“If he get a hurt or bruise,To complain he must refuse,Though the anguish and the smartGo unto his little heart.”
“If he get a hurt or bruise,To complain he must refuse,Though the anguish and the smartGo unto his little heart.”
“If he get a hurt or bruise,To complain he must refuse,Though the anguish and the smartGo unto his little heart.”
“If he get a hurt or bruise,
To complain he must refuse,
Though the anguish and the smart
Go unto his little heart.”
It was at this point that some of the trees in the Child’s Garden put forth new shoots and began to grow into their natural shapes.
But there was no revolt against wholesome discipline; traditional virtues were still honoured in verse, cleanliness as well as courage:
“Come, my little Robert near—Fie! what filthy hands are here—Who that ere could understandThe rare structure of a hand,With its branching fingers fine,Work itself of hands divine,...“Who this hand would choose to coverWith a crust of dirt all over,Till it look’d in hue and shapeLike the fore-foot of an Ape?”
“Come, my little Robert near—Fie! what filthy hands are here—Who that ere could understandThe rare structure of a hand,With its branching fingers fine,Work itself of hands divine,...“Who this hand would choose to coverWith a crust of dirt all over,Till it look’d in hue and shapeLike the fore-foot of an Ape?”
“Come, my little Robert near—Fie! what filthy hands are here—Who that ere could understandThe rare structure of a hand,With its branching fingers fine,Work itself of hands divine,
“Come, my little Robert near—
Fie! what filthy hands are here—
Who that ere could understand
The rare structure of a hand,
With its branching fingers fine,
Work itself of hands divine,
...
...
“Who this hand would choose to coverWith a crust of dirt all over,Till it look’d in hue and shapeLike the fore-foot of an Ape?”
“Who this hand would choose to cover
With a crust of dirt all over,
Till it look’d in hue and shape
Like the fore-foot of an Ape?”
The romance of antiquity induces reverence for Age:
“My father’s grandfather lives still,His age is fourscore years and ten;He looks a monument of time,The agedest of aged men.”
“My father’s grandfather lives still,His age is fourscore years and ten;He looks a monument of time,The agedest of aged men.”
“My father’s grandfather lives still,His age is fourscore years and ten;He looks a monument of time,The agedest of aged men.”
“My father’s grandfather lives still,
His age is fourscore years and ten;
He looks a monument of time,
The agedest of aged men.”
These were town-bred poets; Nature figures only in side-glances. “The Ride” gives the town child’s delight in fields, but two children are the real subject of the picture. The Rainbow, regarded from a honeysuckle bower, is sweet after a tempest, but it is a messenger of earth: each precious tint is dear to Mary Lamb, “which flowers, which fields, whichladies wear.” The robe of Iris is unwoven to find the colours of gardens, of living things, and of the human face. The magic bridge is dissolved with “half of its perfect arch” yet visible.
“The Boy and the Skylark” is the most revolutionary of these pieces. Bees and lambs, ants and silkworms, had been noted for the docility with which they entered into the business of human improvement. This sky-lark asserts the independence of his race. He scorns the limitations of human imagination which conceives of “the feathered race” as serving the little ends of man. Richard, hearing the lark’s song, confesses his sin, under the impression that the “little bird” will betray him, as indeed Dr. Watts and all Lilliput would have had him believe.
This, says the bird, is folly “fit to move a sky-lark’s mirth.”
“Dull fool! to think we sons of airOn man’s low actions waste a care,His virtues, or his vices;Or soaring on the summer gales,That we should stoop to carry talesOf him or his devices!“Our songs are all of the delightsWe find in our wild airy flights,And heavenly exaltation;The earth you mortals have at heartIs all too gross to have a partIn sky-lark’s conversation.”
“Dull fool! to think we sons of airOn man’s low actions waste a care,His virtues, or his vices;Or soaring on the summer gales,That we should stoop to carry talesOf him or his devices!“Our songs are all of the delightsWe find in our wild airy flights,And heavenly exaltation;The earth you mortals have at heartIs all too gross to have a partIn sky-lark’s conversation.”
