Coelebs In Search of a Wife Part 15

"I knew nothing of this," said the delighted mother, while we were all admiring the elegant arrangements of this little fete. The purple clematis, twisting its flexile branches with those of the pale woodbine, formed a sweet and fragrant canopy to the arched bower, while the flowery tendrils hung down on all sides. Large bunches of roses, intermixed with the silver stars of the jessamine, were stuck into the moss on the inside as a temporary decoration only. The finest plants had been brought from the green-house for the occasion. It was a delicious evening, and the little fairy festivity, together with the flitting about of the airy spirits which had prepared it, was absolutely enchanting. Sir John, always poetical, exclaimed in rapture,

"Hesperian fables true, If true, here only."

I needed not this quotation to bring the garden of Eden to my mind, for Lucilla presided. Ph[oe]be was all alive. The other little ones had decorated Kate's flaxen hair with a wreath of woodbines. They sung two or three baby stanzas, which they had composed among themselves, in which Kate was complimented as queen of the fete. The youngest daughter of Lady Aston, who was about Kate's age, and two little girls of Dr.

Barlow's, were of the children's party on the green. The elder sisters of both families made part of the company within.

When we were all seated in our enchanting bower, and drinking our tea, at which we had no other attendants than the little Hebes themselves, I asked Kate how it happened that she seemed to be distinguished on this occasion from her little sisters. "Oh, sir," said she, "it is because it is my birth-day. I am eight years old to-day. I gave up all my gilt books, with pictures, this day twelvemonth, and to-day I give up all my little story books, and I am now going to read such books as men and women read."

She then ran to her companions who ranged themselves round a turf seat at a little distance before us, to which were transferred a profusion of cakes and fruit from the bower. While they were devouring them, I turned to Mr. Stanley and desired an explanation of Kate's speech.

"I make," said he, "the renouncing their baby books a kind of epocha, and by thus distinctly marking the period, they never think of returning back to them. We have in our domestic plan several of these artificial divisions of life. These little celebrations are eras that we use as marking-posts, from which we set out on some new course."

"But as to Kate's books?" said Lady Belfield.

"We have," replied Mr. Stanley, "too many elementary books. They are read too much and too long. The youthful mind, which was formerly sick from inanition, is now in danger from a plethora. Much, however, will depend on capacity and disposition. A child of slower parts may be indulged till nine years old with books which a lively genius will look down upon at seven. A girl of talents _will_ read. To _her_ no excitement is wanting. The natural appet.i.te is a sufficient incentive.

The less brilliant child requires the allurement of lighter books. She wants encouragement as much as the other requires restraint."

"But don't you think," said Lady Belfield, "that they are of great use in attracting children to love reading?"

"Doubtless they are," said Mr. Stanley. "The misfortune is, that the stimulants used to attract at first, must be not only continued but heightened, to keep up the attraction. These books are novels in miniature, and the excess of them will lead to the want of novels at full length. The early use of savory dishes is not usually followed by an appet.i.te for plain food. To the taste thus pampered, history becomes dry, grammar laborious, and religion dull.

"My wife, who was left to travel through the wide expanse of Universal History, and the dreary deserts of Rapin and Mezerai, is, I will venture to a.s.sert, more competently skilled in ancient, French, and English history, than any of the girls who have been fed, or rather starved, on extracts and abridgments. I mean not to recommend the two last named authors for very young people. They are dry and tedious, and children in our day have opportunities of acquiring the same knowledge with less labor. We have brighter, I wish I could say safer, lights. Still fact, and not wit, is the leading object of history.

"Mrs. Stanley says, that the very tediousness of her historians had a good effect; they were a ballast to her levity, a discipline to her mind, of which she has felt the benefit in her subsequent life.

"But to return to the ma.s.s of children's books. The too great profusion of them protracts the imbecility of childhood. They arrest the understanding, instead of advancing it. They give forwardness without strength. They hinder the mind from making vigorous shoots, teach it to stoop when it should soar, and to contract when it should expand. Yet I allow that many of them are delightfully amusing, and to a certain degree instructive. But they must not be used as the basis of instruction, and but sparingly used at all as refreshment from labor."

"They inculcate morality and good actions surely," said Lady Belfield.

"It is true," replied Mr. Stanley, "but they often inculcate them on a worldly principle, and rather teach the pride of virtue, and the profit of virtue, than point out the motive of virtue, and the principle of sin. They reprobate bad actions as evil and injurious to others, but not as an offense against the Almighty. Whereas the Bible comes with a plain, straightforward, simple, but powerful principle--'How shall I do this great wickedness against G.o.d?' 'Against THEE, THEE only have I sinned, and done this evil in THY sight.'

