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what she was saying, she answers:

I was saying the beans are boiling nice
And it's just about time to add the rice.

These are rather an indication of good cheer on the part
of the children than lack of filialaffection. A parent must

be cruel indeed to make a girl willing to give up her mother
for a mother-in-law.

Another style of verses comes under the head of pure nonsense
rhymes. They are wholly without sense and I am not sure they are

good nonsense. They are popular, however, with the children, and
critics may say what they will, but the children are the last

court of appeal in case of nursery rhymes. Let me give one:
There's a cow on the mountain, the old saying goes,

On her legs are four feet, on her feet are eight toes.
Her tail is behind on the end of her back,

And her head is in front on the end of her neck.
The Chinese nursery is well provided with rhymes

pertaining to certain portions of the body. They have rhymes
to repeat when they play with the five fingers, and others

when they pull the toes; rhymes when they take hold of
the knee and expect the child to refrain from laughing, no

matter how much its knee is tickled; rhymes which correspond
to all our face and sense; rhymes where the forehead

represents the door and the five senses various other
things, ending, of course, by tickling the child's neck.

All of these have called forth rhymes among Chinese
children similar to "little pig went to market," "forehead

bender, eye winker," etc. The parent, or the nurse, taking
hold of the toes of the child, repeats the following rhyme,

as much to the amusement of the little Oriental as the
"little pig" has always been to our own children:

This little cow eats grass,
This little cow eats hay,

This little cow drinks water,
This little cow runs away,

This little cow does nothing,
Except lie down all day.

We'll whip her.
And, with that, she playfully pats the little bare foot. If it is

the hand that is played with the fingers are taken hold of one
after another, as the parent, or nurse, repeats the following

rhyme:
This one's old,

This one's young
This one has

no meat;
This one's gone

To buy some hay,
And this one's on

the street.
There are various forms of this rhyme, depending upon

the place where it is found. The above is the Shantung
version. In Peking it is as follows:

A great, big brother,
And a little brother,

too,
A big bell tower,

And a temple and a
show,

And little baby
wee, wee,

Always wants to
go.

The following rhyme explains itself: The nurse knocks on the
forehead, then touches the eye, nose, ear, mouth and chin

successively, as she repeats:
Knock at the door,

See a face,
Smell an odor,

Hear a voice,
Eat your dinner,

Pull your chin, or
Ke chih, ke chih.

Tickling the child's neck with the last two expressions.
We have in English a rhyme:

If you be a gentleman,
As I suppose you be,

You'll neither laugh nor smile
With a tickling of your knee.

I had tried many months to find if there were any finger,
face or body games other than those already given. Our own nurse

insisted that she knew of none, but one day I noticed her
grabbing my little girl's knee, while she was saying:

One grab silver,
Two grabs gold,

Three don't laugh,
And you'll grow old.

There is no literature in China, not even in the sacred
books, which is so generally known as their nursery

rhymes. These are understood and repeated by the educated
and the illiterate alike; by the children of princes and

the children of beggars; children in the city and children in
the country and villages, and they produce like results in

the minds and hearts of all. The little folks laugh over the
Cow, look sober over the Little Orphan, absorb the morals

taught by the Mouse, and are sung to sleep by the song of
the Little Snail.

Sometimes however they, like children in other lands, are
skeptical as to the reality of the stories told in the songs.

Thus I remember once hearing our old nurse telling a number
of stories and singing a number of songs to the little folk in

the nursery. They had accepted one after another
the legends as they rolled off the old woman's tongue,

without question, but pretty soon she gave them a version
of a Wind Song which aroused their incredulity. She sang:

Old grandmother Wind has come from the East.
She's ridden a donkey--a dear little beast.

Old mother-in-law Rain has come back again.
She's come from the North on a horse, it is plain.

Old grandmother Snow is coming you know,
From the West on a crane--just see how they go.

And old aunty Lightning has come from the South,
On a big yellow dog with a bit in his mouth.

