# The Mothers of England/Chapter III

CHAPTER III.
THE USE OF A MIND.
It is the fashion of the present day to direct every means, and to force every effort, to some obvious and immediate result. Thus education has come to be regarded as a process by which the mind is filled, rather than one by which it is exercised in the use of its faculties.
Education is also too frequently considered as a thing which can be compressed into almost any given space of time, by dint of labor and industry; and thus parents who indulge a foolish ambition to see their children pushed on to be clever, make it a practice to stipulate, in sending them to school, that they shall learn everything within the compass of human attainment, except how to use their minds. They complain, too, sometimes, of the high terms of education; and various modes of bargaining, and bringing down those of the different schools to which they apply, are resorted to, with little compunction on the part of parents. Yet when we consider the situation of those who have to receive under their care children who have scarcely been prepared for the process of instruction by one useful habit, or one rational idea; when we consider, too, that in the course of a very few years, perhaps two or three, the habits they have acquired have to be uprooted, an entirely new foundation of moral and intellectual character laid, and upon this a superstructure erected, composed of every branch of learning, and adorned with every accomplishment, and all this with but slender capacity on the part of the child, and no desire whatever to be anything but well dressed, well fed, and exceedingly comfortable; I would ask, what money could repay the labor of converting a succession of such children, year after year, into what are called highly educated men and women? And even if by dint of indefatigable effort on the part of those who teach, there should now and then be one child sent home with a memory loaded to excess—nay, literally crammed with names and dates, ​and all that is comprised under the head of school-learnings—how few, even out of this small number, find, in the common walks of life, a use for half the acquirements they have so laboriously attained!
I speak not as wishing to reduce the compass of human learning within a narrower circle than it fills at present. Far from it. My idea is, that we never can learn too much, provided that in the acquirement of one thing, we do not neglect another more important; and there will always be, among the many, some minds sufficiently gifted and comprehensive to profit by and repay an extreme amount of culture. But in confining my remarks, as I still wish they should be understood, chiefly to persons of the middle class in Great Britain, one half of whom, supposing society to be divided only into three parts, are connected more or less with business, and subject to all the variety of circumstance which that association entails; I confess I do not see how the mere acquirement of learning, as generally taught in schools, is an indispensable requisite. Indeed, I should have supposed that the use of the faculty of observation in common things, the exercise of ingenuity, and the gradual introduction to the understanding of botany, chemistry, mechanism, and natural history in general, with an habitual readiness in the use of resources, and the application of means to ends, would have been a kind of training, especially if connected with half the amount of school-learning usually bargained for, quite as likely to make clever merchants, and men of business, as well as clever mistresses of families, as that system of education which confines all learning to what may be stored in the memory, and acquired from books.
In the use of a mind, it is very evident that those who teach in schools can have little opportunity for conveying instruction. Their sphere of observation is necessarily limited; each day presents objects little differing from the last; and all those unexpected and novel events which excite interest and inquiry m a private family, it is the aim of school-discipline to prevent, lest the attention of the pupils should be diverted, and lessons consequently hindered by interruption.
The use of a mind, however, is just that important part of education which a mother is so circumstanced as to be ​the one only being to teach with facility and success. There are few fathers who have it in their power to do more than advise and direct in the education of their children; but the mother has a twofold advantage in her presence in the midst of her family, and in the natural influence she exercises over the minds of her children. Oh! but the mothers of England are too busy in the present day. There is really so much to be done for the public good, so many subscriptions to be raised, so many charities to be attended to, so many public meetings, committees, and societies of of every description to be kept up, that in large towns especially, the mother has literally no time—absolutely none—to attend to the instruction of her own children.
Perhaps it never enters into the minds of these excellent ladies, that a little more private good done to the individuals immediately under their care, would prevent a great deal of their public charity being required—that a little more training of children to meet their circumstances whatever they may be, to act with consideration to others, to contrive, to economise, to manage, and to be contented and cheerful in their appointed lot, would prevent much of the extravagance, helplessness, and misery, which exist in the world.
