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Polynesian. [volume] (Honolulu [Oahu], Hawaii) 1844-1864, June 01, 1844, Image 1

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J. J. JAUVE3, Editor.
NEW SERIES, Vol. l.-No. 8.
m f
1 .J. J. jLLd
I? O IS li iSJ o
a ciruncn ov unclaxd p.ai.lad.
" A cn for the tirnos when the sweet chunh chimrs
Called rich an I pour to niy,
As tuey ojH'no.l their eves l.y the bright sunrise ;
Ami when eveith:? 'Iiod aw ay,
The squire ca,)ic out 1'roiu his rich oM hall,
And the e;ivints 1'J' two ami l.y llnve,
An 1 the wo.vhinn let his hatelieffall,
And the shepherd left his tree.
Thea a so:i for the times, &c.
" Through the ch:irrh)nrl dew, hy the rlmrchyird vow,
They went lith old and yonir.
An 1 with one consent in grayer they Vent,
And with one eonserit tuey sun'.
They knelt on tin? ft or till the prayers were o'er,
To the iniest they ir:ive ;j od heed :
Who would not hless th rood old days
When our Chuivh was a Church in'lee I f
Then a so.13; for the times, Sec.
" Christmas wns n inerry Christmas then,
And Ivtster-tide the siune ;
An I they welcomed well with merry hell
F.ach saint's day as it came.
They thought, with love on the saints above,
In the pious days of old
We toil tin 1 wn slave till we drop in the grave,
And all tor the lut of gold.
Then a .o ig for the times. &.o.
" Jiut little we'll care what wicked men
May say, or inay think of ill :
They 'kept their .saints' days holy then.
We'll Keep them holy Mill.
We'll cherish them now, in times of strife.
As a holy and peaceful thing.
They we'e'hotiglit l y a faithful prc!;;te's life,
And tho h!o. I of a mart yred king.
Then u song for the times, &c.
S E L K C T E D .
Wc kno.v not when we havo met with a sweeter
thing of its kind, than the following, which is ex
tracted from the Nation il Intelligencer. Kverjr
mother wiU'feel its truMi, and many a heart respond
to the picture of domestic life, so vividly and yet so
naturally expressed. 1'cud it, mothers, and tell us
candidly if tho selection is not 1o your tastes. El.
A gentleman of our acquaintance, who has
lately beguiled some tedious hours by the
perusal of Balzac's now novel, entitled "JwV
moircs da 'Irax Jciiif x Jil tricot," lias favored
us with a translation of one of the, many very
beautiful letters which that work contains.
The subject, though it ntnv he old and hack
mod, is one of which a mother (and we have
many constant readers who belong to that
category) can never become weary; and v.o
doubt whether we have a reader of any class
who will not readily excuse us for devoting
a column or two to its publication. '
L E TT Eli from the Vitcou ntw tie PES TOR A I) E,
in ihz country, to the Jiiirones dc MACUMER,
at Paris.
You complain of my silence; have you,
then, forgotten the two little dark-headed ur
chins whom 1 govern, and who govern me?
Vou know already some of my reasons for
remaining at home. Besides the state of our
uncle, 1 had no desire to drag with me to
Paris a boy of four years old, and a little girl
who will soon be three, while 1 am every day
looking for a third. I did not wish to embar
rass your time or Jill your house w ithach a
family, nor in truth did 1 choose to appear so
much to my own disadvantage in the brilliant
circle over which you reign; and 1 hold in
abhorrence the living in hotels or furnished
apartments. Our uncle, as soon as he heard
that we had called our son alter him, pre
sented me with two hundred thousand francs
to purchase a house in Paris, and my hus
band is now looking out for one in your quar
ter of the city. My mother gave mo thirty
thousand for the furniture; so that, when I
establish myself for the season at Paris, it
will be in my own house. In short, I shall
endeavor to be worthy of my adopted sister.
As to writing long letters now, how can I?
This, in which I mean to give you a sketch
of tny every day duties, will perhaps remain
for a week on my table. It is not improbable
that Armand may cut it up into soldiers to
recruit his regiment, now drawn up in line
on the carpet, or into ships for his (leet, now
manoeuvring in his bathing tub. A singlo
lay will give you a picture of tho rest ; they
are all alke, and comprise but two events:
the children stiller, or the children do not
Buffer. Here in the country literally speak
ing, my minutes arc hours, or my hours min
utes, according to the state of the children.
