NOVEMBER 225 



to periodical "squashings," to cure some trick of 

 vanity, or of temper, or of idleness. Children 

 brought up on modern methods are never squashed. 

 They learn their faults through observing them in 

 other people ; they cure, or perhaps only conceal them 

 of their own initiative, because these faults make 

 their possessors ridiculous, or tiresome, or despic- 

 able. The moral education of children is thus 

 practically left to themselves, and self-government, 

 instead of beginning at the age of eighteen or so, 



o o o o 



frequently ends there. The results, at the moment 

 when the girl breaks into womanhood or the boy 

 develops into the man, are beautiful to the outward 

 eye, but the process, as I have said, is irritating to 

 the mere observer. 



Basil writes what he chooses to call poetry, and 

 this morning, before he went away, he gave me as 

 a parting gift his latest verses, written in capitals on 

 the fly-leaf of Ibsen's Doll's-house, in which, I 

 presume, the children had hoped to find a story to 

 their liking. But so well am I learning my lesson 

 that I did not scold him for defacing the volume, for 

 fear of destroying the small amount of confidence 

 which exists between us. 



"To AUNTIE FROM BASIL. 

 " Writtn after the Meat of Hownds. 

 " Just as the fox 



Out of the wood, 

 Not in a box, 

 Wishes he could. 



" Though he gets chasd 



Till he gets hot, 

 Dosnt make haste, 

 Therfore gets got." 