“Dull fool! to think we sons of airOn man’s low actions waste a care,His virtues, or his vices;Or soaring on the summer gales,That we should stoop to carry talesOf him or his devices!
“Dull fool! to think we sons of air
On man’s low actions waste a care,
His virtues, or his vices;
Or soaring on the summer gales,
That we should stoop to carry tales
Of him or his devices!
“Our songs are all of the delightsWe find in our wild airy flights,And heavenly exaltation;The earth you mortals have at heartIs all too gross to have a partIn sky-lark’s conversation.”
“Our songs are all of the delights
We find in our wild airy flights,
And heavenly exaltation;
The earth you mortals have at heart
Is all too gross to have a part
In sky-lark’s conversation.”
Mrs. Trimmer would have been inexpressibly shocked at this bird’s attitude; Ann Taylor would have been grieved that he was not more friendly; Jane might have seen his point of view. But this lark is a literal poet; there is no attempt here to interpret a real ecstasy of song. The poem is but an argument that hits a popular fallacy. This is still the voice of the town and of common sense. The Spectator might have said as much for the birds that sang in his cherry trees.
There is only one fairy inPoetry for Children; fairies, like dreams, were outside the pale of the Garden. This one is a spirit of the age, but springs from the brain of a child. Little Ann was a friend of Mary Lamb’s, and knew what the poet “prettily” wrote about Titania; but because she had not been admitted to fairy Society, it was entirely natural that she should project into fairyland the most diminutive creature of her acquaintance (an Edgeworthian method of setting imagination to work upon experience) and describe the “fabulous being” to her friend:
“‘You’ll confess, I believe, I’ve not done it amiss.’‘Pardon me,’ said Matilda, ‘I find in all thisFine description you’ve only your young sister MaryBeen taking a copy of here for a fairy.’”
“‘You’ll confess, I believe, I’ve not done it amiss.’‘Pardon me,’ said Matilda, ‘I find in all thisFine description you’ve only your young sister MaryBeen taking a copy of here for a fairy.’”
“‘You’ll confess, I believe, I’ve not done it amiss.’‘Pardon me,’ said Matilda, ‘I find in all thisFine description you’ve only your young sister MaryBeen taking a copy of here for a fairy.’”
“‘You’ll confess, I believe, I’ve not done it amiss.’
‘Pardon me,’ said Matilda, ‘I find in all this
Fine description you’ve only your young sister Mary
Been taking a copy of here for a fairy.’”
There is a thrill of adventure in the true tale of a child that took an adder for a “fine grey bird”, and shared with it, in perfect fearlessness, his breakfast of bread and milk; children laugh over the odd choice of the little Creole who saw a crowd of dancing chimney sweepers on a May morning, thought they were his fellow countrymen, and became ambitious for a sooty coat. These stories could have been told as well in prose; but the charming fancy called “The Desert” is a feast of the nursery muse:
“With the apples and the plumsLittle Carolina comes,At the time of the dessert sheComes and drops her last new curt’sy;Graceful curt’sy, practis’d o’erIn the nursery before.What shall we compare her to?The dessert itself will do.Like preserves she’s kept with care,Like blanch’d almonds she is fair,Soft as down on peach her hair,And so soft, so smooth is eachPretty cheek as that same peach,...Whiter drapery she does wearThan the frost on cake; and sweeterThan the cake itself, and neater,Though bedeck’d with emblems fine,Is our little Caroline.”
“With the apples and the plumsLittle Carolina comes,At the time of the dessert sheComes and drops her last new curt’sy;Graceful curt’sy, practis’d o’erIn the nursery before.What shall we compare her to?The dessert itself will do.Like preserves she’s kept with care,Like blanch’d almonds she is fair,Soft as down on peach her hair,And so soft, so smooth is eachPretty cheek as that same peach,...Whiter drapery she does wearThan the frost on cake; and sweeterThan the cake itself, and neater,Though bedeck’d with emblems fine,Is our little Caroline.”
