PART XI.
THE LITTLE ONES OF THE FAMILY AND THE GLORY OF MOTHERHOOD.
“A joyful mother of children.”—Psa. cxiii. 9.
I called the subject of our two last talks all-important, because I could hardly imagine one possessing wider interest for you. But when I introduced it, I alluded to you, my dear girl friends, not only as the wives, but as the mothers of the future. Marriage and motherhood are alike sacred subjects—the latter certainly not less so than the former.
Before the day arrives when the sweet but solemn responsibility of motherhood comes to the young wife, girls who are members of large families have mostly shared in the toil, anxiety, and, let us hope, also in the joy and brightness that the little ones bring into the world with them.
It makes me glad as I call to mind many beautiful pictures of sisters who have been second only to the real mother in their loving care of, and tender sympathy with, the younger members of the family.
Many a delicate ailing mother has been aided on the path to renewed health by the thought that the children, about whom she would otherwise be painfully anxious, are being lovingly watched over by an elder sister. As she has lain, so willing yet so unable to fulfil her maternal duties, her heart has been full of joy, and her thoughts have gone up in praise to God for the gift of the precious daughter who is cheerfully carrying the weight under which she, unaided, must have sunk.
There are, thank God, many girls who are little mothers almost from their cradles. We can find them in rich homes and poor ones. In courts and slums where the direst poverty prevails, the baby, often unwelcome to the elders, is passed over to the ceaseless care of one who is only a few years past babyhood herself.
From the very first the little deputy-mother deems it her baby, her choicest treasure, and finds beauties and charms in it which are invisible to other eyes. Its increasing size and weight may cause her greater weariness, but they are none the less sources of pride and joy, and make her forget her own aching back.
She would go hungry that it might be well fed; cold, that it might be warmly bundled up in the shawl that ought to do duty as covering for both of them. Her baby may be but a caricature of the pink and white loveliness of another infant clad in silk and lace and with two nurses to watch its every movement; but let a ragged dweller in the same court disparage the looks of her darling, and she would fight the slanderer as stubbornly as ever knight of old did in defence of the charms of his ladye love.
I must not dwell on this picture. Long ago when the “G. O. P.”[1] was itself a baby under two years old, I wrote with heartfelt respect of “Little Nurses.” I had studied them in many places, and the sight of their devotion had inspired my admiration and loving sympathy.
Turning from the baby devotee of the slums, and not for a moment forgetting sweet pictures of sisterly devotion which I have seen in other ranks of life, I am going to indulge in a little croak about the decay of the maternal spirit in many of the girls of to-day.
I was journeying northward some three years ago, and during part of the time I had only one companion. She was past girlhood, probably some years over thirty, and in the course of conversation she spoke of her old happy home and the gradual scattering of its inmates, until she found herself the last one left. Her parents had died not long after each other, and brothers’ and sisters’ homes were far apart. That there had been true family union and affection amongst them I felt sure, for my companion could not speak of the good father and mother without a trembling of the voice and tears which she turned away to hide.
Later the talk turned on children. I suppose, as an old mother, I must have expressed my deep love for them, and I was almost horrified when my companion exclaimed—
“I loathe children. I cannot bear even to touch a child.”
The expression on her face proved her sincerity.
Need I tell you, dear girls, that a barrier seemed to rise up between my companion and myself, as I heard these unwomanly, nay, I may say, inhuman words? Only a short time before, the girl had been moved to tears as she spoke of the loving devotion of which she had been an object, both as a child and from her youth up. Yet her memories of her own home life and of the parents she mourned, had not awakened in her cold heart one spark of tenderness for the helpless little creatures who are so dependent on those around them.
A truly feminine nature, with its motherly instincts fostered as they ought to be, instead of being crushed down and stifled, regards every child with tenderness, and would make the surroundings of all the little ones brighter, purer, and holier if it were possible to do so.
It happened on that same journey that a comely Scotchwoman got into our carriage at a country station. At the door she held out one of the loveliest year-old babies I ever saw, and addressing my companion, said, “Here, tak the bairn, please, whiles I lift in the others,” for there were two more youngsters on the platform just a step above each other in size.
My companion fairly shrank into her corner and kept her hands firmly clasped, whilst her face expressed disgust and vexation at the unceremonious request. The mother’s astonishment was almost ludicrous, but I promptly said, “Give me the bairn. I’m used to bairns, you see, and this lady is not.” It was a delight to hold the bonny smiling darling in my arms. Her beautiful clothing and the pretty neat garments of the elder children were eloquent of loving care. And the mother was eloquent too about the object of the half-hour’s journey which was to show the children to “my ain guid mither, who is just wearyin’ for a look at them,” I was told.
