"IF that were my child, I'd soon break him of such airs and capers.Only manage him right, and he'll be as good a boy as can be foundanywhere."
"Very few people appear to have any right government over theirchildren."
"Very few. Here is my sister; a sensible woman enough, and one wouldthink the very person to raise, in order and obedience, a family ofeight children. But she doesn't manage them rightly; and, what isremarkable, is exceedingly sensitive, and won't take kindly theslightest hint from me on the subject. If I say to her, 'If thatwere my child, Sarah, I would do so and so,' she will be almost sureto retort something about old maids' children."
"Yes, that's the way. No matter how defective the family governmentof any one may be, she will not allow others to suggestimprovements."
"It would not be so with me. If I had a family of children, I shouldnot only see their faults, but gladly receive hints from all sidesas to their correction."
"It's the easiest thing in the world to govern children, if you gothe right way about it."
"I know. There is nothing easier. And yet my sister will say,sometimes, that she is perfectly at a loss what to do. But nowonder. Like hundreds of others, she has let her children getcompletely ahead of her. If they don't break her heart in the end, Ishall be glad."
The immediate cause of this conversation between Miss Martha Spencerand a maiden lady who had been twenty-five for some ten or fifteenyears--Miss Spencer could not be accused of extensivejuvenility--was the refractory conduct of Mrs. Fleetwood's oldestchild, a boy between six and seven years of age, by which a pleasantconversation had been interrupted, and the mother obliged to leavethe room for a short period.
"I think, with you," said Miss Jones, the visitor, "that Mrs.Fleetwood errs very greatly in the management of her children."
"Management! She has no management at all," interrupted MissSpencer.
"In not managing her children, then, if you will."
"So I have told her, over and over again, but to no good purpose.She never receives it kindly. Why, if I had a child, I would neversuffer it to cry after it was six months old. It is the easiestthing in the world to prevent it. And yet, one of Sarah's childrendoes little else but fret and cry all the time. She insists upon itthat it can't feel well. And suppose this to be the case?--cryingdoes it no good, but, in reality, a great deal of harm. If it issick, it has made itself so by crying."
"Very likely. I've known many such instances," remarked Miss Jones.
Mrs. Fleetwood, returning at the moment, checked this train ofconversation. She did not allude to the circumstance that caused herto leave the room, but endeavoured to withdraw attention from it bysome pleasant remarks calculated to interest the visitor and givethe thoughts of all a new direction.
"I hope you punished Earnest, as he deserved to be," said hersister, as soon as Miss Jones had retired. "I never saw such achild!"
"He certainly behaved badly," returned Mrs. Fleetwood, speaking inan absent manner.
"He behaved outrageously! If I had a child, and he were to act asEarnest did this morning, I'd teach him a lesson that he would notforget in a year."
"No doubt your children will be under very good government, Martha,"said Mrs. Fleetwood, a little sarcastically.
"If they are not under better government than yours, I'll send themall to the House of Refuge," retorted Miss Martha.
The colour on Mrs. Fleetwood's cheeks grew warmer at this remark,but she thought it best not to reply in a manner likely to provoke afurther insulting retort, and merely said--
"If ever you come to have children of your own, sister, you will beable to understand, better than you now do, a mother's trials,doubts, and difficulties. At present, you think you know a greatdeal about managing children, but you know nothing."
"I know," replied Martha, "that I could manage my own children agreat deal better than you manage yours."
"If such should prove to be the case, no one will be more rejoicedat the result than I. But I look, rather, to see your children, ifyou should ever become a mother, worse governed than most people's."
"You do?"
"Yes, I do."
"And why, pray?"
"Because my own observation tells me, that those persons who aremost inclined to see defects in family government, and to find faultwith other people's management of their children, are apt to havethe most unruly young scape-graces in their houses to be foundanywhere."
"That's all nonsense. The fact that a person observes and reflectsought to make that person better qualified to act."
"Right observation and reflection, no doubt, will. But rightobservation and reflection in regard to children will make any onemodest and fearful on the subject of their right government, ratherthan bold and boastful. Those who, like you, think themselves sowell qualified to manage children, usually make the worst managers."
"It's all very well for you to talk in that way," said Martha,tossing her head. "But, if I ever have children of my own, I'll showyou whether I have the worst young scape-graces to be foundanywhere."