“With the apples and the plumsLittle Carolina comes,At the time of the dessert sheComes and drops her last new curt’sy;Graceful curt’sy, practis’d o’erIn the nursery before.What shall we compare her to?The dessert itself will do.Like preserves she’s kept with care,Like blanch’d almonds she is fair,Soft as down on peach her hair,And so soft, so smooth is eachPretty cheek as that same peach,...Whiter drapery she does wearThan the frost on cake; and sweeterThan the cake itself, and neater,Though bedeck’d with emblems fine,Is our little Caroline.”
“With the apples and the plums
Little Carolina comes,
At the time of the dessert she
Comes and drops her last new curt’sy;
Graceful curt’sy, practis’d o’er
In the nursery before.
What shall we compare her to?
The dessert itself will do.
Like preserves she’s kept with care,
Like blanch’d almonds she is fair,
Soft as down on peach her hair,
And so soft, so smooth is each
Pretty cheek as that same peach,
...
Whiter drapery she does wear
Than the frost on cake; and sweeter
Than the cake itself, and neater,
Though bedeck’d with emblems fine,
Is our little Caroline.”
Studies of children, in the warm and tender colouring of personal reminiscence, are the chief matter of the book; children do not appreciate the love and insight that makes it poetry; they will not stand still to trace, in these portraits of brothers and sisters, a likeness to the gentle authors. Grown-up persons, acquainted with the family history, understand the little girl’s patience over her broken doll and her studied kindness to “dear little craving selfish John”.
There is a bending-down in many of the poems that only grown-up persons understand; the writers stoop to conquer childish reserve, not at all in the disconcerting manner of Wordsworth, though they sometimes adopt his way of recording the result:
“Lately an Equipage I overtook,And help’d to lift it o’er a narrow brook.No horse it had except one boy, who drewHis sister out in it the fields to view.O happy town-bred girl, in fine chaise goingFor the first time to see the green grass growing.This was the end and purport of the rideI learn’d, as walking slowly by their sideI heard their conversation....”
“Lately an Equipage I overtook,And help’d to lift it o’er a narrow brook.No horse it had except one boy, who drewHis sister out in it the fields to view.O happy town-bred girl, in fine chaise goingFor the first time to see the green grass growing.This was the end and purport of the rideI learn’d, as walking slowly by their sideI heard their conversation....”
“Lately an Equipage I overtook,And help’d to lift it o’er a narrow brook.No horse it had except one boy, who drewHis sister out in it the fields to view.O happy town-bred girl, in fine chaise goingFor the first time to see the green grass growing.This was the end and purport of the rideI learn’d, as walking slowly by their sideI heard their conversation....”
“Lately an Equipage I overtook,
And help’d to lift it o’er a narrow brook.
No horse it had except one boy, who drew
His sister out in it the fields to view.
O happy town-bred girl, in fine chaise going
For the first time to see the green grass growing.
This was the end and purport of the ride
I learn’d, as walking slowly by their side
I heard their conversation....”
The “task” is forgotten in the pleasure or pathos of such incidents:
“In a stage coach, where late I chanc’d to be,A little quiet girl my notice caught;I saw she look’d at nothing by the way,Her mind seem’d busy on some childish thought.“I with an old man’s courtesy address’dThe child, and call’d her pretty dark-eyed maidAnd bid her turn those pretty eyes and seeThe wide-extended prospect. ‘Sir,’ she said,“‘I cannot see the prospect, I am blind.’Never did tongue of child utter a soundSo mournful, as her words fell on my ear....”
“In a stage coach, where late I chanc’d to be,A little quiet girl my notice caught;I saw she look’d at nothing by the way,Her mind seem’d busy on some childish thought.“I with an old man’s courtesy address’dThe child, and call’d her pretty dark-eyed maidAnd bid her turn those pretty eyes and seeThe wide-extended prospect. ‘Sir,’ she said,“‘I cannot see the prospect, I am blind.’Never did tongue of child utter a soundSo mournful, as her words fell on my ear....”
“In a stage coach, where late I chanc’d to be,A little quiet girl my notice caught;I saw she look’d at nothing by the way,Her mind seem’d busy on some childish thought.
