THE MOUNT OF COMPREHENSION.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXV, Issue 14060, 15 May 1906, Page 4

THE MOUNT OF COMPREHENSION.

(By AMELIA HAMILTON M’ALLISTER.) The Yv'harton baby had, up to tho present date, fully realised the fondest hopes of its expectant- parents, and the family practitioner had assured Mrs Jack Wharton that her bud of promise was making a “record trip'’ on the precarious voyage cf life. Even in respect to such minor matters as dark eyelashes and curly hair was the mind of tho anxious mother at reqt; and yet Mrs Jack Wharton saw her wav to the betterment of this most bewitching of babies, through the helpful agency of the Woman’s Ethical Child-culture Claes.- . This was the second meeting of 'the W.E.C.C.0., and twenty-four wcllgowued women, gathered from tho upper ranks of society, sat entranced and breathless at the , feet of Mies Agatha Knowlsoii, who was automobiling around the absorbing question.--** AYiiat Is The Child?” The room was bare, as to adornment; twenty-four sover-e-looking chairs up-held’twenty-four “ joyful mothers of children” at the knees of their prophetess. A spindle-legged table, with a white cloth and some tea-cups and saucers, was the only suggestion of possible cozinees, but destined to disappointment was the hopeful woman who anticipated a cup oi tea with which to wash down the beautiful theories of Miss Agatha Agnew Knowlsoii, for the preceptress had no intention of intioducing any such into the momentous question under discussion ; the cups and saucers being in evidence merely in case of a possible demons tiation when the theme, “ What tho Child Shall Eat,” should be treated. “The Child,” said Miss Knowison, thrillingly, “ is firstly a little animal; there is slight difference between the tiny bear-cub and the puling infant 1 A rustle of suppressed indignation manifested itself . in twenty-four silken petticoats as twenty-four joyful mothers turned uneasily in their seats. “ But the difference —which is infinitesimal. until its development—is the Soul; and the Child is at first boullateut. The mother-instinct is to satisfy the Animal in tho Child—while tho Beautiful sleeps!—but I say,*o Mothers, pub forth your spiritual lingers and waken the Child-Spirit!” “ Beautiful!” murmured a fashionablo rtiother; . Child-Spint, how wonderful!” - “But forth your spiritual fingers, scribbled Mrs Jack Wharton m her little brown notebook, feeling the while a pang of conscience that she had remembered too much the Almighty Bottle,, as the clamouring cry of the little animal had demanded. . “ The dawn may never be too faint in the east for the appeal to i each the Child-Spirit,”, continued. Mies Knmvleon turning her eloquent eyes full on the face of Mrs Jack Wharton; ‘.. and you, who neglect to evoke the Spiritual, will develop the Bestial!” Mrs Jack blushed guiltily; it was true she had busied herself with tho material wants, tho meals, tho liouis of sleep, and all the' hygienic etceteras suggested by the family physician. Was, therefore, the little pink bundle at home degenerating into the Bestial P “Do not leave the soul of your child to awaken of its own accord; it may sleep for years—and there- you have the Soul-dormant! Be to your fi-owe-r-Ing-bud its Sun; the flower can never resist- tho Sun-touch. If you are wise in your generation, be Sun-Mothers!” “Sun-Mothers,” scribbled_ twentyfour entranced - women, thinking of twenty-four individual babies awaiting their redemption at home in their peaceful cradles. “ Do not leave the child to tho family doctor!” was tho'next astonishing text thrown out on the- startled silence, and the W.E.C.O.C. stirred uneasily. “The family doctor is generally a man!” Again silence, which in this case, as. in others, gave consent.. “The Man-Nature cannot -ethically deal with the Child-Nature. He prescribes medicine, raiment, food—tho sum total is Animal. Employ woman a® your Child-doctor; tho result is different : Woman' imparts the Ideal Hirough the tips of her fingers, she goes forth to meet' the soul of tho Child, she calk, she touches, it responds—the sum total is a combination of Animal and Spiritual .which makes the well-rounded Child. We do not hope for the Child-Beatified! W© hope against the Child-Bestialieed, but we pray for tho Child-Perfected! ' Our next class-subject will be 1 Child, and the Soul-Touch.’ ” There was a movement in the audience, a scraping of chairs; an anxious parent went forward to put a timid question to the oracle in black serge. A general shutting of notebooks, donning of wraps, and tho. W.E.O.C.C. filed quietly out of the plain little room, its twenty-four brains full to the pop-' ping point of beautiful brand-new

