Instead of

such language, give him confidence in himself; rather find out his good

points and dwell upon them; praise him where and whenever you can; and

make him feel that, by perseverance and by God’s blessing, he will make

a good man. Speak truthfully to your child; if you once deceive him, he

will not believe you for the future. Not only so, but if you are

truthful yourself you are likely to make him truthful—like begets like.

There is something beautiful in truth! A lying child is an abomination!

Sir Walter Scott says “that he taught his son to ride, to shoot, and to

tell the truth.”

As soon as a child can speak, he should be made to lisp the noble words

of truth, and to love it, and to abhor a lie! What a beautiful character

he will then make! Blessed is that child who can say,—

“Parental cares watched o’er my growing youth,

And early stamped it with the love of truth.”[207]

Have no favorites, show no partiality; for the young are very jealous,

sharp-sighted, and quick-witted, and take a dislike to the petted one.

Do not rouse the old Adam in them. Let children be taught to be “kindly

affectioned one to another, with brotherly love;”[208] let them be

encouraged to share each other’s toys and playthings, and to banish

selfishness.

Attend to a child’s _little_ pleasures. It is the _little_ pleasures of

a child that constitute his happiness. Great pleasures to him and to us

all (as a favorite author remarks) come but seldom, and are the

exceptions, and not the rule.

Let a child be nurtured in love. “It will be seen that I hold this law

of kindness as the Alpha and Omega of education. I once asked one, in

his own house, a father in everything but the name, his authority

unquestioned, his least word held in reverence, his smallest wish

obeyed—‘How did you ever manage to bring up these children?’ He said,

‘_By love!_’”[209]

Let every word and action prove that you love your children. Enter into

all their little pursuits and pleasures. Join them in their play, and

“be a child again!” If they are curious, do not check their curiosity;

but rather encourage it; for they have a great deal—as we all have—to

learn, and how can they know if they are not taught? You may depend upon

it, the knowledge they obtain from observation is far superior to that

obtained from books. Let all you teach them, let all you do, and let all

you say, bear the stamp of love. “Endeavor, from first to last, in your

intercourse with your children, to let it bear the impress of _love_. It

is not enough that you _feel_ affection toward your children—that you

are devoted to their interests; you must show in your manner the

fondness of your hearts toward them. Young minds cannot appreciate great

sacrifices made for them; they judge their parents by the words and

deeds of everyday life. They are won by _little_ kindnesses, and

alienated by _little_ acts of neglect or impatience. One complaint

unnoticed, one appeal unheeded, one lawful request arbitrarily refused,

will be remembered by your little ones more than a thousand acts of the

most devoted affection.”[210]

A placid, well-regulated temper is very conducive to health. A

disordered or an overloaded stomach is a frequent cause of peevishness.

Appropriate treatment in such a case will, of course, be necessary.

167. _My child stammers: can you tell me the cause, and can you suggest

a remedy?_

A child who stammers is generally “nervous,” quick, and impulsive. His

ideas flow too rapidly for speech. He is “nervous:” hence, when he is

alone, and with those he loves, he oftentimes speaks fluently and well;

he stammers more both when he is tired, and when he is out of

health—when the nerves are either weak or exhausted. He is emotional:

when he is either in a passion or in excitement, either of joy or of

grief, he can scarcely speak—“he stammers all over.” He is impulsive: he

often stammers in consequence. He is in too great a hurry to bring out

his words; they do not flow in a proper sequence; hence his words are

broken and disjointed.

Stammering, of course, might be owing either to some organic defect,

such as from defective palate, or from defective brain, then nothing

will cure him; or it might be owing to “nervous” causes—to “irregular

nervous action,” then a cure might, with care and perseverance, be

usually effected.

In all cases of stammering of a child, let both the palate of his mouth

and the bridle of his tongue be carefully examined, to see that neither

the palate be defective, nor the bridle of the tongue be too short—that

he be not tongue-tied.

_Now, with regard to Treatment._ Make him speak slowly and deliberately;

let him form each word, without clipping or chopping; let him be made,

when you are alone with him, to exercise himself in elocution. If he

speak quickly, stop him in his mid-career, and make him, quietly and

deliberately, go through the sentence again and again, until he has

mastered the difficulty; teach him to collect his thoughts, and to weigh

each word ere he give it utterance; practice him in singing little hymns

and songs for children; this you will find a valuable help in the cure.

A stammerer seldom stutters when he sings. When he sings, he has a full

knowledge of the words, and is obliged to keep in time—to sing neither

too fast nor too slow. Besides, he sings in a different key to his

speaking voice. Many professors for the treatment of stammering cure

their patients by practicing lessons of a sing-song character.

Never jeer him for stammering, nor turn him to ridicule; if you do, it

will make him ten times worse; but be patient and gentle with him, and

endeavor to give him confidence, and encourage him to speak to you as

quietly, as gently, and deliberately as you speak to him; tell him not

to speak until he has arranged his thoughts and chosen his words; let

him do nothing in a hurry.

Demosthenes was said, in his youth, to have stammered fearfully, and to

have cured himself by his own prescription, namely, by putting a pebble

in his mouth, and declaiming, frequently, slowly, quietly, and

deliberately, on the sea-shore—the fishes alone being his

audience,—until, at length, he cured himself, and charmed the world with

his eloquence and with his elocution. He is held up, to this very day,

as the personification and as the model of an orator. His patience,

perseverance, and practice ought, by all who either are, or are

interested in a stammerer, to be borne in mind and followed.

168. _Do you approve of a carpet in a nursery?_

No; unless it be a small piece for the child to roll upon. A carpet

harbors dirt and dust, which dust is constantly floating about the

atmosphere, and thus making it impure for him to breathe. The truth of

this may easily be ascertained by entering a darkened room, where a ray

of sunshine is struggling through a crevice in the shutters. If the

floor of a nursery must be covered, let drugget be laid down; as this

every morning may be taken up and shaken. The less furniture a nursery

contains the better; for much furniture obstructs the free circulation

of the air, and, moreover, prevents a child from taking proper exercise

in the room.

169. _Supposing there is not a fire in the nursery grate, ought the

chimney to be stopped to prevent a draught in the room?_

Certainly not. I consider the use of a chimney to be twofold: first, to

carry off the smoke; and secondly (which is of quite as much

importance), to ventilate the room, by carrying off the impure air,

loaded as it is with carbonic acid gas, the refuse of respiration. The

chimney, therefore, should never, either winter or summer, be allowed

for one moment to be stopped. This is important advice, and requires the

strict supervision of every mother, as servants will, if they have the

chance, stop all chimneys that have no fires in the grates.

EXERCISE.

170. _Do you approve, during the summer months, of sending a child out_

BEFORE _breakfast_?

I do, when the weather will permit, and provided the wind be neither in

an easterly nor in a northeasterly direction: indeed, _he can scarcely

be too much in the open air_. He must not be allowed to stand about

draughts or about entries, and the only way to prevent him doing so is

for the mother herself to accompany the nurse. She will then kill two

birds with one stone, as she will, by doing so, benefit her own as well

as her child’s health.

171. _Ought a child to be early put on his feet to walk?_

No: let him learn to walk himself. He ought to be put upon a carpet; and

it will be found that when he is strong enough, he will hold by a chair,

and will stand alone: when he can do so, and attempts to walk, he should

then be supported. You must, on first putting him upon his feet, be

guided by his own wishes. He will, as soon as he is strong enough to

walk, have the inclination to do so. When he has the inclination and the

strength, it will be folly to restrain him; if he has neither the

inclination nor the strength, it will be absurd to urge him on. Rely,

therefore, to a certain extent, upon the inclination of the child

himself. Self-reliance cannot be too early taught him, and, indeed,

every one else. In the generality of instances, however, a child is put

on his feet too soon, and the bones, at that tender age, being very

flexible, bend, causing bowed and bandy legs; and the knees, being weak,

approximate too closely together, and thus they become knock-kneed.

This advice of _not_ putting a child _early_ on his feet, I must

strongly insist on, as so many mothers are so ridiculously ambitious

that their young ones should walk early, that they should walk before

other children have attempted to do so, have frequently caused the above

lamentable deformities!