"Even children should be taught that when a man has committed the greatest possible crime against his fellow creature, still the offense against G.o.d is what will strike a true penitent with the most deep remorse. All morality which is not drawn from this scriptural source is weak, defective, and hollow. These entertaining authors seldom ground their stories on any intimation that human nature is corrupt; that the young reader is helpless, and wants a.s.sistance; that he is guilty, and wants pardon."

"Surely, my dear Mr. Stanley," said Lady Belfield, "though I do not object to the truth and reasonableness of any thing you have said, I can not think that these things can possibly be made intelligible to children."

"The framers of our catechism, madam, thought otherwise," replied Mr.

Stanley. "The catechism was written for children, and contains all the seeds and principles of Christianity for men. It evidently requires much explanation, much development; still it furnishes a wide and important field for colloquial instruction, without which young persons can by no means understand a composition so admirable, but so condensed. The catechism speaks expressly of 'a death unto sin'--of 'a new birth unto righteousness'--of 'being born in sin'--of being the 'children of wrath'--of becoming the 'children of grace'--of 'forsaking sin by repentance'--of 'believing the promises of G.o.d by faith.' Now while children are studying these great truths in the catechism, they are probably, at the same time, almost constantly reading some of those entertaining stories which are grounded and built on a quite opposite principle, and do not even imply the existence of any such fundamental truths."

"Surely," interrupted Lady Belfield, "you would not have these serious doctrines brought forward in story books?"

"By no means, madam," replied Mr. Stanley; "but I will venture to a.s.sert that even story books should not be founded on a principle directly _contradictory_ to them, nay, totally _subversive_ of them. The Arabian Nights, and other oriental books of fable, though loose and faulty in many respects, yet have always a reference to the religion of the country. Nothing is introduced against the law of Mohammed; nothing subversive of the opinions of a Mussulman. I do not quarrel with books for having _no_ religion, but for having a _false_ religion. A book which in nothing opposes the principle of the Bible, I would be far from calling a bad book, though the Bible was never named in it."

Lady Belfield observed, "That she was sorry to say her children found religious studies very dry and tiresome; though she took great pains, and made them learn by heart a mult.i.tude of questions and answers, a variety of catechisms and explanations, and the best abridgments of the Bible."

"My dear Lady Belfield," replied Mr. Stanley, "you have fully accounted for the dryness and dullness of which you complain. Give them the _Bible itself_. I never yet knew a child who did not delight in the Bible histories, and who would not desire to hear them again and again. From the histories, Mrs. Stanley and I proceed with them to the parables; and from them to the miracles, and a few of the most striking prophecies.

When they have acquired a good deal of this desultory knowledge, we begin to weave the parts into a whole. The little girl who had the honor of dining with you to-day, has begun this morning to read the Scriptures with her mother systematically. We shall soon open to her something of the _scheme_ of Christianity, and explain how those miracles and prophecies confirm the truth of that religion in which she is to be more fully instructed.

"Upon their historical knowledge, which they acquire by picking out the most interesting stories, we endeavor to ground principles to enlighten their minds, and precepts to influence their conduct. With the genuine language of Scripture I have taken particular care they shall be well acquainted, by digging for the ore in its native bed. While they have been studying the stories, their minds have at the same time been imbued with the impressive phraseology of Scripture. I make a great point of this, having often seen this useful impression effectually prevented by a mult.i.tude of subsidiary histories and explanations, which too much supersede the use of the original text.

"Only observe," continued he, "what divine sentiments, what holy precepts, what devout e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, what strokes of self-abas.e.m.e.nt, what flights of grat.i.tude, what transports of praise, what touches of penitential sorrow, are found comprised in some one short sentence woven into almost every part of the historical Scriptures! Observe this, and then confess what a pity it is that children should be commonly set to read the history in a meagre abridgment, stripped of those gems with which the original is so richly inlaid! These histories and expositions become very useful afterward to young people who are thoroughly conversant with the Bible itself."

Sir John observed that he had been struck with the remarkable _disinterestedness_ of Mr. Stanley's daughters, and their indifference to things about which most children were so eager. "Selfishness," said Mr. Stanley, "is the hydra we are perpetually combating; but the monster has so much vitality, that new heads spring up as fast as the old ones are cut off. _To counteract selfishness, that inborn, inbred mischief, I hold to be the great art of education._ Education, therefore, can not be adequately carried on, except by those who are deeply convinced of the doctrine of human corruption. This evil principle, as it shows itself early, must be early lopped, or the rapid shoots it makes will, as your favorite Eve observes,

Soon mock our scant manuring.

