# The Mothers of England/Chapter I

CHAPTER I.
a mother's first thoughts.
To attempt a description of the feelings of a mother on that important event which ushered into the world an immortal being, destined to be her peculiar charge, in its preparation both for this world and the next, would be to lift the natural veil, beyond which are shrouded those inner workings of the elements of happiness and misery, with which it may be truly said, that a stranger intermeddleth not. Still there are—there must be—thoughts common to all mothers who reflect seriously; and it is with these, chiefly, that the writer on maternal influence has to do.
It is no disparagement to that strongest of all principles in the female sex—a mother's love—to call it a mere instinct; for such it must be, when shared in common with the animal creation. Yet surely an instinct of such power as this can not be acted upon by a rational and responsible being, without anxious inquiry as to the direct nature of that responsibility; and why, in the ordinations of Divine Providence, an instinct so powerful should have been implanted in the mother's breast.
A mother's love, then, could never have been intended merely to be trifled with in the nursery, or expended in infantine indulgence. That which is strong enough to overcome the universal impulse of self-preservation—that which brings the timid bird to stoop her wing to the destroyer, in order to lure him from her nestlings—that which softens into tenderness the nature of the eagle and the lion—that which has power to render the feeblest and most delicate ​of women unflinching, heroical, and bold,—can never have been given by the Author of our existence for any mean or trifling purpose. In the animal creation we see that this wonder-working principle answers the end of its creation, simply by instructing the mother how to prepare for her offspring, and by enabling her to protect and provide for them during the limited period of their helplessness and incapacity for providing for themselves.
Thus far the human mother proceeds in the same manner; but as there is an existence beyond this, for which she has to prepare, so the love of the human mother, by its continuance to the end of life, is beautifully adapted to those higher responsibilities which devolve upon her as the parent of an immortal being, whose lot, it is her privilege to hope, will be cast among the happy, the holy, and the pure, for ever.
There is, then, a deep moral connected with the joyful tidings that a child is born into the world. And "joyful" let us call these tidings, notwithstanding all which a morbid and miserable philosophy would teach, about another human creature being sent into this world to sin and suffer like the rest. Yes, "joyful" let us call it; for the beneficent Creator himself has designed that there should be joy, and nature attests that there is joy, connected with this event, while the fond heart of the mother acknowledges, in the smiles of her infant, an "overpayment of delight" for all her solicitudes, her anxieties, and her fears.
And why should not the mother rejoice? Has she not become the possessor of a new nature, to whose support she can devote all the vast resources of her self-love, without its selfishness? She has now an object peculiarly her own, for which to think and to feel, and, not less, for which to suffer. It is with joy, then, that a new being is ushered into the world, to share its portion among the many, in the mingled lot of human weal and wo—to enter upon a career in which it is but reasonable to indulge the hope of filling an honored place on the great theatre of life, of contributing its share to the sum of human happiness, and of en joying in its turn the full exercise of all those faculties of mind and body with which so much happiness is connected.
​Why should the mother not rejoice? Have we so learned the doctrine of our Lord and Savior, that we can not trust to him the keeping of our earthly treasure? Surely there is infidelity of the most ungrateful kind, in that spirit which believes, and yet knows not how to trust. But there is both hope and trust in the mother's heart at that glad moment when she folds her infant to her bosom; for though she may herself have failed in judgment and in will ten thousand times, and fallen short in acts of duty almost beyond the hope of pardon, she looks into the guileless countenance of her child, and while the tears of true repentance fall upon its brow, she dedicates its young life, with all its growing energies, to a holier and more faithful service than she, with her weakness and waywardness, has been able to pursue.
Granting then that there is joy in the event of a child being ushered into life, and that such joy is founded chiefly upon a kind of indefinite hope, which fills the mother's breast; granting, also, as one of our first poets has beautifully said, that
—"The food of Hope
Is meditated action,"
the most natural inquiry—nay, that which must necessarily follow in the mind of a rational woman, is—For what shall I prepare my child?
