In his valuable essay on The Origin of Languages (249), Mr. Horatio Hale discusses a number of cases of invention of languages by children, giving interesting, though (owing to the neglect of the observers) not very extensive, details of each.

One of the most curious instances of the linguistic inventiveness of children is the case of the Boston twins (of German descent on the mother's side) born in 1860, regarding whose language a few details were given by Miss E. H. Watson, who says: "At the usual age these twins began to talk, but, strange to say, not their 'mother-tongue.' They had a language of their own, and no pains could induce them to speak anything else. It was in vain that a little sister, five years older than they, tried to make them speak their native language,—as it would have been. They persistently refused to utter a syllable of English. Not even the usual first words, 'papa,' 'mamma,' 'father,' 'mother,' it is said, did they ever speak; and, said the lady who gave this information to the writer,—who was an aunt of the children, and whose home was with them,—they were never known during this interval to call their mother by that name. They had their own name for her, but never the English. In fact, though they had the usual affections, were rejoiced to see their father at his returning home each night, playing with him, etc., they would seem to have been otherwise completely taken up, absorbed, with each other.... The children had not yet been to school; for, not being able to speak their 'own English,' it seemed impossible to send them from home. They thus passed the days, playing and talking together in their own speech, with all the liveliness and volubility of common children. Their accent was German,—as it seemed to the family. They had regular words, a few of which the family learned sometimes to distinguish; as that, for example, for carriage [ni-si-boo-a], which, on hearing one pass in the street, they would exclaim out, and run to the window" (249. 11). We are further informed that, when the children were six or seven years old, they were sent to school, but for a week remained "perfectly mute"; indeed, "not a sound could be heard from them, but they sat with their eyes intently fixed upon the children, seeming to be watching their every motion,—and no doubt, listening to every sound. At the end of that time they were induced to utter some words, and gradually and naturally they began, for the first time, to learn their 'native English.' With this accomplishment, the other began also naturally to fade away, until the memory with the use of it passed from their mind" (249. 12).

Mr. Horatio Hale, who resumes the case just noticed in his address before the Anthropological Section of the American Association for the Advancement of Science (Buffalo, 1886), gives also valuable details of the language of a little four-year-old girl and her younger brother in Albany, as reported by Dr. E. R. Hun (249. 13). The chief facts are as follows: "The mother observed when she was two years old that she was backward in speaking, and only used the words 'papa' and 'mamma.' After that she began to use words of her own invention, and though she readily understood what was said, never employed the words used by others. Gradually she extended her vocabulary until it reached the extent described below [at least twenty-one distinct words, many of which were used in a great variety of meanings]. She has a brother eighteen months younger than herself, who has learned her language, so that they talk freely together. He, however, seems to have adopted it only because he has more intercourse with her than with others; and in some instances he will use a proper word with his mother, and his sister's word with her. She, however, persists in using only her own words, though her parents, who are uneasy about her peculiarity of speech, make great efforts to induce her to use proper words."

More may be read concerning this language in the account of Dr. Hun (published in 1868).

Mr. Hale mentions three other cases, information regarding which came to him. The inventors in the first instance were a boy between four and five years old, said to have been "unusually backward in his speech," and a girl a little younger, the children of a widower and a widow respectively, who married; and, according to the report of an intimate friend: "He and the little girl soon became inseparable playmates, and formed a language of their own, which was unintelligible to their parents and friends. They had names of their own invention for all the objects about them, and must have had a corresponding supply of verbs and other parts of speech, as their talk was fluent and incessant." This was in Kingston, Ontario, Canada (249. 16).

The second case is that of two young children, twins, a boy and a girl: "When they were three or four years old they were accustomed, as their elder sister informs me, to talk together in a language which no one else understood.... The twins were wont to climb into their father's carriage in the stable, and 'chatter away,' as my informant says, for hours in this strange language. Their sister remembers that it sounded as though the words were quite short. But the single word which survives in the family recollection is a dissyllable, the word for milk, which was cully. The little girl accompanied her speech with gestures, but the boy did not. As they grew older, they gradually gave up their peculiar speech" (249. 17).

The third case cited by Mr. Hale is that of two little boys of Toronto, Canada,—five or six years of age, one being about a year older than the other, who attended a school in that city: "These children were left much to themselves, and had a language of their own, in which they always conversed. The other children in the school used to listen to them as they chattered together, and laugh heartily at the strange speech of which they could not understand a word. The boys spoke English with difficulty, and very imperfectly, like persons struggling to express their ideas in a foreign tongue. In speaking it, they had to eke out their words with many gestures and signs to make themselves understood; but in talking together in their own language, they used no gestures and spoke very fluently. She remembers that the words which they used seemed quite short" (249. 18).

Mr. Hale's studies of these comparatively uninvestigated forms of human speech led him into the wider field of comparative philology and linguistic origins. From the consideration of these data, the distinguished ethnologist came to regard the child as a factor of the utmost importance in the development of dialects and families of speech, and to put forward in definite terms a theory of the origin and growth of linguistic diversity and dialectic profusion, to the idea of which he was led by his studies of the multitude of languages within the comparatively restricted area of Oregon and California (249. 9). Starting with the language-faculty instinct in the child, says Mr. Hale: "It was as impossible for the first child endowed with this faculty not to speak in the presence of a companion similarly endowed, as it would be for a nightingale or a thrush not to carol to its mate. The same faculty creates the same necessity in our days, and its exercise by young children, when accidentally isolated from the teachings and influence of grown companions, will readily account for the existence of all the diversities of speech on our globe" (249. 47). Approaching, in another essay, one of the most difficult problems in comparative philology, he observes: "There is, therefore, nothing improbable in the supposition that the first Aryan family—the orphan children, perhaps, of some Semitic or Accadian fugitives from Arabia or Mesopotamia—grew up and framed their new language on the southeastern seaboard of Persia." Thus, he thinks, is the Aryo-Semitic problem most satisfactorily solved (467. 675). In a second paper (250) on The Development of Language, Mr. Hale restates and elaborates his theory with a wealth of illustration and argument, and it has since won considerable support from the scientists of both hemispheres.

Professor Romanes devotes not a few pages of his volume on Mental Evolution in Man, to the presentation of Mr. Hale's theory and of the facts upon which it is based (338. 138-144).

Secret Languages.

That the use of secret languages and the invention of them by children is widespread and prevalent at home, at school, in the playground, in the street, is evident from the exhaustive series of articles in which Dr. F. S. Krauss (281) of Vienna has treated of "Secret Languages." Out of some two hundred forms and fashions there cited a very large proportion indeed belong to the period of childhood and youth and the scenes of boyish and girlish activity. We have languages for games, for secret societies, for best friends, for school-fellows, for country and town, for boys and girls, etc. Dr. Oscar Chrisman (206) has quite recently undertaken to investigate the nature and extent of use of these secret languages in America, with gratifying results. A study of the child at the period in which the language-making instinct is most active cannot be without interest to pedagogy, and it would not be without value to inquire what has been the result of the universal neglect of language-teaching in the primary and lower grade grammar schools—whether the profusion of secret languages runs parallel with this diversion of the child-mind from one of its most healthful and requisite employments, or whether it has not to some extent atrophied the linguistic sense.

The far-reaching ramifications of "secret languages" are evidenced by the fact that a language called "Tut" by school-children of Gonzales, Texas, is almost identical in its alphabet with the "Guitar Language," of Bonyhad, in Hungary, the "Bob Language," of Czernowitz, in Austria, and another language of the same sort from Berg. The travels of the Texas secret language are stated by Dr. Chrisman to be as follows: "This young lady ... learned it from her mother's servant, a negro girl; this girl learned it from a negro girl who got it at a female negro school at Austin, Texas, where it was brought by a negro girl from Galveston, Texas, who learned it from a negro girl who had come from Jamaica" (208. 305).

Evidence is accumulating to show that these secret languages of children exist in all parts of the world, and it would be a useful and instructive labour were some one to collect all available material and compose an exhaustive scientific monograph on the subject.

Interesting, for comparative purposes, are the secret languages and jargons of adults. As Paul Sartori (528) has recently shown, the use of special or secret languages by various individuals and classes in the communities is widespread both in myth and reality. We find peculiar dialects spoken by, or used in addressing, deities and evil spirits; giants, monsters; dwarfs, elves, fairies; ghosts, spirits; witches, wizards, "medicine men"; animals, birds, trees, inanimate objects. We meet also with special dialects of secret societies (both of men and of women); sacerdotal and priestly tongues; special dialects of princes, nobles, courts; women's languages, etc.; besides a multitude of jargons, dialects, languages of trades and professions, of peasants, shepherds, soldiers, merchants, hunters, and the divers slangs and jargons of the vagabonds, tramps, thieves, and other outcast or criminal classes.

Far-reaching indeed is the field opened by the consideration of but a single aspect of child-speech, that doll-language which Joaquin Miller so aptly notes:—

"Yet she carried a doll, as she toddled alone, And she talked to that doll in a tongue her own."

Diminutives.

Both the golden age of childhood and the golden age of love exercise a remarkable influence upon language. Mantegazza, discussing "the desire to merge oneself into another, to abase oneself, to aggrandize the beloved," etc., observes: "We see it in the use of diminutives which lovers and sometimes friends use towards each other, and which mothers use to their children; we lessen ourselves thus in a delicate and generous manner in order that we may be embraced and absorbed in the circle of the creature we love. Nothing is more easily possessed than a small object, and before the one we love we would change ourselves into a bird, a canary—into any minute thing that we might be held utterly in the hands, that we might feel ourselves pressed on all sides by the warm and loving fingers. There is also another secret reason for the use of diminutives. Little creatures are loved tenderly, and tenderness is the supreme sign of every great force which is dissolved and consumes itself. After the wild, passionate, impetuous embrace there is always the tender note, and then diminutives, whether they belong to expression or to language, always play a great part" (499. 137). The fondness of boys for calling each other by the diminutives of their surnames belongs here.

