Life — April 17, 1902 — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“Child Study.” F there be anywhere in the United States an energetic spin- ster or a thoughtfal _ young bachelor who has not yet written a book on Child Study, it is time such an omission was re- paired. Every month is bringing out a fresh assort- ment of these de- lightful manuals. The amount of wisdom they contain would abash Athene and enlighten Solomon, Advice has never been a rare commodity, but just now mothers are getting more than their fair share. If they don’t know, by this time, how to bring up their children, it is not from lack of copious admonition. If they fail to grasp the tremendous significance of Baby’s gurgle, of Dicky’s partiality for sugar, and of Mabella’s fear of frogs, it is not because a host of unmarried writers have neglected to point out to them that such things are the key-notes of the soul. Take the question of amusement. By the time a really anxious mother has learned all the approved methods of play, her offspring will be too old for playing. Some unworthy parents there are who let children amuse them- selves, and who even express a sordid satisfaction in not being ‘ bothered” with the entertainment of the nursery. Are they aware that a child at play should sustain ‘‘a systematized se- quence of experience through which he grows into self-knowledge, clear observation, and unconscious percep- tion of the whole circle of relationship?” Do they even know that * the symbols of play become the truth symbolized in the child’s character and personality?” Probably not, unless much reading of “Child Study "’ books has taught them the oppressiveness of the word “ sym- bol,’’ which is wont to appear on every page. Little boys and girls, we are told, should be taken to see ‘statues that are full of grace and symbol.’ They should also be taught classical myths, because these are “ largely symbolic.” -LIFE- Now and then a mother rushes to the front—who can blame her? —with a book of her own, in which she nar- rates very sweetly at what age her baby said “ da’; how much longer it took him to murmur ‘da da’’; and how ‘fall two months went by” before he summoned resolution to ar- ticulate “da, da, da,” ‘quite clearly and with visible effort." Occasionally these valuable little volumes are illus- trated with “ Child’s first drawing of a house,’’ “ Child’s first sketch of a cat,” “Child's first unconscious attempt to form a letter, before he had been taught to write.”’ There is a good-sized library of this literature already, but the world cries out for more. Agnes Repplier. The New Life. PING PONG racket and a golf club met one day by chance in a neglected corner of the great hall. The ping pong racket was bright and new. Its. yellow handle was smooth and fresh, and its sandpapered sides reflected the glow of youth. The golf clab was rusty and old and slightly warped. “Hello!” said the racket. ‘* You here! I thought you'd been relegated to the attic or the cellar long ago. It’s meal-time,” he added, apologetically, “and I'm taking a few minutes much- needed rest. The fact is, I’m rushed to death. Don’t you get tired,” he superciliously observed, ‘‘of sitting around by your lonesome?" “There was a time ’’——began the golf club. “Oh, yes,”’ said the racket. course. You're a back number now, Well, I'm sorry for you. With me, you see, it’s different. I’m the real thing. I've come to y. It'sgreatto be a society leader, isn’t it? Youknow, of course, because you've been there. The trouble with you was that you didn’t last. But I’m a steady feature. Any one can see that. Well, here comes my mistress, and I'm off. Ta ta!” The golf club smiled wisely. ‘ You poor young thing,” he said. “How much you have to learn. It won't be long before you'll be back here with me living on memories of the past.’’ Months passed by, however, and the ping pong racket did not return. One 4 “Of day the golf club saw him in the dis- tance, as he was on his way upstairs. “Well,” he cried, ‘ how is it now? What did I tell you? You looka trifle the worse for wear.”” “Lam,” said the racket. “Well, I guess you’re a back number yourself now,” said the club, dryly. “I don’t hear those thirty-loves and deuces any more.”’ The p. p. r. smiled as he replied. There was an air of new dignity about him that he didn't have before. “No, I’m not,"’ he observed, quietly. “I'm busier than ever, and I’m here tostay,old man. I’ve got a permanent job as a baby spanker.”” Mora. You can’t down some folks. Tom Masson. A Warning. THE Boer envoys are privately re- ceived at Washington ; officially they get the tin ear, in the words of the day. The fate of the Boers should warn little nations not to go down from Jerusalem to Jericho. There are no Good Samaritans in world politics. Prin “IP YOU LOVE YER BABY NAKE DEM G00-000 EYES.” comicbooks.com