Pending the solution of this most important question, it is more than probable that the mother's thoughts will go back to her own childhood. By the many retrospective glances she has at different times thrown back upon the course of her own life, she will no doubt have been able to perceive many defects in the management and training by which she was herself conducted from infancy to youth, and now, if ever, she looks seriously upon this picture, with a fervent desire to ascertain the truth; to make out, as in a faithful chart, the rocks and shoals upon which her own bark may at different times have nearly suffered shipwreck; as well as the safer channels through which she has at other times been enabled to pass unharmed.
There are quiet hours permitted almost to all, before a mother enters again upon the active duties of life, during ​which this peculiar kind of retrospection might be, and no doubt often is, carried on with lasting benefit to herself and her family. Yet, on the other hand, it is deeply to be regretted, that the frivolous or low conversation of an ignorant nurse, should so often be permitted to rob these golden hours of their real value, by the introduction of idle jests and vulgar gossip, gathered up from other families and households, where the nurse has been in some measure a confidential, though temporary servant; and where she must necessarily have formed but a very imperfect idea of the general state of things within the domestic circle. How many a private history, whether true or false, has been thus detailed—how many a character has been robbed of its good name — how many an injurious suspicion has been excited which time could never afterward obliterate, those women best can tell, who have found the first weeks of a mother's life hang heavily upon their hands, because shut out from their accustomed occupations and amusements; and who have consequently resorted to this means, in the hope of obtaining relief from the burden of their own dull thoughts.
I have no voluntary condemnation to pass upon the class of necessary assistants to which these expressions refer. So far from it, I have often thought that their unremitting exertions, their cheerful devotedness to the comfort of a family in which they can feel no particular interest; and, above all, their care and solicitude for the preservation of a young life which can never be anything to them—entitles these nurses, especially, to gratitude and respect. That they are not a more enlightened class of women, is certainly no fault of theirs; and if they do sometimes make family histories fill up the long hours of their attendance in a sick-room, the blame of their doing so attaches far more to those who listen, than to those who tell.
But what is the young mother to do under these circumstances, who has never cultivated the habit of serious thought, and still less that of self-examination? By such there is but one thing to be done—to begin to cultivate these habits now. Hitherto she may have believed that she was acting only for herself, and therefore she may have been willing, to a certain extent, to reap the ​consequences of her own actions; but now the consequences are strictly to another, and that other a being almost dearer than herself. Upon her parents, her relations, nay, even upon her husband, she may have secretly thrown the blame of many of her own faults and deficiencies; but there can be no blame thrown upon another here. The field is open before her, in which she has to act—the page is clear and vacant upon which she has to write. Whatever is written there in the capacity of a mother, is written on her own responsibility—whatever is done, is done for time, and for eternity.
There are cases occurring to all of us, perhaps, oftener than the day, in which we do not take the trouble to decide whether we are right or wrong, simply because we deem the occasion of too little consequence to merit any serious thought; or, at all events, even while we feel that we are a little wrong, we satisfy the claims of conscience by the plea that it is our custom, our habit, or a thing we must do, because we have always done it. But in the training of a child, this plea can never be allowed, if indeed it had been available before, because everything is of consequence then; and the sins of omission in that most trying process, tell as legibly upon the character under formation, as those which are more positive and direct.
From the duties of a mother there is then no escape; and hence it follows, that if ever, in the whole course of woman's life, she is called upon to think seriously, it is when she first becomes a parent. I can not but suppose, however, that English mothers will most of them have learned to think seriously long before this period, except, indeed, in those lamentable cases, where the husband has chosen a companion for life simply from the fancy of a moment—where the rose of a blooming cheek, the grace of a lovely form, or the sparkling pleasantry of an undisciplined spirit, have been presumed upon as guarantees for the happiness of a whole life.