In some languages, such as the Nipissing dialect of Algonkian in North America, the Modern Greek or Romaic, Lowland Scotch, and Plattdeutsch, the very frequent employment of diminutives has come to be a marked characteristic of the common speech of the people. The love for diminutives has, in some cases, led to a charm of expression in language which is most attractive; this is seen perhaps at its best in Castilian, and some of the Italian dialects (202 and 219). A careful study of the influence of the child upon the forms of language has yet to be made.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE CHILD AS ACTOR AND INVENTOR.

The child is a born actor.

The world's a theatre, the earth a stage, Which God and Nature do with actors fill.—Heywood.

Man is an imitative creature, and the foremost leads the flock. —Schiller.

Imitative Games.

In her article on Imitation in Children, Miss Haskell notes the predilection of children for impersonation and dramatic expression, giving many interesting examples. S. D. Warren, in a paper read before the American Association for the Advancement of Science, at the Brooklyn Meeting, 1894 (Proc., Vol. xliii., p. 335), also notes these activities of children, mentioning, among other instances, "an annual celebration of the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown," "playing railroad," playing at pulling hand fire-engines, as the representatives of two rival villages.

The mention of the celebration of Cornwallis' surrender by children brings up the question of the child as recorder. As historian and chronicler, the child appears in the countless games in which he preserves more or less of the acts, beliefs, and superstitions of our ancestors. Concerning some of these, Miss Alice Gomme says: "It is impossible that they have been invented by children by the mere effort of imagination, and there is ample evidence that they have but carried on interchangeably a record of events, some of which belong to the earliest days of the nation" (242.11).

As Miss Gomme points out, many of the games of English children are simply primitive dramas,—of the life of a woman ("When I was a Young Girl"), of courtship and marriage ("Here comes Three Dukes a-Riding," "Poor Mary sits a-Weeping"), of funerals ("Jenny Jones," "Green Gravel"), of border warfare ("We are the Rovers"), etc. Mr. W. W. Newell had previously remarked the importance of the dramatic element in children's games, citing as historical plays "Miss Jennia Jones" (funeral), "Down she comes as White as Milk," "Green Gravel," "Uncle John," "Barbara Allen," and others more or less partaking of this character, based upon historical ballads, of some of which traces only are now preserved.

By means of carved or graven images in wood or stone, given to children as playthings or as targets to practise skill in shooting or striking with miniature bow-and-arrow or spear, an early acquaintance is formed with many animals. The imitation of animals, their habits and peculiarities, often forms no small part of the dances and games of children of the lower races.

The Child as Actor.

Wallaschek, in his study of the primitive drama and pantomime (546. 214-229), notes the presence of children as dancers and performers among the Andaman Islanders, the Tagals of the Philippines, the Tahitians, Fijis, Polynesians and other more or less primitive races. Of Tibet and some portions of China Mr. Rockhill, in his Diary of a Journey through Mongolia, and Tibet, in 1891 and 1892 (Washington, D. C., 1894), informs us that the lads in every village give theatrical performances, the companies of young actors being known as Hsiao sheng huei, "young men's amateur theatrical company" (p. 68).

Among the aborigines of the New World we find also children as actors and participants in the ceremonies and ritual performances of various tribes. In certain ceremonials of the Sia, as Mrs. Stevenson informs us, young children take part. A boy of eight was allowed to hear the sacred songs on one occasion, and to witness the making of the "medicine-water," but a boy of four was not permitted to be present; the boy also took part in the dance (538. 79). In the rain ceremonial of the "Giant Society," a little girl, eight years old, painted the fetiches quite as dexterously as her elders, and took apparently quite as much interest in the proceedings. In the rain ceremonial of the "Knife Society," boys assist, and in the rain ceremonial of the Querranna, a child (boy) with wand and rattle joins in the celebration of the rites, "requiring no rousing to sing and bend his tiny body to the time of the rattle, and joining in the calls upon the cloud-people to gather to water the earth, with as much enthusiasm as his elders." When children, boys or girls, are about ten or twelve years of age, and have, as the Indians say, "a good head," they are initiated, if they so desire, into some of the mysteries of the dances of the Ka'tsuna, in charge of the Querranna Society (538. 106-117).

Dr. J. W. Fewkes, in his detailed article on the Flute Observance of the Tusayan Indians of Walpi, an interesting study of primitive dramatization, notes the part played by children in these ceremonies. The principal characters are the "Snake Boy," the "Snake Girl," and some girl carriers of the sacred corn, besides lads as acolytes.

The story of the child as an actor has yet to be written. When the ancient Greeks crowded the theatres to hear and see the masterpieces of dramatic and histrionic genius, their "women, slaves, and children" were for the most part left at home, though we do find that later on in history, front seats were provided for the chief Athenian priestesses. No voices of children were heard in chorus, and childhood found no true interpreter upon the stage. In France, in the middle of the seventeenth century, women appear as actors; in England it was not until long after the death of her greatest dramatist that (in 1660) women could fill a role upon the stage without serious hindrance or molestation; in Japan, even now, play-acting is not looked upon as a respectable profession for women. For a long time in England and elsewhere, female parts were taken by children and youths. Here also we meet with companies of child-actors, such as the "Boys of the Grammar School at Westminster," "The Children of Paul's," etc. The influence which produced these survives and flourishes to-day in the fondness of high-school pupils and university students for dramatic performances and recitations, and the number of schools of gesture, elocution, and the like, testifies to the abiding interest of the young in the mimic art. This is also evidenced by the number of child actors and actresses in the theatrical world, and the remarkable precocity of the members of the profession in all lands. In England, the pantomime offers a special outlet for this current of expression, and there the child is a most important factor in stage-life. The precocity of girls in these respects is noteworthy.

The Child as Inventor.

Borrowing his figure of speech from the environment of child-hood, C. J. Weber has said: "Die Gesellschaft ist die Grossmutter der Menschkeit durch ihre Tochter, die Erfindungen,—Society is the grandmother of humanity through her daughters, the inventions," and the familiar proverb—Necessity is the mother of invention—springs from the same source. Isaac Disraeli aptly says: "The golden hour of invention must terminate like other hours; and when the man of genius returns to the cares, the duties, the vexations, and the amusements of life, his companions behold him as one of themselves,—the creature of habits and infirmities," and not a few of the "golden hours of invention" seem to belong to the golden age of childhood. Even in these "degenerate" days the child appears as an inventor. A contributor to the periodical literature of the day remarks: "Children have taken out a number of patents. The youngest inventor on record is Donald Murray Murphy, of St. John, Canada, who, at the age of six years, obtained from the United States exclusive rights in a sounding toy. Mabel Howard, of Washington, at eleven years, invented an ingenious game for her invalid brother and got a patent for it. Albert Gr. Smith, of Biehwood, Illinois, at twelve years invented and patented a rowing apparatus" (Current Lit., K T., xiv. 1893, p. 138).

The works of Newell (313), Bolton (187), Gomme (243), amply reveal the riot of childish variation and invention in games and plays. Mr. Newell observes: "It would be strange if children who exhibit so much inventive talent [in language] did not contrive new games; and we find accordingly that in many families a great part of the amusements of the children are of their own devising. The earliest age of which the writer has authentic record of such ingenuity is two and a half years" (313. 25). And among the primitive peoples the child is not without like invention; some, indeed, of the games our children play, were invented by the savage young ones, whose fathers have been long forgotten in the mist of prehistoric ages—the sports of their children alone surviving as memorials of their existence.

Theal tells us that the Kaffir children, when not engaged in active exercise, "amuse themselves by moulding clay into little images of cattle, or by making puzzles with strings. Some of them are skilful in forming knots with thongs and pieces of wood, which it taxes the ingenuity of the others to undo. The cleverest of them sometimes practise tricks of deception with grains of maize" (543. 221). The distinguished naturalist, Mr. A. R. Wallace, while on his visit to the Malay Archipelago, thought to show the Dyak boys of Borneo something new in the way of the "cat's cradle," but found that he was the one who needed to learn, for the little brown aborigines were able to show him several new tricks (377. 25).

Miklucho-Maclay notes that among the Papuans of north-eastern New Guinea, while the women showed no tendency to ornament pottery, young boys "found pleasure in imprinting with their nails and a pointed stick a sort of ornamental border on some of the pots" (42. 317).

Paola Lombroso, daughter of Professor Cesare Lombroso, the celebrated criminologist, in her recent study of child psychology, observes: "Games (and plays) are the most original creation of the child, who has been able to create them, adapt them to his needs, making of them a sort of gymnastics which enables him to develop himself without becoming fatigued, and we, with the aid of memory, can hardly now lay hold of that feeling of infinite, intense pleasure." Moreover, these popular traditional plays and games, handed down from one generation to another of children, "show how instinctive are these forms of muscular activity and imitative expression, which have their roots in a true physiological and psychic necessity, being a species of tirocinium for the experience of childhood" (301. 136).

The magnum opus, perhaps, of the child as inventor, is the lyre, the discovery of which, classical mythology attributes to the infant Mercury or Hermes. Four hours after his birth the baby god is said to have found the shell of a tortoise, through the opposite edges of which he bored holes, and, inserting into these cords of linen, made the first stringed instrument. The English poet, Aubrey de Vere, singing of an Athenian girl, thus refers to the quaint myth:—

"She loves to pace the wild sea-shore— Or drop her wandering fingers o'er The bosom of some chorded shell: Her touch will make it speak as well As infant Hermes made That tortoise in its own despite Thenceforth in Heaven a shape star-bright."



CHAPTER XVII.

THE CHILD AS POET, MUSICIAN, ETC.

Poeta nascitur, non fit.—Latin Proverb.

As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.—Pope.

The Child and Music.

