TEACHING THE CHILD
PATRIOTISM

CONTENTS

TEACHING THE CHILD
PATRIOTISM

CHAPTER I

To some of us who have brought up children, this startling statement came like a bomb. If history is to be used, as it certainly is used, in many of our "best schools," in the teaching of political economy, sociology, philosophy, psychology, biology, religion and nearly everything else, why should we not use it also in teaching a child the value of his own country, how dearly it has been bought, and his duty to serve it?

When anybody undertakes to prove that a child who hears, for instance the story of the six "leading citizens" of Calais offering their lives for the redemption of their city, does not feel a deeper sense of patriotism after it, he must prove that the children whom most of us know are exceptional.

See the widening eyes and working features of children listening to a spirited reading of "Horatius at the Bridge," or "Hervé Riel," or the story of Nathan Hale.

Your "educator" may say that all this means merely an "emotional spasm." What is that but interest or enthusiasm? And what is more potent in moving the will?

Most of our intelligent mothers can testify that there seems to be nothing which more rouses a child's loving consciousness of his own land, and more enkindles a desire to do something for it,—even to die for it—than listening to these fiery old tales of exalted patriotism.

In an eloquent panegyric upon the influence of a knowledge of history, President Woolley of Mt. Holyoke College says: "It is a circumscribed life which has no vision into the past, which is familiar only with present conditions and forms of government, manners, customs and beliefs. Such a life has no background, no material for comparisons, no opportunity to learn from the mistakes of others, nor from their achievements."

And, in re-inforcement of the contention that much besides general culture and useful information is gained from the study of the past, and especially from the study of the classics, Senator Henry Cabot Lodge during a recent session of the New York Latin Club uttered a strong plea for the study of Latin and Greek, as an incentive to patriotism.

"It is impossible," he said, in effect, "to read of 'the brave days of old,' of Marathon and Salamis, of Martius Curtius, Lycurgus and a hundred others of the heroes of Greece and Rome, without a sense of the glory of living and dying for one's country. All children should be made familiar with them, and especially with the ringing lines and sound patriotism of the Iliad. They not only teach patriotism, but many of the other higher virtues, and in such an interesting way that children want to hear the stories over and over. Thus their lessons become indelibly impressed upon young minds."

But one of the hard truths which should be taught in connection with these tales of heroism, is the fact that by far the greater number of splendid sacrifices for one's country are never heard of. Cincinnatus, Hector, Ajax, Pheidippides, have come to fame, which is generally considered reward enough for any hardship; but most of the world's heroes are unknown or forgotten. Every soldier can relate courageous deeds which he has witnessed but which live only in his memory or in those of his comrades. In fact, we are told that heroism is so common in the present war that almost every soldier deserves a medal.

An interesting instance of obscure heroism is quoted by Miss Repplier from Sir Francis Doyle:

"Dr. Keate, the terrible head-master of Eton, encountered one morning a small boy crying miserably, and asked him what was the matter. The child replied that he was cold. 'Cold!' roared Keate. 'You must put up with cold, sir! You are not at a girls' school.'

"The boy remembered the sharp appeal to manhood; for fifteen years later, with the Third Dragoons, he charged at the strongly intrenched Sikhs (thirty thousand of the best fighting men of the Khalsa) on the curving banks of the Sutlej. And, as the word was given, he turned to his superior officer, a fellow-Etonian, and chuckled, 'As old Keate would say, "This is no girls' school,"' and rode to his death on the battlefield of Sobraon, which gave Lahore to England."

Thus does the true hero lay down his life, cheerfully and unrewarded, for his country.

The anonymous hero, so numerous and so grand, is well typified also by Browning's "Echetlos," "The Holder of the Ploughshare." This can be so read that even children of eight or ten can take it in.

One wishes that a real historical event were commemorated in Browning's "How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix"; but it has the heroic ring, and fires the young imagination as well, perhaps, as "An Incident of the French Camp," which is said to be true,—another story of an unnamed hero.

It will interest those same children to hear Browning's ballad of "Pheidippides," who did

The story should be told before the poem is read.