I appeal to those who have had much to do with the poor and the destitute, and I ask, whether the most trying cases which have come under their notice, have not generally arisen from the sufferings of the well-meaning, and the helpless? This portion of the community seem doomed to be trampled upon by the designing and the wicked; and though far from wishing to keep back the smallest mite that may be passing into public channels for their good, yet I feel assured we should do more for their ultimate benefit, by teaching to children, and through them, as they grow up, to servants and dependants, the readiest means of turning all common things to the best account, than by collecting thousands upon thousands for the relief of the distressed.
The nature of the present times, the condition of our country, the frequent downfall of the rich from affluence and ease, and the uncertainty on every hand of greater stability in the interests of trade and commerce, are powerful calls upon the mothers of England, to turn their attention more earnestly to the preparation of individual character for ​such private and social revolutions, as there appears every reason to anticipate.
It is urged by some women, that they have their evening parties, and their morning calls, to attend to; by others, that they have their domestic arrangements; by a vast number, that they have not health to contend with children; and by still more, that they have not ability. To ask such women why they happened to get married, is an impertinence one is rather tempted to commit; for if attending to morning calls, or even visiting, be the paramount duty of life, a single woman might certainly discharge this duty, with more propriety, and with less hinderance, than a married one. If the management of a house be urged as more important than the management of an immortal mind, the situation of a housekeeper would have been more suitable than that of a wife or mother to the woman who offers this excuse. The plea of want of ability is a strong condemnation to her who did not find this out in time; and that of want of health, though, unlike the others, deserving tenderness and sympathy, affords no reason for entire exemption except in extreme cases; because a mother's influence, if once established, is often known to operate beneficially, even when she herself is confined to a couch of sickness.
There is in reality scarcely anything which ought to stand in the way of a mother's constant and strict attention to the training of her children; because she is in reality the person whose influence over them is the most powerful; and whatever school she may select for them, whatever teachers she may choose, she is the person into whose hands their mental and spiritual welfare is placed.
Since, then, there is no escape from this imperative duty, let us ask what are the particular advantages and facilities for discharging it, which the mother enjoys beyond others? In the first place, she begins with the unbounded affection of her children—an affection which sees her beautiful, and believes her perfect; which questions not the wisdom that flows from her lips, and still less can doubt the truth of what she tells. What other teacher of youth, I would ask, can begin the process of education with these advantages? Instead, then, of leaving it to ​others to do, what she is sometimes glad of any plea to escape from, she ought to thank God, and take courage, that her confessedly arduous undertaking has thus been rendered comparatively easy by the dispensations of an all-wise Creator.
If, like the governess, the mother had to begin with strangeness, and perhaps with repulsion, how different would her situation be! She would then have to feel her way, to win by watchfulness and care every inch of ground, and to study infant characteristics, as well as to disguise her own, in order to obtain the slightest influence. But happily for the mother, her children love her as she is. Her kiss could not be more welcome, if her cheek was that of Hebe, nor could the wisdom of a Sorcates inspire them with greater respect than they feel for hers. How cruel, then, to her children, and how negligent of this beautiful provision made by Divine Providence, both for them and for her, is that shrinking from, or that indifference on the part of the mother to a duty which nature so evidently points out as hers; and that willing consigning of her children's early education to those who begin the task, and most frequently pursue it to the end, under circumstances so much less favorable.
But, after all, the duty of education is one which can not be deputed to another in very early life, unless the mother entirely absents herself, or becomes a mere non-entity in the nursery. The process of education is going on every day, because the infant mind is every day receiving impressions, learning to compare, and gradually maturing in every way; and as a child naturally loves its mother best, it will receive from her the deepest and most lasting of those impressions which are to give a bias to its character, and perhaps eventually determine its destiny for this world and the next. There is then no escape. Neglect may tell upon the character, as well as care; and since the mother must be the one responsible being as regards her child, why not set about in earnest, and with cheerfulness and hope, the task of teaching it, in the first place, how to use its own mind?
