Our young American of seven, at a hotel breakfast, would call for coffee
and ham and eggs and sausages and hot cakes. His English cousin would have
no liberty to call for anything. In fact, it is very doubtful if he would
be brought to table at all; and if there, bread and milk or oatmeal and
milk would form his meal.

By this time I do not doubt our baby has your heartiest pity, and you are
saying, "What! no snacks? no cooky nor cake nor candy? no running to aunt
or grandmother or tender-hearted cook for goodies? If that must be so,
half the pleasure of childhood is lost."

Perhaps; but suppose that with that pleasure some other things are also
lost. Suppose our baby to have begun life with a nervous, irritable,
sensitive organization, keenly alive to pain, and this hard regimen to
have covered these nerves with firm flesh, and filled the veins with
clean, healthy blood. Suppose headache is unknown, and loss of appetite,
and a bad taste in the mouth, and all the evils we know so well; and that
work and play are easy, and food of the simplest eaten with solid
satisfaction. The child would choose the pleasant taste, and let health
go, naturally; for a child has small reason, and life must be ordered for
it. But if the mother or father has no sense or understanding of the laws
of food, it is useless to hope for the wholesome results that under the
diet of our baby are sure to follow.

By seven some going to school has begun; and from this time on the diet,
while of the same general character, may vary more from day to day. Habits
of life are fixed during this time; and even if parents dislike certain
articles of food themselves, it is well to give no sign, but as far as
possible, accustom the child to eat any wholesome food. We are a wandering
people, and sooner or later are very likely to have circumnavigated the