inward dispeace, of worry too great almost to be borne. Their servants
do not stay long, perhaps because the larder of the big house is kept
very bare, and comfort is sacrificed to outside show. They never have
anything to give away, and their excuse is that they do not believe in
indiscriminate charity. And they look back with a painful longing, never
expressed, however, to the days when they lived at peace in a little
house, and had enough and to spare for man and beast, and a penny for
the beggar at the gate. The big house is but one thing; the struggle to
keep up appearances is observed in many other ways--in expensive and not
always efficient education of the children, in party-giving, extravagant
dress, frequent going out of town, and many others too numerous to
mention. And what, after all, is the advantage of it? Is there any
advantage gained? You may succeed in exciting in the breast of your
neighbour a bitter envy which will probably find expression in some such
remark as this--"I only hope it is all paid for."
And you never will have any peace of mind, without which the outward
trappings are but a mockery.
Oh, let us be simpler! Let us at least not pretend to be what we are
not. In a word, let us not try to humbug ourselves and the world at
large.
[Illustration]
IX.
_MOTHERHOOD._
It is a great theme, which I approach with fear and trembling; yet--is
the home complete without the child? Can even an unpretentious book of
this sort be written without some attempted treatment of the same?
The first year of married life is often very full, as well as specially
trying, a record of new and very crucial experiences such as are bound
to prove the grit of our young housekeeper. She has many things to learn
in her new sphere, both in the department of ethics as well as of
housekeeping. She has a husband to study, for even though they have seen
a great deal of each other before marriage, there yet remains much to
learn of many little peculiarities before undreamed of, which in the
full glare and test of daily life sometimes stand out with a certain
unpleasant prominence, which both find trying. There are new tastes to
discover and consider, new likes and dislikes to be studied--in a word,
the situation is a severe ordeal, especially if our young wife be very
young and inexperienced. Of course she has an adoring and approving love
to aid her, and all her efforts to please will be appreciated at their
full value, and perhaps a little over, and that is much.
If in addition to all the trying amenities of her new position there be
added early in her married life the prospect of motherhood, with its
attendant cares, anxieties, and fears, then our young housekeeper may be
granted to have hand and heart full. That it is a prospect full of joy
and satisfaction, the realisation of a sweet and secret hope, nobody
will deny. There are a few women, we are told, who do not desire
motherhood, preferring the greater freedom and ease of childless
wifehood; but it is not of such we seek to write, because the vast
majority agree with me that motherhood is the crown of marriage, as well
as the sweetest of all bonds between husband and wife.
It is the great, almost awful, responsibility of this bond which makes
thinking people deplore the prevalence of early and improvident marriage
between persons who seem to lack entirely this sense of responsibility,
and who undertake the most solemn duties in the same flippant mood as
they go out on a day's enjoyment. The idea that they have in their power
the making and marring of a human soul, to say nothing of the influences
which in fulness of time must go forth from that same soul, does not
trouble them, or indeed exist for them at all. They have no ideas--they
never think. If the child comes, good and well--it has to be provided
for; welcome or unwelcome it arrives; and is tolerated or rejoiced over
as the case may be.
We need a great deal of educating on this particular point, and the fact
that a child may have rights before it is born is one which presses home
to the heart of every man and woman who may give the matter any serious
attention whatsoever.
If we marry, then as surely do we undertake the possible obligations of
parentage; and if we do not see that we are fit physically, mentally,
and morally for this undoubtedly greatest of all human obligations, then
are we blameworthy, and answerable to God and man for our shortcomings.