​Inspired by a laudable desire to be the early, and perhaps the sole instructers of their children, some well-meaning and industrious mothers begin with lettered cards and books, to teach the first rudiments of spelling and reading, before their children are capable of attaching a single right idea to the words they read; and it often happens that those parents who are the most sparing, and least apt, in the communication of their own ideas, are the most solicitous about their children being taught to read at the earliest possible period of capability. Such parents seem to have overlooked the fact, that there is very little exercise of the mind in simply learning to read; though the demands which are thus made upon attention, patience, and memory, are a little too exorbitant, and certainly such as never can repay either the teacher or the taught, by an amount of success at all proportioned to the labor and the pain of their endeavors.
But why, when the mother has such exquisite materials to work with, as the love and confidence of her child, with its quick sensibility to enjoyment—why does she not begin to work with these materials, so as to introduce ideas at once to its mind, and then to affix to such ideas their appropriate signs? By teaching the signs of ideas first, we reverse the order of nature, and convert into a task of painful and herculean toil, that which might be rendered by the mother a source of perpetual interest and enjoyment.
The memory, too, may be easily impressed by those who carefully watch the best opportunity of conveying instruction to the young; because whatever we can be made feelingly to comprehend, we distinctly remember; and thus the mother, through the medium of her own sympathies, and the affections of her child, enjoys an advantage over all other preceptors. Whatever also strikes the senses in a forcible manner, makes a vivid impression upon the mind, so as to be long remembered. From this principle the method of teaching as at present pursued in infant-schools, derives its power and efficacy; and from the same principle it is, that home-education possesses in many respects so decided a superiority over that of schools.
Let us for a moment imagine the case of a mother and ​her child, gazing, for the first time in the experience of the latter, upon the phenomena of a thunder-storm. The child feels no alarm as the brilliant flashes of lightning follow each other in quick succession, because it is accustomed to think that safety dwells beside its mother. It therefore watches them with astonishment and delight; and during the intervals, the mother teaches it, that the vivid and sudden light which illuminates both heaven and earth at the same instant, is called a flash of lightning.
Now compare this method of instruction with that which is most frequently adopted; and imagine a little child poring over a spelling-book, spreading its rosy hand upon the page, and with contracted brow, and anxious eye, alternately attempting to spell a disconnected mass of words off the book, and then peeping again at the unintelligible and elaborate meaning given to each word, as if to render it less comprehensible than when it stood alone. Perhaps the word is flash, the meaning of which is painfully hammered out, or probably explained by the teacher, where the child is too young to "learn meanings." But what impression is such explanation likely to make in this instance, when the poor little sufferer, with its strained attention, has next to be questioned in flat, flask, and some dozen other words, each as different from the last in meaning and association as it is possible to be.
It is as little likely that the child in the latter instance should remember the signification and use of the word flash, as it is that it should forget it in the former, while associated with that wonderful evening, when it stood protected by its mother's arms, and looked out upon the world all darkness and gloom at one moment, all brilliance and light the next. I say nothing here of the more expansive and complex idea of a thunder-storm being introduced to the mind of the child, because I have supposed it too young for such an extent of intelligence; but the same principle, I am persuaded, would hold good throughout, and save a world of trouble to those who should afterward undertake the education of children prepared in this manner for being sent to school. Indeed, it is impossible to say to what important, or what trifling matters, all coming under the cognizance of the mother, this principle may not ​be applied. I knew a little boy, very dull at his letters, yet very quick to make observations upon cause and effect, who, long before he could speak plainly, walked one day beside his mother in perfect silence, looking earnestly at her feet. At last he said, in his broken language, "One foot goes, while tudder foot stops." Here then was an opportunity for the mother to give her boy a lesson of far more value than many pages in a book of spelling, or of reading made easy. She might, and she possibly did, set him to raise his weight from the ground by lifting both feet at once; and at the same time she might explain to him in a manner which he never would forget, the meaning and application of the words step, walk, run, jump, with many others, which he would have been months in learning as a common lesson.