“In a stage coach, where late I chanc’d to be,
A little quiet girl my notice caught;
I saw she look’d at nothing by the way,
Her mind seem’d busy on some childish thought.
“I with an old man’s courtesy address’dThe child, and call’d her pretty dark-eyed maidAnd bid her turn those pretty eyes and seeThe wide-extended prospect. ‘Sir,’ she said,
“I with an old man’s courtesy address’d
The child, and call’d her pretty dark-eyed maid
And bid her turn those pretty eyes and see
The wide-extended prospect. ‘Sir,’ she said,
“‘I cannot see the prospect, I am blind.’Never did tongue of child utter a soundSo mournful, as her words fell on my ear....”
“‘I cannot see the prospect, I am blind.’
Never did tongue of child utter a sound
So mournful, as her words fell on my ear.
...”
Mary Lamb’s poem “The Two Boys”, quoted by Lamb in “Detached Thoughts on Books and Reading”, records an incident of Martin Burney’s youth:[201]
“I saw a boy with eager eyeOpen a book upon a stall,And read, as he’d devour it all,Which, when the stall-man did espy,Soon to the boy I heard him call‘You, sir, you never buy a book.Therefore in one you shall not look.’The boy pass’d slowly on, and with a sighHe wish’d he never had been taught to read,Then of the old churl’s books he should have had no need.”
“I saw a boy with eager eyeOpen a book upon a stall,And read, as he’d devour it all,Which, when the stall-man did espy,Soon to the boy I heard him call‘You, sir, you never buy a book.Therefore in one you shall not look.’The boy pass’d slowly on, and with a sighHe wish’d he never had been taught to read,Then of the old churl’s books he should have had no need.”
“I saw a boy with eager eyeOpen a book upon a stall,And read, as he’d devour it all,Which, when the stall-man did espy,Soon to the boy I heard him call‘You, sir, you never buy a book.Therefore in one you shall not look.’The boy pass’d slowly on, and with a sighHe wish’d he never had been taught to read,Then of the old churl’s books he should have had no need.”
“I saw a boy with eager eye
Open a book upon a stall,
And read, as he’d devour it all,
Which, when the stall-man did espy,
Soon to the boy I heard him call
‘You, sir, you never buy a book.
Therefore in one you shall not look.’
The boy pass’d slowly on, and with a sigh
He wish’d he never had been taught to read,
Then of the old churl’s books he should have had no need.”
This is an unexpected link with Stevenson; the proprietor of the shop “which was dark and smelt of Bibles” (that quaint store-house of romance)[202]is a reincarnation of this bookstall man; he repeats the old growl in prose:
“I do not believe, child, that you are an intending purchaser at all!”
To compare these verses with Stevenson’s is to discover an essential difference. The Lambs had the same delight in memories, but they looked back with tenderness to a childhood which they had been forced to leave behind. Stevenson was a boy to the end. The Child in his Garden is heard singing his own deeds. These gentle Olympians looked down at
“Horatio, of ideal courage vain,”
“Horatio, of ideal courage vain,”
“Horatio, of ideal courage vain,”
“Horatio, of ideal courage vain,”
saw him now as Achilles, brandishing his sword, now Hector in a field of slaughtered Greeks, or the Black Prince, driving the enemy before him; but lest vain imagination should grow bold upon encouragement, he must strike his milk-white hand against a nail, and seal the moral with his blood:
“Achilles weeps, Great Hector hangs his head,And the Black Prince goes whimpering to bed.”
“Achilles weeps, Great Hector hangs his head,And the Black Prince goes whimpering to bed.”
“Achilles weeps, Great Hector hangs his head,And the Black Prince goes whimpering to bed.”
“Achilles weeps, Great Hector hangs his head,
And the Black Prince goes whimpering to bed.”
The “Mimic Harlequin” who transforms a whole drawing-room full of furniture into matter of imagination is brought back to reality by his practical mother:
“You’ve put the cat among my work, and tornA fine lac’d cap that I but once have worn.”