A low, fretful cry, or rather whine, had been heard from a childnear the door of the room, for some time. It was one of thoseannoying, irritating cries, that proceed more from a fretful stateof mind than from any adequate external exciting cause. Marthapaused a moment, and then added--
"Do you think I would suffer a child to cry about the house half ofits time, as Ellen does? No, indeed. I'd soon settle that."
"How would you do it?"
"I'd make her stop crying."
"Suppose you couldn't?"
"Couldn't! That's not the way for a mother to talk."
"Excuse me, Martha," said Mrs. Fleetwood, rising. "I would rathernot hear such remarks from you, and now repeat what I have beforesaid, more than once, that I wish you to leave me free to do what Ithink right in my own family; as I undoubtedly will leave youfree, if ever you should have one."
And Mrs. Fleetwood left the room, and taking the little girl who wascrying at the door by the hand, led her up stairs.
"What is the matter, Ellen?" she asked as calmly and as soothinglyas the irritating nature of Ellen's peculiar cry or whine wouldpermit her.
"Earnest won't play with me," replied the child, still crying.
"Come up into my room, and see if there isn't something pretty thereto play with."
"No--I don't want to," was the crying answer.
"Yes; come." And Mrs. Fleetwood led along the resisting child.
"No--no--no--I don't want to go. I want Earnest to play with me."
"Humph! I'd stop that pretty quick!" remarked Miss Spencer toherself, as the petulant cry of the child grew louder. "I'd neverallow a child of mine to go on like that."
Mrs. Fleetwood felt disturbed. But experience had taught her thatwhenever she spoke from an irritated state, her words ratherincreased than allayed the evil she sought to correct. So she drewthe child along with her, using some force in order to do it, untilshe reached her chamber. Her strongest impulse, on being alone withEllen, who still continued crying, was to silence her instantly bythe most summary process to which parental authority usually hasresort in such cases; but her mother's heart suggested the betterplan of diverting Ellen's mind, if possible, and thus getting itinto a happier state. In order to do this, she tried various means,but without effect. The child still cried on, and in a manner sodisturbing to the mother, that she found it almost impossible tokeep from enforcing silence by a stern threat of instant punishment.But, she kept on, patiently doing what she thought to be right, andwas finally successful in soothing the unhappy child. To herhusband, with whom she was conversing on that evening about thestate into which Ellen had fallen, she said--
"I find it very hard to get along with her. She tires my patiencealmost beyond endurance. Sometimes it is impossible to bear with hercrying, and I silence it by punishment. But I observe that if I canproduce a cheerful state by amusing her and getting her interestedin some play or employment, she retains her even temper much longerthan when she has been stopped from crying by threats or punishment.If I only had patience with her, I could get along better. But it isso hard to have patience with a fretful, ever crying child."
Of the mental exercises through which Mrs. Fleetwood passed, MissMartha Spencer knew nothing. She saw only the real and supposederrors of her mode of government, and strongly condemned them. Herdoctrine was, in governing children, "implicit obedience must be hadat all hazards." At all hazards, as she generally expressed orthought it was only meant for extreme or extraordinary cases.Obedience she believed to be a thing easily obtained by any one whochose to enforce it. No where, it must be owned, did she seechildren as orderly and obedient as she thought they should be. Butthat she did not hesitate to set down to the fault of the parents.Her influence in the family of her sister was not good. To someextent she destroyed the freedom of Mrs. Fleetwood, and to someextent disturbed the government of her children by interfering withit, and attempting to make the little ones do as she thought best.Her interference was borne about as well as it could be by hersister, who now and then gave her a "piece of her mind," and inplain, straight forward terms. Mrs. Fleetwood's usual remark, whenMartha talked about what she would do, if she had children, was agood humoured one, and generally something after this fashion--
"Old maids' children are the best in the world, I know. They nevercry, are never disobedient, and never act disorderly."
Martha hardly relished this mode of "stopping her off," but it wasgenerally effective, though sometimes it produced a slightebullition.
At last, though the chances in favour of matrimony had becomealarmingly few, Martha was wooed, won, and married to a gentlemannamed Laurie, who removed with her to the West.
"There is some prospect at last," Mrs. Fleetwood said to herhusband, with a smile, on the occasion of Martha's wedding, "ofsister's being able to bring into practice her theories in regard tofamily government. I only hope the mother's children may be as goodas the old maid's."
