The lives of the children of the East are surrounded by a number of time-honoured rites and ceremonies of an imposing but superstitious character. The infant is a priceless gift from the beneficent gods, and its life must be ordered in accordance with the curious superstitions invented of old by the legendary deities of its forefathers. The infant is at once a source of pride, for it is a mark of heavenly favour, and of hope, for it shall, if good luck befall it, hand down its father's name unto another and a later generation. Whatever ritual has been devised aforetime as tending to bring long life and prosperity unto the new-born child, must therefore be observed with great pomp and careful attention to minute but important details. And lastly, the Oriental child causes its parent to reveal certain features in his character that otherwise lie hidden and unobserved. The fiercest Hindoo is the most tender-hearted of men when his little loved one lies sick; the fat, stolid, wooden-headed Chinaman becomes a lively youngster himself as he tosses his crowing chuckling babe aloft; and the genial, gentle Siamese is never so winning as when caressing the hope of his house. Siamese children exhibit in their earlier days the best qualities of their race to a very high degree.

The Hindoos instituted ten "samskÂras" or rites, the due performance of which, was supposed to ensure to the child freedom from all evil influences. Now the original Siamese as they travelled south from the slopes of the Tibetan mountains, came into contact with the Hindoo civilisation and religion, and adopted therefrom their religious beliefs and many of their social customs. Owing to the absence of reliable written historic records in Siam itself, the mass of the people have long since forgotten where and how most of their ceremonial practices originated, but the learned amongst them have little difficulty in pointing out both their primary source and their latter-day modifications. The ten auspicious rites that encompassed the life of the Hindoo child, began with its birth, and ended with one imposing pageant more important and far-reaching in its effects than any of the nine that had preceded it, and marking very definitely the end of the period of childhood. One month after birth occurred the ceremony of shaving the first few hairs of the new-born, and about the same time, a rite somewhat similar to that of christening was observed, when the child received its first but temporary name. These two ceremonies still exist in Siam, but six of the original ones have disappeared. Amongst those that have thus been lost are the rite of ear-boring, which occurred about the third year and which still survives amongst the Laos and the Burmese; the rite of training the child to eat rice; the rite of teaching the first footsteps; the rite of speaking the first words; the rite of first putting on the loin-cloth; the rite of taking the first lessons in swimming, which was reserved for princesses; and lastly, the rites of shaving the top-knot and the subsequent investiture of the sacred thread, which form the final links in the chain of ceremonial practices devoted to the little ones.

It is obviously impossible therefore to pretend to give any adequate account of the people of this land, without first treating of the life and character of her children, on whose behalf the favour of the spirits of good are so frequently and carefully besought by their anxious parents. Considering the number of ritualistic observances that have occurred through successive generations, with the object of obtaining for the young the good-will of the angels, it might reasonably be supposed that if the numerous prayers had been in any way effective, by this time the present generation of children should be enjoying untold benefits, and should be leading lives far superior in their freedom from ordinary mishap or pain, to those of children not similarly descended. It would puzzle any observer, however, to discover in what way they are more tenderly cared for by the celestial dispensers of desirable things, than are other children. They cannot be described as differing in any very essential particulars from their little brothers and sisters in other lands. It is true that they have not the keen perception of truth, the chivalrous sentiment of honour, or the dogged industry which are common to some extent to most European children; but they have a respect for the aged, for their parents, and for all those set in authority over them that might well be copied by the democratic children of the West. In their behaviour towards their parents and their priests they stand as excellent exemplars of reverence and obedience.

The respectful manner they adopt in their dealings with all who may be presumed to control them, renders the work of any teacher in Siam a moderately light one. Insubordination or impertinence is unheard of. The oft-debated question of corporal punishment is here solved by the character of the children themselves. Schools can be managed without canes, hard words, or severe punishment of any description. Discipline, the first and chief goal that the European teacher strives to obtain, is here produced by merely wishing for it. The term "kroo" or "teacher" is a title that commands respect from parents and scholars alike, and they invariably use it in addressing him on all occasions and in all places whether public or private. The only teachers for years were the priests, even as the majority are to-day, and it seems as though in transferring the office of pedagogue from priest to layman, they have transferred also a portion of that atmosphere of reverence that is ever associated with the priesthood. The Siamese in this respect may be said to have reached a higher level than their whiter brethren, inasmuch as they recognise in an outward and visible manner, that the teacher of religion and the instructor of the young are both engaged in the same grand work of mental and moral progress.

