# The Mothers of England/Chapter IV

CHAPTER IV.
ELEMENTS OF CHARACTER.
Elements of character may be said to develop themselves when a child begins for the first time to be actuated by motives distinct from the operation of its senses. Thus, when it has learned to prefer the approbation of its mother, to the gratification of its own appetite, it has exhibited one of those elements of character, which, in all probability, will prove most important in its future life.
That ceaseless activity of body and mind which has already been alluded to, will at this stage of experience become capable of a fixed and definite purpose; and when the ends which the child endeavors to attain are associated with a sense of good and evil, it will have commenced the existence of a moral agent, and as such will demand the assiduous and unremitting attention of its mother.
Important as it is, that maternal love should be so directed as to teach the use of a mind, yet, after all, this part of a mother's duty bears but a small proportion to that of forming the characters of her children. It is true, they would form themselves, or rather circumstances would form them, without any instrumentality of hers; but how? Can it be the part of a Christian mother to leave circumstances alone to decide whether her child shall be happy or miserable for all eternity? No; that part of educatian which consists in storing the memory, may possibly be committed with propriety to other hands; but as a mother's instruction is properly more moral than intellectual, that far more important part of educationwhich consists in forming the habits of children, and thus laying the foundation of character, must belong to the mother.
A mother's superior advantages in the art of communicating ideas has already been described; and if, in the mere act of imparting knowledge, her qualifications are so admirably adapted to her duties, how much greater must be their yalue in implanting the first ideas of right and wrong, or rather in the great work of giving impulse and direction to the ​elements of character, by inspiring a love of the one, and a hatred of the other! "By what means could the mother work upon the mind of her child, so as to impart these ideas, except by that close sympathy which exists between them, by the confidence she has inspired, and the love upon which it implicitly depends? It is simply by the use of these means, that she is able to direct the love of her child to anything which she herself regards as lovely, and to render odious in its eyes whatever she despises or dislikes. Here then is power—the greatest which one human being can possibly exercise over another—the power to rule its admiration and its disgust, its love and its abhorrence.
It is true, the mother will often have to oppose the appetites and inclinations of childhood, but it is in her own peculiar capability for doing this, and doing it effectually, that we see the superiority of her qualifications to those of all others; for no sooner is the child assured of her sympathy, than it trusts all its wishes to her tenderness to forgive, or to her bounty to supply; no sooner is it convinced of her wisdom, than it evinces a willingness to submit, on the ground of her knowing best what is for its good; and no sooner does it feel that her love is entirely disinterested, and wholly free from caprice or change, than it yields, under the satisfactory conviction, that its present sacrifice will be more than made up to it in some better way.
With these unquestionable advantages, then, the mother begins to question which of the elements of character displayed by her child, she can turn to good account. That perpetual restlessness for which the poor little busybody has been so often chidden—let us not dismiss that as a crime, without some examination as to what can be made of it. The idea that children must squander about, and that servants must gather up, prevails almost universally in all families. Thus, when the little lord of the nursery has thrown everything he had to play with in all possible directions, when he has pulled the chairs out of their proper places, upset the stools, and dragged the floorcloth into heaps, he grows fretful and dissatisfied until his nurse supplies him with some other kind of amusement, or probably until she replaces the furniture, in order that he may have the pleasure of throwing all things into confusion again.
​But suppose the same child was taught—not as a punishment, but cheerfully and kindly taught—to put everything in its proper place again, as a means of restoring order and thus pleasing mamma, and making everybody comfortable; I believe a wholesome and effectual stimulus to activity might be thus supplied, so as to last perhaps for another hour of amusement, at the same time that a love of order might be inspired, and a still more important desire to be useful and kind. In fact, there are few things more gratifying to children than a belief that they are useful; and if they are only taught to esteem it a privilege to make other people happy, the mere act of doing so, will become a happiness to them.
