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summary of changes in the fourth edition

1. This edition provides additional discussion on using classes (Chapter 2),

writing classes (Chapter 3), and interfaces (Chapter 4).
2. Chapter 6 contains additional material discussing the running time of lists, the
use of maps, and the use of views in the Java Collections API.
3. The Scanner class is described, and code throughout the text makes use of the
Scanner class.
4. Chapter 9 describes and implements the 48-bit linear congruential generator that
is part of both the Java and many C++ libraries.
5. Chapter 20 has new material on separate chaining hash tables and the String
hashCode method.
6. There are numerous revisions to the text that improve on the prose in the
previous edition.
7. Many new exercises are provided in Parts I, II, and IV.

a unique approach

My basic premise is that software development tools in all languages come with
large libraries, and many data structures are part of these libraries. I envision an
eventual shift in emphasis of data structures courses from implementation to use. In this
book I take a unique approach by separating the data structures into their specification
and subsequent implementation and taking advantage of an already existing data
structures library, the Java Collections API.
A subset of the Collections API suitable for most applications is discussed in a
single chapter (Chapter 6) in Part Two. Part Two also covers basic analysis techniques,
recursion, and sorting. Part Three contains a host of applications that use the
Collections API’s data structures. Implementation of the Collections API is not shown
until Part Four, once the data structures have already been used. Because the
Collections API is part of Java, students can design large projects early on, using
existing software components.
Despite the central use of the Collections API in this text, it is neither a book on the
Collections API nor a primer on implementing the Collections API specifically; it
remains a book that emphasizes data structures and basic problem-solving techniques.
Of course, the general techniques used in the design of data structures are applicable to
the implementation of the Collections API, so several chapters in Part Four include
Collections API implementations. However, instructors can choose the simpler
implementations in Part Four that do not discuss the Collections API protocol. Chapter
6, which presents the Collections API, is essential to understanding the code in Part
Three. I attempted to use only the basic parts of the Collections API.
Many instructors will prefer a more traditional approach in which each data structure
is defined, implemented, and then used. Because there is no dependency between
material in Parts Three and Four, a traditional course can easily be taught from this
book.

prerequisites

Students using this book should have knowledge of either an object-oriented or

procedural programming language. Knowledge of basic features, including primitive
data types, operators, control structures, functions (methods), and input and output (but
not necessarily arrays and classes) is assumed.
Students who have taken a first course using C++ or Java may find the first four
chapters “light” reading in some places. However, other parts are definitely “heavy”
with Java details that may not have been covered in introductory courses.
Students who have had a first course in another language should begin at Chapter 1
and proceed slowly. If a student would like to use a Java reference book as well, some
recommendations are given in Chapter 1.
Knowledge of discrete math is helpful but is not an absolute prerequisite. Several
mathematical proofs are presented, but the more complex proofs are preceded by a
brief math review. Chapters 7 and 19–24 require some degree of mathematical
sophistication. The instructor may easily elect to skip mathematical aspects of the
proofs by presenting only the results. All proofs in the text are clearly marked and are
separate from the body of the text.

java

This textbook presents material using the Java programming language. Java is a
language that is often examined in comparison with C++. Java offers many benefits, and
programmers often view Java as a safer, more portable, and easier-to-use language than
C++.
The use of Java requires that some decisions be made when writing a textbook. Some
of the decisions made are as follows:
1. The minimum required compiler is Java 5. Please make sure you are using a
compiler that is Java 5-compatible.
 2. GUIs are not emphasized. Although GUIs are a nice feature in Java, they seem
to be an implementation detail rather than a core Data Structures topic. We do
not use Swing in the text, but because many instructors may prefer to do so, a
brief introduction to Swing is provided in Appendix B.
3. Applets are not emphasized. Applets use GUIs. Further, the focus of the course
is on data structures, rather than language features. Instructors who would like
to discuss applets will need to supplement this text with a Java reference.
4. Inner classes are used. Inner classes are used primarily in the implementation
of the Collections API, and can be avoided by instructors who prefer to do so.
5. The concept of a pointer is discussed when reference variables are
introduced. Java does not have a pointer type. Instead, it has a reference type.
However, pointers have traditionally been an important Data Structures topic
that needs to be introduced. I illustrate the concept of pointers in other
languages when discussing reference variables.
6. Threads are not discussed. Some members of the CS community argue that
multithreaded computing should become a core topic in the introductory
programming sequence. Although it is possible that this will happen in the
future, few introductory programming courses discuss this difficult topic.
7. Some Java 5 features are not used. Including:
Static imports, not used because in my opinion it actually makes the code harder
to read.
Enumerated types, not used because there were few places to declare public
enumerated types that would be usable by clients. In the few possible places, it
did not seem to help the code’s readability.

text organization

In this text I introduce Java and object-oriented programming (particularly abstraction)

in Part One. I discuss primitive types, reference types, and some of the predefined
classes and exceptions before proceeding to the design of classes and inheritance.
In Part Two, I discuss Big-Oh and algorithmic paradigms, including recursion and
randomization. An entire chapter is devoted to sorting, and a separate chapter contains
a description of basic data structures. I use the Collections API to present the interfaces
and running times of the data structures. At this point in the text, the instructor may take
several approaches to present the remaining material, including the following two.
1. Discuss the corresponding implementations (either the Collections API versions
or the simpler versions) in Part Four as each data structure is described. The
instructor can ask students to extend the classes in various ways, as suggested in
the exercises.
 2. Show how each Collections API class is used and cover implementation at a
later point in the course. The case studies in Part Three can be used to support
this approach. As complete implementations are available on every modern
Java compiler, the instructor can use the Collections API in programming
projects. Details on using this approach are given shortly.
Part Five describes advanced data structures such as splay trees, pairing heaps, and
the disjoint set data structure, which can be covered if time permits or, more likely, in a
follow-up course.

chapter-by-chapter text organization

Part One consists of four chapters that describe the basics of Java used throughout the
text. Chapter 1 describes primitive types and illustrates how to write basic programs in
Java. Chapter 2 discusses reference types and illustrates the general concept of a
pointer—even though Java does not have pointers—so that students learn this important
Data Structures topic. Several of the basic reference types (strings, arrays, files, and
Scanners) are illustrated, and the use of exceptions is discussed. Chapter 3 continues
this discussion by describing how a class is implemented. Chapter 4 illustrates the use
of inheritance in designing hierarchies (including exception classes and I/O) and
generic components. Material on design patterns, including the wrapper, adapter, and
decorator patterns can be found in Part One.
Part Two focuses on the basic algorithms and building blocks. In Chapter 5 a
complete discussion of time complexity and Big-Oh notation is provided. Binary search
is also discussed and analyzed. Chapter 6 is crucial because it covers the Collections
API and argues intuitively what the running time of the supported operations should be
for each data structure. (The implementation of these data structures, in both
Collections API-style and a simplified version, is not provided until Part Four). This
chapter also introduces the iterator pattern as well as nested, local, and anonymous
classes. Inner classes are deferred until Part Four, where they are discussed as an
implementation technique. Chapter 7 describes recursion by first introducing the notion
of proof by induction. It also discusses divide-and-conquer, dynamic programming, and
backtracking. A section describes several recursive numerical algorithms that are used
to implement the RSA cryptosystem. For many students, the material in the second half
of Chapter 7 is more suitable for a follow-up course. Chapter 8 describes, codes, and
analyzes several basic sorting algorithms, including the insertion sort, Shellsort,
mergesort, and quicksort, as well as indirect sorting. It also proves the classic lower
bound for sorting and discusses the related problems of selection. Finally, Chapter 9 is
a short chapter that discusses random numbers, including their generation and use in
randomized algorithms.
 Part Three provides several case studies, and each chapter is organized around a
general theme. Chapter 10 illustrates several important techniques by examining games.
Chapter 11 discusses the use of stacks in computer languages by examining an algorithm
to check for balanced symbols and the classic operator precedence parsing algorithm.
Complete implementations with code are provided for both algorithms. Chapter 12
discusses the basic utilities of file compression and cross-reference generation, and
provides a complete implementation of both. Chapter 13 broadly examines simulation
by looking at one problem that can be viewed as a simulation and then at the more
classic event-driven simulation. Finally, Chapter 14 illustrates how data structures are
used to implement several shortest path algorithms efficiently for graphs.
Part Four presents the data structure implementations. Chapter 15 discusses inner
classes as an implementation technique and illustrates their use in the ArrayList
implementation. In the remaining chapters of Part Four, implementations that use simple
protocols (insert, find, remove variations) are provided. In some cases, Collections
API implementations that tend to use more complicated Java syntax (in addition to
being complex because of their large set of required operations) are presented. Some
mathematics is used in this part, especially in Chapters 19–21, and can be skipped at
the discretion of the instructor. Chapter 16 provides implementations for both stacks
and queues. First these data structures are implemented using an expanding array, then
they are implemented using linked lists. The Collections API versions are discussed at
the end of the chapter. General linked lists are described in Chapter 17. Singly linked
lists are illustrated with a simple protocol, and the more complex Collections API
version that uses doubly linked lists is provided at the end of the chapter. Chapter 18
describes trees and illustrates the basic traversal schemes. Chapter 19 is a detailed
chapter that provides several implementations of binary search trees. Initially, the basic
binary search tree is shown, and then a binary search tree that supports order statistics
is derived. AVL trees are discussed but not implemented, but the more practical red–
black trees and AA-trees are implemented. Then the Collections API TreeSet and
TreeMap are implemented. Finally, the B-tree is examined. Chapter 20 discusses hash
tables and implements the quadratic probing scheme as part of HashSet and HashMap,
after examination of a simpler alternative. Chapter 21 describes the binary heap and
examines heapsort and external sorting.
Part Five contains material suitable for use in a more advanced course or for general
reference. The algorithms are accessible even at the first-year level. However, for
completeness, sophisticated mathematical analyses that are almost certainly beyond the
reach of a first-year student were included. Chapter 22 describes the splay tree, which
is a binary search tree that seems to perform extremely well in practice and is
competitive with the binary heap in some applications that require priority queues.
Chapter 23 describes priority queues that support merging operations and provides an
implementation of the pairing heap. Finally, Chapter 24 examines the classic disjoint
set data structure.
The appendices contain additional Java reference material. Appendix A lists the
operators and their precedence. Appendix B has material on Swing, and Appendix C
describes the bitwise operators used in Chapter 12.

