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Lorsqus te document est trop grand pp'ur Atre reproduit en un seul ciichA, ii est filmA A partir de I'angle supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite, . et de haut en bas, en prenant le non[>bre d'images nAcesssire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mithodo. 1 ^ 'i 2 : N 3 32X 6 \ \ ;# *» i '• t.-. - • ,'v • 1 1 4 - .'--7-- *■ ' -1 • > K i. x^ !i i •-» - .• jt . I,.-' k i-j ^ •■ ; ■ ^^TS OF Xa^ ABOUT HOME MATTERS^ Bv H. a, ' f t f- !>• TORONTO: ADAM, STEVENSON, 6t CO. ^ . '\ 73^ h r '"j. ,1 - *fi' u'. it'., \ ' • • ,: ■ ,.'•■ . t , , » y ^ '-- 1) „ X I : , •,: ( r- •y ( - • * ■ <) ( ■ ^«* \ \: ' ..- .^ > , . ■ ■•- '■:■ *■-. • \ ,- \ J, i] PREFACE TO THE CANADIAN EDITION. .>»-v !7"l'!f."^^°'"* things," says the genial aad thoughtful author of A Book about Dominies, "which are oth«^ which are better taught him by men who have made education the study and business of their iT'^ft ' .""' *** "^^^ ^o^^y^, that much is too often left to the teaching of the school which should Uh,^?"ft T"'i\*^''"""^' And in the home Lt . l ? "'""* *^' ""^"^ ^'-^ '^Wch a child best learhs from its parents are never learned; and Aa^ .f domestic discipline be enforced at aU, it is often fitful and capricious, and too ftequently the result of accident. or impulse? ■ »"» oi .^^""^'^^T'^^^ *° **='*'"='■ =''°"1'' of feeling and emotion, the thousand and one influences of the house- hold, which mould and fashion the man to be, are often allowed their play with but.li.Ue consideration of fte ♦ Sr«S'^^^^ -mor the bent «iey give to, th. ^J^^^e^tsourc^s of tHbulafion , and arc^ - ^ des^ir of tutdKng the you^ IshmaeUte?. To - ■.• if mm t ', "-^■.■i: I . ■S' IV PREFACE, ■ 4 . ^ .Ibose wha>lter not, however, though the s^d-time may b^ a season of bitterness and sorrow, the harvest* will generally be found to yield a rich recompense for their toil. But, in place of 'our own words. We com- mend, those of our earnest authoress; and" we have ■ much pleasure in bringing before native readers a __; Canadian edition of "Bits of Talk." in the volume will be found an eloquent plea for wise and considerate tactks in " home matters." So- licitous of the genleralship of the parent, and urkhr" for " wetting the clay,^' she would bring out, by a deft and. skilfub handling, all the graces of character and manners of childhood. The virtues of courageous truthfulness and generous unselfishness would appear in the most unpromising of subjects. From the Im- patience and passion of the nursery, she would supi- mon forth gentleness and peace. In. exchange for stubbornness and wilfulness, we should find amiable.- ness and docility; for peevishness, heartiness ; fcir waywardness, self-control. That the education of the young in the amenities of Hfe on this sjde the Atlantic is also of essential im- portance, cannot be gainsaid ; and the early inculca- tion of good breeding and deference to age and station on the youthful mind is one of the great desiderata of ^ ^. our times. In reference to this subject, we are glad to ^ give place to the pertinent remarks of one who alike /^distinguislies the high position he holds in the Domin- - ion,aad adds further lustre to " the grand old name of gentleman," We allude -to-i x ji d Dui trom 'W- .' I ' ' ^ PREFACE. ' ->« whose recent address to the students of the Normal , ing the following extract: — ^present occasion to mike to vou vT?!,™* ?" *''* observation which I am almost^templed S Wd°"? would venture to ren.indyou that in your futo^rela merely to the development orthdrfnteuU^ceTnd to ^ir^'^,'^ °^. '■^^'»ation, but that Te?e is ak« another duty as important as either of thelefairi ?w , IS that you should endeavor tn r.fi.,^ "jese,! and that their elders^ and to their superiors PerL^iTl' ^^^^^ th": o«an"dX'^hl £i which^lteo^ ir^S'tie SS, '^f ?h7s "^^ ^n n ofTmlJTc^^aril!^^^^ ff' 1 PBEFACE, t : observed, in travelling on board the steamboats on the , St. Lawrence, children running about from one end of the vessel to the other, to whom more than once I have been tempted to give a good whipping. I have seen them thrust aside gentlemen in conversation, trample on ladies' dresses, shoulder their way about, without |la thought of the inconvenience they were occasioning ; jMid, what was more remarkable, these thoughtless in- ;: discretions did not seem to attract the attention of their parents. When I ventured to observe on this to the people with whom I have been travelling, I was always told that these peccant little individuals came from the other side of the line. Well, I only hope that this may be so: at all events, without inquiring too strictly how that mav be, I trust that the teachers of the schools of Canacla will do their very best to ihcul- -cate into their pupils the duties of politeness, of re- fined behaviour, of respect for the old and of reverence for their parents, that they will remember that a great deal may be done by kindly and wholesome advice in t^s particular, and that if they only take a little trouble they will contribute greatly to render Canada not only one of the best educated and most prosperous, but one of the most polite, best bred, and well-mannered countries of the American continent". The Pubushers. ToroniOy 1st May, 1873. i;- .V- CONTENTS. V; w t • • • • The Inhumanities of Parents -Corporal Punish ment . . . / . . . . . I . . , The Inhumanities of Parents - Needless Denials The Inhumanities of Parents — Rudeness Breaking the Will , . . . • * 9 • A > The Reign of Archelaus ... The Awkward Age A Day with a Courteous Mother Children in Nova Scotia ' ... .* . The Republic of the Familjr . '. The Readj-to-Hilt» . . .\ , The Descendants of Nabal . . Boys not allowed " . . . ; alf ah Hour in a Railway Station A Genius for Affection ..... Rainy Days ........ Friends of the Prisoners .... A Companion for the Winter Choite oi Colors 1 . . Th6Apo8tie6f Beauty . . .... • • • >. • • • « • • • • • • • • • • • •«• • 'A fkom 9 »7 US 39 50 59 6S 71 76 ^3 37 • 94 V 100 < III • 117 • 12a • taS • • A • • 13^ -., ^-r ^f^;. _ ••• VIU CONTENTS, \,*.BJnglishLodging-Hou8C8 . . . \ . '. ,,3 Wet the Clay .;.'.. ' */ * ' ^ •^ \ • 'v • • • . . . , '144 The King's Friend , .^ . . . , . _ ^ ^ Learning tQ speak. ^. . . . \ .. . . \ ' I ^^ PrivateJ>rant8 . . ; . . . . .^ ; ^ /; ^^^ ^.Margin . .'. . ........ . _. ^ ^^^ , The Fine A. t of Smiling.. ^., . . . . , . . ^^^v De^th-bed Repentance ' The Correlation of Moral Forces ... . . . ,y- A Simply Bill of Fare for a Christm^as Dinner Children'^ Parties . . After-supper Talk.. . . . Hysteria in Literature . . Jog Trot . The Joyless American . . .Spiritual Teething . * . . Glass -Hpuses •.....■,,, The Old-Clothes Monger in Journalism^ ... The Country LaiidlordTSide , * The Good. Staff of Pleasure . . . . ... . ] Watited — a Home ... ..... , .' »r » f > •^ N J ^79 184 189 :^ • 193 199 203^ 207 212 " |< 317 220 ' , • 1 227 ^ 1? n3 f •-««■ + r~^ >AGB. • - , *. ■,' r ■ 138 •^ }-^ '¥ *■ ' '49 <, ^56 .' ' 1 162 :6sV' • N •J 70 *~. 75. k ■ 79 84 89 ^ . y 93 ^ V 39 ( ' J J3-- ►7 . ^ >.<•■ 2 " 7 ' ' K ? * . >. i 7 - ' 1 -1 3 In -.r¥-. BITS. OF T^LK. ■ -4 )■ -THE INHW^ANITIES OF PARENTS." ' CORPORAL PU1||^HM£NT. . - ' N^Ix-'li^^"^ Presbyterian minister, in Western ' ,, Ne^ Tork whipped his thr^e-year-old boy to ^death, for refusing to say bis prayfers. The little (in- Sers were broken; the t^der flesh was bruised and actual^ mangled ; strong men wept when they looked onAthe body ; and the^evetend munleref.-after'having ' berfn set fise on bail, was 'glad to return and take refuge within the walk of Ws prison, t«, escape sum- mary punishment, at th.e hands of an outraged com- munity. ^At the bare -taention of such cruelty, every heart grew sick and feint ; men and women were duib with hprror : only tears and a hot demand for instant .retelisttion avail^. ' ■ ' 'The question Irhfether, 'after all, that'bSby martw were not fortunate among his fellows, would, no doubt bemet by resentful astonishment Butitis a question / ^hichmay weH be asked, may well be pondered.' • Heart-renAng^s h is to think forW instant of the f '"ch th e po of c hi ld m us t have borne to r soma .-,ji;j.-. .-^ ^ ./«*' >J ■■■ l(l*f ■/4 to ' **,* y X :** BITS 'Of' TALK. hours afSer his infant brain was too bewildered by ter- 2m 6^", f ,"f ''^-'^"d *hat was required o/him. „^;i u '° °"" '° '•'^P" '^fl^ttion that the TZ^Z " '*'^,^":^"'» -'"P^-on with wha lived. To earn entrance on the spiritual life' bv the greater g^m;" but how emphatieally is it so when .he^corj^.ons of life.^pon earth are sure to .^ Lt sunL'?nr'' "";''"' '° '^"'y *° S« '^ ^t^f^tical summm^-up and a tangible presentation of the amoun Iwr""* ^t """'^^ ■'y P"*"'^ °" chUdren unde weJve years of age, the most callous-hearted wouldt ft.Sesi,mate an accurate and scientific demonstration of the extent to which such pain, by weakening the diseTs" Jj- -d -haustin/its .apacit^o fZr disease, dimmishes children's chances for life the world would stand aghast. - ' ' 'nen.r,lf"" *"" ^^ "'" "P°° ^'^ P°'°'- The oppo- nents „of corporal punishment usually approachThe trL ) '^'"""" °" "'"''' °^ these grounds can 1« made strong enough, one would suppose, to paralyze . every hand lifted to strike a child.' But the q^ fon o the d.rectand lasting physic,! effect of bfol'levL on the f^T °V'' '•^'""'^ «'""'" °f » -"'M's b^y° on the fra.1 and trembling nerves, on the sensUiii ' organ^^tion which .. trying, unde^' , thon^r.r \ TBE INHUMANITIES OF PARENTS. II voring c&nditions, to adjust itself to the hard work of both living and growing- has yet to be properly considered. ^ ^ Every one knows the sudden sense of insupportable pain, sometimes producing even dizziness and- nausea, ' which follows the accidental hitting of the ankle or elbow against a hard substance. It does not need that the blow be very hard to bring involuntary tears to adult eyes. But what is such a pain as this, in com- pjjgfon with the pain of a dozen or more quick tin- gWg blows from a heavy hand on flesh which is, which must^be as much more sensitive than ours, as are the souls whica dwell in it purer than ours. Add to this physical pain the overwhelming terror which only utter helplessness can feel, and which is the most recognizable quality in the cry of a very young g^ifd under whipping ; add the instinctive sense ]>f disgrace, of outrage, which often keeps the older child stubborn and still through- put, — and you have an amount and an intensity of suf- feringfrom which even tried nerves might shrink. Again, who does not know — at least, what woman does nof^ know — that violent weeping, for even a very short . time, is quite enough to cause a feeling of languor and depression, of nervous exhaustion for a whole day? Yef it dp^s not seem to occur to mothers that little children must feel this, in proportion to the length of time and^olence of their crying, far more than grown people. Who has not often seen a poor child re- ceive, within an hour or two of the first whipping, a McouJ -OTic^ fur tjome smau ebullition of nervous irri- -!■■ o ! i" . ^ 'BITS OF TALK. ' i ■ taWlity, which was simply inevitable from ik spent and worn condition? «, spent It is safe to say that in families where whipping is underlT^'-'r' " "" '''"'''""'''*' ^^ ''"^-n less thrri '^'' ""'' "^ ''verage behavior, have kss than one wh.ppmg a week. Sometimes the; have r h "TnT" T "'"■''^'"^ ''^ ^'^'y — tIs on which for a greater or less time, say from one to three hours, the child's nervous syste; is'suhjected to a , tremendous strain from the effect of terror and phys cal ferurthatTh' f\ • °"^ "^'"^- ^"' -^ P'S teU us hat this fact is not an element in that child's physical condition at the end of that year? Wi 1 any '^t^TT. ""■' '° ^y ">=" *''«'^ Wnot be, in tZ ^ child's life, crises when the issues of iffe and death wil be so equally balanced that the tenth par, of thl ner ance of such pam, could turn the scale ? ^ tive. Because her sentences against evil works are not executed speedily, therefore the hearts or the son' of men are fully set in them to do evil. But the sen tence always is executed, sooner or later, and ha.- * '"««'»%• . Your son, O unthinking mothe - may faU by the way m the full prjme of his manhood, for lack your nasty and severe punishments. ** It is easy to say, -and universally is said _h» -people who cling to the old and fight ayLS;7ew' ■MMMM THE INHUMANITIES OF I^ARENTS 13 *f AH this outcry about corporal punishment is sen- timental nonsense. The world is full of men and women, who h^ve grown up strong and good, in spite of whippings; and as for me, I know I never had any n^ore whippi/ig than I deserved, or than was good for me." Are you then so strong ahd clear and pure in your physical and spiritual nature and life, that you are spre no different training could have made either your body or your soul better ? Are these men and women, of whom the world is full, so able-bodied, whole-souled, strong-minded, that you think it needless to look about for any method of making the next generation better? Above all, do you believe that it is a part of the legiti- mate outworking of God's plan and intent in creating human beings to have more than |)ne-half of them die in childhood ? If we are not to believe that this fearful mortality is a part of God's plan, is it wise to refuse to consider all possibilities, even those seemingly m,Qsi remote, of diminishing it ? No argument is so hard to meet (simply because It is not an argument) as the assumption of the good and propriety of *tthe thing that hath been.'* It is one of the devil's best sophistries, by which he keeps good people undisturbed in doing the things he likes. It has been in all ages the bulwark behind which evils have made stand, and have slain their thousands. It Is the last enemy which shall be destroyed. It is the only real support of the criiel evil of corporal punish- incut « ' I f - «4 BITS OF TALK. nnS^r nf * '""' P""'"""*"* °^ ^'"W'*» had been unheard of till now. Suppose that the idea had yester- : day been suggested for the.first time that by inflictinit phys.cal pa,n on a child's body you might make Mm recollect certain truths; and suppose that instead of wh>ppmg, a very moderate and 'harmless degree of w^ Z r!,V"' °' '""'"« "''" ■'"'■^'^ °' burning with iire had been suggested. Would not fathers and manityof the idea? c^^^ "'T"'" "*'" '='y°"' =" t''* '"hun'anity oft stituSn'-"^ T "■' '""'"''y' '''°"''' P^°P<'^' ">«= '"b- s itution of prickmg or cutting or burning for whio- pmg? But I think it would not be easy! sZX what wse i^all pricks or cuts are more inhuman than blows ; or wYy lying may^not be as legitimately cured s^rr^de^t "", ' '°' ^°^' ''' ''y '^'^'='' -<^ blue spots made with a ruler. The principle is the same • and .f the pnncip e be right, why not multiply methods \ Jl T^'u'u "!''' ""'^ ^"ggeslion, candidly con- - 11^""^' '"■ght be enough to open all parents' eyes to the enorm,ty of whipping. How many a loving mother w,U without any thought of cruelty, inflict halLdozen quick blows o^the little hand of her child, when she could no mor^ake a pin and make the sa;e number of thrusts U the tender flesh, than she could bind the baby on/a rack. Yet the pin-thrusts would hurt for less, ayd would probably make a deeper impres- sion on tlvt child's mind. -rapres- Amon^ the more ignorant classes, the frequency and S b.i^J < iAiiT'%£i£^ ^b^i.'i&^-^&^-fiSL^- . S ,^ ^ ; THE I^nUMANlTJES OF PARENTS, l$ iseverity of corporal punishment of children, are appal- ling. The fects only need to be held up closely and persistently before the coibmunity to be recognized as horrors of cruelty far greater than some which have been made subjects of legislation. It was my misfortune once to be forced to spend several of the hottest weeks of a hot summer in New York. In near neighborhood to my rooms were blocks of buildings which had shops on the first floor aiid tenements above. In these lived the fami- lies of small tradesmen, and mechanics of the better sort. During those scorching nights every window ' was thrown open, and aU sounds were borne with dis- tinctness through the hot still air. Chief among them were the shrieks and cries of little children, and blows and angry words from tired, overworked mothers. At times it became almost unbearable: it was hard to • refrain from an attempt at rescue. Ten, twelve, twenty quick, hard blows, whose sound rang out plainly, I counted again and again ; niingling with them came the convulsive screams of the poor children, and that most piteous thing of all, the reiteration of "Oh, mamma ! oh, mamma ! » as if; through all, the helpless little creatures had an instinct that thi^ word ought to be in itself the strongest appeal. These families were all of the better class of work people, comfortable and respectable. What sounds were to be heard in the more wretched haunts of the city, during those nights, the heart struggled away from fancying. But the shrieks of thos^ children will never wholly die nnt o f „■ •.:«'' I« ^^ OF TALK^ the air. I hear them to-dav o«^ ^- ,. •he question Hngs peiS;^^"^-^ ^^^ *«». i^e .as .He ^ht to' S S S^hotriCf/''''^'' ' man be eauallv wifKk^i^ r " *'"°^®- i>hould not a kill S^ murder? ' ^°''*' ^'^ *'»« to f ■'■ '^ ■'':•■>} - f \ ' ■' * : ^1 (-'■ " \ : '" lem, • - ,,:.-■ Joes ■;:'-':_ hich i "■■f ■-■■ i .' -h the \i-'i- lich- J "■.."■ 3ta ^ '•:■::* of -/ to THE INHUMANITIES OF PARENTS. 17 , THE INHUMANITIES OF PARENTS. ' NEEDLESS DENIALS. "^^EBSTER'S'Dictionary, which cannot be accused of any leaning toward sentimentalism, defines " inhumanity »> aP^eruelty in action ; " and "cruelty' as "any act of a human being which inflicts unneces- sary pain." The word inhumanity ha/ an ugly sound, and many inhuman people are utterly and honestly unconscious of their own inhumanities ; it is necessary therefore to entrench one's self behind some such bul- wark as the above definitions afford, before venturing the accusation that fathers and mothers are habitually guilty of inhuman conduct in inflicting « unnecessary pain " on tiieir children, by needless denials of tjieir innocent wishes and impulses. '' Most men and a great m^y women would be aston- ished at being told that simple Jhumanity requires them to gratify every wish, even the smallest, of their chil- dren, when the pain of having that wish denied is not made necessary, either for the child's own welfare physical or mental, or by circumstances beyond the parent's control. The word " necessary " is a very au- thontative one; conscitnce, if left free, «oon nnrr^wv ■ft*-- 'i^fi-^/-^:j'ff^p-^f 18 BITS OF TALK, down its boundaries ; inconvenience, hindrance, depri- vation, self-denial, one 6r all, or even a great deal ot all, to ourselves, cannot give us a shadow of right to say that the pain of the child's disappointment is " neces- sary." Selfishness grasps at help from the hackneyed sayings, that it is « best for children to bear the yoke VI their youth ; » ** the sooner they learn that they can- not have their own way the better ; » " it is a good dis- cipline for them^to practise self-denial," &c. But the • yoke that they must bear, in spite of our lightening it air we can, is heavy enough; the instances in which it ig, for good and sufficient reasons, impossible for them to hive theif own way are quite numerous enough to insure their learning the lesson very early; and as for the discipline of self-denial, — God bless their dear, patient souls ! — if men and women brought to bear on the thwartings and vexations of their daily lives, and their relations with each other, one hundredth part of the sweet acquiescence and brkve endurance which average children show, under the average management of average parents, this world \vould be a much pleas- anter place to live in than it is. Let any conscientious and tender mother, who per- haps reads these words with tears half of resentment, half of grief iniier eyes, keep for three days an exact record of the hltie-re^uests which she refuses, from the baby of five, who begged to stand on a chair and look out of the window, and was hastily told, "No, it would hurt the chair," when one minute would have been' enough time to lay a folded newspaper over the up- . ;,. r^re inhumanities of parents. 19 holstery, and another minute enough to explain to him, with a kiss and a hug, « that that was to save his spoiling mammals nice chair with his boots j " and the two minutes together would probably have made sure that another time the dear little fellow would look put for a paper himself, when he wished to climb up to the window, — from this baby up to the pretty girl of. twelve, who, with as distinct a perception of the becom- ing as her mother had before her, went to school un- happy because she was compelled to wear the blue neck- tie instead of the scarlet one, and surely for no especial reason ! At the end of the three days, an honest exam- ination of the record would show that full half of these small denials, all of which had involved pain, and some of which had brought contest and punishment, had been needless, had been hastily made, and made usually on account of the slight interruption or inconvenience which would result from yielding to the, request I am very much mistaken if the honest keeping and honest study of such a three days' record would not wholly change the atmosphere in many a house to what it ought to be, ?uid bring almost constant simshine and bliss where now, too offen, are storm and ijiisery. With some parents, although they are neither harsh nor hard in manner, nor yet unloving in natuiie, the habit- ual first impulse seems to be to refuse : thejy appear to have a singular obtuseness to th^ fact that it is, or can be, of any consequence to a child whether it does or does not do Ihe thing it desires. Often the refusal is withdrawa-ea tlie first symptom trf g ri ef or di sapp oiut- .':k k ±hiLL'ii ,. ,, ^_, , fe' ao ,SITS OF TALK. ment on the child's part ; a thing which is fatal to all real control of a child, and almost as unkind as the first unnecessary dejiial, — perhaps even more so, as it involves double and treble pains, in future instances^ . where there cannot, and must not be any giving way to entreaties. It is doubtless this lack of perception, — akin, one would think, to color-blindness, — which is at the bottom of this great and common inhumanity among kind and intelligeht fathers and mothers: an inhumanity so common that it may almost be said to be universal ; so common that, while we are obliged to look on jand see our dearest friends guilty of it, we find it next to impossible to make them understand what we mean when we make outcry over some of its glar- ing ingtances. r You, my .dearest of friends, — or, rather, you who would be, but for this one point of hopeless contention between us, — do you remember a certain warm morh- ing, last August, of which I told you then you had not heard the last ? Here it is again : perhaps in print ' I can make it look blacker to you than I could then; part of it I saw, part of it you unwillingly confessed to me, and part of it li-ttle Blue Eyes told me her- .self. A It was one of those ineffable rfiomings, when a thrill of delight and expectancy fills th^ air; one -felt that every appointment of the day mustTje unli£e those of other days, -^ must be festive, must help on the *twhite day" for which all things looked ready. I remember how like the myning itself you-looked as you ^tood in s l:\> J THE INHUMANITIES OF PAftENTS, ii the doprway, in a fresh white muslin dres^ with laven- Vder ribboi^. I said, " Oh, extravagance f For breaks Tast ! " .;^"rk^ow,» yj^ said ; "but the day was so enchant- • ing, I could not make up my mind to w^ar any tiling tiiat had been worn before." Here an^uproar from the . nursery broke out, and we Both ran to the spot Theife. stood little Blue Eyes, in a stornT of temper, witii one ' small foot ou a crum^d mass^of pink cambric on the floor ; and nu«pe, wMo was talso very red and) angry explained tiiat Miss would nkhave on her pinl^ frock because it was not quite clean. « It i^ all dirty,' mam- ma, and I don't want to put it on !. YouVe go! on a nide white dress : why can't 1^? " " You are in the main a kind mother, and you do not like to give little Blue feyes pain; so you knelt down beside her,, and told her that she must be a good girl, and have on the gown Mary had said, but tiiat she should have on a pretty white apron, which would hide the spots. And-^lue feyes, being only six years old, and of a loving, geilerous nature, dried her tears, ac-' cepted the very quejitionable expedient, tried to forget tiie spots^^d in a few moments came out on the piazza, chirpihg like a littie bird. By tiiis tW the rare qualii^ of the morning had stolen like wine into our brains and yot exclaimed, "We will have breakfast out here! under the vines I How Gebrge will Jike it ! " And in Another instant you were flitting back and forth help- ing the rather ungradous Bridget move out the break- iast-4able, with its temp ling aiiny. "-^ ♦ %,- I, ;v ■> V ^ ']Mi 'fii tliriWilift 'h' 32 BITS OF TALK, "Oh, mamma, mamma," cr'fe^l^e E]fes, " ca&'t I ^ have my little tea-set on a little table beside your big * table ? Oh, let me, let me ! " and she fairly quivered with excitement. You hesitated. How I watched yopi . But "it was a little late. Bridget was already rj"^" cross ; the tea-set was packed in a box, and high shelf. /j ,i "No, dear. 'There is not time, aifdrj^must^not make Bridget any more trouble ; but "^^eing the tears coming again — " yc)u shall have some real teV in . papa's big gilt cup, and another time you shall have your tea-set, when we have breakfast out here again." As I said before, you- are a kind mother, and you made the denial as easy to be borne as you could, and Blue Ey^s was again Reified, not satisfied, only bravely makkig the best Q#!f. And so we had our breakfast ; a break- fast to be remembered, too. But as fornhe "t)ther time " which you had promised ' to Blue Eyes ; how well I knew that not many times a year did such morn- ings aiid breakfasts come, and that it was well she would forget all about it ! Aft^r breakfast, — you re-„ member how we lingered, — George "suddenly started up, saying, "How hard iy^fejp to town! I say, girls, wall^own to th^«B| with .|jg^ b(A# of "And me too, me t6o, papa! " said Blue Eyes. You did not hear her; but I did, and she had flown for her - hat At the door we found her, saying again, " Me i)o, H both love little Blue Eyes' -dearly. ! > ^P " No, I won?t come. I believe my boots are ||bo ' thin," said I ; and foV the equivocation there was ♦in my reply I am sure of being forgiven. You b«tii - turned back twice to look at the child, and kissed yo«r • hands to her ; and I wondered if you did not see in her face, what I did, real grief and patient endurance. Eveit% "The Kingof the 'Golden River" did not rouse her? *- she did not want a story ; she did not want me f she did not want ^ "ed balloon at night ;, she wanted to walk between ^cu, to the station, with her little hands iivyourel God grant the day may not come when you will be heart-broken because you can nevet- ie%d her any more ! She asked me some, questions, while you were gone,; which you remember I repeated to .y6u. She asked me if I did not hate nice new srhoes ; and v^y little on the drosses the^ liked ^&t ^ and— ^ * '. ffmm ^W 13 mm S4. ^4 J5/r5 OF TALK. - ■ ■ * , ■ If mamma did not look beautiful in that pretty white dress f and said that, if shje could only have had her own tea-set, at breakfast, she would have let me have, my coffee in one of her cups.. Gradually she grew happier, and began to tell me about her great wax-doll, which h,id eyes that could shut ; which was kept in ^ trunk because she was too lit^e, mamm^ said, to play ver)»much with it now ; but she guessed mamma would let her have it to-day ; did I not think so ? Alas ! I did, and I said so ; in fact, I felt ^re that it was the very thing you would be certain to do, to sweeten the day, whi(^h Iiad begun so sadly for poor little Blue Eyes. ' It seemed very long to her before you came back, and she was on the point of asking for her dolly as soon as y6u appeared ; but L whispered to her to wait till you were rested. After a few minutes I took her up to your room, — that lovely room with the bay win- dow to the easik ; there you sat, in your white dress, sur- rounded with ^ly worsteds, all looking like a carnival ofhumniing-bird.C " Oh, how beautiful ! " I exclaimed, in involmitary admiration; "what are you doing?" You said that y^^vere going to make an affghan, and that the morning was so enchanting you could not bear the thought of touching your mending, but were going to luxuriate in the worsteds. Some time passed in sorting the colors, and deciding on the contrasts, and r forgot all about the doll. Not so little Blue Eyes. I remembered afterward how patiently she stood still, ,wMtinj^ and jyaltiujribr a gap betw e en ouf words, that ^Mi U :4i>^- -■■t," "^TT »-^H-yy!y^'^%t -j,» ""^j^ie's^WTS^^ 7^,2"'^^ mmmm ^ TiT^ INHUMANITIES OF PARENTS. 2$ she need not break the law against interrupting, with her eager — ^ <»' " Please, mamma, let me have my wax dolly to play with this morning I I'll sit right here on the floor, by you and auntie, and not hurt her one bit. Oh, please do, mamma ! " . You mean always to be a very kind mother,' and you spoke as gently and lovingly as it is possible to speak when you replied : —^ " Oh, Pussy, mamma is too busy to get it-; she can't get up now. ^ You can play with your blocks, and with your other dollies, just as well ; that's a good litUe girl." Probably, if Blue Eyes had gohe on imploring, you would have laid your worsteds down, and given her the - dolly ; for you love her dearly, and never mean to make her unhappy. But neither you nor I were prepared for what followed. "YouVe a naughty, ugly, hateful mamma! You never let me do any thing, and I wish you were dead ! " with such a burst of screaming and tears that we were both frightened. You looked, as well yofc; and when you came back, you cried, and ' said you had whipped her severely, and you did not know what you should do with a child of such a fright- ful temper. i . . " Such an outburst as that, just because I told her in the gentlest way possible, that she could not have a plaything rTtflsTerrible ! " — — ^ \ ^ Iiife^^ :i a6 BITS OF TALK. Then I said some words to you, which you thought were unjust. I asked you in what condition your own nerves would have been by ten o'clock that morning if your husband (who had, in one view, a much better right tf thwart your harmless desires than you had to thwart your child's, since you, in the full understand- ing of maturity, gave yourself into his hands) had, in- stead of admiring your pretty white dress, told you to be more prudent, and not put it on ; had told you it would be nonsense to have breakfast out on|jb» piazza ; and that he could not wait for you to w^^to the sta- tion witl^ him. You said that the cas€$^ were not at '- all parallel ; and I repliecf hotly that that was very true, for those matters would have been to you only the comparative trifles of One short day, and would have made you only a little cross and uncomfortable ; whereas to little Blue Eyes they were the all-abSorb- ing desires of the hour, which, to a child in trouble, always looks as if it could never come to an end, and would never be followed by any thing better. Blue Eyes cried herself to sleep, and slept heavily till late in the afternoon. When her father came home, you said that she must not have the red balloon, be- cause she had been such a naughty girl. I have won- dered many times since why she did not cry again, or look grieved when you said that, and laid the balloon away. After eleven o'clock at night, I went to look at her, and found her sobbing in her sleep, and tossing about. I groaned as I thought, "this is only one day, and there are three hu n d red and siYt y-fiye in a ,>k<»r^'- \^ zS BITS OF TALK. THE INHUMANITIES OF PARENTS. ' RUDENESS. •* Ifthumanity — Cruelty. Cruelty • sary pain."— H^ebster's Diet. ■The disposition to gire uxmeces* T HAD intended to put third on the list of inhumani- ■'■ ties of parents "needless requisitions ;". but ttiy last summer's observations changed my estimate, and convinced me that children suffer more pain from the rudeness with which they are treated than from being forced to do needless things which they dislike. In- deed, a positively and graciously courteous manner toward children is a thing so rarely seen in average daily life, the rudenesses which they receive are so innu- merable, that it is hard to tell where to begin in set- ting forth the evil. Children themselves often bring their sharp and unexpected logic to bear on some in- cident illustrating the difference in this matter of behavior between what is required from them and what is shown to them : as did a little boy I knew, whose father said crossly to hyc% one morning, as he came into the breakfast-room/" Will you ever learn to shut that door after you ? '*^nd a few seconds later, as the child was rather s ulkily sitting down in his chair, ■..«^M.aK«»M».r.in.iw>4*..«inH,i«aajau^aMm^^«al THE INBUMANITIES OF PARENTS. 29 "And do you mean to bid anybody 'good-morning, or not ? " " I don't think you gave me a very nice * good- morning,' anyhow," replied satirical justice, aged seven. Then, of course, he was reproved for speakiiig disrespectfully ; and so in the space of three minutes the beautiful opening of the new day, for both parents and children, was jarred and robbed of its fresh harmony by the father's thoughtless rudeness. Was the breakfast-room Boor much more likely to be shut the next morning? No. The lesson was pushed aside by the pain, the motive to resolve was dulled by the antagonism. If that father had called his son, and, putting his arm round him, (oh ! the blessed and magic virtue of putting your arm round a child's neck!) had said, "Good-morning, my little man ; " and then, in a confidential whisper in his ear, " What shall we do to make this forgetful little boy remember not to leave that door open, through which the cold wind blows in on all of us ? " — can any words measure the difference between the first treatment and the second ? between the success of the one and the failure of the other ? Scores of times in a day, a child is told, in a short, authoritative way, to do or not to do certain little things which we ask at the hands of older people, as favors, gra- ciously, and with deference to their, choice. "Would you be so very kind as to close that window ? " " May I trouble you for that cricket ? " "If you would be as comfortable in this chair as in that, .1 would like to change places with yoiu'^ ^ Qh, excas^ ah^ fait yoftr 30 BITS OF TALK. head is between me and the light : could you see as well if you moved a little ? " " Would it hinder you too long to stop at the store for me ? I would be very much obliged to you, if you would." "Pray, do not let me crowd you," &c. In most people's speech to» children, we find, as synonyms for these polite phrases : "Shut that window down, this minute." "Bring me Vthat cricket." " I want that chair; get up. You can sit in this." " Don't you see that you are right in my light ? Move along." " I want you to leave off play- ing, and go right down to the store for me." " Don't crowd go. Can't you see that there is not room enough for two people here .? " and so on. As I write, I feel an instinctive consciousness that these sentences will come like home-thrusts to some surprised people. I hope so. That is what I want. I am sure that In more than half the cases where family life is maired in peace, and almost stripped of beauty, by just these; little rudenesses, the. parents are utterly unconscious of them. The truth is,, it has become like an estab- lished custom, this different and less courteous way of speaking to children on small occasions and minor matters. People who are generally civil and of fair kindliness do it habitually, not only to their own chil- dren, but to all children. ^ We see it in the cars, in the stages, in stores, in Sunday schools, everywhere. On the other han^ let a child ask for any thing with- out saying "please," receive any thing without saying "thank you," sit still in the most comfortable seat J^hout c^erL n ^tQ give^^ its^wj^ pref e r- "^"^'^■■^■'■■='^=^^™''**'^*'^™**'^™''*'^*"*™*^^^"''^^ i!':' '■ THE INHUMANITIES OF PARENTS. 