A traveller and a native met upon the streets of Tokio, Japan. In the course of their conversation upon this wonderful land of the “Rising Sun,” the native exclaimed: “But have you seen It?”

“It,” repeated the traveller, “what do you mean by It?”

“Ah: you would not ask had you seen It.”

They met again a few weeks later, after the American had beheld the glories of the wonderful, indescribable “It” of Japan,—the Holy Mountain, the marvelous Fujiyama, which rises thousands of feet above the level plain, snow-capped, reflecting the rays of the sun in a thousand varied shades, alone, majestic, incomparable, in its grandeur and beauty.

Little wonder that the admiring natives call it the “It” of Japan. It might as truly, among its kind, be called the It of the world.

There were few words exchanged, but the native was satisfied. The It was understood and appreciated by the traveller.

Months after the Japanese visited America, and from the Pacific to the Atlantic was eagerly searching for anything that would compare in natural beauty, with this marvelous Holy Mountain of his own land. The Yosemite, the majestic Rockies, the National Park, Niagara, all were visited, but nowhere could he find the one thing worthy the name.

As he became known, the homes of America were thrown open to him. At last he awoke one day and exclaimed in his delight, “I have found it, the It of America, and it is greater than that of my beloved land. The It of America is her homes.”

To this beautiful figure I would add but one word. The It of the home is the mother. Shall I prove it from the lips of a child?

Willie, aged five, bounded into the house one day, exclaiming as he hung his hat in the hall, “This is my home.” A lady visitor said, “The house next door is just like this, Willie, suppose you go over there and hang your hat in the hall, that would be your home as much as this, wouldn’t it?”

“No ma’am,” said the little fellow. “Why not?” asked the lady. “’Cause my mother does not live there,” was the triumphant reply.

Truly the mother is the home, and as well, although unconscious of it, she is the barometer of the home. “Mamma, what makes it look so dark, is it going to storm?” said my little one. “Why, darling, it isn’t dark,” I answered; “the sun shines beautifully.” He ran to the window and came back exclaiming, “Why so it does, mamma, but it seems so dark here. May I go out in the sunshine?”

And then I was startled with the knowledge that the little one was under the shadow of my face, for gloomy thoughts had held me all the morning, and I had given myself to their companionship. “Yes, my darling,” I said, “you may go out and mamma will go with you.”

When we came back laughing and cheery, my baby added unconsciously another rebuke, “How lovely the house is now, mamma, and how it makes you smile.”

Is it not lamentably true that the many mothers consider their work done when they have fed and clothed their children, and restrained them from the glaring evils of the day; and is it not as true that many of them have given little or no thought as to the best methods in which these three things shall be done? The question of preparation for maidenhood and boyhood, for manhood and womanhood, is never considered for a moment. It has not dawned upon the many that they should teach their children that they are a small part, but nevertheless a very important part of the great living, thinking, striving world. That the next generation will be the better or the worse because they are a part of it. That they can fit themselves to be a blessing, or neglecting the fitting, make themselves a curse to the coming generation.

Teach them that before they can understand and help others, they must know themselves. Begin with their earliest instinctive questionings to answer truthfully, and glorify the thoughts that nature has implanted in every human heart, and that unless properly understood will become a snare and temptation to them. Many girls who have gone astray, or in some measure have become victims of their ignorance, have said to me in their remorse, “Oh, doctor, if my mother had only taught me these things, I should not have made the mistakes I have made. Why do mothers keep their girls in such ignorance?”

And many a mother, who has grown grey with the weight of care and years, after listening to a talk on maternal responsibilities, has exclaimed, “If I had only known these things while training my children, what a difference it would have made with my boys and girls, and how much of sorrow and regret I could have spared them all these years. How much less of regret should I have had.”

I like to think that in great measure, the mother is responsible for what her children know and don’t know. Ah, but you say, how can a mother be responsible for teaching her children aright when she has not been so taught herself? Doesn’t this very question prove my statement? Because the mothers behind you have shirked their responsibility, have you a right to shirk yours? Remember what we have already quoted, “What we need most is a generation of educated mothers.” And by this word “educated” is not meant “college trained” alone, but thoughtful, earnest, wide-awake, self-cultured women as well, who have at heart the highest good of themselves as well as those who come after them; and who are willing to give time and careful painstaking thought and research to the care of the home and to the mental, moral and physical training of their children. To such mothers every question of the little ones comes as the divine right exercised by the individual child, and as such receives proper attention and reply.

Never does such a mother turn her child away with the rebuke or fretful rejoinder, that she has no time for such questions. For what is a mother’s time given but to guide the feet of her babies into true paths; to be the answer book for all their puzzling problems? A true woman never compels her children to go elsewhere for the answers to questions which she herself should give. In answering be so truthful that they may never, even in thought, question your word. Blessed child of a more blessed mother, was the little girl, who when a mate questioned the truthfulness of a certain statement, excitedly replied, while her eyes flashed, “It is so, for my mamma said it was; and if my mamma said it was so, it is so if it isn’t so.”

