Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 December 1875 — MY COUSIN’S CHILDREN. [ARTICLE]

MY COUSIN’S CHILDREN.

I think it is pretty to see little children behave well at the table, and that is why I wanted to tell the Ohio, Farmer young ones what I saw one day last week. There were four of them at the table, Harry, Frank, Minnie and Freddie. ‘Their ages ranged from eleven to three years. The mother said: “Now, cousin, draw your chair up here by the south window, and we will visit while the children eat their dinners.” So we sat down. The door opened into the kitchen, and I sat where 1 could see the children. They came charging into the house without cleaning their feet at all, and rushed up to the table, jamming against each other, and elbowing their way without caring who got poked in the eyes or ribs. “ I’m as hungry as the Black Man,” said Harry, drawing his brows in a scowling, pouting way, and throwing his cap clear across the floor, where it landed among his mother’s geraniums. “ I’m as hungry as an old bear,” said another. “Not half as hungry as I am,” pouted Minnie, “ for you know the ’taters were all gone when I came to the table this morning; and you, Master Harry, had eat ’em too, you old fool, you;” and she thrust her lips out and looked very, very tigiy. “That’s a lie,” Harry plumply retorted. I looked around to see where I had laid my hat; I was horified and almost afraid, and meditated running right off home. 1 had never heard such language between little brothers and sisters. I was scared. “ Children! children!” said the mother, composedly, and from a feeble sense of responsibility—very feeble, I think. Then the clash of rattling chairs and clinking glasses and tinkling spoons and forks began, mixed in with “You!” “ Oh, now I’ll tell!” “ Old meanness!” “Hog, you!” “ Gi’me some!” “Got more’n your share!” “ Mali-ma-h-h-h-h!” Then one ran to the door from feeding too fast; and another one got burnt, and in dire extremity snatched up the nearest glass of water to quench the flame, and for his .over-freedom was cracked on the head with the nearest weapon, which was the large handle of the bread-knife. The mother, a d ear, litt 1 e weak worn an, was so busily engaged telling me about some resolutions passed at a late meeting of their society that the din and confusion did npt disturb her at all, and she only said occasionally: “ Children! children!” “You gave me the meanest piece on the plate,” whined Frank through his stuffy nose, and then he doubled his fist into his eyes and commenced boring for water. “Ma! ma!” called Minnie, “all the water tipped over on to my plate, so it did.” “ Never mind, darling, set it aside and take another plate, that’ll be the way to manage,” said the mother in a sweet, affected voice—softer than the daintiest satin. “You Min!” was the next thing I heard; “you spilt all that mess on the carpet—just see! I can track you from clear round there to here.” “ I don’t care, so now!” was the unctuous answer.

Then for a little while no voice was heard, but the most vigorous smacking was kept up along with the noise made in drinking—the gurgling and the puffing, and even the sounds made as the fluid passed down their noisy throats. Four dogs eating right greedily from four piles of tender bones wouldn’t have made much more noise. Pretty soon one of the children choked and got blue in the face, and to relieve him another one pounded him in the back, and showed signs of consternation. Then another one tipped the Sover into the pickle-dish, and the mt was duly reported to the mother, who said: “Well, well, dears, never mind; eat your dinners, little ones.” Then one of the boys took the last baked potato, and a serious scuffle ensued, and it fell under the table, and they clinched and entangled the table and the dishes in a regular set-to, not unlike a dog-fight. I could stand it no longer, and with a little scream looked all about for my hat. The mother, with serene face, rose and went into the kitchen, saying: “Why, what is it, dears ? Boys! boys!” “Why, the oid blaggard speared into the last 'tater just as 1 was reachin’ for it,” said Harry, with a very ugly, red face, and he scowled viciously at his brother, who had risen from the fray puffing and blowing, with his damp hair all down over his forehead. Oh, you don’t know how angry and ugly those boys did appear. “ Well, children, I am astonished at you,” said the placid mother, kissing one of them and making a vain effort to kiss the other, but he was refractory and pulled back so that her nose just grazed his shoulder, tipping it up somewhat at the end. “ He was to blame!” piped out one. “No I wasn’t nuther. you old goose, you; ’was yer own fault; I had the best right to the ’later.” t “ Boys! boys! you’ll be obliged to retire from the table if you don’t conduct yourselves better,” saju the mother. “ Bet I don’t go,” said Harry, pushing out his thick lips. f “Harrison Wetl/ersfield!” said the mother, reproachfully. “ I’ll show you,”/he muttered. “ Nobody m-Uri/house could make me go’fore 1 go/my dinner,” said Frank, nodding his gead with a dare do it. “Francisco Wayland!” said the wonder 4 ful mother, and then she turned to me and said: “ Some mothers punish their children or every little misdemeanor; I rarely ever whip mine, and I have it to Say to-day that I never yet struck a child in anger. I

think the mother needs to govern herself before she can begin to govern her children.” And there ■ those little miscreants were at the table, striking, and snatching and grabbing at each other’s food, and calling ill names, and really eating their dim ners more like hungry pigs than dear li# tie boys and girls, and I did not dare t£ open my mouth. How often I had seen families of boys and girls quietly partaking of their food, and dividing with each other, and watching to replenish plates for one another—pouring fresh water, or sharing creamy milk, or saying, “This isdelicious; do take some;” or, “ Won’t you share with me?” or, “ Do accept of this fruit, pie ot cake,” in voices pleasant to hear. Now if any little boy or girl who reads this has had a habit of eating fast, ,or in a greedy way, or smacking and guzzling noisily, begin to fight the fault as soon as you go to the table after this. I have seen nice young men who had fallen into the habit while they were little children, and nobody told them how filthy and ugly it was, and they still eat that way; and some of them are preachers, too, don’t you think. Pity—isn’t it? Why, some of them crauncheven bread and butter and tea as if they were full of bones; and a well-bred manor woman can hardly eat alongside of them, for disgust. If a young man eats noisily, and piggishly, and greedily, nobody likes him very well, even though his conversation is beautiful and excellent, and even though he writes peetry. There is such a contradiction that one is repulsed.— Ohio Farmer.