172. _Do you approve of perambulators?_

I do not, for two reasons: first, because when a child is strong enough,

he had better walk as much as he will; and, secondly, the motion is not

so good, and the muscles are not so much put into action, and

consequently cannot be so well developed, as when he is carried. A

perambulator is very apt to make a child stoop, and to make him both

crooked and round-shouldered. He is cramped by being so long in one

position. It is painful to notice a babe a few months old in one of

these new-fangled carriages. His little head is bobbing about, first on

one side and then on the other—at one moment it is dropping on his

chest, the next it is forcibly jolted behind: he looks, and doubtless

feels, wretched and uncomfortable. Again, these perambulators are

dangerous in crowded thoroughfares. They are a public nuisance, inasmuch

as they are wheeled against and between people’s legs, and are a

fruitful source of the breaking of shins, of the spraining of ankles, of

the crushing of corns, and of the ruffling of the tempers of the

foot-passengers who unfortunately come within their reach; while, in all

probability, the gaping nurses are staring another way, and every way

indeed but the right!

Besides, in very cold weather, or in a very young infant, the warmth of

the nurse’s body, while he is being carried, helps to keep him warm, he

himself being naturally cold. In point of fact, the child, while being

borne in the nurse’s arms, reposes on the nurse, warm and supported as

though he were in a nest! While, on the other hand, if he be in a

perambulator, he is cold and unsupported, looking the very picture of

misery, seeking everywhere for rest and comfort, and finding none!

A nurse’s arm, then, is the only proper carriage for a _young_ child to

take exercise on. She ought to change about, first carrying him on the

one arm, and then on the other. Nursing him on one arm only might give

his body a twist on one side, and thus might cause deformity.

When he is old enough to walk, and is able properly to support the

weight of his own neck and back, then there will be no objection,

provided it be not in a crowded thoroughfare, to his riding occasionally

in a perambulator; but when he is older still, and can sit either a

donkey or a pony, such exercise will be far more beneficial, and will

afford him much greater pleasure.

173. _Supposing it to be wet under foot, but dry above, do you then

approve of sending a child out?_

If the wind be neither in the east nor the northeast, and if the air be

not damp, let him be well wrapped up and be sent out. If he be laboring

under an inflammation of the lungs, however slight, or if he be just

recovering from one, it would, of course, be highly improper. In the

management of a child, we must take care neither to coddle nor to expose

him unnecessarily, as both are dangerous.

Never send a child out to walk in a fog; he will, if you do, be almost

sure to catch cold. It would be much safer to send him out in rain than

in fog; though neither the one nor the other would be desirable.

174. _How many times a day, in fine weather, ought a child to be sent

out?_

Let him be sent out as often as it be possible. If a child lived more in

the open air than he is wont to do, he would neither be so susceptible

of disease, nor would he suffer so much from teething.

175. _Supposing the day to be wet, what exercise would you then

recommend?_

The child ought to run either about a large room or about the hall; and,

if it does not rain violently, you should put on his hat and throw up

the window, taking care while the window is open that he does not stand

still.

Do not on any account allow him to sit any length of time at a table,

amusing himself with books, etc.; let him be acting and stirring, that

his blood may freely circulate as it ought to do, and that his muscles

may be well developed. I would rather see him actively engaged in

mischief, than sitting still, doing nothing. He ought to be put on the

carpet, and should then be tumbled and rolled about, to make the blood

bound merrily through the vessels, to stir up the liver, to promote

digestion, and to open the bowels. The misfortune of it is, the present

race of nurses are so stuck out with crinoline, that they are not able

to stoop properly, and thus to have a good game at romps with their

little charges.

176. _Supposing it to be winter, and the weather to be very cold, would

you still send a child out?_

Decidedly, provided he be well wrapped up. The cold will brace and

strengthen him. Cold weather is the finest tonic in the world.

In frosty weather, the roads being slippery, when you send him out to

walk, put a pair of large, old woolen stockings _over_ his boots or

shoes. This will not only keep his feet and his legs warm, but it will

prevent him from falling down and hurting himself. While thus equipped,

he may even walk on a slide of ice without falling down.

A child, in the winter time, requires, to keep him warm, plenty of

flannel and plenty of food, plenty of fresh and genuine milk, and plenty

of water in his tub to wash him in a morning, plenty of exercise and

plenty of play, and then he may brave the frosty air. It is the coddled,

the half-washed, and the half-starved child (half-washed and

half-starved from either the mother’s ignorance or from the mother’s

timidity), that is the chilly starveling,—catching cold at every breath

of wind, and every time he either walks or is carried out,—a puny,

skinny, scraggy, scare-crow, more dead than alive, and more fit for his

grave than for the rough world he will have to struggle in!

AMUSEMENTS.

177. _Have you any remarks to make on the amusements of a child?_

Let the amusements of a child be as much as possible out of doors; let

him spend the greater part of every day in the open air; let him exert

himself as much as he pleases, his feelings will tell him when to rest

and when to begin again; let him be what Nature intended him to be—a

happy, laughing, joyous child. Do not let him be always poring over

books.

“Books! ’tis a dull and endless strife,

Come, hear the woodland linnet!

How sweet his music! On my life

There’s more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!

He, too, is no mean preacher:

Come forth into the light of things,—

Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,

Our minds and hearts to bless,—

Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,

Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood,

May teach you more of man,

Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.”[211]

He ought to be encouraged to engage in those sports wherein the greatest

number of muscles are brought into play. For instance, to play at ball,

or hoop, or football, to play at horses, to run to certain distances and

back; and, if a girl, to amuse herself with a skipping-rope, such being

excellent exercise—

“By sports like these are all their cares beguiled,—

The sports of children satisfy the child.”[212]

Every child, where it be practicable, should have a small plot of ground

to cultivate, that he may dig and delve in, and make dirt-pies if he

choose. Children, nowadays, unfortunately, are not allowed to soil their

hands and their fine clothes. For my own part, I dislike such model

children; let a child be natural—let him, as far as is possible, choose

his own sports. Do not be always interfering with his pursuits, and be

finding fault with him. Remember, what may be amusing to you may be

distasteful to him. I do not, of course, mean but that you should

constantly have a watchful eye over him; yet do not let him see that he

is under restraint or surveillance; if you do, you will never discover

his true character and inclinations. Not only so, but do not dim the

bright sunshine of his early life by constantly checking and thwarting

him. Tupper beautifully says:

“And check not a child in his merriment.—

Should not his morning be sunny?”

When, therefore, he is either in the nursery or in the play-ground, let

him shout and riot and romp about as much as he pleases. His lungs and

his muscles want developing, and his nerves require strengthening; and

how can such be accomplished unless you allow them to be developed and

strengthened by natural means?

The nursery is a child’s own domain; it is his castle, and he should be

Lord Paramount therein. If he choose to blow a whistle, or to spring a

rattle, or to make any other hideous noise, which to him is sweet music,

he should be allowed, without let or hinderance, to do so. If any

members of the family have weak nerves, let them keep at a respectful

distance.

A child who never gets into mischief must be either sly, or delicate, or

idiotic; indeed, the system of many persons in bringing up children is

likely to make them either the one or the other. The present plan of

training children is nearly all work (books), and very little play.

Play, and plenty of it, is necessary to the very existence of a child.

A boy not partial to mischief, innocent mischief, and play, is

unnatural; he is a man before his time, he is a nuisance, he is

disagreeable to himself and to every one around. “A boy not fond of fun

and frolic may possibly make a tolerable man, but he is an intolerable

boy.”

Girls, at the present time, are made clever simpletons; their brains are

worked with useless knowledge, which totally unfits them for everyday

duties. Their muscles are allowed to be idle, which makes them limp and

flabby. The want of proper exercise ruins the complexion, and their

faces become of the color of a tallow candle! And precious wives and

mothers they make when they do grow up! Grow up, did I say! They grow

all manner of ways, and are as crooked as crooked sticks!

What an unnatural thing it is to confine a child several hours a day to

his lessons; why, you might as well put a colt in harness, and make him

work for his living! A child is made for play; his roguish little eye,

his lithe figure, his antics, and his drollery, all point out that he is

cut out for play—that it is as necessary to his existence as the food he

eats, and as the air he breathes!