Siamese children, especially the little girls, are exceedingly pretty, rivalling, if not excelling, all the other beauties of the East, Japan included. They are very merry, continually contented, easily pleased and most unselfish in their dealings with one another. Their almost absolute lack of selfishness is one of the most pleasing features in their very lovable characters. The boys at school lend their property to their fellow-scholars with the greatest readiness. Watches, knives, pencils, and other schoolboy treasures circulate sometimes to such an extent that one is inclined to fancy they must be common property; and, greatest test of pure good-nature, they even lend their bicycles to each other.

They are, however, early tainted with the national vices, vices that flourish more particularly in hot climates and luxurious soils. It will be wise, however, to make no attempt to describe these more mature characters until some one can lay down a code of moral virtue which shall be absolutely applicable to all people at all times. It will be safer to consider only the younger children at a time of life preceding the period when sensual enjoyments begin to enchain both mind and body.

Upon the birth of the child, a big fire is made by the side of the mother, who at this time forsakes her bed and lies on a long narrow flat board. A fruit supposed to possess protective properties is scattered round or under the house, and a cord is twined round the exterior of the dwelling, which has been blessed by the priests and which also serves the same purpose of keeping off those evil spirits who would otherwise enter and carry away the life of the child. The interior of the room is like a furnace, and it is to be feared that under these conditions, the evil spirits that haunt the sites of defective ventilation do only too often accomplish their fatal object. For three days, several old women attend the mother and make offerings to the powers whose influence is beneficial. This they do by making three balls of rice and then throwing them in three lucky directions. It is said that every new-born babe bears as its first name the word "Dang", which means "red". If this be so, then the mother or nurse speedily turns her attention to the best means of rendering the term singularly inaccurate, for instead of allowing the child to retain its original and natural colour, she immediately rubs it all over with a yellow paste whose chief constituent is turmeric powder. The baby presently appears as if it were suffering from a very severe and expansive attack of jaundice. This process of 'yellowing' is popularly supposed to keep away mosquitoes. It is not confined to red babies, but cats and dogs may often be seen who have received the same treatment. It is a common sight to see a couple of toddling yellow children engaged in teasing or amusing an equally yellow specimen of the canine or feline family.

For several years no clothes are worn, so that their health is never injured or their comfort marred by unsanitary garments. They are frequently adorned with massive gold or silver bracelets and anklets, and wear a little silver shield fastened in front of the body by a string of beads passed round the loins. The shield is merely an ornament and plays no indispensable part in their metallic apparel, for when it is once lost, it is seldom replaced, though the string of beads may persist for some months afterwards. The amount of wealth possessed by the poor in the shape of ornaments must be enormous, for almost every child bears somewhere on its body a heavy piece of gold or silver.

Until the child can walk it passes its life under the same system of treatment usually accorded to human beings at this tender age. It is nursed and petted by its mother, talked to, made a fuss of, presented to uninterested visitors, and generally tormented by the same excess of demonstrative affection which mothers of every colour lavish upon their own offspring. At a very early stage in its existence it is transferred with solemn ceremony from the wicker basket in which it has lain since its birth to a cradle peculiar to Siam. The cradle consists of a strong oblong rectangular frame-work at the top and a flat narrow board at the bottom. The two are connected round the four sides by a network made of strong twine. It is suspended from the rafters of the roof by four strong cords. It is swung, not rocked, and the mother or sister of the babe will sit tailor-fashion on the floor for hours at a time contentedly chewing betel-nut, or chanting monotonous Siamese Gregorians in a low plaintive tone, at the same time swinging the cradle gently to and fro by a long rope. When the baby is taken for an airing it is carried by some female member of the household, who places it on her hip and supports it with one arm. This method of carrying the child is said to be a healthy one for the baby, but it must be a fairly unhealthy one for the nurse, who has always to walk at an angle with the ground, suggesting the appearance of the Tower of Pisa, while the baby is wedged, cross-legged, between the firm pressure of the supporting arm and the bended body.

Passing over the period which elapses between lying in the cradle and learning to walk, we next find these little Eastern street-arabs following their own sweet wills in the roads and alleys or on the canals of their native town or village. They are perfectly free and independent, and are given up to the educative influence of Nature in a way that would have satisfied Rousseau himself. The boys still remain unclothed; they scamper along the roads, driving young bullocks; sit on the backs of tame buffaloes as they plough the rice fields; steal bananas; climb trees for cocoa-nuts; smoke enormous cigarettes; paddle their own canoes; never bother their heads about getting home in time for meals; lie down in shady places to rest; never read books; do not know the inside of a school, and spend the whole day according to their own ideas of amusement. If they want to play, they play; if they desire to sleep, they have but to lie down in the first convenient spot, when they attain the desired condition with a rapidity that is to be greatly envied. Gloves, ties, collars, neat pockets, untorn coats, unsplit boots and other abominations never cause the Siamese boy a moment's anxiety. If he wears any hat at all, it is a nice light roomy sort of structure discarded by its original owner several years before, and in such a condition of decay, that an occasional fall into the water or mud does not affect either its value or its usefulness.