"Music," said quaint old Thomas Puller, "is nothing else but wild sounds civilized into time and tune," and Wallaschek, in his recent volume on Primitive Music, has shown how every nation under heaven, even the most savage and barbarous of peoples, have had a share in the work of civilization. Music has been called "the language of the gods," "the universal speech of mankind," and, early in the golden age of childhood, the heaven of infancy, is man made captive by "music's golden tongue." As Wallaschek has said of the race, Tracy says of the individual, "no healthy, normal child is entirely lacking in musical 'ear.'" The children of primitive races enjoy music, as well as their fellows in civilized communities. The lullaby, that quod semper ubique et ab omnibus of vocal art, early engages and entrances the infantile ear, and from the musical demonstrations of his elders, the child is not always or everywhere excluded. Indeed, the infant is often ushered into the world amid the din and clamour of music and song which serve to drown the mother's cries of pain, or to express the joy of the family or the community at the successful arrival of the little stranger.

Education in music and the dance begins very early with many peoples. At the school of midwifery at Abu-Zabel in Egypt, according to Clot-Bey, in cases of difficult childbirth, a child is made to hop and dance about between the legs of the mother in order to induce the foetus to imitate it (125. II. 159).

As understudies and assistants to shamans, "medicine-men," and "doctors," children among many primitive peoples soon become acquainted with dance and song.

In Ashanti, boy musicians, singers, and dancers figure in the processions of welcome of the chiefs and kings, and young girls are engaged in the service of the fetiches (438. 258). At a funeral dance of the Latuka, an African tribe, "the women remained outside the row of dancers dancing a slow, stupid step, and screaming a wild and most inharmonious chant, whilst boys and girls in another row beat time with their feet." Burchell, while en route for the Kaffir country, found among certain tribes that "in the evening a whole army of boys would come to his hut and listen with manifest pleasure to the tones of his violin, and would repeat the melodies he played with surprising accuracy" (546. 3, 199). The meke-meke, a dance of the Fiji Islanders, "is performed by boys and girls for whom an old musician plays"; at Tahiti the children "are early taught the 'ubus,' songs referring to the legends or achievements of the gods," and "Europeans have at times found pleasure in the pretty, plaintive songs of the children as they sit in groups on the sea-shore" (546. 35, 180, 208). In some of the Polynesian Islands, young girls are "brought up to dance the timorodea, a most lascivious dance, and to accompany it with obscene songs" (100. 62). At Tongatabu, according to Labillardiere, a young girl "sang a song, the simple theme of which she repeated for half-an-hour" (546. 31). Wallaschek calls attention to the importance of the child in song in the following words (546. 75):—

"In some places the children, separated from the adults, sing choruses among themselves, and under certain circumstances they are the chief support of the practice of singing. On Hawaii, Ellis found boys and girls singing in chorus, with an accompaniment of seven drums, a song in honour of a quondam celebrated chief. Even during supper with the Governor, table-music was performed by a juvenile bard of some twelve or fourteen summers, who sang a monotonous song to the accompaniment of a small drum.... In Fiji a man of position deems it beneath him to sing, and he leaves it to his wife and children, so that women sing with women only, and children with children."

Speaking of the natives of Australia, with whom he came into contact, Beckler says "the octaves of the women and children at the performance he attended were perfectly in tune, as one rarely hears in a modern opera chorus, they were in exact accord." In the Kuri dance, witnessed by Angas, a number of boys take part (546. 37, 223).

In New Guinea "the Tongala-up, a stick with a string whirled in the air, is played by women and children." Among the Tagals of the Philippines, Volliner found (with perhaps a little Spanish influence) "a chorus was performed in a truly charming manner by twelve young girls formed in a circle, one girl standing in the middle to direct." In the Andaman Islands, where the men only, as a rule, sing, "the boys were far the best performers" (546.24, 27, 75).

Among the Apache Indians of Arizona and Mexico, "old matrons and small children dance until no longer able to stand, and stop for very exhaustion" (546. 46).

The Child as Poet.

Victor Hugo, in one of his rhapsodies, exclaims: "The most sublime psalm that can be heard on this earth is the lisping of a human soul from the lips of childhood," and the rhythm within whose circle of influence the infant early finds himself, often leads him precociously into the realm of song. Emerson has said, "Every word was once a poem," and Andrew Lang, in his facetious Ballade of Primitive Man, credits our Aryan ancestors with speaking not in prose, but "in a strain that would scan." In the statement of the philosopher there is a good nugget of truth, and just a few grains of it in the words of the wit.

The analogy between the place and effect of rhythm, music, and poetry in the life of the child and in the life of the savage has been frequently noted. In his recent study of Rhythm (405 a), Dr. Bolton has touched up some aspects of the subject. With children "the habit of rhyming is almost instinctive" and universal. Almost every one can remember some little sing-song or nonsense-verse of his own invention, some rhyming pun, or rhythmic adaptation. The enormous range of variation in the wording of counting-out rhymes, game-songs, and play-verses, is evidence enough of the fertility of invention of child-poets and child-poetesses. Of the familiar counting-out formula Eeny, meeny, miny, mo, the variants are simply legion.

The well-known lines of Pope:—

"As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came,"

receive abundant illustration from the lives of the great geniuses of song.

Among primitive peoples, if anywhere, poeta nascitur, non fit. In her article on Indian Songs, Miss Alice C. Fletcher says: "Children make songs for themselves, which are occasionally handed down to other generations. These juvenile efforts sometimes haunt the memory in maturer years. An exemplary old man once sang to me a composition of his childhood, wherein he had exalted the pleasures of disobedience; but he took particular care that his children should not hear this performance. Young men sing in guessing-games, as they gambol with their companions, tossing from hand to hand a minute ball of buffalo hair or a small pebble, moving their arms to the rhythm of the music." This, and the following statement made of the Omaha Indians, will hold for not a few other savage and barbarous tribes: "Children compose ditties for their games, and young men add music to give zest to their sports" (445).

Dr. F. Boas says of the Eskimo of Baffin Land (402. 572): "Children tell one another fables and sing short songs, especially comic and satirical ones." The heroes of the Basque legend of Aquelarre are thus described by Miss Monteiro (505. 22):—

"Izar and Lanoa were two orphan children; the first was seven years of age, and the latter nine. These poor children, true wandering bards, frequented the mountains, earning a livelihood by singing ballads and national airs in sweet, infantile voices, in return for a bed of straw and a cupful of meal. Throughout the district these children were known and loved on account of their sad state, as well as for their graceful forms and winning ways."

Mr. Chatelain, in his recent work on African folk-tales, says of the natives of Angola: "No Angola child finds difficulty at any time in producing extemporaneous song."

Dr. Gatschet, in his study of the Klamath Indians, gives examples of many songs composed and sung by young people, especially girls; and many other Indian tribes, Algonkian, Iroquois, etc., possess such as well. When Darwin reached Tahiti, his arrival was "sung by a young girl in four improvised strophes, which her fellow-maidens accompanied in a pretty chorus"; and among the song-loving people of the islands of the South Sea, the poetic talent develops quite early in both sexes. Among the aborigines of Peake River, in Australia, when a youth—at puberty—has undergone the ceremony of tattooing, and, his wounds having healed, is about to return to his fellows, "a young girl selected for the purpose, sings in her own way a song which she has composed, and, amid dancing, merriment, and feasting, the youth is welcomed back to his family and his kin" (326. 11. 241). Throughout the Orient woman is a dancer and a singer. India has her bayaderes and nautch-girls, whose dancing and singing talents are world-known.

The Gypsies, too, that wander-folk of the world, are famed for their love-songs and fortune-telling rhymes, which the youth and girlhood among them so often know how to make and use. Crawford, who has translated the Kalevala, the great epic of the Finns, tells us, "The natural speech of this people is poetry. The young men and maidens, the old men and matrons, in their interchange of ideas unwittingly fall into verse" (423. I. xxvi.). Among the young herdsmen and shepherdesses of the pastoral peoples of Europe and Asia, the same precocity of song prevails. With songs of youth and maiden, the hills and valleys of Greece and Italy resound as of old. In his essay on the Popular Songs of Tuscany, Mr. J. A. Symonds observes (540. 600, 602): "Signor Tigri records by name a little girl called Cherubina, who made Rispetti by the dozen, as she watched her sheep upon the hills." When Signor Tigri asked her to dictate to him some of her songs, she replied: "Oh Signore! ne dico tanti quando li canto! ... ma ora ... bisognerebbe averli tutti in visione; se no, proprio non vengono,—Oh Sir! I say so many, when I sing ... but now ... one must have them all before one's mind ... if not, they do not come properly." World-applicable as the boy grows out of childhood—with some little change of season with the varying clime—are the words of Tennyson:—

"In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love,"

and everywhere, if poetry and song be not indeed the very offspring of love, they are at least twin-born with it.

Lombroso, in his discussion of the man of genius, gives many examples of precocious poetical and musical talent: Dante (who at nine years of age wrote sonnets), Tasso (wrote at ten years of age), Wieland (who wrote an epic at 16), Lope de Vega (who wrote verses at 12), Calderoii (at 13), Metastasio (who composed at 10), Handel (who wrote a mass at 13, and was director of opera at 19), Eichhorn, Mozart, and Eibler (all three of whom gave concerts at 6), Beethoven (who wrote sonatas at 13), Weber (who wrote his first opera at 14), Cherubini (who wrote a mass at 15), etc. (300.15).

Among English poets whose precocity was marked, we find the most noteworthy to be Robert Browning, whose first poetic effusion is ascribed to his fourth year. It is now known, however, that poetry is much more common among children than was at first supposed, and early compositions are not to be expected from geniuses alone, but often from the scions of the ruder commonalty.