When shall I begin to teach my children those things which pertain to their being and well-being, many mothers ask; and I would reply, just as soon as they begin to question. Not always will it be wise to answer their questions fully; but you may always, and should answer them as far as best, and then say, “That is all you can understand now, but as you grow older mamma will tell you more about it. Always come to me when you want to know about these things, for God gave you your mamma purposely to teach you in the right way, and who ought to know as well as a mother what her children should know?” I am often asked, “Isn’t it unsafe to tell children all that they want to know? will they not talk of it when and where they should not?” No, not if you teach them aright. If you do not tell them, some one else will, and often in a way which you should blush to know about. Unless you answer them frankly and truthfully concerning these pertinent questions of their being, the entire realm of sex, of nativity, of fatherhood and motherhood, which should be among the most sacred things of their knowledge, will be associated in their minds with sin, darkness and unholiness.

One needs to think long, earnestly and prayerfully along these lines, before these lessons can be taught in all their sweetness and purity. We need to go patiently back and divest them of all their coarseness and sin, with which wrong teaching, or no teaching at all, has clothed them, and then, dressing them in their legitimate garments of whiteness and purity, tell them to our girls and boys, so that it will be no longer necessary to say to our young men and women, “Know Thyself” for all shall know themselves, from the least to the greatest, and all that “self” stands for.

At the mother’s knee is the true primary school for these great questions to be learned, and happy the mother who can take her children through all the higher grades, until their education in these things is completed.

Every child is an animated interrogation point, and they have a right to be, for so they learn. Meet them with loving frankness and you will never need confess that you have lost the confidence of your children. They will turn to you as steel to a magnet, attracted by this loving bond of sympathy and truthfulness. “Mamma, where did I come from?” opens the way, dear mother, for the most beautiful truth you can teach your child, next to its new birth.

“But I don’t know how to teach it,” you say; then tell your little one, “that’s a long question, darling, and mamma must think out the simplest way to answer it, and in a few days I will tell you all about it.” Then away to your own room and down on your knees before God, until the subject is divested of every shadow of sin and darkness, and then in this pure light think for your life, and if you cannot formulate your thoughts as you would, hurry at your first leisure to the wisest woman you know in these things and talk with her about it. It is so simple after all, and if told in a matter-of-fact way, with no hesitation or blushing, it will be so received by your child.

The simplest way is to teach them that the egg from which the little bird or downy chicken comes, is laid by the mamma bird or hen, and then she sits upon it to keep it warm, while it grows in the shell until it gets too large to stay there longer, when it bursts the bonds and comes out a downy, active little bird or chicken. “In much the same way, my darling, you grew; only instead of your being able to see the little egg, which was your beginning, it was kept warm and snug in a little room in mamma’s body, while you grew from a tiny speck of an egg, so small that you could not see it with the naked eye, into a fat, beautiful, rollicking baby; then you came out through a little door made purposely for it, and was nestled in mamma’s bosom forever after. I think it must be you are kept hidden away while you grow, because mammas are so busy, you might be forgotten if you were in any other nest, and you would get cold and die. As it is, mamma carries you wherever she goes, and whatever she is doing; and you are always nestled snugly and warmly in the little cradle God made purposely for you, and where mamma can feel you moving about as you grow, for you are right under her heart.”

It will do them no harm to take them a little into the agony of the birth chamber; they will love and reverence you the more, and feel the closer bond. One dear boy on hearing the story of his birth, throwing his arms about his mother’s neck, while the tears streamed down his cheeks, exclaimed, “Oh, how boys ought to love their mothers.”

Tell the boys as well as the girls, dear mothers, and do not make the mistake so often made, in thinking it will do no good to talk to the boys. It will do all the good in the world, and they will bless your memory for it; aye, more, their wives and all good women will bless you as well. Just one illustration to prove my point, and to encourage mothers who have put off teaching their children later than they should.

A mother who had but one child, a son, who had grown to be fifteen, untaught in these things, as so many boys are, had grown away from his mother and sought companionship that was not all it should have been, outside the home. The mother in a heart to heart talk with a friend, expressed her grief that she had lost the confidence of her boy. “He has grown away from me,” she said. “I see,” said the friend, “but why don’t you tell him your condition”—she was expecting then a little one—“and nine chances in ten you will win him back.” “Oh,” said the mother, “I could never talk with him of such things. What could I say?” “Don’t you suppose he knows already?” said the friend. “Yes, I am sure he does, for he seems shy and conscious when he looks at me.” “Then why be afraid to talk to him of it?”

Then followed a long earnest talk of what she had missed all these years in neglecting the teaching that the boy must and would have, and had probably gotten from those who had clothed it in impurity and shame, instead of purity and loveliness. And a promise was exacted that she would talk with her boy and tell him as only a mother can, of her condition, and of her sorrow that she had lost his full confidence, which she once had and delighted in so much.

But in her timidity the time passed and the confidence was not given until the very day of her confinement. The boy rushed into the house and found the mother alone in the agony of labor, the father having gone for the physician and nurse.

“What is the matter, mamma? You are sick. Can’t I help you?” At the loving question the broken promise came to mind, and in the desperation born of her suffering, she resolved to tell him still. “Oh, son, darling, I’m going to have a baby;” she groaned in her agony. “Oh, mamma, why didn’t you tell me that you needed me?” he exclaimed, as he threw his arms around his mother’s neck. “I thought you didn’t want me to know, because you never talked to me about such things, but I wish you had.” And they were crying together, mother and son, thinking the same thoughts, all reserve broken down, loving in the same old way, and the lost confidence restored.

