The Mother's Manual of Children's Diseases

by Charles West

But not only are the perceptions more acute in childhood than in adult life, the sensibilities are more intense. The child's emotions, indeed, are often transitory—generally very transitory; but while they last they produce results far greater than in the grown person. In the case of the latter, recollection of the past, anticipation of the future, or even the duties of the present, control the overwhelming sorrow, or call forth the energies needed to bear it. The child lives in the present, and this present is but the reflection of the world around, its impressions uncontrolled by experience, ungoverned by reason.

The broken-heartedness of a child on leaving home is not the expression only of intense affection for its friends or relations, it is the shock of separation from the familiar objects which have surrounded it; and I have not infrequently seen children inconsolable when removed from homes that were most wretched, or from relations who were most unkind. Every now and then, indeed, I have been compelled to send children home from the hospital because no love nor care could reconcile them to the change from home; and they have refused to eat, and spent their nights in weeping. The feeling is an unreasoning one, like the home-sickness of the mountaineer.

But, moreover, sudden shocks may sometimes overthrow the whole moral equilibrium, and disarrange the balance of the nervous system so seriously as to cause the death of a child previously free from any important ailment. Thus, I remember a little boy five years of age who died sixteen days after his father's funeral. The strange sad scene overcame him, though there had been no special tie between him and his father. He shivered violently, became very sick, complained by signs of pain in the head, for he had lost his speech, which he regained by slow degrees in the course of four or five days. Improvement in other respects did not take place, he lay in a drowsy state save when he called for his mother, and at length the drowsiness deepened into stupor, and so he died. I suppose his mother was right; she said his heart was broken.

It behoves us to bear in mind that the heart may break, or the reason fail, under causes that seem to us quite insufficient; that the griefs of childhood may be, in proportion to the child's powers of bearing them, as overwhelming as those which break the strong man down. Every now and then we are shocked by the tale that some young child has committed suicide, and for reasons which to our judgment seem most trivial—from fear of punishment, or even from mere dread of reproof. These facts deserve special attention, they show how much more the susceptibility and sensitiveness of children need to be taken into consideration than is commonly done.

This keenness of the emotions in children displays itself in other ways, and has constantly to be borne in mind in our management of them. The child loves intensely, or dislikes strongly; craves most earnestly for sympathy, clings most tenaciously to the stronger, better, higher around it, or to what it fancies so; or shrinks, in often causeless but unconquerable dread, from things or persons that have made on it an unpleasant impression. Reason as yet does not govern its caprices, nor the more intelligent selfishness of later years hinder their manifestation. The waywardness of the most wilful child is determined by some cause near at hand; and those who love children, and can read their thoughts, will not in general be long in discovering their motives and seeing through their conduct.

One word more must be said with reference to that intense craving for sympathy so characteristic of the child. It is this which often underlies the disposition to exaggerate its ailments, or even to feign such as do not exist, and in such attempts at deception it often perseveres with almost incredible resolution. Over and over again I have met with instances where the motives to such deception were neither the increase of comfort nor the gratification of mere indolence; but the monopolising the love and sympathy which during some bygone illness had been extended to it, and which it could not bear to share again with its brothers and sisters. This feeling, too, sometimes becomes quite uncontrollable, and the child then needs as much care and as judicious management, both bodily and mental, to bring it back to health, as would be called for in the case of some adult hypochondriac or monomaniac.

A caution may not be out of place as to the importance of not ministering to this tendency to exaggerated self-consciousness by talking of children's ailments in their hearing, or by seeming to notice the complaints they make as though they were something out of the common way.

It will be observed that throughout I have dwelt more on disorders of the moral faculties than of the intellectual powers in childhood, and I have done so because I believe them to be the more common and the more important. In the feeble-minded the moral sense almost invariably participates in the weakness of the intellect; but it is by no means unusual for the former to be grievously perverted, while the intelligence is in no respect deficient. The moral element in the child seems to me to assert its superiority in this, that it is the most keenly sensitive, the soonest disordered—

'Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune, and harsh,'

and the discord is first perceived in the finest notes.