A child ought not to be allowed to have playthings with which he can

injure either himself or others, such as toy-swords, toy-cannons,

toy-paint-boxes, knives, bows and arrows, hammers, chisels, saws, etc.

He will not only be likely to injure himself and others, but will make

sad havoc on furniture, house, and other property. Fun, frolic, and play

ought, in all innocent ways, to be encouraged; but willful mischief and

dangerous games ought, by every means, to be discountenanced. This

advice is frequently much needed, as children prefer to have and delight

in dangerous toys, and often coax and persuade weak and indulgent

mothers to gratify their wishes.

_Painted_ toys are, many of them, highly dangerous, those painted

_green_ especially, as the color generally consists of Scheele’s

green—arsenite of copper.

Children’s paint-boxes are very dangerous toys for a child to play with:

many of the paints are poisonous, containing arsenic, lead, gamboge,

etc., and a child, when painting, is apt to put the brush into his

mouth, to absorb the superabundant fluid. Of all the colors, the _green_

paint is the most dangerous, as it is frequently composed of arsenite of

copper—arsenic and copper—two deadly poisons.

There are some paint-boxes warranted not to contain a particle of poison

of any kind: these ought, for a child, to be chosen by a mother.

But, remember, although he ought not to be allowed to have poison

paint-boxes and poison-painted toys, _he must have an abundance of

toys_, such as the white-wood toys—brewers’ drays, millers’ wagons,

boxes of wooden bricks, etc. The Noah’s Ark is one of the most amusing

and instructive toys for a child. “Those fashioned out of brown,

unpainted pine-wood by the clever carvers of Nuremberg or the Black

Forest are the best, I think, not only because they are the most

spirited, but because they will survive a good deal of knocking about,

and can be sucked with impunity. From the first dawn of recollection,

children are thus familiarized with the forms of natural objects, and

may be well up in natural history before they have mastered the A B

C.”[213]

Parents often make Sunday a day of gloom: to this I much object. Of all

the days in the week, Sunday should be the most cheerful and pleasant.

It is considered by our Church a festival; and a glorious festival it

ought to be made, and one on which our Heavenly Father wishes to see all

His children happy and full of innocent joy! Let Sunday, then, be made a

cheerful, joyous, innocently happy day, and not, as it frequently is,

the most miserable and dismal in the week. It is my firm conviction that

many men have been made irreligious by the ridiculously strict and

dismal way they were compelled, as children, to spend their Sundays. You

can no more make children religious by gloomy asceticism, than you can

make people good by Act of Parliament!

One of the great follies of the present age is, children’s parties,

where they are allowed to be dressed like grown-up women, stuck out in

crinoline, and encouraged to eat rich cake and pastry, and to drink

wine, and to sit up late at night! There is something disgusting and

demoralizing in all this. Their pure minds are blighted by it. Do not

let me be misunderstood: there is not the least objection, but, on the

contrary, great advantage, for friends’ children to meet friends’

children; but then let them be treated as children, and not as men and

women!

178. _Do you approve of public play-grounds for children?_

It would be well, in every village, and in the outskirts of every town,

if a large plot of ground were set apart for children to play in, and to

go through regular gymnastic exercises. Play is absolutely necessary to

a child’s very existence, as much as food and sleep; but in many parts

of England where is he to have it? Play-grounds and play are the best

schools we have; they teach a great deal not taught elsewhere; they give

lessons in health, which is the grandest wealth that can be

bestowed—“for health is wealth;” they prepare the soil for the future

school-master; they clear the brain, and thus the intellect; they

strengthen the muscles; they make the blood course merrily through the

arteries; they bestow healthy food for the lungs; they give an appetite;

they make a child, in due time, become every inch a man! Play-grounds

and play are one of the finest Institutions we possess. What would our

large public schools be without their play and cricket-grounds? They

would be shorn of half their splendor and usefulness!

There is so much talk nowadays about _useful_ knowledge, that the

importance of play and play-grounds is likely to be forgotten. I cannot

help thinking, however, that a better state of things is dawning. “It

seems to be found out that in our zeal for useful knowledge, that

knowledge is found to be not the least useful which treats boys as

active, stirring, aspiring, and ready.”[214]

EDUCATION.

179. _Do you approve of infant schools?_

I do, if the arrangements be such that health is preferred before

learning.[215] Let children be only confined for three or four hours a

day, and let what little they learn be taught as an amusement rather

than as a labor. A play-ground ought to be attached to an infants’

school; where, in fine weather, for every half hour they spend in-doors,

they should spend one in the open air; and, in wet weather, they ought

to have, in lieu of the play-ground, a large room to romp, and shout,

and riot in. To develop the different organs, muscles, and other parts

of the body, children require fresh air, a free use of their lungs,

active exercise, and their bodies to be thrown into all manner of

attitudes. Let a child mope in a corner, and he will become stupid and

sickly. The march of intellect, as it is called, or rather the double

quick march of intellect, as it should be called, has stolen a march

upon health. Only allow the march of intellect and the march of health

to take equal strides, and then we shall have “_mens sana in corpore

sano_” (a sound mind in a sound body).

In the education of a young child, it is better to instruct him by

illustration and by encouraging observation on things around and about

him, than by books. It is surprising how much, without endangering the

health, may be taught in this way. In educating your child, be careful

to instill and to form good habits—they will then stick to him for life.

Children at the present day are too highly educated—their brains are

overtaxed, and thus weakened. The consequence is, that as they grow up

to manhood, if they grow up at all, they become fools! _Children_ are

now taught what formerly _youths_ were taught. The chord of a child’s

life is ofttimes snapped asunder in consequence of overeducation:

“Screw not the chord too sharply, lest it snap.”[216]

You should treat a child as you would a young colt. Think only at first

of strengthening his body. Let him have a perfectly free, happy life,

plenty of food to eat, abundance of air to breathe, and no work to do;

there is plenty of time to think of his learning—of giving him brain

work. It will come sadly too soon; but do not make him old before his

time.

180. _At what age do you advise my child to begin his course of

education—to have his regular lessons?_

In the name of the prophet,—Figs! Fiddlesticks! about courses of

education and regular lessons for a child! You may as well ask me when

he, a child, is to begin Hebrew, the Sanscrit, and Mathematics! Let him

have a course of education in play; let him go through regular lessons

in football, bandy, playing at tic, hares and hounds, and such like

excellent and really useful and health-giving lessons. Begin his

lessons! Begin brainwork, and make an idiot of him! Oh! for shame, ye

mothers! You who pretend to love your children so much, and to tax,

otherwise to injure, irreparably to injure their brains, and thus their

intellects and their health, and to shorten their very days. And all for

what? To make prodigies of them! Forsooth! to make fools of them in the

end.

181. _Well, then, as you have such a great objection to a child

commencing his education early in life, at what age may he, with safety,

commence his lessons? and which do you prefer—home or school education?_

Home is far preferable to a school education for a child. If at home, he

is under your own _immediate_ observation, and is not liable to be

contaminated by naughty children; for, in every school, there is

necessarily a great mixture of the good and of the bad; and a child,

unfortunately, is more likely to be led by a bad than by a good child.

Moreover, if the child be educated at home, the mother can see that his

brain be not overworked. At school the brain is apt to be overworked,

and the stomach and the muscles to be underworked.

Remember, as above stated, _the brain must have but very little work

until the child be seven years old_: impress this advice upon your

memory, and let no foolish ambition to make your child a clever child

allow you, for one moment, to swerve from this advice.

Build up a strong, healthy body, and in due time the brain will bear a

_moderate_ amount of intellectual labor.

As I have given _you_ so much advice, permit me, for one moment, to

address a word to the father of your child:

Let me advise you, then, Mr. _Paterfamilias_, to be careful how you

converse, what language you use, while in the company of your child.

Bear in mind, a child is very observant, and thinks much, weighs well,

and seldom forgets all you say and all you do? Let no hasty word, then,

and more especially no oath, or no impious language, ever pass your

lips, if your child is within hearing. It is, of course, at all times

wicked to swear; but it is heinously and unpardonably sinful to swear in

the presence of your child! “Childhood is like a mirror, catching and

reflecting images. One impious or profane thought, uttered by a parent’s

lip, may operate upon the young heart like a careless spray of water

thrown upon polished steel, staining it with rust, which no

after-scouring can efface.”

