THE MOTHER-TONGUE.

BOOK I.

GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS.

IN

CHAPTER I.

How a Mother teaches her Children.

N every family the mother is the first teacher of language: thence the expression mother-tongue; and thence also the importance of the mother in education, and her precedence in it over her husband. But not only is she the first, she is also the most anxious, the most persevering, and the most ingenious of teachers. One would say that she is guided by a superior instinct which belongs to maternity, and that she is herself but its passive instrument. Now, can she remember what plan was adopted in her own case to engrave on her mind its first thoughts and their images, and to form the first word on her lips? Or have the learned taken the trouble to place the discoveries they may have made on the subject within the reach of mothers? Pestalozzi, indeed, acknowledged their influence in education, and has written a book entitled The Mother's Book. But this book assumes that the child can speak, and contains a series of exercises in language, which, though well arranged, are difficult and monotonous. He leaves, then, to the mother all the elementary part, and all the duties which have hitherto devolved on her alone, unassisted by aught except by her maternal instinct and unvarying tenderness. A helping hand might, however, be held out to her, and all she requires are a few directions to enable her to accomplish her task more fully and successfully.

For some time much has been said on the "innate ideas" with which the instruction of childhood must

B

commence.

Mothers have read none of those treatises, but they know, and what is far better, they act upon the principles contained in them. Do not you observe that they daily call the attention of their little pupils to what they see, they hear, they touch, they taste, they smell? They point out the several objects one by one; they pronounce the name, and repeat it over and over again, thus connecting the image with the object which it denotes, in order that both may be inseparably connected in the mind of the learners, and that the object when absent may be represented by the word. But here we have an association of psychology; no thanks, however, to science. It is due only to kind nature, which never wants for skill where love abounds.

For a long while the mother has but a little dumb creature before her; but she will soon unloose his tongue and endue his lips with speech: and words will come in the stead of mere animal cries, and will explain the tears of the child of man. Science has sought out different methods for procuring correct articulation; it has watched the different movements of the tongue and of the lips, and has thence laid down rules for accurate pronunciation.

All this is unknown to the mother; and, besides, how would she be understood by her pupil, if she attempted to teach him how to move his lips and his tongue, in order to articulate this or that syllable? The poor child would stand staring at her with his mouth wide open. But such is not her method; she pronounces the word over and over again; the child imitates her, at first very imperfectly, then better, and ends at last, to his great delight, by uttering the sound of which he had long been in quest.

Whilst thus exercising the organ of speech, he has learnt the meaning of the words he hears most frequently in use, and he has made out the sense of several combinations of language. Curiosity has led him on to guess at that which words have not yet conveyed to him; gestures have been his interpreters. He himself then begins to connect a few words, which rather sketch out than express his thoughts. At first he only uses the verb in its simplest form, and will begin by saying, Mama

walk, drink, lie down; the pronoun does not appear in these first attempts, and instead of saying, I, he will speak of himself by his name. Insensibly, however, this infantine language develops and perfects itself, like everything else, by imitation, and often, at five years old, the little mimic is able to converse with his mother and with others; he has thought, and therefore he speaks.

In all this process, grammar, its "terminology," and its rules, have taken no part. Speech and thought have re-acted on each other, and imitation and use have accomplished the wonder. There has happily been no need of grammatical art, for if mothers possessed it, their pupils could not understand it, so true is it, as observed by Bernardin de St. Pierre, that we do not learn to speak by grammatical rule any more than to walk by the laws of equilibrium. I will, however, suggest, as a passing hint to our first teachers, that it would be very useful, both as regards the present and the future, if they would occasionally exercise their tender pupils in oral conjugation by "propositions," as recommended by M. Vanier, in his Practical Grammar. It would not be advisable to go through the whole conjugation, but only to select the tenses as well as verbs which children have in use. This would be an advantageous preparation for future studies; good pronunciation would be formed, and pleasure would be afforded, for childhood loves to exercise and then enjoy its powers. But to return. The mother's immediate object is not the development of her pupil's intellectual faculties. She may, indeed, occasionally speak of memory, intelligence, judgment, reason, good sense; but it is with no very definite idea of the meaning of these terms, still less of the means of awakening and cultivating these faculties in childhood. She is conscious in herself of recollecting, observing, judging, reasoning, inventing,— so she doubts not that all these powers exist in her child as the rose in the bud, and that, in time, they will make their appearance. She aims therefore directly at the object she has in view in her lessons on language-and this object is twofold.

