CHAPTER V.
GENEROSITY AND AFFECTION.
On the first view of the subjects which are to occupy this chapter, it would almost seem to be a waste of words to commend them to the reader's notice, so uniformly is the opinion of mankind engaged in their favor. A vast amount of praise, however, is sometimes lavished upon acts of generosity,, without considering what it is we are actually praising.
Children should never be commended for giving what costs them no sacrifice to part with. Where this rule is not observed, we often see a spurious kind of generosity prevailing in families, the members of which grow up with a mistaken notion, that in the mere act of giving, there is a degree of merit upon which they congratulate themselves, when, in reality, they have only been enjoying the highest of all luxuries.
In order to obviate some of the evils arising out of this mistake, children should early be taught to offer a part of their sweetmeats to each other, but especially to their parents; and what is more, the parents should actually take what is offered—not merely that tiny crumb which the tender mother breaks off, and with disproportioned thanks pretends to eat. This method of commending generosity does a two-fold injury; in the first place, by deceiving the child into a belief that it is generous, when it is not; and in the second, by inducing a confidence that it will suffer no loss by the effort it is making. We should be sincere with children in acts, as well as in words. Parents ought therefore not only to take a crumb, but occasionally a good large portion of what is offered them, so as to produce in the minds of their children a conviction, which will be of infinite service to them in after life, that the true value of all generosity consists in the good it imparts to others, not in the credit it procures for ourselves.
It is not difficult to discover when a false system of pretended giving and pretended taking has been practised in a family, by the blank and disappointed look of the little giver, if a portion unexpectedly large is taken from its hand; as well as by the trembling and hesitation of that hand, and the fearfulness with which it is drawn back, the next time the ceremony of pretended giving has to be performed toward the individual who happened previously to take too much. Never, it may safely be said, were the elements of a truly generous character unfolded and brought to perfection by such a system as this—a system which, so far as it encouraged self-deception, and the substitution of mere pretence for what is real, just, and true, is exactly so much worse than absolute greediness.
If children must be greedy, let them by all means run first into the garden, and devour the ripe fruit before any one else has discovered that it is ripe; but do not let them come in to offer a small portion of it to mamma, in order to obtain her praises, though all the while feeling perfectly secure against any diminution of their own selfish enjoyment.
There is no need, however, that children should be greedy; because it is in the power of almost every mother, to teach them that there is a higher enjoyment than that of merely satisfying their own appetites. Suppose, for instance, it should be the established rule in a family that all first fruits should be offered to the parents, and that they should be appropriated entirely, but still thankfully, by them;—received simply as their due, but still acknowledged with every token of affection. For those self-devoted and uncalculating mothers, to whom allusion has been made, I am aware it would be difficult to do this, or to maintain any rule by which they would themselves be made first in their children's consideration; but could they once be made witnesses of that higher, purer joy, which pervades the soul of a young child on having learned that it is "more blessed to give than to receive," they would surely not deny them the cultivation of so lasting a source of real happiness.
On this subject, especially, those kind and unthinking mothers are apt to fall into an endless train of errors, simply from yielding to a natural impulse to produce immediate results of a gratifying nature. Thus the supply of money to children for the purpose of making presents, for which they obtain all the thanks, and all the credit, is practised to a most injurious extent. I do not mean to say that children should never be allowed to give, until they have money or property of their own; but when they do, it should be in the name of their parents, and on no account should they take merit to themselves as if they had done a generous act.
It is a sacred duty with all who have to do with the moral improvement of their fellow-creatures, to watch over motives, as well as actions; and as regards the young, to see that they do not grow up deceiving themselves as to what their motives really are. Under no pretence is self-deception more frequently practised, than under that of generosity, as well as general kindness. There may be many selfish motives for doing generous actions, such as reference to our own ultimate benefit in what we do; but the mistake I would especially point out, refers to our immediate motives, or rather to the direct impulse upon which we act. The direct impulse to act kindly, may be a desire to relieve the suffering of others; or it may be only a desire to relieve our own sufferings in the contemplation of distress.
