On one occasion， when there was to be a festival， speaking in the church， a procession through the streets， and other public performances for the Sunday-school celebration， some narrow-minded bigots objected to the colored children taking part. They approached Miss Murray and me with most persuasive tones on the wisdom of not allowing them to march in the procession to the church. We said， "Oh， no！ It won't do to disappoint the children. They are all dressed， with their badges on， and looking forward with great pleasure to the festivities of the day. Besides， we would not cater to any of these contemptible prejudices against color." We were all assembled in the courthouse preparatory to forming in the line of march. Some were determined to drive the colored children home， but Miss Murray and I， like two defiant hens， kept our little brood close behind us， determined to conquer or perish in the struggle. At last milder counsels prevailed， and it was agreed that they might march in the rear. We made no objection and fell into line， but， when we reached the church door， it was promptly closed as the last white child went in. We tried two other doors， but all were guarded. We shed tears of vexation and pity for the poor children， and， when they asked us the reason why they could not go in， we were embarrassed and mortified with the explanation we were forced to give. However， I invited them to my father's house， where Miss Murray and I gave them refreshments and entertained them for the rest of the day.
The puzzling questions of theology and poverty that had occupied so much of my thoughts， now gave place to the practical one， "what to do with a baby." Though motherhood is the most important of all the professions，杛equiring more knowledge than any other department in human affairs，杫et there is not sufficient attention given to the preparation for this office. If we buy a plant of a horticulturist we ask him many questions as to its needs， whether it thrives best in sunshine or in shade， whether it needs much or little water， what degrees of heat or cold； but when we hold in our arms for the first time， a being of infinite possibilities， in whose wisdom may rest the destiny of a nation， we take it for granted that the laws governing its life， health， and happiness are intuitively understood， that there is nothing new to be learned in regard to it. Yet here is a science to which philosophers have， as yet， given but little attention. An important fact has only been discovered and acted upon within the last ten years， that children come into the world tired， and not hungry， exhausted with the perilous journey. Instead of being thoroughly bathed and dressed， and kept on the rack while the nurse makes a prolonged toilet and feeds it some nostrum supposed to have much needed medicinal influence， the child's face， eyes， and mouth should be hastily washed with warm water， and the rest of its body thoroughly oiled， and then it should be slipped into a soft pillow case， wrapped in a blanket， and laid to sleep. Ordinarily， in the proper conditions， with its face uncovered in a cool， pure atmosphere， it will sleep twelve hours. Then it should be bathed， fed， and clothed in a high-necked， long-sleeved silk shirt and a blanket， all of which could be done in five minutes. As babies lie still most of the time the first six weeks， they need no dressing.
I think the nurse was a full hour bathing and dressing my firstborn， who protested with a melancholy wail every blessed minute.
Ignorant myself of the initiative steps on the threshold of time， I supposed this proceeding was approved by the best authorities. However， I had been thinking， reading， observing， and had as little faith in the popular theories in regard to babies as on any other subject. I saw them， on all sides， ill half the time， pale and peevish， dying early， having no joy in life. I heard parents complaining of weary days and sleepless nights， while each child， in turn， ran the gauntlet of red gum， jaundice， whooping cough， chicken-pox， mumps， measles， scarlet fever， and fits. They all seemed to think these inflictions were a part of the eternal plan杢hat Providence had a kind of Pandora's box， from which he scattered these venerable diseases most liberally among those whom he especially loved. Having gone through the ordeal of bearing a child， I was determined， if possible， to keep him， so I read everything I could find on the subject. But the literature on this subject was as confusing and unsatisfactory as the longer and shorter catechisms and the Thirty-nine Articles of our faith. I had recently visited our dear friends， Theodore and Angelina Grimke-Weld， and they warned me against books on this subject. They had been so misled by one author， who assured them that the stomach of a child could only hold one tablespoonful， that they nearly starved their firstborn to death. Though the child dwindled， day by day， and， at the end of a month， looked like a little old man， yet they still stood by the distinguished author. Fortunately， they both went off， one day， and left the child with Sister "Sarah，" who thought she would make an experiment and see what a child's stomach could hold， as she had grave doubts about the tablespoonful theory. To her surprise the baby took a pint bottle full of milk， and had the sweetest sleep thereon he had known in his earthly career. After that he was permitted to take what he wanted， and "the author" was informed of his libel on the infantile stomach.
