OUR CHILDREN.
Nowadays, things are not what they were.
There are no children,—no boys; instead, we have a swarm of little politicians as yet unchristened—a crowd of Machiavellis seen through the wrong end of an opera-glass, who, if they do go to school every day, only do so for the sake of teaching their masters something—the latter being sorely in need of instruction.
What is it that has exterminated our boys from off the face of the earth?
The reading of political papers!
This is a warning to fathers and mothers.
Fathers of families, of course, are perfectly at liberty to buy a daily paper—or two, or five, or ten. For newspapers, even if taken to excess, are like tamarind jelly—if they do no good, they cannot do much harm. They are quite safe, if you knowhow to read them—the right way of the stuff, like English broadcloth.
But the mischief is this: fathers of families, when they have glanced over the paper, usually leave it on the table, or the sofa, or the mantelpiece—in short, in one of many places that are within sight and reach of small boys. This is great imprudence; because we must remember that our boys are victims to a gluttonous, eager, devouring passion for the reading of political papers. Perhaps this is an outcome of that inborn instinct which shows itself at a very early age in the love for fables and fairy tales.
Then begin the troubles in the family.
A small boy comes with the newspaper in his hand and asks, his mother—
“Do tell me, mamma, what is the difference between ‘Authentic News’ and ‘Various News’?”
“‘Authentic,’” replies the mother at random, “is what really happens, and ‘Various’ is what the journalists invent to fill up the paper.”
“Oh! what story-tellers!”
“Well, then, you should be very careful always to tell the truth; if you don’t, you will go to Purgatory for seventy years, and in this world every one will take you for a journalist!”
Amid the infinitely varied ranks of youth there are many who, through innate depravity, and a fatally precocious hankering after political life, carry their reckless temerity so far as to read all the Parliamentary reports, from the first line to the last!
Let us say it once for all. When a boy gives himself up without restraint, and without shame, to the reading of the Parliamentary debates, it is all up with him! Good-bye to candour; good-bye to innocence, and the simple language of the age of infancy.
One day Cecco receives a maternal reprimand, because, with his customary negligence, he has omitted to wash his hands.
“I repudiate the malignant insinuation,” replies the culprit, immediately hiding the two inconvenient “documents” in the pockets of his knickerbockers.
Another day Gigino refuses to go to school unless his mother will give him the money to buy a cardboard Punch.
“Yes, dear,” says his mother; “go away to school, and I will buy you the Punch when you come home.”
“No, no, no; I want it now! And if I don’t get it, I will make it a Cabinet question!”
The poor mother, at this speech, finds her understanding failing her, and remains open-mouthed. Then enters Raffaello, the elder brother, who says to the younger—
“Instead of thinking about Punches, you would do better to study your grammar. Remember how yesterday the master, after having three times called you a donkey, ‘passed on to the order of the day, pure and simple.’”
Gigino was about to reply with an impertinence, but, unwilling to fail in respect towards his elder brother, he contented himself with making faces at him.
Mamma (who has meanwhile recovered): “Is that theway you treat your brother? He is older than you, and you ought to respect him.”
Gigino (raising his voice): “I have all possible esteem and respect for the honourable member who has just preceded me”—(the Debates again!); “but, on the other hand, as far as I am concerned, he will always be a liar and a spy....”
Beppino is made of quicksilver. While carrying out one trick he is already thinking of a new one, so that neither in school nor at home is there any peace to be had for him.
At last his father, unable to stand it any longer, called him into the study for a parental lecture.
During the first division of the lecture Beppino was surreptitiously gnawing a dried plum. At the opening of the second division he removed the stone, and shot it at the nose of a plaster Dante on the writing-desk. At the third head Beppino lost all patience, and began to yell—
“Enough! enough! The closure!”
“Closure or no closure!” cried his infuriated parent; “if you interrupt me again with your impudence—rascal, street-boy, chatterbox——”
“Order! order!” cried Beppino, pulling at the bell-rope.
“I’ll order you——”
But, just as his father was about to rise, Beppino snatched the smoking-cap from his head, and, putting it on himself, remarked, in a nasal voice—
“Gentlemen, the President has put on his hat, and the discussion is adjourned.”
The violent ringing of the bell summons the mother, two aunts, the housemaid, and the lady’s little dog. These having heard the narrative of Beppino’s unparalleled insolence, are seized with such indignation that they begin to laugh like mad.
The little dog, being unable to laugh like the rest, barks, and evidences his share in the family joys and sorrows by beginning to gnaw his dear master’s embroidered slippers.
Collodi.
Collodi.
Collodi.
Collodi.