derstands, not the
meaning of the words, but the accent which accompanies them.

To the language of the voice is added the no less forcible language of
gesture. This gesture is not that of children's feeble hands; it is
that seen in their faces. It is astonishing to see how much expression
these immature countenances already have. From moment to moment, their
features change with inconceivable quickness. On them you see the
smile, the wish, the fear, spring into life, and pass away, like so
many lightning flashes. Each time you seem to see a different
countenance. They certainly have much more flexible facial muscles
than ours. On the other hand, their dull eyes tell us almost nothing
at all.

Such is naturally the character of their expression when all their
wants are physical. Sensations are made known by grimaces, sentiments
by looks.

As the first state of man is wretchedness and weakness, so his first
utterances are complaints and tears. The child feels his need and
cannot satisfy it; he implores aid from others by crying. If he is
hungry or thirsty, he cries; if he is too cold or too warm, he cries;
if he wishes to move or to be kept at rest, he cries; if he wishes to
sleep or to be moved about, he cries. The less control he has of his
own mode of living, the oftener he asks those about him to change it.
He has but one language, because he feels, so to speak, but one sort of
discomfort. In the imperfect condition of his organs, he does not
distinguish their different impressions; all ills produce in him only a
sensation of pain.

From this crying, regarded as so little worthy of attention, arises the
first relation of man to all that surrounds him; just here is forged
the first link of that long chain which constitutes social order.

When the child cries, he is ill at ease; he has some want that he
cannot satisfy. We examine into it, we search for the want, find it,
and relieve it. When we cannot find it, or relieve it, the crying
continues. We are annoyed by it; we caress the child to make him keep
quiet, we rock him and sing to him, to lull him asleep. If he
persists, we grow impatient; we threaten him; brutal nurses sometimes
strike him. These are strange lessons for him upon his entrance into
life.

The first crying of children is a prayer. If we do not heed it well,
this crying soon becomes a command. They begin by asking our aid; they
end by compelling us to serve them. Thus from