We,
who do not live their life, who regard Lady Noble as a mere Hecuba,
and who would accept one of her nectarines only in sheer politeness,
cannot rejoice with them that do rejoice thus, can but pity them for
all that has led up to their joy. We may reflect that the harsh system
on which they are reared will enable them to enjoy life with infinite
gusto when they are grown up, and that it is, therefore, a better
system than the indulgent modern one. We may reflect, further, that it
produces a finer type of man or woman, less selfish, better-mannered,
more capable and useful. The pretty grown-up daughter here, leading
her little sister by the hand, so gracious and modest in her mien, so
sunny and affectionate, so obviously wholesome and high-principled--is
she not a walking testimonial to the system? Yet to us the system is
not the less repulsive in itself. Its results may be what you please,
but its practice were impossible. We are too tender, too sentimental.
We have not the nerve to do our duty to children, nor can we bear to
think of any one else doing it. To children we can do nothing but
`spoil' them, nothing but bless their hearts and coddle their souls,
taking no thought for their future welfare. And we are justified,
maybe, in our flight to this opposite extreme.
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