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unalterable； and impersonal devotion has them in hand。 They endure an
immeasurable loss； and are orphans； but they gain in perpetual gaiety； they
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live in an unchanging temperature。 The separate nest is nature's； and the
best； but it might be wished that the separate nest were less subject to
moods。 The nurse has her private business； and when it does not prosper；
and when the remote affairs of the governess go wrong； the child receives
the ultimate vibration of the mishap。
The uniformity of infancy passes away long before the age when
children have this indefinite suffering inflicted upon them； and they have
become infinitely various； and feel the consequences of the cares of their
elders in unnumbered degrees。 The most charming children feel them the
most sensibly； and not with resentment but with sympathy。 It is assuredly
in the absence of resentment that consists the virtue of childhood。 What
other thing are we to learn of them？ Not simplicity； for they are intricate
enough。 Not gratitude； for their usual sincere thanklessness makes half
the pleasure of doing them good。 Not obedience； for the child is born
with the love of liberty。 And as for humility； the boast of a child is the
frankest thing in the world。 A child's natural vanity is not merely the
delight in his own possessions； but the triumph over others less fortunate。
If this emotion were not so young it would be exceedingly unamiable。
But the truth must be confessed that having very quickly learnt the value
of comparison and relation； a child rejoices in the perception that what he
has is better than what his brother has； this comparison is a means of
judging his fortune； after all。 It is true that if his brother showed distress；
he might make haste to offer an exchange。 But the impulse of joy is
candidly egotistic。
It is the sweet and entire forgiveness of children； who ask pity for their
sorrows from those who have caused them； who do not perceive that they
are wronged； who never dream that they are forgiving； and who make no
bargain for apologiesit is this that men and women are urged to learn of a
child。 Graces more confessedly childlike they make shift to teach
themselves。
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FAIR AND BROWN
George Eliot； in one of her novels； has a good…natured mother； who
confesses that when she administers justice she is obliged to spare the
offenders who have fair hair； because they look so much more innocent
than the rest。 And if this is the state of maternal feelings where all are
more or less fair； what must be the miscarriage of justice in countries
where a BLOND angel makes his infrequent visit within the family circle？
In England he is the rule； and supreme as a matter of course。 He is
〃English；〃 and best； as is the early asparagus and the young potato；
according to the happy conviction of the shops。 To say 〃child〃 in
England is to say 〃fair…haired child；〃 even as in Tuscany to say 〃young
man〃 is to say 〃tenor。〃 〃I have a little party to…night； eight or ten tenors；
from neighbouring palazzi； to meet my English friends。〃
But France is a greater enthusiast than our now country。 The fairness
and the golden hair are here so much a matter of orthodoxy； that they are
not always mentioned； they are frequently taken for granted。 Not so in
France； the French go out of their way to make the exceptional fairness of
their children the rule of their literature。 No French child dare show his
face in a bookprose or poetrywithout blue eyes and fair hair。 It is a
thing about which the French child of real life can hardly escape a certain
sensitiveness。 What； he may ask； is the use of being a dark…haired child
of fact； when all the emotion； all the innocence； all the romance； are
absorbed by the flaxen…haired child of fiction？ How deplorable that our
mothers； the French infants may say； should have their unattained ideals in
the nurseries of the imagination； how dismal that they should be
perpetually disillusioned in the nurseries of fact！ Is there then no
sentiment for us？ they may ask。 Will not convention； which has been
forced to restore the advantage to truth on so many other points； be
compelled to yield on this point also； and reconcile our aunts to the family
colouring？
All the schools of literature are in a tale。 The classic masters；
needless to say； do not stoop to the colouring of boys and girls； but as soon
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as the Romantiques arise； the cradle is there； and no soft hair ever in it that
is not of some tone of gold； no eyes that are not blue； and no cheek that is
not white and pink as milk and roses。 Victor Hugo； who discovered the
child of modern poetry； never omits the touch of description； the word
BLOND is as inevitable as any epithet marshalled to attend its noun in a
last… century poet's dictionary。 One would not have it away； one can hear
the caress with which the master pronounces it； 〃making his mouth；〃 as
Swift did for his 〃little language。〃 Nor does the customary adjective fail
in later literature。 It was dear to the Realist； and it is dear to the
Symbolist。 The only difference is that in the French of the Symbolist it
precedes the noun。
And yet it is time that the sweetness of the dark child should have its
day。 He is really no less childlike than the other。 There is a pretty
antithesis between the strong effect of his colouring and the softness of his
years and of his months。 The blond human being man； woman or
childhas the beauty of harmony； the hair plays off from the tones of the
flesh； only a few degrees brighter or a few degrees darker。 Contrast of
colour there is； in the blue of the eyes； and i