31 ence for a particular book, chair, or apple, to the in- conveniencing of an elder, and what an outcry we have: "Such rudeness!" "Such. an ill-mannered child ! " " His parents, must have neglected him strangely," Not at all : they have been steadily tell- ing him a great many times every day not to do these precise things which you dislike. But they themselves have been all the while doing those very things to him; and there is no proverb which strikes a truer balance between two things than the old one which weighs example over against precept. However, that it is bad policy to be, rude to children is the least of the things to be said against it. Over this they will triumph, sooner or later: The average healthy child has a native bias towards gracious good behavior and kindly affections. He will win and be won in the long run, and, the chances are, have better manners than his father. But the pain that we give these blessed little ones when we wound their tender- ness, — for that there is no atoning. Over that they can never triumph, either now or hereafter. Why do we dare to be so sure that tliey are not grieved by un- gracious words and tones ? that they can get used to being continually treated as if they were " in thfe way " ? Who has not heard this said ? I have, until I have longed for an Elijah and for fire, that the grown-up cumberers of the ground, who are the ones really in the way, might be burned up, to make room for the children. I believe that, if it were possible to count ^gEjg_any_oiie month, and .show^in. the -aggregate, alf - 'mi aim ^^ ^^Sj^gg^gg^gg^ ^^ ■V; perfectly -easy and natural tone, " Oh, Charley, come here a minute ; I want to tell you something." No one at the table supposed that it had any thing to do with his bad behavior. She did not intend that they should. As "she whispibred to him, I alone saw his cheek flush, and that he looked quickly and imploringly into her face ; I alone saw that tears were almost in' her eyes. But she shook her head, and he went back to his seat with a manful but vei-y red little face. In a few moments he laid down his knife and fork, and said, " Mamma, will you please to excuse me ? " " Certainly, my dear," said she. Nobody but I understood it, or observed that the little fellow had to run ver^ast to get out of the room with- out crying. Aftery^d she told me that she never sent U ^- THE INHUMANITIES OF PARENTS. \< a child away from the table in any othef way. *« But what wotild you da" said I, " if he were to refuse to ask to b6 excused >" Then the tears stood full in her eyes. " Do yoii think he could," she replied, "when he sees that I am only trying to save hi^ufrom pain ? '* In the evening, Charley sat in my lap, a^d was very sober. At last he whispered to me, " I'll tell you an awful secret, if you won't tell. Did you think I had done my dinner this afternoon when I gat excused ? Well, I hadn't. Mamma mzJde me, because I acted so. That's the way she always' does. But I haven't had to have it done to me before for ever so long, not since I was a little fellow '^ (he. was eight now); " and r don't believe I ever shall again till I'm a man." ^ Then he added, reflectively, " Mary brpught me alUhe rest of my dinner upstairs ; but I wouldn't touch it, only a little bit of the ice-cream. I. don't think I de-. served any at all ; do you ? " I shall never, so long as I live^ forget a lesson of this sort which my own mother oncegaye me. I was not more than seven years old ; but I had a great; sus- * ceptibifity to color and shape in clothes, and. an insatia- ble admiration for all people who caine finely dressed.^ One day, my mother said to me, " Now I will play ' * house ' with you." Who does not remembej: wlieb^ to *' play house " was their chief of plays ? And to whose later thought has it not occurred that in this/ mimic little show lay bound up the whole of life i* My ', mother was the liveliest of playmates, she took the jvgQESt doll, the broken, tea - set, the shabby^ iuratturer-- I . fiiV i'J^■^*J^*ft* iJ. >' ? nl. 36 ib/r^- Oi^ TALK, and .the least convenient, corner of the room for her establishment. Social life became a round of festivi- ties when she kept house as my opposite ,neighbo>. At last, after the washing-day, and the baking-day, and the day when she took d^^tiner with me, and the day when we took ©ur children and walked out to- g;ether, came the day for me to take my oldest child ^and go across W make a call at her house. Chill dis- comfort struck me on the very threshold of my visit. Where Was the genial, laughing, talking lady who had been .my friend up to that moment ? There she sat, stock-ptill, dumb, staring first at my bonnet, then at my shawl, then at my gown, then at my feet ; up and down, down and up, she scanned me, barely replying in monosyllables to my attempts at conversation"; finally getting up, and coming nearer, and examining my cloth&s, and my child's still more closely. A very few minutes of this were more than I could bear ; and, almost crying, I said, " Why, mamma, what makes you do so ? " Then the play was over ; and she was once more the wise and tender mother, telling me play- fully that it was precisely in such a way I had stared, the day before, at the clothes of two ladies who had come in to visit her. I never needed that- lesson again. To this day, if I find ihyself departing from it for an instant, the old tingling shame burns in my cheeks.' To this day, also, the old tingling pain burns my cheeks as I recall certain rude and contemptuous words which were said to me when I was very '■m-- ■ '.: :•■ TME INHUMANITIES OF PABENTS^St young, and stamped on my memory forever. I was ^ once called a " stupid child " in the presence of strangers. J had brought the wrong book from my father's study. Nothing could be said to me to- day which would give me a tenth part of the hope- less sense of degradation which came from those words. Another time, on the arrival of an unexpected" guest to dinner, I was sent, in a great hurry, away from the table, to make room, with the remark that " it was not of the least consequence about the child ; she could just as well have her dinner afterward." " The child " would have been only too happy to help on the hospitality of the sudden emergency, if "the thing had been differently put ; but the sting of having it put in that way I never forgot. Yet in both these instances the rudeness was so small, 'in, compari with what we habitually see, that it would be too to mention, except for the bearing of the fact tl(; pain it gave has laste"d till now. When we consider seriously what ought to be .., nature of a reproof from a parent to a child, and what is its end, the answer is simplerenough. It should be nothing but the superior wisdom and strength, ex- plaining to inexperience and feebleness wherein 'they have made a mistake, to the end that they may kvoid such mistakes in future. If personal annoyance, im- patience, antagonism enter in, the relation is marred and the end endangered. Most sacred and inalienable of all rights is the right of helplessness to protection from the stron g , of ignor anceJOLroi jri seiihjm the wise^ AL' S 38 BITS OF TALK, If we give our protection and counsel grudgingly, or in a churlish, unkind manner, even to the stranger that is in our gates, we are ng Christians, and deserve to be stripped of what little wisdom and strength we have hoai-ded. But there are no words to say what we are or what we deserve if we do thus to the little children whom we have dared, for our own pleasure, to bring into the perils of this life, and whose whole future may be blighted by the mistakes of our careless . hands. ■.'/':'.'' •'■;-,/.'. .v/.,->.:i •..■•'"■■;¥' / >■ ''^. '%. ■'} : .-■ 'ssfe- ,■''.^'',1 - •'k ' '1^ fj!<<*. ■^=v^ BREAKING THE WILL. m 29 BREAKING THE WILL.- /I ' -T^HIS phrase is going out of use. It is high time --ff? it did. li the thing it represents would also cease, there would be stronger and freer men and women. But the phrase is still sometimes heard j and there are still cpnscientious fathers and mothers who believe they do God service in setting about the thing. I have more than once said to a parent who uded these words, « Will you tell me just what you mean by that ? Of course you do not mean exactly what you say."' ■■■ ■■-> ■' . '• ;,• -,' ."-'-^ ,,v -■^■\'i,^. «*Yes, I do. I mean that the child's will is to be once for all broken ! — that he is to learn that my wiU is to be his law. The sooner he learns this the better." "But' is it to your will simply as will that he is to yield ? Simply as the weaker yields to the stronger, /—almost as matter yields to force ? For what reason is he to do this? »» ' « Why, because I know what is best for hfan, and what is right; and. he does not." « Ah ! that is a very different thing. He Is, then, to do the thing that you tell him to do, because tha^ thing is right and is needful for him ; you are his guide on a lOAd'ovci which you Mve gone, and he has not; yon 40 ^ BITS OF TALK, are an interpreter, a helper ; yoil know better than he does about all things, and your knowledge is to teach his ignorance." " Certainly, that is what I mean. A pretty state of t^jings it would be if children were to be allowed to think they know as much as their parents. There, is no way except to break their wills in the beginning.'* " But you have just said that it \i not to your will as will that he is to yield, but to your superior knowledge and experience. That surely is not * breaking his will.' It is of all things furthest removed from it. It is edu- cating his will. It is teaching him how to will." This sounds dangerous ; but the logic is not easily turned aside, and there is little left for the advocate of .will-breaking but to fall back on some texts in the Bible, which have been so often misquoted, in this con- nection that one can hardly hear them ^th patience. To " Children, obey your parents," was added " in the Lord," and "because it is right," not "because they are your parents." " Spare the rod " has been quite gratuitously assumed to mean " spare blows." " Rod " means here^ as elsewhere, simply punishment. We are not told to "train up a child" to have no will but our %wn, but " in the way in which he should go," and to the end that "when he is old" he should not "de- part from it," — /. /., that his will should be so educated that he will choose to walk in the right wa/still. Sup- pose a child's will to^ be actually " broken • " suppose him to be so trained tliat he has no will but to obey his parents. What is to become of this helpless machine, t^ ■■*^^^'^'^^^ vrv - *i ■t<5(W ••- .'^^5^jE?■JI'^i|p-W•^^•nTf^.s^,9SH -/ ^ BREAKING TBE WILL. f wh,cl, has no^ central spring of independent action? Can we stand by, each minute of each hour of each day - and say to the automata, Go here, or Go there ? Can . we be sure of living as long as they live ? Can we wind them up hke seventy-year docks, and leave them f But this is idle. It is not, thank God, in the power 01 any man or any woman to " break " a child's « will " They may kill the child's body, in trying, like that still unhung clergyman in Western New York, who whipped his three-year-old son to death for refusing to repeat a prayer to his step-mother. ^ . J°*'n'."t ''™' "''"^^ = "•"■* "« """f' child-martyrs ' thanw.llj,e known until the bodies terrestrial are done But by one escape or another, the wiU, the soul, goes •free. Sooner or later, every human being comes to know and prove in his own esUte that freedom of will IS the only freedom for which there are no chains pos- s.b e, and that in Nature's whole reign of law nothTng IS so largely provided for as liberty. Sooner or later! all this must come. But, if it comes later, it comes through clouds of antagonism, and after days of fight, and IS hard-bought "^ which ,t .s,- "without observation," grtcous as sU^ shne sweet as dew ; it should begin with the infant's first dawnmg of comprehension that there ari two comes of action, two qualities of conduct: one wise,- the other foohsh ; one right the other wrong. am sure, for r have se en, that a chi ld's luural p«^ ^S t As '{*.. I. '3 .^.i.-; ... J.->i(g't, -•„» w.«,~.^-«j^- ift - .p.il-y «<»^i5j|i-ji!g^ . .,»!.. .., 43 B/ra OF TALK. captions can be so made clear, and his wiU so made strong and uijfight, that before he is ten years old he wm see and take his way through aU common days . rightly and bravely. r ^ '. Will he always act up to his highe^ moral percep- tions?. .No. Do we? But one right decision that he makes voluntarily, unbiassed by the assertion of au^ thority or the threat of punishment, is worth more to him in development of moral character than a thousand in which he simply does what he is cotapelled to do by- some sort of outside pressure. 1 read once, in a book intended for the guidance of ' mothers, a story of a little child.who, in repeating hi» letters one day, suddenly 'refused to say A. All the other letters he repeated again and again, unhesita- tingly ; but A he would not, and persisted in declaring that he could not say. He was severely whipped, but still persisted. It now became a contest of wills. He was whipped again and again and again. In the inter- vals between the whippings the primer was presented to him and he was told that he would be whipped , again if he did not mind his mother and say A. I for- get how many times he was whipped ; tut it was almost too many times to be believed. The fight was a tern- ble one. At last, in a paroxysm of his crying under * the blows, the mother thought she heard him sob out A, and the victory was considered to be won. A little boy whom I know once had a similarK:ontest oyer a letter of the alphabet ; but the contest was with himself, and his mother was the faithfid Great Heart -» ■■!»"■ BREAKING THE WILL, 43 who helped him through. The ^fnr,, • y I have long w.„.fd ai, ^:i^,:^::Tti as perfect an iUustiation of what I ml u < :, " ing" thewiU as the oAer o.! • '"f °,''y " educat- "breaking" it. "* '" ""^ '^'"^t ''= called Willy was about four years old H. ., j , active brain sennit!™ , "* ''^'^ * 'arge, spirit. Hr;asa'd^!J""^'"™'"*' "^^ '"dom'tabl? methods of IhaUstr "T""""" ^''"^- ^^-^^on p"ne " wouii'i^'h': rad^v^s^r ra "' 'r- -. almostaUto LSin~;!ro:ed''v"'"''°^^^^ not dreamingof any'Sc ulesXr?"^^'' ■ must say G" "It!., _^"nrest, This time you evergoi to trv tlL. "^^ "'^ '^"*^' ^""^ ' '^'t the aUabeTveTv ° 2l .^""^ ""''' Willy, repeating out the G me 7 '^ T '''^'""'■"g t° «"d, with! once on a-str^g;,:";rtTal"f ''''''' "°' <^'' =" did not g,t it in'S'i . tS'S:^' " ^\' •''°" and we will have it.r It was^nl^ '^ f ''°*'y' began to look more like r.!?„K I " ' ''"^ '* ^""n than any thing sh" S^ r 3^ in' l^^'il' '''' often told me how she heshatL ) r "' ^''' ''^^ " campaign. « I aT4vs k'lw ?- ^ '^ '°''""S on the «rst refl fight wSL :Km bfn' "'"'' ^'"^'^ few hours ; and it was ^ ^,J,, °° '"^"" of a for me Jus; thel to g^: S1'S:^:"T'"'■'"' '■"- on the Whole, best nottop'tS,;:?," ^"'''"'™«d. Sosh-es,.d...No . ,wii „ ,.,o,-,,,, ^ ..♦ . fc..;^' . ,, ,, ..f^^^. yt^^vy 44 BITS OF TALK out the letter G. The longer you put off saying it, the harder .twill be for you to say it at last; and we «^U have ,t settled now, once for all. You are never goTng Wilt ' T^u °'f '•="" "'' "'^^ -^^ stronger'th^ stand'°T'*"^' ^u"^'' "'" '"''• already taken its' stand. However, the-mo«,er made no authoritative ^ema„d th,t he should pronounce the letter as a ma" trinl , " *° ^''- ^'"''''^ " ""^ ^ 'King in- tnnsicaily necessary .for him to do, she would see at »nycost to herself or to him,.that he did it; bu'he must^o u voluntarily, and she would wait till he did The mornmg wore on. She busied herself with other ma tters, and left Willy to himself ; now and thej askmg, w.th a sAile, "Well, fsn't my Uttle boy strong^ than that ugly old letter yet ? " /stronger ■ Willy was sullcy. He understood in that early stage all that was involved. Dinner-time came. ■ " ^'■^"'' yo" going to dinner, mamma ? " "Oh I no, dear; not unles4 you say G, so that you can go too Mamma will s^iy by her liltle boy untU ' he IS out of this trouble." The Sinner was brought up, and they ate it together She was cheerful and kihd, but so serious that be feff, the constant pressure of her pain. The afternoon dragged slowly on to night. .WiUv cned now and then, and she took him in her lap and .TaH « '"' r "'" ""' "''PPy - ^-'' - y- -y Im. f ' 1°'^/"^"""=' "'" be happy too, and we can't either of us he happy unUl you do." . ^T^"" --%^ ■mi'iWiim iiif). "•=>"' '■f's^'',";.;*^fX9y- ig it, the 1 we will er going jer than pu have iken its optative a mat- ing in- BREAKING THE WILL. y stage at you y until :ethei-. ie feft' . Willy ), and u say„ can't 45 Oh mamma, why don't you make me say it?" over) «^^^-^v--l times before the Lfair was "Because, dear, you must make* yourself sav it t you know J can't say it You'r^ t «? if.^^ ' ^'''^ and.you don't love m: i J \ ^"^^^>^ mamma, but L'e Sen«; wTn aS^ anT "^' ^''^" '^^^ ^^.T , "'^ **^"t agam and ajram over vpcf«*. day's ground. Willv cried H« o. ?. ^^^^er- Ac* TT "'"lycnea. We ate very little hr^air heart T ^' ^^'""^ ^^^ ^^^^ cut her to the whatever he askeH f«. />"*"y.iave. She gave him we are eating it ,- • ' 1 » ■ .*■' 46 BITS OF TALK, alone. And poor papa is sad, too^ taking his all alon4 ? downstairs." * . ;^t At this Willy burst out into an hysterical fit of c^- V ing and sobbing. A -^^ " I shall never see my papa again in this world.'* >> Then .his mother broke down; too, and cried as hard as he did ; but she said, « Oh ! yes, you will, dean ^ I think you will say that letter before tea-time, and-, we will have a nice evening downstairs together." . ; "I can't say it. I try all the time, and I can^t say ' It; and, if you keep me here till I die, I ahan't ever say \t,V The second night settled down dark and gloomy, and Willy cried himself to sleep. His mother was ill from anxiety and confinement ; but she never faltered. She told me she resolved that night that, if it were neces- sary, she would stay in that room with Willy a month. The next morning she said to him, more seriously than ^before, " Now, Willy, you are not only a foolish little boy, you are (Unkind ; you are making everybody un- happy. Mamma is very sorry for you, but slhe is. also very much displeased with you. Mamma will stay here with you till you say that letteij, if it is for the rest of your life ; but mamma will not talk with you, as she did yesterday. She tried all day yesterday to help you, and you would not help yourself; to-day you must do it afi alone." " Mam)ma, are you sure I shall ever say it ? " asked WiUy. " Yes, jkar^^ perfectly sure. Yo«-^wtl^ day or other," tt u ^ BREAKING THE WILL. Do you think'! shall say it to-day ? 47 as I can't tell. You are not so strong a little boy I thought r believed you would say it. yesterday. I am afraid you have some hard work before you." WlUy bfi^ged her to go down and leave him alone. Then he begged her to shut him up in the closet, and . "see if that wouldn't make him good." Every few iflinutes he wopld come and stand before her, and say very earnestly, ** Are you sure I shall say -it ? " He looked very pale, almost as if he had had a fit of 411nesis. No Wonder. It was the whole battle of Ufe fought at the age of four. It was late in the' afternoon of this the third day. Willy had b^en sitting in his little chair, looking steadily at the floor, for so long a time that his mother was almost frightened. But she hesitated to speak to him, for she felt that the crisis had come. Suddenly he Sprang up, and walked toward her with all the de- liberate firmness of a man in his whole bearing. She says there was something in his face which she has never seen since, and does not expect to see till he is thirty years Old. "Mamma I "said he. "Well, dear?" said his mother, trembling so that she could hardly speak. " Mamma," he repeated, in a loud, sharp ton^, " G J G ! G ! G ! " And then he burst into a fit of crying, which she had hard work to stop. It was over. WiUy is now ten years old. From that day to this *t**n*evi» amt^ t.\mtcst iVTtii him ; sne^ ^ \ 48 B/r.S' OF T^ZiJT. always been able to leave all practical questions affect- ing his behavior to his own decision, merely saying, " WiHy, I think this or that will be better." His self-control and gentleness are wonderftil to see ; and the blending in his face of childlike simplicity and purity with manly strength is something which I have • only once seen equalled. ' " ^^ For a few days he went about the house, shouting "G ! G ! G ! "at the top of his voice. He was heard asking playmates. if they could "say G," and "who showed them how." For several years he. used often to^ allude to the affair, saying, '* Do you remember, mamma, that dreadful time when I wouldn't say G ?% He. always used the verb "wouldn't" in speaking ^ it Once, when he was sick, he said, ". Mapima, do ' you think I could have said G any sooner than I did?" .^-^^ . . " I have never felt "certain about that, Willy," she said. " What do you think ? " "I think I could have said it a few minutes sooner. I was saying it to myself as long as that ! " said Willy It was singular that, although u^ to that time he had never been able to pronounce the letter with any dis- tinctness, when he first made up his mind in this in- stance to say it, he enunciated it with perfect clearness, and never again went back to the old, imperfect pro- nunciation. Few mothers, perhaps, would be able to give up two whole days to such a battle as this ; other children, O t h er dutie s , w ould iat e ifeie. B ut the s ame principle"" BREAKING THE WILL. 49 could be carried out without the mother's remainini, herse f by the child's side all the time. Moreover, Jt one child m a thousand would hold out as WiUy did In all ordmary cases a few hours would suffice. And after all, what would the sacrifice of even two days be' m comparison with the time saved in years to come ? If there werefco stronger motive than oie if poHcv of desire to .^ke(«je course easiest to themselves, mo^e«. migh well resolve that their first aim should be to edu- cate their children's wills and make them strong,^«. stead of to conquer and " break " them. I ) \ •€ ' ?i >. S^^* ■V, " ' ' ^' ''■"■^is^p'''"'" so BITS OF TALK. 1- THE REIGN OF APCHELAUS. TTEROD'S massacre had, after all, a certain mercy in it: there were no lingering tortures. The .slayprs of children went about with naked and bloody swords, which mothers could see, and might at least make effort to flee from. Into Rachel's refusal to be com- forted there need enter no bitter agonies of remorse. But Herod's death, it seems, did not make Judea a safe place for babies. When Joseph " heard that Arche- laus did reign in the room of hisfather, Herod, he (vas afraid to return thither with the infant Je^us," and only after repeated command^>and warnings from God would he venture as far as Nazareth. The reign of Arche- laus is not yet over ; ^je has had many names, and ruled over more an| more countries, but the spirit of his father, Herod, is still in him. To-day his power is at its zenith. He is called Education ; and the safest place for the ^eir, holy children is still Egypt, 9^ some other of the fortunate countries called unen- lightened. Some years ago there were symptoms of a strong rghpllmn ^g^mf^\ hJS t yranny. Horac e M ann lift p rf ui il^-t— ' -7^^' '.^«' THE REIGN OF ARCHELAUS. 51 his strong hands and voice against it; physicians and physiologists came out gravely and earnestly, and for- tified their positions with statistics from which there was no appeal. Thomas Wentworth Higginson, whose words have with the light, graceful beauty of the Da- mascus blade its swift sureness in cleaving to the heart ..of things, wrote an article for the " Atiantic Monthly" called " The Murder of the Innocents," which I wish could be put into every house in, the United States. Some changes in school organizations resulted from these protests ; in the matter of ventilation of school- rooms some reaI\improvement was probably effected • though we shudder to thii^k how Wch room remains' for further improvement, when we read in the report of the superintendent of public schools in Brooklyn that m the primary departments of the grammar schools an average daily number of 33,275 pupils are crowded mto one-half the space provided in the upper de- partments for an average daily attendance of 26,359 • or compelled to occupy badly lighted, inconvenient' and lU-yentilated gaUerie^ or rooms in the basement stories." * ~ - But in regard to the number of hours of confinement and amount of study required of children, it is hard to believe that schools have ever been much more mur- derously exacting than now. O \ _ The substitution oi^^t single session of five hoursV for the old arrangement of two sessions of three hours ' S a' Jll* iJ'^^^^^^y^ ^'^terval at noon, was regarded thc^bram-work ~ » .,^1 as a gr < ' ■•■.*•: ■•■V ■*"fi^l'S^ ^-^f »!, '* ■•%^^«>-<*}«f^^55J! m mmmmm m v» 5a BITS OF TALK. of the day were done in that time.; but in most schools with the five-hours session, there is next to no pro- vision for studying in school-hours, and the pu>ils are required to learn two, three, or four lessons at home. . Now, when is your boy to learn these lessons ? Not in the morning, before school; that is plain. School ends at two. Few children live sufficiently near their schools to get home to dinner before half past two o'clock. We say nothing of the undesirableness of taking the hearty meal of the day immediately after five hours of mental fatigue ; it is probably a less evil than the late dinner at six, and we are in a region where we are grateful for less evils ' Dinner is over at quarter past three ; we mal^e close estimates. In winter there is left less thai^iwo'hdurs before dark. This is all the time the chil^ i^ to have for out-door play ; two hours and a half (coZ servattve power of the aMmal economy to such a de^ gree that attacks of disease which otherwise would have passed qf safely destroy Sfe almost before danger 9S anticipetted.'^y . . '*^' •I •p. I -N. • THE REIQN OF ARCBElAUS, y; It would be easy to multiply authorities on these S°,'"'';.. .^* '* *^ '*° '^'"P- S"' °'"- "mite forbid any thing like a full treatment of the subject Yet discus' sion on.this question ought never to cease in the land until a reform is brought about.. Teachers are to blame only in part for the present wrong state of thmgs They are to blame for yielding, for acqulesc: mg; but tfie real blame rests on parents. • Here and there individual fathers and mothei^s, taught, per- haps, by heart-rending experience,, try tb Make stand against the current of false ambitions and unhealthy standards. But these are nire" eleptions. Parents as a class, ^ot only Helpjpn, but create the pressure to'. «h,ch teachers yield, and children are sacrificed: The I u?T"f"'""y '" "'^^"y '^^"'- They have in their I^nds ^lie^ power to regulate the whole school- This IS pl^in, when we on^ consider what would be theim^ediate effect in any community, large or small, • IteT 7 °^/*'"'^ "^^ ''"'°" together, and per- be confined in schogl more thi, four hours out of the ' Ir^'TT "°'" *•'="' °"^ ''°"' ^' =» "■■"«. or to do more t a, five hours- brain-work in a day. Tlie law of 1" fhe thl,T u " ^''' •"■'"*■>'«• '° three months the schools In that community would be entirely r^ yea^tlje improved average/health of the children in ^at community would be^ its own witness in ruddy hl onm .lon g the .Uccul uiXperh aps even in onl ' f . -:$« -3 L ■.> . ♦ . \. • / '58. BITS OF talk:' ii. *V.' t. generation sa |;reat gain ST vigor might be made .that the melancholy statistics of burial would no ' longer have to record the death under twelve years of age of more than two-fifths of the children who are born^ . ^i 9 • ' I —^ -;-T- l.«- - I •■■ \ %: B WBg g ^ gE'^tg'^ '»-ii^-^^ THE AWKWARD AGE. S9 m ' I THE AWKWARD AGE. 'pHE expression defines itself. At the first sound of the words, we all think of some one unhappy soul, we know just now, whom they suggest. Nobody . is ever wkhout at least one brother, sister, cousin, or friend on hand, who is kruggling through this social slough of despond ; and nobody ever will be, so long as the worH goes on taking it for granted that the slough is a necessity, and that the road must go through it Nature never meant any such thing. Now and then she blunders or gets thwarted of her intent, and turns out a person who is awkward, hopelessly and forever-awkward ; body and soul are clumsy together, and it is hard to fancy them translated to the spiritual world without too much elbow and ankle. However these 'aVe rare cases, and come in under the law of vanatiom But a^ awkward age, ~a necessary crisis or stage of uncoathness; through whiqh all human be- ings must pass, — Nature was incapable of such a con- ception ; law has no place for it ; development does not know It ; instinct revolts fi|om it ; and man is the only f."^!!!^^!!!'^,!^ ^^^"..^^"y ^"^ wrpng-headed enough and the remedy f 4 6o BITS OF TALK. \ ■ •0. aire so simple, so close at hand, that we have not seen them. Th^vhole thjng lies in a nutshell. Where does this abnorml, upcotnfi^rtable period come in? Between childhood^we say, and maturity ; it is the transition from one to the other. When huni^n beings, then, are neither boys nor" men, girls nor women, they must be for a feWye|rs anomalous creatures, must they ? We might, perhaps, find a name for the individual in this condition as well as for the condition. We must looTc to Du^haillu for it, if yire do ; but it is too serious a distress to make light of, even fo/a moment. We have all felt it, p,nd we know how it feels ; we all see it every day, and we know how it looks. \yhat is it which the child has and the adult loses, il^orh the loss of which comes this total change of be- havior ? Or is' it something which the adult has and the child had not ? It is both ; and until the 'loss and the gain; the new and the old, are permanently sep- arated and balanced, the awkward age lasls. The child was overlooked, contradicted, tjiwarted, snubbed, in- suited, whipped ; not constantly, not often,— in many cases, thank God, very seldom. But the liability was. there, and he knew it ; he never forgot it, if you did. One burn is enough to make fire dreade^. The adult, once fairly recognized as adult, is not overlooked, contradicted, thwarted, snubbed, insulted, whipped ; at ' least, not with impunity. To this gratifying freedom, these comfortable exemptions, when they are once es- tablished in our belief, we adjust ourselves, and grow c6ntentedl)r guod-mannerecn To ffi(^\ other r^/Vwi?, I ^ , "»'i THE AWKWARD AGE, 6i while we were yet children, we also somewhat adjusted ourselves, were tolerably well behaved, and made th^ best of it. But who could bear a mixture of both ? What genius tould rise superior to it, could be itself surrounded by such uncertainties ? No. wonder that your son comes into the room with a confused expression of uncomfortable pain on ev^ry feature, when he does not in the least know whether he will be rec?ognized as a gentleman, or overlooked as a ' little boy. No wonder he sits down in his chair with movements suggestive of nothing but rheumatism and jack-knives, when he is thinking that perhaps there may . be some reason why he should not take that particular chair, and that, if there is, he will be ordered up. ' No wonder that your tall daughter turns red, stam- mers, and saysfooHsH Things Ottt^Bding courteously spoken to bylfrangfrs at dinner, when she. is afraicf that she may be sharply contradicted or interrupted, and remembers that day before yesterday she was told ' that children should be seen and not heard. I knew a very clever girl, who had the misfortune to look at fourteen as if she were twenty. At home, she was, the shyest and most awkward. of creatures ; away from her mother and sisters, she was sblf-possessed and charfhing. - She said to me, once, " Oh ! I have such a •splendid time away from home. Vm so tall, everybody thinks I am grown up, and everybody is civil to me." I know, also, a man of superb physique, charming temperament, and uncpmmon talent, who is to this day — ' -1 1-1 ■ I IcK ! -. i J « : ■ ^ -^^ Uc is Iwenty-inrryeail oir-^ne^^ . g*i, H ..N 62 BITS OF TALK, ' ease in talking ^ith strangers, in the presence of his own family. He hesitates, stammers, and never doeiJ justice to his thoughts. He says that he believes he shall never be free from this distress ; he cannot escape from the recollections of the years between fourteen and twenty, during which he was so systematically snubbed that his mother»s parlor was, to him worse than the chambers of the Inquisition. He knows that he IS now sure of courteous treatment ; that his friends are aU proud of him ; but the old cloud will" never en- tirely disappear. Something has been lost which can never l^e regained. And the loss is not his alone, it is theirs too ; they are all poorer for life, by reason of the unkind days which are gone. This, tiieto, is the explanation of the awkward^e. I am not afraid of any dissent from my definition of the source whence its misery springs. Everybody's consciousness bears witness. Everybody knows, ip the bottom of his heart, that, however much maybe said about the change of voice, the thinness of cheeks the sharpness of arms, the sudden length in legs and lack of length in trousers and frocks, — all these had nothing to do with tiie re^ misery. The real misery was simply and solely the horrible feeling of not be- longing anywhere ; not knowing what a moment might bring forth in the way of treatment from others ; never being sure which impulse it would be safer to foHow, to retreat or to advance, to speak or to be silent, and often overwhelmed with unspeakable mortification at the re- buff of the on e or tiie cen sure of th e othf r Oh ! how 'M. TBE AWlS^WARD AGJE, % dreadful it all was! How dreadful it all is, even to remember ! It would be malicious even to refer to it, except to point out the cure. The cure is plain. It needs no experiment to test fll Merely to mention it ought to be enough. If hu- man beings are so awkward at this unhappy age, and so unhappy at this awkward age, simply because they do not know whether they are to be treated as children or as adults, suppose we make a rule that children are always to be treated, in point of courtesy, as if they Were adults? Then this awkward age — this period of transition from an atmosphereof, to say the least, negative rudeness to one of gracious politeness — dis- appears. Th|re cannot be a crisis of readjustment of social rplations : there is no possibility of such a feel- ing; it would be hard to explain to a young person what it meant. Now arid then we see a young man or young woman who has never known it They are usually only children, and are commonly spoken of za wonders. I know such a boy to-day. At seventeen M .measures six feet in height; he hasyrtie feet and the hands of a still larger man ; and he comes Of a blood ~whic^ had far more strengtJi than grace. But his man- ner is, and always has been, sweet, gentle, composed, -#the very ideal of grave, tender, frank youi^ man- . hood. People say, « How strange ! He never^emed to have any awkward age at all." It would ^ve been stranger if he had. Neither his father nor his mothef ever departed for an instant, in their relations with him, lioui ihe laws of counesy inU kindlinessoTclemeanor which governed their relations with others. BITS OF TALK. \ f "\'"rJ'!' °°* atmosphere, and that a genial oteik from h,s babyhood up; and in and of this afmospht^ luiet, self-possissed manner is but the fitting garb. ' In this kmgdomW are all to be kings and prieste tf we choose ; and ^its ways are pleasantness' BuTwe wh? °wl t^rTr' '''"* '^=''°''^ '° understand; doles trj^^Kl ^''^' "^"^ J«^"^ ^'J'^d W»' dis- ciples together, he sit a little child in their midst ^ i- .y- A^DAY WITH A C0URTE017S MOTHER. 