Were I writing a book for the benefit of men instead of women, I might here enlarge upon the domestic calamities to which many have subjected themselves in consequence of making this kind of choice. I must confess that to me the spectacle of a silly mother, surrounded by a family of ​children whom she has neither the skill to influence, nor the dignity to control, has always presented one of the most melancholy aspects of human life. But in whatever point of view this picture should be presented, it is more than probable that men would still go on to please themselves for the time being, regardless of ultimate vexation; and what is worse, it is equally probable, that they would still continue to charge the miseries of their own disappointment upon the whole female sex. Nor indeed would it be altogether politic, should we succeed in dissuading them from this generous system of protecting the helpless and incapable; because a heavy burden would then be left upon society, of which it is now in a great measure relieved by the preference of the stronger sex falling so charitably and so often upon the weakest of the weak. It is only on behalf of the rising generation that this preference is to be regretted; and the more so, that a strong stimulus is now withheld, which ought to be thrown on the side of mental and moral cultivation; for it is of no use attempting to draw a veil over the truth, that so long as women see their ignorance and folly not unacceptable to men, they will never strenuously endeavor to be wiser than they are.
Those luckless women who find themselves placed at the head of a family which they are expected to govern, without ever having learned, or even thought of, any mode of governing themselves, must be left almost entirely out of consideration in pursuing the course of reflection which is intended to occupy these pages. It is not certainly from choice that such pitiable creatures are placed beyond the pale of sympathy, for, of all human beings, the mother who is expected to conduct a family without this preparation, has the most need of help from others. But the question naturally arises, when we think of such women—"How is it possible to help them?" The wayward, whose will is at fault, and the simply uninformed, whose judgment has never been rightly directed, may both be assisted, when we labor to convince them of their errors; but the naturally weak, the incapable, what is to be done with them? Nothing, that I am aware of, but to commend them to the tender mercies of those protectors, who, having placed them in situations for which they were not fitted, are ​doubly bound not to leave them to bear unaided the consequences of an imprudence not wholly their own.
It is one feature in the case under consideration, and by no means a hopeful one, that notwithstanding all the evils arising out of the unfitness of silly women to undertake the duties of wives and mothers, there still prevails among men a popular outcry against women of an opposite character, as if to possess talent, was necessarily to be guilty of pretension; or, as if to be imbecile, was necessarily to be amiable. Happily for men, and women too, but more happily for infancy than either, there is a wide range of intellect between the two extremes of wisdom and folly; and it is to this class—to women of competent minds, desirous of turning their abilities to the best account, that I would venture chiefly to address myself; for if, on the one hand, the absolutely weak would be incapable of profiting by such hints as I may be able to suggest, those who are already wise, and consequently fitter than myself to discuss the important topics now under consideration, will, I hope, be willing lo pardon me for transcribing, for the sake of others, what they already know.
To persons of ordinary intellect then, to persons of fair and candid minds, but chiefly to such as feel their own deficiencies, and would be glad to profit by the experience and observation of others, I would, in the true spirit of charity, submit these pages, because it is to such I believe that the first experience of a mother's life will have many anxious feelings intermingled with its joys.
It is among this class especially, that I have imagined the first thoughts of a mother to wander back to her own childhood, and to take a serious and impartial survey of her own past life; to mark where she has fallen short, or gone astray; by what temptations she has been most frequently overcome, and which have been the weakest points in her own character. But above all, I have imagined that the Christian mother would, by prayer and heartfelt dedication, commend her child to the care and guidance of its Heavenly Father, in the hope that both it and its earthly parents might begin a new life more strictly devoted to his service and his glory.
It is scarcely possible to imagine a really impartial and ​heart-searching review of the past to be entered into, by one whose mind has ever been seriously impressed with the nature and importance of religious truth, without a desire arising to make the kind of dedication here alluded to; but it is one of the constant besetments even of the rightly intentioned, and often of the truly convinced, to put on this great work until some vaguely anticipated era in our existence shall have marked the season of dedication with peculiar solemnity, or stamped the resolution with additional force. How often this era proves in the end to be the hour of irremediable sickness, it is not my business here to inquire; but certainly, if the possibility of near and awful death—if the preparation for an event which in many cases has proved but a short passage to the grave—if a providential and merciful escape from the dangers of that trying hour—and if the important reality of entering at once, as it were, upon a new and two-fold existence,—if all these circumstances combined be insufficient to constitute an era so important as that which is required for the date of a solemn dedication of the heart and the life to God, it is scarcely likely that human experience will ever afford the opportunity desired; and the inquiry necessarily follows, in such a case, whether it is really desired at all.
