Advice to a Mother on the Management of Her Children

by Pye Henry Chavasse

Night-terrors.—This frightening of a child by a silly nurse frequently brings on night-terrors. He wakes up suddenly, soon after going to sleep, frightened and terrified; screaming violently, and declaring that he has seen either some ghost, or thief, or some object that the silly nurse had been previously in the day describing, who is come for him to take him away. The little fellow is the very picture of terror and alarm; he hides his face in his mother's bosom, the perspiration streams down him, and it is some time before he can be pacified—when, at length, he falls into a troubled feverish slumber, to awake in the morning unrefreshed. Night after night these terrors harass him, until his health materially suffers, and his young life becomes miserable looking forward with dread to the approach of darkness.

Treatment of night terrors.—If they have been brought on by the folly of the nurse, discharge her at once, and be careful to select a more discreet one. When the child retires to rest, leave a candle burning, and let it burn all night, sit with him until he be asleep, and take care, in case he should rouse up in one of his night-terrors, that either yourself or some kind person be near at hand. Do not scold him for being frightened—he cannot help it, but soothe him, calm him, fondle him, take him into your arms and let him feel that he has some one to rest upon, to defend and to protect him. It is frequently in these cases necessary before he can be cared to let him have change of air and change of scene. Let him live, in the day time, a great part of the day in the open air.

A nurse maid should never, on any account whatever, be allowed to whip a child. "Does ever any man or woman remember the feeling of being 'whipped' as a child, the fierce anger, the insupportable ignominy, the longing for revenge, which blotted out all thought of contrition for the fault or rebellion against the punishment? With this recollection on their own parts, I can hardly suppose any parents venturing to inflict it, much less allowing its infliction by another under any circumstances whatever. A nurse-maid or domestic of any sort, once discovered to have lifted up her hand against a child, ought to meet instant severe rebuke, and on a repetition of the offence instant dismissal." [Footnote: A Woman's Thoughts about Women.]

I have seen in the winter tune a lazy nurse sit before the fire with a child on her lap, rubbing his cold feet just before putting him to his bed. Now, this is not the way to warm his feet. The right method is to let him romp and run either about the room, or the landing, or the hall—this will effectually warm them, but, of course, it will entail a little extra trouble on the nurse, as she will have to use a little exertion to induce him to do so, and this extra trouble a lazy nurse will not relish. Warming the feet before the fire will give the little fellow chilblains, and will make him when he is in bed more chilly. The only way for him to have a good romp before he goes to bed, is for the mother to join in the game. She may rest assured, that if she does so, her child will not be the only one to benefit by it. She herself will find it of marvellous benefit to her own health; it will warm her own feet, it will be almost sure to insure her a good night, and will make her feel so light and buoyant as almost to fancy that she is a girl again! Well, then, let every child, before going to bed, hold a high court of revelry, let him have an hour—the Children's Hour—devoted to romp, to dance, to shout, to sing, to riot, and to play, and let him be the master of the revels—

"Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupation,
Which is known as the Children's Hour."

Longfellow.

Let a child be employed—take an interest in his employment, let him fancy that he is useful—and he is useful, he is laying in a stock of health. He is much more usefully employed than many other grown-up children are!

A child should be happy; he must, in every way, be made happy; everything ought to be done to conduce to his happiness, to give him joy, gladness, and pleasure. Happy he should be, as happy as the day is long. Kindness should be lavished upon him. Make a child understand that you love him; prove it in your actions—these are better than words; look after his little pleasures—join in his little sports; let him never hear a morose word—it would rankle in his breast, take deep root, and in due time bring forth bitter fruit. Love! let love be his pole-star; let it be the guide and the rule of all you do and all you say unto him. Let your face, as well as your tongue speak love. Let your hands be ever ready to minister to his pleasures and to his play. "Blessed be the hand that prepares a pleasure for a child, for there is no saying when and where it may again bloom forth. Does not almost everybody remember some kind-hearted man who showed him a kindness in the dulcet days of childhood? The writer of this recollects himself, at this moment, a bare-footed lad, standing at the wooden fence of a poor little garden in his native village, while, with longing eyes, he gazed on the flowers which were blooming there quietly in the brightness of the Sabbath morning. The possessor came from his little cottage. He was a wood-cutter by trade, and spent the whole week at work in the woods. He had come into the garden to gather flowers to stick in his coat when he went to church. He saw the boy, and breaking off the most beautiful of his carnations (it was streaked with red and white), he gave it to him. Neither the giver nor the receiver spoke a word, and with bounding steps the hoy ran home. And now, here, at a vast distance from that home, after so many events of so many years, the feeling of gratitude which agitated the breast of the boy, expressed itself on paper. The carnation has long since faded, but it now bloometh afresh."—Douglas Jerrold.

The hearty ringing laugh of a child is sweet music to the ear. There are three most joyous sounds in nature—the hum of a bee, the purr of a cat, and the laugh of a child. They tell of peace, of happiness, and of contentment, and make one for a while forget that there is so much misery in the world.

A man who dislikes children is unnatural, he has no "milk of human kindness" in him; he should be shunned. Give me, for a friend, a man—