theories to be put into practice on some luckless little Tom, Dick, of Harry at home. Mrs "Wharton walked her four blocks in complete absorption; her mind was in a state of conversion—and confusion, but where to begin in evoking the soul of her one-year-old treasure was a baffling question. That night at the dinner-table Wharton persistently talked Tammany; pudding and politics got hopelessly entangled, and he finally brought up with the Japanese-lliiissian disturbance. “ You don’t care a fig for the pluck of the Japs, or the Czar of all the Hussies, do you, Janice?” chided her husband, Laughingly, thinking how pretty she was in the soft white gown, her fair head rising above her round throat like a rose on its stem. He finis lied his glass of creme de menthe and went around to her, leaning over her tall chair with a tender' touch of her hair that he had. not forgotten in their three years of married life. “What makes you so distrait, dear? Anything wrong with that immaculate cook of cure? I don’t think I could endure life without the promise of an occasional souffle of hem.” “Jack,” said Mrs Wharton, suddenly, “it’s not the cook it’s the W.E.0.0.C. To-day was the second meeting, you know—it was wonderful!” Mrs Jack drew.a long breath and pulled out the note-hook, which she had secreted in her napkin for the purpose of her husband’s enlightenment. Wharton fell back and groaned. “ Agatha Agnew Knowkon!” he deplored. “ But, dear,” pleaded Janice- earnestly, “she is simply wonderful! When you meet her you——” “I sha’n’t ever meet her—not in a blue moon!” “ Yes, you will. I’ve asked her to dine with us ou Thursday.” “ Then business of the most imperative kind will force me to leave you and Agatha Agnew tete-a-tete.” Mrs Wharton’s marital experience had taught her that when Wharton said a thing in that decisive manner it was time to desist; so she merely coaxed him into the library, and, after installing him in a chair of surpassing comfort, she Rented herself ou the arm ; with the missionary's zeal for conversion strong in her soul, and her .noto-hook open in her hand. “'Now please—Jacky!” “ When you call me that I s’pose I’ll have to-adore and be still!” “ ‘ What is the Child?’ ” read Janice, solemnly. “‘The- difference is slight between the tiny cub-bear and the puling infant 1’” “Disgusting!” muttered Wharton from the depths of the leather chair. “It takes an old maid with a disappointed past hitched to her petticoats to enlighten a lot of healthy, happy women as to the roaring of their own children.” “Don’t, Jack—you can’t understand. Miss Knowlson looks at the subject from a purely ethical standpoint. She wants to develop the Ideal, and they’re all so beautiful—her theories! Of course it’s hard—” Janico gave a little sigh; “ last week she forbade us rocking the dears to sleep; she said mother-discip-line was one of the strongest things in life!” A cry from upstairs broke the stillness below, and Mrs Jack instinctively jumped to her feet. “That’s Baby!” she said, anxiously; then she ’reseated herself with, a stern resignation. “ You look like a martyr sitting on tacks,” laughod Wharton. “ Is this discipline, too?” Janice nodded. ■ “Yes,” she said, miserably. “ Miss Knowlson says the cup of woo must bo put to the Child’s lips early. He must learn that life has tears in it—-it is a preparation for later vicissitudes.” “ And you are going to let him cry?” “I—l suppose so; he will stop presently, and then, Miss Knowlson says, you lay the foundation o-f philosophy in the Child-mind.” “Oh! hang Miss Knowlson! She ought to adorn the public pillory—if