If you have a colt that in years to come you intend using as a carriage-horse, you will not let him stand idle in the stable eating and fattening until he is old enough for your purpose.  He would then be, in horse-parlance, so “soft” that the lightest loads would weary and injure him.  Instead of that, while still young, he is frequently exercised, and broken in, judiciously, first to the harness, then to draw a light vehicle, and so on, until he himself does not know when the training ceases and the actual work begins.

The college-boy, looking forward to “joining the crew,” trains for months beforehand, walking, running, rowing, until the flaccid muscles become as firm and hard as steel.

In America, where fortunes are made, lost, and made and lost again in a day, we can never say confidently that our children will inherit so much money that it will always be unnecessary for them to work.  And, even could we be sure that our daughters will marry wealthy men, we should, for their own happiness and comfort, teach them that there is work for everyone in this world, and certain duties which every man and woman should perform in order to preserve his or her self-respect.

By the time your child can walk, he may begin to make himself useful.  One little boy, three years old, finds his chief delight in “helping mamma.”  He has his own “baby duster” with which he assiduously rubs the rungs of the parlor chairs until his little face beams with the proud certainty that he is of some use to humanity, and that “dear mamma” could not possibly have dusted that room without her little helper.  He brings her boots and gloves when she is preparing for a walk, and begs to be allowed to put her slippers on her feet when she returns home.  Often when she is writing and he has grown weary of play, the tender treble asks,—­

“Dear Mamma, you are vewy busy.  Can’t I help you?”

Of course it is an interruption, and he cannot be of the least assistance; but is not that request better than the fretful whine of the child who is sated with play and still demands more?

“She missed the little hindering thing.”

says one line of a heart-breaking old poem descriptive of a bereaved mother’s loneliness.

Eugene Field strikes the same chord, until she who has laid a child under the sod thrills with remorseful pain: 

   “No bairn let hold until her gown,
      Nor played upon the floore,—­
   Godde’s was the joy; a lyttle boy
   Ben in the way no more!”

Ah, impatient mother! as you put aside the affectionate officiousness of the would-be assistant, with frown or hasty word, bethink yourself for one moment of the possible time when, in the dreary calm of a well-ordered house, you will hearken vainly for shrilly-sweet prattle and pattering feet!

There are ways in which even the toddlers can make work lighter for the mothers.  When your small daughter has finished with her toys, she should be obliged to put them away in a box kept for that purpose.  The mother and nurse will thus be spared the bending of the back and stooping of the knees to accomplish this light task, and the child will enjoy the occupation, and feel very important and “grown-up” in putting her doll to bed, and dolly’s furniture, clothes, etc., in their proper place.