To the observation of the boy upon his mother's feet, that one stopped while the other went on, a nurse-maid would in all probability have replied—"To be sure it does: what a silly boy you are!" and here would have been an end of the matter. The general incapacity of servants to convey useful information with regard to common things, makes it sometimes a subject of astonishment, that mothers should so seldom walk out with their children; because it is chiefly in their walks that their attention is struck by new objects, and their curiosity in consequence awakened. Even where the attendance of a governess is substituted for that of a nurse, the case is not always much better; because none but a mother can love a child well enough to be always teaching it. The governess, of course, will have stipulated that when school-hours are over, she shall have nothing more to do in the way of instruction: and even if it be agreed upon, that she shall walk out with the children, who shall assert a right to deprive her of almost the only luxury permitted to a governess—the luxury of her own thoughts? Thus, while the child is asking whether the same butterflies will come again next spring, she is probably thinking of a letter she has received that morning, telling her that the vessel in which her brother sailed has been lost at sea.
Above all other means of instruction, that of easy and familiar conversation is the most effectual in the general tone it gives to the habits of thinking, observing, and ​communicating ideas in a family; and who is so capable of using this means as a mother? Who but a mother can love her children well enough to be always ready and willing to convert every incident that may occur in the nursery, or around the household hearth, into a medium for the enlargement of the sphere of thought, the correction of error, or the establishment of truth? It is a subject worthy of being taken into consideration, that childhood, unlike mature age, is possessed with an almost untiring relish for the repetition of the same facts which have afforded interest again and again; and thus a favorite old story is often called for by the listening group, in preference to anything new. We should wonder at this peculiarity in childhood, if we were not accustomed to see in all, even the most minute among the laws of nature, a beneficent design, by which preparation is made for a future state of being; and here, in the demand of the child for a narrative which has often been repeated, we recognise a provision for impressing the plastic nature of its mind and feelings, with facts which shall never be effaced. But who, I would ask again, except a mother, can bear to answer these demands? Who else will relate a story for the hundredth time, as freshly as when first it was told? Who else will patiently sit by the bedside of the child, repeating its favorite hymns? Who else will awake in the silent hours of the night, to converse about the unseen Being who protects the world, and keeps watch over the little infant on its couch of rest?
It is a commonly-acknowledged fact, that half the fears of grown-up people, and far more than half the fears of children, arise from their ignorance. Well-educated women, or at least such as are popularly called so, are often found in this respect too closely to resemble children; for their ignorance of machinery, of the habits of animals, and of natural philosophy in general, subjects them to innumerable misapprehensions, of which, it is humbling to observe, they are sometimes rather proud than ashamed. With children the case is very different, because it is no fault of theirs that they do not understand what they have never had an opportunity of hearing explained. In their walks with the nursemaid, they have probably been severely chidden when they have exhibited symptoms of fear, and told that the cow only ran ​after naughty boys and girls; or that the roaring steam-engine which terrified them so much, was a very good engine, because it carried people to London to see the pretty sights. Beyond such explanations as these, the intelligence of the nurse too seldom extends. Besides which, we must not fail to observe, that in these and similar instances, the sensation of fear has taken possession of the child before the explanation, such as it is; can take effect; and thus the impression of danger remains to be stronger in its memory than its subsequent impression of the justice of the cow, or the benevolence of the steam-engine.
What I am particularly anxious to urge upon the attention of mothers, is the importance of making just impressions first; and I am persuaded that by the means of easy, and, at the same time, instructive conversation, this may to a great extent be done, so that when the object which would otherwise have been one of terror, does present itself, the child may be prepared to receive it under more favorable impressions than those of fear; and even where, as must necessarily be the case, the object is such as it has never heard of before, the child who has been in the habit of receiving well-timed and judicious information from its mother, will be preserved from a variety of painful apprehensions, by a general impression that everything in nature and art has its particular use; and that even the most powerful agents of which it can form a notion, are not put in action by any malignity of their own, but are overruled for some good purpose, and often made conducive to the greatest benefit to man.
