primrose, emblematical of youth; but over that of a mother we would let
the green grass shoot up unmolested; for there is something in the
simple covering which nature spreads upon the grave which well becomes
the abiding place of decaying age. Oh, a mother's grave! It is indeed a
sacred spot. It may be retired from the noise of business, and unnoticed
by the stranger; but to our heart how dear!
The love we should bear to a parent is not to be measured by years, nor
annihilated by distance, nor forgotten when they sleep in dust. Marks of
age may appear in our homes and on our persons, but the memory of a
beloved parent is more enduring than that of time itself. Who has stood
by the grave of a mother and not remembered her pleasant smiles, kind
words, earnest prayer, and assurance expressed in a dying hour? Many
years may have passed, memory may be treacherous in other things, but
will reproduce with freshness the impressions once made by a mother's
influence. Why may we not linger where rests all that was earthly of a
beloved parent? It may have a restraining influence upon the wayward,
prove a valuable incentive to increased faithfulness, encourage hope in
the hour of depression, and give fresh inspiration to Christian life.
The mother's love is indeed the golden cord which binds youth to age;
and he is still but a child, however time may have furrowed his cheek or
silvered his brow, who can yet recall with a softened heart the fond
devotion or the gentle chidings of the best friend that God ever gave
us. Round the idea of mother the mind of a man clings with fond
affection. It is the first deep thought stamped upon our infant heart,
when yet soft and capable of receiving the most profound impressions;
and the after feelings of the world are more or less light in
comparison. Even in old age we look back to that feeling as the sweetest
we have known through life.
Our passions and our willfulness may lead us far from the object of our
filial love; we may come even to pain their heart, to oppose their
wishes, to violate their commands. We may become wild, headstrong, or
angry at their counsels or oppositions; but when death has stilled their
monitory voices, and nothing but silent memory remains to recapitulate
their virtues and deeds, affection, like a flower broken to the ground
by a past storm, lifts up her head and smiles away our tears. When the
early period of our loss forces memory to be silent, fancy takes her
place, and twines the image of our dead parents with a garland of
graces, beauties, and virtues, which we doubt not they possessed.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: INFANCY.]
[Illustration]
Infancy, the morning of life! How beautiful it is! How filled with great
responsibilities! An immortal soul commences its existence. A life,
beginning in time, but capable of growing brighter when time is ended
and eternity begun, commences to note the passing hours.
We welcome the infant with joy, and congratulate the parents, and we do
well; but to an angel, who can clearly understand the infinite value of
the life just commenced, the heights of happiness to which it may
ascend, the depths of misery to which it may be brought, it must seem a
moment so deeply freighted with solemn meaning as to dispel all
expressions of joy, save only of a subdued and chastened kind.
Infancy has its hours of anxiety and trials for the parents, but it has
also its hours of compensating joys. When sickness is in the midst, and
it seems as if the cradle song would be exchanged for a dirge, what
utter wretchedness of heart is the parent's portion! A mother watching
the palpitating frame of her child as life ebbs slowly away evokes the
sympathy of the sternest. A child dying dies but once, but the mother
dies a hundred times. A mother mourning by the grave of her first-born,
and strewing flowers over a coffined form instead of kisses on a warm
brow, is one of the deepest spectacles of human woe. These are the dark
shades, the night scenes of the parents' experience; but it has its
richer, deeper, and more inspiring history, its seasons of comfort and
delight, when the little child, insensibly, perhaps, draws the parents
into a higher and a better life. What a sense of delicious
responsibility fills the parents' hearts as they realize that in their
hands and under their influence is to be molded a character, that they
are the ones to carefully watch the unfolding of a human life, the
development of a human soul.