"This counteraction," continued Mr. Stanley, "is not like an art or a science, which is to be taken up at set times, and laid aside till the allotted period of instruction returns; but as the evil shows itself at all times, and in all shapes, the _whole force_ of instruction is to be bent against it. Mrs. Stanley and I endeavor that not one reward we bestow, not one gratification we afford, shall be calculated to promote it. Gratifications children ought to have. The appet.i.tes and inclinations should be reasonably indulged. We only are cautious not to employ them as _the instrument of recompense_, which would look as if we valued them highly, and thought them a fit remuneration for merit. I would rather show a little indulgence to sensuality _as_ sensuality, than make it the reward of goodness, which seems to be the common way.

While I indulged the appet.i.te of a child, I would never hold out that indulgence which I granted to the lowest, the animal part of his nature, as a payment for the exertion of his mental or moral faculties."

"You have one great advantage," said Sir John, "and I thank G.o.d it is the same in Cavendish-square, that you and Mrs. Stanley draw evenly together. Nothing impedes domestic regulation so effectually as where parents, from difference of sentiment, ill-humor, or bad judgment, obstruct each other's plans, or where one parent makes the other insignificant in the eyes of their children."

"Mr. Reynolds," replied Mr. Stanley, "a friend of mine in this neighborhood, is in this very predicament. To the mother's weakness the father's temperate discipline seems cruelty. She is perpetually blaming him before the children for setting them to their books. Her attentions are divided between their health, which is perfect, and their pleasure, which is obstructed by her foolish zeal to promote it, far more than by his prudent restrictions. Whatever the father helps them to at table, the mother takes from them, lest it should make them sick. What he forbids is always the very thing which is good for them. She is much more afraid, however, of overloading their memories than their stomachs.

Reading, she says, will spoil the girls' eyes, stooping to write will ruin their chests, and working will make them round-shouldered. If the boys run, they will have fevers; if they jump, they will sprain their ankles; if they play at cricket, a blow may kill them; if they swim, they may be drowned; the shallowness of the stream is no argument of safety.

"Poor Reynolds' life is one continued struggle between his sense of duty to his children, and his complaisance to his wife. If he carries his point, it is at the expense of his peace; if he relaxes, as he commonly does, his children are the victims. He is at length brought to submit his excellent judgment to her feeble mind, lest his opposition should hurt her health; and he has the mortification of seeing his children trained as if they had nothing but bodies.

"To the wretched education of Mrs. Reynolds herself, all this mischief may be attributed; for she is not a bad, though an ignorant woman; and having been harshly treated by her own parents, she fell into the vulgar error of vulgar minds, that of supposing the opposite of wrong must necessarily be right. As she found that being perpetually contradicted had made herself miserable, she concluded that never being contradicted at all would make her children happy. The event has answered as might have been foreseen. Never was a more discontented, disagreeing, troublesome family. The gratification of one want instantly creates a new one. And it is only when they are quite worn out with having done nothing, that they take refuge in their books, as less wearisome than idleness."

Sir John, turning to Lady Belfield, said in a very tender tone, "My dear Caroline, this story, in its princ.i.p.al feature, does not apply to us. We concur completely, it is true, but I fear we concur by being both wrong: we both err by excessive indulgence. As to the case in point, while children are young, they may perhaps lean to the parent that spoils them, but I have never yet seen an instance of young persons, where the parents differed, who did not afterward discover a much stronger affection for the one who had reasonably restrained them, than for the other, whose blind indulgence had at once diminished her importance and their own reverence."

I observed to Mr. Stanley, that as he had so n.o.ble a library, and wished to inspire his children with the love of literature, I was surprised to see their apartment so slenderly provided with books.

"This is the age of excess in every thing," replied he; "nothing is a gratification of which the want has not been previously felt. The wishes of children are all so antic.i.p.ated, that they never experience the pleasure excited by wanting and waiting. Of their initiatory books they _must_ have a pretty copious supply. But as to books of entertainment or instruction of a higher kind, I never allow them to possess one of their own, till they have attentively read and improved by it; this gives them a kind of t.i.tle to it; and that desire of property, so natural to human creatures, I think stimulates them in dispatching books which are in themselves a little dry. Expectation with them, as with men, quickens desire, while possession deadens it."

By this time the children had exhausted all the refreshments set before them, and had retreated to a little further distance, where, without disturbing us, they freely enjoyed their innocent gambols: playing, singing, laughing, dancing, reciting verses, trying which could puzzle the other in the names of plants, of which they pulled single leaves to increase the difficulty, all succeeded each other. Lady Belfield looking consciously at me, said, "These are the creatures whom I foolishly suspected of being made miserable by restraint, and gloomy through want of indulgence."