The feeling of trust and confidence which such a mode of instruction is calculated to inspire, belongs more to a subsequent chapter than to this. Yet, as our trust in general is intimately connected with our impressions of truth, it is necessary to observe, that it is chiefly upon its confidence in the combined wisdom and sincerity of its mother, that the child depends for security, in spite often of the effect produced by external objects upon its senses; and that it is the character of the mother taken as a whole, to which it mentally refers when surprised into an apprehension of danger from a cause which it can not understand. A calm and self-possessed mother, welcoming cheerfully the ​common incidents of life, has much in her power in the way of preserving her children from needless fears; and if, in addition to this self-possession, she adds the resources of a well-stored mind, opportunities will never be wanting for teaching them why they have no cause to be afraid.
Although a comparison is generally allowed betwixt aiming and music, as sources of gratification adapted to a high degree of taste and feeling, yet, in their actual utility, they bear but little relation to each other. An inferior performance on the harp, or the piano, is scarcely in the present day admitted among the amusements of the drawing-room. Neither, it may be said, is an inferior performance in the way of drawing. It is not much to the purpose to surmise what a dismantling of albums there would be, if this were really the case. My business is chiefly to show that there may be great utility in a kind of drawing, which is little calculated to excite the admiration of an evening party; and it would be an unspeakable advantage to all mothers, in conveying lively and correct ideas to the minds of their children, if they were themselves proficients in the art of sketching from nature.
Indeed I am one of those who would be glad to see drawing taught to all, though upon a very different plan from that which seems at present to be most approved. It is not the fault of those who teach, that all children whose parents pay for drawing lessons, take home a certain number of pieces of polished pasteboard, on which are depicted, perhaps, a gothic arch marked out by the master, a bridge beside which he has planted a tree, a cottage thatched by his hand, or a scarecrow Magdalene with a round tear coming out of each eye. The production of such specimens, however much they may be admired by the near relations of the pupil, are far from being illustrations of what I mean by the art of drawing.
The art of drawing should be understood to mean the art of making just and true delineations of objects as they are; and this might be taught, in the first place, by beginning at once to reduce the simplest objects to the size wanted on the pupil's slate or paper. By commencing at once with the process of reduction, it will ever afterward be comparatively easy, and not present, as it now does, ​almost insuperable obstacles to the art of sketching from nature—the only end really worth attaining in learning to draw or paint.
But where, it may be asked, if the pupils spend their time in drawing nothing better than boxes, books, or the outlines of simple figures delineated fur them on a giant scale, where will be those wonderful results which the fashion of the day demands? The results of such a process would certainly not consist in what could be brought forward at any time to obtain its reward of praise; they would not in reality consist of anything which could be regarded as property duly paid for at the marketable price. The results to which my ambition for the rising generation points, would consist in habits of observation, clear perceptions of form and outline, so as to have the fac-simile of every well-known object impressed without confusion upon the mind; in quickness of imitation, and facility of touch, in delineating all visible objects, so as to represent them truly to others; in a capability on the part of men for giving clear directions to workmen, illustrating such directions by outlines at once correct and bold, as well as in uniting utility with taste; and, on the part of women, for copying and designing patterns, marking out with clearness different lines of beauty; but, above all—and here the subject assumes its most important character—for sketching with promptness and precision all specimens in natural history, as well as almost every other branch of juvenile study, so as at once to strike the eye, and impress the memory of youth—to amuse the fancy, and improve the understanding at the same time.
We all know that even the rudest drawing of a rat, a mouse, or a donkey, with accompanying lively descriptions of some of their peculiar habits, has power to fascinate a group of children on a winter's evening, almost beyond any other resource; and if with greater ease the mother could make these designs at once more spirited and exactly true to life—if, also, she could add an illustration of some favorite anecdote, by placing different figures together, or allowing the children to choose how they shall be placed, she would find herself in possession of a means of instruction almost as refreshing to herself, as delightful and in ​invigorating to the young minds whose education is committed to her care.