How earnestly should they seek to set a watch over their lips, to guard
well their thoughts and actions, to surround the child with such an air
of refined, intelligent, loving kindness that its young life shall as
naturally grow into a youth of beauty and a noble manhood or true
womanhood as that the bud on the rose-bush expands to the gorgeous
flower that excites universal admiration. Welcome to the parents the
puny struggler, strong in his weakness, his little arms more
irresistible than the soldier's, his lips touched with persuasion which
Chatham and Pericles in manhood had not. His unaffected lamentation when
he lifts up his voice on high, or, more beautiful, the sobbing
child—the face all liquid grief, as he tries to swallow his
vexation—soften all hearts to pity and to mirthful and clamorous
compassion.
The parent's duty commences at the birth of the child. There is
importance even in the handling of infancy. If it is unchristian it will
beget unchristian states and feelings. If it is gentle, even patient and
loving, it prepares a mood and temper like its own. Then how careful to
banish the cross word, the impatient gesture! Let kind and loving tones
only fall on its ears, and only gentle hands assist it in its little
wants. There is scarcely room to doubt that all most crabbed, resentful,
passionate characters—all most even, lovely, firm, and true ones—are
prepared in a great degree by the handling of the nursery. The biography
of many persons, faithfully written, would ascribe to the training of
early years the molding not only of youthful character, but the more
matured forms of mental and moral development of after years. The
influence thus exerted in the early days of infancy is often the almost
hopeless "casting of bread upon the waters"—often not found in any of
its favorable developments until after "many days." The cares of the
world and the evil example of others often choke the word of a good
mother, and destroy its vitality; but not unfrequently it will be found,
like seed long buried in the earth, to spring up to remembrance in
active life, and the counsels imparted to the "infant of days" be found
to influence and control the whole destiny of the man of mature years
and gray hairs.
As it is a law of our being that all, even the most feeble and
insignificant, exert a reciprocal influence on all around them, then an
infant exerts a great modifying influence on the elder men and women
around it. It recalls them from the contemplation of the stern realities
of life to its innocent phases, from disdainful, self-reliant pride to
trustful confidence. Hearts that but for the smile of innocence on the
prattling lips of infancy had grown callous beat once more in sympathy
with the distressed around them. The feeble clasp of well-nigh helpless
hands is sometimes powerful enough to turn strong men from the road to
ruin. An infant in his cradle is king, and wields his power over all who
come near him.
Infants are the poetry of the world; the fresh flowers of our hearts and
homes; little conjurers, with the magic of their natural ways, working
by their spells what delights and enriches all ranks and equalizes the
different classes of society. Every infant comes into the world, like a
delegated prophet, the harbinger and herald of good tidings, whose
office it is to make young again hearts well-nigh wearied with the cares
of years. A child warms and softens the heart by its gentle presence; it
enriches the soul by new feeling, and it awakens within it what is
favorable to virtue. An infant is a beam of light, a fountain of love, a
teacher, whose lessons few can resist. They recall us from much that
engenders and encourages selfishness, that freezes the affections,
roughens the manners, and indurates the heart. They brighten the home,
deepen love, invigorate exertion, infuse courage, and vivify and sustain
the charities of life.
An infant finds a place in the hearts of all people. The selfish and
proud open their hearts to its silent influence. The aged, who are
standing near the end of the journey of life, have the scenes of their
younger days called up afresh by the child's artless ways, and in its
company grow young again. The disconsolate seem to catch a fresh gleam
of hope when they see the confiding ways of the little child, and take
heart again.
It would seem fitting that nature should exempt little children from
sickness and death, but, alas! impartial fate, which,
"With equal pace,
Knocks at the palace as the cottage gate,"
is no respecter of age. What a great hush falls on the ear, like a pall,
and an untold sadness settles over the heart when the little child is
sick. Is it not strange that such a wee bit of a thing should have the
power to change every thing, making the sunshine that but yesterday
played in and out of the windows so merrily and bright seem such a
mockery to-day, changing the joyous tones of the other children into
funeral notes? Why is it that the soft winds, which but lately seemed
burdened with joy, and came softly whispering of pleasant dells, of
flowing streams, of flowery banks, to-day seem strangely sighing, to
have exchanged its joy for sorrow?