chapter dependencies

Generally speaking, most chapters are independent of each other. However, the
following are some of the notable dependencies.
Part One (Tour of Java): The first four chapters should be covered in their
entirety in sequence first, prior to continuing on to the rest of the text.
Chapter 5 (Algorithm Analysis): This chapter should be covered prior to
Chapters 6 and 8. Recursion (Chapter 7) can be covered prior to this chapter,
but the instructor will have to gloss over some details about avoiding inefficient
recursion.
Chapter 6 (The Collections API): This chapter can be covered prior to or in
conjunction with material in Part Three or Four.
Chapter 7 (Recursion): The material in Sections 7.1–7.3 should be covered
prior to discussing recursive sorting algorithms, trees, the Tic-Tac-Toe case
study, and shortest-path algorithms. Material such as the RSA cryptosystem,
dynamic programming, and backtracking (unless Tic-Tac-Toe is discussed) is
otherwise optional.
Chapter 8 (Sorting Algorithms): This chapter should follow Chapters 5 and 7.
However, it is possible to cover Shellsort without Chapters 5 and 7. Shellsort
is not recursive (hence there is no need for Chapter 7), and a rigorous analysis
of its running time is too complex and is not covered in the book (hence there is
little need for Chapter 5).
Chapter 15 (Inner Classes and Implementations of ArrayLists): This material
should precede the discussion of the Collections API implementations.
Chapters 16 and 17 (Stacks and Queues/Linked Lists): These chapters may be
covered in either order. However, I prefer to cover Chapter 16 first because I
believe that it presents a simpler example of linked lists.
Chapters 18 and 19 (Trees/Binary Search Trees): These chapters can be
covered in either order or simultaneously.

separate entities

The other chapters have little or no dependencies:

 Chapter 9 (Randomization): The material on random numbers can be covered
at any point as needed.
Part Three (Applications): Chapters 10–14 can be covered in conjunction with
or after the Collections API (in Chapter 6) and in roughly any order. There are a
few references to earlier chapters. These include Section 10.2 (Tic-Tac-Toe),
which refers to a discussion in Section 7.7, and Section 12.2 (cross-reference
generation), which refers to similar lexical analysis code in Section 11.1
(balanced symbol checking).
Chapters 20 and 21 (Hash Tables/A Priority Queue): These chapters can be
covered at any point.
Part Five (Advanced Data Structures): The material in Chapters 22–24 is self-
contained and is typically covered in a follow-up course.

mathematics

I have attempted to provide mathematical rigor for use in Data Structures courses that
emphasize theory and for follow-up courses that require more analysis. However, this
material stands out from the main text in the form of separate theorems and, in some
cases, separate sections or subsections. Thus it can be skipped by instructors in courses
that deemphasize theory.
In all cases, the proof of a theorem is not necessary to the understanding of the
theorem’s meaning. This is another illustration of the separation of an interface (the
theorem statement) from its implementation (the proof). Some inherently mathematical
material, such as Sections 7.4 (Numerical Applications of Recursion), can be skipped
without affecting comprehension of the rest of the chapter.

course organization

A crucial issue in teaching the course is deciding how the materials in Parts Two–Four
are to be used. The material in Part One should be covered in depth, and the student
should write one or two programs that illustrate the design, implementation, testing of
classes and generic classes, and perhaps object-oriented design, using inheritance.
Chapter 5 discusses Big-Oh notation. An exercise in which the student writes a short
program and compares the running time with an analysis can be given to test
comprehension.
In the separation approach, the key concept of Chapter 6 is that different data
structures support different access schemes with different efficiency. Any case study
(except the Tic-Tac-Toe example that uses recursion) can be used to illustrate the
applications of the data structures. In this way, the student can see the data structure and
how it is used but not how it is efficiently implemented. This is truly a separation.
Viewing things this way will greatly enhance the ability of students to think abstractly.
Students can also provide simple implementations of some of the Collections API
components (some suggestions are given in the exercises in Chapter 6) and see the
difference between efficient data structure implementations in the existing Collections
API and inefficient data structure implementations that they will write. Students can
also be asked to extend the case study, but again, they are not required to know any of
the details of the data structures.
Efficient implementation of the data structures can be discussed afterward, and
recursion can be introduced whenever the instructor feels it is appropriate, provided it
is prior to binary search trees. The details of sorting can be discussed at any time after
recursion. At this point, the course can continue by using the same case studies and
experimenting with modifications to the implementations of the data structures. For
instance, the student can experiment with various forms of balanced binary search trees.
Instructors who opt for a more traditional approach can simply discuss a case study
in Part Three after discussing a data structure implementation in Part Four. Again, the
book’s chapters are designed to be as independent of each other as possible.

exercises

Exercises come in various flavors; I have provided four varieties. The basic In Short
exercise asks a simple question or requires hand-drawn simulations of an algorithm
described in the text. The In Theory section asks questions that either require
mathematical analysis or asks for theoretically interesting solutions to problems. The In
Practice section contains simple programming questions, including questions about
syntax or particularly tricky lines of code. Finally, the Programming Projects section
contains ideas for extended assignments.

pedagogical features

Margin notes are used to highlight important topics.

The Key Concepts section lists important terms along with definitions and page
references.
 The Common Errors section at the end of each chapter provides a list of
commonly made errors.