Heroism is a word to stir the highest enthusiasm in every heart, and we
Britons are not supposed to lack in that glorious quality. While not
despising nor making light of that heroism which shows an unflinching
front on the battlefield, or in the face of any danger, and while
recognising also and glorying in that other heroism of which the world
hears less, but which is nevertheless very rich and far-reaching in
results--I mean that brave heart which does not sink under adverse
circumstances, which makes the best of everything, which can do, dare,
and suffer for others, without notice or applause--there is yet another
phase of heroism of which the world knows not at all, but which in my
estimation is as great, if not greater, than any of these. It is a
delicate theme, and yet in such a book as this are we not justified in
touching upon it, reverently and tenderly as it deserves? There are
some--more, I believe, than we dream of--who, being afflicted physically
or mentally, and who, fearing some hereditary moral taint for which they
have to suffer, though entirely blameless, deliberately abstain from
marriage for the highest of all reasons--that they fear to perpetuate in
their own children the weaknesses which are already so stupendous a
curse to mankind. Oh that such examples could be multiplied, and that we
were once thoroughly awakened to the solemn significance of the fact
that the sins of the fathers are visited on the children!
But when we look around we see the innocent made to suffer daily for the
guilty; we see children whose lives even in infancy are but a burden to
them, and whose later life can only be a cross, and we pray for a great
baptism of light on this painful subject, for a great awakening to that
personal, individual responsibility which is the only solution of a
difficulty which concerns the future and the highest interest of the
race.
To return to the question of rights as affecting the unborn babe: the
mother has then so much in her power that she can not only determine to
a great extent what kind of infancy the child shall have, but also
whether her own duties therein shall be heavy or light. By attending
strictly to her own health, adhering to natural laws, living simply and
wholesomely, she can almost ensure the bodily health of the child; and
by keeping her mind calm and even, avoiding worry, and cultivating
cheerfulness and contentment, she thus moulds the disposition of the
child to a far greater extent than she dreams of. The woman who lives in
a condition of perpetual nervous excitement and worry before the birth
of her child, who is fretful, complaining, impatient of the discomfort
of her condition, need not be much surprised if her baby be fretful and
difficult to rear. Of course this is all very easy to write down, and
most difficult--in many cases of physical and nervous prostration
impossible--to bear in mind; nevertheless, it is worth the trial, worth
the self-denial involved, even looking at it from the most selfish
standpoint, one's own ultimate comfort and ease. The gain to the child
is too great to be estimated.
And surely taking into consideration the enormous number of miserable,
weakly babies who have never had a chance, the day of whose birth, like
Job's, is sadder than the day of their death, it is not too much to ask
from thoughtful Christian women, who at heart feel their responsibility
and their high privilege, that nothing shall be lacking on their part to
make the child given to them by God a moral, mental, and physical
success. We are careful in all other departments of life to try and
obtain the best--why not here? Is human life less precious, human souls
of less account, than merchandise?
I do not see why mothers should not seek to impress upon their
daughters, and fathers upon their sons, as they approach maturity, the
solemnity and sacredness of such themes, which involve all that is most
important in human life. I consider that the ignorance with which so
many young girls are allowed to enter matrimony is nothing short of
criminal; and I do not myself see that a plain, straight, loving talk
from her mother beforehand, which will prepare her for her new
obligations and make them less a surprise and a trial when they come,
can possibly take the edge off that exquisite and delicate purity which
we would wish to be our daughters' outstanding characteristic, and which
every right-thinking man desires in his wife. There are many who do not
share this opinion, and hold that the wall of reserve should never be
broken. But the issues are great, and I cannot but think that in this
case ignorance is more likely to be fruitful of anxiety and foreboding,
to say nothing of mistakes, than is a little knowledge wisely imparted
by those whom experience has taught.
[Illustration]
X.
_THE SON IN THE HOME._
The son is peculiarly the mother's child, and the bond between them,
seen at its best, is one of the loveliest, and, to the woman who has
suffered for her firstborn, one of the most soul-satisfying on earth. I
suppose most women given choice would wish their firstborn to be a son;
and her pride in the boy as he grows in grace and strength and manliness
is a very exquisite thing in the mother.