But such is the spell that baby has woven, knitting itself into the very
meshes of our hearts in such a quiet, subduing manner that we scarcely
know how dear it is until the little form lies still and prostrate.
Great as is the influence of the little child while living it has also a
sweet and sacred influence when its brief life is over and the solemn
"dust unto dust" and "ashes unto ashes" has been said over the little
mound in the church-yard.
Sweet places for pure thought and holy meditation are these little
graves. They are depositories of the mother's sweetest joy, unfolded
buds of innocence, humanity nipped by the frosts of time ere yet a
canker-worm of corruption has nestled among its embryo petals.
Callous, indeed, must be the heart of him who can stand by a little
grave-side and not have the holiest emotions of the soul awakened to
thoughts of purity and joy, which belong alone to God and heaven. The
mute preacher at his feet tells of a life begun and ended without a
stain; and surely if this be vouchsafed to mortality, how much more pure
and holier must be the spirit-land, enlightened by the sun of infinite
goodness, from whence emanated the soul of that brief sojourner among
us! How swells the soul with joy when standing by the earth-beds of lost
little ones, sorrowful because a sweet treasure has been taken away,
joyful because that sweet jewel glitters in the diadem of the redeemed.
Such, then, is infancy. 'Tis the brief morning hour which precedes the
busy day. It may be grand and beautiful, while its after life may but be
dark and lowering, going out at last with wailing winds and weeping
storms. Or it may be bleak and dreary, only at last to break forth into
the full glory of the beauteous Summer day. But whatever its present
state care and trouble and sorrow are sure to await it. So train it,
then, that it shall expect them and look to the only true source for aid
and assistance for the trials that lie in store for it.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: CHILDHOOD.]
[Illustration]
Childhood, after reason has begun her sway, seems to us the happiest
season of life. It is also the critical period. At this time they
receive those impressions and contract those habits which impel them
towards the good and true or towards the evil and false.
[Illustration: Engraved & Printed by Illman Brothers.
MOTHER AND CHILD.]
The child's soul is without character. It is a rudimental existence,
pure as the driven snow—beautiful as a cherub angel, spotless,
guileless, and innocent. It is the chart of a man yet to be filled up
with the elements of a character. These elements are first outlined by
the parents. With what delicacy should they use the pencil of personal
influence! The soul is soft, and the lines they make are deep and not
easily erased. It is a man they form. Responsible work! It is an
immortal soul they work upon, destined to survive the wreck of matter
and the crush of worlds, and to show in its character forever some
distant trace, at least, of their work.
Never believe any thing that concerns children to be of no importance. A
hasty word is of consequence. The little things that they see and hear
about them mold them for eternity. Observe how very quick the child's
eye is to perceive the meaning of looks, voices, and motions. It peruses
all faces, colors, and sounds. Every sentiment that looks into its eye
is reflected therefrom, and plays in miniature on its countenance. The
tear that steals down the cheek of a mother's suppressed grief gathers
the little infantile face into a sob. With a wondering silence it
studies the mother in her prayers, and looks up with her in that
exploring watch which signifies unspoken prayer. If the child be tended
with impatience, or coolly and with a lack of motherly gentleness, it
straightway shows by its action that it, too, feels the sting of just
that which is felt towards it. And thus it is angered by anger, fretted
by fretfulness, irritated by irritation, having impressed upon it just
that kind of impatience or ill-nature which is felt towards it, and
growing faithfully into the bad mold as by a fixed law.
However apparently trivial the influences which contribute to form the
character of the child, they endure through life. Those impulses to
conduct which last the longest and are rooted the deepest always have
their origin near our birth. It is there that the germs of virtue or
vice, of feeling or sentiment, are first implanted which determine the
character for life. It is in childhood that the mind is most open to
impression, and ready to be kindled by the first spark that flies into
it. The first thing continues always with the child. The first joy, the
first failure, the first achievement, the first misadventure, paint the
foreground of life.