65 ■#. '''^%.) tions \.' A DAY WITH A COURTEOUS MOTHER. , ■ -^ ; .9 , ' ■ : ' ' IING the whole of one of last summer's hot- 5t days I had the good fortune to be seated in ' car near a mother anc^our children, whose with each other were so beautiful that the pleasure of watching them was quite enough to make one forget the discomforts of the journey* It was plain that they were poor ; their clothes were coarse and old, and had been made by inexperienced hands. The mother's bonnet alone woMd have been enough to haVfe condemned the whole party on any of the world's thoroughfares. I remembered afterward, with shame, that I myself hadsmiled at the first sighf of its antiquated^iness ; but her face was one which it gave you a ^l^e o£ rest to look upon, -.it was ^80 earnest, tender, true,, and strong. It had little comeliness of shape or color in it, it was thin, atfd pale ; she was not young ; sh% had worked hard ; she- had evidenUy been much ill; but I have seen few faces which gav^ me such pleasure. I fhink that she ^as the wife of a poor clergyman ; and I think that clergyman must be one of the lord's' best watchmen of souls. The chUdren— two b oys and twogir^^ — .Iff' i* ;. \ •VJ^' £i6 C^ BITS OF TALK. ^ were all under the age of twelve, and the youngest could not speak plainly. They had had a rare treat ; they had been visiting the mountains, and they were talking over all the wonders they had seen with a How of enthusiastic delight which was to be envied. Only at word-for-word record would do justice to their con- ^ versation ; no description could give any idea of it - so free, so pleasant, so genial, no interruptions, no contradictions ; and the mother's part borne all the while with such equal interest and eagerness that no one not seeing her face would dream that she was any other than an elder sister. In the course of the day there were many occasions when it was necessary for her to den3. requests, and to ask services, especially from the eldest boy; but no young girl, anxious to pI6ase a lover, could have done either with a mere tender c50urtesy. She had her reward ; for no lover could have bean more tender and manly than was this boy of twelve. Their lunch was simple and scanty; but It had the grace of a royal banquet. At the last, the mother produced with much glee three apples and an orange, of which the childnen had not known. AH eyes fastened on the orange. It was evidenUy a . great r^ty. I watchM to see if this test would brine out selfishness. There was a littie silencd^; just the # drvide this? There is one for each of youj and I 10h,give Annie the.oraiye. Anitfe toves oranges^^ J 4 V'fc'i^ '.'-^ <' Ziii' '^mXx^^ i ■fwi' vnm^^^'^i "^*" A DAY WITH A COURTEOUS MOTHER, 6f spoke out the oldest boy, with a sudden air of a con- queror, and at the, same time taking thq smallest and worst apple himself. s jP% ' : " Oh, yes, let Aqnie have the orange," echoed the second boy, nine years old. " Yes, Annie n«y have the orange, because that is nicer than the apple, and she is a lady, and her broth- ers are gentlemen," said the mother, quietly. Then there was_a merry contest as to who should feed the mother with largest and most frequent mouthfuls ; and so the feast went on.- Then ATini6 pretended to want apple, and exchanged thin golden strips of orange for bites out of the -cheeks of Baldwins ; and, as I sat watching her intently, she suddenly fancied she saw longing in my face, and sprang over to me, holding out a quarter of her "brange, and saying, " Don't you w^nt a taste, too ? " The mother Smiled, understand- ingly, when I said, " No, I thank you, you dear, gener- ous little girl ; I don't care about oranges." At noon we had a tedious interval of waiting at a dreary station. We sat for two hours on a narrow platform, which the sun had scorched till it smelt of heat. The oldest boy — the little lover — held the youngest child, and talked to her, while the tired mother closed her eyes and rested. Now and then he looked over at her, and then back at the baby ; and at last he said confidentially to me (for we had become fast friends by this time), " Isn't it funny, to think that I was ever so small as this baby ? And papa says that then mamma was almost a littl e girl horself.^ ^, ^; \ mk£^ '-?:"' 68 BITS OF TALK. «M • The two other children were toiling up and down the banks of the railroad-track, picking ox-eye daisies, buttercups, and sorrel. They worked like beavers, ' and soon the bunches were , almost too big for their ^ little hands. Then they came running to give them to their mother. « Oh dear,'» thought I, « how that poor, tirfed woman will hate to open her eyes ! and she never can, take those great bunches of common, fading flow- ers, in addition to all her bundles and bags." I was mistaken* " Oh^ thank you, my darlings! How kind you were ! Po9r, hot, tired little flowers, how thirsty they look! If they will only try and keep alive till we get home, we will make them very happy in some water ; won't we ? . And you shall put one bunch by papa's plate, and orie by mine." ■ . Sweet and happy, the weary and flushed little chil- dren stood looking up in her face while she talked, ' their hearts thrilling with compassion for the drooping . flowers and with delight in the giving of their gift. Then she took great trouble to get a string and tie up the flowers, and then the train came, and we were whirling along again. Soon it grew dark, and little Anrte^s head nodded. Then I heard the mother say to the oldest boy, " Dear, are you too tired to let little Annie put her head on your shoulder and take a nap ? We shall get her home in much better case to see ipapa if we can manage to give her a little sleep." How many boys ^f twelve hear such words as these from tired,^o^rburdened mothers ? ,, a • feRji: A DAY-WITH A COURTEOUS MOTHER. 69 ■ ^- ^ Soon came the city, tb6 final station, with its busHe and noise. I lingered to watch my happy family, hoping to see the fathef. " Why, papa isn't here ! " exclaimed one disan|)ointed little voice after another. "Never piin^," said the mother, with a still deeper disappointment in her own tone ; "perhaps he had to %o to see some poor body who is sick." In* the hurry of picking up all the^ t>arcels, and the sleepy babies, the poor daisies and buttercups were left forgotten in a corner of the rack. I wondered if the mother had 4 not intended' this. May I be forgiven for the injus- tice ! A few nSmutes after I passed the little group, ^standing still just ou^^ide the station, and heard the mother say, " Oh, my darlings, I have forgotten youf pretty bouquets. I am so sorry ! I wonder if I could finri them if I went back. Will you all stand still and not stir from this spot if I go ? " " Oh, mamma, don't go, don't go. We will get you some more. Don't go," cried all the chilijMn. " Here are your flowers, madam," sai^^; " I saw liiat you idd forgotten them, and I took ^em as me- mentoes of you and your sweet children." She blushed » and looked disconcerted. She was evidently unused to people, and shy with all but her children. How- ever, she thawed me sweetly, and said, — " I was very sorry about them. The children took' such trouble to get them ; and I think they will revive in water. They cannot be quite dead." " They will never die ! " said I, with an emphasis which weul fruiu mylrearrtO^Tiersr^rEen^iriieFshy^ *■ II '^fcauEl-'-^.-g' ■■ti ':^^i\-:i. >J^I¥^f ■^^,'J7'f'^y:' \ I 70 BITS OF TALK. 'I V. ness fled. She knew me; and we shook hands, and smiled into each other's eyes with the smile of kindred as we parted. As I followed on, I heard ^he two children, who were walking behind, saying to each other, " Wouidn^t. that have been too bad ? Mamma liked them so much, and we never could have goti^so many all at once again." ^ "Yes, we could, too, next summer," said the boy, •sturdily. ■ ■ \ . # % They are suce of .their « next summers,'^ I think, M six of those souls, -^ children, and mother, and father. They may never again gather so many ox-eye daisies and buttercups " all at on^e." Pet-haps som A)f the little hands have already picked their last flowers. Nevertheless, their Summers are certain. To such souls as these, all trees, either here or in God's larger country, are Trees of Life, withjivelve manner of fruits and leaves for healing ; and it is but little change from the summers here, whose suns burn and make weary, tp the summers there, of which "the Lamb is the Ught." Heaven bless them all, wherever they are. f >• \ CHILDREN M NOVA BCOTIA. 7i i%-; f >f 7\ I CHILDREN IN n6vA SCOTIA/ ^VrOVA SCOTIA 1*9 a country of gracious surprises. Instead of the stones which are what strangers chiefly expect a.t her hands, she gives us a we^th of fertile meadows ; instead of stormy waves breaking on a frowning coast, she shows us smooth basins whose shores are soft and wooded to the water's edge, and into which empty wonderful tidal rivers, whose Courses, where the tide-water has flowed out, lie like curving bands of bright brown satin among the green fields. She has no barrenness, no unsightliness, no poverty; Everywhere beauty, everywhere riches. She is biding her time. # But most beautiful among her beauties, most won- derful among her wG|3||ers, are her children. During two iveeks' travel' in %e provinces, I have been con- stantly niore and m6x,t impressed by their superiority ir/^eara^ce, size, and health Jo' Jthe children of the ^cTEngland ai^^iddle States. Jn the outset of our journey looked thartyjmnl 4 BITS OF T. than climate as a c ^, en masse f gave a s thing m( that I Si traiP of %?ervation%Qd|^fed ulgonscio^Iy fallml^^ It %s a ^..^^j o^.x.wx x„ txxc little town ^^ol^ whiles betwefen the'i(^spr creau and.^walli^'i|re||iu^I&fbn(JK.^^^ W^randrip^, whe^l^^^^lliS and t ^eUelbntaine, a^f^ i# J^Msimple today sphdofAin the ■n » i«ts ffijfti the mighty Atlantic " more than "looked ppy "valley "that Siwj^ay morning, (fconvict- ^^i^ "v^llow pf a mistake, iiey did descend "from P^^:f^^^^^^^"S'" °" solehin Blopdon, and fell in a slow, ' ■ IpPleasant drizzle in the streetsW Wolfville and Hor- ^^va arrived too early at one ^the village churches^ and while I was waiting for a seleton a door opened, and out poured the Sunday schoo|, whose services had just endjbd. On .they came, dividing in the centre, and falling to the right and left about me,, thirty or forty boys and. gii-ls, between the ages of seven arid fifteen. I lopked :at them in astonishment. They all had fair skins, red cheeks, and clear eyes ; they were all broad- shouldered, straight, and, sturdy J the younger ones were more than sturdy, ~ they werelfSt, from.the ankles up. But perhaps the most noticeable thing of all was the quiet, sturdy, unharassed ex^re'ssion which their faces wore ; a look whic^ is tyy||eatest charm of a childV face, but which we rar^Hle in children over two l^ree years old. BflfcJBfeven or twelve were thei%^th shouldcrg broalB^gfa the average of o^r % . « *^t ■;■* "*» , .m ^ \ ^ " '•■^t r CHILDREN IN NOVA SCOTIA. 73 I ' i- . boys at sixteen, and yet with the pure, childlike look ■ on their faces. Girls of ten or eleven werlb there who looked almost like women, — that is, like ideal women, ' — simply because they looked so calm and undis- turbed. The Saxon coloring prevailed ; three-fourths of the eyes were blue, with hair of that pa^ ash-brown which the French calF « 6/onde 'anefr/e.^ Out of them all there was but one qhild who looked sickly. He had evidently met with some accident, and was lame. After- ward, as the congregation , assembled, I watched the . fathers and mothers of these children. They, .too, were broad-shouldered, tall,' and^straight, especially the women. Even old women were straight, like the negroes one sees at the South, walking with burdens on their heads. Five days later I saw in Halifax the celebration of the anniversary of the settlement of the province. The ■ children of the city and of some of the neighboring towns marched in « bands of hope " and processions, such as we see in the cities of the States on the Fourth of July. This was just the opportunity 1 wanted. It was the same here as in the country. I counted on that day just eleven «ickly-looki'ng children ; no more ]^ Such brilliant cheeks, such merry eyes, such evident strength ; ii:!it was a scene to kindle the dullest soul. There were scqres of little ones there, whose droll, fat legs would have drawn a crowd in Centril Park ; and they all had that;, same, c^uiet, con)posed, well-balanced expression of countenance of which I spoke, before, and of which it would b<^4Ktf44a4a4 aa^lastatfee-iftaft^ettt f al Park. V- r tt , (, '*»• » \ • .jLif: P~. - t 74 BITS OF TALK. . . _ Chmate undoubtedly has sometljing to do with this. Srf^V^ ,M"f' ^^ ** '"^'•'="'7 ""^'^'y rises above fh.,V I . f'°" '°° Also the comparative quiet of the r hves helps to make them so beautiful and strong. But the most significant f»ct to my mind is that, until he past year, there have been in Nova Scotia no pub- ic schools, comparatively few private ones; and in these there is no severe pressure brought to bear on the pupils. The private schools have been expensive consequently it has been very unusual for children to be sent to school before they were eight or nine years °f ^'u.,i°:'''* "°' ^"^ ^ P"^°° ^^'> ^^ ever known 01 a child s being sent to school under seven ! The school sessions, are on the old plan of six hours per day, -from nine till twelve, and from one till four : but no learning of lessons out of school has bee^allowei Within the last year a system of free public schools has been introduced, "and the people are grumbling terribly about it," said my informant "Why?" I asked; "because they do not wisCto have their chiC dren educated?" " Oh, no," said he ; "because they do not like to pay the taxes!" "Alas!" I thought If It were, only their silver whiph would be taxed ! " r^.u'""l'.,'?°' ''' ""d«'"s'°°d to argue from the health of the children of Nova Scotia, as contrasted with the lack of health among our children, that it is best to have no public schools ; only that k is better to have" no pubhc schools than to have sucft pubUc schools a^ ( are now killing off our children. >/. ,) The registration system of Nova Scotia is ^^yet t^ .•y-iii. ,1- " ftitefw -•«g*-r-^p5»^-'' CHILDREN IN NOVA SCQTIA. 75 imperfectlycarried out. It is almost impossible to ob- tam exact returns from all parts of so thinly settled J country. But such statistics as have been already established give sufficient food for reflection in this connection. In Massachusetts more than two-fifths of a^l the children born die before they are twelve years old. In Nova Scotia the proportion is less than one- third. In Nova Scotia one out of every fifty-six lives to be over ninety years of age ; and one-twelfth of the entire number of deaths is between the ages of ei-hty and ninety. In Massachusetts one person out of one hundred and nine lives to be over ninety. In Massachusetts the mortality from diseases of thfe brain and nervous system is %ven per cent. In Nova Scotia it is 6hly eight per cent >». )r %*. ii F 76 BITS OF TAIJC. THE RWEUC ' OF'*THE FAMILY. ^? B "-^ ' " H^ ^^ ^^^^^ and friend and son, all in one," said a friend, the other day, telling me of a dear boy who, out of his first earnings, had just sent to%U mother a ibeautifiil gift, co/ting much more than ke ^ could really afford for such a purpose. f) That mother k the wi^t, sweety most triuirffihant mother I have ever kriown. I arr^strained b^el- " % ings of deepest rejefrence for her from speaking, ll tmght speak, of the rare and tender methods by whu her motherljood has worked, patienti| and alone, for nearly tw|p%ears, an^ made of her two sons " lovers ^^"^5i^*" "^ ^^""^ ^^^ ^^^^ thatshe owed it to thl|^rI#o impart to other mothers all that she could of .her divine secret ; to write out, even in detail, all *^^(|iN|essesb)r^hiciih%boy& have grown to be so stron^>uprighrt,^ld^gg^ndmaji^. > ;^ But one of^ei?^(p^inciples lidS Wdirect a bear- ing or the |p 6ct that l wish to speak of here that I ventyre to aWRj^n explanation of it She has told me that she^ever once, even ^ their childish days," ^ took the ground that she had right to require anything from them simply because she was their mother. This % 4 *^% f^ >^ ''9/ d ir s e 1- *. «i*sDi,. y^^iE: REPUBLIC OF THE FAMILY, 77 is a position very startling to the average parent. It is exactly counter to traditions. "Why must I?" or "Why cannot I?» says the child. « Because I say so, and I am your father," has been the stern, authoritative reply ever since we can any of us remember; and, I presume, ever since the Christian era, since that good Apostle Paul saw enough in the E'phesian families where he visited to lead him H write to them from Rome, '"Fathers, provoke not yt)ur children to wrath." It seems to me that there are few questions of prac- tical moment in every-day living on which a foregone and erroneous conclusion has been adopted so gener- ally and so undoubtingly. How it first came about it is hard to see. Or, rather, it is easy to see, when one reflects J and the very clearness of the surface expla- nation of it only makes its injustice more odious. It came about because the parent was strong and the child weak. Helplessness in the hands of power,— that is the whole story. Suppose for an instant (and, absurd as the supposition is practically, it is not logi- cally absurd), that the|j^ild at six were strong enough to whip his father ; 1^ ft^ have the intellect of an in- fant, the mistakes ami lie faults of an infant, — which the father would feel himself bound and would'be bound to correct, — but the body of a man ; and then see in how different fashion the father would set himself to work to insure good behavior. I never see the heavy, Impatient hand of a grown man or woman laid with its /^ & /t^ W ( SI // i > 78 BITS OF TALK. brute force, even for the smallest purpose, on a little child, without longing for a sudden miracle to give the ; baby an equal strength to resist. * When we realize what it is for us to dare, for our own pleasure, even with solemnest purpose of the holiest of pleasures, parenthood, to bring into exist- ence a soul, which must take for our sake its chance of joy or sorrow, how monstrous it seems to assume that the fact that we have done this thing gives us ar- ^ bitrary right to control that soul; to set our will, as will, m place of its will ; to be law unto its life ; to try to make ,of it what it suits our fancy or our con- venience to have it; to claim that* it is under obliga- tion to us I The truth is, all the obligation, in the outset, is the other way. We owe all to them. AH that we can do to give them happiness, to spare them pain ; all that we can do to make them wise and good and safe, —all IS too little! AH and more than all can never repay them for the sweetness, the blessedness, the develop- ment that it has been to us to call children ours. If we can also so win th^ir love by our loving, so deserve their i-espect by our honorableness, so earn their grati- tude by our helpfulness, that they come to be our "lovers and friends,'' then, ah! then we have had enough of heaven here to make us willing to postpone the tnore for which we hope beyond ! But all this comes not of authority, not by command ; aU this is perilled always, always impaired, and often f^r-j^^ •^KJT-Ti/s, ' ■■ V THE REPUBLIC OF THE FAMILY.- '/g lost, by authoritative, arbitrary ruling, substitution of law and penalty for influence. ^ It will be objected by parents who disagree with this theory that only authority can prevent license ; that without command there will not be control. No one has a right to condemn method's he has not tried. I know, for I have seen, I know, for I have myself tested, ' that command and authority are short-lived ; that they do not insure the'results they aim at ; that real and permanent control of a child's behavior, even in little " things, is gained only by influence, by a slow, sure educatmg, enlightening, and' strengthening of a child's will. I know, for I have seen, that it is possible in this way to make a child only ten years old quite as intelligent ' and .trustworthy a free agent as his mother ; to make ' him so sensible, so gentle, so considerate that to say " must " or « must not " , to him would be as unneces- ^ sary and absurd as to say it to her. But, if it be wiser and better to surround even little children with; this atmosphere of freedom, how much ' more essential is it for those who remain under the parental roof long after they have ceased to be chil- dren! Just feere seems to n^e to be the fatal rock upon which maiiy househojds make uttor shipwreck of their . - peace. Fathers and mothers who have ruled by au- "•^ty (ictJtb^ as loving as you please, it will still ^ ^ rkin an art>itrary rule) iii the beginning, never seem ' know when iheir children are children no longer, / but have becomie. men and women. In : any average / ' family, the position of an unmarried daughter after s hf> _ "■i i.to : J' ^ '. v t- V .It 80 BITS OF TALK. •s twenty years old becomes less and less what i, should one . in T '°"'' ""^ '5"""°° '^ '^''^y ^ practical pne ; ,n those exceptional instances where invalidism or some other disability Heps a man helpless for year" under h,s father's roof, hig very helples Jess is^at'onc T feent W. V" *' '"'' °^ daughters it is veiy dif- ferent Who does not number in his circle of ac . qua ntance many unmarried women, between tl,e ages of thirty and forty, perhap#even older, who ha^ pic! .cally httle more freedom in the ordering of' their o^ Iwes than they M when they were flev^n? xle mother or the father continues fust as Juch the autocratic centre of ,he family now as of (he nursenT " thirty years before. Taking int^ account\he cha^ , -no, the certamty^of great difiFereacesJ^ Between parents and children in matters of temperaihSd^ taste, ,t ,s easy to see that ^eat suffering Anst Vesult from th,s; suffering, too, which involves rtft^i^d hmdrance.to growth.,. It is really a monstrou^S . but ,t seems to bej|ely observed by the w^TS never suspected byme who are most responsible for •J ■■^/*^ ^P^ 3 q"""on whether the real tyrannies m th,s l.fe are those that are accredft^ as sj^i!^ are certamly more than even tyrants Icno* ! t _ Every father and mother has it within e4sy reach tb* become the intimate friend of the child. ' cSst" ho best, sweetest of all friendships is this one, w^h . -l.as the, closest, holiest tif of blood to underiie th* • »,* •*« ''■♦ =fit f^ W t. #■ *t t ■;.*..:'•'.-. ».*' « '> M ■ ft rm REPUBLIC OF THE FAMILY. ' 8i fe"ber WH **'^-«^?^ ^°'- ^^'"'^ "flove of mother or of! '°""S =">y shade ofits perfectness.for the sake . O'any indulg»nceof thp hahit „f ' , ""='""'= fying of selfish prefer^L °'"""'"' °' °'«'^'^- . *'adih ";', i"*^' !j°"««''old of father and mother and ;;-0m anTi:C^enr;hl^--ltS£ ' TL°rTu' °' ^*r"°« '" homes^offheiS tie o"l " r*' "^'"^ ^'°"^ '^ - bittererTrop^^ the Ipnehness of many "an unmarried woman Th, . parents, especially fathers are aJ17T ° i- J M , ^ ^«"icij,, are apt even to drpam , ' nkit^^ar'^T^t"^^- r-"^" -^'*''^^" - ■ ,^istr.sin;^:r;e„ii„t, : drh:"Ut?n.r; t' •Fvp„ fK ^^-r'* "^^ °Cboth and remain very wretched ?ven tip body itself Cannot thrive if it hJl ^^^' ^ than tl4fe three pottage messes I Vre ao« to co "' go, ?peak, work, play - ih4hnA ;/^J^^^?* ^o come, , • is tp •r^- ^> 1% 1^ , i' ■^* AO W1 .kv li'^ili ■<, ( r 82 BITS OF TALK. parents help, strengthen, and bestow this ifreedqi^ on their children, juit so far it is justice and kindiiess, and their relation is cemented into a supreme and un- alterable friendship, whose blessedness and whose comfort no words can measure. \ - \ » ■ 'i V % Li .»!. ," s"* 4 TBE READY-TO-BALTS. 83 » • ' :.1 "V . THE ^ READY-TO-HALTS. " M^,^^0-HALT ™„st have bi*e ™est The F^Jrr P''"''y '^^^"='> i" every parish Serial atotirf"'""^'^'^ predisJoL to they are (and they are an. Zu. rX I "'' ^"^"^ "' back, and go baclc, t Jl ,h.m uo TK ^' r «° standing still helDk^Rl k* -.T ^""^ "* ^°^^ never Will cn^ . , h^, , ^, , U.^ ';;^" L.^" ^ )v. i) «.:%,'■ ■. ... ^r iV. « V * *.■' " ' ■ *i^?^"' A-jW 84 BITS OF TALE,. always think they are doing what they call "making up their mind." But, whichever way they make ity they wish they had made it the other ; so' they unjtiake it directly. And^. by this time the crisis of the first ^ hour which they lost has Become complicated with, that of the second hour, for which they ^e in no wise ready ; and so the hgurs stumble on, one kfter another, and the day is only a tangle of ineffective cross pur- poses. Hundreds of such day^ drift on, with » . T 1.-.T- »'»»i: J . . ■ ^'O . .. rSS ReADX-TO-BALts. .85 own bves. Oh ! if tove iould but have its eyes opened and see 1 If w^ w6fe not blind, we should know that ■ whei^ver a chiW dedides for himself deliberately, and without bias from others, any question, however small, ire has had just so many minutes of mental gymnastics rKr.T,r'i'f' "^"""'"S °*'*'«= °"e faculty on whose health andifirmness his success in life will de- pend more than upon any other thing. ^So many people do not know the difference between obstmacy and clear-headed firmness of will, that it is hardly safe to % much in praise or blame of either •without _^xpressly stating that you do not mean the ' tt„ ■ 7 ^^^'' ^ ""'"^'^ ^ digestion and indiges- tion and one would suppose ^could not be muoh more easily confoi^ded ; but ft is constantly done. It has not yet, ceased to be ski4 among fathers and mothers tha It IS necessary to "bryak the Avill " of children ; and it has not yet ceased to be sien in thejand that men by virtue of simple obstinacy are called men of strong character. The truth is. that the stronger better >^«ed will a man has, the less obstinatelil'wm be Syinl'rV °''^"-^' :°^ '-P- Whathave dn7T ,v.f °"^ ""' '''"«''°™« ""d's^uls have been lost. Without it there is no kingdom-fcr any man, -no, not even in- his own soul. It Oe 00^ ^tfbute.of all we possess which is most||!l°ke By It, we say. under his^laws, as he says; Wtin^ , those laws, " So far and >ft further." It is'^not eno^ * that ye do not " break " this .r.nH ,..■■,., ,. ,. "!? '** / •* . . ■■"r ■ r- ** ">■ ' m 1L -" k" c — "- r ■« - -s- '.:'■■ t> •' .' « v*^, ■ :■■■■,# ;• n' 4 ..." J ' J ': % u^ I S6 BITS OF talk:' be strengthened, developed, 'trained. And, as flie good teacher of gymnastics gives his beginners light weights to lift and swing, so shouldfve bring to the children small points to decide ; to tlie very little chil- dren, very little points. " Will you h^e the apple, or the orange ? You cannot have both. Choose ; but after you have chosen you cannot change." " Will you have the horsebaclcV|ade to-day, or the opera to- morrow night ? You can have but one." Every day, many times a d4^a child should decide for himself points involving pros and cons, — substan- tial ones too. Let him^^^iven decide unwisely, and take the consequences; that too is good for •him. No amount of Blackstone can give such an idea of law as a month of prison. Tell him as much as you please of what you know on both sides ; but compel him to decide, and also compel him not to be too long about it. " Choose ye this day whom ye will serve " is a text good for every morning. If men and women had in their childhood such training of their wills as^ this, we- should not see so many putting their hands to the plough and looking back, and " not fit for the kingdom of heaven.'* Nor for any kingdom of earth, either, unless it be for the wicked little kingdom of the Prince of Monaco, where there are but two things to be done, — gamble, or drown ydurself. f ^ .' ^^ti^h^M.ifl^ - *. _ . f THE DESCENDANTS OF NABAL. Sf 1 THE DESCENDANTS OF NABAL. 'pHE line has never been broken, and they have. ,.„»•. """'"^J^.to respectable families, right and left, until to-day there can hardly be found a household which has not at least one to worry it. They are not men and women of great passionate natures, who flame out now and then in an outbreak hke a volcano, from which everybody runs. This* though ^rnble while it lasts, is soon over, and there are great compensafons m such souls. Their love is worth hav- ng. Their tenderness is great. One can forgive them Of which they repent immediately with tears But the Nabalsare sullen ; they are grumblers ; they are never done. Such sons of B^ial are they t^ this S TZ T" "" r"' ^^'^'y ^'° them.-They ^zd^oT^n'T ">»" P-^'io-^t^ People as a slow dmrle of rain i, than a thunder-storm. For the thun- der-storm, you suy in-door,, and you cannot help hav- TtZr^f ''n^e, you go out ; you think that with a w«ten.roof, an «art,rell.. and ovrnho.a. you uui ..u^- If P I -■:i ii yi^y,^UftMMil^i8iW^^ S8 BITS OF TALK. age to get about iii spite of it, and attend to your busi- ness. What a state you come home in, — muddy, limp, chilled, disheartened ! The house greets you, looking also muddy and cold, — for the best of front halls gives tip in despair and cannot look any thing but forlorn in a long, drizzling rain ; all the windpws are bleared with trickling, foggy wet on the outside, which there is no wiping oflf nor seeing through, and if one could see through there is no gain. The street is more gloomy than the house ; black, slimy mud, inches deep on cross- ings ; the same black, slimy mud in footprints on side- walks ; hopeless-looking people hurrying by, so unhappy by reason of the drizzle that a weird sort of family like- ' ness is to b6 seen in all their faces. This is all that can be seen outside. It is better not to look. For the inside is no redemption except a wood-fire, —,a good, generous wood-fire, — not in any of the modern com- promises called open stoves, but on a broad stone hearth, with a big background of chimney, up which the sparks pan go skipping and creeping. This can redeem a drizzle ; but this cannbt redeem a grumbler. Plump he sits down in the warmth of its very blaze,, apd complains that it snaps, perhaps, or that it is oak and maple, when he paid for all hickory. You can trust him to put out your wood-fire for you as effect- ually as a water-spout. And, if even a wood-fire, bless it ! cannot outshine the gloom of his presence, what is to happen m the places where there is no wood-fire, on the days when real miseries, big and little, are on hand, to be made into mountains of torture by hisgrutnbling ? II \ 11 11, am: T THE DESCENDANTS OF NAB AC ^9 Oh, who can describe him ? There is no language which can do justice to him ; no supernatural foresight . which can predict where his next thrust will fall, from what unsuspected corner he will send his next arrow. Like death, he has all seasons for his own ; his inge- nuity is infernal. Whoever tries to forestall or appease -him might better be at work in Augean stables ; be- cause, after all, we mi^st admit that the facts of life are on his side. It is not intended that we shall be very comfortable. There is a terrible amount of total de- pravity in animate and inanimate things. From morn- ing till night there is not an hour without its cross to carry. The weather thwarts us ; servants, landlords, drivers, washerwomen, and bosom friends misbehave ; clothes don't fit; teeth ache; s'tomachsget out of order i newspapers are stupid ; and children make too much noise. If there are not big troubles, there are little wopderec^ether the happiest mortal could point to one singJe moment and say, " At that moment there was nothing in my life which I would have had changed." I think not. In argument, therefore, the grumbler has the best of it. It is more than, probable that things are as he says. But why say it ? Why make four miseries out of three ? If the three be akeady unbearable, so much the worse.1^ If he is uncomfortable, it is a pity ; we are sorry, but we cannot change the course of Nature We shall sooti have dui- own little turn of torments, and we do-nQtwant to bg worn out before it mm^f^ by having :«-,^ t •I y&f^^^\- .:.a ^^-^ i;.r'; ,.,a.. '» '♦, .