At a later date he begins to wear clothes. He dresses like his sister, wearing a cool airy garment consisting of a single long strip of cloth of some bright colour, fastened round the waist and draped about the legs. It hangs loosely about the knees and resembles a pair of knickerbockers. There are no buttons, tapes, pins, or suspenders, and he requires little training in the art of fixing his single garment so that it will remain permanently in the required position. He wears no shoes or stockings, the use of such luxuries being restricted to the upper classes. The upper half of the body is left bare, except when, in accordance with a fashion of very recent date, a white linen jacket is worn. All girls wear either this jacket or else a coloured scarf wrapped tightly round the breast. The smarter ones wear both scarf and jacket, but amongst the lower classes, the majority of the women leave their bodies uncovered above the waist after the birth of the first child. All ranks of society are passionately fond of finery, and adorn themselves as well as they can possibly afford. The native rings are set with native stones, but the workmanship is very rude. When money is not available for the purchase of jewellery, flowers are obtained. As their clothes possess no collars with button-holes in which the floral decorations can be placed, they stick them behind the ear.

A day's life with one of these children is spent after the following fashion. He rises at early dawn and goes at once to the nearest water to bathe. He has no acquaintance with soap, but pours abundant water over himself with basin or bucket. The refreshing operation finishes with a plunge in the stream, after which he either lies down, or runs about till he is dry. A breakfast of rice, salt fish, and fruit, eaten from brass or earthenware dishes, with his fingers, is the prelude to the day's enjoyment. He next devotes all his energies to getting through the day. He accomplishes the task set before him by alternate intervals of sleep or play. He is a faithful disciple of Isaac Walton. A bit of stick and a fibre of rattan are sufficient tackle with which to capture a few fish out of the thousands that swarm in the waters. At low tide, when many of the canals are mere valleys of mud, a whole tribe of children descend into the slimy deposit, and push coarse sieves into the mud in the attempt to catch prawns. The captured creatures are placed in stone jars. When weary of the sport, or when the jar is filled with prawns, they vary the nature of their amusement by pelting each other with mud. It is simply snow-balling transformed. They stand about in the slippery mess, and make little pellets of soft mud. These they fling at each other with an aim remarkable for its invariable accuracy. When sufficiently tired and dirty they get away to the nearest water, take a turn or two, and then come up to dry.

They delight in witnessing extreme activity in other creatures. A cock fight or a general battle amongst the pariah dogs is a source of great amusement. At night they search for crickets. When they have collected a large number they place them, two at a time, in small jars made of mud and baked hard in the sun; the two crickets are urged to engage in warfare by the skilful application of small pointed pieces of wood. The battle which ensues evokes their hearty appreciation. They catch fighting fish, feed them with mosquito larvÆ, and then train them to fight. After a proper course of training the fish become extremely pugnacious, and will even make fierce attacks upon their own images as seen in a looking-glass placed by the side of the bottle in which they are imprisoned. As a general rule, Siamese youths are keen spectators of anything of a combative character. And yet amongst themselves they are extremely peaceful and unquarrelsome. Supposing them all to be sent to school, it may be safely predicted that there would be fewer fights in a whole generation of scholars than an English school knows in a year.

Uncoloured pictures have no charm for them, for an ordinary drawing in black and white is utterly incomprehensible to them. All native drawings, with their strange disregard of the laws of perspective, are executed in colours. They do not instantly recognise photographs of the streets and buildings with whose appearance they are perfectly familiar, and they will as often as not view them upside down. The power to appreciate black and white is, however, merely dormant, as is shown by the fact that the few children who attend the Anglo-Vernacular schools speedily learn to take an intelligent interest in the drawings and reproductions of photographs published in the English illustrated papers.

They are very clever in the art of making bouquets and weaving garlands of flowers. On festive occasions, the houses are festooned from end to end with long rope-like strands of small blossoms fastened together with wonderful skill.

On every head a little tuft of hair is allowed to grow in the centre of a shaven crown. This is removed at a certain period, with an imposing and important ritual.