In her interesting study of individual psychology, Dr. Caroline Miles informs us that out of ninety-seven answers to the question, "Did you express yourself in any art-form before eighteen years of age?" fourteen stated that the person replying used verses alone, fourteen used stories and poetry, three used poetry and drawing or painting, two used poetry and painting. Dr. Miles notes that "those who replied 'no' seemed to take pride in the fact that they had been guilty of no such youthful folly." This is in line with the belief parents sometimes express that the son or daughter who poetizes early is "loony." Some who were not ashamed of these child-expressions volunteered information concerning them, and we learn: "Most interesting was one who wrote a tragedy at ten, which was acted on a little stage for the benefit of her friends; from ten to thirteen, an epic; at thirteen, sentimental and religious poems" (310. 552, 553).

Dr. H. H. Donaldson, in his essay on the Education of the Nervous System, cites the fact that of the musicians whose biographies were examined by Sully, 95% gave promise before twenty years of age, and 100% produced some work before reaching thirty; of the poets, 75% showed promise before twenty, and 92% produced before they were thirty years of age (216. 118). Precocity and genius seem to go together.



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CHILD AS TEACHER AND WISEACRE.

The child is father of the man,—Wordsworth.

And wiser than the gray recluse This child of thine.—Whittier.

And still to Childhood's sweet appeal The heart of genius turns, And more than all the sages teach From lisping voices learns.—Whittier.

Wisdom of Childhood.

In his beautiful verses—forming part of one of the best child-poems in our language—

"And still to childhood's sweet appeal The heart of genius turns, And more than all the sages teach From lisping voices learns,"—

Whittier has expressed that instinctive faith in the wisdom of childhood that seems perennial and pan-ethnic. Browning, in Pippa's Song, has sounded even a deeper note:—

"Overhead the tree-tops meet, Flowers and grass spring 'neath one's feet; There was nought above me, nought below, My childhood had not learned to know: For, what are the voices of birds —Aye, and of beasts,—but words, our words, Only so much more sweet? The knowledge of that with my life begun. But I had so near made out the sun, And counted your stars, the seven and one, Like the fingers of my hand: Nay, I could all but understand Wherefore through heaven the white moon ranges; And just when out of her soft fifty changes No unfamiliar face might overlook me— Suddenly God took me."

The power and wisdom of the child are quaintly and naively brought out in the legends and folk-lore of the various races of men, not alone of the present day, but of all eras of the world's history. As an illustration of the truth contained in the words of a great child-lover, "A little child shall lead them," and their echo in those of the Quaker poet,—

"God hath his small interpreters; The child must teach the man,"

nothing could be more artless and natural than the following legend of the Penobscot Indians of Maine, recorded by Mr. Leland, which tells of the origin of the "crowing of babies" (488. 121):—

When Glooskap, the culture-hero of these Indians, had conquered all his enemies, giants, sorcerers, magicians, evil spirits and ghosts, witches, devils, goblins, cannibals, et id genus omne, pride rose within him, and he said to a certain woman, that now his work was done, for he had conquered all. But she told him that he was mistaken; there yet remained "one whom no one has ever yet conquered or got the better of in any way, and who will remain unconquered to the end of time." This was Wasis, "the baby," who was sitting contentedly on the floor of the wigwam chewing a piece of maple-sugar. The great Glooskap, so the story runs, "had never married or had a child; he knew nought of the way of managing children"—yet he thought he knew all about it. So he smiled graciously at baby, and, "in a voice like that of a summer bird," bade him come to him. But baby sat still and went on sucking his sugar. Then Glooskap got angry, and in a terrible voice, ordered baby to crawl to him at once. But baby merely cried out and yelled, stirring not. Then Glooskap tried his last resort, magic, "using his most awful spells, and singing the songs which raise the dead and scare the devils." Still baby only smiled, and never budged an inch. At last the great Glooskap could do no more; he gave up the attempt in despair, whereupon "baby, sitting on the floor in the sunshine, went 'goo! goo!' and crowed lustily." And to this day, the Indians, when they hear "a babe well-contented going 'goo! goo!' and crowing, and no one can tell why," know that it is because he "remembers the time when he overcame the great Master, who had conquered all things. For of all beings that have been since the beginning, baby is alone the invincible one."

Manabozho, the culture-hero of the Chippeways and other Algonkian tribes of the Great Lakes, and probably identical with his eastern analogue, Gluskap, was, like the latter, discomfited by a child. This is the legend:—

"One day Manabozho appeared upon the earth in an ill-humour. Walking along, he espied a little child sitting in the sun, curled up with his toe in his mouth. Somewhat surprised at this, and being of a dauntless and boastful nature, he set himself down beside the child; and, picking up his own toe, he essayed to place it in his mouth after the manner of the child. He could not do it. In spite of all twisting and turning, his toe could not be brought to reach his mouth. As he was getting up in great discomfiture to get away, he heard a laugh behind him, and did no more boasting that day, for he had been outwitted by a little child."

This characteristic attitude of the child has also been noted by the folk-historians of India; for when, after the death of Brahma, the waters have covered all the worlds, "Vishnu [the 'Preserver,' in the Hindoo Trinity] sits, in the shape of a tiny infant, on a leaf of the pipala (fig-tree), and floats on the sea of milk, sucking the toe of his right foot" (440. 366), and, as Mrs. Emerson points out, "the feat that Manabozho sought in vain to perform is accomplished by the more flexible and lithe Hindoo god, Narayana" (440. 367).

In another Micmac legend, given by Leland, Gluskap appears somewhat more to advantage. Of the Turtle [Mikchich], the "Uncle" of Gluskap, for whom the latter had obtained a wife, we read (488. 57):—

"And Turtle lived happily with his wife, and she had a babe. Now it happened in after-days that Glooskap came to see his uncle, and the child cried. 'Dost thou know what he says?' exclaimed the Master. 'Truly, not I,' answered Mikchich, 'unless it be the language of the Mu-se-gisk (spirits of the air), which no man knoweth.' 'Wel,' replied Glooskap, 'he is talking of eggs, for he says, 'Hoowah! hoowah!' which, methinks, is much the same as 'waw-wun, waw-wun.' And this in Passamaquoddy means 'egg.' 'But where are there any?' asked Mikchich. Then Glooskap bade him seek in the sand, and he found many, and admired and marvelled over them greatly; and in memory of this, and to glorify the jest of Glooskap, the turtle layeth eggs even to this day."

In Mr. Leland's collection, as in the later volume of Dr. Band, there are many other delicate touches of childhood that show that these aborigines have a large measure of that love for children which is present with all races of mankind.

In the legends of the saints and heroes of the Christian Church we meet with numberless instances of the wisdom and instruction that came to them from the mouths of little children.

Among the stories in the life of St. Augustine is the following: "While St. Augustine was composing his book On the Trinity, and was at Civita Vecchia, he saw a little child making a hole in the seashore, and asked him what he was doing. The child replied: 'I am making a hole to contain the water of the sea.' The doctor smiled, telling the child it would not be possible to do so; but the child made answer: 'Not so, Augustine. It would be far easier to drain off the waters of the great deep than for the finite to grasp the Infinite'; and so he vanished. Augustine then knew that the child was an angel of God, sent to warn him, and he diligently set to work to revise what he had written" (191. 355).

The best of mankind can still sit at the feet of childhood and learn of its wisdom. But of many a one must it be said:—

"He hath grown so foolish-wise He cannot see with childhood's eyes; He hath forgot that purity And lowliness which are the key Of Nature's mysteries."



CHAPTER XIX.

THE CHILD AS JUDGE.

So, Holy Writ in Babes hath judgment shown, Where Judges have been babes.—Shakespeare.

O wise young judge I—Shakespeare.

The Child as Judge

Shakespeare in All's Well that Ends Well, makes Helen say to the King:—

"He that of greatest works is finisher, Oft does them by the weakest minister: So, Holy Writ in babes hath judgment shown, When judges have been babes."

And in the history of the human race, appeal has often been made to the innocence and imputed discernment of the child.

As one of the glories of God, David sang in Israel of old: "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength, because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger." And the disciple Matthew reiterates the thought: "Thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes"; and, again: "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou perfected praise."

Solomon.

The stories told of Solomon—the judgments of the wise Hebrew monarch, when a child, were as remarkable as those which he made after attaining man's estate—have their counterparts in other lands. One of the most celebrated decisions was rendered by Solomon when he was but thirteen years of age. Well gives the story as follows (547.192):—

"The accuser had sold some property to the other, who, in clearing out a cellar, had found a treasure. He now demanded that the accused should give up the treasure, since he had bought the property without it; while the other maintained that the accuser possessed no right to the treasure, since he had known nothing of it, and had sold the property with all that it contained. After long meditation, David adjudged that the treasure should be divided between them. But Solomon inquired of the accuser whether he had a son, and, when he replied that he had a son, he inquired of the other if he had a daughter; and he also answering in the affirmative, Solomon said: 'If you will adjust your strife so as not to do injustice one to the other, unite your children in marriage, and give them this treasure as their dowry.'" In many other difficult cases, David, after the loss of the tube which, according to legend, the angel Gabriel brought him, was aided in judgment by the wisdom and far-sightedness of his young son. A decision similar to that of Solomon is attributed to Buddha, when a child, and to Christ.

Child-Judgments.