we had one!” “ There—you see, Baby has stopped! Oh. yes, Miss Knowlson is theoretically perfect.” ‘ ‘ Miss Knowlson’fi surplus energy ought to ho put to something strictly personal. If slic’d marry, and devote her scatter-brained theories to a lot of little Agatha' Agnews it wouldn’t so much matter.” “Mies Knowlson doesn’t believe in matrimony—she says woman is hearer perfection in the single life!” “ Is She Oroto-eyed, or anything noilattractive to mankind, for instance?” “ Oh, dear, no. Jack, Miss Knowlson is very beautiful!” “I think I’ll stay home .for dinner when Agatha Agnew comes!” laughed Wharton. “She’s worth investigation.” , “The Child-Soul ” began Janice, much relieved. 1 “Not another line!” commanded Wharton. “ Let’s J tulle of something more satisfactory-'-you, for instance!” The entertainment of her prophetess caused Janico 1 Wharton some anxiety; everything must be truly aesthetic—from the carefully chosen menu to the exact tint of tho roiye candles. She cast a final glance at tho dinner-table, with its delicate damask, fair, frail flowers, and glimmer of glass and silver. Tho mellow light of, the shaded sconces cast a soft gleam over the whole, making tho table glow like a gem in the dark wainscot-petting of the high-ceiled room. ' It was just as sho was putting on- tho mysterious little finishing pats which women know how to administer, tlrpt the click of a latch-key in the halldoor announced her lord’s return. “Do go up and dress, Jack,” she said, hurriedly. “I want you to look your very nicest. Miss Knowlson will have to approve my husband even if she doesn’t believe in husbands as an institution.” . “ Thou shaft not covet thy’ neighbour’s husband!” quoted Wharton, laughingly. “Fancy Agatha Agnew coveting such a hopoleesly material creature as yours truly 1 By the way, will you have a fourth cover laid? I’ve asked Paul Lovering—thought he and Agatha’d hit it off. and if they don’t she’ll do for a caricature in his now novel!” “Oh, Jack, why did .you?” Janice exclaimed in dismay Miss Kno.wLson doesn’t care for men, and it was going to ho oo cosy, just by ourselves.” “Three is a horrid number, Jan, and I’m not going to feel de trap in my own house. Then have you considered that you might bo placed in a hideous position, in case Agatha and I should . discover a possible affinity?” “Well, 1 know ebe’ll hate_ him!” | wailed Janice, pulling a full pink rose I into greater prominence, “ and Paul won’t like her a hit!” j “Oh, I don’t know about Paul; she won’t talk Child-Culture to him—and then you say she’s'pretty !” “Not pretty,” scornfully, “beautiful!”. : “Well, Paul lias an eye for tho beautiful—he’s tremendously sssthetic ; and then you see, since Mies Knowleon’s bent ou converting my wife, I am going to return that little courtesy by converting Mies Knowlson !” “Do you mean you are going to stoop to —to—match-making with, such a woman as Mies Knowlson ?” “I’m afraid 1 do,” assented Wharton. An hour Inter the Whartons and Mr Paul Lowering were drawn up around

a redly glowing fire in the library ' awaiting the arrival of the other guest ■—and dinner. Mr Lovering confessed that he had never heard of Miss Agatha Agnew Knowlson’s lectures td mothers’ clubs, and his manner implied that he didn’t care. j / “Yon won’t like her, Paul,” assured ■ Wharton gravely; “she’s a little effem- 1 inate thing, without an idea in her head, and just bulging with sentiment.” “Oh!” interrupted Janice, indignantly; hut the ringing of the doorbell cut short the defence of her friend. j. While the guest’s wraps were being laid aside in Janice’s most artistic blue chamber, Wharton found himself unconsciously watching the door for the arrival of the strong-minded Miss Knowlson. . x The prophetess was gowned in something soft and black; her hair, waving away from her brow, and coiled low on her neck, gave her an air of beautiful simplicity, which Mr Paul Lovering instantly decided to incorporate _in his forthcoming heroine, and which Mr John Wharton epitomised as “ not half bad.” ‘ ' The introductions were made, and dinner was announced almost immediately. Neither Mr Wharton nor his wife was slow