The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1872-08-23
ROmping Girls.

Most women have a dread of these.
Mothers would rather their little daugh
tiers were called anything but romps,
and say to them:-"Be very quiet, now,
my dears; don't run or jump; try to be
little ladies.n As if a 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 so brimfull of
tickle. 1t is absurd and wrong, because
It is unnatural. Children-girls as well
as boys-need exercise; indeed, they
must have it to be kept in q healthy
condition. They need it to expand their
chests, strengthen their muscles, tune
their nerves, and develop themselves
generally. And this exercise must be
ont of doors, too. 1t is not enough to
have calisthenics in the nursery or
parlOr. They need to be out in the sun
shine, out in the wind, out on 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 rs brown
as u berry and have their pulses quick
and strong, than white as a lily and
complain of cold feet and headache.
Suppose they do tear their clothes, tear
them "every which way" suppose 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 il does TO watch night after
night a querulous sick child; and it
don't drain a fathers pOcket-book half
as quick to buy shoes as 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 her
self on the tOpmOst rail of an old zigzag
fence, her bonnet on one arm and a
basket of blackberries on the other, her
curls streaming out in the wind or
ripping over her flushed cheeks, her
apron half-torn from its waist and
dangling 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 look ruefulIy at
the rent i'm the new gingham apron, and
the little bare toes sticking out of the
| last pair of shoes. Wash off her hot
face and soiled hands, and give her a
/ bowl of cool milk and light bread, and
when she has eaten her fill ana got
rested, make her sit down beside You
and tell you about what she has seen
of in those meadows and woods Her
Z heart will be full of beautiful things
the sound of the wind, the talk of the
/ leaves, the music Of the wild birds, and
/ the laugh of the wild flowers, the
/ ripping OF streams and the color of peb-
I bles, the shade Of the clouds, and the
] hue of the sunbeams-all those would
have woven their spell over her innocent
/ thoughts, and make her a poet in feeling,
I If not in expression.
I No, mothers, don't nurse up your lit
/ tie girls like hOuse-plants. The daugh-
/ ters 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 affections,
/ fidgets 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 nature 5
own specific, and, if taken in season,
warranted to cure all the ills of the girl
and the wOman.-BdIdBcc