While enforcing the rule of implicit obedience, already recommended, the mother will sometimes be glad to take advantage of such helps as may be at hand; and in this respect, the regularity of time—even the stroke of the clock which stands in the hall—may be made of essential service. It is an excellent thing to accustom children to be obedient to time—to do, or cease to do, certain things at certain hours; because as time never varies, there can be no misunderstanding on this point. Habits of punctuality will be thus induced, and a general impression made upon the mind, that there are certain laws by which events are regulated, over which we can not possibly exercise the least control.
An education of mere rule, however, would be but a very unsatisfactory one. Among the many unlooked-for incidents of human life, there must be room left for the operation of motive, and the reference of choice from a lesser to a greater good. Thus when children begin to understand and appreciate the reasons why certain rules are broken, it is the part of the mother to allow such deviations as she may consider most conducive to the good of her family, taking care that the rule of obedience to her wishes still remains inviolate.
We will suppose a little group of children learning their morning lessons, to which it is the rule of the house that they shall closely apply until the clock strikes twelve. On one particular morning, however, an aged grandmother arrives about eleven, having walked some distance for the ​purpose of seeing the children, and having but an hour to stay. Are they then to go on with their lessons until the usual time? Certainly not; because in this case the higher duty of giving pleasure, and showing kindness and respect to an aged relative, supersedes the necessity of maintaining a rule. And thus it is, as children advance in years, the mother has to be perpetually choosing for them, not only the good in preference to the evil, but also the greater good in preference to the less.
Among the first convictions impressed upon the mind of a child, should be one of its own helplessness, as well at its own ignorance. The pleasure of being useful is sometimes turned to bad account under the management of nurses, who go the length of persuading children that they can not put the nursery in order without them, nor lift the toys upon the table without their help, thus inspiring premature, as well as false ideas, of their own importance, than which nothing can be more undesirable. On the other hand, however, an equal degree of care must be exercised, that children are neither blamed, nor unnecessarily put down and humbled, either because of their ignorance or their helplessness. Since it is no greater fault of theirs that they are helpless, than that they are little, they should only be made sensible of this fact so far as to render them willing to receive instruction and assistance, as something which is necessary to their safety and wellbeing. In the same way they should be made to undestand, that since as little children they enjoy many pleasures in which older persons could not with propriety participate; so there are certain things—particular kinds of food, for instance—which they see every day partaken of by others, but which, on account of their being little children, are not suitable for them.
I am aware that in this instance my opinions differ from those of many generous and kind-hearted mothers, who declare that they could not allow anything at their tables, of which their children might not partake. But my idea is, that we should begin early with children the kind of discipline which they will inevitably find themselves subjected to in after-life; and as they will often during illness have to abstain from certain kinds of food; ​often—nay almost at every meal, have to set a limit to their indulgence of natural appetite; and often, in the great duty of adapting themselves to circumstances, have, in all probability, to see their own tables supplied very differently from those of their wealthier neighbors; I would begin early with the course of training most likely to render such crosses of inclination so habitual as scarcely to be felt; nor can I see that there is more injustice in denying a great variety of food to a child because it is little, than because it is ill.
To learn our true position in life, and to be satisfied with it, whether in childhood or old age, is one of the most important of human attainments; and if a mere child is allowed to consider itself upon the same general footing as a man or woman of thirty, it will either have to endure being undeceived by some painful and humiliating process, or else it will continue committing acts of egregious folly for the remainder of its life.
Whenever children exhibit that kind of arrogance and self-sufficiency, which can only exist in connexion with extreme ignorance, it is best to let them try some of the mighty feats of which they boast, and, without exulting in their disappointment, simply leave them to the consequences of their own presumption.