Perhaps I shall make my meaning better understood, by the case of a young lady, who believed herself, and was generally believed, to be exceedingly charitable and kind; and who sometimes returned home on a Saturday afternoon after visiting the poor, so impressed with a painful sense of their wants and sufferings, that for one there was fruit to be gathered, for another gruel made, while to a third or a fourth, honey and jelly had to be sent out that night. Now if we add, that never, on the Monday morning, or early in the week, when servants were more at liberty, could the same young lady remember to supply the necessities of her afflicted friends, it will be clearly understood that her efforts were simply to relieve the pain of her own feelings in witnessing distress, while so soon as this pain had subsided or lost its acuteness, the sufferings of the poor ceased to supply a motive strong enough for the exercise of her generosity. But let us not think too severely of this case, without asking, in how many instances the conduct of the young lady here described, resembles our own.
I am aware that this subject lies open to the cavillings of those most fruitless reasoners, who, after pursuing a round of arguments, congratulate themselves at last, upon having arrived at the senseless conclusion, that all kindness is selfish, because it originates in an impulse to gratify ourselves by relieving distress, or doing good in some other way. Though such a mode of arguing is scarcely worthy of a moment's serious notice, yet as it sometimes catches the attention of those who do not take the trouble to think for themselves, it may be well to point out a distinction betwixt those kind actions which are really selfish, and those which are not. Those actions, then, may properly be called selfish, which in the mind of the performer have reference only to self; and those may with great justice be called unselfish, which have reference only to others. Thus the performer of kind or generous actions, whose sole inducement is the luxury expected to be derived therefrom—a luxury consisting either in witnessing enjoyment of his own creating, or in receiving the praise or the gratitude of others; such a man, though ostensibly a 'benefactor to his race, might' with some propriety be called selfish; a title which it would be a mockery of language to bestow upon one, who should be so intent upon the relief of suffering, or upon the gratification of others, as never once to have thought of self, or of any other result than what should belong exclusively to the party served. Though the real enjoyment of such a person would be as high, nay, far higher than that of the other, yet their motives being essentially different, it would be worse than folly to place them in the same rank as moral agents; and whenever we would commend or encourage the generosity of the young, we ought to examine well the true state of the case, in order to ascertain which of these two motives has been in operation.
"If we attempt to teach children," says Miss Edgeworth, "that they can be generous without giving up some of their own pleasures for the sake of other people, we attempt to teach them what is false. If we once make them amends for any sacrifice they have made, we lead them to expect the same remuneration on a future occasion; and then, in fact, they act with a direct view to their own interest, and govern themselves by the calculations of prudence, instead of following the dictates of benevolence. It is true, that if we speak with accuracy, we must admit, that the most benevolent and generous persons act from the hope of receiving pleasure, and their enjoyment is more exquisite than the most refined selfishness: in the language of M. de Rochefoucault, we should be therefore forced to acknowledge, that the most benevolent is always the most selfish person. This seeming paradox is answered by observing, that the epithet selfish is given to those who prefer pleasures in which other people have no share; we change the meaning of words when we talk of its being selfish to like the pleasures of sympathy and benevolence, because these pleasures can not be confined solely to the idea of self. When we say that a person pursues his own interest more by being generous than by being covetous, we take into account the general sum of his agreeable feelings, we do not balance prudentially his loss or gain upon particular occasions. The generous man may himself be convinced, that the sum of his happiness is more increased by the feelings of benevolence, than it could be by the gratification of avarice; but, though his understanding may perceive the demonstration of this moral theorem, though it is the remote principle of his whole conduct, it does not occur to his memory in the form of a prudential aphorism, whenever he is going to do a generous action. It is essential to our ideas of generosity, that no such reasoning should at that moment pass in his mind; we know that the feelings of generosity are associated with a number of enthusiastic ideas; we can sympathise with the virtuous insanity of the man who forgets himself while he thinks of others; we do not so readily sympathise with the cold strength of mind of the person, who, deliberately preferring the greatest possible share of happiness, is benevolent by rule and measure."
All making of presents with the parent's money, all giving for the mere luxury of the giver, should then be studiously avoided in the management of children; while, on the other hand, all real kindness, all giving up of selfish gratification purely for the sake of doing good to others, ought to be as studiously encouraged, and rewarded with indubitable marks of approbation.