"I doubt if they will," remarked the husband, smiling in turn.
"We shall see."
Years passed, and Martha, now Mrs. Laurie, remained in the West. Hersister frequently heard from her by letter, and every now and thenreceived the announcement of a fine babe born to the proud mother;who as often spoke of her resolution to do her duty towards herchildren, and especially in the matter of enforcing obedience. Shestill talked eloquently of the right modes of domestic government,and the high and holy duties of parents.
"Let me be blamable in what I may," said she, in one of theseletters, "it shall not be a disregard to the best interests of mychildren."
"I hope not, indeed," said Mrs. Fleetwood, after reading the passageto her husband. "But those who really understand the true characterof children, and are sensible of the fact that they inherit fromtheir parents all the evil and disorderly tendencies not fullyovercome in themselves, feel too deeply the almost hopeless taskthey assume, to boast much of what they will do with theirchildren. A humble, reserved, even trembling consciousness of thedifficulties in the way of the parent, is the most promising statein which a parent can assume his or her responsibilities. To lookfor perfect order and obedience is to look for what never comes. Ourduty is to sow good seed in the minds of our children, and to seethat the ground be kept as free from evil weeds as possible. Thetime of fruit is not until reason is developed; and we err inexpecting fruit at an early period. There will come the tenderblade, green and pleasant to the eye, and the firm, upright stalk,with its leaves and its branches; and flowers, too, after a while,beautiful, sweet-smelling flowers; but the fruit of all our labour,of all our careful culture, appears not until reason takes the placeof mere obedience, and the child becomes the man. This view saves mefrom many discouragements; and leads me, in calm and patient hope,to persevere, even though through months, and, I might almost say,years, little prospect of ultimate fruit becomes apparent. But, goodseed must bring forth good fruit."
After a while, Mrs. Laurie ceased to write in her old strain. Shesometimes spoke of her two eldest sons as fine boys, and of her twolittle girls as dear, sweet creatures; but generally omitted sayingany thing more about her family than that all were in good health.
Ten years after Martha's marriage and removal to the West, duringwhich time the sisters had not met, business required Mr. Fleetwoodto go to Cincinnati, and he proposed that his wife should accompanyhim, and pay a visit to Mrs. Laurie, who lived in Springfield, Ohio.Mrs. Fleetwood readily consented, and they started in the pleasantmonth of October.
On arriving at Springfield, they were met by Mr. Laurie at thestage-office and taken to his house, where the sisters met,overjoyed at seeing each other once more.
"Is that one of your children?" asked Mrs. Fleetwood, after she hadlaid aside her bonnet and riding-dress, and seated herself in hersister's chamber. A red-faced boy, with pouting lips, and a brownaturally or artificially so heavy as almost to conceal his organsof vision, stood holding on to one side of the door, and swinginghimself in and out, all the while eyeing fixedly his aunt, of whoseintended visit he had been advised.
"Yes, that is my oldest. Henry, come here and speak to your aunty."
But Henry did not change either attitude, motion, nor expression,any more than if he had been a swinging automaton.
"Did you hear me?" Mrs. Laurie spoke with a slight change in hervoice and manner.
The boy remained as impassive as before.
"Come, dear, and shake hands with me," said Mrs. Fleetwood.
Henry now put one of his thumbs into his mouth, but neither lookednor acted less savagely than at first.
Mrs. Laurie was fretted at this unfavourable exhibition of himselfby her son. She felt as if she would like to get hold of him and boxhis ears until they burned for a week.
"Henry! Come here!" She spoke in a tone of command. The door wasquite as much impressed as her son.
"Either come and speak to your aunty, or go down-stairsimmediately."
The boy moved not.
This was too much for Mrs. Laurie, and she started towards him.Henry let go of the door, and went down-stairs about as quietly as ahorse would have gone.
"He's such a strange, shy boy," said Mrs. Laurie, apologetically."But he has a good heart, and you can do almost any thing with him.How is Earnest? the dear little fellow."
"Earnest is almost a man. He is as large as I am," replied Mrs.Fleetwood.
"Indeed! I can't think of him as any thing but a bright little boy,not so large as my Henry."
As she said this, her Henry, who had gone clattering down-stairs afew moments before, presented himself at the door again, andcommenced swinging himself, and taking observations of the state ofaffairs within the chamber. The mother and aunt both concludedwithin their own minds that it was as well not to take any notice ofhim, and therefore went on with their conversation. Presently ahappy, singing voice was heard upon the stairs.