References for further reading are provided at the end of most chapters.

supplements

A variety of supplemental materials are available for this text. The following resources
are available at http://www.aw.com/cssupport for all readers of this textbook:

Source code files from the book. (The On the Internet section at the end of each
chapter lists the filenames for the chapter’s code.)
In addition, the following supplements are available to qualified instructors. To access
them, visit http://www.pearsonhighered.com/cs and search our catalog by title for Data
Structures and Problem Solving Using Java. Once on the catalog page for this book,
select the link to Instructor Resources.
PowerPoint slides of all figures in the book.
Instructor’s Guide that illustrates several approaches to the material. It includes
samples of test questions, assignments, and syllabi. Answers to select exercises
are also provided.

acknowledgments

Many, many people have helped me in the preparation of this book. Many have already
been acknowledged in the prior edition and the related C++ version. Others, too
numerous to list, have sent e-mail messages and pointed out errors or inconsistencies in
explanations that I have tried to fix in this edition.
For this edition I would like to thank my editor Michael Hirsch, editorial assistant
Stephanie Sellinger, senior production supervisor Marilyn Lloyd, and project manager
Rebecca Lazure and her team at Laserwords. Thanks also go to Allison Michael and
Erin Davis in marketing and Elena Sidorova and Suzanne Heiser of Night & Day
Design for a terrific cover.
Some of the material in this text is adapted from my textbook Efficient C
Programming: A Practical Approach (Prentice Hall, 1995) and is used with
permission of the publisher. I have included end-of-chapter references where
appropriate.
My World Wide Web page, , will contain
updated source code, an errata list, and a link for receiving bug reports.

M. A. W.
Miami, Florida
contents

part one Tour of Java

chapter 1 primitive java

1.1 the general environment

1.2 the first program

1.2.1 comments

1.2.2

1.2.3 terminal output

1.3 primitive types

1.3.1 the primitive types

1.3.2 constants

1.3.3 declaration and initialization of primitive types

1.3.4 terminal input and output

1.4 basic operators

1.4.1 assignment operators

1.4.2 binary arithmetic operators

1.4.3 unary operators

1.4.4 type conversions

1.5 conditional statements

 1.5.1 relational and equality operators

1.5.2 logical operators

1.5.3 the statement

1.5.4 the statement

1.5.5 the statement

1.5.6 the statement

1.5.7 and

1.5.8 the statement

1.5.9 the conditional operator

1.6 methods
1.6.1 overloading of method names

1.6.2 storage classes

summary

key concepts

common errors

on the internet

exercises

references

chapter 2 reference types

2.1 what is a reference?

2.2 basics of objects and references

2.2.1 the dot operator (.)

2.2.2 declaration of objects

2.2.3 garbage collection

2.2.4 the meaning of =

2.2.5 parameter passing

2.2.6 the meaning of ==

2.2.7 no operator overloading for objects

2.3 strings
2.3.1 basics of string manipulation

2.3.2 string concatenation

2.3.3 comparing strings

2.3.4 other methods

2.3.5 converting other types to strings

2.4 arrays
2.4.1 declaration, assignment, and methods

2.4.2 dynamic array expansion

2.4.3

2.4.4 multidimensional arrays

2.4.5 command-line arguments

2.4.6 enhanced loop

2.5 exception handling

2.5.1 processing exceptions
 2.5.2 the clause

2.5.3 common exceptions

2.5.4 the and clauses

2.6 input and output

2.6.1 basic stream operations

2.6.2 the type

2.6.3 sequential files

summary

key concepts

common errors

on the internet

exercises

references

chapter 3 objects and classes

3.1 what is object-oriented programming?

3.2 a simple example

3.3 javadoc

3.4 basic methods

3.4.1 constructors

3.4.2 mutators and accessors

3.4.3 output and

3.4.4

3.4.5

3.5 example: using

3.6 additional constructs

3.6.1 the reference

3.6.2 the shorthand for constructors

3.6.3 the operator

3.6.4 instance members versus static members

3.6.5 static fields and methods

3.6.6 static initializers

3.7 example: implementing a class

3.8 packages
3.8.1 the directive

3.8.2 the statement

3.8.3 the environment variable

3.8.4 package visibility rules

3.9 a design pattern: composite (pair)

summary

key concepts

common errors
 on the internet

exercises

references

chapter 4 inheritance

4.1 what is inheritance?

4.1.1 creating new classes

4.1.2 type compatibility

4.1.3 dynamic dispatch and polymorphism

4.1.4 inheritance hierarchies

4.1.5 visibility rules

4.1.6 the constructor and super

4.1.7 methods and classes

4.1.8 overriding a method

4.1.9 type compatibility revisited

4.1.10 compatibility of array types

4.1.11 covariant return types

4.2 designing hierarchies

4.2.1 abstract methods and classes

4.2.2 designing for the future

4.3 multiple inheritance

4.4 the interface

4.4.1 specifying an interface
4.4.2 implementing an interface

4.4.3 multiple interfaces

4.4.4 interfaces are abstract classes

4.5 fundamental inheritance in java

4.5.1 the Object class

4.5.2 the hierarchy of exceptions

4.5.3 i/o: the decorator pattern

4.6 implementing generic components using inheritance

4.6.1 using Object for genericity

4.6.2 wrappers for primitive types

4.6.3 autoboxing/unboxing

4.6.4 adapters: changing an interface

4.6.5 using interface types for genericity

4.7 implementing generic components using java 5 generics

4.7.1 simple generic classes and interfaces

4.7.2 wildcards with bounds

4.7.3 generic static methods

4.7.4 type bounds

4.7.5 type erasure

4.7.6 restrictions on generics

4.8 the functor (function objects)

 4.8.1 nested classes

4.8.2 local classes

4.8.3 anonymous classes

4.8.4 nested classes and generics

4.9 dynamic dispatch details

summary

key concepts

common errors

on the internet

exercises

references
part two Algorithms and Building Blocks

chapter 5 algorithm analysis

5.1 what is algorithm analysis?

5.2 examples of algorithm running times

5.3 the maximum contiguous subsequence sum problem

5.3.1 the obvious O(N3) algorithm

5.3.2 an improved O(N2) algorithm

5.3.3 a linear algorithm

5.4 general big-oh rules

5.5 the logarithm

 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 XII

THE CHILD AT HOME

There are upon earth many millions of people—most of them

children. Mankind has been continuous upon earth for millions of
years; children have been equally continuous. Children constitute a
permanent class, the largest class in the population. There are men,
there are women, there are children, and the children outnumber
the adults by three to two.

In the order of nature, all things give way before the laws and
processes of reproduction; the individual is sacrificed to the race.
Natural forces, working through the unconscious submission of the
animal, tend steadily to improve a species through its young.

Social forces, working through our conscious system of education,

tend to improve our species through its young. Humanity is
developed age after age through a gradual improvement in its
children; and since we have seen this and learned somewhat to
assist nature by art, humanity develops more quickly and smoothly.

Every generation brings us more close to recognition of this great

basic law, finds us more willing to follow nature's principle and bend
all our energies to the best development of the child. We early
learned to multiply our power and wisdom by transmission through
speech, and, applying that process to the child, we taught him what
we knew, saving to humanity millennial periods of evolution by this
conscious short-cut through education.

Nature's way of teaching is a very crude one—mere wholesale

capital punishment. She kills off the erring without explanation. They
die without knowing what for, and the survivors don't know, either.
We, by education, markedly assist nature, transmitting quick
knowledge from mouth to mouth, as well as slow tendency from
generation to generation. More and more we learn to collect race-
improvement and transmit it to the child, the most swift and easy
method of social progress. To-day, more than ever before, are our
best minds giving attention to this vital problem—how to make
better people. How to make better bodies and better minds, better
tendencies, better habits, better ideas—this is the study of the
modern educator.

Slowly we have learned that the best methods of education are more
in modifying influence than in transmitted facts; that, as the proverb
puts it, "example is better than precept." The modifying influences of
social environment have deeper and surer effect on the human race
than any others, and that effect is strongest on the young.
Therefore, we attach great importance to what we call the "bringing
up" of children, and we are right. The education of the little child,
through the influences of its early environment, is the most
important process of human life.

Whatever progress we make in art and science, in manufacture and

commerce, is of no permanent importance unless it modifies
humanity for the better. That a race of apes should live by
agriculture, manufacture, and commerce is inconceivable. They
would cease to be apes by so living; but, if they could, those
processes would be of no value, the product being only apes. We are
here to grow, to become a higher and better kind of people. Every
process of life is valuable in proportion to its contributing to our
improvement, and the process that most contributes to our
improvement is the most important of human life. That process is
the education of the child, and that education includes all the
influences which reach him, the active efforts of parent and teacher,
the unconscious influence of all associates, and the passive effect of
the physical environment.
All these forces, during the most impressionable years of childhood,
and most of them during the whole period, are centered in the
home. The home is by all means the most active factor in the
education of the child. This we know well. This we believe devoutly.
This we accept without reservation or inquiry, seeing the power of
home influences, and never presuming to question their merit.