The questions relating to their being and to the mysteries of procreation are legitimate ones, and demand a patient hearing. They should be met with such pure candor, that they shall never in the minds of innocent childhood be clothed in a mystery which is too often interpreted as sin. Little wonder that untaught boys grow to be men that trample upon every holy instinct of womanhood, and set at naught the sacredness of maternity.

I have read somewhere of a great physician who gave finely illustrated lectures to women upon the subjects relating to maternity. One wise mother who had listened with wrapt interest to his talks, called at his office one day with her twin boys seven years old. “Doctor,” she said, “I would like you to show my boys the beautiful anatomical plates that you use in your lectures, and tell them about some of them.” “Certainly, madam,” he replied, “I will gladly do so.”

He turned them over one by one, answering an eager question here and there, put by the bright boys, until he came to one illustrating twin pregnancy, which he passed hastily over without giving an opportunity for sight or question. “Stop, doctor,” said the mother. “That is the very one I want my boys to see. I have promised them that as soon as they were old enough I would tell them all about the little room in mamma’s body where they grew for nine months before they came into her arms.”

The doctor was struck with confusion and could not utter a word. He who had stood before great audiences of adults and taught them unblushingly the secrets of being, was silent before innocent childhood. The mother was forced to be the teacher, when she had looked to one wiser to enforce the lesson. Standing in the presence of the great doctor, she told them in pure sweet words the story of their prenatal life and of her motherhood, not forgetting to tell of the great pain which was all forgotten so soon in the gladness that her baby boys were born to her.

She finished, and there were tears upon the faces of all her listeners. “Oh, mamma, how good boys ought to be to their mothers,” said one of the twins; while the doctor exclaimed, “Madam, that was the finest lecture upon the subject to which I ever listened. Go on so teaching your boys and they will be men that the world will be proud of and greatly need.” This is the kind of seed-sowing which not only bears a rich harvest of purity and innocent knowledge, but as well keeps out the weeds of sin and impurity, which curiosity gratified by secret whisperings always sows.

“The true mother is a teacher whether she is conscious of it or not, and the true teacher uses the innate mother element—that which broods over the child and warms it into life—as much as she does her acquired knowledge.”

Just as surely as the child in prenatal life drew his nourishment mental, moral, and physical, from the mother, so surely in postnatal life will he look to her for example, for strength, for encouragement in all virtues, for warning against pitfalls, for direction in all knowledge, for comfort in sorrow, for real heart’s-ease, for cheer and inspiration in the race of life. God pity and forgive the mother, who has no storehouse from which her children can draw their supplies of comfort and courage and rest.

I like to think of the wonderful Shepherd Psalm as a prototype of what God designs the parents to be to their children. Remember the ancient shepherd led his sheep; so should the mother, in obedience to God and her higher nature, in loveliness, in patience, in hope, in cheerfulness, in sweet charity, lead her little ones in the “Paths of righteousness.”

CHAPTER XX.
COMMON AILMENTS OF CHILDREN.

I speak of ailments of children not diseases, since this is in no sense a “Doctor Book.” In the common ailments every mother should be so well informed that she may not distress herself at a trifling indisposition, neither show no concern when marked symptoms of disease are present. There are many ailments to which the most healthy child is susceptible, and for which no alarm need be felt, as they are trifling and usually last but a few hours.

In nursing babies, the child is very apt to be affected by the condition of the mother. If the mother is quiet, well balanced, free from worry, not subject to fits of anger, does not overdo, does not eat stimulating food, keeps early hours; in short is quiet, self-contained and healthful, the probability is that her children will be well, easily managed children. On the other hand, if she be easily disturbed, unbalanced, constantly going beyond her strength, eating forbidden things, keeping late hours, and thus using or rather wasting her energies, she has not the vital force to give to her children, and they suffer proportionately. Here again is exemplified the truth that what the mother is that will her child be.

Sitting down when tired and overheated or excited to nurse your little one, do not wonder if you have a cross, fretful, and many times, feverish child as the result. When under a fit of anger, the mother’s milk has many times produced in the child very alarming symptoms, and sometimes even caused death. This, in an exaggerated way, shows us what the effect is upon the delicate nervous temperament of the child, if the mother is not in healthful tone herself.

A healthy, well-trained baby, should in the first weeks, sleep twenty out of the twenty-four hours. The sleep should be quiet and natural, and the baby will in the remaining four hours eat and stretch itself and grow.

Regularity of feeding in the first few weeks will not be as possible as later, for the little one will sleep over its feeding times. Do not imagine from this that when it does eat it should have a double quantity, for the stomach has not expanded in its sleep, and will hold no more than when fed each two hours. It is estimated that a newborn baby’s stomach will hold but three or four tablespoonfuls, and this should regulate the quantity of food at each feeding, if the baby is bottle fed. If a nursing baby, nature regulates the quantity, if regularity of habit is observed, as no more is secreted than is needed, as a rule.