It never occurs to her to teach her child to speak

merely in order to enable him to speak like others, and to speak correctly. Her object is the instruction of her child. She tries to impart to him her own knowledge, and, above all, that which is dearest to her heart, and which she believes to be most important to her beloved one. With this view she takes care, as opportunity offers, to point out to him the sensible objects which come within his reach, and which it is for his interest to know; but she does not respect the barrier which some instructors have proposed to raise between the visible and invisible world confining childhood within the limits of the former-and allowing youth only to enter within those of the latter. The mother follows the inspiration of a heart which does not bind her down to the objects of sense. It yearns after a Father who is in heaven, and a life which is beyond the grave. Prompted by these noble associations, she hastens to speak to her child of things spiritual and things to come. Of course advancing from the known to the unknown, from what is sensible to what is not so, from little to great, she begins with the visible father, whom the child sees and loves, and then raises his thoughts and his heart to that Heavenly Father whom 66 eye hath not seen." As she cannot point Him out, she points to his works: to that glorious sun which He daily causes to rise in order to give us light and warmth; to those flowers so various and so beautiful which gladden our eyes; to those plants which supply the nourishing bread that we eat, and to the trees from which we gather cherries, and apples, and pears, and grapes. She points to the several kinds of animals that have been domesticated by man to aid him in his labours, to supply his table and his various wants. To this she adds that, some day, if we are good, we shall go to a world much more beautiful than that which we now inhabit; that we shall draw near to that Father whom now we cannot see; and that we shall be happy with Him for ever. Such is, in substance, what the mother says to her dear pupil, and it is in order to say this, and to be understood by him, that she has hastened to instil thoughts into his mind, and to endue his lips with speech.

This first teacher believes herself to be in the right, and she cares little if the learned and the scientific accuse her of inconsistency and folly. They maintain that no child should be abstracted from the visible world, but should learn thoroughly to acclimatize himself in it, before he ventures to cast a look beyond: for thus alone, say they, can man attain to solid knowledge. In their opinion the error is great, of supposing that a child of this age can enter into the world of spirits, or form any just idea of the Deity. You may teach him words, say they, as to a parrot, but if he attaches any meaning to them, it will not be the right one; and these first aberrations of his young mind will remain with him through life.

This censure of the mother's method deserves our serious attention. Every mother, without any study, knows as well as we do, that a child cannot be introduced into the invisible world till he has gained a certain footing in that which is palpable to the senses, and of this she gives proof by the instruction she imparts to her child, and which we have roughly sketched out. True it is that the physical knowledge on which she builds is very limited; but if it suffices to raise the mind and heart of the child above this visible scene, why not turn it to account, in order to elevate him above the animal that browzes at his feet? In time this physical knowledge, so limited and so meagre in its commencement, will expand, and the religious foundation laid by the mother will gain both extent and solidity. This result is a natural one, and should any evil influence afterwards counteract it, the mother will, nevertheless, have done her part well. But the learned and scientific instructors, to whom we allude, set out on the principle, that the child, in infancy, is incapable of forming the least idea of invisible things; they would think otherwise, if they had studied childhood in its cradle: there, then, let us contemplate it. The fact is well ascertained, that as early as the sixth week, and sometimes even earlier, the nurseling begins to greet his kind nurse with a smile, after having often called her previously by cries and tears. He is then already conscious of the kindness which watches over him; he