As one means of preventing young people acquiring a habit of acting from that spurious kind of generosity which has just been described, it is well not to make them too frequent spectators of the sufferings of the poor and destitute, at an age when they are incapable, by their own efforts, of doing anything toward alleviating the distress they see; for while, with some dispositions, there is danger that their feelings should be rendered callous by the frequency of such spectacles; with others, there is equal danger of acquiring a habit of seeking the relief of the suffering under the pretence of kindness, when the chief or only motive of such kindness is the relief of their own feelings. To accustom children to remember the poor when not present, to lay by for their relief, some portion of the money given for their own use, or to spend a little time now and then, in working for their comfort, is a far more likely method of inspiring sentiments of true kindness, then merely to encourage them to be kind or generous at the time when their feelings are worked upon by the presence of distress.
In making free use of the expressions praise and blame, I should be sorry to be understood to mean that the approbation, even of a mother, should become the leading motive, in the conduct of a child, beyond that early stage of its existence, when it is incapable of comprehending any other. A mother's approbation, however, may often be made use of as a natural and appropriate reward, and this without any of those direct but disproportioned praises which induce an idea of peculiar merit on the part of a child. Happily for the mother, nature has given her the use of a purer language than that of praise, in which she may hold sweet communion with the soul of her child. It is that of sympathy, which should never be withheld. "It is safer," says Miss Hamilton, "to sympathize with children than to praise them;" and a mother, above all other beings has perpetually at her command, those innumerable links in the great chain of sympathy, which consist of peculiar tones of voice, caresses, looks, and familiar expressions, down to the minutest touch which thrills along the chords of feeling, and produces an answering . echo, true to nature's sweetest music, from the tender and unsophisticated spirit of the child.
We should be careful, too, in the use of maternal approbation, lest children, who have built too much upon this as their reward, should grow up with an inordinate thirst for approbation in general; for though we justly grieve over the situation of a being so isolated and shut out from kindly sympathies, as not to regard the praise or blame of others; yet it is but too evident, from the observation of every day, that no human beings are so often exposed to disappointment, and none in reality so weak, as those who derive their highest satisfaction from the approbation of their fellow-creatures.
Still, in connexion with a mother's influence, and with the natural means which are placed within her power for exercising that influence in the management of her children, it must be allowed that praise and blame are legitimate instruments capable of being used with the most beneficial effect by a judicious woman. For, after all, a system of praise and blame seems to be that which is most adapted to our weakness; in consideration to which, we have been taught by the word of God, to look for consolation and support, less as moral agents to the intrinsic excellence of the divine law as promualgated in the Scriptures, than simply as little children, to the approbation of our Father who is in heaven.
In confining our ideas of generosity, as is too frequently the case, to the mere act of giving, we take but a very low and partial view of the subject as it affects individual conduct, and as it affects the interests of society in general. We are often made to feel a want of generosity in the behavior of our friends, where there is no giving; and in nothing are we more susceptible of this, than in the treatment of our feelings. There are many friends who will give to us abundantly—there may be some who would share with us their last shilling; but there are not many who will pour the balm of affection into wounds we are justly suffering from disappointed vanity; there are not many who will screen us with tenderness from the exposure of our own folly; and there are still fewer who will rob themselves of a little credit, for the sake of giving us our full share, or more. There are not many either, who can always refrain from reproaching penitence, and triumphing over humiliation, from pursuing a victory with exultation, or from dragging to light the secret sins of a rival. Yet all this belongs to the exercise of true generosity, and is often more touching to the heart a thousand times, than to be the recipient of unnumbered benefits.
To attempt to give any particular direction for the cultivation of this kind of generosity, would be to presume a little beyond the sphere of education; because it must depend so entirely upon the characters of those who have the training of children, and upon the spirit which is cherished around the domestic hearth. One rule, however, may be safely laid down, and that is, never to use taunting or reproachful expressions to children for offences committed, after such atonement as lies within their power has been made—never to wound beyond what is absolutely necessary for correction, nor to allow the guilty to be put down and degraded more than is essential to their future good. To this may be added, a strict embargo laid upon the exchange of all low thoughts or vulgar sentiments, in the nursery; such as personal remarks upon other people's children, made to please the mother, by bringing them into disadvantageous comparison with her own; observations upon dress and manners, furniture, carriages, and equipments, calculated to inspire in the minds of children false ideas of the value of wealth, and consequently a false estimate of individual character. All these, though they may on the first view of the subject seem to have little to do with generosity, are parts of a whole—elements of that domestic atmosphere which childhood can not breathe without more or less expansion of soul; and it is scarcely necessary to say, that the low style of thought and conversation here alluded to, is one of the last ingredients we should look for in the formation of a truly generous character.