But in order to bring all children to a right sense of their real capabilities, as well as their true position, they should often be thrown upon their own resources. By having amusement too constantly supplied, they seldom learn to know what it is they really want; and thus will sometimes grow fretful in the midst of a world of toys, just as they become feverish and ill in consequence of being fed so often, that they have no time to be hungry. One of the most striking characteristics exhibited by children, is the alacrity with which some will seek and provide their own resources; and if their mother wishes that they should grow up industrious, useful, and happy, she will afford them every encouragement in doing this. She will consequently allow them materials for creating their own amusement, rather than finished toys; and whenever they have kept steadily to one object, so as to accomplish a design, however simple, rude, or worthless as a whole, ​maternal love should seize the opportunity for bestowing a large amount of approbation upon the effort.
Much also may be done by a mother in the way of stimulating a laudable ambition in her children to accomplish certain ends; but she must be especially careful not to go too far, or to encourage their attempting what is impossible to them. It is unspeakably distressing to hear hasty and inconsiderate parents sometimes insisting upon what is impracticable, and going on to declare that their children must and shall do certain things; without taking the trouble to ascertain whether there may not be some insurmountable obstacle in the way. Indeed, notwithstanding all the boasted tenderness called into exercise on behalf of children, there is also a vast amount of cruelty practised upon them, purely from want of thought. And then the absurdities which are proposed to them as reasons for submission! I remember to have been told, night after night, that I must eat all my apple-pie, a thing to which I had a particular aversion, because there were so many poor children who would be glad to have it. Now, how these poor children should be benefited by my eating what they liked, and I did not, I never could make out; as little could I imagine how it should be a merit in me to eat up all, when they would have been so glad to have a part. She was a good kind nurse, however, who used to tell me this, and maintained the highest character as a servant. The question is not with such, but whether there may not be mothers who err almost as strangely in their moral training.
Dr. Johnson has told us that pity is not a natural feeling—that it must be taught to children before they can exercise its soothing power. And certainly it has often appeared to me one of the least attractive features of infancy, that children should evince a mischievous desire for getting one another into scrapes. Not that they delight in seeing the punishment they have brought upon their playmates actually inflicted; the spectacle of suffering appears to shock them, in its absolute reality. But still they run and tell, when there is no occasion to do so, that such a one—perhaps their favorite companion—has been committing, an act of delinquency, the disclosure of which they know will bring disgrace and suffering upon the offender.
​In the same way we often see children tormenting animals, even the very pets they consider as their own, and appear at other times to love; not certainly in ignorance that there is torment in what they are doing, but purely, as it would seem, from an inclination to give pain. I am the more disposed to think there is this element in the human character, because I know individuals, kind and benevolent in the general tone of their feelings, who, from never having been taught to pity the sufferings of the animal creation, inflict the most wanton cruelty simply as an amusement.
It becomes, then, an important part of a mother's duty, to teach her children the loveliness, as well as the utility of pity; for without pity, there would be little done in the world toward relieving individual distress. Pity is the forerunner of help; and whoever can not pity, is without the mainspring of all human kindness.
I have sometimes thought that by being allowed the care of tame animals, children might be taught to feel both pity and sympathy for this portion of the creation. But then there are so very few animals capable of being made so happy in confinement, as they would be in their natural state, that there appears considerable danger, lest we should by this means be guilty of inflicting misery for the sake of seeing it pitied. There are some, however, such as dogs, rabbits, Guinea-pigs, and some kinds of birds, which, if not confined too closely, and carefully supplied with their favorite food, exhibit every symptom of cheerfulness, and even satisfaction in their lot. Among these, there will unavoidably be deaths and disasters of various kinds, calculated to call forth feelings of pity; and the boy, who in early childhood has really loved his own dog, will be likely to show kindness to all others, for the sake of that long-remembered favorite.
Many important facts in natural history may also, by the same means, be impressed upon the minds of children, so as never to be forgotten in afterlife; especially that important fact, that in connexion with animal life in a healthy state, there is always, to a certain extent, a capability both of enjoyment and suffering. The child learns, too, in the same way, its first moral lesson—that, by the exercise of kindness, the creatures dependant upon its care are made ​happy; while by neglect or unkindness they are as certainly made miserable.