As a rule, a boy is more difficult to rear. He has more strength of limb
and will, and shows earlier, perhaps, the desire to be master of the
whole situation, as very often he is. It is amazing at how early an age
a child can begin to discern between the firm will and the weak will of
those who guide him, and to profit thereby; and she is a wise woman who
begins as she means to end, and who teaches her child that her decision
is absolute from the earliest stage. The moment he begins to understand
that though you say no a yell will probably convert it into a yes, your
occupation is gone, so to speak--you have lost your hold, and Baby is
master of the situation and of you.
There is no doubt, I think, that the woman who has a nurse to relieve
her of the child has a better chance than the one who has to fight the
battle single-handed--for this reason, that extreme weariness of body,
which nothing brings about more quickly than the perpetual care of a
baby, is apt to weaken the will; the desire for peace at any price
becomes too great to be resisted, and so the citadel is lost. It is
impossible also for the ordinary woman, who has the care of a baby all
day long, in addition to a multitude of other duties, not to become
nervous, irritable, and excitable, and the probability is that the child
becomes a reflex of herself. I know of no more self-denying and
harassing life than that of the mother of many children, whose limited
means prohibit much assistance in her labours. It would require the
strength of a Hercules and the patience of a Job. Yet how many go on
from day to day with an uncomplaining and heroic cheerfulness which does
not strike the onlooker, simply because it is so common, like the
toothache, that it attracts but little sympathy or attention.
In one day such a mother may win moral victories beside which the
brilliant engagements of the battlefield would pale. It is not one that
she has to consider and contend with, but many; the diversity of
disposition in one family is truly amazing, and affords a most
interesting psychological study. If she be a thoughtful and
conscientious woman she knows that she is sowing the seeds of future
good and ill, that early impressions are never erased, and that her own
influence is the one which will leave the strongest, the most indelible
mark on the future of the little ones she has under her wing. To this
there is no exception whatever; it is a fact nobody attempts to dispute.
Who shall say, then--who shall dare to say--that a woman's work is
slight, her sphere narrow, her influence feeble? Have we not yet with us
the proverb, "She who rocks the cradle rules the world"? as true to-day
as it was a hundred years ago, as it will be in a hundred years to come.
But though the anxieties and responsibilities of the nursery are great,
they increase, especially in the case of some, as the years go by;
though as the boy grows older his mother may be somewhat relieved by the
wise guidance of the father. There comes a time when the lad wants to
emancipate himself from his mother's jurisdiction, and begins to look to
his father, seeing in him the image of what he may yet become. He will
not love his mother any less, but he will be impatient a little,
perhaps, of her careful supervision; he wants to be a man, to imitate
his father, to show that he is a being of another order. It is always
amusing to look on at this subtle and inevitable change, but sometimes
touching as well. It is the strong soul seeking his heritage, the first
stirring of manhood in the boy, who will never be other than a bairn to
his mother. Happy then the mother, blessed the boy, who has a good,
wise, and tender father to take him by the hand, and show him at this
critical stage the beauty of a noble, pure, and honest manhood, and how
great is its power to bless the world.
There are some men who never grow old, who, while doing a man's part
better than most in the world, keep the child-heart pure within them.
Happy are the children who call them father! The ideal father (since we
are writing of what we all know to be the highest in home relationship,
we may call him so) will be a boy in the midst of his boys all his days;
he will share the pastimes, the interests, the absorbing occupations of
his boys, in the schoolroom and the recreation-ground, just as he did
not disdain to join sometimes in the frolic of the nursery. He will
understand cricket and football, and hounds and hares, and know all the
little points of schoolboy honour, so that he may at once grasp the
situation when his lad brings his grievance or his tale of victory to
him. And through it all, without preaching, which the soul of the
average boy abhors, he will seek to inculcate the highest moral lessons,
thus accentuating and deepening the teaching of the nursery still fresh
in the boy's mind.
