I have no belief that long illness is good for the mass of people, but the character of the adult sufferer is in his or her own hands to make, mar, or mend. In childhood the mother is in large measure responsible for the ductile being in her care. If she believes that unrestraint is her duty, she is laying up for the invalid a retribution which soon or late will bitterly visit on the child the sin or, if you like, the mistakes of the parent. It is her business and duty, no matter how hard may be to her the trial, to see that this child, above all others, shall be taught patience, gentleness, good temper, and self-control in all its varieties, nor should she fail to point out, as health returns and years go by, that it is not all of life to be straight and uncrippled. I need not dwell on this. Every wise woman will understand me, and be able to put in practice better than I can here state what I might more fully say.
I do not wish, however, to be understood as urging that all children long ill or crippled grow to be unamiable and spoiled. I do not quite know why it is, but, after all, children are less apt to suffer morally from long illness than adults, and very often, despite careless or thoughtless usage, these young sufferers come out as wholesome in mind and heart as if they had known no trial, or, perhaps, because of it. It is in a measure a matter of original temperament. In other words, what the sick child was as to character modified results, and this is especially true as concerns the peculiarities which attract unpleasant notice. One person who has twitching of the muscles of the face is made miserable by the attention it invites; another is indifferent.
The cases of Lord Byron and Walter Scott are to the point. The former was sensitive and morbid about his deformity. I cannot help thinking that had his mother been other than she was, he would have been brought up to more wholesome views as to what was after all no very great calamity. Walter Scott suffered from a like trouble, but healthy moral surroundings and a cheerful nature saved him from the consequences which fell so heavily upon his brother poet.
Epilepsy is a malady but too common in childhood, and as to which a few words apart are needed. Usually a child epileptic for some years will carry the disease with it for a time, the length of which no man can set. The disease may be such as to ruin mind and body, or the attacks may be rare, and not prevent courageous and resolute natures from leading useful lives. All intermediate degrees are possible. As a rule, no children need so inflexible a discipline as epileptics. Indulgence as regards them is only another name for ruin. Do as we may, they are apt to become morally perverted, and require the utmost firmness, and the most matured and educated intelligence, to train them wisely. Difficult epileptics and most idiots are best looked after, and certainly happiest, in some one of the competent training-schools for feeble-minded children.