Never talk secrets before a child—“little pitchers have long ears;” if

you do, and he disclose your secrets,—as most likely he will,—and thus

make mischief, it will be cruel to scold him; you will, for your

imprudence, have yourself only to blame. Be most careful, then, in the

presence of your child, of what you say and of whom you speak. This

advice, if followed, might save a great deal of annoyance and vexation.

182. _Are you an advocate for a child being taught singing?_

I am; I consider singing a part of a child’s education. Singing expands

the walls of the chest, strengthens and invigorates the lungs, gives

sweetness to the voice, improves the pronunciation, and is a great

pleasure and amusement to a child.

SLEEP.

183. _Do you approve of a child sleeping on a_ FEATHER _bed_?

A _feather_ bed enervates his body, and, if he be so predisposed, causes

rickets, and makes him crooked. A horse-hair mattress is the best for a

child to lie on. The pillow, too, should be made of horse-hair. A

_feather_ pillow often causes the head to be bathed in perspiration,

thus enervating the child and making him liable to catch cold. If he be

at all rickety, if he be weak in the neck, if he be inclined to stoop,

or if he be at all crooked, let him, by all means, lie without a pillow.

184. _Do you recommend a child, in the middle of the day, to be put to

sleep?_

Let him be put on his mattress _awake_ at twelve o’clock, that he may

sleep for an hour or two before dinner, then he will rise both refreshed

and strengthened for the remainder of the day. I said, let him be put

down _awake_. He might, for the first few times, cry; but, by

perseverance, he will without any difficulty fall to sleep. The practice

of sleeping before dinner ought to be continued until he be two years

old, and if he can be prevailed upon, even longer. For if he do not have

sleep in the middle of the day, he will all the afternoon and the

evening be cross; and when he does go to bed, he will probably be too

tired to sleep, or his nerves, having been exhausted by the long

wakefulness, he will fall into a troubled, broken slumber, and not into

that sweet, soft, gentle repose, so characteristic of healthy, happy

childhood!

185. _At what hour ought a child to be put to bed in the evening?_

At six in the winter, and at seven o’clock in the summer. _Regularity_

ought to be observed, as _regularity is very conducive to health_. It is

a reprehensible practice to keep a child up until nine or ten o’clock at

night. If this be done, he will, before his time, become old, and the

seeds of disease will be sown.

As soon as he can run, let him be encouraged, for half an hour before he

goes to bed, to race either about the hall, or the landing, or a large

room, which will be the best means of warming his feet, of preventing

chilblains, and of making him sleep soundly.

186. _Have you any directions to give me as to the placing of my child

in his bed?_

If a child lie alone, place him fairly on his side in the middle of the

bed; if it be winter time, see that his arms and hands be covered with

the bedclothes; if it be summer, his hands might be allowed to be

outside the clothes.

In putting him down to sleep, you should ascertain that his face be not

covered with the bedclothes; if it be, he will be poisoned with his own

breath—the breath constantly giving off carbonic acid gas; which gas

must, if his face be smothered in the clothes, be breathed—carbonic acid

gas being highly poisonous.

You can readily prove the existence of carbonic acid gas in the

breathing, by simply breathing into a little lime-water; after breathing

for a few seconds into it, a white film will form on the top; the

carbonic acid gas from the breath unites with the lime of the

lime-water, and the product of the white film is carbonate of lime.

187. _Do you advise a bedroom to be darkened at night?_

Certainly. A child sleeps sounder and sweeter in a dark than in a light

room. There is nothing better, for the purpose of darkening a bed room,

than Venetian blinds.

Remember, then, a well-ventilated, but a darkened chamber at night. The

cot or the crib ought _not_ to face the window, “as the light is best

behind.”[217]

188. _Which is the best position for a child when sleeping—on his back,

or on his side?_

His side. He ought to be accustomed to change about—on the right side

one night, on the left another; and occasionally, for a change, he

should lie on his back. By adopting this plan you will not only improve

his figure, but likewise his health. Lying, night after night, in one

position, would be likely to make him crooked.

189. _Do you advise, in the winter time, that there should be a fire in

the night nursery?_

Certainly not, unless the weather be intensely cold. I dislike fires in

bedrooms, especially for children; they are very enervating, and make a

child liable to catch cold. Cold weather is very bracing, particularly

at night. “Generally speaking,” says the _Siècle_, “during winter,

apartments are too much heated. The temperature in them ought not to

exceed 16° Centigrade (59° Fahrenheit); and even in periods of great

cold, scientific men declare that 12° or 14° had better not be exceeded.

In the wards of hospitals, and in the chambers of the sick, care is

taken not to have greater heat than 15°. Clerks in offices, and other

persons of sedentary occupations, when the rooms in which they sit are

too much heated, are liable to cerebral [brain] congestion and to

pulmonary [lung] complaints. In bedrooms, and particularly those of

children, the temperature ought to be maintained rather low; it is even

prudent only rarely to make fires in them, especially during the night.”

“If a cold stable make a healthy horse,” I am quite sure that a

moderately cold and well-ventilated bedroom helps to make a healthy

child. But still, in the winter time, if the weather be biting cold, a

_little_ fire in the bedroom grate is desirable. In bringing up

children, we must never run into extremes—the coddling system and the

hardening system are both to be deprecated; the coddling system will

make a strong child weakly, while the hardening system will probably

kill a delicate one.

A child’s bed ought, of course, to be comfortably clothed with

blankets—I say blankets, as they are much superior to coverlids; the

perspiration will more readily pass through a blanket than a coverlid. A

_thick_ coverlid ought never to be used; there is nothing better for a

child’s bed than the old-fashioned patchwork coverlid, as the

perspiration will easily escape through it.

190. _Should a child be washed and dressed_ AS SOON AS HE AWAKES _in the

morning_?

He ought, if he awakes in anything like reasonable time; for if he doze

after he be once awake, such slumber does him more harm than good. He

should be up every morning as soon as it is light. If, as a child, he be

taught to rise early, it will make him an early riser for life, and will

tend greatly to prolong both his existence and his happiness.

_Never awake a child from his sleep_ to dress him, to give him medicine,

or for any other purpose; _let him always sleep as long as he can_; but

the moment he awakes let him be held out, and then let him be washed and

dressed, and do not wait, as many a silly nurse does, until he has wet

his bed, until his blood be chilled, and until he be cross, miserable,

and uncomfortable! How many babies are made ill by such foolish

practices!

The moment he leaves his bed, turn back to the fullest extent the

clothes, in order that they may be thoroughly ventilated and sweetened.

They ought to be exposed to the air for at least an hour before the bed

be made. As soon as he leaves his room, be it winter or summer, throw

open the windows.

191. _Ought a child to lie alone?_

He should after he is weaned. He will rest more comfortably, and his

sleep will be more refreshing.

192. _Supposing a child should not sleep well, what ought to be done?

Would you give him a dose of composing medicine?_

Certainly not. Try the effects of exercise. Exercise in the open air is

the best composing medicine in the world. Let the little fellow be well

tired out, and there will be little fear of his not sleeping.

193. _Have you any further observations to make on the subject of

sleep?_

Send a child joyful to bed. Do not, if you can possibly help it, let him

go to bed crying. Let the last impressions he has at night be of his

happy home, and of his loving father and mother, and let his last

thoughts be those of joy and gladness. He will sleep all the sounder if

he be sent to bed in such a frame of mind, and he will be more refreshed

and nourished in the morning by his sleep.

194. _What is the usual cause of a child walking in his sleep, and what

measures, during such times, ought to be adopted to prevent his injuring

himself?_

A disordered stomach in a child of nervous temperament is usually the

cause. The means to be adopted to prevent his throwing himself out of

the window are to have bars to his chamber casement, and if that be not

practicable, to have either nails or screws driven into the window-sash

to allow the window to open only for a sufficient space for ventilation,

and to have a screw window-fastening, in order that he cannot, without

difficulty, open the window; to have a trusty person to sleep in his

room, who should have directions given not to rouse him from his sleep,

but to gently lead him back to his bed, which may frequently be done

without awaking him; and to consult a medical man, who will adopt means

to put his stomach into order, to brace his nerves, and to strengthen

his general system. A trip to the coast and sea bathing, in such a case,

is often of great service.