^' ^^:* ^^■ ■^■m.. listened to his ; protSbly, tc^fte very things of which he conjplains are pressing just as heavily on us as on him, —are just as unpleasant to .everybody as to him. Suppose everybody did as he does. Imagine, for in- stance, a chorus of grumble from ten people at a break-" fast-table, all siaying at once, or immediately after each Other, " This coffee is not fit to drink." « Really, the attendance in this house is insufferably poor." I have sometimes wished to try this homoeopathic treatment in a bad case of grumble. It sounds as if Tt might work a cure.. ■ If you lose your temper with the grumbler, and turn upon him suddenly, saying, "Oh, do not spoil all our pleasure. Do make the best of things : or, at least, Ikeep quiet ! " then how aggrieved he is ! how unjust he thinks you are to " tnake a personal matter of it" j " You do not, surely, suppose I think you are respon- sible for it, do you ?" he says, with a lofty air of aston- 'ishment at your unreasonable sensitiveness. Of course, we do not suppose he thinks we are to blame ; we do not take him to be a fool as well as a grumbler. But he speaks to us, at us^ before tis, about the cause of his discoTpfort, whatever it may be, precisely as he would if we were to blame ; and that is one thing which makes his grumbling so insufferable. But thi^ he can never be made ]to see. And the worst of it is that grumbling is contagious. If we live with him, we shall, sooner or later, in spite of our dislike of his ways, fall .into them ; even sinking so low, perhaps, before the end of a single surnmer, as to b e heard complaining of i I THE DESCENDANTS OF NABAL. ' ^ better at boarding-house tables, which is the lowest deep of vulganty of grumbling. There is no help for this ; I have seen it again and again. I have caught It myself.^ One- grumbler in a family is as pestilent a thing as a diseased animal in a herd : if he be hot shut up or killed, the herd is lost. .^f.^wM^'"''!." ''^'""'* ^^ """" "P °^ •'"'ed, since gnimbl,^ not held to be a proof of insanity, nor a capital offence, — more's the pity. J!.^'f' vt"' J,' *" ''' ^"""^ ■ ^^^P °'" °f his way, at all costs If he be grown up. If It be a child, labor day and night, as you would with a tendency to Jiaralvsis or distortion of limb, to prevent this blight on Its life. ' It sounds extreme to say that a child should never n!.t T, 'Z '"'P'"'' ^ '"^'"'^ "'■^^y thing which can- Tw f t^^^l ''"' ^ *'"'' " ''^ *^"*- J do not mean that It should be positively forbidden or punished, but Iholw K • "ir P^'' unnoticed; his attention ■ should be mvanably called to its uselessness, and to the annoyance it gives to other people. Children be- gin by being good-natured little grumblers at every fe,?J^ *°'' """'^' ^P'y fr°™ the outspoken- n*ss of their natures. AH they think they say and act The rudiments of good behavior have to be- chiefly negative at the outset, like Punch's advice to those about to marty, _" Don't." ""ce to tnose ,. The race of grumblers would soon die out if all chil- dren were so trained that never, between the ages of SLut h" "■ "'^ *^^ ""^'> "-'''*- ~™Plaint without being gently reminde d tha t it w aj fuoliih and . ^ i '!•' i "iitAifiiJt J^ .. ■^. ^' ;»*» I. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGCT fMT-3) M < •k s, w. , /■' A- A- i6 ^«a B^ u lift Mi. 12.0 I.I 1.25 lU u IWIa ^ |ll 1.6 T^ .^ ^a A V / w 1^.- J Photographic . Sdeoces Corporation U WIST MAIN STRICT WnSTIR.N.Y. MSSO (71«) •73-4M>3 '^. .*•■. :-^| ^i"™ .■■■ w 0.^ 92 BITS OF TALK. disagreeable. How easy for a good-natured and watch- ful mother to do this ! It takes but a word. " Oh, dear ! I wish it had not rained to-day. It is too badP» : " You do not really mean what you say, my darling. It is of much more consequence that the grass should " grow |han that you should go out to play. And it is so silly to complain, when we cannot Stop its raining.*' " Mamma, I hate this pie." " Oh \ hush, dear I ^Don't say so, if you do. You can leave it. You need not eat it. But think how dis- . agreeable it sounds to hear you say such zt thing." " Oh, (iear ! Oh^ dear ! I am too cold." "^^ Yes, dear, I know you are. So is mamtna. But we shall not feel any warmer for saying so. W« must wait till the fire burns better ; and the time will ^em twice as long if we grumble." " Oh, mamma I mamma ! My steam-engine is all spoiled. It won't run. I hate things tha^ wind up ! " <*But, my^dear little boy, don't grunible Iso I What would you think if mamma were to say, * Oh, dear !.oh, dear I My little boy's stockings are full of holes. How I hate to mend stockings I ' and, < Oh, dearf ol|, dear I My little boy has upset my work-box I . I \hate little boys'?" " i ' How they look steadily into your eyes for a minute, -*-the honest, reasonable little souls ! — when you say stich things to them ; and then run off with a laugh, lifted up, for that time, by your fitly spoken word^ of help. \ ■ 7— ,*;»• ^ • THE DESCEND AmS Off NABAI,. , 93 Oy if the world could only stc/p long enough for one geWation of mothers to be niade all right, what a miUennikm could be begun in thirty years ! -^ "But, Wmma, you are grui^bling yourself at me because I Wumbled! " says a ^uick-witted darling not ten years old. Ah ! never sh^U any weak spot in our armor escap^the keen eyesj/f these little ones. « Yes, 4ar\ And I sha/grumble at you till I cure you of grdinblW. GrunAlers are the only thing in this world that k is righ/to grumble at" J. r "*-.. ■.fl. ^ipm«p|p 94 BITS OF TALK. "BOYS NOT ALLOWED." 5 :, ^ * >' TT wag^ a conspicuous signboard, at least four feet ^ long, with large black letters on a white ground : " fioys not alI6wed." I looked at it for some momenta in a sort of bewildered surprise: I did not quite comprehend the meaning of the words. At last I un- derstood it.. I was waiting in a large railway station, where many trains connect ; and most of the passen- gers from the train in which I was were' eating dinner in a hotel near ^y. I was entirely alone ipihe car, with the exception of one boy, whq was perh«Bleven years old. I made an involuntar^ejaculation^I read the words oti the sign, and the boy looked* around at me. "Little boy," said t, solemnly, '^"'* do you see that sign?" He turned his head, and, reading the omindtis warn- ing, nodded sullenly, but said nothing. " Boy, what does it mean ? " said I. " Boys must be allowed to come into this railway station. There are two now standing in the doorway directly under the sign." / r 4it^ ,Xrf "BOYS ^6t allowed." ■-*.,•■ K' 95 He left his seat, and, cpming to mine, edged in past me ; and, putting his head out of the window, read the sentence aloud in a contemptuous tone. Then he offered me a peanut, which I took ; and he proceeded to tell me what he thought of the sign. " Boys not albwed ! " said he. " That's just the way 'tis everywhere ; but I never saw the sign up before. It don't make any difference, though, whether they put the sign up or not Why, i^ New York (you Kve in New York, don't you ? ) they won't even stop the horse- cars for a boy to get on, Nobody thinks any thing'U hurt a boy ; but they're glad enough to * allow ' us when there's any errands to be done, and " "Do you live in New York?" interrupted I ; for I did not wish to hear the poor little fellow's list of miseries, whi^ I knew by heart beforehand without his telling me, having been hopeless knight-errant of oppressed boyhood all my life. ^ Yes, he "hved in ;New York," and he "went to a grammar school," and he had " two sisters." And eo we talked on in fhat sweet, ready, trustful talk which comes naturaUy ^nly from children's lips, until the "twenty minutes for refreshments " were oyer, and the choked and crammed passengers, who had eaten big dinners in 'that breath of time, came hurrying back to ' thej^l^. Among them came the father and mother of my Httle friend. In angry surprise at not finding him in the seat where they left him, they exclaimed, — "Now, where is that boy? Just like him I We might haye,lost every one of th e s e bags." # ■fe; 'A » > BITS OF TALK. ■ _ « '- ■ "Here I am, mamma," he calleJ out, pleasantly. " t could see the bags all the time. Nobody came into the car. )) "I teid you not to leave the seat, sir. What do you mean by such conduct ? " said the father. , " Oh, no, papa," said poor Boy, " you only told me to take care of the bags." And an anxious look of terror came into his face, which told only too well under how severe a regime hfe lived. I interposed hastily with— " I am afraid I am the cause of your little son's leav- ing hii seat. He had sat very still till I spoke to him ; and I believe I ought to take all lire blame." •The parents were evidently uncultured, shallow people. .Their irritation with him was merely a su?^- face vexation, which had no real foundation in a deep principle. They became complaisant and smiling at my first word, and Boy escaped with a look of great relief to another seat, where they gave him a simple lun- cheon of saleratus gingerbread. " Boys not allowed " to go in to dinner at the Massasoit, thought I to my- self; and upon that text I sat sadly meditating all the way from Springfield to Boston. How true it was, as the little fellow had said, that "it don't make any difference whether they put the sign up or not ! " No one can watch carefully any average household where there are boys, and not see that there are a thousand Httle ways iii which the boys' comfort, freedom, preference will be disregarded, when the girls' wi ll be considered. This is partly intentional, «^«lf > BOYS NOT ALLOWED" \' 91 partly unconsciQus. Sometlung is to ^e said undoubt- , edly on the advantage bf ma^ftg the boy reaUze early and keenly that manhood is : to bear and to work, and womanhctod is to be helped and sheltered. But this , should be inculcated, not inflicted ; asked, not seized ; shown and explained, not commanded. Nothing can' be surer than the growth in a boy of tender,' chivalrous regard for his sisters and for all women, if the seeds of it be rightly sown and gently nurtured. But the common li^iethod is quite other than this. It begins too harshlj^ and at -^tice with assertion or assump- tion. ' \ ; ^ ^ "Mother never thinks I am of any consequence," said a dear boy to me, the other day. « She's all for the girls." This was not true ; but there was truth in it. And I am very sure that the selfishness, the lack of real courtesy, which we see so plainly and pitiably in the behavior of the average young man to-day is thfc slow, certain result of years -of just such feelings as this child expressed. The boy has^ to scramble for his rights. Naturalljfhe is too busy to think much about the rights of others. The man keeps up the habit, and is ne^- tively selfish without knowing it. ' ' Take, for instance, the on6 point of the minor cour- tesies (if we can dare to call any courtesies minor) of daily intercourse. How many people are there who haMtuaUy speak to a boy of ten, twelve, or fourteen with the same civility as to his sister, a little younger • or older? ^ "^ *' _ rr r. 98 ■ ' ':^^ V'v;i;-7,,.^::' BITS OF TALK. "I Kke Miss — — ^," said this same dear boy to me, one day ; " for she alwa;^s bids me good-morning." Ah ! never is one such word thrown away on a lov- ing, open-hearted boy. Men know that safe through all the wear and tear of life th^y keep far greener the memory of some woman or some man who was kind to them in their boyhood than of the friend who helped or cheered them yesterday. Dear, blessed, noisy, rollicking, tormenting, comfort- ing Boy ! What should we do without him ? How much we like, without suspecting it, his breezy pres- ence i^ the house ! Except for him, how would errands " be done, chairs brought, nails driven, cows stoned out of our way, letters carried, twine and knives kept ready, lost things found, luncheon carried to picnics, three- year-olds that cry led oiit of meeting, butterflies and birds' nests and birch-bai^k got, the horse taken round ,to the stable, borrowed mings sent home, — ^and all #ith no charge for time ? Dear, patient, busy Bdy ! Shall we not sometimes answer his questions ? Give him a comfortable seat ? Wait and not reprove him till after the company has gone ? Let him wear hisf Ijest jacket, and buy him half as many neckties as his sister has ? Give him some honey, even if there is not enough to go round ? Lis- ' Jten tolerantly to his /little bragging, and help him ^.*do" his sums? ^*> With a sudden sh/ill scream the engine sh'pped c^ oft a side-track, and the cars glided into the great, grim city-station, loolang/ all the grimmer for its twinkling "BOTS NCT ALLOWED." 99 lights. The masses of people who were waiting and tte masses of people who had come surged toward eacK other hke two great waves, and mingled in a moment I caught sight of my poor little friend. Boy, following -h.s fether, struggling along in the crowd, c^nying^f hiavy can)et-bagfe, a strapped bundle, and two um- "Ha ! " said I, savagely, to myself "doing porters' wort^ not one of the things wl,ich 'boys-^^e 'no. 1^ ■* *■ ^# •J*' • ^' 'C^j-mi^.. "'.•^jlufsii'^* lOO BITS OF TALK. ^f-.r-'i^ i jS f .-*• HALF AN HOUR IN A RAILWAY STATION. , ■ . i. . TT was pne of those bleak and rainy days which mark the coming of spring on New England sea- shoresi .The rain felt and looked as if it might at any minute become hail or snow ; the air pricked like needles when it blew against flesh, Yet the huge railway station was as full of people as ever. Qne could see no difference between this dreariest of days and the sunniest, so far as the crowd was concerned, except that fewer of the people wore fine clothes ; per- haps, also, that their faces looked a little more sombre and weary than usual. , There is no place in the world where human nature shows to such sad disadvantage as in waiting-rooms at railway stations, especially in the " Ladies' Room." In the "Gentlemen's Room'^ there is less of that ghastly, apathetic silence which seems only explain- able as an interval between two terrible catastrophes. Shall we go so far as to confess that even the un- lightly spittoons, land the uncleanly and loquacious fellowship resulting from their common use, seem here, for the moment, redeemed from, a little of their •.^■Sjt ri5g>T;7"«"^ ^•^^Tf^ '-i?wvw.s'^jf|:-w'?';«^:?F7'v-- ^ IN A RAILWAY STATION. loi abomf nableness, — simply because jilmost any action is better than«tter inaction, and any thing which makes the joyless, taciturn American speak to his feUow whom he does not know, is for the time being a bless-., ing. But in- the « Ladies* Room " there is not even a ' community of interest in a single bad habit, to break the monotone of weary stillness. Who has not felt the very soul writhe within her as she has first crossed - the threshold of one of these dismal antechambers of journey ? Carpetless, dingy, dusty ; tWo or three low sarcophagi of greenish-gray iron in open spaces, sur- rounded by blue-lipped women, in different angles and attitudes of awkwardness, trying to keep the soles of ^ their feet in a perpendicular position, to be warmed at what they have been led to believe is a steam-heating apparatus ; a few more women, equally listiess and weary-looking, standing in equally difficult and awk- ward positions before a counjter, holding pie in one hand, and tea in a cup and saucer in the other,^king alternate moutiifiils of each, and spilling both ; the rest wedged bolpjprfght against the wall in rfarrow partitioned seat#%hich only need a length of perfo- . rated foot-board in front to make them fit to be patented as the best metiiod of putting whole communities of citizens into the stocks at once. AD, feet warmers, x-pie-eaters, and tiiose who sit in the red-vdvet stocks, ' wear so exactiy tiie same expression of vacuity and fatigue tiiat tiiey might almost be taken for one gigan- tic and unhappy family connection, on its way to what ' 'g ca j led ia4newspap € ija--*^a sad event^^^Ffae^c ^'.1- 4 4 wi \A opJjr ' .■/ ^ I02^' . BITS OF ^ALK, wonder is thaii^iis stiffened, desiccated, crowd retains vitality enough to remember the hours at which its several tl-airis depart, and to rise up and^shake itself alive and go on bbard. One is haunted somethnes by the fancy that some day, when the air in the room is unusually bad and the" trains . are delayed, a curious phenomenon will be seen. The petrifaction will be ^ Garrieda little farther than usual, and, whenithe bell rings and the official calls out, "Train made p for Babel; Hinnom,^and way stations ?" no women will come forth from the " Ladies' Rbom," no eye will- mo^e, no muscle will stir. Husbands' and brothers wHl wait and search \^inly for those who should hav^ met them. : at the station, with bundles of the day's shopping to be carried out ; homes will be desolate ; and tiie his- tdiy of rare fossils. and petrifactions will have a novel' aiddition. Or, again, that, if some sudden convulsion of Nature, jike those which before now have buried wicked cities and the dwellers in them, were to-day to swallow up the great city of New Sodom in Americ^ and keep it under ground for. a few Aousand year% nothing in all its circuit would so puzzle the learned archaeologists of A. d. 5873 as the position of the skeletons in these same waiting-rooms, of railway sta-« tions. ; ' Thinking such thoughts as these, sinking slowly ^nd ^prely to tlje level of the place, Lwaited, on tliis bleak, rainy „day, in just such a " Ladies' Room » as I ' have described. I sat In the red-velvet stocks, with my eyes.fixed oi#the ihoor. •T .•'?■■ T . A \ ^ :• tarns ■ b its ■ 1 tself . ' ■ r -s by \ 1 ■--y »m is • ' H 1 rious . '^^ ' B u be \m 1- ■> • beU - coM cheery little voirp q^ « *. ""^ T ^^^^^*/ vS^wi a It i^JlvI? , ''^^Hn«> without my khowinfi' It, had the httle tradesman com*» f^^f t • "^nowmg .He^was a" sturdy httle feUow, ten vear«f oM t • i. I '^''^7'^'ch ougtt to have -soldinorfbikets'tS! he cotild carry. A feW H„^ „ j caskets than nua^ese .asWSHrc^S,^:,^^^^^^ . "Where do yon sell the most?" ^ - ' ■ « Burt^6*h ''v!:"''' 7*^''^ *"> best'place." ' / ,■ But th6 baskets are^Tather clumsy to carrv \, most everybody has ii^ h,nH. e n i - ^^" A'" . oa a jourifey." '"^^^^'"^' «■«. when he s.et^ oat Bm TJ^ '-•'"" '"°'''^' *'y ''°«^°'* .^ke' the baskets But t% giyes me a little, chanee"" saia h^^-lt smile, half roguish, half sadT ^' ^T^^'"'^^'^ « or spoke^to the im^ZZ SLZ'""'' ^fl^l^^^^^l^d^mysejf^owi^gjil^ ™ ....riument as I w^ldied woman aftfcr woman ^ a ■'» .•4 ^M ■ "^1 :w- > 'ji .-^-^ n."*^*! 104 BITS OF TALK. .> wave him off with indifferent or impatient gesture. His feCe was a f^ whl.ch no mother ought to have been able to see without a thrill of pity and affection. God forgive me 1 As if any mother ought tb;«be able to see any child, ragged, dirty; poor, seeking help and findings none ! But his face was so honest, and brave, and responsive that it added much to the appeal ' of his poverty. v , \. One woman, young and pretty, came iiito the room, bringing in her arms a large toy horse,, and a little violin. "Oh," I said to myself, "she has a boy of her own, for whom she can buy gifts freely. She will surely give this poor child a penny." He thought so, too; for he went toward her with a more confident manner than he had^ shown to some of the others. Np ! She brushed by him impatiently, without a word, and walked to the ticket-office. He stood look- ing at the violin and the toy horse till ,she came back to her seat. Then he lifted his eyes to her face again ; but she apparently did not see him, and he went away. Ah,- she is only half mother who docfs not see her own child in eyeVy child ! — her own child's grief in every pain which makes another child weep ! , .;., r^*^ - Presently the little basket-boy went out intb the great haU, I watched him threading his way in and out among the groups of men. I saw one man — bless him ! — pat the little fellow on the head; then I lost sight of 4iim. .^ * After ten minutes he came back into the Ladies* -Room, wUb^ only one basket in his hnnd^ and a geiy- ) . r • 1. . iif4^>^ ^: ,iiiA'>»^'«^ilift-il*i#i JiliusJ,a^ A., J, >l>it&tULl£^ ^4^ li^^a^L^ 'Iff^Jf ^f^v3^^^ -gv-Fsj^ .y i j ii j i nm ii. w -♦ IN A RAILWAY STATION. t05 haf)py little face. The " sterner sex » had been kinder to him than we. The smile which he gave me in an- swfet- to my glad recogniti9n of his good luck was the sunniest sunbeam I have seen on a human face for many a day. He sank down into the red-velvet stocks, and twirled his remaining basket, and swung his shabby little feet, as idle and unconcerned as if he were some rich man's son, waiting for the train to fake him home. So much does a little lift help the heart of a child, even of a beggar child. |||is a comfort to remember him, with that look on his face, instead o^the wistful, plead- ing one which I saw at 4rst. I left him lying back on the dusty velvet, which no doubt seemed to him un- questionable splendor. In the cars' I sat just behind the woman with the toy-horse and the violin. I sa^ her glance rest lovingly on them many times, as aff6' thought of her boy at home ; and I wondered if the little basket-seller had really produced no impression Whatever on her heart. I shall remember him long after (if he lives) he is a man I ■OAji.llSSi.t^j^^ ^-.JSii.'ik,. iil*""^ io6 BTTS OF talk:. A GENIUS FOR AFFECTION. 'pHE other day, speaking superficiaUy and'unchar- itably, I said of a woman, whom I knew but shghUy "Sh« disappoints me utterly. Howcou7d he husband have married her? ' She is commonplace and Sh'IT^''" ."'k ^J^"^"'^' reflectively; "it is strange. She s not a bnlhant woman ; she is not even an fn- tellectual one ; but there is such a thing as a genius for,,ffect,on, and she has it. It has been good forTer husband that he married her." l^ T\ J/^ '^'°PP''^ ^°^ '° depths not often .toed. And from those depths came up some shin^ ands of truth, worth keeping among treasures ; hav! mg a phosphorescent Jight in them, which can shine in J^rk places,^and, making them light as day, reveal their " A genius for affection." Yes ; there is such a thing and no other genius is sb gr'eat. The phrase means iZ^'^TW •' *'" " "P'"'^' °' ""^^ " t^J^-t for oving. That is common to all human beings, more or less. A man or woman without it would be a monster, such as has probably never been on the earth. All ■*; ' 1 » t i-f '•■"^ ^ j^^ipsi 3- ''- f-^ >.- ^ J 4 A'VENWS FOR AFFECT] ON. aegree. it takes shape in familv. tiV<5 • moi and ruining children, childL dL^^g Jd tS parents and brothers and sisters quaSg^ o thf point of proverbial mention ; but und^aU ,h° • poor imperfect love which had let itsTbt leaSd and harassed by the frictions of life, or hinderTand warped by a body full of diseased nerves co'esr" Stwa^tLere'^ftsI^^^^^^^ »a» mere, it is the divine germ of a flower anH fru.t too precious to mature in ,^e first ye^rs aftej gating ; ,n other soils, by other waters.'^whenll lection. Oh ! what atonement wiU be there I What whXe^lhSovef^"'-^"--'^--* th^r^K 1 '"°" "•= '° ='°°*«' atmosphere than that whirh r».v.~ . .. -■ F "ctnan rt>af „!,• t. •-^""" «e in another atmosphere than that whirh rom m nn m e n bi caU ie . 1 helr ^ uppe'^ ° Itf^H iiili 1 ■mil BITS OF T4£Kf is clearer, more rarefied than any to which mere intel- lectual genius can soar. Because, to this last, always remain higher heights whichit cannot grasp, see, nor comprehend. Michel Angelo may build his dome of marble^ and human intellect may see as clearly as if God had said it that no other dome can ever be built so grand, so beautiful. But above St. Peter's hangs the blue tent- dome of the sky,' vaster, rounder, elastic, unfathomable, making St. Peter's look small as a drinking-cup, shut- ,ting it soon out of sight to north, east, south, and west, by the giysterious horizon-fold which no man can lift And beyond this horizon-fold of our sky shut dowi* again other domes, which the wisest astronomer may not measure, in whose distances our little ball and we, with all our' spinning, c^n hardly show like a star. If St. Peter's were swallowed up to-morrow, it would make no real odds to anybody but the Pope. The probabil- ities are that Michel Angelo himself has forgotten all about it. Titian and Raphael, and all the great brotherhood of painters, may kneel reverently as priests before Na- ture's face, and paint pictures at sight of which all men's eyes shall fill with grateftil tears ; and yet all men shall go away, and find that the green shade of a tree, the light on a young girl's face, the sleep of a child, the flowering of a flower, are to their pictures as living life to beautiful death. Coming to Art's two highest spheres, — music of sound and music of speech, — we find that Beethoven r Mi tii^^r5. "3 our own souls furnish tune, sweet or sorrowful in- spiriting or saddening, as we will. It is a' curious experiment to try repeating or chanting lines in time and cadence following the patter of raindrops on win- dows. It will sometimes be startling in its effect : no metre, no accent fails of its response in the low, liquid stroke of the tender drops, — there seems an uncanny rapport between them at once. And the beauty of the rain, not even love can find words to tell it. If it left but one trace, the exquisite shifting sheen of pearls on the outer side of the win- dow glass, that alone one might watch for a day. In aU times it has been thought worthy of kings, of them who are royally rich, to have garments sown thick in dainty lines and shapes with fine seed pearis. Who ever saw any such embroidery which could compare with the beauty of one pane of glass wrought on a single side with the shining white transparent globu- lets of rain ? They are millions ; they crowd ; they blend ; they become a silver stream ; they ghde slowly down, leaving tiniest silver threads behind ; th^ make of themselves a silver bank of miniature sea at the bottom of the pane; and, while they do. this, other millions are set pearl-wise at the jtop, to crowd, blend gUde down in their turn, and overflow the miniature sea. This is one pane, a few inches square ; and rooms have many windows of many panes. And looking; past this spectacle, out of our windows, how is it that we do notj^ rainy day weep with pleasure at sight of the gitstening show ? Every green thtng, from tiniest grass. # 8 114 BITS OF TALK: i £■ blade lying lowest, to highest waving tips of elms, also set thick with the water-pearls ; all tossing and catch- ing, and tossing and catching, in faixy game with the wind, and with the rain itself, always losingj always gaining, changing shape and place and number every . moment, till the twinkliilg and shifting dazzle all eyes. Then a-t the end comes the sun, like a magician for whom all had been made ready ; at sunset, perhaps, or at sunrise, if the storm has lasted all night. In one instant the silver balls btfgin to disappear. By count- less thousands at a time he tosses them back whence they came j but as they go, he changes them, under our eyes, into prismatic globes, holding very light of very light in their tiny circles, shredding and sorting it into blazing lines of rainbow, color. All the little children shout with delight, seeing these things ; and call dull, grown-up people to behold. They reply, " Yes, the storm is over ; " and this is all it means to most of them. .This kingdom of heaven they can- not enter, not being "as a fotle child." It would be worth while to know, if we only could, just what our betters — the birds and insects and beasts — do on rainy days. But we cannot find out much. It would be a great thing to look inside of an ant-hill in a long rain. All we know is that the doors are shut tight, and a few sentinels, who look as if India-rubber coats would be welconje, stand outside. The-stillness and look of intermission in the woods on a really rainy day is somethihg worth getting wet to ^ observe. It is like Sunday in Jpndon, or Fourth of .■i,,- „ -"...^ !.«'« ■iVji',«'»i''. "s.TTv^"'' s^-*- i^n T^i^ "/■ EAWr DAYS. "5 Julyih a country town which has gone bodily to a p.cmc_ in thHs^t village^ The strays who L out seem .,ke accidgataUy^rrived neople, wl^p have lost- .their way. One cannot fane/ a caterpillar'^^ being otherwise than very uncofnfortable in wet hair : and' ^rhat can there be for butterflies and dragon-flies to do. m the close corners into which they creep, with Wngs - Jhut up as tight as an uipbreUa ? The beasts fare better, being clothed in bides. Thosefwhom we often- est see outm^rains (cows and %xen Ld hoWs) keep straight OiT^th their perpetual munching, a>content *ret as dry,, though occasionally we see them ac- hl^d showCT^^' ^^^^^^^ °^ * ^^^^fro"" a patticularlf C "l"^ ^,t^* forlornest of aU created.animals when il'f^' :,^.° "° '"'P '^"Shing at sight of a flock of them liuddled up under lefe of a barn, limp, draggled, spinfless shifting fromone leg to the other, with Aei^ , silly heads hanging inert to righj. or left, looking as •f they would die for want of a y»wn ? One sees iJist such groups of Cither two-legged creatures in parlors, under similar circumstances'. The truth is a hen's life at' best seems poorer than that of any other known animal. Except when she is seating, I cannot help having acontemptfor her. This also has been recognized by that coi»ion instinct of people which goes to the making of proverbs ; for « Hen's time ain't worth much " is. a common saying, among farmers' wives. Kow she dawdles about all dfay, with her eyes ■^L^g^'lfr^" ' the gro u n d, ;forP Yfr srrntchin g an d •t fi f 'M' . n. I I'l ^.. ' ■ V ll6 BITS OJF TALK. '" • . ' • . ' ■' ^^ ^ tetdiflg in dirtiest places, — a sort of animated mutlc? r»ke, with ai mouth and an aUmeritary canal ! No won- der such an inane creature is wretched when it rains, xand her soulless business is interrupted. She is, I think, likest of all to the human beings, men or women, who do not know what to do with themselves on rainy days. .f. ^f r\ IfWW'TWW!? WW" ■"* -C"i,.F«»(^ t 'f^'^'%^ s* FRIENDS OF THE PRISONERS. 1 17 y fa 1^ .» f FRIENDS OF TiIe PRISONERS. I N many of the Paris prisons is to be seen a long, • dreary room, through the middle of whicjh are biiilt two high walls of iron grating, enclosing 4 space of some three feet in width. • A stranger visiting the prison for the first time would find it hard to divine for what purpose these walls of grating had been built But oh the appointed days when the friends of the prisoners are allowed to enter the prison, their use is sadly evident Jt would not be safe to permit wives and. husbands, and moth- ers and sons, to clasp hands rn unrestrained free(?om. A tiny file, a skein of silk, can open prison-doors and -set captives fi-ee ; love's ingenuity will circumvent tyranny and fetters, in spite of all possible precautions Therefore the vigilant authority says, " You may see, » but not touch ; there shaU be no possible opportunity for an instrument of escape to be given ; at more than arm's length the wife, the mother must be held." The prisoners are led in and seated on a- bench upon one side of these gratings ; the friends are led in and seated on a similar bench on the other side"^ jaileire are in attendance in both rnoi^ tin wnrdi can bo ^ .4 i ', ft /-' lagi^ :.t4. "W -• . ^J 1, ii8 BITS OF y^LJT. J^ spoken wl^ich the jailers do not hear. Yearningly eyes meet eyes ; feces are pressed against £he hard wires ; loving words are exchanged ; the poor prisoned souls asl^ eagerly for news- from the outer world, — the world from- which they^are as much hidden as if they were dead. Fathers hear how the httle ones have grown ; sometimes, alas ! how the Httle ones have died. Small gifts of fruit or clothing are brought ; but mjist be given first into the hands of the jailers. Even flowers cannot be given from loving hand to hand j f6r in the tiniest flower might be hidden the setretf poison which would give to the weary prisoner surest escape of all. All day comes and goes the sad train of friends ; Hngering and turning back after there, is no more to be said ; weeping when they meant and tiied to smile ; more hungry for closer sight and voice, and for toucl^ with every moment that they gaze through the bars ; ^nd going away, at last, with a new sense of loss and separation, which time, With its merciful heal- ing, will hardly soften before the vf siting-day will come again, arid the same heart-rending experience of tnirigled torture and joy will ag^in be "borne. But to the prisoners these glimpses of fia^nds' faces are like manna from heaven. Their whole life, physical and mental, receives a new impetus from them. Their blood flows more quickly, their eyes light up, they live from one day to the next on a memory and ^ hope. No punishment can be invented so terrible as tlie deprivation of the sight of their fyends on the visiting- day. Men who are obstinate and immovable befot^ ' ^ •>;■■> ?.^:■^/.^>■-K'^!j.■'^■^"';?*^^■■:J»^^V"■■■'^i^'''">"■■;^^ FRIENDS OF THE PRISONERS. ii^ any sort or amount of physical torture are subdued by mere threat of this. . j ^ A friend who told me of a visit he paid to the Prison Mazas oh one of the days, said, with tears in his eyes, It was almost more tap I could bear to see these poor souls reaching out toward each other from eitlier side of the iron railings. Here a poor, old woman, tottering and weak, bringii^ a little fruit in a basjcet for her son ; here a wife, holding up a baby to bok through the gratings at its father, and the father ^^ng;n an agony of earnestness to be sure that the baby knew him ; here a little girl, looking half fe- - proachfuUy at her brother, terror struggling with ten- derness in her young face ; on the side of the friends, loye- and yearning and pity beyond all words to de- scribe ; on the side of the prisoners, love and yearning just as great, but with a misery of shame added, which gave to many faces a look of attempt at dogged indif- ference on the surface, constariUy betrayed and con- tradicted, however, by the flashing of the eyes and the red of the cheeks." The story so impressed me that I could not for days lose sight of the picture it raised ; the double walls of iron grating ; the cruel, Inexorable, empty space be- tween them, ~ empty, yet crowded with words and looks; the lines of anxious, yearning faces on either ^ side. But presently I said to myself. It is, after all, not so unlike the life we all live; Who of us is not in prison ? Who of us is not living out his time of pun ishment? Law holds „« ^|| jp jt^ - ^ /" 'J 1 20 BITS OF TALK. of penalty for sin ; disease, danger, work separate us, wall us, bury us. That we are not numbered with the number of a cell, clothed in the uniform of a prison, locked up at night, and co|nted in the morning, is only an apparent difference, and not so real a one. Our jailers do not know us ; but we know them. There y ^ is no fixed day gleaming for us in the future when our term of sentence will expire and we shall regain freedom. It may be to-morrow ; but it may be three- score years away. Meantime, we bear ourselves as if , we were not in prison. We profess that we choose, we keep our fetters out of sight, we smile, we ting, we contrive to be glad of being alive, and we take great interest in the changing of our jails. But no man knows where his neighbor's prison lies. How bravely and cheerily most eyes look up ! This is one of the sweetest mercies of life, that " the heart knoweth its own bitterness," and, knowing it, can hide it Hence, we can all be friends for other prisoners, standing separated from them by the impassable iron gratings and the fixed gulf of space, which are not inappropri- ate emblems of the unseen barriers between all human souls. We can show kindly faces, speak kindly words, bear to them fruits and food, and moral help, greater ' than fruit or food. We need not aim at philanthro- pies ; we need not have a visiting-day, nor seek a prison-house built of stone. On every road each man we meet is a prisoner ; he 4s dying at heart, however spund he looks ; he is only waiting, however well he works. If we stop to ask whether he be our brother, ■4. $ i FRIENDS OF THE PRISONERS. 