marks, and leave a little weak spot in the mind which may prove
difficult to heal.

It is not only these spectral terrors against which children have
to be guarded. All severity and sharp indignity of punishment, all
intemperate anger, all roughness of treatment, should be kept in
strict restraint. There are noisy, boisterous, healthy children, of
course, who do not resent or even dread sharp usage. But it is not
always easy to discover the sensitive child, because fear of
displeasure will freeze him into a stupor of apparent dullness and
stubbornness. I am always infuriated by stupid people who regret
the disappearance of sharp, stern, peremptory punishments, and
lament the softness of the rising generation. If punishment must be
inflicted, it should be done good-naturedly and robustly as a
natural tit-for-tat. Anger should be reserved for things like
spitefulness and dishonesty and cruelty. There is nothing more
utterly confusing to the childish mind than to have trifling faults
treated with wrath and indignation. It is true that, in the world
of nature, punishment seems often wholly disproportionate to
offences. Nature will penalise carelessness in a disastrous
fashion, and spare the cautious and prudent sinner. But there is no
excuse for us, if we have any sense of justice and patience at all,
for not setting a better example. We ought to show children that
there is a moral order which we are endeavouring to administer. If
parents and schoolmasters, who are both judges and executioners,
allow their own rule to be fortuitous, indulge their own irritable
moods, punish severely a trifling fault, and sentimentalise or
condone a serious one, a child is utterly confused. I know several
people who have had their lives blighted, have been made
suspicious, cynical, crafty, and timid, by severe usage and