Mullenhoff records two cases of child-judgments in his collection of the folk-lore of Schleswig-Holstein. The first is as follows: "A branch of the river Widau, near Tondern, is named Eenzau, from the little village Eenz in the parish of Burkall. Where the banks are pretty high and steep, a man fell into the water once upon a time, and would have been drowned had not a certain person, hearing his cries, hastened to the river, and, holding out a pole, enabled the drowning man to help himself out. In doing so, however, he put out an eye. The rescued man appeared at the next thing (court), entered a complaint against the other, and demanded compensation for his lost eye. The judges, not knowing what to make of the case, put it off till the next thing, in order to meditate upon it in the meantime. But the third thing came, and the district-judge had not made up his mind about it. Out of humour, he mounted his horse and rode slowly and thoughtfully in the direction of Tondern, where the thing was then held. He reached Rohrkarrberg, and, opposite the house which is still standing there, lay a stone heap, upon which sat three herd-boys, apparently busy with something of importance. 'What are you doing there, children?' asked the judge. 'We are playing thing' (court), was the answer. 'What is the matter before the court?' continued the judge. 'We are trying the case of the man who fell into the Eenzau,' they answered, and the judge held his horse to await the verdict. The boys did not know him, for he was well hidden in his cloak, and his presence did not disturb them. The judgment rendered was, that the man who had been rescued should be thrown into the stream again at the same spot; if he was able to save himself, then he should receive compensation for the eye he had lost; if he could not, the decision was to be in favour of the other. Before the district-judge went away, he put his hand into his pocket and gave the boys some money; then, merrily riding to Tondern, he rendered the same judgment as the boys had given. The fellow was unable to save himself without assistance, and was like to have been drowned; consequently, his rescuer won the case" (508. 87, 88). The other case, said to have occurred at Rapstede, was this:—

"A tailor and a peasant, both possessing nothing more than a wretched hut, made a bargain for so and so many bushels of corn at such and such a price, although the tailor knew that the peasant had no money, and the peasant knew that the tailor had a needle, but no corn. Soon the price of corn rose, and the peasant appeared before the court to demand that the tailor should fulfil his part of the bargain. The judges were at a loss to decide such a matter. In this case, also, boys rendered judgment. The decision was, that the agreement was invalid, for both, being neighbours, had known each other's circumstances, and yet both were culpable for having entered into such a deceitful bargain" (508. 88).

These decisions belong to the same category as that rendered by Solomon in the case of the two women, who both claimed the same child,—a judgment which has gone upon record in the Bible (1 Kings, iii. 16-28),—and a multitude of similar interpretations of justice found all over the world (191. 290).

Mr. Newell, speaking of children's games in which judicial procedures are imitated, but from whose decisions no serious results ever come, observes (313. 123):—

"In the ancient world, however, where the courts were a place of resort, and law was not a specialized profession, the case was different. Maximus of Tyre tells us that the children had their laws and tribunals; condemnation extended to the forfeiture of toys. Cato the younger, according to Plutarch, had his detestation of tyranny first awakened by the punishment inflicted on a playmate by such a tribunal. One of the younger boys had been sentenced to imprisonment; the doom was duly carried into effect; but Cato, moved by his cries, rescued him."

Children's Ideas of Right.

Mr. Brown, of the formal School at Worcester, Massachusetts, has given us an excellent collection of Thoughts and Reasonings of Children (194), and Signora Paola Lombroso, in her interesting and valuable Essays on Child-Psychology, has also contributed to the same subject (301. 45-72). A very recent study is that of Children's Rights, by Margaret E. Schallenberger (341), of Leland Stanford, Jr. University, California. The last author has charted the opinions of a large number—some three thousand papers were collected—of boys and girls from six to sixteen years of age, upon the following case, the story being employed as specially appealing to children (341. 89):—

"Jennie had a beautiful new box of paints; and, in the afternoon, while her mother was gone, she painted all the chairs in the parlour, so as to make them look nice for her mother. When her mother came home, Jennie ran to meet her, and said, 'Oh mamma! come and see how pretty I have made the new parlour'; but her mamma took her paints away and sent her to bed. If you had been her mother, what would you have done or said to Jennie?"

From this extensive and most ingenious investigation, the following results are thought to have been obtained: "Young children are less merciful than older ones. When they appear cruel and resentful, we know that they are exercising what they honestly consider the right of revenge. Boys are less merciful than girls. Young children judge of actions by their results, older ones look at the motives which prompt them. If a young child disobeys a command and no bad result follows, he doesn't see that he has done wrong. Punishments which, have in them the idea of restitution are common to all ages. Girls consider the why more than boys; they explain to Jennie oftener than boys do. Threats and forced promises do not impress children" (341. 96).

Jurisprudence of Child's Play.

Pitre, the great Italian folklorist, has made a special study, though a very brief one, of the judgments rendered by children in games and plays,—the jurisprudence of child's play (323). His essay, which is devoted to the island of Sicily, touches upon a field which is likely to yield a rich harvest all over the world. The rules of the game; who shall play and who shall not; what is "out," "taw," "in"; when is one "it," "caught," "out"; what can one "bar," and what "choose,"—all these are matters which require the decisions of the youthful judiciary, and call for the frequent exercise of judgment, and the sense of justice and equity. Of the "Boy Code of Honour" some notice is taken by Gregor (246. 21-24). Mr. Newell thus describes the game of "Judge and Jury," as played at Cambridge, Massachusetts (312.123): "A child is chosen to be judge, two others for jurors (or, to speak with our little informant, juries), who sit at his right and left hand. Each child must ask the permission of the judge before taking any step. A platter is brought in, and a child, rising, asks the judge, 'May I go into the middle of the room?' 'May I turn the platter?' 'On which side shall it fall?' If the platter falls on the wrong side, forfeit must be paid." In Germany and Switzerland there is a game of the trial of a thief. In the former country: "There is a king, a judge, an executioner, an accuser, and a thief. The parts are assigned by drawing lots, but the accuser does not know the name of the thief, and, if he makes an error, has to undergo the penalty in his stead. The judge finally addresses the king, inquiring if his majesty approves of his decision; and the king replies, 'Yes, your sentence entitles you to my favour'; or, 'No, your sentence entitles you to so many blows.' Thus we see how modern child's play respects the dignity of the king as the fountain of law." In the Swiss version, as Mr. Newell remarks, "the memory of the severity of ancient criminal law is preserved," for "the thief flies, and is chased over stock and stone until caught, when he is made to kneel down, his cap pushed over his brows, and his head immediately struck off with the edge of a board" (313.124).

Boy-Moots.

The most interesting section, perhaps, of Mr. Johnson's Rudimentary Society among Boys, is that devoted to "Judicial Procedure" (272. 35-48). Fighting, arbitration, the ordeal and the wager have all been in use as modes of settling quarrels at the McDonogh School—such matters of dispute as arose having been left for the boys to settle among themselves without the control of the faculty. Indeed, the advice which Polonius gives to Laertes seems to have been ever present in the earlier days:—

"Beware Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in, Bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee."

Following the appeal to fists came the appeal to chance and luck—the "odd or even" marbles, the "longest straw," and like devices came into vogue. The arbitration of a bystander, particularly of "a big boy who could whip the others," and the "expedient of laying a wager to secure the postponement of a quarrel," are very common. But the most remarkable institution at McDonogh is undoubtedly the boy-moot, one of whose decisions is reported in detail by Mr. Johnson,—an institution in action "almost daily," and part and parcel of the life of the school. None but the author's own words can justly portray it (272. 47, 48):—

"The crowd of boys assembled about the contestants, whose verdict decides the controversy, is, in many respects, the counterpart of a primitive assembly of the people in the folk-moot. Every boy has the right to express an opinion, and every boy present exercises his privilege, though personal prowess and great experience in matters of law have their full influence on the minds of the judges. The primitive idea that dispensing justice is a public trust, which the community itself must fulfil towards its members, is embodied in this usage of the 'McDonogh boys.' The judges are not arbitrators chosen by the disputants, nor are they public functionaries whose sole business is to preside over the courts; but the whole body of the population declares by word of mouth the right and wrong of the matter. This tumultuous body of school-fellows, giving decisions in quarrels, and determining questions of custom, reproduces with remarkable fidelity the essential character of the primitive assembly."

Mr. Johnson was struck with "the peace and good order generally prevalent in the community," which speaks well for the judicial system there in vogue.

The editor, in his introductory remarks, observes:—

"Every schoolboy and every college student in his upward way to real manhood represents the evolution of a primitive savage into a civilized being. Every school and college reproduces the developmental process of a human society in some of its most interesting aspects, such as government and law. There are all stages of social development in the student class, from actual savagery, which frequently crops out in the very best schools and colleges, to effeminate forms of modern civilization. There are all degrees of institutional government, from total anarchy and patriarchal despotism to Roman imperialism and constitutional government; although it must be admitted that self-government among the student class—said to obtain in some American schools and colleges—is not yet a chartered right. The regulation of student society by itself, or by all the powers that be, presents all phases of judicature, from the most savage ordeals to the most humane. Student customs are full of ancient survivals, and some editions of 'College Laws' are almost as archaic as the Code of Manu. One of these days we shall perhaps find men investigating college jurisprudence, college government, and college politics from the comparative point of view, and writing the natural history of the student class" (272. 3).

In the community of the sand-pile studied by Dr. Hall, "a general habit of settling disputes, often brought to issue with fists, by means of meetings and specifications, arose." There is room for a volume on the jurisprudence of childhood and youth, and every page would be of intensest interest and of value in the history of the evolution of the ideas of justice in the human race.



CHAPTER XX.

THE CHILD AS ORACLE-KEEPER AND ORACLE- INTERPRETER.

Enfants et fous sont devins [Children and fools are soothsayers]. —French Proverb.

Children pick up words as chickens peas, And utter them again as God shall please.—English Proverb.

The fresh face of a child is richer in significance than the forecasting of the most indubitable seer.—Novalis.



Child-Oracles.

"Children and fools speak the truth," says an old and wide-spread proverb, and another version includes him who is drunken, making a trinity of truth-tellers. In like manner have the frenzy of wine and the madness of the gods been associated in every age with oracle and sign, and into this oracular trinity enters also the child. Said De Quincey: "God speaks to children also, in dreams and by the oracles that lurk in darkness," and the poet Stoddard has clothed in exquisite language a similar thought:—

"Nearer the gate of Paradise than we, Our children breathe its air, its angels see; And when they pray, God hears their simple prayer, Yea, even sheathes his sword in judgment bare."