Were this a more general amusement in private families, I believe we should much less frequently hear the impatient exclamation— "There! take that, and be quiet." "Now, James and Lucy—quarrelling again!" "John, you naughty boy, let Maria play with your puzzle." "Do tell me what o'clock it is, for I am distracted with your noise." But mothers tell us, on every hand, that they do adopt this admirable expedient for getting through a long evening, or a rainy day, by allowing their children to paint; and that they find it answer their purpose to admiration. The purpose of keeping the children quiet, and saving trouble to the mother, unquestionably it may answer; and if the art of drawing be considered, as it too frequently is, a matter of no sort of moment, then the amusement of painting pictures already made is agreeable and satisfactory enough. If, however, it is considered at all a desirable thing, either for men or women, that they should be able to draw with accuracy and ease, no more effectual means of preventing this could possibly be adopted, than that of allowing children to fill up drawings with color before they know anything of outline or form. It is allowing the child to jump at once to an obvious result, and at the same time suffering him to be deceived as to the value of his work; because he will learn in a very few years that such a result is utterly worthless; yet having attained his end, such as it was, he will not then be. likely, under such a disappointment, to go back to the means of obtaining a better. He will in reality find out that he has been cheating himself under the sanction of his parents, and thus the moral effect upon his character will be anything but good.
After all, however, I am not sure but that upon the principle of rewards being given in kind, a young designer, after be has tried Ins best at outline, may not now and then be allowed to paint; but his red houses and green smoke, blue men and yellow women, should always be treated with a certain degree of disrespect, and by no means should they be allowed the same amount of credit. ​as if he had accomplished a drawing of his own, however rude and unattractive to the mere observer.
It seems rather hard upon mothers who have never acquired the art of drawing, even in the humblest manner, to urge this point so strongly; and there are probably few who have not, on reading the valuable remarks on this subject contained in "Home Education," felt painfully their own incapacity for carrying out the admirable system there laid down; but if, because this generation is peculiarly defective in one branch of learning, the next must inevitably remain so too, we are indeed in a hopeless condition; and I write at the greater length on this subject, because I believe, that most persons who never draw, are under great misapprehensions as to the talent or faculty required to enable them to do so. Hence they complain that they have no taste, which generally means that they have no inclination, for drawing; and this no doubt arises from their not being convinced of its extensive utility; nor, in the case of women, of the boundless resources it will place within their reach, if ever they should have children to amuse and instruct. Others again complain of their want of talent, which arises from their never having been taught in the right manner; for as all persons can be taught to write that is, with greater or less facility, so there is no doubt but all persons could be taught to draw simple, distinct, and familiar objects, if they were not, by the process of instruction, pushed on too rapidly to obvious and immediate results. Perfection in the art either of drawing or painting, so as to design with taste, and execute with effect, is a totally different matter—an art belonging unquestionably to the distinguished few, and the practice of which would in most cases be obviously at variance with the duties of a mother.
In conducting the affairs of the nursery, it is of essential importance to understand that the minds of children must always be at work. As it is necessary to the bodily health of an infant that it should always be in motion except when asleep, and as nature has provided for this requirement by a perpetual restlessness, often complained of by those who are unacquainted with its relative advantages; so the mind is perpetually using, in some way or other, ​the different faculties with which is is endowed; and the part of the mother is to teach it how to use them with the greatest facility, and to the best effect. The toys provided for children in the present day, are generally of so highly-finished and complete a kind, that after the first emotions of surprise and delight have subsided, they fail to afford any further enjoyment; and as there is nothing more to be done toward completing their construction, there only remains one alternative, that of pulling them in pieces. The rudest machine, or the meanest implement of their own construction, has often the power to please for a much longer time, because it continues to be capable of improvement, and is not in itself of such a character as to be removed beyond their hopes of success. Upon the same principle, all playthings which they can use, are infinitely preferable to such as they can only admire; because the faculty of admiration is one, the culture of which belongs only to riper years. Yet care should be taken even in presenting a boy with a book, a barrow, or any other article which has a distinct use, that he is of an age to turn it to some account, otherwise he will bewilder, disappoint and irritate himself, with unavailing attempts to use his newly-acquired treasures as he sees them used by others.
