The Mother CHAPTER 3.
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Means and Ends
As month after month passed on, and Clarence, the latest born of Mrs. Hartley, began to exhibit some signs of his real disposition, the parents perceived that it was very differentfrom Marien's. The first-born was quiet, and easily controlled; but the boy was full of life, and showed very early a resolute will, and passionate temper. Before he had completed a year, he had caused his mother many an anxious hour, and drawn from her eyes many a tear. From his sister, he was disposed to take everything, and if his exacting spirit were not immediately gratified in its desires — he would scream violently, and sometimes throw himself passionately upon the floor.
In the first year of her brother's life, Marien had changed a good deal. As young as she was, her mother endeavored to interest her in his favor — to lend him her play things when awake, and to rock his cradle when he was asleep, and do many little things for him within her ability to accomplish. To the exacting, imperious temper of the child, Marien was much inclined to yield. To have permitted her to do so, would have been the easiest course for Mrs. Hartley to pursue. But this she saw would be to injure both the children. Were Marien to give up everything to Clarence, it would be impossible for the mother to impress upon his mind the idea that others had rights as well as himself — rights that he must not violate.
It took some weeks after Mrs. Hartley began to teach her child this important lesson, before she seemed to make any impression. After that, the simple declaration, "This belongs to Marien," caused Clarence to yield at once. The achievement of so much gave the mother great encouragement. It was fruit to her labor, and the ingathering even of so small a harvest was delightful.
As the boy added month after month and year after year to his age, his strengthening peculiarities of disposition became sources of constant annoyance to his mother. What could be tolerated in the child of two and three years, was not to be endured with patience in the boy of five and six. Lack of order and cleanliness were among the faults that worried her almost as much as his stormy temper, selfishness, and a disposition to domineer over his sister, who remained still too much inclined to yield rather than contend with him. In spite of all her efforts to control herself, these things so disturbed the mind of Mrs. Hartley, that she would at times speak fretfully, and even passionately to the boy. Whenever this was the case, she could see that the effect was bad. She reached nothing in her child — took hold of nothing in his mind by which she could turn him to good. It was a mere external force, which moved him just so far, and that against his will.
Unhappy, for hours and days, would the mother be whenever she thus lost her self-command; and long and deep would be her self-communings, and earnest her resolutions to conquer the evils in herself that were reacting so injuriously upon her child.
"I am not fit to be a mother," she would sometimes say to her husband during these seasons of depression. "I lack patience and forbearance, and it seems, every other virtue required for one in my position. That boy, Clarence, tries me, at times, beyond endurance! And yet, when my mind is calm and my perceptions clear, I can see that he has very many good qualities, and that these really overbalance the evil. His intellect is remarkably quick, and there is a manliness about him but rarely seen in children of his age."
"Persevere, Anna — persevere," were usually her husband's encouraging words. "You are doing well. If anyone can mold aright the disposition of that wayward child, it is you. I only wish that I had half your patience and forbearance."
Time passed steadily on. Another and another babe saw the light, until five bright-eyed children filled their home with music and sunshine. When her care was lavished upon asingle child, the mother had both mind and heart full. Now her duties were increased five-fold, but she did not feel them to be greater than at first. It seemed to her, when she had but one babe, that there was not room in her heart for another — but now she found that there was room for all. Each had its appropriate place.
Alike in some general features, these five children were, in particulars, as unlike as possible. Marien, the eldest, was a sweet-tempered girl, ten years of age. Clarence had improved much under the careful training of his mother, though he was still rude, self-willed, and too little inclined to regard properly the rights and comforts of his brother and sisters. Henry, next younger than Clarence, was altogether opposite in character. Timid, bashful and retiring, he had little confidence in himself, and was too much inclined to lean upon others. Fanny, a laughing little fairy thing, making the house musical with her happy voice; and Lillian, the babe, filled up the number of Mrs. Hartley's household treasures.
Nearly twelve years had passed since their marriage, and yet neither James Hartley nor his wife were very strongly marked by time. He had a more thoughtful, and she a more earnest expression of countenance. Their external condition had improved. He had again entered into business, though not with the flattering promises that before encouraged him to hope for a speedily attained fortune; but he was in a surer way to earn a living at least.
During this time, both the father and mother of Mrs. Hartley died, and a maiden aunt, the sister of Anna's mother, had become a member of their household. The puritanical prejudices, narrow views, and constant interference of this woman with Anna's management of her children, were a source of great trial. Aunt Mary had no patience with the wayward Clarence — while she petted and indulged Henry to a degree that was really injurious to a child of his particular disposition. Remonstrance was of no avail; for Aunt Mary imagined that her age and relationship entitled her to all the control in the family she chose to assume. She could not understand that Anna, "the child," as she usually spoke of her, had rights and responsibilities as a parent, with which she ought not to interfere. All this was beyond her comprehension.