I f I have any peaceablo hours, it is when
they are in bed, when I am neither rocking
th3 cradle of the one, nor telling stories to
the other, to put them to sleep. When I
have them both asleep near me, I say to my
self, now I have nothing more to tear, in
fact, my dear, during the day a mother is
continually inventing dangers. The moment
the children are out of sight why, may be
Armand has stolen the razor to play with,
perhaps his clothes have caught lire, an in
sect has stung him, he has fallen down, in
running and hurt his head, or tumbled into a
pond where he may be drowned. So you
see, maternity is but a series of sweet or te r
rible fancies. Not an hour but has its joys
and its fears. Hut of an evening, in my
chamber, the waking dream comes upon me,
when I arrange their destinies. Then 1 can
see angels standing around their pillows and
smiling upon their cherub lives. Sometimes
Armand ealls ma in his sleep; Illy to him;
kiss his forehead and his little sister's feet
without their knowing it, and then contem
plate them in their placid beauty. These are
my leasts! Yesterday our guardian angel,
I believe, disturbed me at midnight: I jump
ed up and Hew first to the cradle of Athenais,
whose head 1 found too low, and then to Ar
mand, whose feet were uncovered and purple,
with cold. "Oh, sweet mamma!" said he,
waking and kissing.
Xiis is a night scone. J low necessary it
is for a mother to have her children at her
side! Can a nurse, no matter how good a
on;?, take them up, quiet their fears, and put
them to .-deep aain, when they have been
awakened by some horrible nightmare? For
they have their little dreams, and to explain
to them one of these terrible visions is the
most dillicttlt ta-k imaginable, even to a
mother, as the child is then bewildered, half
asleep, and listens at one and the same time
with intelligence and simplicity. There is
certainly some point between sleeping and
waking at which the intellect is perfect. My
sleep has become so light that I can see and
hear my little ones through the fringe of my
eyelids. A sigh, the slightest stir awakes
me. The monster Convulsions seems to me
forever squatting tit the foot of their beds.
In the morning thev are awake with the
first chirping of the birds. In truth, their
chattel ing is hardly distinguishable from that
of a sparrow; little plaintive or joyous cries,
which reach me rather through the heart
than the ear. While Nais is pushing her
way. towards me with unsteady steps, Ar
mand, with the agility of a monkey, skips up
and clasps me round the neck. My bed then
becomes the theatre of their plays, and the
mother lies completely at their discretion.
The little girl pulls my hair, while Armand
defends it tu if it were his own property. They
continue their tricks without resistance, un
til at last their bursts of laughter, like the
firing of guns in my ears, drive away the last
vestige of bleep, and then we must all play
at " mother wolf,'' and mother wolf seizes in
her devouring lips that young and fair and
delicate llesh, impresses a thousand kisses on
those coquctish and mischievous eyes, those
rosy shoulders, and little jealousies are exci
ted which are delightful. 1 have sometimes
been mote than an hour vainly endeavoring
to put on one of my stockings.
At last, however, we are up! Then begins
the lahors of the toilet. I put on my dress
ing gown, turn up the sleeves, and tie on my
oil silk apron: then, with the assistance of
Mary, 1 bathe and wash the two little How
ers. I choose to be the sole judge of the
proper temperature of the water, for 1 have
no doubt that the crying of children when
tiiey are washed is half the time caused by
the water's being too hot or too cold. Then
for the paper ships and the little glass ducks.