It is a pity that Napoleon III proved to be such a small man; for Mrs. Browning made some wonderful lines about him, which might well be read to children for the promotion of patriotism. In "Casa Guidi Windows" occur some of the finest lines for the awakening of true patriotism, that can be found in our language, yet they are seldom mentioned by writers on this subject. The best should be read, a few at a time, often in the family circle.

From the history of the Crimean War many striking tales of patriotism can be culled, such as incidents in the life of Lord Raglan and the careers of the wonderful Napiers, who were connected even more closely with the Peninsular War. Girls will especially find joy and inspiration in the story of Florence Nightingale. Boys and girls alike will revel in Mrs. Laura E. Richards' charmingly written "Life" of that heroine.

It is the fashion to speak rather slightingly of the patriotic poems which were thundered from the old lyceum-platforms by our forefathers, but many of them naturally possess the spirit of the first patriots, and thus are of especial value to our children. It goes without saying that every child should early become familiar with the lives of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Show them that such men "set the pace" for America, and taught us what true patriotism really is.

Washington's Farewell Address should be read often in every American Family, and portions of it should be known by heart to every American child. So should Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, as well as portions of his other great speeches. The stories should be often rehearsed to them of Joseph Warren, Israel Putnam, John Paul Jones, Decatur, Marcus Whitman, Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Lee, Jackson and our other heroes of war and peace. Many of their achievements have been celebrated in worthy verse. The great orations of Daniel Webster, Edward Everett, Wendell Phillips, William Lloyd Garrison and others, and the magnificent state papers of Woodrow Wilson, are well calculated to stir the spirit of true patriotism in the hearts of noble children, and they should not be ignorant of those splendid compositions.

A year or more before the great war, a young man was speaking lightly one evening of "all this sentimental rot about 'love of country'"; how it showed "that a man hadn't traveled," and is "provincial." He spoke in the tone affected by a certain class of blasé, hypersophisticated youths, who might well be punished by the same means that were used for Edward Everett Hale's "Man Without a Country,"—another book which all older children should know.

The boy had recently returned from a long sojourn abroad. His mother was horrified to hear his words, though she had detected an unsoundness in his views ever since he had come back. Still, she said nothing at the moment. She wanted to think it over.

One evening shortly afterward the family were assembled on the broad porch. Several guests were present. It was warm, but a soft breeze blew in from the moonlighted Hudson just below them. Some one suggested that it was just the time for poetry. Why should not every one recite his favorite poem?

They began. One gave Rudyard Kipling's stirring "Song of the English." Another followed with a portion of Tennyson's "Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington," beginning with the familiar words,

By this time, the party of eight or ten cultivated people were all plainly affected. The one who sat next said, "I was going to recite 'The Antiseptic Baby,'—and, of course, that is always good, but it doesn't seem to chime in with our mood to-night. I used to know Daniel Webster's great speech on the Constitution. Maybe I can recall it," and slowly he rolled forth the stately words.

When the mother's turn came, she begged them not to groan if she should give them a very well-worn selection, and started out upon Walter Scott's, "Lives There a Man with Soul so Dead."

There was some derision in the laugh which greeted her first words, but all were soon caught in the swirl of the great sentiment, and when she came to the line "Unwept, unhonored and unsung," there was long applause, the blasé youth joining in most heartily of all.

"That's an old corker, isn't it, mother!" he cried. "I'd forgotten that it was so lively. There's a lot in it."

She knew that his ideas were being cleared.

All of this heroism and love of country is represented by our flag. Its meaning should be explained to our children. Teaching them to salute it, and to repeat the words which go with the salute, becomes a mere form unless they understand its deeper significance. Henry Ward Beecher once gave a noble interpretation of it, which has been amplified by Secretary Franklin K. Lane in an address to the employees of the Department of the Interior. Only a few words of it can be given here, but your children should hear or read them all.

The Flag seemed to say to him: "The work that we do is the making of the Flag. I am not the Flag at all. I am but its shadow. I am all that you hope to be and have the courage to try for.

