Part 12

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 can 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.”

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 in 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 the 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.”

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.”

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 hindrance, 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.”

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? The 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.”

EDUCATION.

179. _Do you approve of infant schools?_