I heard about five older ones at home, and how they had to go, two at a time and the baby, to see the grandmother, with many particulars which brought this comparatively young mother into fullest sympathy with me, the old one.
I was quite sorry to give up my pretty charge when parting time came. Sorry, too, that my other travelling companion, who sat silent in her corner with averted eyes, could not appreciate the charms of childhood, or care to impress on her memory the beautiful picture of motherly self-devotion and industry furnished by that sample batch from the flock of eight. How each bright healthy face, each spotless tasteful garment would appeal to the grandmother! How glad and proud she would be to see the fruits of her own training, as she looked at her matronly daughter and those “bonny bairns” of another generation!
Yet how kind was my first companion to me, when the others had left us alone again! We parted at the next stopping-place, but during the waiting interval she was like a good daughter in her care of me. I think that in paying me sweet attentions she thought of the mother of her girlhood whom she had lost. The pity of it was that memory did not take her further back, so that, in thinking of the needs of infancy and her own childhood, she might have been stirred to sympathy with other helpless little ones of the human family.
Another girl, whom I know to be really warm-hearted and affectionate, said of her sister’s baby, “She’s a horrid little creature, more like a skinned rabbit than anything else. I cannot bear to look at her, and I would not touch her for the world.”
We know that newly-born babies are not always beautiful to look upon, but how soon the redness of their faces tones down to lovely pink and white, and the puckered skin fills out and becomes soft as satin to the touch. That girl’s heart must be unwomanly indeed for which a baby’s smile and outstretched arms have not an irresistible charm.
Putting aside the fascination of external beauty, we should bear in mind the great fact that the frailest, least attractive infant that comes into the world is the home of an immortal soul. It brings with it a burden of sweet but solemn responsibility to be borne, first of all by the parents, but shared in a less degree by all whose companionship must influence it for good or evil.
I am not going to imagine that amongst you, my dear girl friends and twilight companions, any can be found who have no warm comers in their hearts for helpless little ones, or who are insensible to the glory and responsibility of motherhood. So, having given vent to the little croak suggested by the sayings of sundry girls whom I have met elsewhere, let us talk about the children over whom we have, or may have in the future, the strongest influence of all. Strongest and best also; if we are only true to our divinely-given instincts, and alive to the vastness of the responsibilities of motherhood. I cannot help thinking that the study of child life and character should form part of every girl’s education. Surely no branch of natural history can be equally interesting.
There can hardly be a more fascinating subject than natural history in all its branches, and we can admire and sympathise with the earnest student who spends the best part of a lifetime in observing the ways of an insignificant insect. Every secret of structure or habit thus revealed is another proof of the goodness and power of God, and adds to His glory in the eyes of His believing children, who exclaim in the words of the Psalmist, “O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast Thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches.” The Revised Version gives the word “creatures,” instead of riches, and truly when you and I, my dear ones, call to mind the little we know about these wondrous minute organisms that scientific research has revealed of late, we are struck with the fitness of the change. It is hard to grasp the idea alike of the vastness and the minuteness of God’s works.
If I had time I could quote many passages of His Word which prove that some of the best men of old were close observers of nature, and to be such is quite in accordance with its teachings. I would plead with all nature students, but, above all, with girls, who will be the mothers of the future, to give the closest, most prayerful study to the young human beings on whose right training so much depends.
Lovers of horses, dogs or cats are generally eloquent about their pets, and can indicate every point of excellence in them, or allude regretfully to the smallest blemish. They spend money lavishly in order to acquire perfect specimens, and are careful to maintain them in health and more than comfort.
These costly pets are so much living capital, and it is safe to say that many a parent could tell more about the disposition and doings of a favourite horse or dog, than of the dispositions of the children who call them father or mother.
It is often said that the baby brings a vast heritage of love with it into the world, and I believe in the truth of this. But sometimes the love gets into the wrong heart, if I may use such an expression, instead of filling that of the mother, who, regarding the helpless creature as a hindrance to what she calls “pleasure,” is willing to relinquish the privilege of caring for her child to other hands. If these are truly womanly hands, and the nurse has in her a motherly heart, the child may lose little by the change during its first years. Later on, Nature asserts herself and only a mother’s love can satisfy a child’s yearnings.
On this subject of motherhood, as in all that you and I, my dear girl friends, have talked about together, we need to look into the Book of books for light and guidance.
Motherhood is part of Nature’s—or should I not rather say of God’s—plan for womanhood. Let us look back together at the earliest chapter of human history, and note how children were regarded then.