"After long experience," said Mr. Stanley, "I will venture to p.r.o.nounce, that not all the anxious cutting out of pleasure, not all the costly indulgences which wealth can procure, not all the contrivances of inventive man for his darling youthful offspring, can find out an amus.e.m.e.nt so pure, so natural, so cheap, so rational, so healthful, I had almost said so religious, as that unbought pleasure connected with a garden."

Kate and Celia, who had for some time been peeping into the bower, in order to catch an interval in the conversation, as soon as they found our attention disengaged, stole in among us, each took the fond father by a hand, and led him to the turf seat. Ph[oe]be presented him a book which he opened, and out of it read with infinite humor, grace, and gayety, THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. This, it seems, was a pleasure to which they had been led to look forward for some time, but which, in honor of Kate, had been purposely withheld till this memorable day. His little auditors, who grouped themselves around him on the gra.s.s, were nearly convulsed with laughter, nor were the tenants of the bower much less delighted.

As we walked into the house, Mr. Stanley said, "Whenever I read to my children a light and gay composition, which I often do, I generally take care it shall be the work of some valuable author, to whose writings this shall be a pleasant and tempting prelude. What child of spirit who hears John Gilpin, will not long to be thought old and wise enough to read the 'Task?' The remembrance of the infant rapture will give a predilection for the poet. Desiring to keep their standard high, I accustom them to none but good writers, in every sense of the word; by this means they will be less likely to stoop to ordinary ones when they shall hereafter come to choose for themselves."

Lady Belfield regretted to me that she had not brought some of her children to the Grove. "To confess a disgraceful truth," said she, "I was afraid they would have been moped to death; and to confess another truth still more disgraceful to my own authority, my indulgence has been so injudicious, and I have maintained so little control, that I durst not bring some of them, for fear of putting the rest out of humor; I am now in a school where I trust I may learn to acquire firmness, without any diminution of fondness."

CHAPTER XXVI.

The next morning Mr. Stanley proposed that we should pay a visit to some of his neighbors. He and Sir John Belfield rode on horseback, and I had the honor of attending the ladies in the sociable. Lady Belfield, who was now become desirous of improving her own too relaxed domestic system by the experience of Mrs. Stanley, told her how much she admired the cheerful obedience of her children. She said, "she did not so much wonder to see them so good, but she owned she was surprised to see them so happy."

"I know not," replied Mrs. Stanley, "whether the increased insubordination of children is owing to the new school of philosophy and politics, but it seems to me to make part of the system. When I go sometimes to stay with a friend in town to do business, she is always making apologies that she can not go out with me--'her daughters want the coach.' If I ask leave to see the friends who call on me in such a room--'her daughters have company there, or they want the room for their music, or it is preparing for the children's ball in the evening.' If a messenger is required--'her daughters want the footman.' There certainly prevails a spirit of independence, a revolutionary spirit, a separation from the parent state. IT IS THE CHILDREN'S WORLD."

"You remind me, madam," said I, "of an old courtier, who being asked by Louis XV., which age he preferred, his own or the present, replied, 'I pa.s.sed my youth in respecting old age, and I find I must now pa.s.s my old age in respecting children.'"

"In some other houses," said Mrs. Stanley, "where we visit, besides that of poor Mr. Reynolds, the children seem to have all the accommodation; and I have observed that the convenience and comfort of the father is but a subordinate consideration. The respectful terms of address are nearly banished from the vocabulary of children, and the somewhat too orderly manner which once prevailed is superseded by an incivility, a roughness, a want of attention, which is surely not better than the harmless formality which it has driven out."

Just as she had said this, we stopped at Mr. Reynolds's gate; neither he nor his lady were at home. Mr. Stanley, who wished to show us a fine reach of the river from the drawing-room window, desired the servant to show us into it. There we beheld a curious ill.u.s.tration of what we had heard. In the ample bow-window lay a confused heap of the glittering spoils of the most expensive toys. Before the rich silk chairs knelt two of the children, in the act of demolis.h.i.+ng their fine painted playthings; "others apart sat on _the floor_ retired," and more deliberately employed in picking to pieces their little gaudy works of art. A pretty girl, who had a beautiful wax doll on her lap, almost as big as herself, was pulling out its eyes, that she might see how they were put in. Another, weary of this costly baby, was making a little doll of rags. A turbulent-looking boy was tearing out the parchment from a handsome new drum, that he might see, as he told us, where the noise came from. These I forgave: they had meaning in their mischief.