nt
trials of temper for our pupils; if they can bear with good humour the
common course of events, we should be satisfied.

"I tumbled down, and I _bored_ it very well," said a little boy of
three years old, with a look of great satisfaction. If this little boy
had been thrown down on purpose by his parents as a trial of temper,
it probably would not have been borne so well. As to inconveniences,
in general it is rather a sign of indolence, than a proof of good
temper in children, to submit to them quietly; if they can be remedied
by exertion, why should they be passively endured? If they cannot be
remedied, undoubtedly it is then better to abstract the attention from
them as much as possible, because this is the only method of lessening
the pain. Children should be assisted in making this distinction, by
our applauding their exertions when they struggle against unnecessary
evil, by our commending their patience whenever they endure inevitable
pain without complaints.

Illness, for instance, is an inevitable evil. To prevent children from
becoming peevish, when they are ill, we should give our pity and
sympathy with an increased appearance of affection, whenever they
bear their illness with patience. No artifice is necessary; we need
not affect any increase of pity; patience and good humour in the
sufferer, naturally excite the affection and esteem of the spectators.
The self-complacency, which the young patient must feel from a sense
of his own fortitude, and the perception that he commands the willing
hearts of all who attend him, are really alleviations of his bodily
sufferings; the only alleviations which, in some cases, can possibly
be afforded.

The attention which is thought necessary in learning languages, often
becomes extremely painful to the pupils, and the temper is often hurt
by ineffectual attempts to improve the understanding. We have
endeavoured to explain the methods of managing[42] the attention of
children with the least possible degree of pain. Yesterday a little
boy of three years old, W----, was learning his alphabet from his
father; after he had looked at one letter for some time with great
attention, he raised his eyes, and with a look of much good humour,
said to his father, "It makes me tired to stand." His father seated
him upon his knee, and told him that he did wisely in telling what
tired him: the child, the moment he was seated, fixed his attentive
eyes again upon his letters with fres