It is by no means an unfrequent case, that as young people grow up, and find themselves either not quite so clever, or not quite so good as they expected and wished to be, they reflect either secretly or openly upon the management of their parents, who they believe might have made them better than they are. It is quite possible too that their parents may have been in fault; and that either from their own discrimination, or from the general advance of society toward a more enlightened state, they do actually see the defects of their own training, as those defects begin to tell upon their characters and conduct in riper years. All who have been led to think seriously on this subject, have probably felt this; but it is not all who have an opportunity of showing how such defects may be remedied, by training up others in a happier and wiser manner.
Again, we are all more or less beguiled into the belief that with us it is too late to make any serious alteration in ​the habits which mark our private lives. Indeed, the fact that they are habits, seems to stamp them with a kind of excusability, if I may be allowed the expression; though we lament over them in tones of contrition before our friends, and even believe in our sincerity when we pray to have them forgiven. But if we can thus excuse ourselves a few secretly-cherished faults, and if we are sometimes content to pursue our earthly pilgrimage under the pressure of the burden of which we still complain, surely the mother, in contemplating the future character of her child, will not allow herself to suppose that the same plea will be available here. No; neither ignorance nor habit, those two strongholds of the human soul under which it so often takes refuge, fondly believing that they will cover a multitude of sins; neither the one, nor the other, will serve the mother's purpose now. What she has condemned in the management of her parents, she is bound the more scrupulously to avoid in her own—what she has grown too old to correct in herself, she has Do excuse for not preventing in her child.
Beyond this, there is mixed up with many of the duties of advanced experience, a spirit of heaviness, a sense of depression owing to the many failures of youth's golden hopes—a fainting of the soul under the manifold conflicts it has had to wage, which, though by no means beyond the reach of religious consolation to soothe and to alleviate, has a deadening effect upon the exercise of energy, both in worldly and in spiritual things. Happily for the young life over which the mother watches, it knows no shadow from such clouds as these. Youth enters freshly and gayly upon its untried career, and not all the failures of the thousands, and tens of thousands who have already erred and strayed from the right path, have power to damp the ardor and the hope with which it eagerly pursues each object of desire. And how beautiful and encouraging to the time-worn parent is this fresh spring of existence when her own has lost its elasticity and power! To her it may sometimes appear that scarcely anything in the world is worth the effort necessary to obtain it. But to her child how different! Supply but a sufficient motive, and the energy is there; point out a course of action, and the ​impulse is alive and present; direct to the attainment of an object, and the question never arises, as it does in after life, whether it is worth while. Why then should the mother not rejoice, when she has this new energy, this strong impulse, and this unquestioning ardor to work with, in preparing for the vicissitudes, as well as the enjoyments of after life? Why should the mother not rejoice, when all that has been exhausted in her own feeble frame, all that has been extinguished in her own waning mind, arises fresh and vigorous beneath her hand, and shoots forth into a new and hopeful existence, so bound up with her own, that while she gives direction to each faculty, she may also derive encouragement and gladness from its healthy and successful exercise?
There are then many causes, both in reason and in nature, why the mother should rejoice; and perhaps it is this very, rebounding of the heart back to all, and more than all it has ever enjoyed in life and love, that constitutes in some measure the temptation to which an affectionate nature yields, so as to rest satisfied with the mere bodily health of a fondly-treasured infant, with the amusements of the nursery, and with the first caresses of childhood, instead of looking beyond the present hour, or regarding it as a season of preparation for a future day. Thus time is trifled on. To avoid contradiction, and consequent distress, becomes the mother's only thought. The occupation of the hand seems to demand her whole attention, as another and another little body springs up to require her care; and the mind, the temper—in fact, the whole moral being is thus set aside a thing to be taken up again at some future time, when the child shall be sent to school, or committed to the care of a governess, to be made wise and good.
