"WAS IT THE EARLY TRAINING?"
By Mrs. Annie A. Preston
Timothy Burnham was sitting by the center table in his pleasant home parlor, engaged in very slowly and carefully reading a long letter which had just been brought in with the evening mail. His usually bright, cheery face wore a sad expression as he folded the letter neatly and replaced it in its envelope, saying, with a deep sigh, to an aged relative who had arrived that afternoon to visit his family: "It is from brother Will, concerning our late father's estate. I was appointed executor, you know, and such a time of it as I am having with Will. You know, dear Aunt Hannah, the poor fellow always had a real genius for being abused. He always would take hold of things by the rough handle. Now I am willing to settle this troublesome business, about which there is not really a perplexing detail, in any way that will be satisfactory to all parties concerned. Time after time I have written to Will stating that fact, and trying with my best endeavor to send him a letter that should be like a plaintain-leaf or a slippery elm poultice to his wounded feelings. Each time I find by his reply that he has perverted my plaintain-leaf into a nettle and my poultice into a fly-blister plaster, and is writing under the effects of their imaginary irritation. Still determined to settle the estate amicably, I say to myself, 'Never mind! Try again!' and I sit down and apply another soothing lotion, and another cooling leaf, but with no better results." "Those much-abused people with a facility for distorting everything in life are greatly to be pitied," replied silvery-haired great-aunt Hannah, in a sympathetic voice. "It is exactly as if one were obliged to see everything and everybody reflected in a new tin saucepan. It would all be there, but alas! how unlike the reality! "You, Timothy, are the exact opposite of your brother in temperament and disposition, and I have always had a theory, perfectly satisfactory to myself, which explains this marked difference in your mental character. Will was the first grandchild. When he was born your parents lived in the garden cottage only a few rods from your grandfather's mansion. Will was always called 'grandma's baby,' and the proud grandmother and the half-dozen fond young aunts took most of the care of the bright, forward little fellow, and he was consequently very much spoiled and petted. "These four loving young women used to amuse themselves by pitying the baby and making him cry. Any one of them would come in at any time and take him up, saying, with a sad face and in a doleful voice, 'Are they abusing grandma's baby?' and go on in a tone of sympathy, until the little fellow, before he was a year old, would make up a lip, and sob, and cry, and the tears would run down his little face, until a great ado was made on all hands to comfort him. As he grew older I have often seen this pastime resorted to for the edification of visitors—but never without a protest on my part. "When you were a wee baby, your parents moved away to the next town, leaving two-years-old Will to the care of the worshiping grandma and aunts, who thought they could not be separated from him, and he remained with them most of the time until he was six or seven years old. All these years they amused themselves by working upon his sensibilities and throwing him into a passion of tears or anger at some fancied neglect or injury. "Your baby experience was entirely different. Your mother had many household cares and there was not much time to devote to you. If you cried when sitting upon the floor, or in your cradle or standing stool, she would toss you up and say, cheerily, 'Never mind! Try it again!' and, giving you new playthings, would put you down and hurry away, leaving you to your own devices. You soon caught that spirit of cheerfulness, and I remember of your falling down upon the turf in front of the door when you were just beginning to walk and talk, and of your picking yourself up, saying, with a wise little nod of your flaxen head, 'Never mind! Try it again!' That has always been your watchword. When Will came home and you commenced together to go to the district school, you were always taken for the older, for the reason that you were so much the more self-reliant and always had Will's battles to fight and his burdens to bear, while he was whining somewhere in a safe place, and believing that you were getting the better of him in some way by taking his part. And that has been the order of affairs between you to this day. So you see why it has always been plain to me that the difference in your dispositions is almost entirely owing to your early training. "There is, of course, a difference in the natural traits of children, but no one can tell how young a child may receive a permanent idea. So great care should be taken in the education of babies even, for habits may be formed then which will be a fruitful source of unhappiness during a lifetime."