In tiny babyhood the child’s liver is very large in proportion to its size, and the size of the other organs, hence it will sometimes make trouble when the child is nursed on the right side; as the weight of the liver pressing on the full stomach causes distress. When you observe that the child fusses after nursing the right breast, hold it as when nursing the left breast with the feet under the right arm, and when laying it down lay it on the right side, and you will relieve the difficulty.

Every mother should know that “in early childhood there is no relation between the intensity of the symptoms, and the material lesion, or derangement. The most intense fever with restlessness, cries and spasmodic movements, may disappear in twenty-four hours without leaving any traces. The intense nervous excitability in a robust child will often communicate a false appearance of gravity, to a trivial ailment.”

I quote from Eustace Smith, M.D., this comforting thought: “With regard to the temperature of children, it may be noted that we must not allow ourselves to be deceived by sudden and rapid rise of temperature into the belief that the patient must necessarily be suffering from serious disease. Very slight causes will in infants produce a remarkable increase of heat; and during natural dentition, just before the passage of the tooth through the gum, a temperature of one hundred and four or one hundred and five degrees Fahrenheit, even in the morning is not at all an uncommon circumstance. Besides, the normal temperature of young children is rather higher than that of the adult. In a perfectly healthy child of three or four years old the thermometer will often register a morning temperature of ninety-nine and one-half. The pulse of infants can seldom be counted except during sleep.”

We must remember also that children breathe more quickly than adults. About thirty respirations a minute for children under two years, or nearly twice as many as in adult life. Also in a slight degree of indisposition the respirations may be quickened materially without cause for alarm.

The tongue, if white, usually indicates fever, dyspepsia and intestinal irritation. A red, dry, hot tongue points to inflammation of the mouth or stomach.

An intense fever may be occasioned in a child as the result of overfeeding or allowing indigestible things.

My experience has been that a child fed properly, and allowed to rest sufficiently, will have very slight or no difficulty when teething. I do not agree wholly with the author quoted in the foregoing as to the cause of the fever in teething. At this period of life the brain of the child is developing remarkably, and if the stomach is not doing its work properly, or if more is imposed upon it than should be, the result is an irritation of the brain, and the whole system, and consequent fever. When we consider that the brain of the child in proportion to the size of the body, is as one to eight, while that of the adult is as one to forty or fifty, we can see how a little disturbance may affect the child at this time.

Vomiting, unless long continued, is of slight consequence in the baby; since it is usually relieving an overloaded stomach, or throwing up the food that has been churned unnaturally while the little one is tossed about by an overzealous relative. Rocking vigorously is not a good thing for the child, as it not only disturbs the stomach, but irritates the brain, from the jarring.

A rash may appear on the child and be of no more moment than to remind you that you are feeding it improperly, that its food is not agreeing with it, or that teeth are about to appear.

If the child is thin and pale and does not grow, it is not assimilating its food and the cause should be looked into at once. It may be that a change is desirable. In bottle-fed babies, there is not so much of variety in its food as in a nursing baby, because the mother’s change of food from day to day, varies the milk somewhat. Changing from one prepared food to another will often tide them over an indisposition, as nothing else will.

Chafing usually means that the little one has not been dried well when changing the napkin, or allowed to go too long after the napkin is wet. Indigestion, and a consequent acidity of the discharges may cause excoriation of the skin, and this will need a change in the food or the proper medicine to correct.

A baby does not cry without cause. It may be spoiled into crying to be tended, but this is easily distinguished from a sick cry, or a fretted cry from discomfort.

A baby should have plenty of water and fresh air; two of the “freest” things and yet we stint the little one in them. It should be given water every day several times, and it often cries for want of it. It should be taken out into the fresh air every day when pleasant, and many times allowed to take its nap in the open air. One of the healthiest, most robust babies I ever knew, though beginning life as a little puny thing, was put into its little carriage and wrapped up warmly, and wheeled out on the front porch for its nap twice daily. A light cover was thrown over the head of the carriage to protect the child from draughts.

If the baby is bottle-fed and constipated, a small pinch of salt put into its food at each feeding will often effect a cure.

Dress your little one warmly enough but not too warm, keep it dry and comfortable, feed it properly, do not toss it about, or disturb its sleep, and you will be rewarded with a healthy and comfortable child that will daily be a greater and greater delight and blessing.

CHAPTER XXI.
GUARDING AGAINST SECRET VICE.

How shall the mother prepare herself that she may be the guide and protector of her children past this dangerous shoal, is a question that exercises every true woman’s heart. In view of the myriads of temptations, we are led to exclaim here, as in the contemplation of many other difficulties in child training, “Who is sufficient for these things?”

The carefulness in guarding against the entrance of this evil should begin back in tiny babyhood. Perfect cleanliness, the proper adjustment of the napkin, and great care in the baths, lest by roughness in washing an irritation be set up; all these things must be thought about and watched carefully. The food, regularity of habits, daily evacuation of the bowels, all have their share in keeping the child in a healthy condition that precludes the unnatural state which invites the habit.

A chafed condition of the skin, which causes itching and consequent rubbing of the parts, may be the beginning of the habit before the child is old enough to be reasoned with, or able to understand the wrong and danger involved.