to notice that the eyes of the prophetess and Mr Paul Lovering were continually seeking each other across the rose-shower which formed the centrepiece of the email table. “Really,” exclaimed Janice, after dinner, in the ear of her designing husband, “they do seem to enjoy each other!” ‘‘ I guess they do! Agatha Agnew’s thrown Child Culture to the four winds!” , A sentence, in Miss Knowlson s vibrant voice, wafted across the room. “After I had read your ‘Mount Magnetic,’ Mr Lovering, it seemed to absorb mo—l lived in it; so to speak!” Wharton smothered an irreverent; laugh. “ Now perhaps she’ll leave the Child-Bestial and the Child-Spiritual alone a hit!” , It was three years after the little dinner at which Wharton had inserted the initiavy wedge that was designed to sunder Miss Agatha Agnew Knowlson from her beatific theories. Miss Knowlson’s wedding-cards had long ceased to afford- Jack Wharton a pleasure that caused him to hug himself delightedly as he contemplated the partnership that Agatha Agnew , and Mr Paul Penrose Lovering had entered unon. The W.E.C.C.C. had vanished, for theoretical Agatha Agnew Knowlson had died the death, and Mrs Paul Lovering was just an ordinary woman, with the humanising effect of a husband and a baby. Mrs Jack Wharton pursued the tenor of her way, beckoning Jack Junior into the straight and narrow path (without that guiding star which had been Miss Knowlson), darning the yawning rente in his socks and administering doses of discipline, according to tht promptings of her maternal heart and conscience. Mrs Jack looked earnestly for any trace of the fearful Child-Bestial that her preceptress had foretold, but she was obliged to confess that her little Junior,, though he exhibited no unhealthy “ Want-to-be-an-aiigd ” qualities, showed every sign of a characteristically well-rounded youngster. On this particular evening she had finished tucking small Jack into his crib, had heard his sleepy, irreverent j “ Now I lay me,” and, against all maternal discipline, had sat beside him until he finally dropped away into I Poppvland, then she settled herself in . the firelit library, and watched the driftwood flames leap, blue, aiid bronze, and emerald green. She wished that somebody had not been forced to attend a solemn Board of Directors’ meeting down-town.—Some-body was very indispensable in business affairs—and some others. Mrs Jack drifted off into a bit of a dose with a little dream wrapped Up in it. and at this juncture a wished-for latch-key clicked, and Somebody Stood in the doorway looking down on the small, drcoping figure in the big chair. Something aroused Janice, and the dream slipped away, as Wharton bent over her. '“There are little raindrops on your coat, Jacky,” she said softly. “Aren’t you glad to exchange a nice fire, a big chair, and me, for the horrid cold outdoors?” Wharton acquiesced satisfactorily. “Where do you think I’ve been?” “Why that old Directors’ meeting —not there? Noe th*- Club? —oh, I don’t know!”

“ The Loverings’ I” “You have? Then you’ve seen,' Agatha’s baby; tell me about him.” “■Well, it’s just .a, commonplace young chap, with a little parental hale round its head, a pair of imaginary winglets on its shoulder-blades, and Agnew Penrose Lovering for its title. I forgot its lungs, didn’t IP, Tfeey’jw immense!” “How do you know?” “My dear, I beard them! It was peacefully asleep upstairs, when sneto a scream rent the air that, experienced parent as I am, I suspected it had waked up on a needle—or swallowed it# bottle—or something tragic!” “ And what did Agatha do?” tioned Janice, breathlessly. “ Agatha Lovering jumped and flew, to the rescue in a manner which would have shocked the superb theories of Agatha Knowlson. And, after alt, it wasn’t a needle or a bottle; Paul went up, and on his return diagnosed it as ‘ loneliness.’ I didn’t _ see AgathA again; she was making little trips up and down the carpet with 'the Child*Bestial in her arms!” “ Oh, Jack, I’m sort of glad Agarthai feek that way; it’s—it’s ——” ' “Saber,” agreed Wharton; “ana to think I was the humble instrument, through Providence, who brought that woman to her senses!”