The passage in Joel ii. 28, "Your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions," might stand for not a few primitive peoples, with whom, once in childhood (or youth) and once again in old age, man communes with the spirits and the gods, and interprets the events of life to his fellows. The Darien Indians, we are told, "used the seeds of the Datura sanguinea to bring on in children prophetic delirium in which they revealed hidden treasures" (545. II. 417).

One of the most curious of the many strange practices which the conservatism of the Established Church of England has continued down to the present is one in vogue at the parish church of St. Ives, in Huntingdonshire. A certain Dr. Eobert Wilde, who died in 1678, "bequeathed L50, the yearly interest of which was to be expended in the purchase of six Bibles, not exceeding the price of 7s. 6d each, which should be 'cast for by dice' on the communion table every year by six boys and six girls of the town." The vicar was also to be paid 10s. a year for preaching an appropriate sermon on the Holy Scriptures. Public opinion has within recent years caused the erection of a table on the chancel steps, where the dice-throwing now takes place, instead of on the communion table as of old. Every May 26th the ceremony is performed, and in 1888 we are told: "The highest throw this year (three times with three dice) was 37, by a little girl. The vicar (the Rev. E. Tottenham) preached a sermon from the words, 'From a child thou hast known the Holy Scriptures'" (390 (1888). 113).

The Child as Vision-Seer.

In the history of the Catholic Church one cannot fail to be struck by the part played by children in the seeing of visions, especially of the Virgin. To St. Agnes of Monte Pulciano (A.D. 1274-1317), when fourteen years of age, the Virgin appeared and told her she should build a monastery before she died (191. 24); Jeanne de Maille (1332-1414) was but eleven when the Virgin Mary with the infant Jesus came before her in a vision; Catherine of Racconigi (1486-1547) was visited by the Virgin when only five years of age (191. 108); in 1075, Hermann of Cologne, while still a boy, saw in a vision the Virgin, who kissed him, and made a secret deposit of food on a certain stone for his benefit. In 1858 a vision of the Immaculate Conception appeared to Bernadetta Soubirous, a sickly child of fourteen, at Lourdes, in the Hautes Pyrenees. No one else saw this vision, said to have occurred on Shrove Tuesday (Feb. 11), four years after Pius IX. had proclaimed the dogma of the Immaculate Conception. The vision lasted for fourteen successive days (191. 484). On Jan. 17, 1871, the Virgin is alleged to have appeared at Pontmain to several children, and a detailed account of the vision has been given by Mgr. Guerin, chamberlain of Pius IX., in his Vie des Saints, and this is digested in Brewer. The children who saw the apparition are described as follows: "Eugene Barbedette was the second son of a small farmer living in the village of Pontmain, in the diocese of Laval. He was twelve years old, and his brother Joseph was ten. The other two [Francoise Richer, Jeanne Marie Lebosse] were children from neighbouring cottages, called in to witness the sight. The parents of the children, the pastor of the village, Sister Vitaline, the abbot Guerin, all present, could see nothing, nor could any of the neighbours of outlying villages, who flocked to the place. Only the children mentioned, a sick child, and a babe in the arms of its grandmother, saw the apparition." The description of the Virgin, as seen by Eugene Barbedette that starlight winter night, is quaint and naive in the extreme: "She was very tall, robed in blue, and her robe studded with stars. Her shoes were also blue, but had red rosettes. Her face was covered with a black veil, which floated to her shoulders. A crown of gold was on her head, but a red line was observed to run round the crown, symbolic of the blood shed by Christ for the sins of the world. Beneath her feet was a scroll, on which were written these words: 'Mais priez, mes enfants, Dieu vous exaucera, en peu de temps mon fils se laisse toucher' (Pray, my children, God will hear you, before long my son will be moved)." Mgr. Guerin thus comments upon the miracle: "In order to make herself manifest to men, the Holy Virgin has chosen rather the simple eyes of childhood; for, like troubled waters, sinful souls would have but ill reflected her celestial image" (191. 26).

Flower- and Animal-Oracles.

Mr. Newell has a chapter on "Flower-Oracles" (313. 105-114), in which he gives many illustrations of the practice noted in the lines of that nature-loving mediaeval German singer, with which he prefaces his remarks:—

"A spire of grass hath made me gay; It saith I shall find mercy mild. I measured in the self-same way I have seen practised by a child." "Come look and listen if she really does: She does, does not, she does, does not, she does. Each time I try, the end so augureth. That comforts me,—'tis right that we have faith."

The ox-eye daisy, the common daisy, the marguerite, the corn-flower, the dandelion, the rose, the pansy, the clover, and a score of other flowers and plants (to say nothing of bushes and trees) have their leaves and petals pulled off, their seeds counted, their fruit examined, their seed-tufts blown away, their markings and other peculiarities deciphered and interpreted to determine the fortune of little questioners, the character of the home they are to live in, the clothes they are to be married in, what they are to ride in, the profession they are to adopt, whether they are to marry, remain single, become monk or nun, whether they are to be drowned or hanged, rich or poor, honest or criminal, whether they are to go to hell, purgatory, or paradise.

The use of drawing straws or blades of grass from the hand to determine who is "it," or who shall begin the game, the blowing of the dandelion in seed, the counting of apple-pips, or the leaves on a twig, and a hundred other expedients belong to the same category. All these are oracles, whose priest and interpreter is the child; first, in "those sweet, childish days that were as long as twenty days are now," and then again when love rules the heart and the appeal to the arbitrament of nature—for not alone all mankind but all nature loves a lover—is made in deepest faith and confidence. In the golden age of childhood and in the springtime of love all nature is akin to man. The dandelion is especially favoured as an oracle of children, and of those who are but "children of a larger growth." To quote from Folkard (448. 309):—

"The dandelion is called the rustic oracle; its flowers always open about 5 A.M. and shut at 8 P.M., serving the shepherd for a clock.

'Leontodons unfold On the swart turf their ray-encircled gold, With Sol's expanding beam the flowers unclose, And rising Hesper lights them to repose.'—Darwin.

As the flower is the shepherd's clock, so are the feathery seedtufts his barometer, predicting calm or storm. These downy seedballs, which children blow off to find out the hour of day, serve for other oracular purposes. Are you separated from the object of your love? Carefully pluck one of the feathery heads; charge each of the little feathers composing it with a tender thought; turn towards the spot where the loved one dwells; blow, and the seed-ball will convey your message faithfully. Do you wish to know if that dear one is thinking of you? blow again; and if there be left upon the stalk a single aigrette, it is a proof you are not forgotten. Similarly, the dandelion is consulted as to whether the lover lives east, west, north, or south, and whether he is coming or not.

'Will he come? I pluck the flower leaves off, And, at each, cry yes, no, yes; I blow the down from the dry hawkweed, Once, twice—hah! I it flies amiss!'—Scott."

Many interesting details about flower-oracles may be read in the pages of Friend (453) and Folkard (448) and in Mr. Dyer's chapters on Plants and the Ceremonial Use (435. 145-162), Children's Rhymes and Games (435. 232-242), etc.

Beasts, birds, and insects are also the child's oracles. Mr. Callaway tells us that among the Amazulu, when cattle are lost, and the boys see the bird called Isi pungumangati sitting on a tree, "they ask it where the cattle are, and go in the direction in which it points with its head." The insect known as the mantis, or "praying insect," is used for a similar purpose (417. 339). In the Sollinger forest (Germany), on St. Matthew's day, February 24, the following practice is in vogue: A girl takes a girl friend upon her back and carries her to the nearest sheep-pen, at the door of which both knock. If a lamb is the first to bleat, the future husbands of both girls will be young; if an old sheep bleats first, they will both marry old men (391. II. 10).

The Child as Oracle in the Primitive Community.

In primitive social economy the services of the child, as an unprejudiced or oracular decider of fates and fortunes, were often in demand. In the community of Pudu-vayal, in the Carnatic (southeastern India), "when the season for cultivation arrives, the arable land in the village is allotted to the several shareholders in the following manner: The names of each lot and each share-holder are written on pieces of the leaf of the palm-tree, such as is used for village records, and the names of each division of land to be allotted are placed in a row. A child, selected for the purpose, draws by lot a leaf with the name of the principal share-holder, and places under it a number, thus,—

1—Tannappa. 2—Nina. 3—Narrappa. 4—Malliyan.

It is thus settled by lottery that Tannappa and his under-share-holders are to cultivate the land of the principal share lotted under No. 1. Tannappa next proceeds to settle in the same way each under-shareholder's portion included in his principal share, and so on, until the sixty-four shareholders receive each his allotment (461. 32)."

At Haddenham, in the county of Buckingham, England, a somewhat similar practice survived: "The method of deciding the ownership, after the meadow was plotted out, was by drawing lots. This was done by cutting up a common dock-weed into the required number of pieces to represent the lots, a well understood sign being carved on each piece, representing crows' feet, hog-troughs, and so on. These were placed in a hat and shaken up. Before this could be done, however, notice must be given by one of the men, calling out, at the top of his voice, 'Harko,' and using some sort of rigmarole, calling people to witness that the lots were drawn fairly and without favour.... The hat being shaken up, and one of the boys standing by, looking on with the greatest interest, is pitched upon as a disinterested person to draw the lots, and each owner had to 'sup up' with the lot that fell to him" (461.270).

In the manor of Aston, in the parish of Bampton, Oxfordshire, a like custom prevailed: "When the grass was fit to cut, the grass stewards and Sixteens [stewards] summoned the freeholders and tenants to a general meeting, and the following ceremony took place: Four of the tenants came forward, each bearing his mark cut on a piece of wood, which, being thrown into a hat, were shaken up and drawn by a boy. The first drawing entitled its owner to have his portion of the common meadow in set one, the second drawn in set two, etc., and thus four of the tenants have obtained their allotments. Four others then came forward, and the same process is repeated until all the tenants have received their allotments" (461. 166).

In Kilkenny, "when the division is made out, lots are prepared. Each man takes a bit of stick or particular stone, well marked; these are enveloped in a ball of clay, and a child or stranger is called to place each ball upon some one of the lots, by which each man's share is determined" (461. 141).

