The Forerunner Part 85

Some, to-day, driven to the wall by glaring facts such as these, that babies die most of preventable diseases, and that their death rate is greatest while they are most absolutely in their mother's care, do admit the need of improvement. But they say, "The mother should engage this specialist to help her in the home," or, "The mother must be taught."

If all normal women are to be mothers, as they should, how are any specialists to be hired in private homes? A young nursemaid cannot reach the heights of training and experience needed. As to teaching the mother--_who is to teach her?_

Who understands this work? No one! And no one ever will until the natural genius for child culture of some women is improved by training, strengthened and deepened by experience, and recognized as social service. Such women should be mothers themselves, of course, They would be too few, by the laws of specialization, to be hired as private nurses, and too expensive, if they were not too few. The great Specialist in Child Culture should be as highly honored and paid as a college president--more so; no place on earth is more important.

The average mother is not, and never can be, an eminent specialist, any more than the average father can be. Averages do not attain genius.

Our children need genius in their service. "Where are we to get it?"

demand the carpers and doubters, clinging to their rocky fastnesses of tradition and habit like so many limpets.

It is here already.

Some women have a natural genius for the care and training of babies and little children. Some women have a natural genius for household management. All this wealth of genius is now lost to the world except in so far as it is advantageous to one family.

And here, by a paradox not surprising, it io often disadvantageous. A woman capable of smoothly administering a large hotel may be extremely wearing as a private housekeeper. Napoleon, as a drill sergeant, would have been hard to bear.

A woman with the real human love for children, the capacity for detail in their management, the profound interest in educational processes, which would make her a beneficent angel if she had the care of hundreds, may make her a positive danger if she has to focus all that capacity on two or three.

(To be concluded.)

PRISONERS

A MAN IN PRISON.

His cell is small.

His cell is dark.

His cell is cold.

His labor is monotonous and hard.

He is cut off from the light of day, from freedom of movement, from the meeting of friends, from all amus.e.m.e.nt and pleasure and variety.

His hard labor is the least of his troubles--without it he could not support life. What he most suffers from is the monotony--the confinement--from being in prison.

He longs for his wife. He longs for his children. He longs for his friends.

But first and last and always; highest and deepest and broadest, with all his body and soul and mind he longs for Freedom!

A WOMAN IN PRISON.

Her cell is small.

Her cell is dark.

Her cell is cold.

Her labor is monotonous and hard.

She is cut off from the light of day, from freedom of movement, from the meeting of friends, from all amus.e.m.e.nt and pleasure and variety.

Her hard labor is the least of her troubles--without it she could not support life. What she most suffers from is the monotony--the confinement--from being in prison.

She longs for her husband. She longs for her children. She longs for her friends.

But first and last and always; highest and deepest and broadest, with all her body and soul and mind she longs for Freedom!

THE MAN OF ALL WORK.

A man is doing all the housework of one family. He loves this family.

It is his family.

He loves his home.

He does not hate his work; but he does get tired of it.

He has to sleep at home all night, and he would prefer to go away from it in the morning; to go out into the air; to join his friends; to go to the shop, the office, the mill, the mine; to work with other men at more varied tasks.

He loves his children; and wishes to do his duty as a father, but he has them with him by night as well as by day; and even a father's patience sometimes gives out. Also he has to do the housework. And even a father, with all his love and strength cannot be a cook, a teacher, and a nurse at the same time.

Sometimes the cooking suffers, but more often it is the teaching or nursing or both--for his wife is rather exacting in the matter of food.

He has a kind wife and they are happy together.

He is proud of his children and they love him.

But when he was a young man he had a strange ambition--he wanted to Be Somebody--to Do Something--to be independent, to take hold of the world's work and help.

His children say, "We need you, Father--you cannot be spared--your duty is here!"

His wife says, "I need you, Husband! You cannot be spared. I like to feel that you are here with the children--keeping up our Home--your duty is here."

And the Voice of the Priest, and the Voice of the Past and the Voice of Common Prejudice all say:

"The duty of a father is to his children. The duty of a husband is to his wife. Somebody must do the housework! Your duty is here!"

Yet the man is not satisfied.

THE WOMAN OF ALL WORK.