"There is no grandmother Wind, is there, nurse?"
"No, of course not, people only call her grandmother Wind."

"Why do they call the other mother-in-law Rain?"
"I suppose, because mothers-in-law are often disagreeable,

just like rainy weather."
"And why do they speak of snow and the crane, and lightning and a

yellow dog?"
"I suppose, because a crane is somewhat the color of snow, and a

yellow dog swift and the color of lightning."
CHILDREN AND CHILD-LIFE

Before going to China, I could not but wonder, when I
saw a Chinese or Japanese doll, why it was they made such

unnatural looking things for babies to play with. On reaching
the Orient the whole matter was explained by my first

sight of a baby. The doll looks like the child!
Nothing in China is more common than babies. Nothing

more helpless. Nothing more troublesome. Nothing more
attractive. Nothing more interesting.

A Chinese baby is a round-faced little helpless human
animal, whose eyes look like two black marbles over which

the skin had been stretched, and a slit made on the bias.
His nose is a little kopje in the centre of his face, above a

yawning chasm which requires constant filling to insure the
preservation of law and order. On his shaved head are left

small tufts of hair in various localities, which give him the
appearance of the plain about Peking, on which the traveler

sees, here and there, a small clump of trees around a country
village, a home, or a cemetery; the remainder of the country

being bare. These tufts are usually on the "soft spot," in the
back of his neck, over his ears, or in a braid or a ring on the

side of his head.
The amount of joy brought to a home by the birth of a child

depends upon several important considerations, chief among which
are its sex, the number and sex of those already in the family,

and the financial condition of the home.
In general the Chinese prefer a preponderance of boys, but in

case the family are in good circumstances and already have
several boys, they are as anxious for a girl as parents in any

other country.
The reason for this is deeper than the mere fact of sex.

It is imbedded in the social life and customs of the people.
A girl remains at home until she is sixteen or seventeen,

during which time she is little more than an expense. She
is then taken to her husband's home and her own family

have no further control over her life or conduct. She
loses her identity with her own family, and becomes part

of that of her husband. This through many years and
centuries has generated in the popular mind a feeling that

it is "bad business raising girls for other people," and
there are not a few parents who would prefer to bring up

the girl betrothed to their son, rather than bring up their
own daughter.

"Selfishness!" some people exclaim when they read such
things about the Chinese. Yes, it is selfishness; but life

in China is not like ours--a struggle for luxuries--but a
struggle, not for bread and rice as many suppose, but for

cornmeal and cabbage, or something else not more palatable.
This is the life to which most Chinese children are

born, and parents can scarcely be blamed for preferring
boys whose hands may help provide for their mouths, to

girls who are only an expense.
The presumption is that a Chinese child is born with the

same general disposition as children in other countries.
This may perhaps be the case; but either from the treatment

it receives from parents or nurses, or because of the
disposition it inherits, its nature soon becomes changed,

and it develops certain characteristics peculiar to the
Chinese child. It becomes t'ao ch'i. That almost means

mischievous; it almost means troublesome--a little tartar--
but it means exactly t'ao ch'i.

In this respect almost every Chinese child is a little tyrant.
Father, mother, uncles, aunts, and grandparents are all made

to do his bidding. In case any of them seems to be recalcitrant,
the little dear lies down on his baby back on the

dusty ground and kicks and screams until the refractory
parent or nurse has repented and succumbed, when he get

up and good-naturedly goes on with his play and allows
them to go about their business. The child is t'ao ch'i.

This disposition is general and not confined to any one
rank or grade in society, if we may credit the stories that come

from the palace regarding the present young Emperor
Kuang Hsu. When a boy he very much preferred foreign

to Chinese toys, and so the eunuchs stocked the palace
nursery with all the most wonderful toys the ingenuity and

mechanical skill of Europe had produced. As he grew
older the toys became more complicated, being in the form

of gramophones, graphophones, telephones, phonographs,
electric lights, electric cars, cuckoo clocks, Swiss watches



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