Like the beginning of life, its termination, death, is one of the recurring puzzles of childhood. This might be illustrated from almost any autobiographical reminiscences of childhood. Here indeed, the mystery is made the more impressive and recurrent to consciousness by the element of dread. A little girl of three years and a half asked her mother to put a great stone on her head, because she did not want to die. She was asked how a stone would prevent it, and answered with perfect childish logic, "Because I shall not grow tall if you put a great stone on my head, and people who grow tall get old and then die."
Death seems to be thought of by the unsophisticated child as the body reduced to a motionless state, devoid of breath and unable any longer to feel or think. This is the idea suggested by the sight of dead animals, which but few children, however closely shielded, can escape.
The first way of envisaging death seems to be as a temporary state like sleep, which it so closely resembles. A little boy of two years and a half, on hearing from his mother of the death of,a lady friend, at once asked, "Will Mrs. P still be dead when we go back to London?"
The knowledge of burial leads the child to think much of the grave. The instinctive tendency to carry on the idea of life and sentience with the buried body is illustrated in C's fear lest the earth should be put over his eyes. The following observation from the Worcester collection illustrates the same tendency: "A few days ago H (aged four years and four months) came to me and said, 'Did you know they'd taken Deacon W to Grafton?' I, 'Yes.' H: 'Well, I s'pose it's the best thing. His folks' (meaning his children) 'are buried there, and they wouldn't know he was dead if he was buried here.'" This reversion to savage notions of the dead in speaking of a Christian deacon has its humorous aspect. It is strange to notice here the pertinacity of the natural impulse. All thoughts of heaven were forgotten in the absorbing interest in the fate of the body.
Do children, when left to themselves, work out a theory of another life, that of the soul away from the dead deserted body? It is of course difficult to say, all children receiving some instruction at least of a religious character respecting the future. One of the clearest approaches to spontaneous child-thought that I have met with here is supplied by the account of the Boston children. "Many children," writes Prof. Stanley Hall, "locate all that is good and imperfectly known in the country, and nearly a dozen volunteered the statement that good people, when they die, go to the country—even here from Boston." The reference to good people shows that the children are here trying to give concrete definiteness to something that has been said by another. These