In little girls pin worms, which work forward into the vagina, and cause an irritation, also a leucorrhœal discharge, even in babyhood, may so irritate that the habit is formed before the mother is aware of it. There have been instances of servant girls, who are left in the care of the little ones, or unscrupulous nurse girls, teaching the little ones the habit to keep them quiet, so that they need not be troubled with their care.

Mothers need to be Argus-eyed, to guard their babies from all the evils that beset them; and having carried them past babyhood into inquiring childhood, nothing else is so potent in shielding them from the evil, as wholesome truth taught in a sweet motherly way. While yet very young, they can be taught that the organs are to be used by them only for throwing off the waste water of the system, but that they are so closely related to other parts of the body that handling them at all will hurt them and make them sick. Tell them that little children, sometimes when they do not know this, form the habit of handling themselves and as a result they become listless and sick, and many times idiotic and insane, or develop epileptic fits. This will so impress them that they will not fall easily into the bad way; for it is, more often than otherwise, an ignorant curiosity that leads them into the danger.

When mothers understand what a safeguard intelligent teaching of truth is to their children, they will prepare themselves for it, and will so keep their boys and girls in their confidence that they will have no secret from them. When they feel and know that they can come to mother with all their enquiries, and get honest recognition and teaching, they will not care to go elsewhere when curiosity is aroused and they desire knowledge on any point. This sweet confidence between mother and child cannot be too carefully nurtured.

There is an inborn curiosity concerning the physical being and its mysteries, and the child has a right to be met fairly in its questionings, and to be properly taught at the outset. Do not begin, dear young mothers by turning your children away, no matter how pertinent the question; neither begin with a semi-falsehood, or what is little worse or misleading, an entire one. Your children will learn, and if you do not teach them, some one else less fitted will. As soon as they are old enough to take in at least a part of the great truth, tell them what those organs are for, and how sacredly they should guard them, if they expect to become fathers and mothers, that will be a blessing to the world.

Children very early begin to question and as early they should receive intelligent, honest answers to their enquiries. Oh! that the element of gross impurity were removed from the knowledge of the sexual nature; and it will be when mothers have rightly learned the truth themselves, and so teach it to their children.

You can all the way along, teach your children sufficient to gratify their legitimate curiosity and serve as a safeguard against their tampering with their bodies in a way to do them harm. When you have taught them all you think they should know, if you have dealt with them in a frank way, and they have no reason to doubt your word, you will find them very easily satisfied with the remark, “This is all you can understand now, my dear, but as you get older and can understand better, come to mamma with all you want to know, and she will tell you.”

Fortify them also with this: “Never ask any of the boys and girls about these things, because there is a great deal said that is not true, and they will not tell you right, but come to mamma always, and this shall be our secret, that we will not tell any one else.” It is remarkable to see how this confidence generates pride in being able to have a secret with mamma and keeping it inviolate.

If there is the slightest tendency in your children to secret vice, do not allow them to sleep together in the same bed, as curiosity may lead them into danger. Keep them apart from other children, except as you are present with them, until you are sure they are old enough to be masters of themselves.

Should you discover in your children what might seem a tendency toward this evil you can do much to eradicate it by attending strictly to hygienic rules. Keep from their food all that is stimulating, as coffee, pepper, spices, pickles, or condiments of any kind. Give them plain food at regular hours; and before retiring, to make sure of a refreshing night’s sleep, give them a quick sponge bath of salt and water, rubbing well after with a coarse towel. The water should be only tepid, and the subsequent rubbing vigorous. In the morning a shower bath of cool water will insure good circulation, and if followed by a brisk rubbing, will add strength and tone.

Children who incline to this weakness are listless and disinclined to exercise. They must be encouraged to take all the outdoor exercise that they need, and everything should be done to encourage them in it. Above all, do not treat your child, even if the habit is formed before you discover it, as if he were a criminal. He is unfortunate, and ignorant of the wrong or the danger he is in. Lead him kindly away from the temptation and into strength by patient, kindly love and watchfulness, added to your truthful teaching.

Children, until they are old enough to be trusted, should not be out from under their mother’s watchful eye, or the care of a wise and trusted nurse, and never away with companions who are not known to be thoroughly trustworthy. When other children come to play with them they should not be left alone, but even their play should be directed, lest they get on dangerous ground.

Says Doctor Eldridge, in his book on Self Enervation, “An evil like this should receive far greater consideration at the hands of fathers and mothers, and even the medical man, than it hitherto has done. It is the solemn and imperative duty of every physician to warn parents of this danger to their offspring, and if possible to erect barriers against the tide of its destruction.”

Should you discover your child listless, and preferring solitude rather than companionship, averse to exercise, averted look, nervous, hypochondriacal, restless in sleep, constipated, pain in the back and lower extremities in the morning, appetite vacillating, hands cold and clammy; if you have not already been suspicious, watch carefully now, even though not half these symptoms are present. Another diagnostic symptom is this: The body emits a peculiar, disagreeable smell, and there is emaciation.

Some of the terrible results are epilepsy, idiocy, catalepsy and insanity. It has been discovered that out of eight hundred and sixteen cases of insanity in the New York State Insane Asylum, there were one hundred and seven addicted to this practice.

