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You will
remember, little children, that we said we called George Washington
the father of our country, because he fought so bravely for us, and
won for us this free country. I am sure you will be glad to know who
is the father of the Kindergarten. His name was Friedrich Froebel,
and he was born 108 years ago, on the 21st day of April, in the
village of Oberweisbach, in Thuringa, Germany.
This kind man was once a little child, just like you, little folks,
but I do not think he had such a happy life. His mamma died when he
was only one year old. A kind old lady took care of him, and kept
house for his papa, who was a minister. They were poor people, and
lived in a small house, of only three rooms. The furniture in these
rooms was very plain. First came the papa's room; in it was a
bed-stead, with very high posts, and on it were three feather-beds,
which made the bed very high—so high that you, little folks, would
have to get a step-ladder to climb into it—but such a nice, soft bed
as it was, with two snowy white sheets, a nice red spread, and two
soft pillows.
At one end of the room stood a wash-stand, on it a bowl and pitcher,
soap-dish, and mug. On the towel rack hung a clean, white towel, and
in the drawer of the stand was a comb and brush, hanging over it was
a looking-glass.
In one corner of the room stood a cedar chest, for the papa's
clothes. A table, covered with a green cover, stood in the center of
the room, and on it were placed the books his papa needed, and
beside the table stood two wooden chairs. The two windows were
draped with white muslin curtains, looped back with white cord. The
floor was uncarpeted, but not a speck of dust or dirt was there
anywhere to be seen.
The next room was furnished in just the same way, except one more
piece of furniture, this was a large press with five drawers; in
this they kept sheets, pillow-cases, table cloths, and towels; and
in this room slept baby Froebel and the old lady.
The next room was the kitchen, the largest room in the house—for you
know this was their dining and sitting-room. The stove was so
beautifully polished you could see your face in it; the tins were
all hang ing on nails by the side of the stove; they were so bright,
that you would think they were new; the cedar bucket, filled with
nice spring water, was standing on a bench by the side of the wall;
above it hung a tin cup; on the table was a red cover, and around
the room, close to the wall, were six wooden chairs.
When the weather was warm, the old lady would open the door, and
Froebel would sit on the door-step, and play with his rag-doll. You
must know this little boy led a very lonely life, as he had no
little play mates; but he was very fond of this rag-baby, and loved
the bright sunshine, which used to come to the door-step and play
with him and the rag-doll. As he grew older, he found much pleasure
with the flowers in the garden, the birds and insects.
When he was seven years old he went to live with an uncle, who kept
a school for boys. He now had many children of his own age to play
with, and such delightful times as they used to have. In summer,
when the days were very warm, they would be given a half-holiday,
and it would not take them long to put away their books, and slates,
take their hats from the rack and away to the woods. Here they had a
little house which they had builded of twigs and leaves, where they
kept their play-things. All would say, let us play soldiers; then
they would put on their caps, made something like those we wore on
Washington's birth-day. Santa Claus always brings a German boy, a
sword, gun and drum, so you can think how much they looked like real
soldiers; and Froebel was just as happy and merry as a boy could be.
As a man, he always remembered those days with much pleasure.
When he was fifteen years old, his father thought he was old enough
to learn a trade. Froebel thought he would like to be a farmer, and
always live in the country, where he could see the flowers, the
bright sunshine, and hear the rippling of the stream, for all of
this was sweet music to his ear, so he went to live on a farm, and
for awhile was quite contented; he was always longing to do
something to make little children happy, and after many years of
struggle, and hardships, he started a "Child's Garden." The plants
in this garden were little children, just like you, little folks,
and it was he who gave us all these lovely gifts.
These beautiful colored balls, these nice cubes and bricks with
which to build houses, churches, and many other things; the cards
and pictures for sewing, paper for folding and cutting; mats, peas
work and modelling; the pretty rings and sticks with which we made
the watch and chain, grandfathers spectacles, the bunch of grapes,
and the hay wagon for the farmer.
Then he arranged our games and songs. In the games he has taught us
how to be dear little birds that hop and fly, pigeons that walk,
mill wheels that "grind the grain the farmer has sown," and little
waves in the stream that are always giving to every thing they pass
by, and many other games you can think of.
In our songs, he tells us how to love our mammas, papas, sisters and
brothers, and how much care to take of the baby, the dear "little
one of all." And of how happy the birds are in their homes too, with
their mammas and papas. How we can be carpenters, shoe-makers,
bakers and wheelwrights.
Then we sing of the sunshine, which God sends us to make us bright
and happy.
Froebel wants us to be good soldiers, and if need be, fight for our
country, so he gave us the brave "Knights," and the songs we sing to
our flag.
Now, little folks, we have seen how much Froebel has done for all of
us; do you not think we all should love him, and be very thankful
for our Kindergarten, and never forget to celebrate each year the
birth-day of him who said, "I love flowers, men, children, God! I
love everything!"
Friedrich Froebel
A Fictional Short Story by
Agnes Taylor Ketchum & Ida M. Jorgensen
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