In all manual exercises, as well as in all operations of the mind, we can not keep too constantly in view the benefit, to themselves and to society, of individuals having what is familiarly called. "Their wits about them," or, in other words, being always ready for the occasion, whatever it may be. How much of happiness, as well as of general usefulness, is associated with this habit, it would be impossible to say. Perhaps we can only estimate its real value, when connected in our practical duties with that dreamy, absorbed, and profitless existence, which tends neither to individual nor social benefit. The prompt, the ready, the active, those who are never at a loss, and especially those who are never lost in self—those who abound in resources, and those who know how to use all common means, who never hesitate longer than is necessary to decide, and then act immediately upon their own decisions; it is such persons, taken as a class—and a happy and enviable class they are—who constitute the most valuable ​portion of the human family; and admire, as we may, the brilliant though fitful exhibitions of extraordinary talent—reverence as we may, the sybil silence of genius waiting for inspiration—it is to persons who have early learned to use their own minds at any time, and on any subject, that we fly with our perplexities and difficulties, secure that assistance is most likely to be found with them.
Wherever there are symptoms of dawning genius in a child, or of extraordinary talent of any kind, instead of anticipating too hastily the result of such natural endowments, and urging forward the cultivation of that peculiar faculty which appears to be predominant, the mother ought to watch carefully in order to ascertain whether there may not be a deficiency in some other mental qualification, proportioned to this excess.
If there be real genius, it will be sure to develop itself in due time, under reasonable treatment; and long before the child who possesses extraordinary talent arrives at the proper age for turning such talents to the best account, he will have felt abundant need of clear perceptions, sound judgment, and all which is usually comprehended under the name of common sense. In order to pass with safety along the stream of life, under that lofty sail which genius delights to spread, he will have abundant need of all the ballast which a strictly rational education can supply. If, in addition to this, the character has been formed upon well-grounded religious principles, genius to such a child is capable of being a real blessing; but, on the other hand, we must not forget, that without such accompaniments, it is equally capable of being a real curse. To educate a child to be a genius, is perhaps the greatest absurdity a parent can commit; but to educate a child to be active, useful, conversant in common things, willing to assist others, and able to adapt itself to circumstances wherever it may be placed, is to furnish it with the means of turning extraordinary talent to the best account.
Both this kind of talent, and genius, may then be safely left to the cultivation of after years. The mother has little to do with them, except to see that they are neither too much stimulated, nor too much repressed; for it is possible that genius may be crushed, and the effect of such ​treatment would, in all probability, be the same upon the human character as that of lopping off the leading branch upon a young tree. Other branches might shoot forth, and all the vigor of healthy vegetation might be displayed, but nothing could restore the beauty of the tree as a whole, in its original bold and upward growth.
It is scarcely necessary, however, to warn the mother against this mode of treatment. Her own partial admiration of her child, her own ambition pointing to its future course, will be sufficient to protect its genius from a system of depression emanating from her; and the mere fact of her natural feelings being so warmly engaged on this side of the question, renders it the more necessary to urge upon her attention, that apparently more humble part of maternal duty, which consists in adding to her children's store of ideas, in taking care that the impressions they receive are just and true, and in teaching them how to use, with the greatest facility, the faculties of their own minds.
Did not the habit of looking for immediate and obvious results, withdraw our attention from the good of mankind in general, and confine it too much to little points, in which our self-interest is concerned, we should more constantly bear in mind, that it is not the extent of genius or talent in a few individuals which makes a nation powerful, great, or prosperous; but rather the industrious, rational, and enlightened character of the population at large. It is, in fact, the people upon whom depends a nation's wealth, its resources, its stability, and its general influence. In order to raise the character of a people, it is necessary that mothers should form a high estimate of the importance of their own efforts in this great and good work. They will then set about the accomplishment of it with earnestness and hope. And why should they not?—with earnestness, because it is an act of duty fraught with boundless and incalculable benefit to their fellow-creatures—and with hope, because the beneficent Author of our existence, never, in the order of his providence, appoints a task, without bestowing, in some measure, the means by which it may be performed. Thus the mother who feels painfully that she has but little capability for the mental cultivation of her children, may make up for many deficiencies by a willing ​mind, and by the use of those advantages which naturally belong to her situation as a parent; and if, possessing the love and confidence of her children, she can early accustom them to the use of their minds, they will not make the worst citizens of the world, or the less exemplary Christians, for having received their first ideas, and acquired their earliest habits, under the careful training of an humble-minded mother.