WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH OUR BOYS.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume IV, Issue 127, 2 June 1869, Page 2

WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH OUR BOYS.

"The Peripatetic Philosopher," writing in the Australasian, delivers himself a3 follows upon this serious question : — - " I see that a lady signing herself the " Mother of Five Boys' has been writing to the papers, exclaiming that the Five cannofc get work to do, and thafc she is fearful that if immigration is encouraged they will never get any. This complaint is quite reasonable. 'Five boys' are not to be passed over with impunity. They are irrepressible, terrible, and hungry. It is a very bad case — very bad in every aspect. One ' Boy ' is often bad enough — one ' Child ' of either or any sex is considered a tolerable nuisance I believe — but 'Five' children, and these five 'B ys* Awful ! The signature of the ' Mother of Five' would have inspired respect ; but, *O, ye powers that smile on virtuous love!' why Boys? The case is a pitiable one, and worthy of notice. But I think that, after all, there is work enough for the five, if they choose to seek it out. There is always' work enough, work for everybody, if they choose to do it. But * mothers ' have a knack of wishing their boys to be not only men, but rich and distinguished men, as soon as possible. Quite natural, too, I admit ; jbut don't you see that if everybody tries to get into a very narrow door at once, somebody must get hurt, and not a few left outside ? ' Boys' all wish to be captains in the army with £1000 a year besides their pny, or rectors of flit livings, or editors of long-established-newspapers, or heads of departments, or managers of banks — instantly, without a pause. They want to be rich, and respected, and well dressed, and leaders of fashion, all at once. This last especially. The highest ambition of woman (I am speaking generally) is to shine in 'society.' Sheworships power in any form, but in this form worst of all, and she agonises to get her boy? into 'good positions.' I submit with due deference that this is not the thing that we want in a young colony. We do not want languid paupers, with no brains, no money, and a taste for billiards, horses, and sucl\fast life, as this city can afford thera, We want strong, sensible, practical, . hard-working young men, who fear God, honor the Queen, and go home to their sisters every night at 6 o'clock. JJBut T am af-.aid that we do not cultivate them to any great extent, and that the blind worship of silly women for 'social' position prevails here as elsewhere. I suppose it always will be so. It always was so, and I have no doubt indespised Nazareth there were many worthy women who lectured their ' boys ' upou mixing in the low society of fishermen, doctors out of practice, and dismissed civil service officials, while the darkeyed daughters of some high blooded "Pharisee pined in deserted loveliness, and chinked their silver shekels in vain. Let us dismiss all this cant and rubbish about good blood, and good society, and good position, and try' to do whatever work lies nearest to us. We cannot all be lucky. If your father was a wool-stapler, my poor Shakspeare, it was.not your fault, you know. Indeed, I have no doubt but that the worthy man thought himself irrevocably disgraced by your g"ing on the stage, instead of becoming a respectable ' Son ' in the firm of ' Shakspeare Vand making money. I wonder if there will be ' good society in the shades, or if ifc will matter to the world when you are dead and

eaten of worms, my dear Mrs. Jenkins, if your miserable sons were tinkers, or tailors, or members of the Victorian Legislature, or leaders Jof society. There were plenty of your sort— my stupid mothers, and sons, and daughters — in Noah's time, and there was the same rubbish talked then, in the same way, 'and then the 'flood came and destroyed them all.' Ha, ha! fancy some Antediluvian aristocrat ' cutting' a roan in the water because he wasn't in good society ! Poor worms, try and live for some useful purpose, or if you can't do that, go and writhe out of sight. We musfc dio, you know. Many brave men have lived, suffered, hoped, loved, and fought before us. What is thuir fate, their epitaph, their requiem ? " ' The brave knight is dust, Kis good sword is rust, His soul is witb the saints, we trust.' "