In connexion with this subject, we must not forget to observe, that there is a grudging way of doing kindnesses, even to children, which must have an injurious effect as regards generosity of feeling. Some parents, too, will not make them any just allowance of money, even when they are of an age to understand its value, but on every application for necessary expenses, will grumble as much as if they were actually robbed; while others, or most probably the same individuals, will, in making presents to their children, dwell so much upon the cost, the trouble, and the inconvenience incurred, as to throw over the receivers of such gifts an air of meanness, for being willing to accept, as a means of selfish gratification, what has been purchased so dearly by another.
Whatever is given, then, should be given freely, in order that it may be freely received; for as regards the moral training of children, it is better a thousand times to let them see and feel the difference between grudging and generosity, than to mix up the two ideas in their minds, by accustoming them to be the subjects of generous actions, performed in a grudging spirit.
It is a safe plan, too, for parents never to make any direct reference to desert, in conferring gifts or benefits upon their children; because, independently of real merit being so difficult to decide upon, owing to the immense variety of circumstance and disposition which has to be taken into account, it is a false foundation for any human being to build upon, beyond stipulated remuneration for actual service done. It is justice, if we knew how to exercise it, which bears immediately upon real merit; while generosity refers rather to what we need, than to what we are. If I might be allowed such an illustration of the subject, I should say, that by justice we all, as transgressors, stand condemned in the sight of God; while by generosity we are made partakers of the hope of salvation. And shall we not seek to exercise toward each other, and to inculcate into the minds whose training is committed to our care, a principle of action so peculiarly adapted to our situation, both as regards this life, and the life which is to come? To be acquitted of all blame, is much; but to be forgiven where there is blame, is infinitely more, to creatures frail, erring, and dependant, such as we are. This is the benefit we derive from the exercise of generosity; and which of us in our earthly relations, even the tenderest and closest which it is possible to form, does not feel that forgiveness is all we dare to ask? while, in relation to our Heavenly Father, it is infinitely more than we deserve!
True generosity of feeling is the noblest characteristic by which any human being can be distinguished. We all acknowledge this, but do we all cherish the feeling by every means within our power? If, as regards ourselves, we feel acquitted of all mean, selfish or sinister motives in what we say or do, let us be the more careful that nothing in our conversation or conduct shall be found to damp the free spirit of generosity in the young characters around us. Let us endeavor to rise above those little envyings and jealousies, which so often beset with thorns the path of woman; and when tempted to imbitter our kind services by a grudging or reproachful manner, let us remember that beautiful description of the Supreme Dispenser of all benefits, where he is spoken of as "Him, who giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not."
As generosity then has no direct reference to the merit of the object upon which it is bestowed, so neither has the affection of a parent, or indeed any true affection; for though it is impossible to love what is repulsive to us, and consequently opposed alike to nature and to reason that the good should attach themselves to the bad; yet that our affections are but little proportioned to the merit of the objects upon whom they are fixed, the evidence of every day sufficiently proves. And happy indeed is it for some of us, that we can be loved even as we are. Happy is it, especially, for the plain, the dull, the froward child, that, as one of the most unfortunate of mothers has beautifully said—"the loved are lovely." Happy is it, indeed, that a provision has been made in the parent's affection, against all personal defects; so that the very fact of being less attractive to others, sometimes seems to endear the little uncomplaining subject of neglect, so as to bring it home with a welcome of tenfold tenderness, whenever it seeks the shelter of the maternal bosom.
There is not, in fact, among the deep mysteries of our being, one circumstance more illustrative of Divine goodness than this—that the mother, whose quick eye is ever open to perceive the beauty of her child, whose vanity is ever ready to hail the applause it may meet with from others, and whose ambition is ever building the most exalted schemes upon its future course, should see that beauty wanting, and yet feel no repulse; should watch for that applause, but find it not; and instead of the proud hopes so fondly cherished, should behold a low, obscure, and humble path marked out for the beloved one—that the mother should be able to bear all this, and yet experience an increase rather than a diminution of her tenderness, might indeed supply us with convincing proof, had such been needed, that the humblest and most insignificant being in the universe is provided for by a merciful and gracious Father, as kindly as the most exalted.