Now, it is quite evident to a mother of the meanest capacity, that if the food of her infant was to be withheld, or rendered unwholesome for a single day, the body of the child would suffer; and it is a fact which can not be too forcibly impressed upon all mothers, that the mind, even in its infant state, is depriving nourishment, either of a healthy or unhealthy nature, from everything around it. Let the different effect upon the spirits of a child between ​a dull and a cheerful nurse be duly considered, and this fact will appear more plain. I am not absurd enough to suppose that the mind of an infant must be treated like that of a mature and rational being. All I would maintain is, that there are little dawnings of intelligence at a very early age, indications of temper, and symptoms of peculiar temperament, which ought to be watched, and either cherished or restrained, with as much assiduity as is generally bestowed upon the animal frame.
It is common, too, with mothers of the humblest capacity, as well as with the more enlightened, to observe with the most scrutinizing attention the bodily health of their children, believing that even where no disease exists, there may still be tendencies in the constitution, and liabilities to certain ailments, which maternal love is ever quick to detect in their first appearance, and which the mother seldom spares either time or pains to arrest in their progress.
In a manner not the less certain, because it is less palpable, does the human mind bring along with it seeds of disease, individual tendencies, and peculiarities of nature, certainly not less important than those which belong more especially to the bodily frame. All these ought to be the care of the mother, to search for, to detect and to turn into a healthy course: for, as in her care of the animal frame, it is for the future that she watches, toils, and labors, in order that her offspring may be healthy, active, and fit for all the useful purposes of life; so it is for the future, and for one which extends far beyond what the body needs to be prepared for, that she has to cultivate the mind—the immortal nature of her child.
It is not for any of the purposes of to-day, or even of the coming morrow, that the infant is practised in the art of placing one foot before another, as in the act of walking. It is not for to-day that the child is encouraged to use its muscles, to grasp, and to appropriate whatever is within its reach, or at least whatever may be laid hold of without injury. If the present time was all we had to consider, most assuredly the less grasping, and the less appropriation, the more easy and pleasant would be the office of the nurse. Instead, however, of consulting her own ease, the ​mother devotes herself with unremitting assiduity to the cultivation of the bodily faculties of her infant, so that none of its organic functions may suffer from the want of exercise. If she discovers the slightest tendency to the contraction of a muscle, or the distortion of a limb, her whole being is absorbed by apprehensions of the most distressing kind, and all her energies are directed to the means of averting the evils she anticipates for the future. Is it thus, I would ask, on the first discovery of a tendency to impatience, to contradiction, or to revenge? It is but too probable that every positive exhibition of these wrong tendencies is followed by an act of punishment proportioned to the good or evil temper of the nurse, just upon the old-fashioned principle that naughty children must be whipped; but as to the philosophy of such punishment, as well might a crooked limb be forcibly set straight every time it was seen out of place, as the perverse child be simply punished every time it did wrong.
There is no woman blind enough to suppose that in the case of the body, mere momentary correction will be of any lasting use; and why then should the mind, or in other words, the moral character of the child, be treated with less reasoning, and less calculation than its animal frame?
It is possible, however, so far to extend our ideas into the future, as to lose sight of the intermediate space between the cradle and the grave. And where the mother is so deficient in knowledge of the world, and of human nature in general, as to be a stranger to that wide theatre of stirring interests which we call human life, it must of course be left lo circumstances to mould the characters of her children. The result of which, in all probability, will be, that the accidents of life to them will be so various and unexpected, as to surprise them into acting very differently from what their parents had intended.
We can not but suppose, however, that most women educated under ordinary circumstances, will have learned something of the world before being placed in the situation of mothers; and out of such knowledge arises a very natural and suitable inquiry, how the children under their care shall be best prepared for entering upon the world ​such as it is?—not merely for becoming portions of the general mass, for mixing themselves in with the elements of discord too frequently found there, nor even for swelling the tide of popular feeling, whatever it may be. All this they would learn too readily, if left to take their own course. But the inquiry a mother has to make is, what are the prevailing evils now existing in the world; what are the good tendencies of the present state of society; and by what means can the mind be so moulded, and the habits so formed, that the child going through the process of education, shall be best enabled to assist in counteracting the one, and helping forward the other?