Influence is as quiet and imperceptible on the child's mind as the
falling of snowflakes on the meadows. One can not tell the hour when the
human mind is not in the condition of receiving impressions from
exterior moral forces. In innumerable instances the most secret and
unnoticed influences have been in operation for months, and even years,
to break down the strongest barriers of the human heart, and work out
its moral ruin while yet the fondest parents and friends have been
unaware of the working of such unseen agents of evil.
Children are more easily led to be good by examples of loving kindness
and tales of well-doing in others than threatened into obedience by
records of sin, crime, and punishment. Then strive to impress on the
child's mind sincerity, truth, honesty, benevolence, and their kindred
virtues, and the welfare of your child, not only for this life, but for
the life to come, will be assured. What a responsibility it is to form a
creature, the frailest and feeblest that heaven has made, into the
intelligent and fearless sovereign of the whole animated universe, the
interpreter, adorer, and almost representative of Divinity!
There is much mistaken kindness in the management of children. The law
of love is great, but it showeth not its full strength, save when united
with kindness. Make your children helpful and useful, and you make them
happy. Let them early form habits of neatness, and when you are weary
you will not have to wait on their carelessness.
Teach them to give you courteous speech and manners, and they will live
to honor you. Take pains to have the home attractions stronger than can
come from outside influences. It is a sad fact that few children confide
in their parents. The parents must take an interest in them, and draw
them to their hearts instead of repelling them away. There is no mystery
in attaching children to one's self. If you love them, they will love
you. If you make much of them, they will make much of you. They can
readily pick out the children's friend among many. They have a quick way
of discerning who really love them and who care for them.
Parents do not think how far a word of praise will ofttimes go with
children. Praise is sunshine to a child, and there is no child who does
not need it. It is the high reward of one's struggle to do right. Many a
sensitive child hungers for commendation. Many a child, starving for the
praise which parents should give, runs off eagerly after the designing
flattery of others. To withhold praise where it is due is dishonest,
and, in the case of a child, such a course often leaves a stinging sense
of injustice. One may as well think to rear flowers in frost as to think
of educating children successfully in rebuff and constant criticism.
Judicious flattery is almost one of the necessities of existence with
children. Indiscriminate flattery is, of course, bad. When it becomes
necessary to reprove children, use the gentlest form of address under
the circumstances. Reproof must not fall like a violent storm, breaking
down and making those to droop whom it is meant to cherish and refresh.
It must descend as the dew upon the tender herb, or like melting flakes
of snow. The softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper
it sinks into, the mind.
Never reprove the little ones before strangers; for children are as
sensitive, if not more so, than older persons, and wish strangers to
think well of them. When reproved before any one with whom they are not
well acquainted, their vanity is wounded. They have self-respect, and
such mortification of it is dangerous. Praise spurs a child on to
earnest effort; blame, when administered before visitors, takes away the
power of doing well.
It is the parents' duty to make their children's childhood full of love
and childhood's proper joyousness. Not all the appliances that wealth
can buy are necessary to the free and happy unfolding of childhood in
body, mind, and heart. But children must have love inside the house, and
fresh air and good play and companionship outside; otherwise young life
runs the danger of withering and growing stunted, or, at best,
prematurely old and turned inward on itself. There is something in
loving dependent children, in tender care for them, which bestows upon
the soul the most enriching of its experience. They make us tender and
sympathetic, and a thousand times reward us for all we do for them. We
are indebted to them for constant incentives to noble living; for the
perpetual reminder that we do not live for ourselves alone. For their
sake we are admonished to put from us the debasing appetite, the
unworthy impulse; to gather into our lives every noble and heroic
quality, every tender and attractive grace. We owe them gratitude for
the dark hour their presence has brightened; for the helplessness and
dependence which have won us from ourselves; for the faith and trust
which it is evermore their mission to renew; for their kisses, wet with
tears, placed on brows that, but for their caressing, had furrowed into
frowns.