121 l.i "B 122 BITS OF TALK. A COMPANION FdH THE WINTER. f ■ ■ • T HAVE engaged a companion "for the winter. It -*■ would be simply a superfluous egotisnito say this to the public, except that I have a philanthropic motive for doing so. There are many lonely "people who are in need of a companion possessing just such qualities as his ; and he has brothers singularly like himself, whose services can be secured. I despait of doing justice to him by any description. In fact, thus far, I discover new perfections in him daily, and believe that I anl yet only on the threshold of our friendship. In conversation he is more suggestive than any per- son I have ever known. After two or three hours alone with him, I am sometimes almost startled to look back and see through what a marvellous train of fancy and reflection he has led me. Yet he is never wordy, and often conveys his subtlest meaning by a look. He is an artist, too, of the rarest sort. You watch the process under which his pictures grow ^ith in- credulous wonder. The Eastern magic which drops the seed in the mould, a«lti bids it shoot up before your eyes, blossom, and bear* its fruit in an hour, is tardy an^ tlumsy by side of the creative genius of my com- panion. His touch is swift as air ; his coloring is vivid 9 A COMPANION FOR THE WINTER. 123 as fight ; he has learned, I know not how, the secrets of Clump of soil cocoa palms ; now the spires and waUs of an ,c^, glittering in yeUow sunli/ht ; now aTs o ate, sa,/dy waste, where black rocks ^d a few crum- front with carvmgs Uke lace ; then the skeleton of a -ecked ship, with bare ribs and broken misted all so exact, so minute, so hfe-like, that you bel eve no man could paint thus any thing which he'had not see" ' ' & ^^ '^'^^"'^^ "f '=""°"'' °W patterns Nothing ,s too complicated for his memory, and he revels ;/ the most fantastic and intricate sTapes I have Jcnown him in a single evening throw oifTs^ore of designs, all beautiful, and many of them rare: fieTy scorpions on a black ground; pale lavender filagrels ilrit A ' ''^T'"'' ^"^ "''"=°" ='"'• y«"°^ threads any th ng m nature , and exquisite little bits of land- scape ,n soft grays and whites. Last night was one of h.s n,ghts of reminiscences of the mosaicworke " crv rr'-,'r"*°"" "- -g-g. and, as the flaly crystals pUed up in drifts on the ■ window-ledges, he seemed to catch the inspiration of their law of st^,.c! ome'r^T ''''=* ^'*" ^''^*' °f ^'y'^'-'«"« ''haP^; ■ mZt hrl '''u""'^ '''■"^ '^^^ " "-^-^d as if a ja might obl.tfn.te them ;-oomema.M. e an d st rong h^e J>*\ r^T +•> 124 BITS OF TALK. V- i ? those in which^the earth keeps her mineral treasures ; then, at last, on a round charcoal disk, he traced out a -perfect rose, in a fragrant white powder, which piled up under his fingers, petal after petal, circle after circle, till the feathery stamens were buried out of sight. Then, as we held our breath for fear of disturbing it, with a good-natured litde chuckle, he shook it off into the fire, and by a few quick strokes of red turned the black char- coal disk into a shield gay enough for a tournament. He has talent /or modelling, but this he exercises more r'arely. 'Usually, his figures are grotesque rather , than beautiful, and he never allows them to remain longer than for a few moments,' often changing them so rapidly under your eye that it seems like jugglery. He is fondest of doing this at twilight, and loves the dark- est corner of the room. From the half-light he will suddenly thrust out before you a grinning gargoyle head, to which he will give in an instant more a pair of spider legs, and then, with one roil, stretch it ^out into a crocodile, whose jaws seem so near snap- ping that you involuntarily draw your chair further back. Next, in a freak of ventriloquism, he startles ' you still more by bringing from the crocodile^s ritouth a sigh, so long drawn, so human, that you really shud- der, and are ready to ijnplore him to play no more tricks. He knows when he has reached this limit, and soothes you at once by a tender, far-oif whisper, like the wind through pines, sometim^ almost lil«e an^ iEolian harp j then he rouses you from your dreams by what you^are sure is a tap at the door. You turn, speak, 'V^T'T,- A COMPANION FOR THE WINTER. 125 ts en ; „o one enters ; the tap again. Ah ! it is only a 1. Ue more of the ventriloquism of this wonderful creat- comn! ^^"^ *''' "' ^"^ *^' '■"^"'^ ^"-"^^ '"^ then n,y compamon's gemus shines out. Almost always in life Ae ft,rd person is a discord, or St least a burden ; bu he IS so gemal, so diffusive, so sympathetic, that, hke some tints by which painters know how to 'bring out aU the other colors in a picture, he forces every one to do h,s best. I am indebted to him already fo7a bett^ ^°°«'l'dge of some men and women with wl&m I had talked for years before to little purpose, tt is most wonderful that he produces this effect because he Z v:J^''smii: th-'n'"' ''"^ '^ ^""^ ^^-* ^••"'"^" "^ I2r r^ ..'t ^"*' P'°P'' '" '-'"^i"'" ^''h each otner, and with him at once. I am almost afraid to go on with the list of the things my compan,o„ can do. I have not yet told the hafj nor the mpst wonderful ; and I believe I have alread^ overtaxed creduhty. I wiU mention only one more'- but that IS to me far more inexplicable than all the rest 1 am sure that it belongs, with mesmerism and clair- mysteries. He has in rare hours the power of pro- ducing the portraits c«f persons whom you have lovel &at yoij should concentrate your whole attention on him, as IS always needful to secure the best results of .-^K^*, L ^ f^«tij| 'T ^ rtK'ijL '^ ifJ^'i I* ^■l^h *• 126 /^y^/S^ Oi?' TALK. the day, or in a storm, I have never known him to suc- ceed in this. For these portraits he'uses only shadowy gray tints. He begins wi^h a hesitating outline. If you are not tenderly and closely in attention, he throws it aside ; h^an do nothing. But if you are with him, heart and soul, and do not take your eyes from his, he will presently fill out the dear faces, full, life-like, and wearing a smile, which makes you sure that they too must have been summoned from the other side, as you from this, to meet on the shadowy boundary between flesh anc^ spirit. He must see them as clearly as he sees you ; and it would be little more for his magic to do if he were at the same moment showing to their longing eyes your face and answering smile. But I delay too long the telling of his name. A strange hesitancy seizes me. I shall never be believed by any one who has not sat as I have by his side. But, if I can only give to one soul the good-cheer and strength of such a presence, I shall be rewarded. His name is Maple Wood-fire, and his terms are from eight to twelve dollars a month, according to the amount of time he gives. This price is ridiculously low, but it is all that any member of the family aslcs ; m fact, in some parts of the country, they can be hired for much less. They have connections by the name of Hickory, whose terms are higher ; but I cannot find out that they are any more satisfactory. There are also some distant potions, named Chestnut and Pine, who can be employed in the same way, at a much lower rate ; but they are all snappish and uncertain in temper. '«^M7 -cf - ''ff:,' 1^ A COMPANION FOR THE WINTER. 127 To the whole world I commend the good brotherhood of Maple, and pass on the emphatic indorsement of a blessed old black woman who came to my room the other day, and, standing before the rollicking blaze on my hearth, said, "Bless yer, honey, yer's got a wood- fire. I'se aUers said that, if yer's got a wood-fire, yer's got meat, an' drink, an' clo'es." ligag^fifrub/, iju. i'j^^iwKsawBs . / V/' iJi8 B/ra OF TudZ^, ~> CHOICE OF COLORS. A \ *' ■■■■' ^ ■" 'T^HE other day, as I was walking on one of t^V. ■■■ oldest and most picturesque streets of the 6I9 and picturesque town of Newport, R. I., I saw a little* girl standing before the window of* a milliner's shop. It was a very rainy day. The pavement of the side- walks on this street is so sunken arid iri*egular that in wet weather, unless one walks with very gSfiiat.care, he steps continually into small wells of water. Up to her ankles in one of these wells stood the little girl, appar- ently as unconscious as if she were high and dry before a fire. It was a very cold day too. I was hurrying along, wrapped in furs, and not quite warm enough even so. The child was but thinly clothed. She wor6 an old plaid shawl and a ragged knit hood of scafrlet worsted.- One little red ear stood out unprotected by the hood, and drops of water trickled down over it from her hair. She seemed to be pointing with her finger at articles in the window, and talking to some one inside. I watched her for several moments, and then crossed the street to se6 what it all meant. I stole noiselessly up behind ^er, and she did not hear me. The wiMow was full of artificial flowers, of the cheapest sort, but of very gay lu^i ''TT^ CBOrCE OF colons. - 129, colors. Here and there a knot jlf ribbon or a bit of lace had been tastefully added, ariS the whole effect was TelZTt'J' ""? ^"^ ''''"'■ ^='P' ^P- ^-P -n the small hand a^-a n«5,t th^ «rr«j , .. 1 > thA crv,oii u J . i-^-j" i«tp, lap, nip, wen *er:t\':?l!!!?=!^.'';Lr"''--p-'='-'>.witiw , m j eve.7 tap the unconscious little creature murmured, in color "'^'Tr;'"'' ^f -^'"S'-S -"•-- "I choose Mai color I choose Mat color." « I choose rt«/ color.>» thl .""f °"'f »«• I could not see her face ; but there was m her whole attitude and tone the heartiest content and delight. I moved a little to the ri^ hop- •ng to see her face, without her seeing me, -but the shght movement, caught her ear, and in\ se onl 2e ■had sprung aside and turne^ toward me. The sp,ll .£s broken .She was no longer the queen of an a,'-, castle, deckmg herself irt all the rainW hueS which pleased her eye. She was a poor beggar child, out n s^Lr ".t ^""^ '"^'"^"^'^ ^' "- ^^PP^-fi of . ey^ng me irresolutely, with that pathetic mixture of .nterrogat,on and defiance in her face which is so often ' sSrnc'hiid^""'^'^''^^^'''^^'^ ^-- °^p-«'y-. ins'tattr *' "'"" '""''" ' ""• S''^ brightened ' " Yes'm. I'd like a goon av thit blue." ww!"*/°" "'"' '"■^'^ '°''' ''^"^'"S '» the wet," said I "Won't you come under my umbrella?" She looked down at her wet dress suddenly, as if it had not occurred to her before that it was raining ThgE,shejdra tot one little fo o t and then thS ^ 9 1 )„ -***^*" .v»i^^AI^j *'}*.'*, '^■,' k' \j: t : *Xf*t- ■ 130 BITS OF TALK, out of the muddy puddle in which she had been standing, and, moving a littje closer to the window, said, " I'm not jist goin' home, mem. I'd like to stop here a \aV^ So I left her. - But, after I had ^one a few blocks, " the impulse' seized me to return by a cross street, and ' see \{ she were still there. Tears sprang to my eyes as I first caught sight of the upright Httle- figure, standing in the same spot, still pointing widi the rhythmic finger to the yues and reds and yellows, and half chanting under her breath, as before, " I choose that color." " I choose ///«/ color." " I choose that color." I went quietly on my. way, without disturbing her again. But I said in my heart, " Little Messenger, Interpreter, Teacher! I will remember you all mv Kfe." V ■ ^ .Why should days ever be dark, life ever be color- less ? There is always sun ; there are always blue and scarlet and yellow and purple. We cannot reach them, perhaps, but we can see them, if it is only "through a glass," and "darkly," — still we can see them. We can "choose" our colors. It rains, per- ^ haps ; and we are standing in the cold. Never mind. If we look earnestly enough at the brightness which is on the other side of the glass, we shall forget the wet ■ and not feel the cold. And now and then a passer-by, who has rolled himself up in furs to keep out the cold, but shivers nevertheless, —who has money in his l)urse to buy many colors, if he likes, but, neverthe- less, goes grumbling because some colors are too dear for him, — such a passer-by, chancing to hear our •■Ifsv CBOICE OF COLORS. i„ •voice, and see the atmosphere of our content, mav pov^ rf °" -,-«'' -th-at pennilessness is"o^ poyerty and ownership is not possession ; that to be witiaout is not always to lack, and to reach is not t^ atom : that sunlight is for aU eyes that lool^ up Ld color for those who " choose." ^' ^ y 133 BITS OF TALK. •^* THE APOSTLE OF BEAUTY. ■4 f.-T" « € TTE is not of the twelve, any more than the golden •*■ -^ rule is of the ten. " A greater commandment I give unto you," was said of that. Also it was called the " new commandment." Yet it was really older than the rest, and greater only because it included them all. There were those who kept it ages before Moses went > up Sinai: Joseph, for instance, his ancestor; and the king's daughter, by whose goodness he lived. So stands the Apostle of Beauty, greater than the twelve, newer and older; setting Gospel over against law, having known law before its beginning ; living trium- phantly free' and unconscious of penalty. He has had martyrdom, and will have. His church is never established ; the world does not follow him ; only of Wisdom is he known, and of her children, who are children of light. He never speaks by their mouths who say "Shalt not." He Iqjows that "shalt not** is illegitimate, puny, trying always to usurp the throne of the true king, " Thou shalt." "This is delight," "this is good to see," he sa'ys of a purity, of a fair thing. It needs not to speak of the impurity, of the ugliness. Left unmentioned, unfor- bidden, wha knows how soon they might die out of "ft'T'" THE APOSTLE OF BEAUtY. 133 " men's lives, perhaps even jfi-om the earth's surface ? Men hedging gardens have for centuries set plants under that "letter of law" which "killeth," until the very word hedge has become a pain and an offence ; and all the while there have been standing in every wild country graceful walls of unhindered brier and berry, to which the apostles of beauty have been . silently pointing. By degrees gardeners have learned something. The best of them now call themselves "landscape gardeners;" and th^t is a concession, if it means, as I suppose it does, that they will try to copy Nature's landscapes in their enclosures. I have seen also of late that on rich men's estates tangled growths of native bushes are being more let alone, and hedges seem to have had some of the weights and har- ness taken off of them. - » This is but one little matter among millions with which the Apostle of Beauty has to do ; but it serves for instance of the first reqiiisite he demands, which is • freedom. ",Let use ta^ce care of itself." " It will," he says.* " There is no beauty without freedom." Nothing is too high for him, nothing too low or small. To speak more truly, in his eyes there is no small, no low. From a philanthropy down to a gown, one catholic necessity, one cathplic principle ; gowns can be benefactions or injuries ; philanthropies can be well or ill clad. He has a minis try of co-workers, — men, women, and guileless little children. Many of them serve him with- out knowing Mia4)3MumCr^ ^ome who ficrvc him bes^ ^' '34 BITS OF TALK, I who spread his creeds most widely, who teach them most eloquently, die without dreaming that they have been missionaries to Gentiles. Others there are who caU him "Lord, Lord," build temples to him and teach in them, who never Know him. These are they who give their goods to the poor, their bodies to be burned • but are each day ungracious, unloving, hard, cruel to men and women about them. These are they also who make bad statues, bad pictures, invent frightful fashions of things to be worn, and make the houses and the rooms in which they hve hideous with unsightly adorn- ments. The centuries fight such, — now with a Titian, a Michel Angelo;. now with a great philanthropist, who IS also peaceable and easy to be entreated ; now with a Florence Nigfhtingale, knowing no sect; now with a little child by a roadside, holding up a mari- gold in the sun ; now with a sweet-faced old woman, dying gracefully in some almshouse. Who has not heard voice from such apostles ? To-day my nearest, most eloquent apostie of beauty is a poor shoeniaker, who lives in the house where I lodge. How poor he must be" I dare not even try to ' understand. He has six children : the oldest not more than thirteen, the third a deaf-jnute, the baby puny and ill, — sure, I think (and hop6), to die soon. ^ They Uve in two rooms, on the ground-floor. His shpp is the right-hand corner of the front room ; ^e rest is bedroom and sitting-room ; behind are the bed- room and kitchen. I have never seen so much as I might of their way of Kving; for I stand before hii Krl . ■JJUMunwufeMj'^JHfla'^i ^H '» . THE^ APOSTLE OF BEAUTY, 135 window with more reverent fear of intruding by a look than I should have at the door of a king's chamber. A narrow rough ledge added to the window-siU is his bench. Behind this he sits from six in the morning tiU ^ven at night, bent over, sewing slowly and painfully on" the coarsest shoes. His fa^e looks old enough for sixty years ; but he cannot be so old. Yet he wears glasses and walks feebly; he has probably never had in any one day of his life enough to eat. But I do not know any man, and I know only one woman, who has such a look of radiant good-cheer and content as has this poor shoemaker, Anton Grasl. In his^vindow are goarse wooden boxes, in which are growing the common maUows? They are just now in full bloom, — row upon row of gay-striped purple and white beHs. The window looks to the east, and is never shut When I go out to my breakfast the sua is streaming in on the flowers and Anton's face. He looks up, smiles, bows low, and says, " Good-day, good my lady," sometimes holding the maUow-stalks back with one hand, to see me mpre plainly. I feel as if the day and I had had benediction. It is always a better day because Anton has said it is good; and I am a better woman for sight of his godly contentment Al- most every day he has beside the mallows in the boxes a white mug with flowers in it, — nasturtiums, perhaps, or a few pinks. This he sets carefuUy in shade of the thickest mallows ; and this I have often seen him hold down tenderly, for the little ones to see and to smelL ■( «v I. »3^ BITS OF TALK. When I come home in the evenkigs, between eight and nine o'clocTc, Anton is always sitting in front of ^e door, resting his head against the will.. This is his recreation, his one blessed hour of out-door air and rest. He stands with his cap. in his hand while I pass, and his face shines as if all the concentrated enjoy- ment of my walk in the woods had descended upon him in my first look. If I give him a btJnch of ferns to add to his nasturtiums and pinks, he is sb grateful and de- lighted that I have to go into the house quickly for fear i shaU cry. Whenever I am coming back from a drive, 1 begin to, think, long, before I reach the house, how . glad Anton will look when he sees the carriage 'stop I am as sure as if I had omniscient sight into the depths Of his good heart that he has distinct and unenwous joy in every pleasure that he sees other people taking. Never have I heard one angry or hasty word, one petulant or weary cry from the rooms in which this father and mother and six children are struggling to live. All day long the barefooted and ragged little ones play under my south windows, and do not quarrel ^ I amuse myself by dropping grapes or nlums on their heads and then watching them at their feast ;• never have I seen them dispute or struggle in the division. Once I purposely threw a large bunch of grapes to the poor httle mute, and only a few pl^^s to the otjiers. I am Sony to say that voiceless Cai-1 ate all his grapes himself; but not a selfish or discontented look cOuld I see on the.faces of the others,-.they aU smiled and beamed up at me like suns. .. ' fih -v / ■■ ■ ■■■,... - ■ f ■ ■ " . - ■■:.■ ■ TH^ APOSTLE OF BEAUTY, i^j It is Anton who creates and s,ustains this rare*at- mosphere.^ The wife is only a common and stupid woman ; he is educating her, as he is the children. She IS very thin and worn and hungry-looking, but always . smiles. Being Anton's wife, she could not do other- wise. Sometimes I see people passing the house, who give . a careless glance of bontemptuous pity at Anton's win- dow of mallows and nasturtiums. Then I remember that an apostle wrote : — " There are, it may be, so many kinds of voices in the world, and none of them is without signification. "Therefore, if I know not the meaning ol" the voice, I sh^ be unto him that speaketh a barbarian, and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me." And I long to caU after them, as they go groping their way down the beautiful street,— " Oh, ye barbarians, blind and deaf I How dare you think you ca^ pity Anton? His soul would melt in comp^assion for you, if he were able to comprehend that Kves could be so poor as yours. He is the rich man, and you are poor. Eating only the husks on which you feed, he would starve to death." ;im >»' X k « -i"- ;te' ^38 BITS OF TALK, "\7 ENGLISH LODGING-HOUSES. COMEDO DY who has written stories (is it Dickens ?) has given us very wrong ideas of the English todging-house. What good American does not go into London with the distinct impression that, whatever else he does or does not^o, he will upon no account live in lodgings ? That he wiU even be content with the comfortless coffee-room of a second-fate hotels and fraternize with commercial travellers from all quar- ters of the gloibe, rather than come into relations with that mixture of vulgarity and dishonesty, the lodging- house keeper ? . > It was with more than such misgiving that I first crossed thfe threshold of Mrs. 's house in Bedford Place, Bloomsbury. At thi* distance I smile to re- member how welcome would have been any alternative, father than the remaining unQer her roof for a month ; how persistently for several day^ I doubted and re- sisted the evidence of all my senses, and set myself at work to find the discomforts and shortcomings which I believed must belong to that mode of life. To con- fess the stupidity and obstinacy of my ignorance is I- ^ W-' . , fit. ' ENGLISB LODGINO'HOUSES. 139 small reparation, and would be little worth while, except for the hope that my a$:count of the comfort and economy in Hving on the Eng-ljsh lodging-house ' system may be a seed dropped in due season, which . shall spring, up sooner or later in the introduction of a similar system in America. The gain which it would be to great numbers, of our men and women who must live on small incomes cannot be estimated. It seems hardly too much to say that in the course of one gen- eration it might work in the average public health a change which would be shown in statistics, and rid us of the stigma of a "national disease" of dyspepsia. For the men and women whose sufferings and ill- , health have made of our name a by-word among the nations are not, as many suppose, the rich men and women, tempted by their^ riches to over-indulgence of their stomachs, and paying in their dyspepsia simply the fair price of their folly; they are the moderately poor.men and women, who are paying cruel penalty for ndt having been richer, — no^aving been rich enough to avoid the poisons which are cooked and served in American restaurants and in the poorer class of Ameri- ' can homes. Mrs., — -'s lodging-house was not, so far as I know, any better than the average lodging-houses 6{ its grade. It was well situated, well furnished, w6ll kept, and its scale of prices was moderate. For instance, the rent of a pleasant parlor and bedroom on the second floor was thirty-four shillings a week, including fire and g^, — t^ ' SQ,-go ]d. Then there^was ^^ehar g e of I wu shi l* . ' » ^,:::ff. ,J':h 140 BITS OF TALK. L lings a week for the use of the kitchen^fire, and three shillings a week for service ; and these were the only charges in addition to the rent. Thus for $9.75 a ' week one had all the comforts that ^an be had in housekeeping, so far as room and service are con- cerned. There were four good servants, —cook, scul- lery maid, and two housemaids. Oh, the pleasant voices and gentle fashions of behavior of those house- maids ! They were slow, it must be owned ; but their results were admirable. In spite of London smoke and grime, Mrs. 's floors and windows were clean ; the gratesl shone every morning like mirrors, and the glass and silver were bright. Each morning the smiling cook came up to take our orders for the meals' . of the day; each day the grocer and the baker and the butcher stopped at the door and left the sugar for the " first floor front," the beef for the "drawing-room," and so on. The smallest artjfle which could be required in housekeeping was not overiooked. The groceries of the different floors never got mixed,' though how this separateness of stores was accomplished will for ever remain a mystery to me ; but that it was success- fully accomplished the smallness of our bill was'^e best of proof, — unless, indeed, as we were sometimes almost afraid, we did now and then eat up Dr. A 's cheese, or drink the milk belonging to the B's below us. We were a party of four; our fare was of the plain, substantial sort, but of suflS^ient variety and abun- dance; and yet our living never cost us, including rcnt^ service, fires, and food, over $60 a week. If we V .■ ■■■ ,1i •". /■ ENGOiSti LODGING-HOUSES. H} had chosen to practise closer economies, we might , have lived on lesi. Compare for one instant the com- Jort of such an airangement as this, which really gave us every possible advantage to be secured by house- keepmg, and with almost none of the trouble, with any boarding or lodging possible in New York. We had two parlors and two bedrooms ; our meals served promptly and neatly, in our own parlor. The , same . amount of room, and service, and such a table, for four people, cannot be had in New York for less than $iso or.j2oo a week; in fact, they cannot be had in New York for any sum of money. The quiet respectfulness of behavior and faithful interest in work of English servants on English soil are not to be found elsewhere. We afterward lived for some weeks in another lodgincr. house in Great Malvern, Worcestershire, at about* the same price per week. This house was even better than the London one in some respects. The system was precisely the same ; but the cooking was al- most fauldess, ana the table appointments were more than satisfactory, — they were tasteful. The china was a pleasure, and there were silver and linen and glass which one would be glad to have in one's own home. It may be asked, and not unnaturally, how does this lodgmg-house system work for those who keep the houses? Can it be possible that all this com- fort and economy for lodgers are compatible with promts for landlords ? I can judge only from the re- suits tn thftse two cas e s which tatme under my own ,\0. \ 143 BITS OF TALK. observation. Jn each of thes^ cases the family who kept the house lived comfortably and pleasantly in their own apartment, which wa^, inUhe London house, almost as good a suite of rooms as any which they rented. They certainly had far more apparent quiet comfort, and lS?hracy than is commonly Seen in the arrangements of the keepers of average boarding- houses. In the Malvern bourse, one whole floor, which was less pleasant than the others, but still comfortable ^ and well furnished, was occupied by the family. There were three little boys, under ten years of age, who had their nurstry governess, said lessons to her regularly and were led out decorou.sIy to walk by her at appointed seasons, hke all the rest of good little English boys in we 1 regulated families ; and yet the mother of these children came to the door of our parlor each morning, •with the respectful air of an old family housekeeper, to ask what we would have for dinner, and was careful Md exact m buying "three penn'orth " of herbs at a time for us to season our soup. I ought to mention that in both these places we made the greater part of our purchases ourselves, having weekly bills' sent in from the shops, and in our names, exactly as if we were hving in our own house. All honest lodging-house keepers, we were told, preferred this method, as leaving no opening for any unjust suspicions of their -fairness m providing. But. if one chooses to be as absolutely free from trouble as jn boarding, the marketing can aU be done by the family, and the bills still made out in the lodgers' names. IJ,»v, been thus minute in my V H- >": ^2V^ „^^^<:l TCSVTTTTiT '(. ^rSB LODGING-BOUSES. 143 details because I think tliere may be Many to wljom this system of Uving is as unknown as it wL t» me to Am^rir'*"" ^°^ **' '' ""yy** ^ mtroduced -4 ^ xir \ ■ .\ 144 BITS OF TALK, I-/-, * ■'W: o WET THE CLAY. - k > |NCE I st6od in Miss Hosmer's studio, looking at a statue which she was modelling of the ex- queen of Naples. Face to face with the clay model, I always feel the artist's creative power far more than when I aiti looking at the immpvable marble, A touch here — there — and all is changed. Per- haps, under my eyes, in the twinkling of an eye, one trait springs into life and another disappears. The queen, who is a very beautiful woman, was rep- resented in Miss Hosmer's statue as standing, wearing the picturesqiife cloak that she wore during those hard . days of garri^n life at Gaet^, when she showe^ her- * self so brave and strong that the world said if she, in- stead of that very stupid young man her husband, had been king, the throne need not have been lost The very cloak, made of light cloth showily faced with scar- let, was draped over a lay figure in one corner of the room. In the statue the folds of draper}' o^er the right arm were entirely disarranged, simply rough clay. The day before they had been apparently finished ; but that morning Miss Hosmer had, as she laughingly told us, "pulled it all to pieces again." As she said this, she took u p arkrge syringe and WET TffE CLAY. '45 showered the statue from head to foot with water till - 1 hTlr'"" '"""" ^^ '^" '>=«J been juItpW d into ber^es s^S;\rh:rdrt -f "''"f ' °' *^ '^'='' 1 1, J 1 J^ ^"'^ "^"^"^ that It cannot be worked I had known this before ; but never did I so reklize beamv of ^" lifelike thing, to be made into the ^s of ^.^f^' "^""^ """ *^' °°'y 'h^°"gh this chrys- ct,d"th?mSe^o\Si°r^^^^^^^ And, as all things I see in life seem to me tX^ a suggest to me that most of the failures of mothers come from their not keeping the clay wet ° anlioS*^!," '"""^ ""' "" *" <^'^y -l'^" " i« soft sTred W ". ="7^°f" J"^t the effect which is d " !nH ft i; '° *' ''^y '^ too dry it will not yield and often .t break, and crumbles beneath the unsS ?eTut fnT/':?'* '^^ "°^°ey ^'"^'"^ these two ^results, and the two atmospheres which one often sees m the space of one half-hmir ;„ a. same rWM I n ''^t """"^ '" *»>« management of the l^Ln^V r'"" '^° '^°*°'» " instahtlya ^^gentle obedience : that person's smile is a reward tLt person's displeasure is a grief it cjumot 1^". £' p^ son s opmions have utmost weight with it, thatpers^n's presence .s a cpitroffing-and subduing influenrTn '" powte effect that it is hard tn hf li ev e t h^ child can be the ;«*.. uf < 146 BITS OF TALK. %\ A ^ same child. Her simplest command is.mel by antag- onisn^ or sullien compliance ; her pleasure and dis- pleasure ^re plainly of no account to the child, and its great desire is to. get out of her presence. What shape will she make of that child's soul ? She does not wet the clay. She does not stop to con- sider before each command whether it be wholly just, whether it be the best time to make it, and whetJier she cah explain its necessity. Oh ! the sweet reason- ableness of children when disagreeable necessities are explals^ed to them, instead of being enforced as arbi- trary tyrannies ! She does not make them so feel that she shares all their sorrows and pjeasures that they cannot help Jbeing in turn glad wjifen she is glad, and sorry when she is sorry. She,|aoes not so take tliem .,4nto constant companionship i^jher interests, each day, — the books, the papers shgjreads, the things she sees, — that they learn to ho^*^ as the representative of much more than nurseiy discipline, clothes, and bread and butter. She do^not kiss them often enough, put her arnls around th^m, warm, soften, bathe them Tn the ineffable sunshine of loving ways. "I can^t imagine why children are' so much better with you than with e," exclaims such a mother. No, she cannqt imagine ; and that is the trouble. If she could, all would be righted. It is quite probable that she is afar more anxious, self-sacrificing, hard-working mother than the neighbor, whose children are rosy and frolicking and affectionate and obedient ; while hers are pale and fret- ful and selfish- and sullen. WET THE CLAY T '47 perhaps ha,.u„c'o„ JloS,' C L^ ^w" With one-half the lahnr m^^^ir •'^ ^ " Nature's own lovelSJt shTpes^^^ ^"^^' "-«"- °f Then she says, this poor, tired mother, discoura^edX -ch a.i.e I suppose', f be'.iet t [^Srer^S hes when they are little; and they never reJize unS' they are grown up what parents do for them " Here again I find a.similitude among the artists whn awi the _hard-working, honest souls who have S them beheve that they are true reproductions of natre and Behold these trees and this water ; and how the tte while the cherub is like a paper doll, anc^^he fre« and the water never Tiad any likeness to any ftin/Z mUus beautiful earth. But, after all, thiLimi£e ' « £ r: '^' *■" " " °' comparatively smal irnds,."?, nofl T. '":''' '" ™='^'^=' -"d hideous anascapes in oil. It ,s industry, and it keeps them in «»^ . ^' '-'''=^" wun ail tne hein whirh 'I ■i> BfTS OF TALK, ' Clay in the hands of the potter is not more plastic than is the little child's soul in the hands of those who tend it Alas ! how many shapeless, how many ill- formed, how many broken do we see ! Who does not believe that the image of God could have been beauti- ful on all ? Sooner or later it will be, thank Christ ! But what a pity, what a loss, not to have had the sweet blessedness of being even here fellow-workers with him in thi$ glorious modelling for eternity ! 