Aunt Mary was a strict church-going member. A regular Sunday religionist. She seemed to regard everything outside of a church as profane. There was sin in a pink ribbon, and carnal-mindedness in a blue bonnet. All amusements were considered by her as offences against God. To attend a ball, or dance, was to insure the soul's perdition. Aunt Mary was not one of those who, while they hold peculiar and strict notions, have the good sense to keep quiet about them where they know their declaration not to be agreeable. She deemed it her duty to preach from the housetop, so to speak, on all occasions; and to declare to the children that many of the very things taught them by their parents were wrong. When Marien and Clarence were first sent to dancing school, Aunt Mary preached upon the subject, in season and out of season, for nearly a month.
"You will ruin your children, Anna!" she would say. "Isn't it a shame to think that a mother will have no more regard for her little ones."
"How will dancing ruin them, Aunt Mary?" Mrs. Hartley would sometimes ask in a quiet tone. "I cannot, for my life, see any evil in motions of the body, made to accord with good music."
"Dancing is one of Satan's most cunning devices to lure the soul to ruin!"
"How is it, Aunt Mary? I cannot understand in what the evil lies. Is there anything in music opposed to the Ten Commandments? Do the Ten Commandments forbid dancing?"
"You reason like a little simpleton, as you are," returned Aunt Mary, peevishly. "The Bible forbids dancing!"
"I never saw it, and I believe I have read that good book very carefully. It does say, that there is a time to dance."
"It is wicked to quote Scripture, with the intention of perverting its meaning," replied Aunt Mary, warmly.
"I know that. But I am not so sure that I have done so. The Bible certainly says that there is a time to dance."
"Not in the sense that you pretend to understand it."
"Why not?"
"Because it is wicked to dance, and the Bible never teaches us to do what is wicked!"
"Oh! oh!" returned Anna, laughing, "You are like a great many other good people, Aunt Mary. You first call a thing good or evil to suit some notion of your own — and then make the Bible prove it whether it will or not! A convenient method, I own, but it doesn't suit my common sense notions. But to be serious with you, aunt — we send our children to dancing school from conscientious motives."
"Conscientious motives! Humph!"
"It is true. "We are satisfied that all external graces and accomplishments are so many aids to moral culture. If selfish and worldly-minded people pervert them to selfish and worldly purposes — that is an evil for which they alone are responsible. Shall I, just because a glutton makes himself sick on dainty food — refuse to eat anything but the coarsest bread? Or, just because my next door neighbor furnishes her house richly that her taste may be admired — refuse to have a carpet upon my floor, or a mirror in my parlor? It is the end for which a thing is done, which makes it evil or good, aunt. All good gifts are from Heaven. All evils which exist — are perversions of good."
"Do you mean to say that the end justifies the means?" asked Aunt Mary, quite fiercely.
"I do, if the means are good!"
"What am I to understand by that? You seem to be talking riddles."
"Good means never violate the laws of either God or man. You may always be sure that the end is bad, if the means used in its attainment are so. But to come back to the point from which we started. We can see no harm in music and dancing, abstractly considered."
"But their effects, Anna. Cannot you see their injurious effects upon young people."
"What are they?"
"They make them vain and frivolous, and wean their minds from better things."
"I always find that my children say their prayers as earnestly in the evening of the day they have taken their dancing lesson, as on any other. And, sometimes, I think with a more tender and grateful spirit."
"I shudder to hear you talk so, Anna. You are trifling with holy things. Dancing and praying — Ugh! It makes my very blood run cold!"
"I don't see, Aunt Mary, that any good can grow out of these discussions," remarked Anna, gravely. "The responsibility of our children's education rests with James and myself. Our guide is his Scriptural Revelation, accompanied by the reason that God has given us. These teach us that it is right to bring out into ultimate forms, all that is innocent in our children. Their buoyant spirits are ever causing them to throw their bodies about in every imaginable attitude. Is it not much better to teach a boy like Clarence to dance gracefully to good music, than to let his excessive flow of animal spirits lead him to turn summersaults, stand on his head, or contort his body until it is deformed — and to let the peevishness of an unhappy temper subside in a similar amusement? We, after much careful reflection, have determined that is best."
"But all amusements are sinful, Anna. How can you reconcile that with your duty to your children."
"As I have often said before," replied Mrs. Hartley, "I do not believe that all amusements are sinful. My opinion is that one person may commit more sin in going to church — than another in going to a ball-room."
"Anna!"
"It is the motive from which a thing is done that makes it good or bad," resumed the niece. "If I go to a ball with a right motive, and that I can do — my act is much better than the act of one who goes to church to be seen and admired; or, as too many go, with a pharisaical spirit."
"It's no use to talk to you!" Aunt Mary said, pettishly. "You and James are as set in your ways as you can be. I pity your children — that's what I do. If ever they come to anything, it will be more from good luck than anything else. As to their ever caring about religion, I give up all hopes. Mark my words, Anna, the day will come when you willrepent of this folly. Young folks think old folks fools; but old folks know young folks to be fools. Remember that."
Contentions like these did not change in the slightest degree the system which Mr. and Mrs. Hartley had adopted. They believed that their children would be more useful as members of common society after they arrived at mature age, if endowed with every accomplishment of mind and manners, than if rude and uncultivated, except in the higher and sterner qualities of the intellect. As to the absurd notion that such accomplishments were inconsistent with true religion, they were well assured that, without such accomplishments, religion lost more than half of its means of acting for good in common society.
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