In our general contented home-worship we seem to think that a

home—any home—is in itself competent to do all that is necessary
for the right rearing of children. Or, if we discriminate at all, if we
dare admit by referring to "a good home" that there are bad ones—
we then hold all the more firmly that the usual type of "a good
home" is the perfect environment for a child. If this dogma is
questioned, our only alternative is to contrast the state of the child
without a home to that of the child with one. The orphan, the
foundling, the neglected child of the street is contrasted with the
well-fed and comfortably clothed darling of the household, and we
relapse into our profound conviction that the home is all right.

Again the reader is asked to put screws on the feelings and use the
reason for a little while. Let us examine both the child and the
home, with new eyes, seeing eyes, and consider if there is no room
for improvement. And first, to soothe the ruffled spirit and quiet
alarm, let it be here stated in good set terms that the author does
NOT advocate "separating the child from the mother," or depriving it
of the home. Mother and child can never be "separated" in any such
sense as these unreasoning terrors suggest. The child has as much
right to the home as anyone—more, for it was originated for his
good. The point raised is, whether the home, as it now is, is the best
and only environment for children, and, further, whether the home
as an environment for children cannot be improved.

What is a child? The young of the human species. First, a young

animal, whose physical life must be conserved and brought to full
development. Then, a young human, whose psychical life, the
human life, must be similarly cared for.

How does the home stand as regards either branch of development?

In what way is it specifically prepared for the use, enjoyment, and
benefit of a child? First, as to the structure of the thing, the house.
We build houses for ourselves, modifying them somewhat according
to climate, position, and so on. How do we modify them for
children? What is there in the make-up of any ordinary house
designed to please, instruct, educate, and generally benefit a child?
In so far as he shares our own physical needs for shelter and
convenience he is benefited; but, as a child, with his own specific
necessities, desires, and limitations, what has the architect planned
for the child—what have the mason and carpenter built for the child?
Is there anything in the size and proportion, the material, the
internal arrangement, the finish and decoration, to hint of the
existence of children on earth?

The most that we find, in the most favoured houses, is "a sunny
nursery." In one home of a thousand we find one room out of a
dozen planned for children. What sort of an allowance is this for the
largest class of citizens? Suppose our homes had, among the more
expensive ones, one room for the adult family to flock into, and all
the rest was built and arranged for children! We should think
ourselves somewhat neglected in such an arrangement. But we are
not as numerous as our children, nor as important; and, in any case,
the home belongs to the child; he is the cause of its being; it is for
him, hypothetically, that we marry and start a home.

What, then, is the explanation of this lack of special provision for the
real founder of the home? This utter unsuitability of the house to the
child, and the child to the house, finds its crowning expression in our
cities, where house-owners refuse to let their houses to families with
children! What are houses for? What are homes for? For children,
first, last, and always! How, then, have we come to this vanishing
point of absurdity? What paradoxical gulf stretches between these
houses where "no children need apply" and the rest of the houses.
There is no visible difference in their plans and construction. No
houses are built for children; and these particular landlords simply
accent the fact, and try to limit the use of the house to the persons
for whom it was intended—the adults.

What is there in the presence of children in a house to alarm the

owner? "They are so destructive," he will tell you; "they are
mischievous, they are noisy. Other tenants object to them. They
injure the house when old enough to run about, and squall
objectionably when babies." All this is true enough. Most babies are
a source of distress to their immediate neighbours because of their
painful wailing, and most little children continue to cause distress by
their noise in play and shrieks under punishment. Is all this outcry
necessary? Must the poor baby suffer by night and day; must the
small child bang and yell, and must it be punished so frequently?
Why is the process of getting acclimated to the world so difficult and
agonising? Is there really no way that the experience of all the ages
may be turned to account to facilitate the first years of a child's life?

Our behaviour to the child rests on several assumptions which are,

at least, not proven. We assume that he has to be sick. We assume
that he has to be naughty. We assume that life is hard and
unpleasant, anyway, and that, the sooner he learns this and gets
broken into it, the better. There is no more reason why a child
should be sick than a calf or colt. Infancy is tender, and needs care,
but it is not a disease. The Egyptian mother loves her baby, no
doubt, though it goes blind through her ignorance and neglect—she
knows nothing of ophthalmia, and lets the flies crawl over its
helpless face, even while she loves it. We scorn and pity her
ignorance, but we accept the colic, disorders of teething, and all the
train of "preventable diseases" which kill off our babies, precisely as
she accepts ophthalmia.
We have not learned yet how to make a baby the happy, contented,
smoothly developing little animal that he should be. Some of us do
better than others, but the knowledge of one is no gain to the rest,
being confined to one family. Slowly the wider human care, the
larger love, the broader knowledge, of doctor, nurse, and teacher are
penetrating the innermost fortress of the home, and teaching the
mother how to care for the child. The home did not teach her, and
never would. In the untouched homes of ancient Eastern races,
countless generations of mothers transmit the same traditional
mistakes, love in the same blind way, and weep the same loss as
unprofitably as they did ten thousand years ago.

In the homes of civilised races, where the light of social progress is

most fully felt, we see the most improvement; but even here the
pressure of growing knowledge is still combated by the jealous
arrogance of the untaught mother, and the measureless inertia of
the home.

In plain fact, what does the average home offer to the newcomer,
the utterly defenceless baby, the all-important Coming Generation?
See physical conditions first. To what sort of world is the new soul
introduced? To a place built and furnished for several mixed and
conflicting industries; not to a place planned for babies—aired,
lighted, heated, coloured, and kept quiet to suit the young brain and
body; but a building meant for a number of grown people to cook in,
sweep and dust in, wash and iron in, cut and sew in, eat and wash
dishes in, see their friends in, dress, undress, and sleep in; and
incidentally, in the cracks and crevices of all these varied goings on,
to "bring up" children in.

In that very small percentage of families where a nursery is arranged

for children, and a nurse and a nursery-governess do deputy service
for the always alleged "mother's care," we find some provision made
for children; but of what sort? This deputy is inferior to the mother,
save in a certain rule-of-thumb experience which enables her to
"manage children." Her knowledge of infant hygiene is not much
greater, nor of infant psychology. Look, for instance, at the babies of
our richer classes, as we see them continually in the streets and
parks. Our only alternative from the home is the street, we having as
yet no place for our babies. If near a park so much the better, but in
general the sidewalk must serve, for rich or poor.

As one immediate physical condition, examine the dress of these

babies and young children; this among parents of wealth, and,
presumably, intelligence. See the baby in the perambulator so rolled
and bedded in, so tucked and strapped, that he cannot move
anything but perhaps a stiffly projecting arm. Think of an adult
cocooned in this manner, unable to roll, stir, turn, in any way relieve
the pressure or change the attitude. And, when you have considered
the sensations of a tough and patient adult frame, think further of
those of a soft, tender, active, and impatient baby body.

The dress of a baby or little child bears no relation to his immediate

comfort or to the needs of his incessant growth. Among our wisest
parents there is to-day a new custom, happily increasing, of barefoot
freedom, of dirt-proof overalls, of a chance for beautiful,
unconscious growth; but this does not reach the vast majority of
suffering little ones. It does not spread because of the seclusion and
irresponsible dominance of the separate home; and further—
because of the low-grade intelligence of the home-bound mother.

She whose condition of arrested development makes her

unquestioningly submit to the distortion, constriction, weight, and
profusion of fashion in clothing for her own body, is not likely to
show much sense in dressing a child. Beautiful fabrics, rich textures,
expensive adornments, she heaps upon it. She wishes it to look
pretty, according to her barbaric taste; and she disfigures the grave,
sweet beauty of a baby face, the lovely moving curves of the little
body, with heavy masses of stiff cloth, starched frippery, and huge,
nodding, gaily decorated hats that would please an Ashantee
warrior.

If some cartoonist would give us a copy of the Sistine Mother and

Child in the costume of our mothers and children, showing those
immortal cherub faces blinking obliquely from under flopping hat
brims and rich plumes, perhaps we might in sudden shocked
perception see with what coarse irreverence we disfigure our blessed
little ones.