1/ *«. 1 1 — . - ^ • ^ ' ' - S £ : ^ -^ - • '..- i • . ' -f ' ' -. ** ■ ..N-. IS •* ' *» ,...*«. ,.J TBE KING'S FRIEND. 149 THE KING'S FRI.END. W^M ' * ^yP^^' s"°mering among the hiU,. 'r,» T"''""*" '°*° *^ ""le boarding- house re we, by reason of prior possession, hold a kind coZlT '''* "" ^^ ''"'"y ^t °"^ hands unless fte^ «me up to our standard. We are not exacting in the matter of clothes , we are liberal on creeds ; but we unlucky Ephraimues, whose t9nguea. mak* bad work TZr : ^l"^^"^" °°t quite kind to them; they orw^y^' °°^' '""' ^° "^ «° °" ''-'"« " «»ch o J . Week before last a man appeared at dinner, of whom our good Uttle landlady said, deprecatingly thit h" would stay only a few days. She k„ew\y instinc that his presence would not be agreeable to us He was no^m the least an intrusive pefson, -„: Z .t tranr, there was a sort of mute appeal to our humanity in the very extent of his quiet inoifensiveness ; but hU ■whole ataosphere was utterly uninteresting. He was routr '"."^"''' *^''"^""y '" »' «-«'" the taUe routine i and, altogether, it was so uncomfortable to make any attempt t o include hi m ia ou. c.Ble that in y^^ HK^f^^SP^asp^ • 'pj' \" 150 BITS OF TALK. a few days^e was ignored by every one, to a degree which \^a^either courteous nor Christian. • In all families there is a leader. Ours is a charming and brilliant married woman, whose ready wit and never-failing spirits make her the be§t of centres for a country par^ of pleasijre-seekers. Her keen sense of humor had not been abk entirely to spare this unfor- \ tunate man, whose attitudes and movements were cer- plainly at tihies almost irresistible. ^ ;, But one morning such a change was apparent in her ' manner, toward him that we all looked up in surprise. ^ No lAore gracious and gentle greeting could she have given Kim if he had been a prince, of royal line. Oui: • a'stonishment almost passed bounds when we heard her f .^ . continue with aJdndly inquiry* after his health, and, .undeterred by his evid^t readiness fo launch into detailed symptoms, listen to him with the most re- »- spectful attention. Under the influence of this new and sweet recognition his plain and common face kindled into somethiiig almost manly and individual He had never before 43een so spoken to by a wejU-bred and beautiful woman. We were sobered, in spite of ourselves, by an inde- finable something in her manner ; and it was with • subdued whispers that we crowded around her on the piazza, and begged to Jcnow what it all meant It was . a rare thing to see Mrs. hesitate for a reply. , The color rose in her face, an^d, with a half-nervous attempt at a smile, she finally said, " Wetl, girls, I sup- ' PQse you will all laugh at me ; but the truth is, I lieard S';. ■. .> * ■"fH^ > TBE KING'S FRIEND. ■5' ttat.man say his prayers :this morning. Youlcnow h.s room is next to hiine, and there is a great cracic in> the door. I heard him praying, this morning, for ten ' mmutes, just before breakfast; and I never heard such tones m my life. I don't pretend to be religious : but Lr'* °IV"r' ^ wonderful thing to hear a man talking with God as he did. And when I saw him at table,.! felt as if I were looking in the face 6f some^ one who had just come out of the presence of the King of fangs, and had the very air of heaven about u ,; ; *""'' ''**?»'''« *.? rest of you d<*t>- say ; I shaU always have the same feeling whenever I see nim. ' There was a magnetic earnestness' in her tone and ^ look, which we ^ felt, and which so.me'- of us wiU never forget. ,. , i ^ During .the few remaining days of Mis sky with us, that„ untutored, uriintere§tirig, stupid man knew no lack of friendly courtesy at our hands. We were the- better for his homely presence ; unawares, he minis, tered unto us. . WheQ we knew that he^ca^ie directly fmjn speaking to the' Master to speak to us, we felt that he was greater than we, and we remembered that It is written, "If any man serve me, him will my Father honor." , . •' ','t I |i.rfi'iii-W.i.... J.i. : .ari.v V • ^ 15^ /5^ >^ BITS OF TALK LEARNING TO SPEAK. » • •", • • ' • ■" t . VyiTI? ^hat breathless interest we listen for the baby's first word ! What a^new bond is at once and for ever established between its soul and ours by this mysterious, inexplicable, almost incredible fact ! That is the use of the word. That is its only use, so far as mere gratification of the ear goes. Many other sounds are mor^ pleasurable,— the baby's laugh, for instance, or its inarticulate murmurs of content or sleepiness. * But the word is a revelation, a sacred sign. Now we shall know what our beloved one wants ; now we shall know when and why the dear heart sorrows or is glad. How reassured we feel, how confident ! Now we cannot make mistakes ; we shall do all for the best ; we can give hkpp^hess ; we can communicate wisdom; n-elation is estabhshed ; the perplexinggulf of silence is Ibridged. The baby speaks 1 But it-is not of the baby's learning to speak that we propose to write here. All babies learn to speak ; or, if they do not, we know that it means a terrible visita- tion, —a cajamity rare, thank God ! but bitter almost beyond parents' strength to bear. " But why, having once learned to speak, does the. «■ • u or LEARNING TO SPEAK. i '53 Sin rj*^ 'P?"^"^ '''"=° '* ''^^°««^ a man or a woman f Many of our men and women to^ay neecL ataost as much as when they were twenty-four months speak m pubhc. We^do not mean even learninf to speak well, -to pronounce words clearly and accu- rately ; though there is need enough of that in this' land h But to is not the need at which we are aS mg now. We mean something so much simpler so . much further back, that we har^y know ho*7 slyTt ; -°--d« which shaU be simpie enough and also suffi- ciently strong. We me^n learning to speak at all! InspiteofaUwhiclisatiricalwriterfhave-saTdanday our n J,nr-/°"' '^° ■'""' *' ^"-^'ioning curiosity of our people, U is true to-day that tlie average American .3 a reticenvtaciturh, speechless creaturefwho^for his own .ake, and still more for the sake of 'all who love him needs, more than he needs any thing else und« heaven, to learn to speak. - ^ "^ caJ^nf t* T.fT "^"^'y ""^ horse-cars, steamboat- cabms, hotel-tables, in short, all our public places where people are thrown together incfden^Uy and whe e good-will and the, habit of speaking eomWnS wouH create an atmosphere' of human vLity S unhke what we see now. But it is not of so muchTon ■ sequence, after all, whether people speak inftese uMc bitter bTv '" *°"'^ ""^ greatiy'changed ftr the SnJ^ 'L-"-,,'" °"' ^°"''' *« """ speech^sness tells most fearfn llj^ . on th c bicakfasl an d d inner and ■A -,.'■ ■^•- ■■• ;■■:■■ ^ ■\'-; '54 ^ BITS OF TALK. tea-^bies, at which a silent fether and mother sit down m haste and gloom to feed th^r depressed children.- This IS especiaUy tme of menWd womenWn the rural d.stncts. They are tired ; th# have more work to do ■n a year than it is easy to do. Their lives are monoto- * nous _ too much so for the best health of either mind Z^l u ! ^^ ^'^""^"^ hbw^uch this monotony could be broken and cheered by the constant habit of talkmg w,th each other, theywould grasp at the slight- est chance of a conversation. Sometimes it almost seems as if complaints and antagonism were bcttJ than such stagnant quiet But there need not be com- plaint and antagonism ; there is no home so poor, so . remote from affairs, that each day does not bring Ld set ready for family ^Icome and discussion, beautifiil sights and sounds, occasions for helpfulness and gratf- tude, questions for decision, hopes, fears, regrets ! The . elements of human life are the same for ever ; any one heart holds itfitself the whole, can give all things to another,-can bear all things for another; but no rivr ..ng, no bearing, no, not even if it is the giving up of a • nfl' u" r,! 7'*°"* '■'""'=' '■""' '"""g interchange ofspeech, IS halfthe blessing it might be • Many a wife goes down to her grave a dulled and dispirited woman simply because her good and feith- /•'■uf"Tr ^' J'" ''y''«"'de without talking to ^r ! There have been days when one word of praise ^^^,^°'^ '"'1 °^ '™P'' eood cheer, would have girded her up with new strength. She did not know very likely, what she needed, or that she needed an^ thing; hilt she droo p ed. ' ^'■^ LEARNING TO SPEAK, , 155 Many a child grows up a hard, unimpressionable, unloving man or woman simply from the uncheered silence in which the first ten years of life were passed. Very few fathers and mothers, even those who are fluent, perhaps, in society, habitually talk with their children. It is certain that this is one of the worst shortcom- ings of our homes. Perhaps no other single change would do so much to make them happier, and, there- tore, to make our communities better, as for Inen and women to learn to speak. r. :t ^,- \ ■■i mmmm /Tj' Hi-' 156 BITS OF TALK. I ' PRIVATE TYRANTS. TX^E recognize tyranny when it wears a crown and sits on an hereditary throne. We sympathize with nations that overthrow the thrones, and in our secret hearts we almost canonize individuals who slay the tyrants. From the days of Ehud and Eglon down to those of Charlotte Corday and Marat, the world has dealt tenderly with their names whose hands have been red with the blood of oppressors. On moral grounds it would be hard to justify this sentiment, murder be- ing murder all the same, however great gain it may be to this world to have the murdered man put out of it ; but that there is such a sentiment, instinctive and, strong in the human soul, there is no denying. It is so instinctive and so strong that, if we watch our^ selves closely, we shall find it ^ving alarming shape sometimes to our secret thoughts about our neigh- bors. How many communities, how many households even, are without a tyrant ? If we could "move for returns of suffering, ' as that tender and thoughtful man, Arthur Helps, says, we should find a far heavier aggregate of PRIVATE TYRANTS. 157 misery inflicted by unsuspected, unresisted tyrannies than by those which are patent to everybody, and sure to be overthrown sooner or later. An exhaustive sermon on this subject should be set off m three divisions, as follows : — PRIVATE TYRANTS. t ij/. Number of — 2d Nature of — I 3d Longevity of — F/rj/. Their number. They are not enumerated in any census. Not even the most painstaking statistician has meddled with the topld. Fancy takes bold leaps at the very suggestion of such an estimate, and begins to thmk at once of all things in the universe which are usually mentioned as beyond numbering. Probably one good way of getting at a certain sort of result would be to ask each person of one's acquaintance, " Do you happen to know a private tyrant ? " ^ How well we know beforehand the replies we should get from some beloved men and women, — that is if they spoke the truth.! ' But they would not That is the saddest thing about these private tyrannies. They are in many cases borne m such divine and uncomplaining silence by their vic- tims, perhaps for long years, that the world never dreams of then- existence. But at last the fine, subtie writing, which no control, no patienrp, t\o w ill c an th wart, U- \ ^ t^mt I. fifcj-'' ■ - ■.,^: "^-•■■.-■fY'"?'.-"Si-,ff^"?r^^/i^','rj^(B^:! M 158 BITS OF TALK tomes set on the man's or the woman's face, and tells the whole record. Who does not know such faces ? Cheerful usually, even gay, brave, and ready with lines Of smile; but in repose so marked, so scarred with unutterable weariness and disappointment, that tears spring in the eyes and love in the hearts of aU finely organized persons who meet them. Secondly, Nature^f private tyrants. Here also the statistician has not entered. Tlie field is vast : the analysis difficult. ^ Selfishness is, of course, their leading characteristic ; in fact, the very sum and substance of their natures! But selfishness is Protean. It has as many shapes as thei^ are minutes, and as many excuses and wraps of sheep's clothing as ever ravening wolf pos- sessed. One of its commonest pleas is that of weaknesl Here it often is so inextricably mixed with genuine need and legitimate claim that4)he grow^^^wil^ered between sympathy and resentment. In^^ife^hape, however, it gets its crudest dominion over ^^^ad generous and tender people, This kind of tyrSily builds up and fortifies its bulwarks on and out of the very virtues of its victims; it gains strength hourly from the very strength of the strength to which it ap- peals ; each slow and fatal encroachment never seems at first so much a thing required as a thing offered; .but, like the slow sinking inch by inch of that great, beautiful city of stone into the relentless- Adriatic, so Is the slow, sure going down and loss of the freedom of a '-''•4 .fe • ' MM/aJa V-' \ \J,'i' '1^ PRIVATE TYRANTS. '59 strong, beautiful soul, helpless in the omnipresent cir- cumference of the selfish nature to which it is or believes itself bound. ,, That the exactions never or rarely take shape in words ,s, to the unbiassed looker-on, only an exasperat- ing feature m their tyranny. While it saves the con- scenceof the ^^^,-if such .tyrants have any,-it makes doublyjji^ success of their tyranny. And probably nptlfes^ of revelation from Heaven, in ^ape «^ blmcSl^pwo^ ever open their ev4 to the fact that,itJ^pirmore\elfish to hold a geferous spirit fettered hour by hour by a constant fear of giving pain than to coerce or threaten or scold them into the desired behavior. Invalids, all invalids, stand in deadly peril of becoming tyrants of this order. A chronic in- valid who entirely escapes it must be so nearly saint or . angel, giat one instinctively feels as if such invalid- ism would soon end in the health of heaven We knowt)f one invalid v^oman, chained to her bed for long years by an incurable disease, who has had the insight and strength to rise triumphant,^|.e this danger. Her constant wish and entreaty is th^er husband should go freely into all the work and the pleasure of life Whenever he leaves her, her farewell is net " How soon do you think you shall come back .;> At what hour or day, may I look for you?" but, "Now, pray stay just as long as you enjoy it. If you hurry home one hour soonerfor the thoughfc^f me, I shall be wretched."^ It really seems almost as if the longer he stayed away, ^^Q^''s> days, weeks even, -.IheJha^ci^&he wef e—- ^ & .;*si^ iaiMB^ai liitiiiMiMlh i i jiiiMiilkiiili ii ii i Wpi I II i BPg mnm mmmmm 1 , , \f- > i6o BITS OF TALK. o\ 1 By this sweet and wise unselfishness she has succeeded in realizing the whole blessedness of wifehood far more than m|ny women who have health. But we doubt if any century sees more than one ^uch woman as . she isi. - . ' Another large class, next to that of invalids the most difficult to deal with, is made up of people who are by nature or by habit uncomfortably sensitive or irritable. Who has not lived at one time or other in his life in daily contact with people of this sort, — persons whose outbreaks of temper, or of wounded feeling still worse than ttjmper, were as incalculable as meteoric showery? The^^uppressed atmosphere, the chronic state of alartn and misgiving, in which tlje victims of this species of tyranny live are withering and exhausting to the stout- est hearts. Thpy are also hardening j perpetually hay. in^ to wonder and watch how people will « take " things is apt sooner or later to result in indifference as to whether they take them well or ill. But-to define all the shapes of private tyranny would requif^ whole histories ; it is safe, however, to say that so far as any human being attempts to set uji his own individual need or preffl-ence as law to determine the ^tion of any other hwman being, in small Qiatters or ■^^ far forth he is a tyrant. The limit of his tyra^^ maybe narrowed by lack of poWier oa^his part, or oUfespo%e on the part of his fellows ; but its essence is as purelv tyrannous as if he sat on a throne with an cxecutioneFwithin call. TAir^. LoM|vity of private tyr;uit% We &a^ '.t «i PRIVATE TYRANTS, l6i not room under this Ii#»arl fr» ^k all ^om, could we do bett^l°thTtr°"' '' '^ "^"^ paragraph from George Ss ^1^ Z°'^ ^'"^ " It .w*.m<, ,. V .1. ^ immortal Mrs.'J#»er • It seems as if them as aren't wanted here areoJzV folks aaaren't wanted i' th' other world." ^ S 11 / /^' , ^•^■..■',\'-'^;^.--i aaami ■«iiP 163 BITS OF TALK. ..f ■if MARGIN. % Ty IDE-MARGINED pages please us at first sight We do not stop to ask why. It has passed into" an accepted rule that^all elegant books must have broad, clear margins to their pages. We as much recognize such margins among the indications of promise in a book, as we do fineness of paper, clearness of type, and beauty of binding. AH three of these last, even in perfection, could not make any book beautjful, or sightly, whose pages had been left narrow-margined and crowded. This is no arbitrary decree of custom, no chance preference of an accredited authority. It would be dangerous to set limit to the power of fashion in any thing; and yet it seems almost safe to say that not even fashion itself can ever make a narrow-mar- gined page look other than shabby and mean. This inalienable right of the brbad margin to our esteem is significant. It lies deep. Th^ broad margin means something which is not measured by inches, has noth- ing to do with fashions of shape. It means rotrni for notes, queries, add£d by any man's hand who reads. Meaning this, it mea^s.klso^much more than this,— far more than the4,me|-e letter of " right of way." It is MARGIN. It is '63 a fine courtesy of recognition that no one page*shall r„St "^'°''.'"'^ °"° """"S^' •'^ -h'-tt .m.H V TT"' '° ""' '"""% °"' of others. No m,r!tl r*""^ " '~'"' "^ '^ "°« "'^ enthusiastic ad- miration dr,wn m it by human hand, still the gracious Z! r 1"^P"^ °''"' ^'°^'^ white spaces are the to ritht nr^fft ?"^'" '"*''' "' "^'S'"^"^' stands fairly to nght or left of ,ts opponent, and wooes its friend. ^ Thmkm^ on this, we presently discover that margin and the'th- ''"' °' "■"'°'*- '"'- "^"'^^ ">« -°^l Sght u?^^ "''"""'^' ""^^^^^^ .- fi'^'i. *-;. We use tlie word constantly in sehses which, speat- >ng carelessly, we should have called secondary and borrowed. Now we see that its application to ^.^e" or pictures, or decorations, and so forth, was the bo I rowed and secondary use ; and that primarily its mean ing is spiritual. • ^ ^ ^ 'M. thi^" ""r^ ^'^"X '"^'•g''«°' be uncomfortable in every^ thing m hfe. Our plan fgr a day. for a week, for our We .me mvst ha*e it, ^ n,ygi„ for change of purpose margin for interruption, margin for accident. Making no aUowance for these, w, are fettered, we are diV turbed, we are thwarted. ' ""= ''■^^ ais- Is there a greater misery than tcbe hurried ? If w; hurried""w "."^P".""^"' "^ °-- """l '° be Peon, „ T "'"'^y^ ''hall be, if we crowd our plan. People pant, sroan. an,| ron^rlnin m if hm. y ^.e.e 1 % ^ ',#' « « y ^ 164 BITS OF TALK. thing outside of themselv.es, — an enemy, a monster, a "fLisease- which overtook then!, .and against which they had i^o 6lielter. It is hard to be patient with such non- sense. Hurry is almost the only knoWn -misery which it is impossible to have brought upon one by other pe,ople's fault. . , If our plan of action for an hour or a day be sp fatally spoiled by lack of margin, what shall we sayof^'the mis- take of the man who leaves himself no margin in mat- ters of belief? No room for a wholesome, healthy doubt? No provision for ^ji added enlightenment? No calculation for the inevitable* progress of human knowledge? This is, in our eyes, the crying sin ?ind danger of elaborate creeds, rigid formulas of exact statement on difficult and hidden mysteries. The man who is ready to give pledge that the opinion he will h^d to-mqrrow will be precisely the opinion he hold! to-day has either thought very little,\or to little purpose, or has resolved to quit thinking altogether, .j -\ »•. mmmmm THE FINE ART OF SMILING, 165 f . ■' x\ ~\ • THE FINE ART OF SMILING. COME theatrical experinfents are being made at this .. time to show that all possible emotions and all shades and gradations of emotion can be expressed by .facial action, and that the method of so, expressing them can be reduced to a system, and taught in a given number of lessons. It seems a matter of ques- tion whether one would be likgly to make love or evince sorrow any more succes|*ally by'keepin/r in mipd all the while the detailed catalogue of his flexof-s ahd extensors, and contracting' and relaxing No i 2 or 3, according to rule. The hun^^ memory is a treacherous pjing, and what an" en^mous disaster would lesult from a very slight forgetfulness in such^a nicely adjusted syst^; The fatal effect of dropping the superior maxilla^ when one^ended to droo^the inferior, or of applying nervous sSiuli.to the up mk instead of the down,, can «iasily be conceived. A^s art, after all, be it ever so skilful and triumphant, and science is only a slow reading of hieroglyphs. Nature sits h igli-'"'-^ -' ' ^ - above be^itfltj smiles compass " , 1 / ' «*•• ^ # * < rt ,>'"Y'**rf* BITS OP TALK sionately on their efFoA to imitate and un And this- brings u^o wtiat we have to say ab irig. Do many j^eople fe||' what ^ w^ndepftil t that eacll^humaii being: ifcborn itfti«ie A^irld^^lfhhis ^smile ? Eye?, nose, w^uth^.pirar be iiTere4}|aver- xonirhbnplace fisatures*,; may lo; dv's -eMfe eye^^S^iSr ^-^^^ is trv the simple ^nl!|etid^|Sl f |e]ttft>g half" a dtb&l.f^^e ar&in, and milking them piit Not one eye iil;^ liunAred ?i€(f, elnsn by most faniiliar |$d loving friends.' j^iBtit fii|tidy ismiles ; observe, even l&he most % casual -AkyVthev^lriety one sees in a day, am it will 1^ '^^ soon be ^^t what subtle revelation they mal|6, what ipfihkc iriJIividuality they possess. "^ ^^e purely natural, smile, however, is seld(^ seen adults ; and it is on' this poitit that we wish to dwell. Very early in life peopl^ find out that a smile is -a weapon, mighty to avail 'in all sorts of crises. Hence, we See the treacherous smile of the wily; the patron- ' izing smile of the pompous ; the obsequious smile of ■ , •df«iilatterer } the cynical sttnile of the satirist;. Very , few of* these have heard of Pelsarte ; but they outdo Jiim on his. own grounds. Their smile is four-fifths- of eir social stock in trade.' All such sniiles are.4ideoiis. The gloomiest, blankest look which a^ humJBfee can .wear, is w^lcomoi^than a trained smik. a^r smile i' ;\'- which, if it is not^Uually and conscio ^ee onfi e , by thodized 1 fitition, s(> = 'J, ,-■ s . iver- ^. .,-■• :;>•- dized THE FINE ART, OF SMILiNQ. 167 associated with tricks and falsities that it partakes of '^ their quality.. . ' ■ , • . ,- What, then, is the fine art of smiling ? ^ \ " ' U smiles may not be. used for weap'ops or masks, of . * what use are they? That is the shape one would " think the question took in most men's^minds.if We . may judge by their behavior! Tiiere are .but t\vo *v , legitimate purposes of the smile ; but two honest > smiles. On all little children's facejs " such • smiles - are seen. Woe to us that we so sQon waste and lose them ! ^ , . ^ ' . ' • - - The first use of the smile is to express- alfeptionate > \i;ood-will ; the second, to express mirth. Why do we not always smile whenever we meet the eye ©fa fellow-being ? That is the true, intended rec- ^ ognition which ought to pass from soul to soul con- , ; -• staatly. Little children, in simple communities, do , this involuntarily, unconsciously. The honest-hearted ' German peasant doe3 it. It is like magical sunlight all through that simple land, the perpetual greeting on the right hand and on^ the left, between strangers, as they pass by each other, never without a smile. This, then, is "the fine art of smiling;" like all fine, art; 'true art, perfection of art, the simplest following of Nature. -^ '^ ' ' , \ . Now and thpp one sees a face which' has kept its smile pure ^d undefiled. It is a woman's face usu- . * ally; often a face wlfich has trace of great sorrow. all over at,, till the shiile breaks., ^uch a smile tranS- .j^*i fty^-SO^ 7 *\ • ■^^i -*4**'^^ i68 BITS OF TALK. figures ; such" a smile^ if the artful but knew it, is, the greatest weapon a face can have. SicTcness and age cannot turn its edge ; hostility^ and distrust cannot -withstand its spell ; little children know it, and smile back ; even dumb animals come closer, and look up for another. • If one were asked to sum up in one single rule what would most conduce to beauty in the human face, one might say'therefore, " Never tamper with your smile ; never once use it for a purpose. Let it be on your face like, the reflection of the sunlight on a lake. Af- fectionate good-will to all men must be the sunlight, and your face is the lake. But, unlike the spnlight, your good-will must be perpetual, and your face must never be overcast." " What ! smile perpetually ? " says the realist. " How silly!" .. ^ Yes, smile perpetually ! Go to Delsarte here, and learn even from the mechanician of smiles ^t a smile can be indicated by a movement of muscles so slight that neither instruments nor terms exist to measure or state it ; in fact, that the subtlest smile is little more than an added brightness to the eye and a tremulousness of the mouth. One second of time is more than long enough for it j but eternity doe^ nojt outlast it. \ In that wonderfully wise and tender and p,<>etic' book, the " Layman's Breviary," Leopold Schefer says,— ,' ' _» ,''^''' «F ■:i^^' *^' THE FINE ART OF SMILING. 169 "A smile suffices to smile death away; And love defends thee e'en from wrath divine I Then let what may befall thee, — still smile on I And howe'er Death may rob thee, — still smUe on ! Love ne,y,er has to meet a bitter thing; A paradise blooms around him who smiles." V #■■ \ Hi 1i 1 '1 : 1 , t . « , ■ ' " BITS OF TALK. ■■*■ \ % iiriftltllMllilllllilll 6;pATH-BED REPENTANCE. 'N'^y ^"^ since, a Congregationalist clergyman, i^wjio had been for forty-one years in the minis- try, Wid in my hearing, " I have never,, in all my expeddnce as a pastor, known of a single/nstance in which a repentance on what was supposed to be a death-bed pribved to be of any lalue wh^ver aftagttie person recovered." / . ^^ Tt^h was Strong language. 1 involuntarily ex- claimed, *' Have^ou known many sugh cases ? " "More than I dare "to remember." *i^ "And as many moref^pe^haps, w|efe the person died." _ ^ ^ '■ T^ ., 'I '. " Yes, fully as Hfeiy'^ore. " Then did not t^ bitter failure of these death- bed ^fepentances te^ir the teal^ of timH^shake your confidence in tlieir Value urider^^'_ te^.ts «#* etlt- ,.* F^^ .f-' ;lergjrman, with t^rs n%?" *% did, -^ it does," sai in h%. ey0. The ooaversaJPn Made a deep unpres* |k|i oil , my min^. It wa$^ strong evidence, f from a'^ ,|uarter in vi^hich I lea«t looked for it, of the uttel^ ; gialtriness and ^"^sjifficiency of fear ^s a motive when • 4 m #• ii^- DEATH-BED REPENTANCE. brought to bear upon decisions in spiritudl things. There seem to be no words strong enough to stigma- tize U m all other affairs except spiritual. All ages, all races, hold cowardice chief among vices ; noble barbarians punished it with death, Even civiliza- tion the most cautiously legislated for, does the same thing when a soldier shows it "in face of the enemy." Language, gathering itself up and concen- tratmg its force Ho describe base behavior, can do no . more than call it « cowardly." No instinct of aU the ^ blessed body-guard of instincts born with us seems in . the outset a stronger one than the instinct that to be noble, one must be brave. Almost in the cradle the bab^ taunts pr is taunted by the accusation of bein^ "afraid." And the sting of the taunt lies in the prob- ability of its truth. For in all men, alas ! is born a pertain selfish weakness, to which fear can address »elf. But how strange does it appear that they who m^h to inculcate n6blest action, raise to most exalted spiritual conditions, should appeal to this lowest of ipotives to help them ! We believe .that there are many « death-bed repentances " amo^^ale, hearty sinners, who are approached by the satfie methods, stimulated by the same considerations, frightened by ^ ^^W^^ conceptions of possible future suffering, which .* s^Menmake the chambers of dying men dark with t^l^ors. Fear |§ fear all the same whether its dread .be for the neJft hour or the next century. The closer .^e enemy, the swifter it runs. That is all the differ- f ■;# -cncir.— iiexnhe enemy^e7surel)rana"plainlyl^i^^ * • '.^m- 1%-'^ ■!/' ' /; Iff m i # \' t*l^ BITS OF TALK. wid in one instance it is no more, — is as if it had never been. Every thought, word, or action based upon it has come to end. I was forcibly reminded of the conversation above quoted by some observations I once had opportu- nity of making at a Methodist camp-meeting. Much of the preaching and exhortation consisted sim- ply and solely of urgent, impassioned appeals to the people to repent, — not because repentance is right ; not because God is love, and it is base not to love and obey him ; not even because godliness is in itsejf-^eat gain, and sinfulness is, even tempo- rarily, loss and ruin ; but because there is a wrath to come, which will inflict terrible and unending suffering on the sinner. He is to " flee " for his life from tor- ments indescribable and eternal; he is to call, on Jesus, not to make him holy, but to save him from woe, to rescue him from frightful danger j all and every thing else is subordinate to the one selfish idea of escaping future misery. The effect of these ap- peals, of these harrowing pictures, on some of the young men and women and children was almost too painful to be borne. They were in an hysterical con- i, — weeping from sheer nervous terror. When the e]xcitement had reached its highest pitch, an elder rose /and told the story of a wicked and impenitent man Whom he had visited a few weeks before. The man had assented to all that he told him of the neces- sity of repentance ; but said that he was not at leisure that da y to attend the class mee ting. H e resol ved ^ ,* 't'-.-j^rv'- DEATH-BED REPENTANCE. and promised, however,' to do so the next week. That very night he was taken ill with a disease ot the brain, and, after three days of unconsciousness, died. I would not like to quote here the emphasis of ap- plication which was made of this story to the terrors of the weeping youn^ people. Under its influence several were led, almost carried by force, into the anxious seats. » It'was hard not to fancy the gentle Christ looking down upon the scene with a pain as great as that with Which he yearned oyer Jerusalem. I longed for some instant miracle tp be wrought on the :„spbt, by which there should come floating down froln Me peaceful blue sky, through the ^weet tree-tops, so£e of the loving and serene words of balm from his Gospel. Theologians may theorize, and ^ood Christians may differ (they always will) as to the existence, ex- tent, and nature of future punishment ; but the fact remains indisputably clear that, whether there be less or more of it, whether it be of this sort or of that, fear of it is a base motive to appeal to, a false motive to act from, and a worthies^ motive to trust it., Per- fect love does not know it; spiritual • courage resents it ; the true Kingdom of Heaven is never taken by' its "violence.J^j^ V___...:. " Some wheir p^ wish t Jcriew where; and I wish I knew, from'^hose lips) I once found tliis im- mortal sentence:- "A wom^n went through the streets of Alexandria, bearing a jar of water and a U -i-A' /• 174 BITS OF TALK, lighted torch, and crying aloud, 'With this torch I will burn up Heaven, and with this water PwilJ put out Hell, that God may be loved for timself alone.' " b ' )^\ l^ / ^ : V i' ■r 'V, '^.. r- I*-* V i. ^ >■ .^^ ty ;^.A', S*i-i.-,i'ji£ii--^' 1 k t #"'j< ■^* I *■ s^mni iTh I ^will nself ,^'J >»■*• •^-- p>^ THE CORRELATION OF MORAL FORGES. 175 % C 'l(<0 ' # -^-s^ THE CORRELATION OF MORAL FORCER. gCIENCE H&s dealt and delv^a patiently with the • laws of maUer. From Cuvier to Huxley, we have a long line of clear-eyed workers. The gravitating force between aU molecules ; the law of continuity ; >: the inertial force of matter j^'the sublime facts of organic co-ordination and adaptation, —all thes^are recognized, analyzed, recorded, taught. We hate learned that the ;^tru^ meaning of the ^6rd law, as applied to Naturi, is not decree, ^ut formula ^f invariable order, imputable as the ^constitution of liltimate unfts of matter. Order" i^ not imposed upon Nature, a O^der is result. Physi- cal science does not confuse* fl^se ; jt never mistakes . «or denies' specific functjjbn, organic progression, cycli- cal growfRt. It knows Jhat there is no such thing as - ., evi^ion, interruption, substitution. .^ ^^ 'J When shall we have a Cuvier, a Huxley, ^Tynd^U.;^ :;^ ^^ibr the iipm^jferial • world, ~ the realm of spmtual*ex- '^ . *.; v^**^ t(?nce,. moral growth? Nature is ione. * The, things *' •; which \\fe have clum^Jyaijd impertinently dared, to Set . off by themselves, anciJ^'bc^ as "immater' -***'" ^ ' ' "I i , 4 ,■> I 4. • V i!» '^ 'V^ *.. 176 BITS OF TALK. frame of natural ei^stence than are molecules of oxy- ^ gen or crystals of diamond. We believe in the exist- ence of one as much as in the existence of the other. In fact, if there be balance of proof in favor of either, it is not in favor of the existence 0/ what we call mat- • ter. All the known sensible qualities of matter are ultimately referable to immaterial forces, — " forces acting from points or volumes ; " and whether these points are occupied by positive substance, or " mat- ter" as it is usually conceived, cannot to-day be proved. Yet many men have less absolute belief in a soul than in nitdc acid ; many men achieve lifetimes of triumph % the faijthful use and application of Na- ture's law — that IS, formula of uniform occurrence — , in light,' sound, motion, while they all the while outrage and violate and hinder every one Of those sweet forces equally hers, equally immutable, called by. such n^mes as^ truth, sobriety, chastity, courage, and good-* will, ^ , > The suggestions of this. train of thought are top numerous. to be followed out in^he limits of a single article. Take, for instance, the fact of the identity of molecules, and look for its .correlative truth in the spiritual uhiverse. Shall we not thence learn charity, and the better understand the full meaning of some who have said that vices were virtues in excess or restraint? Taking the lists of each, and faithfully comparing themVrom l^eginning to end, not one shall be found ^hich will not confirm this slej^lgiy para- doxical statement. 