THE CHILD—ITS IMITATION
[Sidenote: Selection of those about the Path of a Child.]
No one who has to do with children can fail to be struck by their
almost universal habit of imitation. This begins at a very early age,
and, while some imitative expressions and gestures are partly the
result of heredity, others are obviously copied from the persons with
whom the child is most familiar. This makes it, of course, extremely
important that the servants and even the friends who are brought
most closely into contact with a child should be selected with the
greatest care.
[Sidenote: Meals in the Servants’ Hall.]
How often a bad accent or “twang” is picked up as soon as a
child begins to speak, and with what difficulty it is eradicated
afterwards! The habit, too, which obtains with some parents (who do
not want to be bothered with their children) of letting them have
their meals with the servants is greatly to be deprecated. It saves
the trouble of a special nursery dinner, and it often happens that
the servants in a house are fonder of the company of the children
than are their parents, but for all that the tendency to imitate is
so strong that habits are pretty sure to be learnt which it will be
very troublesome to get rid of afterwards. Here is an example:
A little girl, whom circumstances had relegated to the entire charge
of servants, was taken out to a children’s tea-party, when she was
scarcely four years old. It was a splendid tea, and she was a fine
healthy little girl with an equally fine healthy appetite. Bread and
butter, cake, jam sandwiches, and buns all disappeared with equal
ease, and there came a time when the rest had finished and she had
just one mouthful left.... There was a slight pause in the general
chatter, and at that unlucky moment the little girl in question gave
an unmistakable hiccough. Many of the children there would have
blushed with distress at such an incident, but this little maiden,
accustomed to the manners of the servants’ hall, looked round with an
ingratiating smile and merely remarked—“Copplyments!”
[Sidenote: Swear Words.]
Everyone has heard of children who have occasionally used “swear
words” in imitation of their elders, and some may possibly have heard
the true story of a little girl who was given a cup of tea to hand to
a visitor. As she crossed the short space with careful footsteps and
eyes fixed anxiously on her burden she was heard to mutter to herself
“By George, baby, you must be ’teady!”
Examples such as these show the readiness with which children pick
up the phraseology of their seniors, and it is a mistake to suppose
that, because a child does not exactly understand what is said,
therefore no impression is made upon its mind.
[Sidenote: Desire to be Like Father.]
The greater the admiration of a child for an older person the greater
the desire to imitate it. A small boy usually considers his father
the most wonderful man he knows, and consequently spends a good deal
of time and effort in trying to be like him. A little chap of four
or five years old will throw himself into a chair and cross his legs
in absurd imitation of his father, and nothing seems too small for
children to notice and copy. The manner of carrying a stick, the
attitude of standing on the hearthrug, the little trick of clearing
the throat, will all be reproduced to the life, and it has sometimes
been a matter of surprise to an onlooker that the mimicry of some
small but absurd trick has not been the means of breaking the older
person of the habit.
An excellent example of the desire of a little boy to become like his
father was brought to the writer’s notice a year or two ago. A small
girl, the daughter of very “horsey” parents, was trying to entertain
a boy cousin a little younger than herself. After taking him into
the stables and showing him the horses, she turned to him and said,
“I daresay, if you are _very_ good, you might be a groom some day.”
To which came the reply, “No, I shan’t! When I grows up I shall be
exactly like father—skin showing through my hair and all!”
[Sidenote: Individuality to be Encouraged.]
There will often be a great desire on the part of one parent that
a child shall imitate and resemble the other. If this natural wish
be carried too far there is a danger lest the individuality of the
child be interfered with. It must never be forgotten that no two
people can be or were meant to be exactly alike, and that in every
child that is born there are seeds of good qualities and faculties
belonging specially to that child. A slavish copy of anyone else,
however worthy, will assuredly tend to choke the growth of these.
It would be impossible to compute how many artists with the seeds
of greatness within them have been condemned to mediocrity by a
life-long endeavour to reproduce the master from whom they have
learned, instead of making an endeavour to work out their own
salvation.
[Sidenote: An Affected Child.]
So it is with children. Nothing is more sad than to see a child, at
an age when his or her natural freshness and simplicity should be
most clearly in evidence, already cramped and artificial through
an effort to copy some older person. A gentleman once took shelter
in a house during a heavy storm. The master and mistress were both
out, but their little daughter was summoned from her A B C to talk
to the unexpected guest. He told her he was sorry to have brought
her downstairs, to which came the simpering reply, “Oh! pray don’t
mention it!” _Imitatio ad nauseam!_
[Sidenote: Dressing Up.]
[Sidenote: Dumb Crambo.]
One way in which the love of imitation comes out is in the delight
all children take in “dressing up,” and in any form of charades
or dumb crambo. This is probably a very useful way of developing
originality and of setting children’s wits to work. Where it is not
coupled with the putting on of gorgeous raiment, and is not merely
an excuse for “showing off,” the very variety of character assumed
ensures its being a wholesome exercise. Dumb crambo is especially
helpful, for in that pastime there is practically no opportunity
for self-glorification, while it tends directly to stimulate the
children’s ingenuity and to kill their self-consciousness.
[Sidenote: Tricks of Posturing.]
All observers of child life have noticed in some little ones an
unhealthy trick of making faces, posturing, or otherwise trying to
attract attention. This is unnatural and should be carefully watched
and eradicated. But it should be remembered that in most cases of
that kind the _cause_ is physical—generally a weakness in the nervous
system—and the child must be dealt with most tenderly though firmly.
