The Strand Magazine, Vol. 01, No. 04 (April 1891)Various
General
The Strand Magazine, Vol. 01, No. 04 (April 1891)
Various
English literature -- Periodicals; Short stories, English -- Periodicals
His eye fell upon the gudgeon lying on the grass. He picked them up,
and called out, "Wilhelm." A soldier in a white cap appeared. He threw
the fish towards him.
"Fry these little animals for me at once, while they are still alive
and kicking. They will be delicious."
Then he began smoking again.
[Illustration]
_Babies._
It is what a simple young writer once called "a beautiful truism" that
baby is one of oldest subjects in the world--indeed, it is almost
as old as man--and yet it has seldom or never been treated with
completeness. No doubt one reason for that is the fact that baby has
never been able to make itself heard except in inarticulate cries, and
no doubt also another reason is that people in general have not been
until lately interested in any babies but their own.
The difference between ancient and modern times is remarkable in
nothing more than in the treatment of babies. Human life, merely as
such, was considered less sacred then than now, and the average view
of the baby was simply utilitarian. Was the baby, male or female, a
healthy baby? Was it likely to become a sturdy citizen or a stout
soldier, or to be the capable mother of strong children? Then let the
baby live. Babies that did not satisfy these conditions were disposed
of much as we dispose of superfluous puppies or kittens. And not even
now, moreover, is baby life considered throughout all the world as
something in itself delightful and valuable. Savage people and tribes
are not such sinners in this regard as half-civilised nations like
those of India and China.
"What is the use of rearing daughters?" asked an intelligent Chinaman
not long ago of an inquiring Englishman. "When young they are only an
expense, and when grown they marry and go away. Whereas a son----."
What a world of difference there is between that sentiment and this of
"A Cradle Song," a recent poem by the young poet W. B. Yeats, where the
mother addresses her baby thus:--
"I kiss you and kiss you, my arms round my own;
Ah! how I shall miss you, my dear, when you're grown!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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