'Mteb ",»' .1 . fAj: ^ ii. . -M {W:': ■-.■-.. • ■ / * )f oxy- J exist- ■1-1 ; TSB CORRELATION OF MORAL FOr'p^S. 1 77 ■ Take the great feet of continuous progressive devet opment which applies to aU^ organisms, vegetable or animal and see how it is one with the law that "the Dare we think what would bf the formula iri state- men or spiritual life which wiquld be correlative to the law of continuity"? Having dared to think, then shall we use the expression "little sins," or doubt the terrible absoluteness of exactitude with which " every .die word which men speak" shall enter upon eternity of reckoning. On the other hand, looking ^ all existences as organisms, shaU we be disturbed at seeming failure-;>- long periods of apparent inactivity ? Shall we believe for instance, that Christ's great church, can be reaU; hmdered in its appropri^e cjjcle of progressive change and adaptation?. That any true membership of this organic body can be formed^w annulled by mere human interference ? That the lopping or burning of branches of the tree, even the upi0?)ting and burning pf the tree itself this year, next year, nay, for hundreds of years, «hall have power to annihilate or even defer the ultimate organic result ? ^' The soul of man is not outcast from tl^is glory, this freedom, this safety of law. ^We spcaMs if we might break it, evade it; we forget it ;JK.y,it: bufit never forgets us, it never refuse JRiporsel of our estate. In spite of us, it protects ourgrdVth, makes sure of our de velopment In .,pii t oC u s, it takes 12 nr « f-» r,^ ^ : 1- ' ^M^ .♦•/ SiL'^lM-ik ■ "^ ■^i w »-v ^""^'"S- 1-7- ' •'^■ , ■■»* 178 ^/r^ OJ^ TALK. whithersoever we tend, and not whithersoever we like ; in spite of us, it sometimes saves what we have care- lessly perilled, and always destroys what we wilfully throw away. K, \ P> "^ .n 4.Jjii''l>'. .'!■ JA^i j^.'^j,>,;jfc -^~>S.«^- -.A f ^ / . >'"' I like ; ; care- ilfuUy A' SIMPLE BILL Ot" FARE. 179 \ \ ./■ A SIMPLE BILL OF FAllE FOR A CHRISTMAS DINNER." .^LL good reeipe-books giVe bills of fare for dif- ferent occasions, bills of fare for grand dinners, bills of fare for little dinners • dinners to cost so much ^^r head ; dinners " which can be easay prepared with o^^^servant," and so on.*They give bills of fafe for one weelf j- bills 6f fare for eacli day in a month, to V avoid toogreat monotony in diet. There are bills of fare for dyspeptics ; bills of fare for consumptiv«l ; bills.^f fare for fat people, ^nd bills 'of fare for thin J and bills of fa^e for. hospitals asylums, and prisohs, as' well as for gentlemen's houses. But among them all, we never saw the one which we give below. It has iiever been printed in any biok ;.but it has been used - in families. We are not dkwing on our imagination for its items. We have sat at such dinners ; we have helped prepare such dinners ; -we beh'eve in such din- ners ; they ar(y within 'eveUbody's means. In fact, tii^ most marvellous thing Jbout this bl* of fare is that %e dinner dpes np|,cosJ a ient. Hoi all ye that are jbiingry ;^nd thirsty, and w oju ld lik e 30 cheap a Oiih^ P- 'J ■"' First Course. — Gladness. ' This must be served hot. No* two housekeepers make it alike ; no fixed rule can be givf n for it. It depends, like so many of the best things, chiefly on memory,; but, Strangely enough, it depends \fguite as much on proper forgetting as on proper "^Remem- bering. iWorries must be forgotten. Troubles must be f6rgotten. Yes, even sorrow itself' must be denied and shut out. Perhaps this is not quite possible. Ah ! we all have seen Christmas days on which sor- row would not leave our hearts nor our houses. But even sorrow can be compelled to look away, from its sorrowing for a festival hour which is so solemnly joyous as Christ's Birthday. Memory can be filled full of other things to be remembered. No soul is entirely destitute of blessings, absolutely without comfort. Perhaps we have but one. Very well ; we can think steadily of that one, if we >ry. But the probability is that we have more th^ we tan count. No man has yet numbered the blessings, the mercies, the joys of God. We are all richer than we think ; and if we once set ourselves to reckoning up the things of which we are glad, we shall be astonished at their number. Gladness, then, is the first item, the first course on our bill of fare for a Christmas dinner. . ..^ •• * •^~^\;r '^■■'^f^ \it-a.,u-_. ^..^ ,>t -J -tfffe-- ^1'^* / *$*i|fr.?S'<'.V < ■ ■ . ^'^^'■^S^' ■ ■■■^'. t .i SIMPLE BILL OF FARE. K«/r/^j. — Love garnished with Smiles. i8i |Gentleness, with sweet-wine sauce of Laughter. jGracious Spei^ch, cooked with any fine, savory herbs, such as Drollery, which is always in season, or Pleasant Reminiscence, which ^o one need be without, as it keeps for. years, sealed or unsealed. Second Course. — Hospitality. The precise form (if this also, depends on individual preferences. We a^e not undertaking here to give exact recipes, only a biJLof fare. In some houses Hospitality is brought on sur- rounded with Relatives, a^his is very well. In others, it is dished up with Dignitaries of all sorts ; men and women of position and estate for whom the host has special likings or uses. This gives a fine effect to the eye, but cools quickly, and is not in the long-run satisfying. In a third class, best of all, it is served in simple shapes, but with a great variety of Unfortunate "Per- sons, — such as lonely people from lodging-houses, poor. people of all grades, widows and childless ra their affliction. This is the kind most preferred ; iu feet, never abandoned by those ivh« have tried it f^r Iksstrt. — Mirth, in glasses. Gratitude and Faith beaten together and piled up in snowy shapes. These will look light if run over night in rh f vy m W of Solid Trust and Patience^ n *,■.*„ . .^: Ii^2 BITS OP TALK. A dish Qf the bonbons GoodCheer and Kindh'ness with every-daj mottoes ; Knots and Reasons in shape of, Puzzles and Answers ; the whole ornamented wifh Apples of Gold in Pictures of Silver,' of the kind men- tioned in the Book of Proverbs. This is a short and simple bill of fare. There is not a costly thing in it ; not a thing which cannot be pro- cured without difficulty. If meat is desired, it can be added. That is another excellence about our bill of fare. , It has nothing in it which makes it incongruous with the richest or the plamest tables. It is not overcrowded by the addition of roast goose and plum-pudding; it is not harmed by the addition of herring and potatoes. Nay, it can give flavor and richness to broken bits of stale bread served on a doorstep and eaten by beggars. We might say much more about this bill of fare. We might, perhaps, confess that it has an element of the supernatural ; that its origin is lost in obscurity ; that although, as we said, it has never been printed before* It has been known in all ages ; that the martyrs feasted upon It ; that generations of the poor, called blessed by Christ, have laid out banquets by it ; that exiles and prisoners havp lived on it; and the despised and for- saken and rejected in all countries Kave tasted it. It ng ate well and is also true that when any great ki throve on his dinner, it was by the same magic food The young and the free and the glad, and all rich men ^m costly houses, even they have not been well fed wifh. out It. '''/,&1^.. -,< A«rs /*_Sv VM ''^"^^^J^ ^r-^^-kHii J A SIMPLE BILL OF FARE. i^-i And^ugh we have called it a Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner, that is only that men's eyes may be caught h\ its name, and that they, thinking it a specialty for festival, may learn and tinderstand its secret, and henceforth, laying all their dinners accord- ing to Its magic order, may "eat unto the Lord." / I 1 t ^ ■ \ '*^- at ' \ mz^gj, '^kOF TALK. I »^ -iWi^ ■'^' '$,, CHILDREN'S PARTIES. ' iSf^ ^T * ■■ 7^ " H^^^ ^^"^ ^"^^ half-past eleven.'! "German at seven, precisely." These were the terms of an invitation which we saw last week.. It was sent to forty children, between the ages of ten and sixteen. "Will you allow your children to stay at this party until half-p ajH^e ven ? " we said to a mother whose children ^eJMted. " What can I do .?" she replied. " If I §enB :^»arriage for them at half-past ten, the chanc-es are Imt they will not be aUowed to come away. It is impossible to break up a set. And as for that matter, half-past ten is two hours and a half past their. bed-time ; thiey might as well stay an hour longer. I wish nobody would ever ask my children to a party. I cannot keep them at home, if they are asked. Of course, I might ; but I have not the moral courage to see them so unhappy. All the other children go ; and what can I do ?" This is a tender, loving mother, whose sweet, gentle, natural methods with her children have made them sweet, gentle, natural little girls, whom it is a delight to Know. But "what can she do ?" The question is M^-- . '^, -"-'■■ S"^' I CHILDREN'S PARTIES. 185 by no means one which can be reaidily answered. It is very easy for off-hand severity, sweeping condemna- tion, to say, "Do! Why, nothing is plainer. Keep her children away from such places, t^ever let them go to any parties which will last later than nine o'clock." This is the san^ thing as saying, "Never let them go to parties a|(P' There are no parties which break up at nine o^ck ; that is, there are not m our cities. We hope there are such parties still in country towns and villages,~such parties as we remem- ber to this day with a vividness which no social enjoy- ments since then have dimmed; Saturday-afternoon p^rtl^s, -^matm^es they would have been called if the village people had known enough ; parties which began at three in the afternoon and ended in the early dusk, while little ones could see their way home ; parties at which there was no " German," only the simplest of dancing, if any, and much more of blind-man's-buff; ^" parties at which "mottoes "in sugar horns were the luxurious novelty, caraway cookies the staple, and lemonade the only drink besides pure water. Fancy offering to the creature called child in ci^es to-day, lemonade and a caraway cooky and a few pink sugar horns and some walnuts and raisins to carry home in its podket! One blushes at thought of the scornful contempt with which such simples would be received, — we mean rejected ! From the party whose inyitation we have quoted above the little giris came home at midnight, radiant,' J,» . sM^JoyQU s , looking in^- their fleaU i ig wh tte^Ymsli > -'J%\ ' ■ ^l • - • . -m '. 'r " ^ .'• • ii 1 » , \ k > . 5-» . i ♦ i I 4 , \ ' ' f* ^ r vt ■A ■^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT^3) us 2.5 2.2 1.0 I.I £ la 12.0 ■V Hiulugiapliic Sciences' Corporation as WtST MAIN STMIT WIUTIII,N.Y. USM (716) 179-4503 ' ' ■*::. ^ ./I J %;^- %^^ \ ■^ W^' BITS OF TAllt. % dresses Uke feiries, their hands loaded with bouqifets of hot-house flowers and dainty little "favors" ^om the German. At eleven they had had for supper cham- pagne and chicken salad, and all the other unwhole- some abominations which are set out and* eaten in American evening entertainments. Next morning there Ivere no languid eyes, pale cheeks. Each litde face was eager, bright, rosy, though the excited brain had had only five or six hours of sleep. ^ . . "If they only would feel tired the next day, that would be something of an argument to bring up with theih," said the poor mother. " But they always de- clare that they feel better than ever," And so they do. But the « better '^ is only a deceit- ful sham, kept up by excited and overwrought nerves,— the same thing that we see over and gver and over again in aU lives which are temporarily kindled and stimulated by excitement of any kind. This is the worst thing, this is the most fatal thing in all our mismanagements and perversions of the physical life of our children. Th^ir beautiful elasticity and strength rebound instantly t6 an apparentiy unin- jured fulness ; and so we go onj undermining, under- numng at point after^ point, until suddenly some day tnere comes a tragedy, a catastrophe, for which we are as unprepared as if we had been v working to avert instead of to hasten it Who shall say ^hen gm boys die at eighteen, twenty, twenty-two, our giris either in ' their girlhood or in th» tot strain of their wom:»n. i -> :■ I I . * •\ (■ - * - CmLDREJSrS PARTIES. , hood, --who shaU say that they might not have passed safely through the dangers, -had no vital force been unnecessarily wasted in their childhood, their infency ? , Every hour that a child sleeps is just so much in- vestment of physical capital for years to come. Every hour after^dark that a child is awake is just so m.ch capital withdrawn. Every hour that a child jives a quiet, taanquil, joyous life of such sort as kittens Kve on . hearths, squirrels in sunshine, is just so much invest- / ment m strength and. steadiness and growth of the/ nervous system. Every hour that a child lives a life J excited brain-working, either in a school-room or in^ • ball-room, is just so much taken away from the resen/ed force which enables nerves to triumph through the sor- rows, Arough the labors, through the diseases of later We. Every mouthful of wholesome food that a child cats, at seasonable hours, may be said to tell on every moment of his whole life, no matter how long it may be. Victor Hugo, th§ benevolent exile, has found out that to be well i^ once in seven days at one meal has been enough to transform ^^&pparent health of aU the poor children in Guerns^. Who shaU say that to take once in seven days, or even once in thirty days an unwholesome supper of chicken s^lad and cham' pagne may not leave as lasting effects on the constitu- tion of a child ? • \-h , . , . If Nature would only "execute" her "sentence* against evil works » more " speedily," evil works would not so thrive.. The l^w of continuity is the haniest ^ o n e for Average men and womc u lu cuinpre hend —or. V^' ' "••^\- -^y > It m vv ■ mm 0F ^iK. it any rate, to obey; Seed-time and harvest in gardens and fields theyjave learned to understand and profit %!. .When we learn, also, that in the precious lives of these little ones we cannot reap what we do not sow, and we must reap aU which we do sow, and that ihe emptiness or the richness of the harvest Is not ^o much for us as for them, i)ne of the first among the many things which we shall refonn will be "children's parties." . . i • •■- - . V «. / ^''wf •,*. ^TEIUSUPPE^,ltM.K. ^ \ '--'s sns ofit of )W, the ISO the 1*8 / AFTER-SUPPER TALK. «^FTER-DINNER talk' has been thought of great importance. The expression has passed into hterature, with many records of the good sa^n^ It included. Kings and ministers condescend to make efforts at it; poets, and philosophers —greater than kings and ministers— do not disdain to attempt to shine in it r ^ But nobody has yet shown wh^t « after-supper talk »» ,cmght to be. We are not speaking now of the formal tntertainment known as "a supper ;»j,re mean the everjr-day evening meal in the eveiy-day holhe^—the meal 'known heartily and commonly as "supper" among people who are neither so feshionable nor so ' foohsh as to take still a fourth meal at hours when thpy ought to be asleep in bed, .This ought to be the sweetest and most precioiii Iiour of the day. It is too often neglected ^nd lost in femiUes. It ought to be the mother Vfeur; tht mother's opportunity to undo any mischiS the day jaay have done, to forestall any mischief the morrow^ may threaten. There is an instinctive disposition in most famihes to linger abou t the supper-table, q uite UiiUke the eager hasie wnicn is seen at breakfast and •■■'"ii ;. ••■. f:l- > 190 \v «i BITS OF TALK. at diimer. Work is over for the day; everybody is tred, even the L'ttle ones who have done nothing but p ay^ The father is ready for slippers and a comforU- ble chair ; the children are ready and eager to recount the mcideuts of the day. This is the time when aU should be cheered, rested, and also stimulated by just the right sort of conversation, just the right sort of amusement ' ; The wife and mother must supply this need, must ^ create this atmosphere. We do not mean that the ' fether d6es not share the responsibility of this, as of cv^y other hour. But this particular duty is one ' requirmg qualities which are more essentially feminine % than masculine. It wants a light touch and an ««^^- tone to bring out the fuU harmony of tlie ideal home evenmg. It must not be a bore. It must not be . empty ; it must not be too much hke preaching ; it must not be whoUy • like play ; more than aU things, It must not be always - no, notif it could be helped. AOteventwiqp-^thesamel It must be that most ind2 finable, most recognizable thing, « a good time," Bless " ^ the childfen for inventing the phrase I It has, like aU ' tiieir phrases, an unconscious touch of sacred inspira- tion in it, in the selection of the good word "good," which lays peculiar l^enediction on all things to which it is set If there were no other reason against children's hav- ing lessons assigned them to study at home^ we should consider this a sufficient one, that it robs them of the " after-supper hour with their parents. Even if their ' > ■m^}^ r ■ ^^fTEB-SUPPER TALK. tat bBUns could bear without injury' the sixth, seventh, or eighth hour, as itWy be, of study, their hearts cankol bear the being starved. ' fd\^^ T'^? ^"^'y- *^'^ '" *« °°e only hour of t .f ^ I ° ^'"^"' '"°*«'"' ^d =Mis be oved sleep" in it; and in it the devirsels his ^orst lures, by help of it gaining many a soul which fie could never, get possession of in sunlight j MQther^^fathers 1 culrivnf^ u - \ i c ul t iva te ^* aft er 'S uppe r t alk ;" pl ^ I "■^: ♦ ? iv I ', vv mXS m TALK. , ^eivsupper games;" keep "aftersupper books;" mean the good newspapers and magazines you can afford, and read them aloud "after supperi" Let boys and girls bring their filends home with' them at twilight, sure of a pleasant and hospitable wel- come and of a good time " after supper," and parents may laugh to scorn all the temptations which town or village can set before tiiem to draw tiiem away from hoiiie for their evenings. . - .These are but hastjr hints, bare suggestions. I^t If they rouse one heart to a new reahzation of what ei^enm^s at home ought to be, and what evenings at home too often are, they have not been spoken in vain nor out of season. BYSTERJAm LITERATURE. 193 «•; ■A' m^r:. -a HYSTERIA IN LITERATURE. -.--■.- . ., • W\ ■ ,- ■ . ' _ - PHYSICIANS teU us that there is no known" dis- ■ ^ ease, no known symptom of disease, which hys- teria cannot and does not counterfeit. Most skilful surgeons are misled by its cunning into believing and pronouncing able-bodied young women to be victims of spmal disease, "Stricture of the oesophagus," "gas- trodynia," "paraplegia," "hemiplegia," and hundreds of other aflfecHons, with longer or shorter names, l-amilies are thrown into disorder and distress; friends suffer untold pains of anxie^ and sympathy ; doctors are summoned from far a^^ear ; and ^11 this while the vertebra, or the membrale, or the muscle, as it ' may be, T/^hich is so honestly believed to be diseased and which shows every symptom of diseased action or inaction, is sound ^nd strong, and as weU able a» ever it was to perform its function. The common symptoms of hysteria everybody is familiar with, -the crying and laughing in inappro- pnate places, the fancied impossibility of breathing and so forth, -which make. such trouble and mortifi- " cation for the embarrassed companions of hysterical pe rs ons; an d whic h, moieuver, can beveiyeas f^l^^ BITS OF TALK. %r ,. pressed by a littie wholesome severity, accompanied by judicious threats or sudden use of cold water. But few people know or suspect the number of diseases and conditions, supposed to be real, serious, often in- ^ curable, which are simply and solely,, or in a great pa^l undetected hysteria. This very ignorance on the part of friends and relatives makes it almost im- possible for surgeons and physicians to treat such cases properly. The probabiHties are, in ^ine cases out of ten, that the indignant family win dismiss, as • ignorant or hard-hearted, any practitioner who tell^ th^m the unvarnished truth, and proposes to treat the suflferer in accordance with it. . . ' In the field of literature we find a hysteria as wide- spread, as undetected^ as unmanageable as the hysteria which skulks and conquers in the field of disease. Its commoner outbreaks everybody knows by sight and sound, and everybody except the miserably igno- rant and silly despises. Yet there are* to be found cir- cles which thrill and weep in sympathetic unison with the ridiculous joys and sorrows, grotesque sentiments, and preposterous adventures of the heroes and hero- ines of the " Dime Novels " and novelettes,, and -the "Flags" and "Blades" and " Gazettes " among the lowest newspapers. But in well-regulated and intelli- gent households, this sort of writing is not tolerated, any more than the correlative sort of physical phe- nomenon would b,e, — the gasping, shrieking, sobbing, giggling kind of behavior in a man or woman. / But there is another and more dangerous working of h ■^■*ww^: ■II \ :; BY^TERU IN llTERATVm. '^95 the same thing; deep^ unsuspected, clothing itself ^th symptoms of the most defunt genuineness, it, lurks and does its business in every known fidd ot composition. Men and'women are aUke prone to i^ ' though its shape^s somewhat affected by sexr • - i^mong men it breaks out often, perha|)s ofteneSt;in violent illusions on the subject of love. They assert, . declare, shout, sing, scream that they love,-1iave loved, are loved, do and for ever wiU love, after methods and in manners which no decent love ever thought of men- tioning. And yet, so does their weak violence ape the bearing of strength, so much does their cheat look like truth, that scores, nay, shoals of human beings gb about repeating and echoing their noise, and saying, gratefully, "Yes, this is love; this is, indeed, whai all true lovers must know." ^ ♦ These are they who proclaim names of beloved on house-tops; whorstrip off veils from sacred secrets and secret sacrednesses, and set them up naked for tije muldtude to weigh and compare. What punfshmsnt K W"^^ beloved, Love himself only knolys. It mu 3t be it%tore for them somewhere. Dimly one can- sus- pect what it might be; but itwiU be like aU Loye's true secrets,— secret for ever. : , These men of hysteria also take up specialties of^ art or science ; and in their behoof rant, and exagger,' ate, and fabricate, and twist, and lie in such stentorian voices that reasonable people are deafened and J^ewil. ^ -■ . . . ■ - ^ . i They also tell_^commQn tales ia4wch€normoua 1 .( A ■■m- \ ' „, f. . -y 'T *4 WW ■ 196 BITS OF TALK^ with such gigantic structure- of rhetoriccil flourish, that the" mere -disproportion amounts to false- , ' hood ; and, the diseased appetite in listeners growing '. more and more diseased, feeding on such disefased food, it is impossible to 'predict what it will not be ^ ;. necessary for story-rnongers to invent at the end^bf a' , century or so more of this.r - - . -. .But the worst manifestations ofi this disease, are found in so-called religious writing. TJieology, biog- raphy, especially autobiography, didact^ essays, tales with a moral,-- under every onl of theseXitles it lifts up dts hateful head. It takes so successfully the guise of ..genuine religious emotion, religious e^^perieaice, religious zeal^ that good people, on all hands weep grateful tears as they read its morbid and unwhole- . some utterances. Of these are maliy of the long and short stories settin|^ forth in melodramatic pictyres exceptionally good or exceptionally bad children ; or :exceptionaUy pathetic and romantio Careers of s,weet j and refined Magdalens ; minute and pr.olongld liss^c- ! ■ tions of jthe processes of spiritual growth; equally minute and authoritative formulas for spiritual exer- cises of all sorts, — ** manuals of drill," so to speak, or "field tactics". fbr souls. Of these sorts of books, . the goodla-nd the bid are almost indistinguishable from each other, except by the carefulest attention ahd^the finest insight ; overwrought, lyina^tural atmosphere and ^ meaningless, shallow routine so nearly counterfeit the sound and ^hape of warm, true enthusiasm and wise ;precepti. " / * ^ -J ■I' , J / L a '" / i » ^:r^ ;U. >Yp»»i •jUl»l!!lk,i»»i miinfm •PPM ■IPI iiBii f- . > ■;,*■ •''■' ,: 'sr r-iT '^ I V .N •V > r . / ■ 4' • ;. HXSTEmAjN Lit£:kATURE,^ ' 197. ( Where inay be the remedy for this widespread and ^widely spreading disease among writers we do noi, know. It is not easy to keep up courageous faith th?it there is any remedy. StiU, Nature abhifrs noise and ? haste, and shams of all sorts : quiet. and patience are . tlie great secrets of her, force;. whether it be ^ moun- tain or a^ soul that she would fashion. We ^lust 'be- ' lieve tot sooner or l^er therevwill q^^e a time in which silence shall have its dlies 'moderanon be/ l^row^ed king of speech,- and melocjg^matic, spectacu- ' lar, hysterical language be considered as disreputable *• as it is silly. ' But the most dis^ouragi^ng feature of - the disease is its extreme contagiousness. . All physi- . cians know what a disastrous "^effect one hysterical ^ patient will produce upon a whole ward in- a hospital. \\%rememDer hearing a young physician once give^a most agiusing account of a won^n-who w&s taken to Bellevue Hospital for a hystericar cough. Her lungs, bronchia, throat, were all in^perfeet condition > but she coughed almost incessantly,^especiany on the approach *of the hourfor the doctor's visit to the ward. In less tiian one week half the women in the ward had similar coughs. Asingle — thoughjt must be confessed rather terrific — applifcation of cold water to the original of- fender worked a simultaneous cure upon her and all of her imitators. _ > ■ " * B ■ •' Not long ago a very parallel thing was to be observed in the field of story-wri^ng, A clever, though mofbid -and melodramatic writer published a. nbvel, whose I )-. ^ feeroiae, hawn g o nce b ee n an I nmate of a ho us e o fi^ -'^' ^f^'^ ''■'% V w t / k^ ^^ BITS '■■'-'■ ' ■ ' ■\ fenwj, escapea, dnd,'finding shelter an$l Christian train- ing in) the home of a benevolent wonian, became a model of womanly delicacy, and led a life erf exquisite and^artistic refinement As to the animus and intent of this story there could be no doubt ; both were good, but m atmosphere and execution it was essentiaUy unreal, overwrought, and melodramatic. For three or four months„ after its pubUc^tion there was a perfect outburst and overflow in newspapers and magazines ^ of die lower order of stories, aU more or less bad, some simply outrageous, and all treating, or ratiicr pretend- in|r to treat, the same problem^ wMch had furm'shed theme for that novel. . Probably a close observation and collecting of die dreary stati^stics would bring to light a curious proof of the extent and certainty of tiiis sort of contagion. Reflecting on it, having it tiirust in ope's face at every book-counter, railway-stand, Sunday-school H- brary, and parlor centre-table, it is hard not to wish for some supernatural autiiority to come sweeping tiirough the wards, and prescribe sharp cold-water treatment aU around to b^ drown all such writers and quite 'drown all their books ! ' Jff -. JOG TROT^ (t- 199 / * r' npHER JOG TROT. E is etymological uncertainty about the 'ase. But there is no doubt about its mean- ing; no dpubt that it -represents a good, comfortable gait, at which nobody goes nowadays. A hundred years ago it was the fashion : in the days when raibroads were not, nor telegraphs ; when citizens journeyed in stages^putting up prayer^ in church if their journey were to be so lon^ as froflf^assachusetts into Connecticut ; when evil news travelled slowly by -loiter, and good news was carrieKi about by men on horses ; when maidens spun and wove for long, quiet, , silent years at their wedding trousseaux, and mothers spun aiid wove all which sons and husbands wore; when newspapers were small and infrequent, dingy- typed and wholesomely stupid, so that no man could or would learn from them more about other men's opinions, affairs, or occupations than it concerned his practical convenience to know ; when even wars were waged at slow pace, — armies sailing great distances by chance winds, or plodding on foot for thousands of miles, and fighting doggedly jiand to hand at sight ; "when ibftunes alsb^were slowly made by simple, honest : ?*:-'•--•= •. NV 200 \ J31T3 OF TALK, growths,- no men excepting freebooters and pinite." becoming nch in a day. r •"«» _ It would seem treason or idiocy to sigh for these old Clays, -treason to ideas of progress, stupid idiocy unaware that it is well off. Is not to^aV briLnS venous, beautiful ? Has not Uving become sub^ a magician s "presto" ? Are we not decked n the fla^r ctn "' f ".'"^ °" "^ that shape>nd sound and flavor can give ? Are we not wiser each moment than • wewerethe.mome«before? DonottheMnTsee^he deaf hear, and the crippled dance ? Has not NatSe Slaves, -coming money and running mills? Have even the most irreligious, can have his own ? Is no what s called the "movement of the age" going on a the highest rate of speed and of sound? ShaSwe complain that we are maddened by the racket ZZ^ breath with the spinning and whirliiandS of ti^ «rain of it aU ? What is a man, mof ^ or lellf wS less ? What IS quiet in comparison with riches ? or digestion and long life in comparison with knowLdge ^^hen we are added up in the universal reckon^T/of races ^ere will be small mention of individul^'u us be disinterested.' Let us sacrifice ourselves and We rL I '"'• "' "' *°'''''"« '" the dark We do not know, not even if wf .re Huxley, Jo .., ,i,4.tM.'V n a» '■'' ^g H ■ iggj—HI i JOG TROT, 20 »> ■ ^7^' t ^^\ ^'"* '° ** e«"* "»i^«"»l scale we We patronize them Idndly for learning to turn hand- organsvor eal from porringers. Let us hope thaMf we have brethren of higher races on other planets, they W.U be as generously appreciative of our little all Wet^efr """^ "' but, meanwhile, let us never be deterred from our utmost endeavor by any base and ZTZ rf ^"^^ *"' "^'-'^^y ^' "^y °ot be Ae ast and highest work of the Creator, and in a 6ir way to reach very soon the final climax of all which created .ntemgences can be or become. Let us make the best of dyspepsia, paralysis, insanity, and the death of our children. Perhaps we can do as much in forty, years working night and day, as we could in seventy, work- ing only by day ; and the five out of twelve children lir fr- "? ?" P'T'tuate the names and the methods of their fathers. It is a comfort to believe ^ we are told that the world can never lose an 10^; that It has gamed , that progress is the great law of the umverse. It is consoling to verify this truth br looking backward, and seeing how each age has made use of the wrecks of the preceding one af mat^ nal for new structures on different plans. What are we that we should mention our preference for being ColT^ 1 ""^ '^'' '"""'*"**"y r^muneraUve ^Sl^ ^ f wrong if we are not in sympathy ^.a. Ihc age w wmch we Eve. We might as well be 202 E^TS OF TALK. dead as not keep up with it But which of us does not some imes wish in his heart of hearts, that he had been born long enough ago to hav^ been boon companion of his great:gran(|father, and have gone respectably and in due season to his grave at a good jog trot ? ,-i>- -f- 5s not been anion Jtably ? THE JOYLESS AMERICAN, ■^,^ THE JOYLESS AMERICAN. TT is easy to fancy that a European, on first reaching these shores, might suppose that he had chanced to arrive upon i day when some great public calamity had saddened the heart of the nation. It would be quite safe to assume that out of the first five hundred faces which he sees there will not be ten wearing a smile, and not fifty, all told, looking as if they ever could smile. If this statement sounds extravagant to iny man, let him try the experiment, for one week, of nbting down, in his walks about town, every face he sees which has a radiantly cheerful expression. The. chances are that at the end of his seven days he will not have entered seven faces in his note-book without being aware at the moment of some conscientious d\B- culty in permitting himself to call them positively and unmistakably cheerful. # The truth is, this wretched and joyless expression on the American face is so common that we are hard- ened to seeing it, and look for nothing better. Only when by chance some blessed, rollicking, sunshiny boy ^ or girl or man or woman flashes the beam of a laugh- ing wuutenaace into the level "gloonr3o"we^"evei[r" / . « w 204 BITS OF TALK. know that we are in the dark. Witness the instant e/fect of th>5 entrance of such a person i^o an omnibus or a car. Who has not observed it? Even the most stoIicT and apathetic soul relaxes a little. The uncon- scious intruder, simply by smiling, has set the blood moving more quickly in the veins of every human being who sees him. He is, for the moment, the personal benefactor of every one ; if he had handed about money • or bread, it would have been a philanthropy of less val^. What is to be done to prevent Ihis acrid look of toisery from becoming an organic characteristic of our people ? *« Make them play more," says one philoso- phy. No doubt they need to " play more ; » but, when one looks at the average expression of a Fourth of July crowd, one doubts if ever so much multiplication of that kind of holiday would mend the matter. No doubt we work for too many days in the year, and play for too few ; but, after all, it is the heart and the spirit and the expression that we bring to our work, and not those that we bring to our play, by which our real vitality must be tested and by which our faces will be stamped. If we do not work healthfully, reasoningly, moderately, thankfoUy, joyously, we shall have neither moderation nor gratitude nor joy in our play. And • here is the hopelessness, here is the root of the trouble, of the joyless American face. The worst of all demons' the demon t)f unrest and overwork, broods in the very sky of this land. Blue and clear and crisp and spar- kling as our atmosphere is, it can not or HnA^ not PTrnr- ll * •• 205 THE JOYLESS AMERICAN. cise the spell. Any old man can count oii the fingers of one hand the persons he has kno%n who led lives of serene, unhurried content, made for themselves occupations and not tasks, and died at last what mi^ht be called natural deaths. ** " What, then ? " says the congressional candidate from Meddibemps ; the *< new contributor " to the oceanic magazine ; Mrs. Potlphar, from behind her liveries ; and poor Dives, senior, fr^m Wall Street ; " Are we to five up aU ambition ? » God forbid. But, because one as a goal, must one be;fe©r| by poisoned spurs ? We see- on the Corso, in the days of the Carnival, what speed can be made by horses under torture. Shall we try those methods and that pace on our journeys ? So long as the American is resolved to do in one day the work of two, to make in one year the fortune of his whole life and his children's, to earn before he is forty the reputation which belongs to threescore and ten, so long he will go about the streets wearing his present abject, pitiable, overwrought, joyless look. But, even without a change of heart or a reform of habits, he might better his ^countenance a little, if he would. Even if he does not feel like smiling, he might smile, if he tried ; and that would be something. The mUscles are all there ; they count the same in the American as in the French or the Irish face ; th^y relax easil> in youth ; the trick can be learned. And even a trick^of it is better than none of it. Laughing masters might DC as well paid as dancing masters to help on society 1 ** S mil in g m ad e F. R sy " or4he~^'-iCQmplete Ar^^f^l.ee fc^= 'sffm / 206 BITS OF TALK. ing Good-natured'* would be as %king titles on book- sellers' shelves as ^^ The Complete Letter-writer" or " Handbook of Behavior." And nobody Can calculate what might be the moral and spiritual results if it could only become the fashion to pursue this branch of the fine arts. Surliness of heart must melt a little under the simple effort to smile.. A man will inevitably be a little less of a bear for trying to wear the fece of a Christian. * v . , " He who laughs can commit no deadly sin," said the wise and sweet-heartied woman who was mother of J Goetfie. , sT^ book- ?r" or. Iculate t could of the, under blybe ice of '^ ' -^ J*- u ; lid the ler of .11 r^ / , SPIRITUAL TEETBINQ, 205 SPIRITUAL TEETHING " TVTILK for babes ; but, when they come to the age for meat of doctrine, teeth must be cut. It is harder work for souls than for bodies ; but the pro- cesses are wonderfully parallel, -- the results too, alas ! If clergymen knew the symptoms of spiritual disease and death, as well as doctors do of disease and death of the flesh, and if the lists were published at end of each year and month and week, what a record would be shown ! " Mortality in Brooklyn, or New Yorl^ or Philadelphia for the week ending July 7th." We are so used to the curt heading of the little paragraph that our eye glances idly away from it, andijire do not realize its sadness. By tens and by scores they hav^ gone, the men, the women, the .babies ; in hundreds new mourners are going about the streets, week by week. We are as familiar with black as with scarlet, with the hearse as with the pleasure-carriage ; and yet " so dies in human hearts the thought of death" that we can be merty. . ^ s But, if we knew^as well the record of sick and dying and dead souls, our hearts would break. The air would ""^e ^huuld be afraid rtcnnove, ■'I (■ ; ■' 2C^ BITS OF TA^r lest we might hasten the last hour of some neighbor's spiritual breath. Ah, how often have we unconsciously spoken the one word which was poison to his feverf Of the spiritual deaths, as of the physical, more than h^If take place in the period of teething. The more one thinks of the parallelism, the closer it looks, until the hkeness -seems as droll as dismal. Oh, the sweet unquestioning infancy which takes its food from the nearest breast ; which knows but three things, -hun- ger and food and sleep I There is only a little space . for this delight. In our seventh month we begin to , be wretched. We drink our milk, but we Sre aware of a constant desire to bite ; doubts which we do not know by name, needs for which there is no ready supply, rfiake us restless. Now comes the old-school doctor, and thrusts in his lancet too soon. We suffer we bleed ; we are supposed to be relieved. The tooth IS said to be " through." • ~ Through ! Oh, yes ; through before its time. Through to no purpose. In a week, or a year, the wounded flesh, or soul, has reasserted its righ^ shut down on the tooth, making a harder surface than ever, a cicatrized crust, out of which it will take double time and double strength for the^tooth to break. The gentle doctor gives us a rubber ring,^it has a bad taste; oi^ an ivory one, it is too haf€ and hurts us^. But. wa.gnaw and gnaw, and fancy the new pain a little easier to bear than the old. Probably it is ; probably the tooth gets through a little quicker for the,days and nights of gnawing, ^ut what a pictiire Of patient mis. . fry i^ a b n b y wi th I to rub U i liug i Really one gee» s • V / ,r< II , I ^ ^ • \ •■s-' SPIRITUAL TEETBING. \ 4^ ;^»etimes'i„ the little pwclcered. twisting fe such gh^ueprpi^hecy of future conflicts, suchlkeness dc^iJTtnlJ'', '°.i"' '° *' ^"^^"^ '^ *« '"^^ases inci- dent to he teeth,ng.period, andihe treatment of them, the similitude is as close. J ^""^"V ^Z" ^T "^' '"'^'^*'' faflamsiations ; we-' hii^e et tiiut' s"r' - '^ *^^^' t'*^" »- ^° -t *- tect till It ,s, m nine cases out of^. too late to cure .