From their babyhood, be watchful of your children’s companions; allow no sensational books to be read; be sure of your helpers in their care; know where they are at all hours of the day and night; be patient and prayerful in their training; teach them truth, and keep their confidence, and you will be rewarded with strong, pure boys and girls, who can look into your eyes candidly and say, “Mamma, I am free from this habit which leads to so much misery.”

CHAPTER XXII.
THE TRAINING OF CHILDREN.

In a recent magazine article, on the training of horses, I found the following: “The thoroughly competent trainer considers the colt’s individuality and breeding, for upon these depend the measures to be taken to develop the animal into a race-horse. Every good or bad quality in a race-horse is inherited from sire or dam; courage, endurance, extreme speed, action, ability to carry weight, soundness or unsoundness, good or bad temper, all these are matters of inheritance, and must be carefully looked for by the trainer as he develops his horses. The trainer is constantly devising schemes to counteract the faults and to make the best use of the good points of his horses.

“The making of a thoroughbred race-horse cannot be called an exact science. It develops, however, an amount of patience, courage and self-denial that is rarely engendered in callings better understood and more highly esteemed by the general public. The trainer’s life is a hard one and vicarious in the extreme.”

It strikes me that in this we, as parents and teachers, have a grand suggestion in the right training of children. With us a vicarious life would count for the coming generations of the human family.

“Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it,” has been invested with a new meaning to me these past few years. It not only means train him up in the correct moral way, reverencing things sacred, respecting father and mother, being a pleasing child, a good son, a law-abiding citizen, a blessing to home and society; but it means as well, train him up in the way he was intended to go, from the endowment of birth, heredity and education. In other words do not warp, from his birth, a mechanic by trying to make a minister of him. Do not try to crowd a farmer into a lawyer’s mold. Do not attempt to train into a carpenter one who is a born artist. Do not force your boys and girls through a literary college, if a bent in some particular direction inclines them toward a technical education. In short, “Train up a child in the way he should go,” as well as in the way he should go.

The mother of the Wesleys was once asked when she should begin to train the little three months’ old baby she held in her arms. “Begin?” she replied, “why I began three months ago.” Her answer was admirable, but she did not place the time sufficiently far back by many months. When our daughters are rightly trained, they will all the way along, from the time that marriage enters their minds, be consciously educating themselves for motherhood, and thus be in a large measure training their little ones even before they are promised.

Does this seem too ideal to our young mothers, and not at all practical? It should not, and I believe will not when it is carefully considered. If any who reads these pages is already anticipating early motherhood they need not be discouraged, for every succeeding child should be better than the one before. Every lesson she learns in the care and training of the first children should but make her the stronger for the duties of future mothering. The trouble too often is that she allows her time and attention to be taken up with less important things, and the fixing of the earlier lessons and learning new and better ones are neglected. In other words, motherhood is not to-day considered her all-important calling, and the little ones suffer from the mothers having fallen too deeply in love with other and less noble things.

All will agree with me, when I say, that we can only with great difficulty train in our children, what we do not know as a part of ourselves. Are you calm and self-possessed? Then you can with little effort teach your children this valuable and telling characteristic. Are you governed by reason and judgment, not impulse? Then you can train your child to this same strength. Are you of even temper? Then you will have little trouble with a stormy-tempered boy or girl. Are you charitable and careful in your speech, and kindly in your judgment of others? Your children are easily led in the same direction.

It is safe to say that only so far as we have travelled ourselves, can we lead our children. True we can point them onward, and tell them of the desirableness of that way to travel in, but their little feet are reluctant to try new paths, unless the parent has tried them before them.

The story of the little son who had without permission followed his father up a steep and dangerous mountain climb, and who at a particularly difficult point in the path, made his presence known, by calling out, “Step carefully, papa, for I am coming in your footsteps,” illustrates just what our example is to our children. Hence I say, Mrs. Wesley did not put the time of her beginning to train her baby, back far enough by many years. Every step in the onward path which she had made in all the years of her own training was but a page in the training she was to give her boys and girls in the after years. “As is the mother so is her daughter,” is God’s truth, although it is many times hard to face.

We desire to train our children to our ideals, and they are ever reaching up to us as their ideals. True, this should spur us on to better things that our example shall be a more worthy copy, but we waste much precious time when we must go to school in mature life to learn the lessons that should have been fixed in our youth.

First, let us remember that a child can be taught more bad habits in its early months than years of training can undo. A methodical, well taught baby becomes a tractable child, as a rule; while a haphazard baby, humored in every whim, becomes a child and adult of the same demands. Have you not often met grown men and women that were just great overgrown spoiled babies? You can read the history of their training, or the lack of it, in their habits, their whims, and their selfishness, through the unmistakable lines these have written on their faces.

Again we must remember that children have rights that we are bound to respect; and unless we do respect them, we can hardly expect them to regard our rights. Another fact is this; that no two children can be trained alike. Each is a study by itself, and each must be studied, if we desire to attain success in the individual case. But few absolute rules can be made; for there must ever be a certain degree of flexibility about every law laid down in the home.