The child does not find in the home any assurance of health, beauty,
or free growth. He, and especially she, must wear the dainty
garments on which our misguided mother love so wastefully lavishes
itself; and must then be restricted in all natural exercise lest they be
torn or soiled. To dress a little child so that he may be perfectly
comfortable, and grow in absolute freedom, has not occurred to the
home-bound mother.

Neither has she learned how to feed it. If the home is the best place
for children, if the home is the best place for the preparation of food,
would it not seem as if in all these long, long years we might have
evolved some system of feeding little children so as to keep them at
least alive—to say nothing of their being healthy?

The animal mother, guided by her unspoiled instinct, does manage

to feed her young, and to teach it how to feed itself. The human
mother, long since cut off from that poor primitive guidance, and
proudly refusing to put knowledge in its place, feeds the baby in
accordance with her revered domestic traditions, and calls in the
doctor to remedy her mistakes. One man, in Buffalo, has recently
saved fifteen hundred babies in a year, lowering the annual death
rate by that amount, by public distribution of directions for preparing
milk. He was not a mother. He was not shut up in a home. He
studied and he taught in the light of public progress, in a growing
world; and succeeded in filtering some of this saving knowledge into
the darkness of fifteen hundred homes.
The average child is not fed properly; and there is nothing in the
home to teach the mother how. She must learn outside, but she is
not willing to. She still believes, and her husband with her, in the
infallible power of "a mother's love" and "a mother's care"; and our
babies are buried by thousands and thousands without our learning
anything by the continual sacrifice. This is owing to the isolation of
the home. If there were any general knowledge, general custom,
association, comparison; if mothers considered their enormous
responsibility as a class, instead of merely as individuals, this could
not be. Knowledge and experience have to be gathered by wide and
prolonged study; they do not come by an infinite repetition of the
same private experiments.

We have to-day the first stirring of this great multitude of separately

concealed experimenters toward that association and exchange of
view, that carefully recorded observation, that reasonable study,
which are necessary for any human advance. Our mothers are
beginning to come out of their isolation into normal human contact;
to take that first step toward wisdom—the acknowledgment of
ignorance; and to study what little is known of this new science,
Child-culture.

But it is only a beginning, very scant and small, and ridiculed

unmercifully by the great slow dead-weight of the majority. The
position of the satirist of modern motherhood is a safe and easy one.
To ally one's self with the great mass of present humanity, and the
far greater mass of the past, of all our hoary and revered traditions,
and to direct this combined weight against the first movement of a
new idea—this is an old game. Humanity has thus resisted every
step of its own progress; but, though it makes that progress difficult
and slow, it cannot wholly prevent it.

If the home and the home-bound mother do not ensure right food or
clothing for the child, what do they offer in safety, and in the
increasing educational influence which early environment must
have? As to safety—the shelter of the home—we have already seen
that even to the adult the home offers no protection from the main
dangers of our time: disease, crime, and fire or other accident. The
child not only shares these common dangers, but is more exposed to
them, owing to more absolute confinement to the home and greater
susceptibility. Whatever we suffer from sewer-gas, carbonic dioxide,
or microbes and bacteria, the child suffers more.

He breathes the dust of our carpets, and eats it if we do not watch

him. "I can't take my eyes off that child one minute," cries the
admiring mamma, "or he'll be sure to put something in his mouth!"
That a perfectly clean place might be prepared for a creeping baby,
where there was nothing whatever he could put in his mouth, has
never occurred to her. The child shares and more than shares every
danger of the home, and furthermore suffers an endless list of
accidents peculiar to his limitations. Even our dull nerves are roused
to some sort of response by the terrible frequency of accidents to
little children.

I have here a number, taken from one newspaper in one city during
one year; not exhaustive daily scrutiny either; merely a casual
collection:

"Mother and Baby Both Badly Burned." A three-year-old baby this—a

match, a little night-dress flaming, struggle, torture, death! "Choked
in Mother's Arms" is the next one; the divine instinct of Maternity
giving a two-year-old child half a filbert to eat. It was remarked in
the item that the "desolate couple" had lost two other little ones
within two months. It did not state whether the two others were
accidentally murdered by a mother's care.

"Child's Game Proved Fatal" is the next. Three-years-old twins were

these; "playing fire engine in the parlour while their mother prepared
the midday meal."
One climbed on the table and lit a newspaper at a gas jet, and set
fire to the other. It is then related "Both children cried out, but their
mother, thinking they were only playing, did not hasten to find what
was the matter." "The child died at 3 P.M." is the conclusion.

"Accidentally Killed His Baby" follows. The fond father, holding his
two-year-old son on his knee, shot and killed him with a revolver
"which he believed to be empty."

"Escaping Gas Kills Baby"—"Boy Has Cent in His Throat"—"Insane

Mother's Crime"—"Drowns her Eight-year-old Daughter"—and here a
doctor says, "It would be an excellent idea for every family to have a
little book giving briefly prompt antidotes for various poisons.
Physicians know that there are scores of cases of accidental
poisoning never heard of outside the family concerned. I've had
several cases of poisoning by an accidental dose of chloroform and
aconite liniment, and one woman gave her child muriatic acid that
was kept for cleaning the marbles."

Another "Mother and Child Burned"—"Child Scratched by a 60-foot

Fall"—(this one was saved by striking several clothes-lines after she
fell out of the window)—"Kitten was Life Preserver"—another fall out
of a window, but the child was holding a kitten, and her head struck
on it—so only the kitten was smashed.

"A Governor's Child badly Hurt"—"will probably prove fatal," this was
a two-story drop over a staircase; and shows that it is not only in
the homes of the poor that these things happen. Another "Baby
Burned" follows—this poor little one was left strapped into its
carriage, and set fire to by an enterprising little brother.

"Tiny Singer Fell Dead" describes a five-year-old boy as singing a

selection from "Cavalleria Rusticana" as a means of entertaining a
party of young friends—and burst a blood-vessel in the brain. Then
there is a story of a grisly murder in which a tiny child testifies as to
seeing her father kill her mother; the child was not hurt—physically.
And then a bit of negative evidence quite striking in its way,
describing "The Mother of Twenty-five Children" and incidentally
stating "of these only three sons and four daughters are now living."
Seven out of twenty-five does not seem a large proportion to survive
the perils of the home.

These are a few, a very few, instances of extreme injury and death.
They are as nothing to the wide-spread similar facts we do not hear
of; and as less than nothing to the list of minor accidents to which
little children are constantly exposed in the shelter of the home. We
bar our windows and gate our stairs in some cases; but our principal
reliance is on an unending watchfulness and a system of rigid
discipline. "Children need constant care!" we maintain; and "A child
must be taught to mind instantly, for its own protection." A child is
not a self-acting poison or explosive. If he were in an absolutely safe
place he might be free for long, bright, blessed hours from the
glaring Argus-eyed watchfulness which is so intense an irritant.
Convicts under sentence of death are in their last hours kept under
surveillance like this, lest they take their own lives. Partly lest the
child injure himself among the many dangers of the home, and
partly lest he injure its frail and costly contents, he grows up under
"constant watching." If this is remitted, he "gets into mischief" very
promptly. "Mischief" is our broad term for the natural interaction of a
child and a home. The inquiry of the young mind, and the activity of
the young body, finding no proper provision made for them,
inevitably fall foul of our complicated utensils, furniture, and
decorations, and what should be a normal exercise becomes
"mischief."

Our chapter of accidents here leads us to the great underlying field

of education. Say that the child lives to grow up, during these wholly
home-bound years; in spite of wrong clothing, wrong feeding, and
the many perils we fatuously call "incident to babyhood" (when they
are only incident to our lack of proper provision for babyhood). If he
battles through his infancy and early childhood successfully, what
has he gained from his early environment in education? What are
the main facts of life, as impressed upon every growing child by his
home surroundings?

The principal fact is eating. This he learns perforce by seeing his

mother spending half her time on that one business; by seeing so
much house-space given to it; by the constant arrival of food
supplies, meat, groceries, milk, ice, and the rest; and excursions to
get them. The instincts of early savagery, which every child has to
grow through, are heavily reinforced by the engrossing food-
processes of the home.