"I am the day's work of the weakest man and the largest dream of the most daring. I am the Constitution and the courts, statutes and statute-makers, soldier and dreadnaught, drayman and street-sweep, cook, counselor and clerk. I swing before your eyes as a bright gleam of color, the pictured suggestion of that big thing which makes this nation. My stars and stripes are your dream and your labors. They are bright with cheer, brilliant with courage, firm with faith, because you have made them so,—for you are the makers of the Flag."

This is no mere sentimental fancy.

The thrill of the flag is best understood by those who have seen it on a foreign shore; but the deepest thrill of all comes on beholding the flag which bears the marks of shot and shell.

A little boy of six, who had been considered in his family as unemotional, was one day riding with his mother past a public building, gaily decorated with bunting. Among the unstained banners above the entrance hung a cluster of old battle-flags. The child gazed at them with the greatest interest. Then he turned suddenly to his mother.

"Which do you like best, mother?" he asked. "The bright new flags, or the old, ragged flags that have been in the battle?"

"Which do you like best?" she said.

"Oh," he replied, while his little lip quivered, "I like best the old, ragged flags that have been in the battle,—don't you?"

This child had been brought up from infancy upon the stories and poems of the patriots of the past, but he had never shown before such a marked effect from them. This effect grew with his years.

The most stolid and selfish child can be made into a fervid patriot, I firmly believe, by a proper use of the great patriotic literature.

Until within a short time, some of us have deprecated the idea of filling the minds of our children with visions of killing and of killers, however brave and noble. But we have learned that, as long as there are barbarians in the world threatening to overwhelm civilization, the arts of war must still be practiced. History has described civilizations as good as ours, perhaps better, which were destroyed by barbarians, physically stronger than the gentler races which they attacked. So long as powerful tribes exist, covetous of the wealth and the territory of their neighbors, and willing to trample down everybody and everything else to get them, what can we do but fight?

That means, in the terms of to-day, that we must still sing to our children the glories of war. Americans properly hate war. It is antiquated, out of date,—utterly opposed to the spirit of the twentieth century. We should bring up our children to see that it is just that, and that we are fighting now simply because otherwise barbarism would overspread the world,—a barbarism which includes autocracy and militarism as its chief features, two elements which are intolerable in a world of democracy.

And yet war is often a purifying fire. It has its noble and uplifting side. This is the side which is emphasized in the heroic tales which have been mentioned, and which makes for the development of patriotism in the child and in the man.

CHAPTER II

But when men are staying at home, with comfort beckoning; with the government jogging along and getting the main things done somehow or other, under the guidance of professional politicians; and with one's personal affairs requiring apparently the application of all one's mortal powers,—then patriotism needs a spur.

It was of such "piping times of peace" that Goldsmith wrote:

The task set forth before the conscientious citizen then is to keep alive in himself the clear torch of patriotism,—which simply means the duty to sacrifice as freely, in proportion to the need, in time of peace as in time of war.

It is the difficulty of this task, seldom yet accomplished, which has led to the many eloquent panegyrics, in all languages, upon war as necessary to the very existence of a nation. Several entire books have been written to prove that sordidness and selfishness always possess and soon destroy a nation which does not have frequent wars. The philosophy of Nietzsche is largely founded upon this theory. Treitschke and Bernhardi follow him closely. Even De Quincey, Ruskin, and others from among our best English writers, subscribe to this monstrous doctrine, and it is true that there is plenty of support for it in history.

But we Americans have always believed in brains rather than brawn for the settlement of international as well as personal controversies. The duel has been banished from our country as an antiquated means of adjusting the quarrels of individual men, and logic requires that a similar course be pursued toward quarrels on a larger scale. Because we have been obliged to lay aside temporarily our convictions in order to save ourselves and the right, from a mad dog of a nation, which threatens to overthrow civilization, does not mean that we have given up our ideals. If the American nation stands for anything, it stands for peace, though we can and will fight if liberty and right are threatened.

In the study of the Iliad which has been suggested, the words which Agamemnon speaks to Hector should be especially commended to children:

But in the face of the almost universal testimony against it, all of us should realize that extraordinary pains must be taken to inculcate the truth, and live it, that high patriotism can be kept alive in peace as well as in war.