The mother must not forget, however, that even in the outpouring of her own affection, there may be something which operates against that of her children's affection in return. There may be a want of sympathy, a want of generosity, or a want of adaptation to their peculiarities of character, which sets them in some measure apart from intimacy with her, and consequently makes her to some extent a stranger to their feelings. To be separated in this manner from a father, is an evil great enough; but for children not to make a bosom friend of their mother, is a calamity of such magnitude as to demand the most careful examination as regards its cause.
Perhaps the warm gush of the child's affection has not been met by equal warmth in return. Perhaps the germes of feeling, as they unfolded themselves in infant beauty, have been withered by sarcasm, or blighted by contempt. Perhaps the mother has never thought how important it is, that children should be encouraged to speak freely what they think and feel, in order that their erroneous notions may be corrected. Or, perhaps, the peal of laughter allowed to echo round the social board whenever a mistake has been committed, has closed the expanding heart, and left it in a manner companionless and unknown. Now, it is the mother who ought to stand by her children in all these little instances of individual exposure; and it is the office of affection not only to make reparation where injury has been done, but so to shield from danger and from pain, as to inspire a feeling of trust and safety under the protection of maternal love.
And the father too—how beautiful it is sometimes to see his stronger powers of protection brought into action, to defend the little helpless one from heedlessly inflicted pain! How beautiful it is to see—and happy is it for families where this can be done with safety—the reference of the mother to his authority, as the highest and the best, on all disputed points; with the treasuring up for him those select and appropriate enjoyments which are most adapted to the situation of a weary man coming home to his well-earned reward—the enjoyment of his own fireside! How pleasant then to tell over the little incidents of the day—little to all the world, but great to them—how happy to watch the expression of the father's face, as he listens sometimes with grave attention, or approves with cordial smiles; while he strokes the head of one, as another climbs his knee, and thus dispenses the familiar tokens of his affection, so that none can feel either slighted or forgotten!
But these are among the sunny spots of life, which it is not permitted that either tongue or pen should describe. As the glow of the winter's hearth, all bright and cheering as it is, has an influence more felt than seen; so there is a life-giving warmth to those who form the charmed circle, in these simple but yet touching scenes, of which nothing in after-life can destroy the vitality, and still less efface the remembrance. It is from such fountains as these, gushing forth in the secret of domestic life, that those streams of affection are supplied, from which we have to draw, in our intercourse with society, and with the world. There will be much in this intercourse calculated to divert the streams from their true course, to diminish or retard their healthy flow; but let us ask the Divine blessing, upon our efforts to keep the fountain fresh and pure, for without that they can give neither beauty nor fertility to the path of life.
I have sometimes thought that those simple sunny spots of human life I have here alluded to, were like the green knolls in a lovely landscape, left out by the painter as insignificant in comparison with the rocky heights, the falling torrents, and the precipitous ravines; yet chosen by the husbandman, and cultivated with peculiar care, because they alone are capable of yielding the harvest upon which his happiness depends. It is thus with what is great and wonderful in the picture of human life, upon which we sometimes gaze with an ill-directed ambition to tread its dizzy heights, or penetrate its mysterious depths, forgetful of the danger and the weariness inevitably attending such an adventurous career. Nor is it sometimes until experience has taught us, that the heights above are cold and barren, and the depths beset with perils profitless and dreary, that we come back, perhaps too late, when the autumn tints are upon the landscape, to seek again for the green knolls, and to wish we had been contented with the freshness, the verdure, and fertility, which might still have smiled around us there.
It is an ungrateful part of the duty of those who write upon the moral tendency of human actions, and who consequently presume to examine motives, to cry beware! when others see no danger, and thus to bring upon themselves the odium of being cynical and gloomy in their general views of human life; when in reality their love of what is estimable in human character is too intense to permit them to rest satisfied under the apprehension of its being obscured by some advancing cloud. More especially is this the case, when childhood with its fresh uncalculating energies becomes the subject of consideration—when we sit down to make cool comments upon its outbursts of ungoverned feeling, and its thrilling voice of joy which echoes upon the weary ear like the summer song of birds, startling the tired spirit into hope that some new spring of gladness has been found, when it is but nature at her joyous revelry, making pastime of common and familiar things, and exulting in the fulness of her own delight.