SECOND DENTITION.

195. _When does a child begin to cut his_ SECOND _set of teeth_?

Generally at seven years old. He _begins_ to _cut_ them at about that

time; but it should be borne in mind (so wonderful are the works of God)

that the _second_ crop of teeth _in embryo_ is actually bred and formed

from the very commencement of his life, _under_ the first tier of teeth,

but which remain in abeyance for years, and do not come into play until

the _first_ teeth, having done their duty, loosen and fall out, and thus

make room for _the_ more numerous, larger, stronger, and more permanent

teeth, which latter have to last for the remainder of his existence. The

_first_ set is sometimes cut with a great deal of difficulty, and

produces various disease; the _second_, or permanent teeth, come easily,

and are unaccompanied with any disorder. The following is the process:

one after another of the _first_ set gradually loosen, and either drop

out, or with little pain are readily pulled out; under these, the

_second_—the permanent teeth—make their appearance, and fill up the

vacant spaces. The fang of the tooth that has dropped out is nearly all

absorbed or eaten away, leaving little more than the crown. The _first_

set consists of twenty; the _second_ (including the wise teeth, which

are not generally cut until after the age of twenty-seven) consists of

thirty-two.

I would recommend you to pay particular attention to the teeth of your

children; for, besides their being ornamental, their regularity and

soundness are of great importance to the present as well as to the

future health of your offspring. If there be any irregularity in the

appearance of the _second_ set, lose no time in consulting an

experienced and respectable dentist.

DISEASE, ETC.

196. _Do you think it important that I should be made acquainted with

the symptoms of the_ SERIOUS _diseases of children_?

Certainly. I am not advocating the doctrine of a mother _treating

serious_ diseases; far from it; it is not her province, except in

certain cases of extreme urgency where a medical man cannot be procured,

and where delay might be death; but I do insist upon the necessity of

her knowing the _symptoms_ of disease. My belief is, that if parents

were better informed on such subjects, many children’s lives might be

saved, much suffering might be averted, and much sorrow might be spared.

The fact is, the knowledge of the symptoms of disease is, to a mother,

almost a sealed book. If she were better acquainted with these matters,

how much more useful would she be in a sick-room, and how much more

readily would she enter into the plans and views of the medical man! By

her knowledge of the symptoms, and by having his advice in time, she

would nip disease in the bud, and the fight might end in favor of life,

for “sickness is just a fight between life and death.”[218]

It is really lamentable to contemplate the amount of ignorance that

still exists among mothers in all that appertains to the diseases of

children; although, fortunately, they are beginning to see and to feel

the importance of gaining instruction on such subjects; but the light is

only dawning. A writer of the present day makes the following remarks,

which somewhat bear on the subject in question. He observes: “In spite

of the knowledge and clear views possessed by the profession on all that

concerns the management of children, no fact is more palpable than that

the most grievous ignorance and incompetency prevail respecting it among

the public. We want some means of making popular the knowledge which is

now almost restricted to medical men, or at most, to the well-educated

classes.”[219]

In the earlier editions of this work, I did not give the _treatment_ of

any serious diseases, however urgent. In the three last editions I have

been induced, for reasons I will presently state, to give the

_treatment_ of some of the more urgent _serious_ diseases, when a

medical man cannot instantly be procured, and where delay might be

death.

Sir Charles Locock, who has taken a kind interest in this little work,

has given me valid reasons why a mother should be so enlightened. The

following extracts are from a letter which I received from Sir Charles

on the subject, and which he has courteously allowed me to publish. He

says: “As an old physician of some experience in complaints of infants

and children, I may perhaps be allowed to suggest that in a future

edition you should add a few words on the actual treatment of some of

the more urgent infantile diseases. It is very right to caution parents

against superseding the doctor, and attempting to manage serious illness

themselves; but your advice, with very small exceptions, always being

‘to lose no time in sending for a medical man,’ much valuable and often

irremediable time may be lost _when a medical man is not to be had_.

Take, for instance, a case of croup: there are no directions given at

all, except to send for a medical man, and always to keep medicines in

the house which he may have directed. But how can this apply to a first

attack? You state that a first attack is generally the worst. But why is

it so? Simply because it often occurs when the parents do not recognize

it, and it is allowed to get to a worse point than in subsequent

attacks, when they are thoroughly alive to it. As the very best remedy,

and often the only essential one, if given early, is a full emetic,

surely it is better that you should give some directions as to this in a

future edition, and I can speak from my own experience when I say that

an emetic, _given in time_, and repeated to free vomiting, will cut

short _any_ case of croup. In nine cases out of ten the attack takes

place in the evening or early night, and when vomiting is effected the

dinner of that day is brought up nearly undigested, and the severity of

the symptoms at once cut short. Whenever any remedy is valuable, the

more by its being administered _in time_, it is surely wiser to give

directions as to its use, although, as a general rule, it is much better

to advise the sending for medical advice.”

The above reasons, coming from such a learned and experienced physician

as Sir Charles Locock, are conclusive, and have decided me to comply

with his advice, to enlighten a mother on the _treatment_ of some of the

more urgent diseases of infants and of children.

In a subsequent letter addressed to myself, Sir Charles has given me the

names of those _urgent_ diseases which he considers may be treated by a

mother, “where a medical man cannot be procured quickly, or not at all;”

they are—Croup; Inflammation of the Lungs; Diphtheria; Dysentery;

Diarrhœa; Hooping-cough, in its various stages; and Shivering Fit. Sir

Charles sums up his letter to me by saying: “Such a book ought to be

made as complete as possible, and the objections to medical treatment

being so explained as to induce mothers to try to avoid medical men is

not so serious as that of leaving them without any guide in those

instances where every delay is dangerous, and yet where medical

assistance is not to be obtained or not to be had quickly.”

In addition to the above, I shall give you the _treatment_ of

Bronchitis, Measles, and Scarlet Fever. Bronchitis is one of the most

common diseases incidental to childhood, and, with judicious treatment,

is, in the absence of the medical man, readily managed by a sensible

mother. Measles is very submissive to treatment. Scarlet Fever, _if it

be not malignant_, and if certain rules be strictly followed, is also

equally amenable to treatment.

I have been fortunate in treating Scarlet Fever, and therefore think it

desirable to enter fully into the _treatment_ of a disease, which is

looked upon by many parents, and according to the usual mode of

treatment, with just cause, with great consternation and dread. By

giving my plan of treatment fully and simply, and without the slightest

reservation, I am fully persuaded, through God’s blessing, that I may be

the humble means of saving the lives of numbers of children.

The diseases that might be treated by a mother, in the absence of a

medical, man, will form the subject of future Conversations.

197. _At what age does Water on the Brain usually occur, and how is a

mother to know that her child is about to labor under that disease?_

Water on the brain is, as a rule, a disease of childhood; after a child

is seven years old it is comparatively rare. It more frequently attacks

delicate children—children who have been dry-nursed (especially if they

have been improperly fed), or who have been suckled too long, or who

have had consumptive mothers, or who have suffered severely from

teething, or who are naturally of a feeble constitution. Water on the

brain sometimes follows an attack of inflammation of the lungs, more

especially if depressing measures (such as excessive leeching and the

administration of emetic tartar) have been adopted. It occasionally

follows in the train of contagious eruptive diseases, such as either

small-pox or scarlatina. We may divide the symptoms of water on the

brain into two stages. The first—the premonitory stage—which lasts four

or five days, in which medical aid might be of great avail; the

second—the stage of drowsiness and of coma—which usually ends in death.

I shall dwell on the first—the premonitory stage—in order that a mother

may see the importance without loss of time of calling in a medical man:

If her child be feverish and irritable, if his stomach be disordered, if

he have urgent vomitings, if he have a foul breath, if his appetite be

capricious and bad, if his nights be disturbed (screaming out in his

sleep), if his bowels be disordered, more especially if they be

constipated, if he be more than usually excited, if his eye gleam with

unusual brilliancy, if his tongue ran faster than it is wont, if his

cheek be flushed and his head be hot, and if he be constantly putting

his hand to his head, there is cause for suspicion. If to these symptoms

be added, a more than usual carelessness in tumbling about, in hitching

his foot in the carpet, or in dragging one foot after the other; if,

too, he has complained of darting, shooting, lancinating pains in his

head, it may then be known that the _first_ stage of inflammation (the

forerunner of water on the brain) either has taken or is about taking

place. Remember, no time ought to be lost in obtaining medical aid; for

the _commencement_ of the disease is the golden opportunity, when life

might probably be saved.