This is the ideal which we would wish to see in every home, but the real
is rather different, and sometimes perplexing to deal with. We have seen
homes where the boys do not "get on" with their father, who seem to rub
each other the wrong way, and to have no sort of kinship with each
other--in a word, who are not chums, which is a boy's definition of the
jolliest possible relationship, and which is very beautiful existing
between father and son. But there are fathers who have no patience with
the boy who, feeling in him the promptings of a larger life, begins to
give himself little airs, and to adopt a manly and masterful manner; no
sympathy with his desire for freedom; and who, instead of wisely guiding
all these accompaniments of young manhood into fresh and legitimate
channels, seeks to curb them, to restrain every impulse, and to enforce
an authority the boy does not understand, and inwardly, if not
outwardly, kicks against.
I know many mothers who have difficulty in pouring oil on such troubled
waters, and who see that the father and the boy do not understand each
other, and cannot get on--and she is powerless to help. Out of this
strained relationship many evils may arise. The young heart, bounding
with a thousand buoyant impulses, eager to see life and taste its every
cup, deprived of sympathy and outlet, and thrown back upon itself,
becomes reserved, self-contained, and morbid. Then, again, there is
a temptation to concealment, and even to prevarication, over mere
trifles. When censure is feared--and the young heart is fearfully
sensitive--little fibs are told to escape it, and so a great moral wrong
is inflicted, which can undoubtedly be laid at the unsympathetic
parent's door.
The mother, by reason of her gentler nature (to which, of course, there
are the usual exceptions), is not so feared, and is made the go-between.
"Mother, will _you_ ask father for so-and-so?" is an everyday question
in many homes; and why should it be? Why should sympathy and confidence
be less full and sweet between father and son than between mother and
son? Nay, rather, it might be fuller, since the father, being of the
same sex, can the better understand the boy nature, making allowance for
its failings, which were also his, if, indeed, they are not in an
aggravated form still characteristic of him. Some men forget that they
have ever been young; looking at them and witnessing their conduct in
certain circumstances, one finds it difficult to believe that they ever
_were_ young. They have been fossils from their birth. That is the grand
mistake--to fix such a great gulf betwixt youth and maturity that
nothing can bridge it. It is more love, more sympathy we want; it is the
dearth of it that is the curse of the world. Yet how dare we, being
responsible for the advent of the child into the world, deny him his
heritage, starve his heart of its right to our affection and regard? The
Lord sent him? Well, He did undoubtedly, and His commands with the gift.
There is no hesitation or ambiguity about the Lord's mandate regarding
little children.
In homes where this lovely sympathy exists, anxiety regarding the moral
welfare of the boy is reduced to a minimum. Where the youth can come to
his mother, and still better to his father, in every dilemma, sure of
advice and aid, he will not go very far wrong. The world is full of
pitfalls, and it is sure nothing short of the grace of God can keep
young manhood in the right way; but very certain am I that parents have
much, ay, more than they dream of in their power.
Let them at least see to it that they do not fall short. Let the boy
feel that the home is his, that his friends are welcome to it, and that
he need not go out always to seek liberty and enjoyment. In one word,
let him have room to breathe and to live, and the chances are that he
will repay you by becoming all you could desire even in your fondest
dreams.
[Illustration]
XI.
_THE DAUGHTER IN THE HOME._
The home is incomplete without the daughter, the sweet little baby who
from the first entwined herself about her parents' hearts; and who, as
she grows in beauty, is a source of constant joy and pride, not quite
untouched by anxiety. For when we have educated our sons and done for
them all we possibly can, they can, as a rule, stand on their own sturdy
legs, and take their own place in the world, we looking on with pride if
they adorn it well--with sadness if they fall short. We do not love them
less, but they sooner place themselves beyond our jurisdiction, and
responsibility concerning them is sooner at an end. With the daughters
it is different. As the old rhyme says--
"A son is a son till he gets him a wife,
A daughter's a daughter to the end of her life,"
words which just express the whole situation. Even after she marries our
anxiety and loving concern for her in her new sphere quite equals the
old; her little children, reminding us of what she was once to us, are
dear to us in a way our son's children can never be. It seems a strange
anomaly, yet will most mothers bear me out in what I say.