The gleeful laugh of happy children is the best home music, and the
graceful figures of childhood are the best statuary. They are
well-springs of pleasure, messengers of peace and love, resting-places
for innocence, links between angels and men. Their eyes, those clear
wells of undefiled thought,—what is more beautiful? Full of hope, love,
and curiosity, they meet your own. In prayer, how earnest; in joy, how
sparkling; in sympathy, how tender! The man or woman who never tried the
companionship of a little child has carelessly passed by one of the
greatest pleasures of life, as one passes a rare flower without plucking
or knowing its value. A home, and no children,—it is like a lantern,
and no candle; a garden, and no flowers; a vine, and no grapes; a brook,
and no water gurgling and gushing in its channels.
Nature affords striking proofs of foresight and wisdom in making the
bonds of parental sympathy so invincibly strong and lasting. During
childhood and youth, and even afterwards, when these charming epochs of
life have passed away, the ties of constancy and attachment continue to
prevail. Were not the chords of love thus strengthened, they would
frequently be snapped asunder; for the severest trials which the world
knows are those which assail the parental heart and pierce it with the
deepest sorrows.
How fleeting are the happiness and innocent guilelessness of childhood!
The years as they come bring with them intelligence and experience; but
they take with them, in their resistless course, the innocent pleasures
of childhood's years. Then deal gently, patiently, and kindly with them.
You may be nearly over the rough pathway of life yourselves; make the
only time of life that they can call happy as pleasant as possible. "Our
children," says Madame de Stael, "who are tenderly reared by us, are
soon destined for others than ourselves. They soon stride rapidly
forward in the career of life, while we fall slowly back. They soon
begin to regard their parents in the light of memory and to look upon
others in the light of hope."
They will not trouble you long. Children grow up; nothing on earth grows
so fast as children. It was but yesterday and that lad was playing with
tops, a buoyant boy. He is a man now. There is no more childhood for him
or for us. Life has claimed him. When a beginning is made, it is like a
raveling stocking; stitch by stitch gives way till all are gone. The
house has not a child left in it; there is no more noise in the hall; no
boys rush in, pell-mell; it is very orderly now. There are no more
skates or sleds, bats, balls, or strings left scattered about. There are
no more gleeful laughs of happy girls, or dolls left to litter the best
room. There is no delay for sleeping folks; there is no longer any task
before you lie down. But the mother's heart is heavy, and the father's
house is lonely.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: BROTHER AND SISTER.]
[Illustration]
The affections that exist between the members of the same family afford
a pleasing spectacle of human happiness. That which exists between
brother and sister should be assiduously cultivated. It is a beautiful
and lovely feeling, and seems to be wholly angelic in its thoughts and
feelings. It must necessarily be a pure, spiritual love. It arises, not
from a sense of gratitude, or for favors received, or from any thing
save the endearing relationship of family. It rests not on any thing but
a spiritual affinity of soul. It should be cultivated as one of the
sweetest plants in the garden of the heart. It should be watered every
morning and evening with the dews of good nature, and sunned all day
with the light of kindness. It should hear nothing but loving and tender
words, even the dulcet music of home; see nothing but smiles and the
tokens of confidence and sympathy, and know nothing but its own spirit
of tenderness and unity.
How large and cherished a place does a good sister's love always hold in
the grateful memory of one who has been blessed with the benefit of this
relation! How many are there who, in the changes of mature years, have
found a sister's love their ready and adequate resource! With what a
sense of security is confidence reposed in a good sister, and with what
assurance that it will be uprightly and considerately given is her
counsel sought! How intimate is the friendship of such a brother and
sister not widely separated in age from one another!