With this ringing shout of joy, the father of a family is sometimes welcomed home, when, "Let me be first," is the undisguised and general wish;—"Let me be first to meet him at the door," "Let me be first to claim his promised kiss." The father and the mother too partake in their full measure of the general exultation, and the strife of little arms to meet a parent's fond embrace, sends warmth and gladness to his heart. But—and here lies the ungraciousness of those who cry beware! at such a time—there is sometimes hidden a dark secret in that very language, "Let me be first." Yes, looking on the shaded side of this sweet picture, we behold, not always, certainly, but far too often, strife, envy, and passion, among the little anxious group, because they can not all be first; and we find then that to be distinguished from the many, to enjoy what could not be enjoyed by others, and to obtain the credit of being the most eager and affectionate, has had more than due share in the motives of some, if not of all.
The parents, however, are too tender, too grateful, and too full of joy, to note this down at such a moment; and they forget, or persuade themselves that such a blot upon their pleasant picture has never found a place; until the evil grows, and then they find, to their surprise, that the brothers and the sisters of their family are not united in their interests, nor so zealous for each other's, as for their own individual good.
The fact is, that while affection arises imperceptibly, and as a natural consequence of their care and kindness, in the hearts of children toward their parents, it does not, unless cultivated by the parents, arise in the same manner, or with equal certainty, in the heart of one child toward another. It is true they are talked into a kind of nursery affection for what is called "the baby," while it is such; and they may also be taught to say "dear," and speak sweetly to each other—sometimes; but the greedy grasp, the scowling brow, the sly pretence to obtain advantage, and the pleasure secretly enjoyed, too plainly indicate, in some families, that the fruits of true affection need not be looked for there.
Now, in proportion as mothers sincerely desire the future welfare of their children, as they believe that in union there is strength, and in family concord real happiness, surely they will endeavor to turn the springs of early affection into such a channel, as that the fair garden over which they watch with such untiring solicitude, may still be watered, even if the mother's care should be withdrawn. Beyond a certain period, it is scarcely to be expected that the bond between a parent and a child should be kept unbroken. In the common course of human affairs families are separated, and parents removed by death; but so long as brothers and sisters live, they might, if bound by true affection, remain to be a blessing and a help to each other; and should their parents be spared to them beyond the usual period of family union, what richer harvest could they reap, what more entire fulfilment of their hopes, what reward more precious for "all their sorrows, all their cares," than to see their children happy in them, and in each other? so living in harmony and love on earth, as to sustain the hope of their again becoming a united family in heaven?
All this, however, and it is not too much for maternal love with the divine blessing to accomplish, is chiefly to be learned in early life, and at home, where that great lesson should be studiously taught, that individual gratification ought never to be sought in opposition to general good. This is the grand secret of social happiness; and we should begin well, by making it an habitual lesson at home, in order that it may be carried out into all the relations formed in after life.
It is a part of the mother's duly, then, and one to which especial attention should be paid, to see that a spirit of exclusiveness does not find place among her children; and this can only be done effectually by inspiring them with comprehensive, generous, and affectionate feelings toward each other, so that no single member of the family shall esteem any happiness as complete, in which the others do not partake.
Human nature is deeply charged with selfishness. There is no complaint more frequently made than that of selfishness being the ruling motive of mankind in general. But granting this to be true, I believe much of the evil is chargeable upon the carelessness of mothers in the early training of their children; for sure I am, that no one ever yet was made to experience the value of disinterested kindness, who did not find in its exercise, a higher, purer happiness, than in the mere gratification of selfish inclination. If, then, a family of children are so trained by their mother, as to seek their truest enjoyment in making each other happy, they will not be likely, after having tasted this purer satisfaction, ever to descend again to those lower aims which centre all in self as the supreme object of regard.