They make excellent scholars, for they are very bright and intelligent. Only a mere handful of the population attend any school regularly, but all those who hope to obtain any Government employment must at least learn to read and write. Those that do attend the schools learn to draw accurately and neatly after very little practice. They need no teaching with regard to modelling in clay, their representations of elephants in particular being beyond criticism. All ordinary school subjects are rapidly acquired by them, and they are adepts in the acquisition of a foreign language. They learn to read, write, and speak English in the Anglo-Vernacular schools in about three years, with great ease and fluency. Many boys will speak in English concerning the common events of their daily lives after a few months' tuition. They are helped in this matter by their wonderfully retentive memories which enable them to remember a large number of words and idioms.

There is no "esprit de corps" in any school, unless it is cultivated by the master in charge. It can be easily developed up to a certain point for just the same reason that the adoption can be ensured of certain rules and maxims in the schoolboy's code of honour, not so much on account of the intrinsic value of the maxim or the rule itself, as because it has been put before them as a European custom. It is therefore to be imitated if they wish to appear "up to date." In speaking to their teachers, no matter what their relative ranks in life may be, they invariably use that form of the pronoun "I" which signifies that they consider themselves as occupying a lower position than the person spoken to. They abhor long holidays, but like to take odd days by fits and starts whenever they feel so inclined. Unpunctuality is a common fault unless firmly opposed. Cricket and football have been introduced at one of the schools and have become fairly popular, but the climate is really too hot for such vigorous forms of athletic activity ever to flourish except amongst a few enthusiasts.

Inquisitiveness is politeness, and it is rather bewildering to the English teacher new to his work, especially when he is constantly questioned as to his age, the price of his watch, the amount of his salary, or the date when he last had his hair cut. The school satchel does not seem to have become popular, most scholars carrying their belongings tied up in a Manchester-made handkerchief. Boys of the higher classes are attended by their servants, who carry these articles for them, and at times, even carry the owners also. In the intervals of playtime they smoke. Each boy carries his own tobacco-pouch, matches, and tobacco, and is an adept at rolling cigarettes. They are thoroughly unselfish as regards the disposal of their smoking material, and a cigarette will be circulated amongst a group of friends, each one taking a whiff or two and then handing it on to his neighbour. If the weed is unfinished when the school bell rings, they calmly extinguish it, stick it behind the ear, penholder fashion, and return to class.

They are affectionate, cheerful, respectful, delightful fellows to play with or work with, and offering to the observant master many interesting examples of the gradual development of mind and character under a rational system of teaching.

In a land where superstitious practices abound, the children are sure to have more than an ordinary belief in goblins and ghosts. The belief in divers supernatural beings of evil or good intent is powerfully implanted in every adult mind. In the case of the children every natural phenomenon, every event of their lives is to them under the control of some invisible spirit. They have a profound belief in their marvellous fairy tales, and many of them never grow out of this extreme condition of credibility during the whole of their existence. They cling to their mystic interpretations of natural phenomena, with such force, that in the schools that have been recently founded, the attempts to teach the elements of natural science have been made under rather disheartening circumstances. The children are perfectly certain that thunder is exactly what their name for it denotes, "the sky crying." There is a horrible giant of great strength and furious temper who leads a very quarrelsome life with a cantankerous wife, and when he grumbles and growls at her various iniquities, the echo of his voice comes in cries from the sky. When in fits of violent anger he hurls his ponderous hatchet at his spouse, it strikes the floor of heaven, and a thunderbolt falls. When the broad flashes of lightning play at hide-and-seek amongst the dense black masses of cloud during the wet months of the rainy season, they say a woman is flashing a mirror in the air, or according to another interpretation, the angels are amusing themselves by striking fire with bricks. The falling stars are produced when frolicsome spirits in their sportive moods pitch torches at each other. When the giant crab comes up out of his hole in the deep parts of the sea, he bears up the waters on his back, and the tide flows; when he retires again, it ebbs. Sometimes the angels in heaven all take it into their heads to have a bath at the same time, and as a consequence they splash the water over the sides of the bath, and the rain falls. Another theory states, however, that the rain is caused by a huge fish a thousand miles long, who with his mighty tail furiously lashes the waters of the deep. The most poetical of all these superstitions is that which ascribes the origin of the winds to the voices of the babies who have departed this life.