198. _At what age, and in what neighborhood, is a child most liable to

Croup, and when is a mother to know that it is about to take place?_

It is unusual for a child until he be twelve months old to have croup;

but, from that time until the age of two years, he is more liable to it

than at any other period. The liability after two years gradually, until

he be ten years old, lessens, after which time it is rare.

A child is more liable to croup in a low and damp, than in a high and

dry neighborhood; indeed, in some situations, croup is almost an unknown

disease; while in others it is only too well understood. Croup is more

likely to prevail when the wind is either easterly or northeasterly.

There is no disease that requires more prompt treatment than croup, and

none that creeps on more insidiously. The child at first seems to be

laboring under a slight cold, and is troubled with a little _dry_ cough;

he is hot and fretful, and _hoarse_ when he cries. Hoarseness is one of

the earliest symptoms of croup; and it should be borne in mind that a

young child, unless he be going to have croup, is seldom hoarse; if,

therefore, your child be hoarse, he should be carefully watched, in

order that, as soon as croup be detected, not a moment be lost in

applying the proper remedies.

His voice at length becomes gruff, he breathes as though it were through

muslin, and the cough becomes crowing. These three symptoms prove that

the disease is now fully formed. These latter symptoms sometimes come on

without any previous warning, the little fellow going to bed apparently

quite well, until the mother is awakened, perplexed, and frightened, in

the middle of the night, by finding him laboring under the

characteristic cough and the other symptoms of croup. If she delay

either to send for assistance, _or if proper medicines be not instantly

given_, in a few hours it will probably be of no avail, and in a day or

two the little sufferer will be a corpse!

When once a child has had croup the after-attacks are generally milder.

If he has once had an attack of croup, I should advise you always to

have in the house medicine—a 4 oz. bottle of ipecacuanha wine, to fly to

at a moment’s notice;[220] but never omit, where practicable, in a case

of croup, whether the attack be severe or mild, to send _immediately_

for medical aid. There is no disease in which time is more precious than

in croup, and where the delay of an hour may decide either for life or

for death.

199. _But suppose a medical man is not_ IMMEDIATELY _to be procured,

what then am I to do? more especially, as you say, that delay might be

death._

_What to do._—I never in my life lost a child with croup where I was

called in at the _commencement_ of the disease, and where my plans were

carried out to the very letter. Let me begin by saying, Look well to the

goodness and purity of the medicine, for the life of your child may

depend upon the medicine being genuine. What medicine? _Ipecacuanha

wine!_ At the earliest dawn of the disease give a teaspoonful of

ipecacuanha wine every five minutes, until free vomiting be excited. In

croup, before he is safe, free vomiting _must_ be established, and that

without loss of time. If, after the expiration of an hour, the

ipecacuanha wine (having given during that hour a teaspoonful of it

every five minutes) is not sufficiently powerful for the

purpose—although it generally is so (if the ipecacuanha wine be

good)—then let the following mixture be substituted:

Take of—Powdered Ipecacuanha, one scruple;

Wine of Ipecacuanha, one ounce and a half:

Make a Mixture. A teaspoonful to be given every five minutes, until

free vomiting be excited, first _well_ shaking the bottle.

After the vomiting, place the child for a quarter of an hour in a warm

bath.[221] When out of the bath give him small doses of ipecacuanha wine

every two or three hours. The following is a palatable form for the

mixture:

Take of—Wine of Ipecacuanha, three drachms;

Simple Syrup, three drachms;

Water, six drachms:

Make a Mixture. A teaspoonful to be taken every two or three hours.

But remember, the emetic which is given at _first_ is _pure ipecacuanha

wine, without a drop of either water or of syrup_.

A large sponge dipped out of very hot water, and applied to the throat,

and frequently renewed, oftentimes affords great relief in croup, and

ought during the time the emetic is being administered in all cases to

be adopted.

If it be a _severe_ case of croup, and does not in the course of two

hours yield to the free exhibition of the ipecacuanha emetic, apply a

narrow strip of _Smith’s tela vesicatoria_ to the throat, prepared in

the same way as for a case of inflammation of the lungs (see the

Conversation on the _treatment_ of inflammation of the lungs). With this

only difference, let it be a narrower strip, only one-half the width

there recommended, and apply it to the throat instead of to the chest.

If a child has a very short, fat neck, there may not be room for the

_tela_, then you ought to apply it to the _upper_ part of the chest—just

under the collar bones.

Let it be understood that the _tela vesicatoria_ is not a severe remedy,

that the _tela_ produces very little pain—not nearly so much as the

application of leeches; although, in its action, it is much more

beneficial, and is not nearly so weakening to the system.

Keep the child from all stimulants; let him live on a low diet, such as

milk and water, toast and water, arrow-root, etc.; and let the room be,

if practicable, at a temperate heat—60° Fahrenheit, and be well

ventilated.

So you see that the _treatment_ of croup is very simple, and that the

plan might be carried out by an intelligent mother. Notwithstanding

which, it is your duty, where practicable, to send at the very _onset_

of the disease for a medical man.

Let me again reiterate that if your child is to be saved the

_ipecacuanha wine must be genuine and good_. This can only be effected

by having the medicine from a highly respectable chemist. Again, if ever

your child has had croup, let me again urge you _always_ to have in the

house a 4 oz. bottle of ipecacuanha wine, that you may resort to at a

moment’s notice in case there be the slightest return of the disease.

Ipecacuanha wine, unfortunately, is not a medicine that keeps well;

therefore, every three or four months a fresh bottle ought to be

procured either from a medical man or from a chemist. As long as the

ipecacuanha wine remains _clear_, it is good; but as soon as it becomes

_turbid_ it is bad, and ought to be replaced by a fresh supply.

An intelligent correspondent of mine makes the following valuable

remarks on the preservation of ipecacuanha wine: “Now, I know that there

are some medicines and chemical preparations which, though they spoil

rapidly when at all exposed to the air, yet will keep perfectly good for

an indefinite time if hermetically sealed up in a _perfectly full_

bottle. If so, would it not be a valuable suggestion if the

Apothecaries’ Hall, or some other London firm of _undoubted_

reliability, would put up 1 oz. phials of ipecacuanha wine of guaranteed

purity, sealed up so as to keep good so long as unopened, and sent out

in sealed packages, with the guarantee of their name. By keeping a few

such ounce bottles in an unopened state in one’s house, one might rely

on being ready for any emergency. If you think this suggestion worth

notice, and could induce some first-rate house to carry it out, and

mention the fact in a subsequent edition of your book, you would, I

think, be adding another most valuable item to an already invaluable

book.”

The above suggestion of preserving ipecacuanha wine in ounce bottles,

quite full, and hermetically sealed, is a very good one. The best way of

hermetically sealing the bottle would be to cut the cork level with the

lip of the bottle, and to cover the cork with sealing-wax, in the same

manner wine merchants serve some kinds of their wines, and then to lay

the bottles on their sides in sawdust in the cellar. I have no doubt, if

such a plan were adopted, the ipecacuanha wine would for a length of

time keep good. Of course, if the wine of ipecacuanha be procured from

the Apothecaries’ Hall Company, London (as suggested by my

correspondent), there can be no question as to the genuineness of the

article.

_What_ NOT _to do._—Do not give emetic tartar; do not apply leeches; do

not keep the room very warm; do not give stimulants; do not omit to have

always in the house either a 4 oz. bottle, or three or four 1 oz.

bottles of ipecacuanha wine.

200. _I have heard Child-crowing mentioned as a formidable disease;

would you describe the symptoms?_

Child-crowing, or _spurious croup_, as it is sometimes called, is

occasionally mistaken for _genuine croup_. It is a more frequent

disorder than the latter, and requires a different plan of treatment.

Child-crowing is a disease that almost invariably occurs only during

dentition, and is _most perilous_. But if a child laboring under it can

fortunately escape suffocation until he has cut the whole of his first

set of teeth—twenty—he is then, as a rule, safe.