Precept alone goes not very far in any line, and less, perhaps, in this, than in any other. The study of history and a little of the most modern literature, helps. Classical literature, in all languages, preaches with frightful unanimity, the necessity and the nobility of war. In the religion of Rome, Mars received ten times more homage than did Jupiter. The book and the precept must not be neglected, but your chief weapon in teaching your child the patriotism of peace must be the deed. You must set a strenuous example, or else all your words will pass like the whistle of the wind.

In President Hadley's inaugural, he asserted that the main object of education is to make good citizens,—which is, perhaps, only another way of saying that the chief object of education is to make patriots.

He was talking of the education of the schools; but Emerson somewhere says, in effect, that though we send our children to the schoolmaster, it is, after all, their environment which does most of the educating.

Emerson speaks of the shop-windows along the child's way; but it is his home which forms the most influential factor in his environment; and the part of the home usually dearest to him is his mother. It is a common saying, especially in our cities, that fathers see their children only when they are asleep, leaving them at breakfast-time, and returning after they have gone to bed. Up to the age of twelve, or thereabout, children should retire shortly after eight o'clock. During the next few years, even though they sit up later, they generally have to study. Thus, during their formative period, it is upon the mother that the home training of the children chiefly devolves.

A distinguished clergyman in a public address once eulogized his mother. He attributed to her every virtue and a wonderful mind. He was a violent anti-suffragist, and supposed that he was presenting a strong argument for his side when he said, "But though my incomparable mother counseled us upon almost every subject that could engage our attention, she never mentioned to us the subject of politics."

Had he not struck, perhaps, the main reason for the corruption of our politics? The fathers have no chance to instruct their young children in the rudiments of politics,—yet those children ought to be so instructed by somebody. They get little or nothing of it in school. If their mother does not teach them something about it, they will probably grow up ignorant of many of its snares and its opportunities.

To-day the anti-suffragists are wiser. They say that women should understand civic duties and should canvass them thoroughly with their children. The sin and the shame come only, in their opinion, when women actually vote for the best men and women to fill the offices.

The case is as if a woman should furnish a house, supplying its kitchen with every facility for cooking and cleaning; fitting its dining-room with the proper linen, silver and china; arranging its bedrooms for comfortable sleep; making its parlors beautiful for guests; and then, though she has known so well the needs of a household and how to provide for them, she draws back from the responsibility of running her model house, as if to say: "My sisters and I are not competent to manage this house. You men are far abler. Please make and enforce all the rules to govern it."

Let the men and the women work together, dividing the responsibility according to the fitness of each individual. There are stupid men and stupid women and there are bright men and bright women. Women are human beings before all else and all human interests are their interests. There is among us too much of cowardice and laziness, posing as hyper-refinement and modesty. Women as voters, "weavers of peace," as the old Saxons called them, are bound to be a helpful force in many departments, and especially in this great work of establishing universal peace, and teaching men how to use it. They should begin with the child in its cradle.

For, let us repeat, it cannot be too strongly impressed that the underlying and fundamental principles of politics must be taught by the mother, if they are taught at all; and like everything else that is good, they can be and should be taught. It does not seem to be generally understood, but it is a fact, that a training in politics is possible, and if our great experiment in government is to succeed, such a training should be given to every child, and the mother seems to be the natural, and often the only person to give it.

A mother was one day walking along the streets of the great city in which she lived, when she saw that a new liquor-saloon had been opened within two blocks of her home.

"Oh, dear!" she said to her little boy of eight, who held her hand, "Here is another saloon,—another place where men will spend their money foolishly and perhaps become drunkards,—and so near our own home! We have never had one so near before."

As she spoke, two men staggered out from the saloon-door and made their way unsteadily along the sidewalk. The child had never seen a drunken man before. His eyes widened with horror and an expression of utter disgust settled upon his eager little face.

"Why do they let 'em do it!" he burst forth. "Aren't there any Christians in Congress?"

