Poor, blind, deaf little person, predestined, perhaps, to be the
mother of a lot of other blind, deaf little persons some day,--how I
should like to develop her imagination!

Whatever children read, let us see that it is good of its kind, and
that it gives variety, so that no integral want of human nature shall
be neglected,--so that neither imagination, memory, nor reflection
shall be starved. I own it is difficult to help them in their choice,
when most of us have not learned to choose wisely for ourselves. A
discriminating taste in literature is not to be gained without effort,
and our constant reading of the little books spoils our appetite for
the great ones.

Style is a matter of some moment, even at this early stage. Mothers
sometimes forget that children cannot read slipshod, awkward,
redundant prose, and sing-song vapid verse, for ten or twelve years,
and then take kindly to the best things afterward.

Long before a child is conscious of such a thing as purity,
delicacy, directness, or strength of style, he has been acted upon
unconsciously, so that when the period of conscious choice comes, he
is either attracted or repelled by what is good, according to his
training. Children are fond of vivacity and color, and love a bit of
word painting or graceful nonsense; but there are people who strive
for this, and miss, after all, the true warmth and geniality that is
most desirable for little people. Apropos of nonsense, we remember
Leigh Hunt, who says that there are two kinds of nonsense, one
resulting from a superabundance of ideas, the other from a want of
them. Style in the hands of some writers is like war-paint to the
savage--of no perceptible value unless it is laid on thick. Our