-T^m -like water on the brain ;\nd we have slow . karing hfe enough to prolong death^indefinitely, being as It were hving deaths. • ^ ■'' S Who does not know poof»souls in all" stages of all • these, -outbreaks of rebellion against all forms M creeds, all proprieties ; secret adtptions of pTr Hous ' delusions, fatal errors ; and slow settling down into" SdSr " "=^- ''r---. t^e 4 worst it ^ These ^e Ihey who Hye. Shall we say any thin^ of those of us ^who die be'tween our seventh and S- eenth spiritual month ? They never pm on ba£ ■ tombstones "Died of teething." Thefe^is alw^'V toms which characterized the -last days. But the mother believes and the doctor knows that, if it had not been for the teeth th^twere coming just at that • tin^, the fever or the c rou], would not hfvi kiU e^ thj , 14 \- irif*mriiiiirniii BITS bP TALK., 1, 1 Now we come to the treatments ; l^(fi«re ai^in the ' parallelism is so close as to be ludicrous. The lancet and th6 rubber ring fail. We ar^ still restless, and scream and cry. Then our self-sacrificing nurses And who wants to throw stones ? But who lives in any thing else, nowadays? And Wmuch better off are they who never threw a stone in their hves than the rude mob who throw them aU the time ? . Really, the proverb might as well be blotted out from our books and dropped from our speech. It has no longer use or meaning. It is becoming a serious question i«^at shall be done or rather what c^n be done, to secure to fastidious peo- pie some .show aikd ' shadow 6f privacy in their homes. The silly and vulgar passion of people for knowing aU about their 'neigljbors* afl^irs, which is bad enough while It takes shape merely in idle gossip of mouth, is something terrible when it is exalted into a regulai market demand of the community, and fed by a regular market supply from all who wish to print what the --\ community will read. , 1 ^ We do not know which is worse in this traffic^the buyer or the seUlr ; we think, on the whole, the bilyer. 'GLASS BOUSES. 213 t> And ^? And ' a stone them all )ut from has no 3e done, )us peo- homes. w'mg all enough outh, is regulai regular hat the r\ 9ic^the buyer. Ssf seutP } "^ "P*"" '^- A°d. since aU . these seUers must earn their bread and butter the more one searches for a fair point of atUckinrtte evt the more he is perplexed. * ' The man who writes must, if he needs pay for his work, wnte what the man who prints will buy. The ttafl !. . ^' have come to such a pass already ' to to pomt out to the average American that it is vulgar and also unwholesome to devour with greedy ' dehght aU sorts of details about his neighbors' bu22 • T^ ^ ''°P«'««« »nd useless, as to Joint outTrte ( fire and stiychmne upon mucous membranes. The crS morf T" "'^' ""'' "^' "' '"-^"J^" • achrNltur; r''.'"'''"°'"'=- incase of stom. achs Na ure has a few simple inventions of her own for.bnnging reckless abuses to a stand-stiH-dTs pepsia, and denrinm-tremens, and so on. ^ ^ • ease^'cnn'iv '''' "° ?<=^°'">'. "apparently, of the dis- eased conditions of brains incident to the lone use of '■ unwholesome or poisonous inteUectualfo^. XL, ^he never anticipated this class of excesses. And Tf there were to be a precisely correlative punishment it .s to be feared it would fall more heavily on thTleas fhoVr- ''.'--'f-a'dtofancyapoorso; ^ ■ Who, having been rondemn.d to do apoueis' duty tor t' -•> '^;:: BITS OF TAUcl some years, and having been forced to dweH and dilate upon scenes and details which his very soul revolted from mentioning, -it is not hard to fancy such a soul visited at last by a species of defirium-tremens, in which th||«peeches of men who had spoken, the gowns of women who had danced, the faces, the figures, the furniture of celebrities, should ,aU be mixed up in a grotesque phantasmagoria of torture, before which h^ should writjie as helplessly and agonizingly as the poor whiskey-dnnker before his snakes. But it woji be a - cruel misplacement of punishment. AU tb^S the s true guilty would be placidly sitting down it ^iU for- ' .ther unsavory banquets, which equally helpless pro- viders were driven to furnish ! The evil is all the harder to deal with, also, because It IS hke so many evils, - all, perhaps, - only a dis- eased outgrowth, from a legitimate and justifiable thing. It is our duty to sympathize ; it is our privi- lege and pleasure to admire. No man lives to himself alone ; no man can ; no man ought. It is right that we should know about our neighbors all which will help us to help them, to be just to them, to avoid them if need be ; in short, all which we need to know for their or our reasonable and fair advantage. It is riifht also, that we should know about men who are or have been great all which can enaWe us to understand their greatness ; to profit, to imitate, tore;-ere ; all that will help us to remember whatever is worth remembering. There is education in this ; it is experience, it is his- tory. r^ \\ GLASS BOUSES. * But how much of what i? written, printed, and read to^y about the men and women of to^ky com« under Aese head. ? It is unnecessary tfdo m"^ ftan ask the question. It is stiU moreTnnecessaTto do more than ask how many of the men and wom^^f to-day. whoft names have become almost as "erel ■ ^ped a part o^public journals as the very titles of Ae journals themselves, have any claim to^sud, W Tside of7e" f r '=°-'''-«- -" 'nsi^nS by side of the mtrinsic one of the vulgarity of the ?Z' ^ H- .T''"* ''^""""^ of the^mo^t sacrtd nghts of ,nd>viduals. That there are here and the« weak fools who like to see their names and most trivial movements chronicled in newspapers canlt bTdf TnZ } " "''aggregate compared with the annoy ance and pa.n sufiTered by sensitive and reiineJpeopfe from these merciless invasions of their privacy ^No precautions can forestall them, no reticence prLnt • one Z' Th'""^' I''"' °^ ''^'"S outright, can se Ct!v ^ r^" *'""'^ merely leaving the tor- ture behind, a harrowing legacy to one's frifnds: for tombs are even less sacrfcd than houses. Memory friendship obligation.-aU are lost sight of in 7^ greed of desire to make an effective sketch, a suLs! >ng revelation, a neat -analysis, or perhaps an adrait imphcation of honor to one's self by reason of an dd association with greatness. Private letters and private conversations, which may touch living hearts in a thou! «and sore spots, are hawked ahont a. ronlly a. if the, ' ; m€ u BITS OF TALK. had been old cl9thes, left too long unredeemed in the hands of the ^n-broker ! « Dead men tell no tales,'' says the proverb. One wishes they could I We should miss some spicy contributions to magazine and news-, paper literature ; and a sudden silence would fall upon some loud-mouthed living. But we despair of any cure for this evil. No ridi- cule, no indignation seems to touch it People must mal^e the best they can of their glass houses ; and, if the stones come too fast, take refuge in the cellars. \ '-r,: TBE OLD.CLOTBE$ MONGER. jwy 1 : ! ? B-'^:- ■ THE OLD-CLOTHES MONGER IN JOUR. ^ NALISM. # 'pHE old-clothes business has never been consid- [N^ ered respectable. It is supposed to begin and to end-mth cheating; it deals with very dirty things It would be hard to mention a calling of lower repute. From the men who come to your door with trays of abominable china vases on their heads, and are ready to take any sort of rags in payment for them, down — or up? — to the bigger wretches who advertise that 'ladies and gentlemen can obtain the highest price for their cast-off clothing by calling at No. so and so, on such a street," they are all alike odious and despicable. We wonder when we find anybody who is not an abject Jew, engaged in the business. W^' think we can recognize the stamp of the disgusting traffic on .their very faces. It is by no means uncommon to hear • It said of a sorry sneak, « He looks like an old-clothes dealer." - ^"t what shall we say of the old-clothes mongers in - journalism ? By the very name we have defined, de- scribed them, and pointed them out. If only we Icould • make jgi^ame_.si i r h a had ^ e o f dis g ra ce that cv ti j 'W bl" ^-^'lin^Mtatf ^ whether it will or not, and share its blessings. And ' so the summers and the summerings go on, and thferT^ ' are always to be heard in the land the voices of mur-- muring boarders, and of landlords deprecating, vindi- ' '^ eating. We confess that our sympathies are with the landlords. The average country landlord is an honest, weU-meaning naan, whose idea of th^ prnf^t to be made -.. -V. •■ ■ . '^■ ,. J. Wl m' v>. 224 mrS OF TALK. "off boarders" is so' moderate « and simple that the" keepers of city boarding-houses would laugh it and him to scorn. If this were not so, would he be foun(| undertaking to Iddge atid feed peopir/or one dollar or a doUar and a half U day? Neither dpes he dream of asking them, even at this low^pdce, to fere as he fares. The "Excelsior" mattresses, at which tliey gry out in disgust, are beds oi"dbwn in comparison with the straw "tick" on which he knd his wife sleep soundly and contentedly. He has paid $4.50 for each mattress, as/ a special concession to what he understands city prej- nidice to require. The cheap painted chamber-sets are holiday adorning by the side of the cherry and pine in the bedrooms of his family. He buys fresh meat every day for dinner ; and nobody can understand the importance of this fact who is not familiar with the habit of salt-pork and codfish in our rural districts. That the meat is tough, pale, stringy is not his fault ; no other is to be bought. Stetson himself, if he dealt with this country butcher, could do no better. Vege- tables ? Y|s, he has planted them. Jf we look out of our windows, we can see them on their winding way. They wiU be ripe by and by. He never tasted peas in his life before the Fourth of July, or cucumbers^ before the middle of August He hears that there are such things; but he thinks they must be "dreadful unhealthy, them things forced out of season," —and, whether healthy or not, he can't get them. We couldn't ourselves, if We were keeping house in the same town- ship. To be sure, we might send to the cities for -r r/ COUNTRY LANDLORiyS siDE~i25 ftem. and. be served with such as were wilted to begin w«h and would arrive utterly unfit to be eaten at?nd Drictt trjrr"^' '°'''"« •^^-Wethdr market • pnce IP the added express charge. We should not do any such thing. We should do just As he does nuke the best of «pl„™ sauce," or even <^ apS - We should not make our sauce with molasses, j^oba- hnn' T-y^ "', "°* """"^ ^^ ^"S" is better; he honesUy hkes molasses best. As for saleratus in the breH as for fried meat, fed fiied doughnuts, and ubi- qmtous p,ckles aU those things hfve he and his fathers before him, eaten, and, he thinks, thriven on. from time immemorial. He will listen incredulously to aU we say about the effects of alkalies, the change of fats to injurious oils by frying, the indigestibiUty of pickles, &c. J for, after aU, thfe unanswerable fact mams on his side, though he may be too polite or , slow to make use of it ip the argument, that, havi, fed on these poisons all his life, he can easily thra'n ua to^ay, aod his wife and daughters can and do work from morning tiU night, while ours must lie down and rest by noon. In spite of all this.lie wiU do what he can to humor our whims. Never yet have we seen the couBtry boarding-house where kindly and persistent remonstrance would not introduce. the gridiron and bamshthe frying-pan, and obtain at least an attempt at yeast-bread. Good, patient, long-suifcring country people ! The, only wonder to us is that they tolerate so pleasantly, make such effort to gratify, the prefer- ence.s and rr>-jndit e a of-6 it y, ^ «ett -and^ -,^ ey-^^gg= 16 A > ( . \\ ■fcW^^Hr BITS OP TAJtK^ Xtsu^ come and who remain strangers among tiJem ; and whd^ in so many instances, behave from firs^plast as if they were of a different race; and kn^w nothing of any com* mon bonds of. humanity and Christianity. I TBE GOOD STM'F OF PLEASUm. mt ■A' " THE GOOD STAFF OF PLEASURE. ■-"-■'' ' " -^ ' ■ " ■ ■ TN an inn in Berchtesgaden, Bavaria, where I dined every day for three weeks, one summer, I made ihe acquamtance of a little maid caUed Gretchen. She stood all day long washing dishes, in a dark passage- way which communicated in some mysterious fashion v with ceUar, kitchen, dining-room, and main haU of the inn. From one or other of these quarters Gretchen was sharply called so often that it was a puzzle to know how she contrived to wash so much as a cup or a plate in the course of the day. Poor child I I am afraid she did most of her ^ork after dark ; for I sometimes left her standing there at ten o'clock at night. She was blanched and shrunken from fatigue and lack of sun- j light. I doubt if ever, unless perhaps on some excep- tional Sunday, she knew the sensation of a fuU breath of pure air or a warm sunbeam on her face. But whenever I passed her she smiled, and ther© was never-failing good-cheer in her voice when she said "Good-morning." Her uniform atmosphere of contentedness so impressed and surprised me that, at ' last, I said to Franz, the head waiter. — "Whai mates arctchcn^^^^^^^^ She has a hard * w f«*V l^^B BITS or TALK, \ y life, always standing in that narrow dark place, wash- ing dishes." ' / Franz was phlegmatic, and spoke very little English. He shrugged his shoulders, in sign of assent that Gretchen's life was a hard one, and added, — "Ja, ja. She likes because all must come at her door. There will be no one which will say not noth- ing if they go by." That was it. Almost every hour some human voice said pleasantly to her, " Good-morning, Gretchen," or " It is a fine day ; " or, if no word were spoken, there would be a friendly nod and smile. For nowhere in kind-hearted, simple Germany do human beings pass by other human beings, as we do in America, without so much as a turn of the head to show recognition of humanity in common. a-' This one little pleasure kept Gretchen not only alive, but comparatively glad. Her body suffered for want of sun and air. There was no helping that, by any amount of spiritual compensation, so long as she must stand, year in and year out, in a close, dark corner, and do hard drudgery. But, if she had stood in that close, dark corner, doing that hard drudgery, and had had no pleasure to comfort her, she would have been dead in three months. • If all men and women could realize^ the poyrer, the might of even a small pleasure, how much happier th« world would be I and how much longer bodies and^^ souls both would bear up under living! Sensitive people rea lize it to the very core of their being. They ^^^ ik^j*. •"—"■•■•■ 0y :^ THE GOOD STAFF OF PLEASURE, 2^ know that often and often it happens to them to be re- vived, kindled, strengthened, to.a. degree which they could not describe, and which they hardly comprehend, by some litUe thing, - some word of praise, some token of remembrance, some proof of affection or recogni- tion. They know, too, that strength goes out of them, just as inexplicably, just as fatally, when for a space perhaps even a short space, all these are wanting. ' People who are not sensitive also come to find this out. If they are tender. They are by no means insep- arable, — tenderness and sensitiveness ; if they were human nature would be both more comfortable and more agree^le. But tender people alone can be just to sensitive ones ; living in close relations with them, they learn what they need, and, so fSr as they can supply ]t, even when they wonder a litde, and perhaps grow a little weary. '^ - ^ ^ We see a tender and just mother sometimes sighinir because one over-sensitive child must be so much more gently restrained or admonished than the rest. But she has her reward for every effort to adjust her methods to the instrument she does not quite under- stand. If she doubts this, she has only to look on the right hand and the left, and see the effect of care- less, brutal dealing with finely strung, sensitive na- tures. We see, also, many men, - good, generous, kindly, but not sensitive-souled,- who have learned that the ' sunshine of their hom es all depends on little thini r«, i wliitU 11 w)uld Mver have entered tato their busy aS * ■ * * Y NX. a»30 . BITS OF TALK. ^composed hearts tcrtnink of doing, or saying, or pro- viding, if they had not discovered that without them their wives droop, and with them they keep well. Feople who are neither tender nor sensitive can neither comjjre'hend nor meet these needs. Alas I that there are so many such people ; or that, if there must * be just so many, as I suppose there must, they are not distinguishable at first sight, by some mark of color, or shape, or sound, so that t)ne might avoid them, or at least know what to expect in entering into ^-elation with themj Woe be to any sensitive soul whose life must, in spite of itselfj take tone and tint from daily and in- timate intercourse with such ! No bravery, no philos- ophy, no patience can save it from a slow death. But, while the subtlest and most stimulating pleasures which the soul knows come to it through its 'affections, and are, therefore, so to speak, at every man's mercy, there is still left a world of possibility of enjoyment, to which we can help ourselves, and which no man can hinder. And just here it is, I tliink, that many persons, especially those who are hard-worked; and those who have some special trpuble to bear, make great mistake. They might, perhaps, say at 'hasty first sight that it would be selfish to aim at providing thfemselves with pleasures. Not at all. Not one whit more than it is for them to buy a bottle of Aye/'s Sarsaparilla (if they do not know better) to "cleanse their blood" in the spring ! Probably a dollar's worth of almost any thing out of any other shop than a druggist's would "cleanse their blood'* betteryr— a geranium, for in«ta«r»j n r a ■K jT ^m /' . TBS GOOD STAFF OFpIeASURE. 231 ><^apl, or a concert, or a blk, or even fried oysters,-any thing, no matter what, so itis innocent - which gives them a little pleasure, breaks in o„ fte monotony of their work or their trouble, and r^akes them have for one half-hour a "good ti^e" ?hos! ' for them need no such words as I am writing here not thank God daily and take cotirage. ■ / -^ ^ But lonely people, and people whose kirt are not kind or w.se m these things, must learn tominister even in ' ' -ch ways to themselvei It is not selfish. It U^^ •— foohsh. a>swise. It is generous. Each contented • S^hiL "-f" " """'^'^ '" every other hull fa« wh,ch sees ,t ; each growth in a human soul is a t:^:^^ °'''' ""■"- -"• -'^^^ comes' •: • strSo„7!lf '°'"" '"' ^°""^y P^°P'«' ">e bitter re- stnctions of poverty. There are so many men and women to wjiom it would seem simply a taunt °o ^ vjse then, to spend, .ow and then, a dkr for a plet ^ tu-e. That the poor must go cold and hunerv has "^ never seemed to me the hardest feature in thSJ t ■ there are worse deprivations than that of food or raiment, and this very thing is one of them TWs U • a^o.. for^,.Htable people to remember. ,veJt;: ; ^^ ^'"' "y ^y *"» the year, a pictm,. on the f ' ' ->♦ • , : &,- \v 2Z2 BITS OF TALK. \ wall might jierhaps be as comforting as a blanket on the bed ; and, at any rat^, would be good for twelve months, while the blanket would help but six. I ; have seen an Irish mother, in a mud hovel, turn red With delight at a rattle for her baby, when I am 'quite sure she would have be,en indifferently grateful (of a pair of- socks. * ■ . ' Food and physicians and money are and always will be, on the earth. But a "merry heart" is a "continual' feast," and "doeth good like a medicine; " and "lov- ing favor" is "chosen," "rather than gold and silver." ""W^ ^ -■*"(■,, Wanted.— a bome. ' *m \ f- WANTED.— A HOME. . ' J^OTHING can be meaner than that "Miserjr r a^ f ""^^ ^""^^ company." But the proverb is foi^^ed on an original principle in hum^n nature, whiWi It IS no use to deny and hard work to conquer. . I have been uneasily conscious of thi* sneaking sin m my own soul, as I have read article after. article in theEnghsh newspapers and magazines on the "deca- dence of the home spirit in EngUsli femily life, ^s seen m the large-towns and the metropohs." It seems that the EngHsh are as badly off as we. ' There, also, m^n" are wide-awake and gay^at clubs and races, and sleepy and.morose in their own houses ; "sons lead Hves in- dependent of their fathers and apart from their sisters and mothers ; » "girls run about as they please, with- out care or guidance." This state of things is /*a spreading social evil," and men are at their wif s end to know what is to be done about it They are ran- sacking " national character and Customs, religion, and the particular tendency of the present Htefary and sci- entific thought, and the teaching and preaching of the public press," to find out the root of the trouble. One writer ascribes it to the "exceeding resUessness and the desire to be doing something which are predomi- ia^4he^Anglo"Saxon ra ce ; " an. ^w BITS OP TALK. other to the passion which almost aU families have for seeming richer and more fashionable than their means wiU allow. In these, and in most of their other theories they are o;ily working round and round, as doctors so often do, in the dreary circle of symptomatic results, without so much as touching or perhaps suspecting their real centre. How many people are blistered for spinal disease, or blanketed for rheumatism, when the real trouble is a little fiery spot of inflammation in the hnmg of the stomach 1 and aU these difliculties in the outworks are merely the creaking of the niachirfery, ♦because the central engine does not work properly BHsters and blankets may go on for seventy years coddling the poor victim ; but he will stay iU to thd last if his stomach be not set right There is a close likeness between the doctor's high- ' sounding list of remote symptoms, which he is treating as primary diseases, and the hue and outcry about ^e decadence of die home spirit, tiie prevalence of ex- cessive. and -improper amusements, club-houses, bil-' Hard-rooms, theatres, and so forth, which are "die • banes of homes." The trouble is in the homes: ' Htomes are stupid, homes are dreary, homes are insufferable. If one can be pardoned for die Irishism of such a saying, homes are their own worst "banes." ir homes were what they should be, nothing under heaven could be invented which could b^ bane to them, which would do more than serve as useful foil to set off their better cheer ' tfieir pleasanter ways, their wholesomer joyg. * w it...... i I WANTED.^A ffOME. ' 235 , WTiose feult'is it that they are not so? Fault is a ^Tt Tt . ^' ^"^^"^^« generations in its pitiless entail Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof is but one side of the truth. No day is sufficient unto the evil thereof is the other. Each day has to bear bur- dens passed down from so many other days ; each per- ^^^ f^f" ^"'^'"' '° complicated, so interwoven with the burdens of others ; each person's fault is so . fevered and swollen by faults of others, that there is no ^ disentangling £he question of responsibility. Every thing is everybody's fault is the simplest and fairest way of putting it. It is everybody's fault that the average home is stupid, dreary, insufferable, - a place from which fethers fly to clubs,,boys and girls to streets. But when we ask who can do most to remedy this — in whose hands it most lies to fight the fight against the tendencies to monotony, stupidity, and instability which are inherent in human nature, -then the answer IS clear and loud. It is the work of women ; this is the true mission of women, their "right" divine and unquestionable, and including most emphatically the ** right to labor." - , To create and sustain the atmosphere of a home,--* it is easily said in a very few words ; but how many women have done it ? How many women can say to themselves or others that this is their aim ? To keep house well women often say they desire. But keeping house well is another affair,— I had almost said it has nothing to do with creating a.home. That is not tru^ Of couiAc , tuuifurtabie hvmg, as regards food and fire :^- BITS OF' TALK. „ :. and clothes, can. do much to help o^ a home. Never- theless, with- one exception, the best homes I have ever seen were m houses which were not especially well kept; and the very worst I have ever known were presided (I mean tyrannized) over by "perfect house- Kfeepers." All creators are single-aimed. Never will the painter, sculptor, writer lose sight of his art. Even in the in- tervals of rest and diversion which are necessary to his health and growth, every thing he sees ministers to his passion. Consciously or unconsciously, he makes each shape, color, incident his own-; sooner orUater it will enter into his work. So it must be^ with the woman who will create a home. There is an evil fashion of speech which says it is a narrowing and narrow life that aJYoman Jekds w^o cares only, works only for her husband and chil- dren ; that a higher, more imperative thing is that she herself be developed to her utmost. Even so clear and strong a writer as Frances Cobbe, in her otherwise admirable essay on the " Final Cause of Woman," falls into this shallowness of wprds, and speaks ^ women who live solely for their families as "adjectives." In the family relation so many women are noth- ing more, so many women become even less, that human conception may perhaps be forgiven for losing sight of the truth, the ideal. Yet in women it is hard to forgive it Thinking clearly, she shouH see that a creator can never be an adjective ; and that a woman who creates^and^ sustains a homeland under whn^f I i^ « ' ■ ■ ■ WANl'ED.^A HOME. s 237 hands children grow up to be strong and pure men an^d women, is a creator, second only to God. Before she can do this, she must have development : in and by the doing of this comes constant develop: ment; the higher her development, the more perfect" her work ; the instant her own development is arrested ■ her creati^yj power stops. AU science, all art, all religion, all^^xperience of life, all knowledge of men — wiU help her ; the stars in their courses can be y^ to fight for her. Could she attain the utmost of knowl- edge coirid she have all possible humaji genius, it- would be none too much. Reverence holds its brekth and goes softly, perceiving what it is in this woman's" power to do ^ with what divine patience, steadfastness, and inspiration she must work. Into the htfme she will create, monotony, stupidity antagonisms cannot come. Her foresight will provide occupations and amusements.; her loving and alert diplomacy will fend off disputes. Unconsciously, every member of her family wiU be as clay in her hands, ^ore anxiously than any statesman wiU she meditate on the wisdom of each measure, the bearing of each word. The least possible governing which is compatible with prder will be her first principle ; her second, the greatest possible influence which is com- patible with the growth of individuality. Will the woman whose brain and heart are working these prob- lems, as applied to a, household, be an adjective ? be Idle.'* She wUl-bc-iio.mofe-ittt adjeciiye thairtfaesun is aiT ^ BITS OF TALK, : adjective in the solar system ; no more idle than Na- ture is idle. She will be perplexed ; she will be weary ; she will be disheartened, sometimes. All creators, save One, have known these pains and grown strong by them. But she will never withdraw her hand for one instant. Delays and failures will only set her to cast- ing about for new instrumentalities. She will press aU things into her service. She will master sciences, that . her boys* evenings need not be dull. She will be worldly wise, and render to Caesar his dues, that her husband and daughters may have her by their side in all their pleasures. Shj^ will invent, she will surprise, she will forestall, she will remember, she will laugh, she will listen, she will be young, she will be old, and she will be three times loving, loving, loving. This is too hard? There is the house to be kept? And there are poverty and sickness, and there is not 1 time ? . y Yes, it is hard. And there is tfie house to be kept ; and there are poverty and sickness ; but, God be^ praised, there is time. A minute is time. In one minute may live the essence^ of all. I have seen a beggar-woman make half an hour of home on a door- step, with a basket of broken meat ! And the most perfect home I ever sa^w^s in a little house into the '-: sweet incense of whose'Tires went no costly things. A thousand dollars served for a year's living of father, mother, and three children. But the mother was a creator of a home ; her relation with her children was the most beautiful I have ever seen ; tven a dull and /^ "^' /- WANTED. ~ A m>MB. 235, commonplace man was lifted up and enabled to do good »^k for souls, by the atmosphere which this woS ^Tf; T^ ""^*^ °f her house involuIS ooked into her face for the key-note of theX .^J .t always rang clear. From the rose-bud or c W-S wh.ch m spite of her hard housework,. she Tw^m found fme to put by our plates at breakkst, dowlto cussedTnT.'*'"^ '"' "''' ""^ ^^""^ *° be re,d oTdis^ cussed in the evewng, therfe was no intermission of her influence .She has always been and always wm be my .deal of a^ mother, wife, home-maker. If to Tt qu.k brain, loving heart, and ex^isite tact hL bet added aeapphances of wealth Jd the enlargements of a wider culture, hers would have been absoktej the Ideal home. As it wa3, it was the best I have e2 ' Areshold, I do not know whether she is living or not- Bu as I see house after house in which fethers and mothers and children are dragging out their li^^ ml .. hap-^ard alteriution of listless routine and unple^s! was the hght thereof; » and I iind in the faces of •^W^^t:; " a hom:T^" "'"""^ °^" ^-°"=^." .«jr I, '/ V- ^f-