I can not then believe, but that it might be a help to mothers in the moral training of their children, to allow them the care of animals; because, without drawing into the scheme of education these lower creatures, it is impossible that a child should stand in the position of a responsible being as regards the welfare of others. If, however, the mother should so far lose sight of the end she ought to have in view, as to permit her child merely to caress it favorites, instead of providing for their support, and making them comfortable in every way; if the gardener is to feed the rabbits, and little miss and master are to call them their own; or if the housemaid is to put the aviary in order, while they fondle the birds; then, indeed, the dignified sense of being possessors of property had better be done away with altogether, for any good it is likely to effect. Better, a thousand times, to open the cage, or the rabbit-house, and let the captives go, than suffer little masters and mistresses to grow up in the belief that they are really kind, when they do nothing toward putting their kind feelings into operation for the good of others. If, too, the mother should be so negligent as to allow creatures thus confined to suffer from neglect, she will, as the instrument of inflicting misery, be little qualified for teaching her children how to pity. The only safe and effectual method of turning this system to good account, is for the mother to inspect, or to depute some one else to watch over the welfare of the animals for their good; while, for the good of her children, she allows them to act as if they were the only responsible agents in the whole matter. All neglect must therefore be chargeable upon them; while the health, happiness, and general prosperity of the establishment, must be attributed, so far as it can be with justice, to their good management.
It is a remarkable fact, that the most amiable mothers sometimes train up the most unamiable children. This, however, will only be found to be the case where the mother is either ignorant or inconsiderate. A woman who is merely amiable, and who has never accustomed herself to think of the moral tendency of certain actions, who only ​desired that her children should be made happy for the time being, without any idea of their future welfare, will punish and deny herself to almost any extent, for the purpose of procuring them a momentary gratification; and then perhaps she will feel hurt at their want of gratitude and esteem toward herself.
This, as well as other strange anomalies in the characters of what are called amiable women, have done much to convince me, that sound principle and common sense, with unquestionably a due proportion of warm-heartedness, are in the long-run more conducive to individual, as well as social happiness, than those ungoverned springs of tenderness and love, which burst forth and exhaust themselves, without calculation or restraint.
A merely amiable woman, who has never submitted her feelings to the government of common sense, will reject the idea of its being a duty to make her own comfort and convenience objects of primary consideration among her children. She will reject this idea, under the impression that it is too selfish for her to act upon. Her principle is one of disinterested love, and therefore she never places herself in the way of her children's gratification, never requires anything of them toward her own comfort, allows them to eat all their good things without asking her to partake, and to seize every means of gratification which may fall in their way, without the slightest reference to her. That such children will naturally grow up greedy, selfish, and regardless of their mother, it is scarcely necessary to say. Yet what is to be done where the mother is so amiable, so meek, and so disinterested, that she absolutely can not consent to make herself an object of consideration?
It would certainly be a very interesting and charming alternative in this difficult case, if, while the sweet mother should purposely shrink into nothing in comparison with her children, the father would draw her merits forth to view, and place her first on every occasion in the attention and regard of his family. Such a picture of domestic life might indeed embellish the pages of a novel; but unfortunately the real world in which we live is so constituted that fathers of families have little time for adorning their wives ​with honors which they blush to wear. Fathers of families in the present day, and the fact can not be acknowledged without serious regret, are for the most part too deeply engaged in the pursuit of objects widely differing in their nature from those which belong to the moral discipline of home; and therefore it becomes more the duty of mothers, especially those of the middle class of society, to look beyond the things of the moment, to consider the almost double responsibility which devolves upon them, and to inquire earnestly into the probable means of ensuring the future good of their children.