It was plain that ideas of law and restraint, and of the difference between good government and bad government, were struggling for form and coherence in the child's mind.

The mother seized her opportunity. She explained briefly some of the evils of the saloon; the meaning of "high license" and "prohibition," and something of the arguments on both sides; how most good people agree that the saloon, as at present conducted, is a cancer on the body politic, and how the chief disagreement is concerning the best ways of controlling or suppressing it; how the liquor men are active in politics, while the temperance men are so busy with their own affairs, and usually so contemptuous of legislatures that they do not look carefully after the laws; how voters are often bribed; and as many more details as the boy seemed to want to hear.

He listened closely and asked many intelligent questions. He had received a lesson in politics which he did not forget, as his chance remarks showed for months afterward. He talked the matter over with his younger brothers, and they, too, began to ask questions. During the next few years that mother gave her boys brief talks on arbitration, the tariff, public education and its bearing on democracy, street-cleaning, road-making, silver and gold money, and many other topics of current politics. She was careful never to force them, for she knew that it is only when the mood is upon him that a boy likes to discuss serious subjects. The terms she used were of the simplest; and her husband, who was deeply interested in her efforts, and helped her whenever he could, supplied her with many illustrations, such as children could understand. Especially did she impress upon her children's minds the true and striking saying of a great Frenchman, that "governments are always just as bad as the people will let them be"; and that, as a part of the people, it was their duty to see that the government was made and kept good.

By "line upon line, precept upon precept," knowing that opinions are formed

Many of us feel that more upon the subject of politics,—again we should remind ourselves that politics and patriotism are very nearly the same thing,—might easily and properly be taught in our public schools; for the foundation principles of politics are only those of ordinary ethics. In this way, morality, which is far more necessary than book-learning for the perpetuity of our institutions, would take that dominant place in our educational system, so strongly advocated by that prince of educators, Horace Mann. "Among all my long list of acquaintances," he says, "I find that for one man who has been ruined for want of intellectual attainments, hundreds have perished for want of morals. And yet we go on bestowing one hundred times more care and pains and cost on the education of the intellect than on the cultivation of the moral sentiments and the establishment of moral principles." He insists that morals should be regularly taught, and not "left to casual and occasional mention."

Thus broad and clear ideas of perfect honesty, with Abraham Lincoln and other good and great men as examples, form the foundation of clean politics, and should be impressed upon the children in our schools. The daily papers often describe shining instances of this cardinal virtue.

Suppose that a theater is burned and many lives lost. Laws may have been passed for the safeguarding of theaters, but the manager of this house disregarded them in order to save a few dollars. There is a chance to impress regard for law and its enforcement.

Or suppose that bribery is under discussion. Here is a true story of the way in which its devious methods were impressed upon the mind of a small boy:

He was stopping with his mother in a country town, when the tailor of the place, in speaking of the day's voting, remarked: "I don't gen'ally vote, but I did to-day, because they sent a carriage up from the Center for me. It takes time to vote and 'tain't much use. What does one vote amount to anyway? But when one of the bosses is anxious enough to come an' git me, why, then I'll vote, or if they'll give me my fare on the cars."

"Why," said the boy quickly, "isn't that bribery?"

"Lord, no!" said the man, shuffling about uneasily. "That jest pays me for my time an' trouble. I don't git nothin' for my vote."

Sophistries like this should be immediately made clear to the child. It would probably be impossible to show them to that tailor.

"Our Revolutionary fathers," said Horace Mann again, "abandoned their homes, sacrificed their property, encountered disease, bore hunger and cold, and stood on the fatal edge of battle, to gain that liberty which their descendants will not even go to the polls to protect. Our Pilgrim Fathers expatriated themselves, crossed the Atlantic,—then a greater enterprise than now to circumnavigate the globe,—and braved a savage foe, that they might worship God unmolested,—while many of us throw our votes in wantonness, or for a bribe, or to gratify revenge."

This is a terrible indictment. It is not as true now as it was in the time of Horace Mann. Still, the lesson contained in it should be impressed upon our children.

