What a happiness it is that in the memories of most people the joys of childhood so far exceed its griefs. Two of the most powerful agents for good in the life of a child are love and happiness, and it may be confidently assumed that where there is an abundance of the former the existence of the latter is assured.
It may happily be asserted that it has been the sad lot of few of those who read these lines to have known an unloved childhood. To this may be ascribed the happy recollections of most who look back upon their earliest years.
But in this chapter some attempt will be made to examine certain special pleasures rather than to generalise as to the atmosphere of happiness in which alone a child will really thrive.
No Stereotyped Rule.
While happiness is necessary for all children, those who have most closely studied child life will agree that the old saying “Quot homines tot sententiæ” may well be applied to the great variety of ways in which this happiness is sought. It is impossible to treat all children alike, or to lay down any general rule. A little girl will find her chief delight in dogs and horses, while her brother steals away to play with dolls. Two small boys will go out into the garden, and, while one is keen to learn any sort of manly game, the other stands about cold and listless, bored to death by the mere sight of bat or ball.
Failure of Compulsory Pleasures.
Nothing is less likely to produce happiness than to attempt to force little children to amuse themselves in any set way. How many people have been disappointed by their efforts in this direction! A “recreation” ground has perhaps been provided by some charitable person at great expense. Ten to one it will be deserted by the little ones for whom it was primarily intended and given over to the tender mercies of lads and lasses in their “teens.” The small children find nothing left to their imagination, and infinitely prefer some dirty, and, to adult eyes, disadvantageous corner.
There was just such a case in a large northern town. The recreation ground was opened with pomp, and was elaborately fitted with swings, parallel bars, etc. For a week or two a few children made efforts to amuse themselves there, but it was quickly deserted. In the immediate neighbourhood were sundry patches of ground where no houses had as yet been built, and on which lay fascinating heaps of brick bats and refuse. Needless to say these offered far greater attractions than the new and orderly playground. Small children do not care to play “to order.” They have enough of that during school hours. When they get a bit older they will be willing enough to join in games on specified grounds and governed by codes of rules, but while they are little they like to find their own playgrounds and invent their own games.
A Game in a Stackyard.
Memory brings a vision of two children, one a little girl with soft dark hair and big black eyes, who is dressed in a blue and white cotton frock, and a big white straw hat; the other a sturdy, but commonplace boy, in grey knickerbockers, a holland blouse, with a broad black leather belt, and a flannel cap. They are about the same age, neither of them being yet seven, and they are playing in a stack-yard. It is not the stacks that are the attraction, for just now there are none there, but for all that it is a glorious playground. In the first place, it is well out of the way of the grown-up people, and in the next place, though there are no stacks, there are the stone supports on which they once stood. What excellent tables they make, these old grey upright blocks, of which the flat round tops project like real tables, and are practically useful in preventing rats and mice from climbing up. But there is something else which has drawn the children to that spot, for all about in the yard there is to be found a tall plant with a quantity of red seed, which must, I fancy, be some kind of sorrel. It is delicious to draw your hand up the stalk and bring it away full of this seed, and that is what these children are busy doing.