These are serious inquiries, well worthy a mother's attention, and requiring, in order to act upon them to any useful purpose, much of that observation and tact which has been already urged upon women at an earlier stage of their experience. And here I would venture to observe, that everything which appeared to me essential to a woman holding the relative situation of a daughter, appeared so more especially when contemplating the same character in that of a wife or a mother; nor could any faculty of the mind be recommended in its exercise to a young and single woman, which might not be made a hundredfold more valuable to her as a mother.
Whence then can have arisen that most absurd and infatuated notion, that woman, while young and unmarried, may with propriety cultivate her mind and improve her character to almost any extent; but that as a wile she has no need to advance any farther, and as a mother she will do very well if she can but superintend the dressing and undressing of a baby! If, as regards the female sex, there should ever have been ground for the establishment of so erroneous a belief, one would suppose that the simple fact of mothers having the training of boys, as well as girls committed to their care, might sometimes startle them into a consciousness of the vast amount of responsibility resting upon them. That single thought, so alarming in its spirit-stirring interest, —that all the statesmen of the rising generation, all the ministers of religion, all public and private gentlemen, as well as all men of business, mechanics, and laborers of every description, will have ​received, as regards intellectual and moral character, their first bias, and often their strongest and their last from the training and the influence of a mother, is a consideration which can Hot be too deeply impressed even upon the minds of the young, for it is the young more especially who have it in their power to profit by such thoughts; and though none could be more unwilling than the writer of these pages, to fill the imagination of a girl with premature ideas of her own importance, in reference to the future, yet I still believe, that a prospective view of their own responsibilities, properly placed before them, would tend very much to counteract the injurious effects of those trifling and vulgar anticipations of courtship and marriage, which too frequently interfere with the intellectual improvement of the young, and effectually destroy the true dignity of woman.
We know that the further a nation advances in civilization, in science, and in general knowledge, the more intelligence, wisdom, and forethought, are required of those who hold the reins of government, and direct the management of institutions for the public good; and what nobler ambition can fill the hearts of British women, than that the next veneration of their countrymen should be better grounded in the principles of true knowledge than the last? But, striking and impressive as this idea justly appears in its immediate, import, that of the education of daughters is at least as much so in its remoter tendency, because it is to women that we still must look for the training of future generations, and the formation of characters whose names may be surrounded by a glory, or stamped with a blot, in the history of ages yet to come.
And are not these profound and stirring thoughts for the mother, in her hours of retirement and repose? The human mind, naturally prone to wander beyond the sphere of actual knowledge, becomes lost in a cloud of vague uncertainties, whenever it takes too bold a flight; but here is a field for noble aspirations, in which it is not only lawful, but perfectly reasonable, to indulge; and not the loftiest ambition that ever fired a hero's breast, could be so ardent or so high as that which it is both natural and right for the fond mother to cherish in her "heart of hearts." ​Yes, it is a great and glorious thought, that the being whose young life is now so tenderly bound up with hers, that not a chord of one can thrill with the minutest touch of feeling, but an answering tone is echoed by the other; that this frail and helpless being, so delicate, so pure, and so beautiful to her, may one day be swelling the ranks of the church-militant on earth, and may eventually join the anthems of triumphant joy which celebrate the admission of the saints to their eternal rest in heaven.
Thus far I have purposely confined my observations chiefly to a mother's thoughts. Beyond this, the outer court of the temple of maternal love, lies the inner sanctuary of a mother's feelings, whose holy secrets no inexperienced hand should presume to touch. It must be observed, however, that within this sanctuary, and out of these holy secrets, arises the natural spring of all her influence, and of all her power. Assisted only by the force of reason and of principle, a stranger might conduct the steps of childhood to maturity as well as the mother herself; but in the maternal bosom, as has already been observed, is lodged an instinct stronger than any other which is associated with animal existence; and the tendency of these pages will be to show, that wherever there is a strong feeling, there is, if rightly exercised, and under favorable circumstances, a proportionate degree of power,—and that wherever there is power, there is an equal amount of responsibility.