Child-crowing comes on in paroxysms. The breathing during the intervals

is quite natural—indeed, the child appears perfectly well; hence the

dangerous nature of the disease is either overlooked, or is lightly

thought of, until perhaps a paroxysm worse than common takes place, and

the little patient dies of suffocation, overwhelming the mother with

terror, with confusion, and dismay.

The _symptoms_ in a paroxysm of child-crowing are as follows: The child

suddenly loses and fights for his breath, and in doing so makes a noise

very much like that of crowing; hence the name child-crowing. The face

during the paroxysm becomes bluish or livid. In a favorable case, after

either a few seconds, or even, in some instances, a minute, and a

frightful struggle to breathe, he regains his breath, and is, until

another paroxysm occurs, perfectly well. In an unfavorable case, the

upper part (chink) of the windpipe remains for a minute or two closed,

and the child, not being able to breathe, drops a corpse in his nurse’s

arms. Many children, who are said to have died of fits, have really died

of child-crowing.

I have entered thus rather fully into the subject, as many lives might

be saved if a mother knew the nature of the complaint, and the _great

necessity, during the paroxysms, of prompt and proper measures_. For,

too frequently, before a medical man has had time to arrive, the child

has breathed his last, the parent herself being perfectly ignorant of

the necessary treatment; hence the vital importance of the subject, and

the paramount necessity of imparting information, in a _popular_ style,

in a work of this kind.

201. _What treatment, then, during a paroxysm of Child-crowing should

you advise?_

The first thing, of course, to be done is to send _immediately_ for a

medical man. Have a plentiful supply of cold and of hot water always at

hand, ready at a moment’s notice for use. The instant the paroxysm is

upon the child, plentifully and perseveringly dash _cold_ water upon his

head and face. Put his feet and legs in _hot_ salt, mustard, and water;

and, if necessary, place him up to his neck in a hot bath, still dashing

water upon his face and head. If he does not quickly come round, sharply

smack his back and buttocks.

As soon as a medical man arrives, he will lose no time in thoroughly

lancing the gums and in applying other appropriate remedies.

Great care and attention ought, during the intervals, to be paid to the

diet. If the child is breathing a smoky, close atmosphere, he should be

immediately removed to a pure one. In this disease, indeed, there is no

remedy equal to a change of air—to a dry, bracing neighborhood. Change

of air, even if it be winter, is the best remedy, either to the coast or

to a healthy farm-house. I am indebted to Mr. Roberton, of Manchester

(who has paid great attention to this disease, and who has written a

valuable essay on the subject[222]), for the knowledge of this fact.

Where, in a case of this kind, it is not practicable to send a child

_from_ home, then let him be sent out of doors the greater part of every

day; let him, in point of fact, almost live in the open air. I am quite

sure, from an extensive experience, that in this disease, fresh air, and

plenty of it, is the best and principal remedy.

202. _When is a mother to know that a cough is not a “tooth-cough,” but

one of the symptoms of Inflammation of the Lungs?_

If the child has had a shivering fit; if his skin be very hot and very

dry; if his lips be parched; if there be great thirst; if his cheeks be

flushed; if he be dull and heavy, wishing to be quiet in his cot or

crib; if his appetite be diminished; if his tongue be furred; if his

mouth be _burning_ hot and dry;[223] if his urine be scanty and

high-colored, staining the napkin or the linen; _if his breathing be

short, panting, hurried, and oppressed; if there be a hard, dry cough;

and if his skin be burning hot_; then there is no doubt that

inflammation of the lungs has taken place.

No time should be lost in sending for medical aid; indeed, the _hot, dry

mouth and skin, and short hurried breathing_ would be sufficient cause

for your procuring _immediate_ assistance. If inflammation of the lungs

were properly treated at the _onset_, a child would scarcely ever be

lost by that disease. I say this advisedly, for in my own practice,

_provided I am called in early, and if my plans are strictly carried

out_, I scarcely ever lose a child from inflammation of the lungs.

You may ask—What are your plans? I will tell you, in case _you cannot

promptly obtain medical advice_, as delay might be death.

_The treatment of Inflammation of the Lungs, what to do._—Keep the child

to one room, to his bedroom, and to his bed. Let the chamber be properly

ventilated. If the weather be cool, let a small fire be in the grate;

otherwise, he is better without a fire. Let him live on low diet, such

as weak black tea, milk and water, and toast and water, thin oatmeal

gruel, arrow-root, and such like simple beverages, and give him the

following mixture:

Take of—Wine of Ipecacuanha, three drachms;

Simple Syrup, three drachms;

Water, six drachms:

Make a Mixture. A teaspoonful of the mixture to be taken every four

hours.

Be careful that you go to a respectable chemist, in order _that the

quality of the ipecacuanha wine may be good, as the child’s life may

depend upon it_.

If the medicine produces sickness, so much the better; continue it

regularly until the short, oppressed, and hurried breathing has

subsided, and has become natural.

If the attack be very severe, in addition to the above medicine, at once

apply a blister, not the common blister, but _Smith’s tela

vesicatoria_—a quarter of a sheet, which ought to be fastened on to a

piece of sticking-plaster, taking care to apply the tela vesicatoria

(which is on paper) to the warmed plaster, so as to securely fasten the

tela vesicatoria on the sticking-plaster. The plaster should be rather

larger than the blister, so as to leave a margin. Any respectable

chemist will understand the above directions, and will prepare the tela

ready for use. If the child be a year old, the blister ought to be kept

on for three hours, and then a piece of dry, soft linen rag should be

applied for another three hours. At the end of which time—six

hours—there will be a beautiful blister, which must then, with a pair of

scissors, be cut, to let out the water; and then let the blister be

dressed, night and morning, with simple cerate spread on lint.

If the little patient be more than one year, say two years old, let the

tela remain on for five hours, and the dry linen rag for five hours

more, before the blister, as above recommended, be cut and dressed.

If in a day or two the inflammation still continue violent, let another

tela vesicatoria be applied, not over the old blister, but let a narrow

slip of it, on sticking-plaster, be applied on each side of the old

blister, and managed in the same manner as before directed.

_I cannot speak too highly of Smith’s tela vesicatoria._ It has, in my

hands, through God’s blessing, saved the lives of scores of children. It

is far, very far superior to the old-fashioned blistering plaster. It

seldom, if the above rules be strictly observed, fails to rise; it gives

much less pain than the common blister; when it has had the desired

effect, it readily heals, which cannot always be said of the common

fly-blister, more especially with children.

My sheet-anchors, then, in the inflammation of the lungs of children,

are, ipecacuanha wine and Smith’s _tela vesicatoria_. Let the greatest

care, as I before advised, be observed in obtaining the ipecacuanha wine

genuine and good. This can only be depended upon by having the medicine

from a highly respectable chemist. Ipecacuanha wine, when genuine and

good, is, in many children’s diseases, one of the most valuable of

medicines.

_What, in a case of Inflammation of the Lungs_, NOT _to do_.—Do not, on

any account, apply leeches. They draw out the life of the child, but not

his disease. Avoid—_emphatically let me say so_—giving emetic tartar. It

is one of the most lowering and death-dealing medicines that can be

administered either to an infant or to a child! If you wish to try the

effect of it, take a dose yourself, and I am quite sure that you will

then never be inclined to poison a baby with such an abominable

preparation! In olden times—many, many years ago—I myself gave it in

inflammation of the lungs, and lost many children! Since leaving it off,

the recoveries of patients by the ipecacuanha treatment, combined with

the external application of Smith’s _tela vesicatoria_, have been in

many cases marvelous. Avoid broths and wine, and all stimulants. Do

_not_ put the child into a warm bath, it only oppresses the already

oppressed breathing. Moreover, after he is out of the bath, it causes a

larger quantity of blood to rush back to the lungs and to the bronchial

tubes, and thus feeds the inflammation. Do not, by a large fire, keep

the temperature of the room high. A small fire, in the winter time,

encourages ventilation, and in such a case does good. When the little

patient is on the mother’s or on the nurse’s lap, do not burden him

either with a _heavy_ blanket or with a _thick_ shawl. Either a child’s

_thin_ blanket, or a thin _woolen_ shawl, in addition to his usual

night-gown, is all the clothing necessary.