A request is far better than a command, but from the parent it should be regarded with such respect that it equals a command. Also there is a wide difference between a criticism and a kindly correction of a fault. Criticism antagonizes, and arouses the anger of the child, though he may not be old enough to analyze his feelings, yet the spirit of rebellion is there, and leaves its unpleasant results. On the other hand the kindly correction, with love shining all through it, awakens a sorrow for the wrong, and a determination never to repeat it.

“Johnnie, what makes you do so? It does seem to me that you are always doing something you ought not to do.” See the angry flash in little Johnnie’s eye, and the sullen silence as he turns away, with resentment at the wrong done him, written all over his quivering form.

“Johnnie dear, mamma does not like to have her son do so, it is wrong and such things spoil boys and make them grow up in the wrong way. Think of it, son, and see if you would like your life to go in the way that action would lead you.” A tender, sorrowful light comes into the little face and a regret for the sin is expressed and forgiveness sought.

The first manner of correction, if it can be called that, drives your little one away from you, while the second holds him to you, as a traveller is bound to a trusted guide in a dangerous way.

Oh! the sorrow of the falsehoods told to little ones, under the guise of threats that are never realized. In my hearing only a few days ago, in the space of half an hour, a mother told her child—a bright but of course spoiled little boy, not more than three years old, at least a half dozen deliberate falsehoods. I say deliberate, because she knew they were false, and the saddest of all was the fact that the child recognized the untruths as well, and was not moved by them an iota.

Nowhere is there so much tactful wisdom needed as in the mother’s dealings with her little ones. How many times we fail by too great zeal, how many times for not enough. Often, not to notice the little naughtinesses is the wisest thing, when these little wrongs are not positively sinful. Not noticing such wrongs insures their being forgotten sooner, and oftentimes the children are simply imitating in a childish way what they have seen in their elders.

The following incident will illustrate the wisdom of not heeding. A little boy strutted up to his busy mother one day, and without a bit of prelude or postlude, said, “Gosh.” The wise mother took no notice, and again standing directly in front of her, and in a more emphatic tone, he repeated the coarse word. Still no rebuke from the mother and no reproving look even. As if bent on being heard and eliciting some rebuke which he evidently expected, he thrust his hands into his pockets, straightened up, and with a stamp of his tiny foot, said with double emphasis, “Gosh, mamma.” Then the undisturbed mother looked up with simply this, “Yes, my son, I heard.” He turned away crestfallen, but the coarse word was never repeated.

In contrast, another mother with less of wisdom and more of the overdone zeal, heard her little boy say, “Darn.” She called him to her and with a very solemn voice said, “What did I hear my little boy say? Didn’t I hear him say the naughty, NAUGHTY word, darn,” and her voice sank to an awesome whisper. “Yes,” said the little fellow, with an air of important badness, “I said it.”

“Come here and let me look in your mouth,” said the mother. He opened his mouth with very little concern, and really seeming to enjoy it. “Oh-h-hh,” said the unwise mamma, “I see two little black devils.” “My-e-e-e,” said the little fellow; “Darn, darn, darn,”—and then the mouth flew open wider still. “How many devils are there now, mamma?” The mother’s answer is not recorded, but we trust she learned wisdom.

I have been exceedingly interested in noting what an ignorant horse-trainer can teach a wild, high-mettled colt. How does he do it? Not by whipping, not by thwarting and fretting, but by patient, persistent effort, and much study of the particular training each colt needs. He goes farther than this. He studies the pedigree that he may better know how to correct the faults of his pupils. Is it not worth while for a mother to take as much pains and carefulness for the well-being of her precious charges? “Where is the flock that was given thee, thy beautiful flock?” will be a question that mothers must meet, and must answer sorrowfully in many cases. The answer might well be taken from the same book, “The Book,” in which the question is recorded. “As thy servant was busy here and there they were gone.”

Parents must keep in sympathy with their children to understand and lead them. The cares of business, the demands of society, clubs, etc., etc., will not excuse you. There can be no business, no demand upon your time that can begin to equal in importance the proper care of your children. They are your charge, and the responsibility can be relegated to none other.

I have read somewhere of a mother who by the rounds of social life, and all the cares incident to it, had given her children over to the care of a nurse, until she awoke one day to realize that she was almost a stranger to her own children, and that they seemed to care little for her, since they saw her so seldom. “This will never do,” said the thoroughly awakened mother. “These are my children, and as such, demand my care, and influence and love, which I shall henceforth give them without stint.” She began at once. Every engagement which interfered with the loving care of her little brood, was resolutely cancelled, while she gave herself to redeeming the time that she had wasted, and to regaining her place in her children’s hearts which she had nearly lost. Was she successful, I imagine I hear you ask. Did ever a mother put her hand and her heart to the accomplishment of a noble purpose, and fail? Never. And she never will. Delightful trips were planned and carried out, all-day excursions, long walks, with a luncheon in some quiet place, away from the crowd. Books were read, lessons taught that sank, freighted with their wealth of wisdom, into the mother’s, as well as into the children’s hearts. Oh the joy of that delightful season! Nothing in all her life could bear any comparison with it. Should she give it up and again enter society, whose demands gave her little time for the pure pleasure she had enjoyed with her children? She would leave it for her babies to decide. As they gathered about her, she said, “My darlings, mamma has something she wishes you to settle for her. Shall we go on as we have been doing for the past happy months, or shall mamma take again her place in society as she did before she knew her dear babies as she does now?” “Oh, mamma, we can’t get along without you now, and you know you belong to us,” said the oldest one, and the sweet silence of the baby as she hugged the dear lost and found mother, tightly about the neck, was all the answer she needed. “Now, mamma dear, would you have gone away from us again, if we had said so?” “No, darling, not even if you had said so, for then I should have seen all the greater need of staying with my own children until they loved me again. But I dared let you decide, for I knew what you would say. Bless my babies! These months have been the happiest of my life, and do you think I could leave you again? I can have as much as I need of society and still live with my babies.”