They do not necessarily please him or her, either. The child does not
grow up with a burning ambition to be a cook. Whether the ever-
present kitchen business was run by the mother or by a servant, it
was not run joyously and proudly; nor was it run in such wise as to
really teach the child the principles of hygiene in food-values and
preparation. If the family is a wealthy one the child is not allowed in
the kitchen perhaps, but is the more impressed by the complicated
machinery of the dining-room, and that elaborate cult of special
"manners" used in this sacred service of the body. Thus and thus
must he eat, and thus handle his utensils; and if the years and the
tears spent in acquiring these Eleusinian mysteries make due
impression on the fresh brain tissue, then we may expect to find the
human being more impressed by the art of eating than by any other.

And so we do find him. The children of the kitchen are differently

affected from the children of the dining-room. These last, of our
"upper classes," receive the indelible stamp of the tri-daily ritual, and
go through the rest of life thinking more highly of "table manners"
than of any other line of conduct, for the reason that they were
more incessantly, thoroughly, and importunately taught that code
than any other. To handle a fork properly is insisted upon far more
imperatively than to properly handle a temper.
The principal business of the home being the care of the body, and
this accomplished through these archaic domestic industries, the
unending up-current of young life, which should so steadily purify
and uplift the world, in every generation is steeped anew in this
exaggeration of physical needs and caprices.

Beyond the overwhelming cares of the table the other home

industries involve the care and replenishment of furniture and
clothes. Hour after hour, day after day, the child sees his mother
devoting her entire life to attendance upon these things—the daily
cleaning, the weekly cleaning, the spring and fall cleaning, the
sewing and mending at all times.

These things must be done, by some people, somewhere; but must

they be done by all people, that is by all women, the people who
surround the child, and all the time? Must the child always associate
womanhood with house-service; and assume, necessarily assume,
that the main business of life is to be clean, well-dressed, and eat in
a proper manner?

If the mother is not herself the house-servant—what else is she?

What does the growing brain gather of the true proportions of life
from his dining-room-and-parlour mamma? Her main care, and talk,
is still that of food and clothes; and partly that of "entertainment,"
which means more food and more clothes.

Can we not by one daring burst of effort imagine a home where

there was still the father and mother love, still the comfort,
convenience, and beauty we so enjoy, still the sweet union of the
family group, and yet no kitchen? Perhaps even, in some remote
dream, no dining-room? Where the mother was a wise, strong,
efficient human being, interested in and working for the progress of
humanity; and giving to her baby, in these sweet hours of
companionship, some true sense of what life is for and how it works.
No, we cannot imagine it, most of us. We really cannot. We are so
indelibly kitchen-bred, or dining-room-bred, that mother means
cook, or at least housekeeper, to our minds; and family means
dinner-table.

So grows the child in the home. In the school he learns something of

social values, in the church something, in the street something; from
his father, who is a real factor in society, something; but in the home
he learns by inexorably repeated impressions of every day and hour,
that life, this deep, new, thrilling mystery of life consists mainly of
eating and sleeping, of the making and wearing of clothes. We are
irresistibly reminded of the strange text, "Take no thought of what
ye shall eat or what ye shall drink or wherewithal ye shall be
clothed." A little difficult to follow this command when mother does
nothing else!
 XIII

THE GIRL AT HOME

What is the position of the home toward us in youth? We have seen

something of its effect upon the child, the wholly helpless child, who
knows no other place or power. We have seen something of its effect
upon the woman in her life-long confinement there. Between
childhood and maturity comes youth; holding what is left of the
child's pure heart and vivid hopes, and what begins to stir of man's
or woman's power. The gain of a race, if there is a gain, must make
itself felt in youth—more strength, more growth, more beauty, a
larger conscience, a sounder judgment, a more efficient will.

Each new generation must improve upon its parents; else the world
stands still or retrogrades. In this most vivid period of life how does
the home meet the needs of the growing soul? The boy largely
escapes it. He is freer, even in childhood; the more resistant and
combative nature, the greater impatience of pain, makes the young
male far harder to coerce. He sees his father always going out, and
early learns to view the home from a sex-basis, as the proper place
for women and children, and to push incessantly to get away from it.

From boy to boy in the alluring summer evenings we hear the cry,
"Come on out and have some fun!" Vainly we strive and strive anew
to "keep the boys at home." It cannot be done. Fortunately for us it
cannot be done. We dread to have them leave it, and with good
reason, for well we know there is no proper place for children in the
so long unmothered world; but even in danger and temptation they
learn something, and those who struggle through their youth
unscathed make better men than if they had been always softly
shielded in the home.
The world is the real field of action for humanity. So far humanity
has been well-nigh wholly masculine; and the boy, feeling his
humanity, pushes out into his natural field, the world. He learns and
learns, from contact with his kind. He learns about all sorts of
machinery, all manner of trades and businesses. He has companions
above him and below him and beside him, the wide human contact
in which we grow so rapidly. If he is in the city he knows the city, if
he is in the country he knows the country, far more fully than his
sister. A thousand influences reach him that never come to her,
formative influences, good and bad, that modify character. He has
far less of tutelage, espionage, restraint; he has more freedom by
daylight, and he alone has any freedom after dark. All the sweet,
mysterious voices of the night, the rich, soft whisperings of fragrant
summer, when the moon talks and the young soul answers; the
glittering, keen silence of winter nights, when between blue-black
star-pointed space and the level shine of the snow stands but one
living thing—yourself—all this is cut off from the girl. The real
intimacy with nature comes to the soul alone, and the poor, over-
handled girl soul never has it.

In some few cases, isolated and enviable, she may have this
common human privilege, but not enough to count. She must be
guarded in the only place of safety, the home. Guarded from what?
From men. From the womanless men who may be prowling about
while all women stay at home. The home is safe because women are
there. Out of doors is unsafe because women are not there. If
women were there, everywhere, in the world which belongs to them
as much as to men, then everywhere would be safe. We try to make
the women safe in the home, and keep them there; to make the
world safe for women and children has not occurred to us. So the
boy grows, in the world as far as he can reach it, and the girl does
not grow equally, being confined to the home. In very recent years,
within one scant century, we are letting the girls go to school, even
to college. They pour out into the larger field and fill it at once. Their
human faculties have some chance to grow as well as the over-
emphasised feminine ones; and in our schools and colleges youth of
both sexes finds the room, stimulus, and exercise it could not find at
home.

The boy who does not go to college goes to business, to work in

some way. To find an able-bodied intelligent boy in a home between
breakfast and supper would argue a broken leg. But girls we find by
thousands and thousands; "helping mother," if mother does the
work; and if there are servants to do the work, the girl does—what?

What is the occupation of the daughter of the house? Let us

suppose her to be healthy. Let us suppose her to have a fair share of
ability and education. She has no longer the school or the college,
she has only the home. Not that she is physically confined there. She
may go out by daylight, giving careful account of her steps, and visit
other girls in their homes. She may receive visits, both from girls and
boys; and she may go out continually to all manner of
entertainments. Perhaps she is expected to dust the parlour, to
arrange the flowers, to "keep up her music." She has enough to eat,
enough and more than enough to wear; but what exercise has she
for body or brain? Perhaps in games and dances she keeps her body
active—but what sort of occupation is that for a young human
creature of this century, a creature of power? The young woman has
the same race inheritance of ability, the same large brain-growth, as
the man. The physical improvement of our times is reflected in them
too; fine stalwart girls we see, tall, straight, broad-shouldered. She
has had, in specific education, the same mental training as the boy.

How would her brother be content with a day's work of dusting the
parlour and arranging the flowers; of calling and being called on?
Amusement is good, sometimes necessary; best and most necessary
to the tired, unhappy, and overworked. But youth—healthy, happy,
and vigorous, full of the press of unused power and the
accumulating ambition of all the centuries—why should youth waste
its splendour in such unsatisfying ways?