If we would do our work thoroughly, we must
keep children amused while we arc washing
them. If you but knew the many pleasures
we are called upon to invent for these abso
lute sovereigns, in order to draw off their at
tention while the sponge is passing over their
bodies, you would be frightened nt the ad
dress and skill required to fulfil the glorious
duties of a mother. We must entreat and
scold, and promise; in short, practice a sort
of charlatanry, which of course must possess
the merit of concealing itself to be success
ful. A child is a great politician; and, like
all politicians must bo governed by his pas
sions. Happily, they laugh ot everything;
if a brush falls, or u piece of soap slrps thro'
tho lingers, the houso rings with their merry
shouts. In short, if our triumphs are dearly
purchased, they arc at least triumphs! But
God only for tho father knows nothing of
all this God: and you and tho angels alono
can comprehend the looks that I exchange j
with Mary when our work is done, when wc
see the little angels standing clean in the
midst of soaps, sponges, ilanncls, and the
thousand details of a real nursery. 1 have
become quite an English woman upon this
point, riie women oi that country certainly
l . . MM -u l I l. I
nave a genius ior nursing, j. uuugii uiey iuuk
only to the material and physical well being
of the child, still there is much good sense in
their nursery arrangements. 1 adopt their
custom of putting iianncl on my children's
feet, and leaving their legs bare they shall
never be swathed or eonlined with tight band
ages; this is a French invention to allow
more liberty to the nurse that she may leave
the children to themselves. A true mother
is not for a moment free. You may conceive,
then, why I do not write to you as I once did,
having now on my shoulders, in addition to
my domestic administration, tho care of two
The science of the mother consists of silent
merits without pretension or parade; if it is a
virtue in detail, a devotion at all hours. She
must watch every little sauce pan befote the
tire. And you know 1 am not one to avoid a
single trouble; even from the slightest wc
may gather something to the stock of our af
fections. O, it is so delightful to sec the
smile of a child when its little palate is grati
fied. A toss of Armand's head, on such oc
casions, is worth ti whole life of happiness.
How much I give up to any other woman the
right, the trouble, the pleasure of blowing
upon a spoonful of soup that Nais finds too
hot for her! Whenever a nurse has suffered
a child to buru his tongue or its lips, the is
sure to tell the mother that the child cries be
cause it is hungry. Put, independent of this,
how can a mother sleep in peace when she
knows tjutt her child has been swallowing
something blown upon, pei haps, by an im
pure breath a mother, to whom nature has
given no intermedial contrivance between her
own bosom and the lips of her nursling? To
cut for Nais, who is just getting her last
teeth, a piece of nicely cooked cutlet, and to
mix properly with w i II boiled potatoes, is a
work of patience: and, atlerull, in certain
cases, none but a mother can know how to
coax a fretful child to eat its proper allow
ance. If 1 had a house full ofdomestics, and
t!:e best nuie in England, I w u'.d net be in
duced to relinquish my personal attention to
the little chagrins and vexations of the chil
dren, which are only to be met and combat
ted w ith gentleness. We should devote our
very soul, my dear Louisa, to the care cf
these sweet innocents. Vv'e must believe
nothing but cur own eyes, the testimony of
our hands, as to their dressings feeding, and
lodging. When a child cries, unless its suf
fering can be clearly traced to some natural
cause, I regard it as an undeniable proof ol"
fault in the mother or nurse. Since I have
had two a! moat three, indeed to take care
of, nothing else has a place in my thoughts;
and even you, whom I love so dearly, are be
come almost a souvenir! My toilet is not
always iinhed even so late as two o'clock;
so you sco 1 do not follow the example of
mothers w ho have their apartment always ar
ranged, their dressing rooms, their robes, and
every thing always in order.
Yesterday, as the weather was very fine
for the beginning of Apiil, I determined to
take a last walk before a certain event, w hich
is not far of". Well, when a mother deter
mines on a w alk, it is a soil of era to be talk
ed of tho evening beforehand. A rmand was
to wear, lor tho first time, a coat of black
velvet, a new collar which 1 had worked, a
Scotch cap of the Stuart colors, with feathers
in it; Nais was to be in white and rose, with
a charming baby bonnet for she is still the
baby until my little brggar shall make his ap
pearance; I call him so, because he will be
the "cadet" of the family; and having al
ready seen him in my dreams, 1 know I shall
have a boy. Well! bonnet and collar, coat,
little socks, tiny boots with rose-colored la
cings, mu.din frock embroidered in silk, were
all spread out on my bed. When the two
gay little birds, who perfectly understood
what was going on, had their dark hair, on
the one curled, on the other parted over the
forehead, so as to j-how under the bonnet;
when the boots had been laced, and the tiny
feet which they so beautifully adorned, had
trotted about the nursery; when the two clean
faces, as Mary calls it, and the sparkling
eyes said, "let us go!" oh, how my heart
throbbed! To look at tho children w hom wo
have dressed with our own hinds; to see the
fair and delicate skin, with the blue veins
showing through it, w hen we have just bath
ed, and sponged, and wiped ourselves, the
eil'ect heightened by the bright colors of the
bilk and velvet ah, is there" in nature any
thing equal to it! With what never-satisfied
passion we call them back again and again,
that wc may kiss, and kiss once more, those
dear necks which, in their simple ornament
of a collar, arc far more beautiful than that
of the prettiest woman on earth. Pictures
like this are lithographed in stupid coloring,
and exhibited in shop windows, and attract
around them crowds of mothers why, I
make them for myself every day.
