The only habit a child should be allowed to form is to contract no habits whatever. Let him not be carried upon one arm more than upon another; let him not be accustomed to put forth one hand rather than the other, or to use it oftener; nor to desire to eat, to sleep, to act in any way, at regular hours; nor to be unable to stay alone either by night or by day. Prepare long beforehand for the time when he shall freely use all his strength. Do this by leaving his body under the control of its natural bent, by fitting him to be always master of himself, and to carry out his own will in everything as soon as he has a will of his own. Since the only kinds of objects presented to him are likely to make him either timid or courageous, why should not his education begin before he speaks or understands? I would habituate him to seeing new objects, though they be ugly, repulsive, or singular. But let this be by degrees, and from a distance, until he has become accustomed to them, and, from seeing them handled by others, shall at last handle them himself. If during his infancy he has seen without fear frogs, serpents, crawfishes, he will, when grown up, see without shrinking any animal that may be shown him. For one who daily sees frightful objects, there are none such. All children are afraid of masks. I begin by showing Émile the mask of a pleasant face. By and by some one puts the mask upon his own face, so that the child can see it. I begin to laugh; every one else laughs, and the child with the rest. By degrees I familiarize him with less comely masks, and finally with really hideous ones. If I have managed the process well, he will, far from being frightened at the last mask, laugh at it as he laughed at the first. After that, I shall not fear his being frightened by any one with a mask. When, in the farewell scene between Hector and Andromache, the little Astyanax, terrified at the plume floating from a helmet, fails to recognize his father, throws himself, crying, upon his nurse's breast, and wins from his mother a smile bright with tears, what ought to be done to soothe his fear? Precisely what Hector does. He places the helmet on the ground, and then caresses his child. At a more tranquil moment, this should not have been all. They should have drawn near the helmet, played with its plumes, caused the child to handle them. At last the nurse should have lifted the helmet and laughingly set it on her own head--if, indeed, the hand of a woman dared touch the armor of Hector. If I wish to familiarize Émile with the noise of fire-arms, I first burn some powder in a pistol. The quickly vanishing flame, the new kind of lightning, greatly pleases him. I repeat the process, using more powder. By degrees I put into the pistol a small charge, without ramming it down; then a larger charge; finally, I accustom him to the noise of a gun, to bombs, to cannon-shots, to the most terrific noises.