Eve, so named because she was “the mother of all living,” or “life,” as the Revised Version gives it, clasped her first-born to her breast and cried in her exultant joy, “I have gotten a man from the Lord.” She looked upon her babe as the direct gift of God. She, like many a mother in after days, could not foresee the sin and the sorrow that would shadow his manhood and her own heart. But in holding her infant treasure to her breast, she would have a present joy and sense of riches that words cannot describe. She, the only human mother, with the only human infant in the wondrous new world which was to be peopled by her children, must have had sensations which none of her descendants could possibly repeat.
And yet, believe me, every loving mother who is worthy of the name, has a like feeling of riches, when she can say, “This is my child, my very own. This wonderful little body is given me to feed, clothe and guard. It is my privilege to see that it is fed with food convenient for it, that the tender frame is shielded from too great heat or biting cold, that it is kept from places and things which might injure its health, or prevent its growth into sturdy boyhood or girlhood.” The true mother was proud of her name in the old days of Bible history, and to be childless was to be a sad and dissatisfied woman.
When Seth was born, after Abel had been slain by his brother, the joyful thought of Eve was that the vacant place in her motherly heart was filled again, and she cried, “God hath appointed me another seed instead of Abel whom Cain slew.”
She had sons and daughters, we know not how many, during the ages which followed, but there is no detailed history of them. Still it gladdens our hearts to know of the joy of that first mother, when Seth was given to her in place of the good son who “was not.”
Pass with me down the ages and look into the tent of Sarah, when she held in her arms the child of promise, so long hoped for, even against hope as it seemed. “And Sarah said, ‘God hath made me to laugh; everyone that heareth will laugh with me.’”
Childless Rachel bemoaned her hard fate and cried, “Give me children, or else I die.” Then when Joseph was born she gave him the name which meant “added,” and said, “The Lord add to me another son.”
Yet another picture for us to look at together, my dear ones. It is that of Jacob as he met his brother Esau. After the brothers had embraced and kissed each other, Esau “lifted up his eyes and saw the women and the children, and said, ‘Who are these with thee?’ And he said, ‘The children which God hath graciously given thy servant.’”
Why are we studying all these Bible pictures, and glancing at the domestic stories which they illustrate? Is it not that we may all realise more fully the glory of motherhood, the value set upon children by the mothers of old, and the universal acknowledgment that a child was a precious gift from God?
Ah, there was no talk of loathing children then! No shrinking from the touch of a fair, innocent, helpless babe! No talking lightly or contemptuously of the little ones. The Psalmist calls children “the heritage of the Lord—His reward,” and says that “He makes the barren women to keep house” (or to dwell in a house) “and to be a joyful mother of children.”
Motherhood conferred dignity and made the woman mistress of a home and the head of a household. Ever and always the presence of a child or children added to the sense of riches, being regarded as the special gift of God and a token of His favour.
It is not easy to exhaust Scripture on this beautiful subject, for one Bible mother seems to rise after another and claim our attention and admiration. We see Hannah appearing in the house of the Lord, first pleading that she too may know the glory and joy of motherhood, and then, taking her weaned child to dedicate him to the lifelong service of the Giver. “For this child I prayed, and the Lord hath given me my petition which I asked of Him, therefore also I have lent him to the Lord; as long as he liveth he shall be lent to the Lord.”
How self-sacrificing, how sublime was this act on the part of the mother! Just when her little Samuel had twined himself round her heart by the imperishable cords of love; as each day witnessed some new growth and charm in the boy; and the parting must have become almost too great a trial for the tender mother to contemplate, for “the child was young.” Hannah brought him to Shiloh and left him there.
Hers was no temporary sacrifice. She renewed it year by year, rejoicing that her son, God’s gift, was accepted by Him in turn as she gave him back, “and was in favour both with the Lord and with men.”
We have passed by the mother of Moses and her plan to save, if possible, the life of her infant, and other Bible mothers, around whom we might well pause. We must, however, glance for a moment at the Virgin Mother and her Babe lying in His lowly manger-bed, the infant Saviour, “Christ the Lord.”
Stretching across the years, we see Jesus in His manhood taking the little ones in His kind arms, blessing them and saying, “Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.”
Now, my dear girl friends, what impression has this talk left on your minds? Has it not elevated your ideas of motherhood, and taught you how it was regarded amongst the men and women of the Bible? Is it not a sacred and glorious trust as well as a joyful one?
Are not the little ones, of whom some girls of to-day speak slightingly and worse, to be regarded as God’s good and precious gifts to be nursed for the Lord, fitted for and dedicated to His service?
(To be concluded.)