Behold us at length on our walk! I enjoy
ing the fruits of my labor, admiring the little
Armand, who struts with the air of a prince,
leading baby along the road which you re
member. Suddenly a carriage is seen meet
ing us; I spring to lead them out of the road;
the little rogues tumble into a mudhole, and
there's the end of my grand operations! It
becomes necessary to return to the house
with them immediately and take off their wet
clothes. I catch up the little one in my arms
without peeing that I am spoiling my own
dress; Mary seizes upon Armand, and thus
wc re-enter the house. When a lady cries
and a child gets wet, all is said; a mother
thinks no longer of herself she is absorbed.
The dinner-bell rings very often before a
thing is done to these imps; and how am I
to w ait upon both put on tlieir napkins, pin
up their sleeves, and get them ready for din
ner? This is a problem which I solve twice
a day. Put in the midst of these perpetual
troubles, frolics or disasters, there is nothing
in the house forgotten by myself. It often
happens w hen the children have been trou
blesome, that I am obliged to make my ap
pearance ' en papilhtes. " My toilet depends
upon their humor. To get a moment to my
self to write you this letter, I was obliged to
let them cut the pictures out of my romances,
build castles with the books, the backgam
mon men, or the pearl counters, or suffer
Nais to wind my silk and worsted after a
fashion of her own, the complicated nature
of which, I assure you, shows no little skill,
w hile it keeps her as mute as a mouse.
After all, I have no right to complain; my
two children enjoy good health, and amuse
themselves at less expense than one would
think. They are happy with everything; a
few trifling playthings and good watching are
all they require. Little pebbles, of various
colors, and shells picked up on the beach,
constitute their happiness. The greater num
ber of these things they possess, the richer
they think themselves. Armand holds con
versations with the flowers, the flics, the
chickens, and insects excite his deepest ad
miration. Whatever is diminutive seems to
interest them. Armand is beginning to ask
the uliciifore of everything. Ho has this
moment come to ask what I was saying to
his godmother. You know he looks upon
you as a fairy children, you know, are al
ways right.
The following little incident will show
you one of the traits of your godson. The
other day a beggar accosted us for beggars
know very well that a methcr accompanied
by her children never refuses alms. Armand
knows nothing yet of the possibility of any
body's wanting bre ad, and is quite ignorant
of the uses of money; but he hod in his hand
a trumpet, which I had just bought for him
at his particular desire, and with the air of a
king he held this out to the old man, saying,
"here, take it!"
What is there upon earth to be compared
to the joys of such a moment? The ola man
asked me if he might he permitted to keep
the toy; "for," he added, as he pocketed
what I gave him without even looking at it,
" I also have children, madam."
When I reflect that in a few years this
dear child must be sent to college, I feel fits
of shivering creep over me. A public school
may blight all these beautiful flowers of in
fancy, may denaturalize all those graces, that
adorable frankness! The beautiful hair, that'
I have so often combed, and curled, and
kissed, will be cut off. Oh, what will become
of beloved Armand?
And you, what has become of you? for you
tell me nothing of yourself in your last letter
Adieu! Najs has just had a fall, and if I
continue to write, this letter will be swelled
to a volume. ' '
In a bookseller's catalogue, appears the
following article "Memoirs of Charles I.;
with a head capitally ereevted,' ' f '

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