On the other hand, many people can recall instances where what may
be described as a true theatrical tendency has shown itself in a
perfectly healthy and charming manner in very young children. No
better example of this can be found than is contained in a little
paper lying under the writer’s hand. To transpose it would be to
spoil the vividness of the story, so it is given here just in its
original form.
[Sidenote: Tea at the Vicarage.]
“I was more or less of a newcomer in our village when I one day
received a pressing invitation to tea at the Vicarage. When I arrived
I found my hostess, a charming white-haired and white-shawled old
lady, in her usual arm-chair by the drawing-room fire, and, seeing
the chair on the other side of the hearth empty, I dropped into it
with a delicious feeling of comfort after my walk through the chill
and gloom of a foggy evening. I had not been many minutes installed
when tea was brought in, and the hot cakes which my soul loved were
deposited on the little brass stand inside the fender at my feet.
“Following fast on the arrival of the tea came the two daughters of
the house, who had been busy in various parts of the parish, and
were eager to compare notes and exchange the gossip they had gleaned
between the gulps of hot tea with which they refreshed the inner
woman.
“Meantime, I confess to wondering why I had been honoured with an
invitation which was almost as pressing as a three-line whip. My
curiosity was quickened by the fact that no sooner had we finished
our meal than the tea-table was carried off to a distant part of
the room, and a smile and look of enquiry went round, followed by a
nod on the part of my hostess, the signal for one of the daughters
to run away for a minute or two from the room. There was just that
little silence which precedes an ‘event,’ and then she returned to be
greeted by ‘Well?’ ‘All right,’ she replied, and silence fell on us
again, to be broken almost immediately by a tap at the door, a tap
that would never have been heard had it not been for our stillness
of expectation. The elder and more impetuous of the daughters made a
rush from her chair but was called back, and then in a moment I knew
why I had been asked. From behind the high screen just inside the
door there peeped a baby face! And such a baby face! Roguishness,
bashfulness, mirth, and indecision were mingled in the little
dimpling face and twinkling blue eyes.
[Sidenote: The Entry of Baby.]
“There was a shake of golden curls—no, not quite curls, and yet
nothing else expresses the tangle of light that formed a background
to that beauty of two summers—and then the vision disappeared.
Shyness had won a momentary victory, but was routed on a friendly
hand being held out round the screen to encourage the merry mischief
that was never far to seek in her to assert itself.
“A little shriek of pleasure, and she had run into the middle of the
room towards granny’s chair, but stopped short just where the circle
of light from a reading lamp fell upon her. I shall not soon forget
the picture. I had never seen her before, and, coming upon me in this
unexpected way with her brightness and her beauty and her marvellous
expression, she made an impression out of all proportion to her years.
“It was, I fear, the sight of me that caused her to stop so suddenly
in her run to the loving arms that were stretched out for her.
“Neither she nor I had been prepared for the sight of the other, and
a strange and bearded man may well alarm a little lady of two.
[Sidenote: A Baby Actress.]
“There _was_, no doubt, at first a distinct look of alarm, but she
rose to the occasion. It might no doubt be possible to overawe this
new and ferocious-looking being: at all events it would be well to
try, or he might perhaps be open to a joke and be propitiated in that
way! Some such thoughts were evidently in her mind, for first of all
she stared at me with a frown, then made a deliciously dignified bow
towards me, and then, almost before the bow was finished, stooped
down, and drew her frock round her feet, saying, ‘Baby dot no legs!’
going off into a fit of decidedly forced laughter by way of carrying
off her joke, should I prove too dense to see it.
“Well, it served her purpose: it was a kind of introduction, and it
enabled her to get over the awkward moments of her first shyness
and to reach the haven of granny’s chair. We were soon firm friends
after that. I happened to have a watch ‘like daddy’s,’ which was an
assurance of my respectability, and I openly and fervently admired
a certain pair of little red shoes, and what lady can resist a
well-timed compliment on her turn-out?
“After a short time spent in such polite conversation, it suddenly
occurred to the little fairy that she was not doing her proper share
towards entertaining the company. A little wriggle freed her from
any restraining hands or inconvenient people, and she ran to the far
end of the room. From this vantage ground she ran forward from time
to time into the better-lit part at our end with all the anxiety
to be well received of a born actress. The first ‘act’ consisted
in her picking up her tiny skirts and walking on her toes, saying
‘Muddy, muddy! Baby’s feet wet!’ Then with a shriek of delight she
rushed off, to come back the next minute waving her hands over her
head and gazing solemnly upwards, saying, ‘Wind b’owing! Clouds and
wind! Baby’s f’ightened!’ But this only lasted for a minute before
she dashed off and returned declaring that she was another child, a
little girl she had not seen more than once or twice, but whom she
evidently desired to imitate.
“It is impossible to describe the effect produced upon me by this
extraordinary performance by so young a child. Her rapid change of
mood bewildered me: the mischievous laughter of one moment was so
quickly followed by a look of wonder or terror or sadness, to be
succeeded in its turn by a sudden scream of delight, that I felt as
if I were watching something not altogether canny. It was really
almost a relief when at last she buried her face in a friendly lap
and cried for bed and ‘nanna.’
[Sidenote: Baby’s Exit.]
“Even then the rapid change of mood was not all over, for in the
midst of her tears she was gathered into nurse’s comfortable arms,
and as she left the room a decidedly pert little voice was heard to
say, ‘Baby _did_ c’y!’
“So I found out why my friends at the Vicarage, who knew my weakness
for children, had asked me to tea, but I have never been able to
analyse the exact impression left on my mind beyond that of a lovely
and excited baby.”