Every parent is bound to be interested in all that should legitimately interest their children. Books, games, little excursions, days off from business that the boys and girls may have their papas and mammas all to themselves, are important things which no wise father or mother will neglect to consider.

As they grow older the sympathy and love you show for them when you deliberately put aside your book, and read to them some childish story, or bit of adventure, will never be forgotten. No wise man or woman ever loses interest in children’s stories. If they are worth your children’s reading, they are worth your reading. It lies in the power of every parent to fashion their children’s taste in literature. Choose wisely, for the matter is an important one. Do not make the mistake so often made of thinking that any child’s book is good enough for the children. This is not true. There is as wide a difference in children’s books as in books for adults. With all the delightful writers for the little ones, there is no need of reading trashy things to the children. Your children’s libraries will be an index of your literary taste, and your highest care for them. Books are companions, and should be chosen as wisely as you would choose their associates.

How in this day of public schools and free American loving democracy, can I choose my children’s companions? Ah; but you can, dear mother. Train them so wisely, get the love of all that is good so instilled into their beings, fix so surely the hatred of evil, that they will instinctively choose companions worthy of them. Be kind to all, but do not make close friends or companions of any but those who are good. Occasionally a wolf in sheep’s clothing will be met, and you will need great tact to lead your child to see the falseness of character, and to get away from it ere the influence has been hazardous.

Let me illustrate. A grown up boy fifteen or sixteen said one day to his mother, “Mamma, some of the boys are going down to the Gardens to-night after school, and may I go with them?” “What is there to see and enjoy, son?” “Oh I hardly know, but the boys say there’s lots of fun.” The mother gave her consent, all the while knowing she would not have chosen the Gardens as a suitable place for her boy to find amusement. When he came home from school to leave his books, he found his mother all ready to go out. “Where are you going, mamma?” asked the boy. “I thought I would go with you, son, I have never been there and I thought I would like to enjoy it with you.” “But mamma, I don’t know as it is a good place for you to go to.” “Oh, don’t trouble about that, son, any place that you care to visit is suitable for your mother.”

She was dressed in her prettiest and most girlish dress, and outdid herself to be entertaining to her boy. She said nothing in criticism of the place, and went from one thing to another as the boy’s fancy dictated. In a covert glance she could see the disgust growing in her son’s face, as a coarse jest or a profane word came to them from the frequenters of the place, but never a word of fault-finding escaped her lips. Finally, thoroughly disgusted, her boy said, “Let’s go home, mamma, I’m tired of this sort of stuff.” “Very well, son, if you wish,” said the little mother, but not one word of comment or criticism of the place or surroundings, for she saw that the lesson was learned. On the following day she had her reward. Her son with several of his companions were in the yard under the window where she sat in hearing. “Who was that girl you had with you at the Gardens yesterday?” said one of the boys. “It was my mother,” said her son. “Whew,” said the boy, “catch my mother to go to such a place!” Then the brave answer came from her boy, that brought tears of gladness to the mother’s eyes. “Well, I want to tell you right here, boys, you’ll never catch me going anywhere again where I can’t take my mother. Of course she knew what kind of a place it was and wanted me to see that it was no place for me if it were not for her, and I learned the lesson.” Oh the wisdom of such a mother: and the tactfulness.

When the children are young they should never be allowed away from home over night, and should have no visitors to spend the night with them. This cannot be too carefully guarded. Neither should they be allowed to play alone with companions whom you do not know, or are not perfectly sure you can have full confidence in.

No playing out of doors after nightfall. More evil is learned in evening hours than is dreamed of. Have toys and amusements, and allow companions in the home, and your children will not care to leave it for the streets.

Be one with your children in their sports and games, and make yourself so companionable that they will choose you before all others.

All the way along know what your boys and girls are reading. It lies with you to form their tastes, and direct their choice.

Oh mothers, forbear to neglect this great and blessed responsibility, with which you are invested. No work in all the world can equal it in importance, none in the rich harvest which is the result of painstaking sowing. No cast-iron rules can be laid down, for no two children are alike. It is sufficient to say, “Mothers, be true to yourselves, and esteem the trust committed to you as sacred beyond measure; study to show yourselves approved ‘workmen that need not to be ashamed,’” and you will have reason to rejoice at the results of your labors. “Instead of thy fathers shall be thy children, whom thou mayest make princes in all the earth.”

CHAPTER XXIII.
BODY-BUILDING.