"There comes my little Martha, the light of the whole house," saidMrs. Laurie. In a few moments, a sweet-faced child presentedherself, and was about entering, when Henry stepped into the door,and, putting a foot against each side, blocked up the way. Marthaattempted to pass the rude boy, and, in doing so, fell over one ofhis feet, and struck her face a severe blow upon the floor. The loudscream of the hurt child, the clattering of Henry down-stairs, andthe excited exclamation of the mother as she sprang forward, weresimultaneous. Mr. Laurie and Mr. Fleetwood came running up from theroom below, and arrived in time to see a gush of blood from the noseof Martha, as her mother raised her from the floor.
"Isn't it too much!" exclaimed Mrs. Laurie. "I think that it is theworst boy I ever saw in my life!"
The application of a little cold water soon staunched the flow ofblood, and a few kind words soothed the feelings of the child, whosat in her mother's lap, and answered her aunt when she spoke toher, like a little lady, as she was.
"Where are the rest of your children?" asked Mrs. Fleetwood. Thegentlemen were now seated with the ladies.
"You've had a pretty fair sample of them," replied Mr. Laurie,smiling good humouredly, "and may as well be content with that forthe present. To say the best of them, they are about as wild a setof young scape-graces as ever made each other miserable, and theirparents, too, sometimes."
"Why, Mr. Laurie!" exclaimed his wife, who had not forgotten her oldopinions, freely expressed, about the ease with which children couldbe governed. "I'm sure you needn't say that. I think our childrenquite as good as other people's, and a little better than some Icould name."
"Well, perhaps they are, and nothing to brag of at that," repliedMr. Laurie. "Children are children, and you can't make any thingmore out of them."
"But children should be made orderly and obedient," said Mrs.Laurie, with some dignity of expression.
"If they can," pleasantly returned the father. "So far, we, atleast, have not succeeded to our wishes in this respect. As to orderand obedience, they seem to be cardinal sins rather than cardinalvirtues, at present. But I hope better things after a while."
As this was said, some one was heard tumbling rather than walkingup-stairs, and, in a moment after, in bolted a boy about seven yearsold, crying out--
"Hen' says Uncle and Aunt Fleetwood have come! Have they, mom?"
The boy stopped short on perceiving that strangers were present.
"Yes, my son, your Uncle and Aunt Fleetwood are here," said Mr.Fleetwood, reaching out his hand to the little fellow. RememberingMartha's former rigid notions about the government of children, hefelt so much amused by what he saw, that he could hardly helplaughing out immoderately. "Come here," he added, "and let me talkto you."
The boy went without hesitation to his uncle, who took him by thehand and said, with a half wicked glance at the mother, yet with abroad good humoured smile upon his face,
"That must be a very knowing hen of yours. I should like to havesome of her chickens."
"What hen?" asked the boy, with a serious air.
"Why, the hen that told you we were here."
"No hen told me that." The boy looked mystified.
"Oh! I thought you said Hen' told you so."
"No, it was Henry."
"Say, no sir, my son." Mrs. Laurie's face was not pale, certainly,as she said this.
The boy did not think it worth while to repeat the formality.
"Oh! it was your brother Henry," replied Mr. Fleetwood, withaffected seriousness. "I thought that must have been a very knowinghen." The boy, and his sister who had recovered from the pain of herfall, laughed heartily. "Now tell me your name?"
"John."
"Say John, sir. Where are your manners?" spoke up the mother, whoremembered that, with all her sister's imperfect management of herchildren, she had succeeded in teaching them to be very respectfulin their replies to older persons, and that Earnest, when she lastsaw him, was a little gentleman in his manners when amy one spoke tohim.
"Mo-ther!" came now ringing up the stairs, in a loud, screechinglittle voice. "Mo-ther! Hen' won't let me come up."
"I declare! That boy is too bad! He's a perfect torment!" said Mrs.Laurie, fretfully. "I'm out of all heart with him."
