When we pass from these elementary forms of pleasure and pain to the rudiments of emotion proper—as the miseries of fear, the sorrows and joys of the affections—we have still, no doubt, to do with a mode of manifestation which, on the whole, is direct and unreserved to a gratifying extent. A child of three is delightfully incapable of the skillful repressions and the yet more skillful simulations of emotion which are easy to the adult. Yet, frank and transparent as is the first instinctive utterance of feeling, it is apt to get checked at an early date, giving place to a certain reserve. So that, as we know from published reminiscences of childhood, a child of six will have learned to hide some of his deepest feelings from unsympathetic eyes.
This shyness of the young heart, face to face with old and strange ways of feeling, exposed to ridicule if not to something worse, makes the problem of registering its pulsations of emotion more difficult than it at first seems. As a matter of fact, we are still far from knowing the precise range and depth of children's feelings. This is seen plainly enough in the quite opposite views which are entertained of childish sensibility, some describing it as restricted and obtuse, others as morbidly excessive. Such diversity of view may, no doubt, arise from differences in the fields of observation, since, as we know, children differ hardly less than adults, perhaps, in breadth and fineness of emotional susceptibility. Yet I think that such contrariety of view points further to the conclusion that we are still far from sounding with finely measuring scientific apparatus the currents of childish emotion.
It seems, then, to be worth while to look further into the matter in the hope of gaining a deeper and fuller insight; and as a step in this direction I propose to inquire into the various forms and the causes of one of the best-marked and most characteristic of children's feelings—namely, fear.
That fear is one of the characteristic feelings of the child needs no proving. It seems to belong to these wee, weakly things, brought face to face with a new, strange world, to tremble. They are naturally timid, as all that is weak and ignorant in Nature is apt to be timid.
I have said that fear is well marked in the child. Yet, though it is true that fully developed fear or terror shows itself by unmistakable signs, there are many cases where it is difficult to say whether the child is the subject of fear. Thus the reflex movement of a start on hearing a sound does not amount to fear, though it is akin to fear.[1] Again, a child may show a sort of aesthetic dislike for an ugly form or sound, turning away in evident aversion, and yet not be afraid in the full sense. Fear proper betrays
- ↑ For an account of this reflex, see Preyer, op. cit, cap. 10, S. 176.