“You’ve put the cat among my work, and tornA fine lac’d cap that I but once have worn.”
“You’ve put the cat among my work, and tornA fine lac’d cap that I but once have worn.”
“You’ve put the cat among my work, and torn
A fine lac’d cap that I but once have worn.”
Yet in another rhyme, the monitress relents, and indulging the idle fancies of Robert, allows him, though late for breakfast,
“To sit and watch the vent’rous flyWhere the sugar’s piled high,Clambering o’er the lumps so white,Rocky cliffs of sweet delight”.
“To sit and watch the vent’rous flyWhere the sugar’s piled high,Clambering o’er the lumps so white,Rocky cliffs of sweet delight”.
“To sit and watch the vent’rous flyWhere the sugar’s piled high,Clambering o’er the lumps so white,Rocky cliffs of sweet delight”.
“To sit and watch the vent’rous fly
Where the sugar’s piled high,
Clambering o’er the lumps so white,
Rocky cliffs of sweet delight”.
There is not enough of this to make a book of children’s poetry. Romance knocked timidly at the gate and tendered a moral as the price of admission; but it would be a dull child that could not find him somewhere in this corner of the garden.
The two small volumes had a short life; some of the pieces were reprinted in collections, but the book failed to hold its own against Mr. Roscoe’s bright fancy,The Butterfly’s Ball[203], written for the birthday of his little boy Robert, and set to music by order of their Majesties for Princess Mary.
Children responded with one accord to the invitation of the first couplet:
“Come take up your Hats, and away let us hasteTo the Butterfly’s Ball and the Grasshopper’s Feast.”
“Come take up your Hats, and away let us hasteTo the Butterfly’s Ball and the Grasshopper’s Feast.”
“Come take up your Hats, and away let us hasteTo the Butterfly’s Ball and the Grasshopper’s Feast.”
“Come take up your Hats, and away let us haste
To the Butterfly’s Ball and the Grasshopper’s Feast.”
Here was an entertainment which made no demands on attention or understanding, which had no “moral”; it was all pure enjoyment. The rhymes were as simple as any inMother Goose’s Melody; the pictures, early efforts of Mulready’s[204], presented the various creatures in glorious independence, no more constrained by laws of proportion than the inhabitants of a willow-pattern landscape. They come, a gay and irresponsible procession, with a hint of fairy-land for all their reality:
“A Mushroom their table, and on it was laidA Water-Dock leaf, which a Table-Cloth made.”
“A Mushroom their table, and on it was laidA Water-Dock leaf, which a Table-Cloth made.”
“A Mushroom their table, and on it was laidA Water-Dock leaf, which a Table-Cloth made.”
“A Mushroom their table, and on it was laid
A Water-Dock leaf, which a Table-Cloth made.”
There is “the sly little Dormouse” and “his blind Brother the Mole”; the Frog (found still in the same attitude by Alice in Wonderland) and the Squirrel, who watches the feast from a tree. The rest are mostly winged:
“... the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too,With all their Relations, Green, Orange, and Blue.”
“... the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too,With all their Relations, Green, Orange, and Blue.”
“... the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too,With all their Relations, Green, Orange, and Blue.”
“... the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too,
With all their Relations, Green, Orange, and Blue.”
The Harlequin Spider performs feats on the tight line, a giant Bee hovers over an absurdly inadequate hive, a snail bigger than either offers to dance a Minuet; and at nightfall the Watchman Glow-worm is ready with his light.
The feast is soon done, but for a third reading it can be got by heart.
“A Sequel”,The Peacock “At Home”,[205]appeared in the same year, with a frank and humorous acknowledgment of its predecessor’s success. A pleasing mystery about its authorship was solved some years later in the preface of “The Peacock and Parrot on their Tour to discover the Author of ‘The Peacock At Home’.”
“A path strewed with flowers they early pursued,And in fancy, their long-sought Incognita viewed.Till, all their cares over, inDorsetthey found her,And, plucking a wreath of green bay-leaves, they crowned her.”
“A path strewed with flowers they early pursued,And in fancy, their long-sought Incognita viewed.Till, all their cares over, inDorsetthey found her,And, plucking a wreath of green bay-leaves, they crowned her.”
“A path strewed with flowers they early pursued,And in fancy, their long-sought Incognita viewed.Till, all their cares over, inDorsetthey found her,And, plucking a wreath of green bay-leaves, they crowned her.”
“A path strewed with flowers they early pursued,
And in fancy, their long-sought Incognita viewed.
Till, all their cares over, inDorsetthey found her,
And, plucking a wreath of green bay-leaves, they crowned her.”
Mrs. Dorset, thus discovered, was a sister of Charlotte Smith, the writer ofMinor MoralsandRural Walks.
All the birds left out of the Butterfly’s Ball, including foreigners, such as the Taylor Bird and Flamingo, were guests of the Peacock. They offered a variety of absurd analogies.
The Lion’s Masquerade, rhymed in the same quaint humour, was a sort of Æsop in Ranelagh:
“The guests now came thronging in numbers untold,The furious, the gentle, the young and the old,In dominos some, but in characters most,And now a brave warrior, and then a fair toast.The Baboonas aCounsellor: Alderman Glutton:A Lamb, Missin her teens, with her aunt, an old mutton.It was easy to see, as this couple past by,The Wolf, very cunningly, cast a sheep’s eye.”
“The guests now came thronging in numbers untold,The furious, the gentle, the young and the old,In dominos some, but in characters most,And now a brave warrior, and then a fair toast.The Baboonas aCounsellor: Alderman Glutton:A Lamb, Missin her teens, with her aunt, an old mutton.It was easy to see, as this couple past by,The Wolf, very cunningly, cast a sheep’s eye.”
“The guests now came thronging in numbers untold,The furious, the gentle, the young and the old,In dominos some, but in characters most,And now a brave warrior, and then a fair toast.The Baboonas aCounsellor: Alderman Glutton:A Lamb, Missin her teens, with her aunt, an old mutton.It was easy to see, as this couple past by,The Wolf, very cunningly, cast a sheep’s eye.”
“The guests now came thronging in numbers untold,
The furious, the gentle, the young and the old,
In dominos some, but in characters most,
And now a brave warrior, and then a fair toast.
The Baboonas aCounsellor: Alderman Glutton:
A Lamb, Missin her teens, with her aunt, an old mutton.
It was easy to see, as this couple past by,
The Wolf, very cunningly, cast a sheep’s eye.”
A guest of unusual interest is the “Great Hog in Armour” who stalks, in Mulready’s illustration, like the ghost inHamlet, under a full moon; and there is a Bear in the “character” of Caliban,
“... loaded with wood,His bones full of aches, from Prospero’s rod.”
“... loaded with wood,His bones full of aches, from Prospero’s rod.”
“... loaded with wood,His bones full of aches, from Prospero’s rod.”
“... loaded with wood,
His bones full of aches, from Prospero’s rod.”
Those were great naval days; the English sailor is represented by a Mastiff:
“Britannia receiv’d him with mark’d condescensionAnd paid him all night, most distinguish’d attention.”
“Britannia receiv’d him with mark’d condescensionAnd paid him all night, most distinguish’d attention.”
“Britannia receiv’d him with mark’d condescensionAnd paid him all night, most distinguish’d attention.”
“Britannia receiv’d him with mark’d condescension
And paid him all night, most distinguish’d attention.”
Bewick’s beasts and birds forsook their natural haunts and danced in the most carefully preserved parterres. They came in their thousands, of all sizes and nationalities. “W. B.” followed Mrs. Dorset withThe Elephant’s Ball, and the Season was extended till all “the Children of Earth and the Tenants of Air” were exhausted. Children ran out of the Lambs’ quiet parlour into a garden of perpetual Feasts. What could come better after the Butterfly’s Ball than a Wedding Among the Flowers?
But there was still an old-fashioned lady, one Miss Elizabeth Turner, who held aloof, wielding the rod of Dr. Watts. With the perversity of their race, the Lilliputians fell into step as they approached her, and listened to her warnings with a fearful joy. She told them, in simple numbers, how Miss Sophia would not wait for the garden gate to be opened, and demonstrated by her fall, that “little girls should never climb”; she expected them to believe that every little boy with a craving for adventure must share the fate of one who
“Once was pretty JackAnd had a kind Papa;But, silly child! he ran to playToo far from home, a long, long way,And did not ask Mama.So he was lost, and now must creepUp chimneys, crying, Sweep! Sweep! Sweep!”
“Once was pretty JackAnd had a kind Papa;But, silly child! he ran to playToo far from home, a long, long way,And did not ask Mama.So he was lost, and now must creepUp chimneys, crying, Sweep! Sweep! Sweep!”
“Once was pretty JackAnd had a kind Papa;But, silly child! he ran to playToo far from home, a long, long way,And did not ask Mama.So he was lost, and now must creepUp chimneys, crying, Sweep! Sweep! Sweep!”
“Once was pretty Jack
And had a kind Papa;
But, silly child! he ran to play
Too far from home, a long, long way,
And did not ask Mama.
So he was lost, and now must creep
Up chimneys, crying, Sweep! Sweep! Sweep!”
Poor Jane and little Tom excited a thrill as “cautionary” Babes in the Wood. They succumbed to the fatal fascination of scarlet berries:
“Alas! had Tommy understoodThat fruit in lanes is seldom good,He might have walked with little JaneAgain along the shady lane.”
“Alas! had Tommy understoodThat fruit in lanes is seldom good,He might have walked with little JaneAgain along the shady lane.”
“Alas! had Tommy understoodThat fruit in lanes is seldom good,He might have walked with little JaneAgain along the shady lane.”
“Alas! had Tommy understood
That fruit in lanes is seldom good,
He might have walked with little Jane
Again along the shady lane.”
Small listeners decided privately that Peter was an indifferent sportsman to turn the red-hot poker against himself; they would prove at the first opportunity that he bungled the thing. But when other children cried, it amused them to agree with Miss Turner that
“A rod is the very best thing to applyWhen children are crying and cannot tell why!”
“A rod is the very best thing to applyWhen children are crying and cannot tell why!”
“A rod is the very best thing to applyWhen children are crying and cannot tell why!”
“A rod is the very best thing to apply
When children are crying and cannot tell why!”
The names of her two little books[206]have no obvious connection with the verses. She explainsThe Daisyin aCowsliprhyme:
“Like the flow’ret it spreads, unambitious of fame,Nor intrudes upon critical gaze.”
“Like the flow’ret it spreads, unambitious of fame,Nor intrudes upon critical gaze.”
“Like the flow’ret it spreads, unambitious of fame,Nor intrudes upon critical gaze.”
“Like the flow’ret it spreads, unambitious of fame,
Nor intrudes upon critical gaze.”
But names are pictures to a child: daisies and cowslips should have a place in his garden. In open defiance of the calendar, these were succeeded byThe SnowdropandThe Crocus. Mary Elliott suffered herself to be turned by the Muse from Precept and Example; she addedThe Rose[207]to this serial garland. Little feet went willingly after her, for she led the way through a village, and visited many friends. At the window of the village shop they loitered together, forgetting all the penalties of pleasure-seekingin a glory of gingerbread, candy, little gilt books and many sorts of toys:
“How many bright eyes have I seenExamine each article o’er,Still looking, while pausing betweenThe window and latch of the door.“For well the young customers knowThe Dame does not like to be teased,And when indecision they show,Cries ‘children can never be pleased!’“Such grumbling, however, is borneWhile thus she displays such nice fare,And her threshold, uneven and wornProves how many footsteps go there!”
“How many bright eyes have I seenExamine each article o’er,Still looking, while pausing betweenThe window and latch of the door.“For well the young customers knowThe Dame does not like to be teased,And when indecision they show,Cries ‘children can never be pleased!’“Such grumbling, however, is borneWhile thus she displays such nice fare,And her threshold, uneven and wornProves how many footsteps go there!”