A home where there are many boys and no girls is a jolly, healthy, happy
household enough, but it lacks something, a gentler element, which the
boys miss keenly, though they may not even be conscious of it. It is a
great misfortune for boys to have no sisters, because in the family
circle, where they grow up side by side, they acquire a knowledge of
girl-nature which is invaluable to them when they begin to take an
interest in that interesting personage, "another fellow's sister." And
_vice versa_--girls brought up in a brotherless home have no opportunity
of studying boy-nature, and are apt to take a very prim, narrow view of
the same. The ideal family is the one judiciously mixed, where boys and
girls rub shoulders and carry on their little campaigns, entering into
each other's pursuits and being chums all round. It is good for both.
As I said before, girls, even in infancy, are more easily managed and
reared than boys, the usual exceptions being allowed; and the same may
be said of them as they grow older. They are more docile, more amenable
to control, and their animal spirits, dependent on bodily organisation,
are not usually so obstreperous. It is astonishing how soon a little
girl becomes a companionable creature; she develops at a much earlier
age than her brothers. Of course there are great differences. We have
the tomboy, never still, more interested in her brothers' pranks than
in the sober frolics of girls--dolls have no charm for her; yet the
curious thing is that the tomboy has been known to develop into the
extraordinarily successful wife and mother, her very energies of mind
and body, when mellowed by experience, proving invaluable to her in her
new sphere.
I have often thought that an interesting article might be written on the
place and power of dolls in the early life of women; it is such an
interesting study to watch the different grades of interest taken in
them by different children. To some they are real flesh and blood,
treated as such, fondled over and considered quite as much as any living
baby, invested with aches and pains, tempers and troubles, and subjected
to a regular system of reward and punishment; while to others they are
mere toys, which serve only to beguile the tedium of a rainy day. Then
there are the few who regard them as mere objects for scorn and hatred;
and when they do not ignore them, maltreat them mercilessly.
The small girl who hates dolls, and dubs them as stupid things, is apt
to be a little troublesome to amuse, though it is also quite possible
that she may possess a very original mind, which strikes out a new path
even in amusement for itself.
Some little boys who afterwards became good and noble men have not
disdained dolls as a baby amusement, and you generally find that the
small boy who takes a kind interest in his sister's dolls, and who does
not spend his leisure in concocting schemes for their torture and
dismemberment, has the fatherly instinct very strongly developed, and
will in his own home be tenderly devoted to his children.
Boys ought to be taught early the beauty of little kindly attentions and
thoughtfulness for others. On no account ought their sisters to be
allowed to fetch and carry for them. There may be a system of mutual
obligation if you like, but boys of a certain age are apt to become very
arbitrary, and to consider their sisters in the light of body servants.
By allowing boys to order their sisters about, to bring them things and
give in always, you foster a spirit of selfishness, which grows
tyrannical as the years go by, and paves the way for some domestic
discomfort in a future home which will be beyond your jurisdiction.
They tell us the age of chivalry is dead; and really manners do not seem
to be as they were. The changed order of things concerning women, who
are no longer cooped up within the four walls of a house, and told that
that is their sphere spelled with a very big S, but who are pushing
their way steadily to the front in every walk of life, no doubt partly
accounts for this; still the lapse of that old-fashioned and gracious
courtesy of men to women is to be deplored, and I cannot but think that
we who have raw material to work upon in the nursery might do something
to restore it. We cannot afford to lose any of the graces of life.
Heaven knows things are reduced to a prosaic enough level with us in
these days, when the fret and fever seem to leave time for nothing but
the barest realities.
As we have already admitted that early impressions and early training
never quite lose their hold, so if we teach our boys to be gracious,
courteous, considerate always to their sisters because they are little
women, some women of a later date will be grateful to us.