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KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 

minds and bodies of these little innocents are 
equally deformed,—nature being altogether 
sacrificed to pride, ignorance, ‘‘ Fashion,” (your 
enemy !) and folly. 
Like yourself, I dearly love children, and 
delight in leading their youthful, expanding 
minds, to those mnocent inquiries which, pro- 
perly replied to, form the basis of their 
“early education.”’ I quite agree with you,— 
that we can pever begin too soon to teach a 
child what it ought to know. The more gra- 
dual its progress, the better. 
As for those nurses and others, to whose 
care these embryo men and women are usu- 
ally confided,—vous avez raison. To them 
are mainly attributable three-fourths of a 
child’s bad habits. How can it be otherwise ? 
Badly taught and instructed themselves, they 
of course instil into a child’s mind their own 
ideas of right and wrong. “Odd” ideas are 
they, truly! 
But my object, to-day, is not to write an 
essay. I merely prefix these few observa- 
tions to an extract or two I have copied for 
you, from an article in “ Household Words” 
(the writer’s name does not appear). The 
extracts are purposely short; because I am 
anxious to impress the sentiments upon your 
readers’ minds :—~ 
“T have never seen a child feed a don- 
key with macaroons, but I have seen one 
little girl press pound-cake upon a Shetland 
pony, and another little girl give half 
of her cake to a four-footed acquaint- 
ance of the Newfoundland breed. I have 
watched the charitable instincts of children 
from babyhood to schoolhood, when hopes 
and cankering fears, desire of praise, solici- 
tude for favor, and lust of gain begin; shut- 
ting up charity in an iron-bound strong box 
of small-worldliness. 
“Children love to give. Is it to feed the 
ducks in the park, or slide warm pennies into 
the palsied hands of cripples, or drop them 
into the trays of blind men’s dogs, or pop 
them, smiling, into the slits of money-boxes, 
or administer eleemosynary sustenance to 
Bunny and Tiny the rabbits, or give the pig 
a ‘poon?’—to give is indeed their delight. 
They want no tuition in charity: it is in 
them, God-sent. 
“Yonder little chubby sheet of blank sta- 
tionery, who is mumbling a piece of parlia- 
ment in his nurse’s arms, has scarcely con- 
sciousness of muscular power sufficient to 
teach him to hold the sweetmeat fast. Yet, 
if I ask baby—half by word, half by ges- 
ture—to give me a bit, this young short- 
coated Samaritan—who not long since began 
to take notice, and can only just ejaculate 
Da-da! ma-ma!’— will gravely remove the 
parliament from his own lips and offer it to 
mine. Were he a very few months older, he 
would clutch it tighter in his tiny hand, and 
break a piece off, and give it me. Js not 
this charity 2” 
What a sweet commentary have we here, 
on Nature’s lavish bounties to children! And 
yet, how hard do people labor to destroy the 
innocence that ought to be so enchanting ! 
But now !et me direct your attention to the 
innate “love” of babyhood :— The first words 
children utter are words of ‘love.’ And 
these are not necessarily taught them. Their 
very inarticulate ejaculations are full of love. 
They love all things.. The parrot, though he 
bites them; the cat, though she scratches; 
the great bushy blundering house-dog; the 
poultry in the yard; the wooden-legged, one- 
eyed negro who brings the beer ; the country 
lout with clouted shoon who smells so ter- 
ribly of the stable; the red-faced cook; the 
grubby little knife-boy ; the foolish, fat, seul- 
lion; the cross nurse. They love all these. 
And so they do horses, trees, gardens, and 
toys,—breaking their little hearts (easily 
mended. again, thank Heaven !) if they are 
obliged to part from them. 
“And, chiefer still, they love that large 
man with the gruff voice, the blue rough chin 
the large eyes, whose knees comprise such an 
inexhaustible supply of cock-horses, always 
standing at livery, yet always ready to ride 
post-haste to Coventry. They love papa. 
And, chiefest of all, they love her of the soft 
voice, the smiles, the tears, the hopes, the 
cares, the tenderness—who is all in all, the 
first, the last to them in their tender, fragile 
happy childhood. 
“Mamma is the centre of love. Papa was 
an after acquaintance. He improves upon ac- 
quaintance, too. But mamma was always with 
them—to love, to soothe, to caress, to care for, 
to watch over. When a child wakes up hot 
and feverish from some night dream, it is upon 
his mother he calls. Mach childish pain, each 
childish grief, each childish difficulty is to be 
soothed, assuaged, explained by her. They 
have no secrets; they understand each other. 
The child clings to her. The little boy in 
the Greek epigram that was creeping down a 
precipice, was invited to his safety, when 
nothing else could induce him to return, by 
the sight of his mother’s breast.” 
Now, my dear sir, have we not here all the 
elementary matter for a good education? 
Such pliable materials! Such an honest 
guileless heart to work upon! Such pure, 
such natural, such innocent soil to receive the 
seed sown! And yet, alas! what use do we 
make of it? The answer is best given by 
looking upon the sad state of society which 
now exists among us. We are altogether 
hollow, altogether unnatural ; and positively 
prefer deception to the unspeakable delights 
arising from the practice of innocence and 
virtue ! 
Twerton, Dec. 2nd. ARABELLA. 
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