Not only children, but thousands of the grown-up men and women hold firmly to these beliefs in spite of all the scientific explanations that are given to them. Quite recently a debate was held at the Bangkok Literary Institute on "What is the shape of the world?" The ecclesiastical portion of the audience, who were mostly natives, fought tooth and nail for the flatness of our planet, and though one or two of their own countrymen argued very forcibly against their notions, when the final vote was taken there was quite a large majority opposed to the theory of "round like an orange." One of the teachers was giving a lesson to his class one day on this very subject. His scholars promptly informed him that the world was flat. He further learned that it would take two hundred years to travel round it at the rate of two hundred miles a day, and that somewhere within the circumference of this pancake-shaped planet there is a mountain called Mount Meru, which is eight hundred and forty thousand miles high, bearing upon its summit the realms of heaven. He explained that the world was round, and was greeted by the remark, "Why, that can't possibly be, for if the world were round the water would all roll off." As there are no scientific terms in the language, and as all attempts to explain why the water did not roll off would have been utterly beyond the comprehension of the young minds of his scholars, he was rather non-plussed. He did his best, however, and believed that, by his earnestness in pressing home his point, he had at last made them accept, even if they did not understand, the fact. By way of recapitulation at the close of his lesson he asked one who had shown intense incredulity, "What shape is the world?" The boy stolidly replied, "The teacher says it is round."

In their fairy tales they demand episodes of the most marvellous character. An Englishman once read to some Siamese boys the story of "Jack the Giant Killer," thinking it might interest them. To his great surprise they listened with the greatest indifference to his narrative. On being questioned as to whether they liked the story or not, one boy replied, "It isn't fierce enough;" and further, by way of illustrating what he considered satisfactory in this class of fiction, he related how a Siamese hero met the whole of his enemies banded together against him in a deep ravine. The hero went towards them single-handed, and just when the assembled foes were calculating upon a triumphant victory, he quietly took up the mountains to the right and left of him, in the hollows of his hands, brought them rapidly together, annihilated the multitude with one stroke, and then unfatigued, replaced the mountains upon their bases once more.

In some cases their superstitions exert a very real influence upon their actions. There are many people who would never dare to utter the words "tiger" or "crocodile" in a spot where these terrible creatures might possibly be in hiding, for fear of directing the attention of the beasts towards themselves. Another illustration may also here be given. One of the students in training at the Normal College for teachers, was absent for some time. On his return, the principal spoke to him, calling him by the name he had previously been known by. He at once requested that his old name should not again be used, and gave a new one. On enquiring the reason, it was found he had been absent through illness. While lying sick at home, an angel had appeared to his mother in a dream and had warned her that if her son's name were not changed, he would die, as the name he then possessed was an unlucky one for him. His name was immediately changed, and he recovered. At the same time, his cousin lay ill in the same house, and the angel gave a similar warning with regard to this boy's name, but the prophetic voice was in this case unheeded, and the child died. As there is no registry of births or deaths there is practically no trouble in altering a name, and in fact, such alterations are of frequent occurrence.

A few years ago the Siamese Government organised an Education Department, with the intention of establishing an adequate system of Primary Education, which was to be followed in due time by a system of Secondary Education. Up to that time the only schools were those in connection with the monasteries. In these schools reading and writing were taught by the priests. Though their methods were illogical and their curriculum narrow, it must never be forgotten that most Siamese men can read and write their own language, and that the country owes a deep debt of gratitude to these monks who did their best according to their own theories. These schools must in the future be the starting-points for any system of education that would pretend to exercise any influence throughout the country. The work of the Education Department, as far as progress or reform is concerned, has been, so far, in connection with the establishment of a Training College for Teachers, the founding of four Anglo-Vernacular Schools for boys, one of which is a boarding-school, and a boarding-school for girls. These have been organised and controlled by Europeans and are fairly satisfactory. Attached to the Training College is a Practising School, which is the only good Vernacular school in Siam. It owes its present excellent condition to the three Englishmen who have had it successively under their charge. But undoubtedly the most successful educational institution is the school for girls. It has been more than usually fortunate in possessing a staff of teachers possessing brilliant intellectual attainments, great professional skill, and a deep living interest in everything that tends towards social progress. Unfortunately, the Vernacular schools have not yet come under European influence, and they still preserve their antiquated methods. Only about seven or eight of them are directly under the control of the Education Department. They possess no furniture, and the children sit on the floor. In one school, the head master has provided a number of old soap and biscuit boxes to act as desks. There are no registers or other records. There is a "code" which contains two standards. It takes a boy from three to four years to pass the first, and comparatively few ever attempt to pass the second. The teachers in these Government Vernacular Schools are not priests, though the schools themselves are usually in some part of the temple grounds.

It is to be hoped that in the near future the Government will decide upon a thorough re-organisation of these schools, for, when they are properly taught and controlled, they will be very powerful for good, the bright and intelligent character of the scholars rendering all school work eminently successful.