One great means of promoting this union of interest in a family, is for the mother frequently to point out to her children the manner in which they may oppose, or carry forward, little plans for the general good. The fireside circle should not be considered well arranged, when only one or two are made comfortable; but when all are brought within the influence of light, and warmth, and social feeling. The winter's evening story should not be told until all the listeners are gathered in. The walk to the pleasant wood should not be taken, when it is not possible for all to go. And when such objections are habitually brought forward by the mother, and the absent ones are remembered as being worthy of having a treat put off on their account; when children, too, are often reminded how incomplete their pleasures must be if enjoyed alone, they naturally imbibe the social feeling of their mother, and in lime assimulate so much to the tone of her mind, that they would be both ashamed and grieved to be found wanting in affection toward a sister or a brother.
When illness falls upon one member of a family, we often see the fond mother devoting herself to the duties of the sick-room with unremitting assiduity, while her healthy careless children run off to their accustomed play, more pleased than sorry to have a greater share of liberty than usual, let the cause be what it may. I would not be supposed to mean, in what I am about to say, that such children could with any propriety be converted into nurses; more especially as it often happens that the atmosphere of a sick-room is such as they can not breathe with safety. But still there are many cases in which the invalid is in a state to receive occasionally the kind attentions of the younger members of the family ; and where this is the case, much may be done to alleviate the trials of indisposition, by making it a favor and a privilege to wait upon the sick or helpless one.
Among the many pitiful spectacles we are accustomed to behold, I have often thought that of a lame boy, watching his happier schoolfellows start off in the merry race from the little mound of earth where he has propped his crutch's, is one of the most affecting which the aspect of ordinary life presents; and the situation of the sick child is often too much like that of the lame boy; for though the mother stays beside it, all the rest are gone; they are gone with their thoughtless laughter, bounding over the green lawn; and well the little sufferer knows how they are enjoying life, and enjoying it not the less because it is not with them.
It is a common thing with nurses, and with mothers too, to endeavor to console the invalid by telling of the many choice and excellent things prepared to gratify its appetite, of which the others are not permitted to partake; of the ripe fruit which has been sent as a present for it, and it alone; or of the treat which is in store for the first day of convalescence, by which it will be distinguished as an object of envy to the rest. All this is practised again and again in the nursery and the sick-room; and then, as the child grows better, it is found fault with for being selfish and greedy, as if selfishness was not a natural and necessary consequence of such a mode of treatment.
How much better would it be, to make the season of sickness a time for drawing the bonds of family affection closer, for directing every thought and every expression of kindness with twofold tenderness to the alleviation of suffering—and if not of bodily suffering, to that of the mind, so as to convince the invalid that illness is scarcely an affliction when it is the means of calling forth so vast an amount of sympathy and love. Nor indeed is bodily illness an affliction at all to be compared to those visitations of a darkened spirit, which convey the impression that we are not cared for by those we love, that we are not essential to their happiness, and that life to them would be as full of interest and enjoyment, if we were sleeping in the grave. With the watchful eye of a mother ever near, the kind voices of gentle sisters speaking softly by the bed of pain, the sweet flowers gathered by a brother's hand and brought up fresh with dew, the fond inquiries of an anxious father arriving earlier than his wont—with all those sweet appliances and means which are prompted by affection in a united and considerate family, illness, instead of being a season of desolateness and distress to a young sufferer, may often be converted into one of real enjoyment, just in proportion as it is made the means of renewing confidence, by calling forth convincing proofs of untiring tenderness and love. Instead, then, of feeling withered up into a concentration of self, the heart, under such circumstances, expands and warms into new life; and while gratitude weeps many a tear of weakness and humility, imagination, busy with the future, paints in glowing colors the rich return it may, perhaps, be possible to make for all the goodness and the benefit received.
We see clearly, then, that whether in health or in sickness, in joy or in sorrow, it is the mother's sacred duty to guard against any weakening of the bonds of family affection—to see that the fountain of love is kept fresh, and pure, and perpetually flowing. All those calculations which are to master its strong currents, have to come in after life; all those clear boundary lines, by which its floods are stayed, have to be marked out on some future day. The first thing to be done is to keep the fountain unsealed, and to let the life-inspiring waters flow; for without this, the pilgrimage of life will have neither flowers to enliven, verdure to refresh, nor fruits to sustain the traveller on his way.