If you ask the father, he will merely say that it is the proper position
for a girl; he is "able to support her," she does not "have to work,"
she can amuse herself, and as for a field for her abilities—she will
find that in her own home when she is married. Ask her mother—
and she will tell you, making a sad confession all unknowingly—"let
her enjoy herself now; she will have care enough later." There is a
tacit agreement that girls shall have all the "good time" possible
while they are girls, that they may have it to remember! Does this
"good time" satisfy the girl? Is she happy in her father's home, just
passing the time till she moves into her husband's?

Sometimes she is. Her education has been strong to make her so.
The home atmosphere of predominant clothes and food has been
about her from the cradle, and she still has clothes and food, and
may elaborate them without limit. She may devote as much time to
the adornment of the table as she wishes; and if her inclination take
her also to the kitchen, perhaps even to the cooking school, that is
more than well. She may also devote herself to the parlour and its
adornment; but most naturally of all to the adornment of her own
young body—all these are proper functions of the home. She may
love and serve her immediate dear ones also, to any extent; that is
the basic principle of it all, that is occupation enough for any girl.
Yes, there is occupation enough as far as filling time goes; but how
if it does not satisfy? How if the girl wants something else to do—
something definite, something developing?

This is deprecated by the family. "Work" is held by all to be a thing

no mortal soul should do unless compelled by want. We speak sadly,
tenderly, of the poor girl whose father died and left her unprovided
for, wherefore "she had to work." We have not learned to see that
some kind of work is necessary to all human creatures to use their
powers; not mere tread-mill repetition of small, useless things, but
such range of action as shall exercise all the faculties. And least of
all have we learned to see that a human soul, to be healthy, must
love and care for more than its own blood relations.

What the girl, as a normal human being, wants is full exercise in

large social relation; things to think about, feel, and do, which do
not in any way concern the home. Race-babyhood may be content
at home—it was first made for babies. But as we grow up into our
modern human range of power, no home can or ought to content us.
We need not, therefore, cease to love it, need not neglect or ignore
it. We simply need something more. That is the great lack which
keeps girlhood unsatisfied; the call of the human soul for its full field
of action, the world. We try to meet this lack by a surfeit of supplies
for lower needs.

Since we first began to force upon our girl baby's astonished and
resisting brain the fact that she was a girl; since we curbed her
liberty by clothing and ornament calculated only to emphasise the
fact of sex, and by restrictions of decorum based upon the same
precocious distinction, we have never relaxed the pressure. As if we
feared that there might be some mistake, that she was not really a
girl but would grow up a boy if we looked the other way, we
diligently strove to enforce and increase her femininity by every
possible means. So by the time her womanhood does come it finds
every encouragement, and the humanhood which should
predominate we have restricted and forbidden. Moreover, whatever
of real humanness she does manifest we persist in regarding as
feminine.

For instance, the girl wants friends, social contact. She cannot satisfy
this want in normal lines of work, in the natural contact of the busy
world, so she tries to meet it on the one plane allowed—in what we
call "Society." Her own life being starved, she seeks to touch other
lives as far and fast as possible. Next to doing things one's self is the
association with others who can do them. So the girl reaches out for
friends. Women friends can give her little; their lives are empty as
her own, their talk is of the same worn themes—their point of view
either the kitchen or the parlour. Therefore she finds most good in
men friends; they are human, they are doing something. All this is
set down to mere feminine "desire to attract"; we expect it, and we
provide for it. Our "social" machinery is largely devoted to "bringing
young people together"; not in any common work, in large human
interests, but in such decorated idleness, with music, perfume, and
dance, as shall best minister to the only forces we are willing to
promote.

Is the girl satisfied? Is it really what she wants, all she wants? If she
were a Circassian slave, perhaps it would do. For the daughter of
free, active, intelligent, modern America it does not do; and
therefore our girls in ever-increasing numbers are leaving home. It is
not that they do not love their homes; not that they do not want
homes of their own in due season; it is the protest of every healthy
human soul against the-home-and-nothing-else.

Our poorer girls are going into mills and shops, our richer ones into
arts and professions, or some educational and philanthropic work.
We oppose this proof of racial growth and vitality by various
economic fallacies about "taking the bread out of other women's
mouths"—and in especial claim that it is "competing with men,"
"lowering wages" and the like. We talk also, in the same breath, or
the next one, about "the God-given right to work"—and know not
what we mean by that great phrase.

To work is not only a right, it is a duty. To work to the full capacity of

one's powers is necessary for human development. It is no benefit
to a human being to keep him, or her, in down-wrapped idleness, it
is a gross injury. If a man could afford to put daughters and wife to
bed and have them fed and washed like babies, would that be a
kindness? "They do not have to walk!" he might say. Yes, they do
have to, else would their muscles weaken and shrink, and beauty
and health disappear. For the health and beauty of the body it must
have full exercise. For the health and beauty of the mind it must
have full exercise. No normal human mind can find full exercise in
dusting the parlour and arranging the flowers; no, nor in twelve
hours of nerve-exhaustion in the kitchen. Exhaustion is not exercise.

"But they are free to study—to read, to improve their minds!" we

protest. Minds are not vats to be filled eternally with more and ever
more supplies. It is use, large, free, sufficient use that the mind
requires, not mere information. Our college girls have vast supplies
of knowledge; how can they use it in the home? Could a college boy
apply his education appropriately to "keeping house"—and, if not,
how can the girl? Full use of one's best faculties—this is health and
happiness for both man and woman.

But how about those other people's wages?—will be urged.

Productive labour adds to the wealth of the world, it does not take
away. If wealth were a fixed quantity, shared carefully among a lot
of struggling beggars, then every new beggar would decrease the
other's share.

To work is to give, not to beg. Every worker adds to the world's

wealth, increases everyone's share. Of course there are people
whose "work" is not of value to anyone; who simply use their power
and skill to get other people's money away from them; the less of
these the better. That is not productive labour. But so long as we see
to it that the work we do is worth more than the pay we get, our
consciences may be clean; we give to the world and rob no one. As
to the immediate facts that may be alleged, "overcrowded labour
market," "over-production," and such bugaboos, these are only facts
as watered stock and stolen franchises are facts; not economic laws,
but criminal practices. A temporary superficial error in economic
conduct need not blind us to permanent basic truth, and the truth
which concerns us here is that a human creature must work for the
health and power and pleasure of it; and that all good work enriches
the world.

So the girl need not stay at home and content her soul with
chocolate drops lest some other girl lose bread. She may butter that
bread and share the confections, by her labour, if it be productive.
And by wise working she may learn to see how unwise and how
unnecessary are the very conditions which now hold her back. At
present she is generally held back. Her father will not allow her to
work. Her mother needs her at home. So she stays a while longer. If
she marries, she passes out of this chapter, becoming, without let or
change, "the lady of the house." If she does not marry, what then?
What has father or mother, sister or brother, to offer to the
unmarried woman? What is the home to her who has no "home of
her own"?

The wife and mother has a real base in her home: distorted and
overgrown though it may have become, away in at the centre lies
the everlasting founder—in the little child. Unnecessary as are the
mother's labours now, they were once necessary, they have a base
of underlying truth. But what real place has a grown woman of
twenty-five and upwards in anyone else's home? She is not a child,
and not a mother. The initial reason for being at home is not there.
What business has she in it? The claim of filial devotion is usually
advanced to meet this question. Her parents need her. And here
comes out in glaring colours the distinction between girl and boy,
between man's and woman's labour.

Whatever of filial gratitude, love, and service is owed to the parent is

equally owed by boy and girl. If there is a difference it should be on
the boy's side, as he is more trouble when little and less assistance
in the house when big. Now, what is the accepted duty of the boy to
the parents, when they are old, feeble, sick, or poor? First, to
maintain them, that is, to provide for them the necessaries of life
and as much more as he can compass. Then, to procure for them
service and nursing, if need be. Also himself to bestow affection and
respect, and such part of his time as he can spare from the labour
required to maintain them. This labour he performs like a civilised
man, by the service of other people in some specialised industry;
and his ability to care for his parents is measured by his ability to
perform that larger service.

What is the accepted duty of the girl to the parents in like case? She
is required to stay at home and wait upon them with her own hands,
serve them personally, nurse them personally, give all her time and
strength to them, and this in the old, old uncivilised way, with the
best of intentions, but a degree of ability measured by the lowest of
averages.

