chair, "And do you mean to bid anybody 'good-morning,' or not?" "I don't
think you gave _me_ a very nice 'good-morning,' anyhow," replied satirical
justice, aged seven. Then, of course, he was reproved for speaking
disrespectfully; and so in the space of three minutes the beautiful
opening of the new day, for both parents and children, was jarred and
robbed of its fresh harmony by the father's thoughtless rudeness.

Was the breakfast-room door much more likely to be shut the next morning?
No. The lesson was pushed aside by the pain, the motive to resolve was
dulled by the antagonism. If that father had called his son, and, putting
his arm round him, (oh! the blessed and magic virtue of putting your arm
round a child's neck!) had said, "Good-morning, my little man;" and then,
in a confidential whisper in his ear, "What shall we do to make this
forgetful little boy remember not to leave that door open, through which
the cold wind blows in on all of us?"--can any words measure the
difference between the first treatment and the second? between the success
of the one and the failure of the other?

Scores of times in a day, a child is told, in a short, authoritative way,
to do or not to do such little things as we ask at the hands of older
people, as favors, graciously, and with deference to their choice. "Would
you be so very kind as to close that window?" "May I trouble you for that
cricket?" "If you would be as comfortable in this chair as in that, I
would like to change places with you." "Oh, excuse me, but your head is
between me and the light: could you see as well if you moved a little?"
"Would it hinder you too long to stop at the store for me? I would be very
much obliged to you, if you would." "Pray, do not let me crowd you," &c.
In most people's speech to children, we find, as synonyms for these polite
phrases: "Shut that window down, this minute." "Bring me that cricket." "I
want that chair; get up. You can sit in this." "Don't you see that you are