CHAPTER III

This is terribly true, and the child should be made aware of it. A dazzling outside may cover a black heart. Illustrate this fact to him by the story of those beautiful flowers whose sweet odor is laden with death. Tell him of William M. Tweed, whose gigantic thefts almost bankrupted a great city, yet who read a chapter in his Bible every day, and who possessed many kind and even noble qualities. Many other public men of ancient and modern times will afford equally striking examples of inconsistency.

A certain excellent country gentleman, who did not realize the possible deceitfulness of the outside, went down to the capital of his state to see about some bills which vitally affected his business. He had written to the Senator from his section that he was coming and had asked for an appointment to meet him. He had never met this man, but the papers had criticized him severely, and our friend was prepared to encounter a mean and churlish creature.

"Instead," he reported upon his return to his home, "I found him a perfect gentleman. He met me at the train and took me to my hotel in his own automobile, and invited me to dine with him the next day. He lives in a beautiful home. I was surprised to see what kind of a man he really is. You would think by the way the papers go on about him that he had horns and hoofs, but," he repeated, "he was a perfect gentleman."

Yet this man was one of the most dangerous "practical politicians" in the state—one of those who believe that the Ten Commandments have no place in politics, and who scrupled at nothing which could benefit himself and his friends. He simply could not understand a man who could "swear to his own hurt and change not."

"Unlike the old-time villain," says Mr. E. A. Reed, "the latter-day malefactor does not wear a slouch-hat and a comforter, and breathe forth curses and an odor of gin. Fagin and Bill Sykes and Simon Legree are vanishing types. Good, kindly men let the wheels of commerce and industry redden rather than pare their dividends, and our railroads yearly injure one employee in twenty-six, while we look in vain for that promised day of the Lord, which shall make 'a man more precious than fine gold.'"

And, again, "The tropical belt of sin into which we are now sweeping is largely impersonal. The hurt passes into that vague mass, 'the public,' and is there lost to view. Hence it does not take a Borgia to knead 'chalk and alum and plaster' into the loaf, seeing that one cannot know just who will eat that loaf. The purveyor of spurious life-preservers need not be a Cain. The owner of rotten tenements, whose 'pull' enables him to ignore the orders of the Health Department, fore-dooms babies, it is true, but for all that, he is no Herod.

"Often there are no victims. If the crazy hulk sent out for 'just one more trip' meets with fair weather, all is well. Briber and grafter are now 'good men,' and would have passed for virtuous in the American community of seventy years ago. Therefore, people do not always see that boodling is treason; that blackmail is piracy, that tax-dodging is larceny. The cloven hoof hides in patent leather, and to-day, as in Hosea's time, the people are destroyed for lack of knowledge."

Let us see to it that our children are not so destroyed.

In the old abolition days, Mr. Emerson wrote: "What an education in the public spirit of Massachusetts have been the speeches and reading of our public schools! Every district school has been an anti-slavery convention for these two or three years last past."

Special policies cannot often be taught like this in the modern public school, but the broad principles of pure politics can and should be.

For instance, a lesson in Civil Service management may be given without once uttering those words, simply by teaching the sentiment well uttered by Ruskin: "The first necessity of social life is the clearness of the national conscience in enforcing the law,—that he should keep who has justly earned."

Children can be taught the dangers, not only to their principles, but their worldly fortunes, of office-seeking and of making a profession of politics. The child of wealth should be especially instructed in his duty to look after the affairs of his own town, county, state and nation. The man whose powers are strained to the utmost in order to support and educate his family, can of necessity give little time to the searching out of civic wrongs and their remedies. The well-to-do citizen must give all the more to make up for the limitations of his poorer neighbor.

Children can be taught, too, something of the protean forms of bribery, the schemes for trading votes; the duty of every voter to vote and do jury-work; the need of looking at every question from both sides; of avoiding blind partisanship; and much of the rest of the elementary ethics of politics.

And, again, it is upon the mother that this patriotic duty must chiefly devolve. As with all of her training, she may often feel that the work is slow and uncertain, but she may well take to heart the encouraging words of the poet: