“No Licking the Master During Holydays - No Kissing Girls in School Time.”

The newest exhibit at the Cantor Arts Center, “American ABC: Childhood in 19th-Century America,” offers visitors a glimpse into the depictions of young life from the country to the classroom to the city slums. I know what you may be thinking: “Portrayals of 19th-century children? Not my thing.” Believe it or not, I didn’t think it would be my cup of tea either, and I’m flirting with an art history major.

But if you’re interested in literature, psychology, history, sociology, or are simply curious, I encourage you to check it out (for free!). Though the exhibit is kitschy at times and may not appeal to those looking for a more avant-garde approach to art presentation, it offers a fascinating insight into the minds of people of all ages during this era. Here, children are seen as more than just innocent beings - they serve as representations for the hope of America’s future.

The exhibit is set up like a classic schoolhouse, complete with AaBbCc-lettered borders and whitewashed walls. A long corridor connects a series of galleries, each focusing on a theme, such as, “Daughters of Liberty,” which concentrates on the depiction of young girls, or “Children of Bondage,” which focuses on slave children. A multitude of poetry and anecdotes accompany the paintings to give the visitor more than just a visual experience, and the children’s books set up around the rooms nearly steal the show. I was impressed with the first edition copies of “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” and “The Child’s Anti-Slavery Book,” one of several examples of abolitionist propaganda focused on America’s youth.

The art itself may appear laughable at first, if not completely ridiculous. Most of the children appear either rosy-cheeked and unnaturally cherubic or as shrunken versions of adults (who end up looking like aliens - a terrifying concept). The girls are only posed in domestic situations, such as flower picking, sewing or taking care of siblings.

But through these portraits, viewers begin to see life behind the paint. We can especially imagine the hand and the standards of the artist, attempting to recreate the “ideal child” by fitting him into the roles that he supposed to assume in later life. Exceptions to these portrayals prove to be the most fascinating. “Snap the Whip,” one of many prints on display by Winslow Homer, shows children participating in a countryside sport. These boys look completely unposed, lively and full of momentum. “Attention, Company!” by William Harnett lacks the haziness that is common in the collection, and shows an African American boy in play-soldier garb, wide-eyed and engaging in a sort of staring contest with the audience.

My favorite additions to the collection were the photographs and daguerreotypes that scatter the galleries. Daguerreotypes are so rare that it is worth going to the museum to get a glimpse of one, because the effects produced are somehow quite different than that of a normal photograph. The photographs by Jacob Riis in the “Ragamuffins” section are nearly paralyzing in their raw portrayal of children who are barely surviving in industrialized cities. While the other artists romanticize these street urchins, ignoring the harshness of their situation, Riis’ photography demands attention and action.

The collection ends in a schoolroom, where visitors can play with chalkboards, toy blocks and figurines, which my friends flocked to like kids in a candy store. Perhaps this was the idea. “American ABC,” available until May 7, reminds us of our own childhood experiences, and recreates this pivotal period of American history through the eyes of its children. If anything, go to learn something or go to play with the chalkboards.