Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1872-06-13

Most women have dread of these. Moth.
ers would rather their little daughters were
called anything than romps They say to
them, ''be very quiet now, my dears-don't
run orjump-try and be little ladies'" As if
healthy child could be still; as if it could
take time to walk or step over what came in
its way as if it could fold its little hands in
its lap, when its little heart is 80 brimful of
tickle. 1t is absurd and wrong in mothers to
talk so absurd and wrong because it is un-
natural. Children, girls as we'll as boys, need
exercise; indeed, they must have it to be
kept in healthy condition. They need it to
expand their chests, strengthen their muscles,
tone their nerves and develop themselves gen.
orally. And this exercise must be out of
doors, too. 1t is not enough to have calls
themes in the nursery or parlor. They need
to be out in the sunshine, out in the wind, out
in the grass, out in the woods, out of doors
somewhere, if it be no bigger place than the
common or park. They need romp every
day of their lives. Suppose they do tan their
pretty faces. Better be as brown as berry
and have the pulses quick and strong, than
white as lilly, and complain of cold feet
and headache. Suppose they do tear their
clothes-tear them "every which way" sup
pose they do wear out their shoes, pair
month, even; it don't try mothers patience
and strength half so much to patch and mend
as it does to watch night after night querul-
Gus sick child, and it don't drain fathers
pocket-book half as quick to buy shoes as it
does to pay doctors bills. The odds are all
on the side of the romps. Indeed, We don't
believe there is prettier picture IN all the
wide world than that Of little girl balancing
herself on the top rail of zig-zag fence, her
bonnet on one arm and basket of blackber.
ries on the other, her curls streaming out in
the wind or ripping over her flushed cheeks,
her apron half torn from its waist and dang
ling to her feet, her fingers stained with the
berries she has picked, and her lips with those
she has eaten. Mother, mother, don't scold
that little creature, when she comes in and
puts her basket on the table and looks rueful.
1y at the rent 10 the new gingham apron, and
at the little bare toes sticking out of the last
pair of shoes. Wash off her hot face and
soilei hands, and give her a bowl of cool
milk and light bread, and when she has eaten
her fill and got rested, make her sit down
besi1e you, and tell you about what she has
seerI off in those meadows and woods. Her
he,rt will be full of beautiful things-the
solnd of the wind, the talk of the leaves, the
music of the wild birds and the laugh of wild
flowers, the ripping of streams and the color
cf pebbles, the shade of the clouds and the
hue of the sunbeams-all those will have
wovec their spell over her innocent thoughts,
and made her poet in feeling if not in ex.
preston.
No, mothers, don't nurse up your little girls
like house plants. The daughters of this
generation are to be the mothers of the next,
and if you would have them healthy in body
and genial in temper, free from nervous afec-
tions, fdgets and blues; if you would fit them
for life, its joys its cares and its trials, let them
have good romp every day while they are
growing. 1t is natures own specific, and if
taken in season, warranted to cure all the ills
of the girl and the woman.