The Kaffir boy who is to tend the calves in the kraal, while his fellows sport and romp about, is selected by lot: "As many blades of grass as there are boys are taken, and a knot is made on the end of one of them. The biggest boy holds the blades between the fingers and thumb of his closed hand, and whoever draws the blade with the knot has to act as herdsman" (543. 221). Nowadays, children are employed to turn roulette-wheels, sort cards, pick out lottery-tickets, select lucky numbers, set machinery going for the first time, and perform other like actions; for, though men are all "children of fortune," there is something about real children that brings luck and prospers all enterprises of chance and hazard.

Unconscious action and selection by children have no doubt profoundly influenced individual men and society at times. De Quincey tells us that "the celebrated Dr. Doddridge is said to have been guided in a primary act of choice, influencing his whole after life, by a few chance words from a child reading aloud to his mother." The story of the conversion of drunken John Stirling by the naive remark of his four-year-old boy, as the mother was reading Matthew xxv. 31-33, "Will father be a goat, then, mother?" finds parallels in other lives and other lands (191.356). Here may be considered as belonging some of the "guessing-games," certain of which, in forms remarkably like those in use to-day, were known to the ancients, as Mr. Newell has pointed out, from references in Xenophon and Petronius Arbiter (313. 147-152).

Oracular Games.

As we of to-day see in the sports and games of children some resemblance to the realities of life of our ancestors of long ago, and of those primitive peoples who have lingered behind in the march, of culture, so have the folk seen in them some echo, some oracular reverberation, of the deeds of absent elders, some forecast of the things to come.

Among the Shushwap Indians of British Columbia, the following belief is current regarding twins: "While they are children their mother can see by their plays whether her husband, when he is out hunting, will be successful or not. When the twins play about and feign to bite each other, he will be successful; if they keep quiet, he will return empty-handed" (404. 92).

In Saxon Transylvania, "when children play games in which dolls and the like are buried, play church, or sing hymns in the street, it is thought to foretell the approaching death of some one in the place" (392 (1893).18).

Similar superstitions attach to others of the games and sports of childhood, in which is reproduced the solemn earnest of an earlier manhood; for, with some peoples, the conviction that what is acted in pantomime must occur at a later date in all its reality, finds ready acceptance, and hence children are sometimes even now debarred from carrying out some of their games, from a vague fear that ill will come of them in the manner indicated.



CHAPTER XXI.

THE CHILD AS WEATHER-MAKER.

Rain, rain, go away, Come again, another day.—Children's Rhyme.

Perhaps the most naive tale in which, the child figures as a weather-maker occurs in the life-story of St. Vincent Ferrier (1357-1419 A.D.), who is credited with performing, in twenty years, no fewer than 58,400 miracles. While the saint was not yet a year old, a great dearth prevailed in Valencia, and one day, while his mother was lamenting over it, "the infant in swaddling-clothes said to her distinctly, 'Mother, if you wish for rain, carry me in procession.' The babe was carried in procession, and the rain fell abundantly" (191.356). Brewer informs us that in 1716 "Mrs. Hicks and her daughter (a child nine years of age) were hung at Huntingdon [England], for 'selling their souls to the devil; and raising a storm by pulling off their stockings and making a lather of soap'" (191. 344). Saints and witches had power to stop rains and lay storms as well as to bring them on.

H. F. Feilberg has given us an interesting account of "weather-making," a folk-custom still in vogue in several parts of Denmark. It would appear that this strange custom exists in Djursland, Samse, Sejere, Nexele, in the region of Kallundborg. Here "the women 'make weather' in February, the men in March, all in a fixed order, usually according to the numbers of the tax-register. The pastor and his wife, each in his and her month, 'make weather' on the first of the month, after them the other inhabitants of the village. If the married men are not sufficient to fill out the days of the months, the unmarried ones and the servants are called upon,—the house-servant perhaps 'making weather' in the morning, the hired boy in the afternoon, and in like manner the kitchen-maid and the girl-servant" (392 (1891). 56, 58). In this case we have a whole family, household, community of "weather-makers," old and young, and are really taken back to a culture-stage similar to that of the Caribs and Chibchas of America, with whom the chief was weather-maker as well as ruler of his people (101. 57).

The "Bull-Roarer."

In Mr. Andrew Lang's Custom and Myth there is an entertaining chapter on "The Bull Roarer," which the author identifies with the [Greek: rombos] mentioned by Clemens of Alexandria as one of the toys of the infant Dionysus. The "bull-roarer," known to the modern English boy, the ancient Greek, the South African, the American Indian, etc., is in actual use to-day by children,—Mr. Lang does not seem to be aware of the fact,—as a "wind-raiser," or "weather-maker." Mr. Gregor, speaking of northeastern Scotland, says: "During thunder it was not unusual for boys to take a piece of thin wood a few inches wide and about half a foot long, bore a hole in one end of it, and tie a few yards of twine into the hole. The piece of wood was rapidly whirled around the head under the belief that the thunder would cease, or that the thunder-bolt would not strike. It went by the name of the 'thunner-spell'" (246. 153).

Among the Kaffirs, according to Mr. Theal:—

"There is a kind of superstition connected with the nowidu [the South African 'bull-roarer'], that playing with it invites a gale of wind. Men will, on this account, often prevent boys from using it when they desire calm weather for any purpose" (543. 223).

Dr. Boas tells us that the Shushwap Indians of British Columbia attribute supernatural powers to twins, and believe: "They can make good and bad weather. In order to produce rain they take a small basket filled with water, which they spill into the air. For making clear weather, they use a small stick to the end of which a string is tied. A small flat piece of wood is attached to the end of the string, and this implement is shaken. Storm is produced by strewing down on the ends of spruce branches" (404. 92).

The Nootka Indians have a like belief regarding twins: "They have the power to make good and bad weather. They produce rain by painting their faces with black colour and then washing them, or by merely shaking their heads" (404. 40).

Among some of the Kwakiutl Indians, upon the birth of twins "the father dances for four days after the children have been born, with a large square rattle. The children, by swinging this rattle, can cure disease and procure favourable winds and weather" (404. 62).

In Prussia, when it snows, the folk-belief is "the angels are shaking their little beds," and Grimm's story of "Old Mother Frost" has another rendering of the same myth: "What are you afraid of, my child! Stop with me: if you will put all things in order in my house, then all shall go well with you; only you must take care that you make my bed well, and shake tremendously, so that the feathers fly; then it snows upon earth. I am Old Mother Frost."

An Eskimo legend states that thunder and lightning are caused by an adult person and a child, who went up in the sky long, long ago; they carry a dried seal-skin, which, when rattled, makes the thunder, and torches of tar, which, when waved, cause the lightning.

The Mississaga Indians explain a fierce storm of thunder and lightning by saying that "the young thunder-birds up in the sky are making merry and having a good time." In like manner, the Dakotas account for the rumbling of thunder, "because the old thunder-bird begins the peal and the young ones take it up and continue."

In the poetry of the ancient Aryans of Asia the wind is called "the heavenly child," some idea of which survives in the old pictures in books representing the seasons, and in maps, where infants or cherubs are figured as blowing at the various points of the compass. But to return to rain-making. Grimm has called attention to several instances in Modern Europe where the child figures as "rain-maker."

Girl Rain-Makers.

One of the charms in use in the Rhine country of Germany in the eleventh century, as recorded by Burchard of Worms, was this: "A little girl, completely undressed and led outside the town, had to dig up henbane with the little finger of her right hand, and tie it to the little toe of her right foot; she was then solemnly conducted by the other maidens to the nearest river, and splashed with water" (462. II. 593).

In Servia the rain-maker is well known, and the procedure is as follows: "A girl, called the dodola, is stript naked, but so wrapt up in grass, herbs, and flowers, that nothing of her person is to be seen, not even the face. Escorted by other maidens, dodola passes from house to house; before each house they form a ring, she standing in the middle and dancing alone. The goodwife comes out and empties a bucket of water over the girl, who keeps dancing and whirling all the while; her companions sing songs, repeating after every line the burden oy dodo, oy dodo le." Following is one of the rain-songs:—

"To God doth our doda call, oy dodo oy dodo le! That dewy rain may fall, oy dodo oy dodo le! And drench the diggers all, oy dodo oy dodo le! The workers great and small, oy dodo oy dodo le! Even those in house and stall, oy dodo oy dodo le!"

Corresponding to the Servian dodola, and thought to be equally efficacious, is the [Greek: pyrperuna] of the Modern Greeks. With them the custom is: "When it has not rained for a fortnight or three weeks, the inhabitants of villages and small towns do as follows. The children choose one of themselves, who is from eight to ten years old, usually a poor orphan, whom they strip naked and deck from head to foot with field herbs and flowers: this child is called pyrperuna. The others lead her round the village, singing a hymn, and every housewife has to throw a pailful of water over the pyrperuna's head and hand the children a para (1/4 of a farthing)" (462. I. 594).

In a Wallachian song, sung by children when the grain is troubled by drought, occurs the following appeal: "Papaluga (Father Luga), climb into heaven, open its doors, and send down rain from above, that well the rye may grow!" (462. II. 593). This brings us naturally to the consideration of the rain-rhymes in English and cognate tongues.

Rain-Rhymes.

Mr. Henderson, treating of the northern counties of England, tells us that when the rain threatens to spoil a boy's holiday, he will sing out:—

"'Rain, rain, go away, Come again another summer's day; Rain, rain, pour down, And come no more to our town.'

or:—

'Rain, rain, go away, And come again on washing day,'

or, more quaintly, yet:—

'Rain, rain, go to Spain; Fair weather, come again,'

and, sooner or later, the rain will depart. If there be a rainbow, the juvenile devotee must look at it all the time. The Sunderland version runs thus:—

'Rain, rain, pour down Not a drop in our town, But a pint and a gill All a-back of Building Hill.'"