It is the duty of the child to care for the infirm parent—that is not
questioned; but how? Why, in one way, by one child, and in so
different a way by another? The duty is precisely the same; why is
the manner of fulfilling it so different? If the sick and aged mother
has a capable son to support her, he provides for her a house,
clothing, food, a nurse, and a servant. If she has but a daughter,
that daughter can only furnish the nurse and servant in her own
person, skilled or unskilled as the case may be; and both of them
are a charge upon the other relatives or the community for the
necessaries of life. Why does not the equally capable daughter do
more to support her parent when it is necessary? She cannot, if she
is herself the nurse and servant. Why does she have to be herself
the nurse and servant? Because she has been always kept at home
and denied the opportunity to take up some trade or profession by
which she could have at once supported herself, her parents, and
done good service in the world. Because "the home is the place for
women," and in the home is neither social service nor self-support.

There is another and a darker side to this position. The claim of

exclusive personal service from the daughter is maintained by
parents who are not poor, not old, not sick, not feeble; by a father
who is quite able to pay for all the service he requires, and who
prefers to maintain his daughter in idleness for his own antiquated
masculine pride—and by a mother who is quite able to provide for
herself, if she choose to; who is no longer occupied by the care of
little children, who does not even do house-service, but who lives in
idleness herself, and then claims the associate idleness of her
daughter, on grounds past finding out. Perhaps it is that an
honourably independent daughter, capable, respected, well-paid,
valuable to the community, would be an insupportable reproach to
the lady of the house. Perhaps it is a more pathetic reason—the
home-bound, half-developed life, released from the immediate cares,
which, however ill-fulfilled, at least gave sanction to her position,
now seeks to satisfy its growing emptiness by the young life's larger
hope and energy. This may be explanation, but is no justification.

The value and beauty of motherhood depend on the imperative

needs of childhood. The filial service of the child depends on the
imperative needs of the parent. When the girl is twenty-one and the
mother is forty-five, neither position holds. The amount of love and
care needed by either party does not require all day for its
expression. The young, strong, well-educated girl should have her
place and work, equally with her brother. Does not the mother love
her son, though he is in business? Could she not manage to love a
daughter in business, too? It is not love, far less is it wisdom, which
so needlessly immolates a young life on the altar of this ancient
custom of home-worship. The loving mother is not immortal. What is
to become of the unmarried daughter after the mother is gone?

What has the home done to fit her for life. She may be rich enough
to continue to live in it, not to "have to work," but is she, at fifty, still
to find contentment in dusting the parlour and arranging the flowers,
in calling and receiving calls, in entertaining and being entertained?
Where is her business, her trade, her art, her profession, her place
in life? The home is not the whole of life. It is a very minor part of it
—a mere place of preparation for living. To keep the girl at home is
to cut her off from life.

More and more is this impossible. The inherited power of the ages is
developing women to such an extent that by the simple force of
expansion they are cracking the confining walls about them, bursting
out in all directions, rising under the enormous pressure that keeps
them down like mushrooms under a stone. The girl has now enough
of athletic training to strengthen her body, balance her nerves, set
her tingling with the healthy impulse to do. She has enough mental
training to give some background and depth to her mind, with the
habit of thinking somewhat. If she is a college girl, she has had the
inestimable privilege of looking at the home from outside, in which
new light and proportion it has a very different aspect.

The effort is still made by proud and loving fathers, unconscious of

their limitations, to keep her there afterward, and by loving mothers
even more effectually. They play upon the strings of conscience,
duty, and affection. They furnish every pleasant temptation of
physical comfort, ease, the slow corruption of unearned goods. To
oppose this needs a wider range of vision and a greater strength of
character than the daughter of a thousand homes can usually
command.

The school has helped her, but she has not had it long. The college
has helped her more, but that is not a general possession as yet,
and has had still shorter influence. Strong, indeed, is the girl who
can decide within herself where duty lies, and follow that decision
against the combined forces which hold her back. She must claim
the right of every individual soul to its own path in life, its own true
line of work and growth. She must claim the duty of every individual
soul to give to its all-providing society some definite service in
return. She must recognise the needs of the world, of her country,
her city, her place and time in human progress, as well as the needs
of her personal relations and her personal home. And, further, using
the parental claim of gratitude and duty in its own teeth, she must
say: "Because I love you I wish to be worthy of you, to be a human
creature you may be proud of as well as a daughter you are fond of.
Because I owe you care and service when you need it, I must fit
myself now to render that care and service efficiently. Moreover, my
duty to you is not all my duty in the world. Life is not merely an
aggregation of families. I must so live as to meet all my duties, and,
in so doing, I shall better love and serve my parents."

Conscience is strong in women. Children are very violently taught

that they owe all to their parents, and the parents are not slow in
foreclosing the mortgage. But the home is not a debtor's prison—to
girls any more than to boys. This enormous claim of parents calls for
examination.

Do they in truth do all for their children; do their children owe all to
them? Is nothing furnished in the way of safety, sanitation,
education, by that larger home, the state? What could these parents
do, alone, in never so pleasant a home, without the allied forces of
society to maintain that home in peace and prosperity. These
lingering vestiges of a patriarchal cult must be left behind. Ancestor-
worship has had victims enough. Girls are human creatures as well
as boys, and both have duties, imperative duties, quite outside the
home.

One more protest is to be heard: "Most girls marry. Surely they

might stay at home contentedly until they leave it for another." Yes,
most girls marry. All girls ought to—unless there is something wrong
with them. And, being married, they should have homes. But, to
have a home and enjoy it, is one thing; to stay in it—the whole time
—is quite another. It is the same old assumption that woman is a
house-animal; that she has no place in the open, no business in the
world. If the girl had a few years of practical experience in the world
she would be far better able to enjoy and appreciate her own home
when she had one. At present, being so much restricted where she
is, she very often plunges from the frying-pan into the fire, simply
from too much home.

"Why should she have married that fellow!" cries the father; "I gave
her a good home—she had everything she wanted." It does not
enter the mind of this man that a woman is something more than a
rabbit. Even rabbits, well-fed rabbits, will gnaw and dig to get out—
they like to run as well as eat. Also, the girl whose character has
time to "set" a little in some legitimate business associations, instead
of being held in everlasting solution at home, will be able to face the
problems of domestic industry and expense with new eyes.

No men, with practical sense and trained minds, would put up for a
week with the inchoate mass of wasted efforts in the home; and,
when women have the same trained minds and practical sense, they
will not put up with it much longer. For the home's sake, as well as
her own sake, the girl will profit by experience in the working world.

Once she learns the pleasure and power of specialisation, the

benefits of organisation, the advantages of combination, the whole
tremendous enginery of civilised life, she can no more drop back into
her ancestral cradle than her brother could turn into an Arcadian
shepherd, piping prettily to his fleecy charge.
 XIV

HOME INFLUENCE ON MEN

In our peculiar and artificial opposition of "the Home" and "the

World," we have roughly ascribed all the virtues to the first, and all
the vices to the second. "The world, the flesh, and the devil" we still
associate, forgetting that home is the very temple of the flesh, and
in no way impervious to the devil. Sin is found at home as generally
as elsewhere—must be, unless women are sinless and men absolved
on entering the sacred door.

There are different sins and virtues, truly, as we have seen in the
chapter on Domestic Ethics. There is less fighting at home, as there
is but one man there. There is less stealing, the goods being more in
common, only sometimes a sly rifling of pockets by the unpaid wife.
A man pays his housekeeper, or his housemaids, because he has to;
and he pays, and pays highly, the purely extortionate women of
pleasure; but sometimes he forgets to pay his wife, and sometimes
she steals. The home has patience, chastity, industry, love. But there
is less justice, less honour, less courage, less truth; it does not
embrace all the virtues. Such as it is, strong for good and also very
weak for some good, possibly even showing some tendencies to evil,
what is its influence on men?

The boy baby feels it first; and that we have touched on. The home
teaches the boy that women were made for service, domestic
service, that the principal cares and labours of life are those which
concern the body, and that his own particular tastes and preferences
are of enormous importance. As fast as he gets out of the home and
into the school, he learns quite other things, getting his exaggerated
infant egotism knocked out of him very suddenly, and, as he gets
out of school and into business, also into politics, he learns still
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