203. _Is Bronchitis a more frequent disease than Inflammation of the

Lungs? Which is the most dangerous? What are the symptoms of

Bronchitis?_

Bronchitis is a much more frequent disease than inflammation of the

lungs; indeed, it is one of the most common complaints both of infants

and of children, while inflammation of the lungs is comparatively a rare

disease. Bronchitis is not nearly such a dangerous disease as

inflammation of the lungs.

_The symptoms._—The child for the first few days labors under symptoms

of a heavy cold; he has not his usual spirits. In two or three days,

instead of the cold leaving him, it becomes more confirmed; he is now

really poorly, fretful, and feverish; his breathing becomes rather

hurried and oppressed; his cough is hard and dry and loud; he wheezes,

and if you put your ear to his naked back, between his shoulder-blades,

you will hear the wheezing more distinctly. If at the breast, he does

not suck with his usual avidity; the cough, notwithstanding the breast

is a great comfort to him, compels him frequently to loose the nipple;

his urine is scanty, and rather high-colored, staining the napkin, and

smelling strongly. He is generally worse at night.

Well, then, remember if the child be feverish, if he have symptoms of a

heavy cold, if he have an oppression of breathing, if he wheeze, and if

he have a tight, dry, noisy cough, you may be satisfied that he has an

attack of bronchitis.

204. _How can I distinguish between Bronchitis and Inflammation of the

Lungs?_

In bronchitis the skin is warm but moist; in inflammation of the lungs

it is hot and dry: in bronchitis the mouth is warmer than usual, but

moist; in inflammation of the lungs it is burning hot: in bronchitis the

breathing is rather hurried, and attended with wheezing; in inflammation

of the lungs it is very short and panting, and is unaccompanied with

wheezing, although occasionally a very slight crackling sound might be

heard: in bronchitis the cough is long and noisy; in inflammation of the

lungs it is short and feeble: in bronchitis the child is cross and

fretful; in inflammation of the lungs he is dull and heavy, and his

countenance denotes distress.

We have sometimes a combination of bronchitis and of inflammation of the

lungs, an attack of the latter following the former. Then the symptoms

will be modified, and will partake of the character of the two diseases.

205. _How would you treat a case of Bronchitis?_

If a medical man cannot be procured, I will tell you _what to do_:

Confine the child to his bedroom, and if very ill, to his bed. If it be

winter time, have a little fire in the grate, but be sure that the

temperature of the chamber is not above 60° Fahrenheit, and let the room

be properly ventilated, which may be effected by occasionally leaving

the door a little ajar.

Let him lie either _outside_ the bed or on a sofa; if he be very ill,

_inside_ the bed, with a sheet and a blanket only to cover him, but no

thick coverlid. If he be allowed to lie on the lap, it only heats him

and makes him restless. If he will not lie on the bed, let him rest on a

pillow placed on the lap; the pillow will cause him to lie cooler, and

will more comfortably rest his wearied body. If he be at the breast,

keep him to it; let him have no artificial food, unless, if he be

thirsty, a little toast and water. If he be weaned, let him have either

milk and water, arrow-root made with equal parts of milk and water,

toast and water, barley-water, or weak black, tea, with plenty of new

milk in it, etc.; but, until the inflammation has subsided, neither

broth nor beef-tea.

Now, with regard to medicine, the best medicine is ipecacuanha wine,

given in large doses, so as to produce constant nausea. The ipecacuanha

abates fever, acts on the skin, loosens the cough, and, in point of

fact, in the majority of cases will rapidly effect a cure. I have in a

preceding Conversation[224] given you a prescription for the ipecacuanha

wine mixture. Let a teaspoonful of the mixture be taken every four

hours.

If in a day or two he be no better, but worse, by all means continue the

mixture, whether it produce sickness or otherwise; and put on the chest

a _tela vesicatoria_, prepared and applied as I recommended when

treating of inflammation of the lungs.[224]

The ipecacuanha wine and the tela vesicatoria are my sheet-anchors in

the bronchitis, both of infants and of children. They rarely, even in

very severe cases, fail to effect a cure, provided the tela vesicatoria

be properly applied, and the ipecacuanha wine be genuine and of good

quality.

If there be any difficulty in procuring _good_ ipecacuanha wine, the

ipecacuanha may be given in powder instead of the wine. The following is

a pleasant form:

Take of—Powder of Ipecacuanha, twelve grains;

White Sugar, thirty-six grains:

Mix well together, and divide into twelve powders. One of the powders

to be put dry on the tongue every four hours.

The ipecacuanha powder will keep better than the wine, an important

consideration to those living in country places; nevertheless, if the

wine can be procured fresh and good, I far prefer the wine to the

powder.

When the bronchitis has disappeared, the diet ought gradually to be

improved—rice, sago, tapioca, and light batter pudding, etc.; and in a

few days, either a little chicken or a mutton-chop, mixed with a

well-mashed potato and crumb of bread, should be given. But let the

improvement in his diet be gradual, or the inflammation might return.

_What_ NOT _to do_.—Do not apply leeches. Do not give either emetic

tartar, or antimonial wine, which is emetic tartar dissolved in wine. Do

not administer either paregoric or syrup of poppies, either of which

would stop the cough, and would thus prevent the expulsion of the

phlegm. Any fool can stop a cough, but it requires a wise man to rectify

the mischief. A cough is an effort of nature to bring up the phlegm,

which would otherwise accumulate, and in the end cause death. Again,

therefore, let me urge upon you the immense importance of _not_ stopping

the cough of a child. The ipecacuanha wine will, by loosening the

phlegm, loosen the cough, which is the only right way to get rid of a

cough. Let what I have now said be impressed deeply upon your memory, as

thousands of children in England are annually destroyed by having their

coughs stopped. Avoid, until the bronchitis be relieved, giving him

broths, and meat, and stimulants of all kinds. For further observations

on _what_ NOT _to do_ in bronchitis, I beg to refer you to a previous

Conversation we had on _what_ NOT _to do_ in inflammation of the lungs.

That which is injurious in the one case is equally so in the other.

206. _What are the symptoms of Diphtheria, or, as it is sometimes

called, Boulogne sore-throat?_

This terrible disease, although by many considered to be a new

complaint, is, in point of fact, of very ancient origin. Homer, and

Hippocrates, the father of physic, have both described it. Diphtheria

first appeared in England in the beginning of the year 1857, since which

time it has never totally left our shores.

_The symptoms._—The little patient, before the disease really shows

itself, feels poorly, and is “out of sorts.” A shivering fit, though not

severe, may generally be noticed. There is heaviness, and slight

headache, principally over the eyes. Sometimes, but not always, there is

a mild attack of delirium at night. The next day he complains of slight

difficulty of swallowing. If old enough, he will complain of

constriction about the swallow. On examining the throat the tonsils will

be found to be swollen and redder—more darkly red than usual. Slight

specks will be noticed on the tonsils. In a day or two an exudation will

cover them, the back of the swallow, the palate, the tongue, and

sometimes the inside of the cheeks and the nostrils. This exudation of

lymph gradually increases until it becomes a regular membrane, which

puts on the appearance of leather; hence its name diphtheria. This

membrane peels off in pieces; and if the child be old and strong enough

he will sometimes spit it up in quantities, the membrane again and again

rapidly forming as before. The discharges from the throat are

occasionally, but not always offensive. There is danger of croup from

the extension of the membrane into the windpipe. The glands about the

neck and under the jaw are generally much swollen; the skin is rather

cold and clammy; the urine is scanty and usually pale; the bowels at

first are frequently relaxed. This diarrhœa may or may not cease as the

disease advances.

The child is now in a perilous condition, and it becomes a battle

between his constitution and the disease. If, unfortunately, as is too

often the case—diphtheria being more likely to attack the weakly—the

child be very delicate, there is but slight hope of recovery. The danger

of the disease is not always to be measured by the state of the throat.

Sometimes, when the patient appears to be getting well, a sudden change

for the worse rapidly carries him off. Hence the importance of great

caution, in such cases, in giving an opinion as to ultimate recovery. I

have said enough to prove the terrible nature of the disease, and to

show the necessity of calling in, at the earliest period of the

symptoms, an experienced and skillful medical man.

207. _Is Diphtheria contagious?_