Part 4

Nothing better recommends an individual than his attentions to his parents. There are some children whose highest ambition seems to be the promotion of their parents' interest. They watch over them with unwearied care, supply all their wants, and by their devotion and kindness remove all care and sorrow from their hearts. On the contrary, there are others who seem never to bestow a thought upon their parents, and to care but little whether they are comfortably situated or not. By their conduct they increase their cares, embitter their lives, and bring their gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. Selfishness has steeled their hearts to the whispers of affection, and avarice denies to their parents those favors which would materially assist them in the down-hill of life.

Others, too, by a course of profligacy and vice, have drained to the very dregs their parents' cup of happiness, and made them anxious for death to release them from their sufferings. How bitter must be the doom of those children who have thus embittered the lives of their best earthly friends!

There can be no happier reflection than that derived from the thought of having contributed to the comfort and happiness of our parents. When called away from our presence, which sooner or later must happen, the thought will be sweet that our efforts and our care smoothed their declining years, so that they departed in comfort and peace. If we were otherwise, and we denied them what their circumstances and necessities required, and our hearts did not become like the nether millstone, our remorse must prove a thorn in our flesh, piercing us sharply, and filling our days with regret.

There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to her son that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his prosperity. If misfortune overtake him, he will be the dearer to her from misfortune; and if disgrace settles upon his name, she will still love and cherish him in spite of his disgrace. If all the world besides cast him off, she will be all the world to him.

A father may turn his back on his child, brothers and sisters may become inveterate enemies, husbands may desert their wives, wives their husbands; but a mother's love endures through all. In good repute, in bad repute, in the face of the world's condemnation, a mother still lives on and still hopes that her child may turn from his evil ways and repent; still she remembers his infant smile that ever filled her bosom with rapture, the merry laugh, the joyful shout of his childhood, the opening promise of his youth; and thinking of these, she never can be brought to think him all unworthy.

Young man, speak kindly to your mother, and ever courteously and tenderly of her. But a little while and you shall see her no more forever. Her eye is dim, her form bent, and her shadow falls grave-ward. Others may love you when she has passed away—a kind-hearted sister, perhaps, or she whom of all the world you chose for a partner—she may love you warmly, passionately; children may love you fondly; but never again, never, while time is yours, shall the love of woman be to you as that of your old, trembling mother has been. Alas! how little do we appreciate a mother's tenderness while living! How heedless are we in youth of all her anxious tenderness! But when she is dead and gone, when the cares and coldness of the world come withering to our hearts, when we experience how hard it is to find true sympathy, how few love us for ourselves, how few will befriend us in misfortune, then it is that we think of the mother we have lost.

The loss of a parent is always felt. Even though age and infirmities may have incapacitated them from taking an active part in the cares of the family, still they are rallying points around which affection and obedience, and a thousand tender endeavors to please, concentrate. They are like the lonely star before us: neither its heat nor light are any thing to us in themselves, yet the shepherd would feel his heart sad if he missed it when he lifts his eye to the brow of the mountains over which it rises when the sun descends.

Over the grave of a friend, of a brother or a sister we would plant the 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.

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.

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.

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.