It is not, however, so generally from an excess of humility that mothers neglect the opportunity, while their children are young, of inspiring them with a grateful regard for the maternal character, as from a mistaken idea that in the natural relation of a child to its mother, there exists a bond cf such inherent power that circumstances can neither strengthen nor destroy it. They forget that we do not love our relations simply because they are such, and that even the revered name of mother derives its sacred and endearing character from the associations of early life,, rather than from any feeling of mere relationship on the part of the child; though it is a great happiness that, in after life, and when these associations have been tender and endearing, the idea of relationship gives stability and warmth to our feelings of affection.
Of all the disappointments which assail the peace of mothers, and unquestionably they are many, I believe those which originate in the mistaken notion here alluded to, are by far the most numerous; and if the wounded feeling which in after years so often takes possession of the maternal breast, on finding that all the personal sufferings endured, the sacrifices made, and the care bestowed upon the helplessness of childhood, seem to be forgotten as regards, the tender and devoted being from whom originated this constant flow of disinterested love—if such feelings could be obviated by the exercise of a little more calculation as to cause and effect in the training of childhood, what a different position the mothers of some families might hold! while in proportion to the satisfaction of their own minds ​would be the increase of their moral influence over their children, extending in all probability to the end of life.
I can not help again observing here, that there are few things in this world over which one feels more inclined to lament, than the total waste of good feeling—the utter failure of the best motives from the want of a little knowledge, or a little forethought, as to the surest means of carrying them into effect. That it is peculiarly the lot of woman to wear herself out in this fruitless expenditure, has been said and sung by many a feeling writer, and by none more sweetly than our own lamented poetess:—
* "Her lot is on you—silent tears to weep,
* And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour,
* And sumless riches from affection's deep,
* To pour on broken reeds—a wasted shower;
* And to make idols, and to find them clay,
* And to bewail such worship. . . . . ."
But why is it so? For no other reason than because woman considers it more beautiful to feel than to think. And so perhaps it is. Yet that she should think sufficiently to make her feelings tell upon the welfare of the beings whose happiness she has so much at heart, is the very point which, in looking upon the world, we long to urge upon women in general, and especially upon mothers.
Among the elements of human character most justly valued in society, and especially in the home circle, are gratitude and generosity. It would seem that the former of these might naturally grow out of the situation of a young child dependant upon others for the supply of every want and the gratification of every wish. We see, however, that this is far from being the case; for those very children who are the most unsparingly indulged, are generally the most ungrateful. Indeed, how should they be otherwise? Indulgence does not make them happy; and we find, throughout the world, that gratitude is not proportioned to the bestowment of favors, but to the benefit we are sensible of deriving from them. It is well, however, to begin by instilling ideas of gratitude, if not actual sensations, whenever a child is the subject of kindness from a friend. Children should never be allowed to forget who gave them any of their toys, who took them to ​see any gratifying sight, or who procured them the means of extraordinary enjoyment in any other way. Above all, the mother ought not to be so fastidious, so guilty of false delicacy, as to leave herself out of the question in her efforts to inspire gratitude; for without any assumption of merit above mothers in generator in fact anything bordering upon self-praise, she may distinctly set before her children the innumerable benefits they derive from maternal care. She may point to the circumstances of orphans destitute of all such benefits; and she may even describe occasionally to the older ones, her own sufferings and privations in the discharge of her duly to the younger. This, however, should be done without fretfulness and without murmuring; for to complain to children that they are destructive of their mother's peace and comfort, is infinitely worse than to leave them in total ignorance that either the one or the other is capable of being disturbed.
It might seem, on a superficial view of the subject, that gratitude was but a little thing to instil into the minds of children, unqualified as they naturally are, to render it productive of practical results, so as in any measure to repay their benefactors; but here we err, as usual, by looking to immediate consequences, rather than to the future benefit of the rising generation. It is certainly a little thing for a child to bring the first rose it gathers to its mother, because it knows that she is doing something every day, and almost every hour, for its good; but it is not a little thing, that as children grow up to be men and women, they should treasure in their hearts the sweet remembrance of benefits received, that they should still yearn in after years to pay back again some portion of the debt; and above all, having early learned their own relative insignificance and helplessness, and their consequent dependance upon the kindness of parents and friends—it is not a little thing that they should throw all these feelings into a higher channel, and refer them to the Giver of every blessing—the Friend in every hour of need.