“How many bright eyes have I seenExamine each article o’er,Still looking, while pausing betweenThe window and latch of the door.
“How many bright eyes have I seen
Examine each article o’er,
Still looking, while pausing between
The window and latch of the door.
“For well the young customers knowThe Dame does not like to be teased,And when indecision they show,Cries ‘children can never be pleased!’
“For well the young customers know
The Dame does not like to be teased,
And when indecision they show,
Cries ‘children can never be pleased!’
“Such grumbling, however, is borneWhile thus she displays such nice fare,And her threshold, uneven and wornProves how many footsteps go there!”
“Such grumbling, however, is borne
While thus she displays such nice fare,
And her threshold, uneven and worn
Proves how many footsteps go there!”
The Giant Instruction sent a few spies into the garden, disguised as poets. Wise children saw through the deception at once; others, lured into encyclopædic mazes, yawned while the guide recited “Edward, or Rambling reasoned on”,[208]and described the delights of town for the benefit of those who hankered after foreign travel:
“The pictures in the LouvreDisplay their bright perfections,But we should first manœuvreTo see some home collections....“The Royal InstitutionGives knowledge, taste and skill,And change without confusionAttends its lectures still.“Some folks have wished to beWhole years in the Museum:So much there is to see,No fear it shouldennui ’em.”
“The pictures in the LouvreDisplay their bright perfections,But we should first manœuvreTo see some home collections....“The Royal InstitutionGives knowledge, taste and skill,And change without confusionAttends its lectures still.“Some folks have wished to beWhole years in the Museum:So much there is to see,No fear it shouldennui ’em.”
“The pictures in the LouvreDisplay their bright perfections,But we should first manœuvreTo see some home collections.
“The pictures in the Louvre
Display their bright perfections,
But we should first manœuvre
To see some home collections.
...
...
“The Royal InstitutionGives knowledge, taste and skill,And change without confusionAttends its lectures still.
“The Royal Institution
Gives knowledge, taste and skill,
And change without confusion
Attends its lectures still.
“Some folks have wished to beWhole years in the Museum:So much there is to see,No fear it shouldennui ’em.”
“Some folks have wished to be
Whole years in the Museum:
So much there is to see,
No fear it shouldennui ’em.”
The unconscious humorist rambles thus through a dozen stanzas. But the last lines are drowned by the voice ofthe Pedlar at the door. He is singing new rhymes to old tunes:Whimsical Incidents,Cinderella in Verse,Mother Hubbard,Dame TrotandGoody Flitch.[209]The Lady of Ninety who wroteDame Wiggins of Lee[210]must have heard him singing in her youth.
Nonsense rhymers, whipped out of the Court of Stupidity, found a refuge in the purlieus of the child’s garden; nobody recognised them as descendants of the citizens of Cockayne, or suspected that they would one day be honoured as predecessors of Edward Lear. Yet who shall gauge their influence on the character of Englishmen, or decide how far the eccentricities of certain theorists depended on the exclusion of nonsense from the nursery?
The History of theSixteen Wonderful Old Women[211]came too late for Mr. Day:
“There was an Old Woman from FranceWho taught grown-up Children to dance,But they were so stiff,She sent them home in a miff,This sprightly Old Woman from France.”
“There was an Old Woman from FranceWho taught grown-up Children to dance,But they were so stiff,She sent them home in a miff,This sprightly Old Woman from France.”
“There was an Old Woman from FranceWho taught grown-up Children to dance,But they were so stiff,She sent them home in a miff,This sprightly Old Woman from France.”
“There was an Old Woman from France
Who taught grown-up Children to dance,
But they were so stiff,
She sent them home in a miff,
This sprightly Old Woman from France.”
While Mr. Edgeworth was “explaining” poetry to children, and later, when Young Reviewers were being taught to “dissect poems”,[212]the Pedlar was still singing for truant minds. If he knew nothing of poetry, at least he knew enough to let it alone; and his songs were good to dance to, which every child knows is an excellent thing in songs.