Mr. Henderson remarks that "such rhymes are in use, I believe, in every nursery in England," and they are certainly well known, in varying forms in America. A common English charm for driving away the rainbow brings the child at once into the domain of the primitive medicine-man. Schoolboys were wont, "on the appearance of a rainbow, to place a couple of straws or twigs across on the ground, and, as they said, 'cross out the rainbow.' The West Riding [Yorkshire] receipt for driving away a rainbow is: 'Make a cross of two sticks and lay four pebbles on it, one at each end'" (469. 24, 25).

Mr. Gregor, for northeastern Scotland, reports the following as being sung or shouted at the top of the voice by children, when a rainbow appears (246. 153, 154):—

(1) "Rainbow, rainbow, Brack an gang hame, The coo's wi' a calf, The yow's wi' a lam, An' the coo 'ill be calvt, Or ye win hame."

(2) "Rainbow, rainbow, Brack an gang hame; Yir father an yir mither's aneth the layer-stehm; Yir coo's calvt, yir mare's foalt, Yir wife'll be dead Or ye win hame."

(3) "Rainbow, rainbow, Brack an gang hame, Yir father and mither's aneth the grave stehn."

Even more touching is the appeal made by the children in Berwickshire, according to Mr. Henderson (469. 24, 25):—

"Rainbow, rainbow, hand awa' hame, A' yer bairns are dead but ane, And it lies sick at yon gray stane, And will be dead ere you win hame. Gang owre the Drumaw [a hill] and yont the lea And down by the side o' yonder sea; Your bairn lies greeting [crying] like to dee, And the big tear-drop is in his e'e."

Sometimes the child-priest or weather-maker has to employ an intermediary. On the island of Rugen and in some other parts of Germany the formula is (466 a. 132):—

"Leeve Katriene Lat de stinnen schienen, Lat'n ragen overgahn, Lat de stunnen wedder kam'n." ["Dear (St.) Catharine, Let the sun shine, Let the rain pass off, Let the sun come again."]

In Eugen the glow-worm is associated with "weather-making." The children take the little creature up, put it on their hand and thus address it (466 a. 133):—

"Sunnskurnken fleeg weech, Bring mi morgen good wader, Lat 'en ragen overgahn, Lat de sunnen wedder kam'n, Bring mi morgen good wader."

If the insect flies away, the good weather will come; if not, there will be rain.

The Altmark formula, as given by Danneil (Worterb., p. 81) is:—

"Herrgottswormk'n, fleg nao'n Himmel, segg din Vaoder un Mutter, dat't morgen un aowermorg'n god Wad'r wart." ["Little God's-worm, fly to heaven, tell your father and mother to make it fine weather to-morrow and the day after to-morrow."]

Another rain-rhyme from Altmark, sung by children in the streets when it rains, is harsh in tone, and somewhat derisive as well (p. 153):—

"Rag'n blatt, maok mi nich natt, Maok den olln Paop'n natt De'n Bud'l vull Geld hat." ["Rain, don't make me wet, Make the old priest wet, Who has a purse full of money."]

Concerning the Kansa Indians, Rev. J. Owen Dorsey informs us that the members of the Tcihacin or Kanze gens are looked upon as "wind people," and when there is a blizzard the other Kansa appeal to them: "O, Grandfather, I wish good weather! Please cause one of your children to be decorated!" The method of stopping the blizzard is as follows: "Then the youngest son of one of the Kanze men, say one over four feet high, is chosen for the purpose, and painted with red paint. The youth rolls over and over in the snow and reddens it for some distances all around him. This is supposed to stop the storm" (433. 410).

With the Kwakiutl Indians of Vancouver Island, as with the Shushwaps and Nootka, twins are looked upon in the light of wonderful beings, having power over the weather. Of them it is said "while children they are able to summon any wind by motions of their hands, and can make fair or bad weather. They have the power of curing diseases, and use for this purpose a rattle called K.'oa'qaten, which has the shape of a flat box about three feet long by two feet wide." Here the "weather-maker" and the "doctor" are combined in the same person. Among the Tsimshian Indians, of British Columbia, twins are believed to control the weather, and these aborigines "pray to wind and rain: 'Calm down, breath of the twins'" (403. 51).

In the creation-legend of the Indians of Mt. Shasta (California), we are told that once a terrific storm came up from the sea and shook to its base the wigwam,—Mt. Shasta itself,—in which lived the "Great Spirit" and his family. Then "The 'Great Spirit' commanded his daughter, little more than an infant, to go up and bid the wind be still, cautioning her at the same time, in his fatherly way, not to put her head out into the blast, but only to thrust out her little red arm and make a sign before she delivered her message." But the temptation to look out on the world was too strong for her, and, as a result, she was caught up by the storm and blown down the mountain-side into the land of the grizzly-bear people. From the union of the daughter and the grizzly-bear people sprang a new race of men. When the "Great Spirit" was told his daughter still lived, he ran down the mountain for joy, but finding that his daughter had become a mother, he was so angry that he cursed the grizzly-people and turned them into the present race of bears of that species; them and the new race of men he drove out of their wigwam,—Little Mt. Shasta,—then "shut to the door, and passed away to his mountains, carrying his daughter; and her or him no eye has since seen." Hence it is that "no Indian tracing his descent from the spirit mother and the grizzly, will kill a grizzly-bear; and if by an evil chance a grizzly kill a man in any place, that spot becomes memorable, and every one that passes casts a stone there till a great pile is thrown up" (396. III. 91).

Here the weather-maker touches upon deity and humanity at once.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE CHILD AS HEALER AND PHYSICIAN.

Fingunt se medicos quivis idiota, sacerdos, Iudaus, monachus, histrio, rasor, anus. [Any unskilled person, priest, Jew, monk, actor, barber, old woman, turns himself into a physician.]—Medical Proverb.

The Child as Healer and Physician.

Though Dr. Max Bartels' (397) recent treatise—the best book that has yet appeared on the subject of primitive medicine—has no chapter consecrated to the child as healer and physician, and Mr. Black's Folk-Medicine (401) contains but a few items under the rubric of personal cures, it is evident from data in these two works, and in many other scattered sources, that the child has played a not unimportant role in the history of folk-medicine. Among certain primitive peoples the healing art descends by inheritance, and in various parts of the world unbaptized children, illegitimate children, and children born out of due time and season, or deformed in some way, have been credited with special curative powers, or looked upon as "doctors born."

In Spain, to kiss an unbaptized child before any one else has done so, is a panacea against toothache (258. 100). In north-eastern Scotland, "a seventh son, without a daughter, if worms were put into his hand before baptism, had the power of healing the disease (ring-worm) simply by rubbing the affected part with his hand. The common belief about such a son was that he was a doctor by nature" (246. 47). In Ireland, the healing powers are acquired "if his hand has, before it has touched anything for himself, been touched with his future medium of cure. Thus, if silver is to be the charm, a sixpence, or a three-penny piece, is put into his hand, or meal, salt, or his father's hair, 'whatever substance a seventh son rubs with must be worn by his parents as long as he lives.'" In some portions of Europe, the seventh son, if born on Easter Eve, was able to cure tertian or quartan fevers. In Germany, "if a woman has had seven sons in succession, the seventh can heal all manner of hurt,"—his touch is also said to cure wens at the throat (462. III. 1152). In France, the marcou, or seventh son, has had a great reputation; his body is said to be marked with a fleur-de-lis, and the cure is effected by his simply breathing upon the diseased part, or by allowing the patient to touch a mark on his body. Bourke calls attention to the fact that among the Cherokee Indians of the southeastern United States is this same belief that the seventh son is "a natural-born prophet with the gift of healing by touch" (406. 457). In France similar powers have also been attributed to the fifth son. The seventh son of a seventh son is still more famous, while to the twenty-first son, born without the intervention of a daughter, prodigious cures are ascribed.

Nor is the other sex entirely neglected. In France a "seventh daughter" was believed to be able to cure chilblains on the heels (462. III. 1152), and in England, as recently as 1876, the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter claimed great skill as an herb-doctor.

In northeastern Scotland, "a posthumous child was believed to possess the gift of curing almost any disease by looking on the patient" (246. 37), and in Donegal, Ireland, the peasants "wear a lock of hair from a posthumous child, to guard against whooping-cough," while in France, such a child was believed to possess the power of curing wens, and a child that has never known its father was credited with ability to cure swellings and to drive away tumours (462. III. 1152).

Twins, in many countries, have been regarded as prodigies, or as endowed with unusual powers. In Essex, England, "a 'left twin' (i.e. a child who has survived its fellow-twin) is thought to have the power of curing the thrush by blowing three times into the patient's mouth, if the patient is of the opposite sex" (469. 307). Among the Kwakiutl Indians of British Columbia, twins are said to be able to cure disease by swinging a rattle, and in Liberia (Africa) they are thought to possess great healing powers, for which reason most of them become doctors (397. 75).

In Sweden, "a first-born child that has come into the world with teeth can cure a bad bite." In Scotland, "those who were born with their feet first possessed great power to heal all kinds of sprains, lumbago, and rheumatism, either by rubbing the afflicted part, or by trampling on it. The chief virtue lay in the feet" (246. 45). In Cornwall, England, the mother of such a child also possessed the power to cure rheumatism by trampling on the patients. The natives of the island of Mas, off the western coast of Sumatra, consider children born with their feet first specially gifted for the treatment of dislocations (397. 75). Among the superstitions prevalent among the Mexicans of the Rio Grande region in Texas, Captain Bourke mentions the belief: "To cure rheumatism, stroke the head of a little girl three times—a golden-haired child preferred" (407. 139). The Jews of Galicia seek to cure small-pox by rubbing the pustules with the tresses of a girl, and think that the scrofula will disappear "if a Bechor, or first-born son, touches it with his thumb and little finger" (392 (1893). 142).