The father stepped to the head of the stairs, and spoke rathersternly to the rebellious Henry. Little feet, were soon heardpattering up, and the youngest of the young hopefuls made herappearance, and, soon after, Henry pushed his really repulsive faceinto the door and commenced grimacing at the other children, therebysucceeding in what he desired to do, viz., starting little Maggy,the youngest, into a whining, fretful cry, because "Hen' was makingfaces" at her. This cry, once commenced, was never known to endwithout the application of something more decided in its effectsthan words. It was in vain that the mother used every persuasive,diverting and soothing means in her power: the crying, loud enoughto drown all conversation, continued, until, taking the child uphurriedly in her arms, she bore her into another room, where sheapplied some pretty severe silencing measures, which had, however,the contrary effect to that desired. The child cried on, but louderthan before. For nearly ten minutes, she sought by scolding andwhipping to silence her, but all was in vain. It is doubtful, afterthe means used to enforce silence, whether the child could havestopped if she had tried. At last, the mother locked her in acloset, and came, with a flushed face and mortified feelings, backto the room from which she had retired with Maggy.
The moment Mrs. Laurie left, her husband, with a word and a look,brought the three children into order and quietness. Henry was told,in a low voice, and in a tone of authority, that he never thought ofquestioning, to go up into the garret and remain there until he sentfor him. The boy retired without the slightest hesitation.
When Mrs. Laurie returned, Mr. Fleetwood, who was a man of frank,free, and pleasant manners, could not resist the temptation he feltto remind her of the past; he, therefore, said, laughingly,
"You have doubtless found out, by this time, Martha, that old maids'children are the best."
This sally had just the effect he designed it to have. It was anapology for the children, as it classed them with other realchildren, in contradistinction to the imaginary offspring of theunmarried, that are known by every one to be faultless specimens ofjuvenility.
"Come! That is too bad, Mr. Fleetwood," replied Mrs. Laurie, feelingan immediate sense of relief. "But, I own to the error I committedbefore marriage. It seemed to me the easiest thing in the world tomanage children, when I thought about it, and saw where parentserred, or appeared to err, in their modes of government. I did notthen know what was in children. All their perverseness I laid tothe account of bad management. Alas! I have had some sad experiencesin regard to my error. Still, I cannot but own that children aremade worse by injudicious treatment, and also, that mine ought to bea great deal better than they are."
"Like the rest of us," returned Mr. Fleetwood, "you have no doubtdiscovered, that it is one thing to think about the government ofchildren, and another thing to be in the midst of their disturbingsphere, and yet act as if you did not feel it. Theory and practiceare two things. It seems, when we think coolly, that nothing can beeasier than to cause the one exactly to correspond to the other. Butwhoever makes the trial, especially where the right government ofchildren is concerned, will find it a most difficult matter. Whatmakes the government of their children so hard a thing for parents,is the fact that the evils of the children have been inherited fromthem, and therefore the reaction of these evils upon themselves isthe more disturbing. We haven't as much patience with the faults ofour own children, often, as other people have. They fret and annoyus, and take away our ability to speak in a proper tone and act withbecoming dignity toward them, and thus destroy their respect forus."
"Nothing can be truer," said Mrs. Laurie. "I stand rebuked. I amself-condemned, every day, on this very account. I used to thinkthat your government and that of Sarah's over your children verydefective. But it was far better than the government that I havebeen able to exercise over mine. Ah me!"
"Don't sigh over the matter so terribly, Martha," spoke up thehusband. "We shall get them right in the end. Never give up theship, is my motto in this and every thing else. But I wouldn't haveour brother and sister here think for a moment that the scenes theyhave witnessed are enacted every day. Their visit is an occasion ofsome excitement to our young folks, and they had to show off alittle. They will cool down again, and we shall get on pleasantlyenough."
"That is all very true," said Mrs. Laurie, more cheerfully. "I neversaw them act quite so outrageously before, when any one came in.There is much good in them, and you will see it before you leaveus."
"No doubt in the world of that," replied Mr. Fleetwood; "there isgood in all children, and it is our duty to exercise greatforbearance towards their evils, and be careful lest, by what we door say, we strengthen, rather than break them."
And the good that was in Mrs. Laurie's children was clearly seen byMr. and Mrs. Fleetwood during their stay; but, that good was, alas!not strengthened as it might have been, nor were the evils theyinherited kept quiescent, as they would to a great extent haveremained, had the mother been more patient and forbearing--had herpractice been as good as her theory.
It is easy for us to see how others ought to act toward theirchildren, but very hard for us to act right toward our own.
THE END.
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