With regard to feelings of gratitude, perhaps more than any other which claim the general approbation of mankind, selfishness, pride, and worldly-mindedness too often stand in the way of our seeing their real value. The various ​imperfections of those of our fellow-creatures from whom we receive benefits, seem also to afford us an excuse for the absence of gratitude toward them; we find too that their kind services are not always such as do us any real good; and thus we go on narrowing the circle of our pleasurable sensations, and hardening our hearts against those genial influences which would make us both happier and better than we are.
By excluding from our minds the feeling of gratitude to our fellow-creatures, it ceases to be habitual; and thus, when we strive to call it forth in our religious exercises, or when contemplating the good providence of God, it is scarcely probable that a sensation so strange to the accustomed tone of our minds should come at the moment it is wanted. It is true that expressions of gratitude abound in all our exercises of prayer and praise, in all our advice, in all our warnings, and in all the consolations we would offer to the suffering or destitute; but is the feeling there? Alas! how often has the Christian to lament that he can not throw the full force of his warmest emotions into the language he is uttering—that he can not, from the depths of his own heart, go alone with the inspired Psalmist in those outbursts of gratitude, m which the harmony of heaven seems blended with the poetry of earth!
Still there are seasons in the past experience of all who are capable of feeling, when emotions of gratitude have passed over the soul like a fresh torrent over the parched and arid soil, leaving beauty and fertility in its track. To find in the midst of trouble, that some one, of whose kindness we had never dreamed, has been making interest in our favor; that some friend has been secretly working for our good; that a sister or a brother has been making some sacrifice to serve us; that a father or a mother has been praying for us when we have gone astray; and when one or all of these discoveries have been made, to throw open our hearts without suspicion and without reserve before our benefactors, so as to let them see. and feel our gratitude—surely this does good alike to "him that gives," as well as to the grateful recipient of such kindness.
It must do good; for there is no sensation approaching ​nearly to that which the scheme of man's salvation is calculated to inspire in the breast of the true believer, as that of intense and fervent gratitude; and, blessed be God, there is no sensation so nearly allied to perfect happiness. Here then is benevolence—here is mercy—here is cause for gratitude on earth and praise in heaven! that the very feeling by which the Christian is most closely bound to the service of his Maker, is that which, throughout all human nature, is the most intimately associated with the purest enjoyment.
That real gratitude—that to which the heart surrenders itself without reserve—is the happiest sensation experienced on earth, we have probably all felt at different times, and in a manner adapted to our own habits and associations—some on entering the house of prayer, some on the recovery of a beloved friend from illness, some on returning home, and some on going forth under favorable auspices; while others have found themselves most overpowered by emotions of gratitude, they scarcely know how, or why. Perhaps in a solitary walk over green fields on a summer's day, they have paused by a rivulet, to gaze upon half-hidden flowers, and to listen to the hum of the wandering bee, until, startled by a softer note, they have looked up, and seen the wood-pigeon sitting in the boughs of a tall tree, through which the sunlight glistened. And then, undisturbed by these sweet natural sounds and sights, a solemn stillness has fallen upon their souls; and while a vision of deep thought has made evident the presence of the Supreme, the Infinite, the Allwise, they have felt themselves remembered—cared for—kept as it were in the hollow of his hand; and thus they have poured forth their gratitude in prayer, such as falls again like dew upon the heart from which it springs.
Oh! who would exchange such moments for the wealth of worlds!—or who, if by any effort of love, they could be procured for others, would not begin in early childhood to cultivate a soil which is capable of producing so rich a harvest of pure and invigorating joy?