THE SAVAGERY OF BOYHOOD. 797 



After we had wrung its head off, we got the wings, and threw the rest 

 of the bird out of the window. J. F. TV' 



My twelve-year-old Procrustes has brought out his deed in all its 

 stark brutality, and evidently he is not ashamed of it. His language, 

 so entirely devoid of all compunction, is sufficient evidence on this 

 point ; but I can strengthen the testimony by my experience that a 

 boy never puts into his composition any idea the propriety of which 

 he questions in the least. As every one knows who has many dealings 

 with children, they are remarkably shy about letting their feelings be 

 known to grown people, and they will scarcely ever deliberately ex- 

 press a thought before their elders which they think may be disap- 

 proved of. Consequently, I feel very sure that the young savage just 

 quoted saw nothing evil in his act, and that his unawakened conscience 

 gave him no pang as he recalled the heartless butchery of the bewil- 

 dered guest against whom he had violated the laws of hospitality. 

 On the contrary, there is a tone about his words as of savage com- 

 placency the complacency of the Dyak who recounts his successes in 

 the head-hunt, and gloats over his barbarities as they rise bloody before 

 his mind's eye. 



Ruthless as Procrustes appears to be, it is highly probable that his 

 barbarous state of mind is not in any great degree exceptional, but 

 may rather be taken as a fair example of the mental and moral con- 

 dition of most of the healthy boys of his time of life now growing up 

 in this country. At first sight, this may seem far too disparaging an 

 opinion of the moral nature of boys ; and unquestionably it is a lower 

 view than that reflected in the juvenile magazines and Sunday-school 

 books. Yet some consideration, I think, will show that it is nearly 

 correct. 



Almost every father whose family contains two or three healthy 

 boys under the age of fifteen, certainly every teacher in a boys' school, 

 unless he altogether fails to reach the hearts of the youngsters around 

 him, must feel, after reading a volume or two of current children's lit- 

 erature, that his own boys lack the tender sympathy, the overflowing 

 compassion, which it is now the fashion to impute to the heroes of 

 juvenile fiction. Those persons who are not in a position to come in 

 contact with the children of to-day need only to recall to memory the 

 scenes of their own childhood in order to find repeated episodes in 

 which a suffering kitten or puppy was the central and unpitied figure. 

 The callousness of the children of one's own circle will be made evi- 

 dent after a few minutes spent in such clarifying (though, to sensitive 

 people, rather annoying) introspection ; and what is true of one circle 

 in this regard is approximately true of all. My own conviction is, 

 that healthy boys under fifteen feel very little compassion for any suf- 

 fering but that of their near relatives, their close friends, and occa- 

 sionally their pet animals. Not only do they evince little compassion, 



