physician thinks $100 or $150 a moderate fee for ushering him into the
light of day. Ordinary milk is not good enough for him; _sterilised_
milk will hardly do; "_modified_" milk alone is considered fit for
this democratic suckling. Even the father is expected to spend hours
in patient consultation over his food, his dress, his teething-rings,
and his outgoing. He is weighed daily, and his nourishment is changed
at once if he is a fraction either behind or ahead of what is deemed a
normal and healthy rate of growth. American writers on the care of
children give directions for the use of the most complex and
time-devouring devices for the proper preparation of their food, and
seem really to expect that mamma and nurse will go through with the
prescribed juggling with pots and pans, cylinders and lamps.

A little later the importance of the American child is just as
evident, though it takes on different forms. The small American seems
to consider himself the father of the man in a way never contemplated
by the poet. He interrupts the conversation of his elders, he has a
voice in every matter, he eats and drinks what seems good to him, he
(or at any rate _she_) wears finger-rings of price, he has no shyness
or even modesty. The theory of the equality of man is rampant in the
nursery (though I use this word only in its conventional and
figurative sense, for American children do not confine themselves to
their nurseries). You will actually hear an American mother say of a
child of two or three years of age: "I can't _induce_ him to do this;"
"She _won't_ go to bed when I tell her;" "She _will_ eat that lemon
pie, though I _know_ it is bad for her." Even the public authorities
seem to recognise the inherent right of the American child to have his
own way, as the following paragraph from the New York _Herald_ of
April 8, 1896, will testify: