Chapter IX The Old-Fashioned Garden of Verses
The Spectator on Gardens—“Cones, Globes, and Pyramids”—Good counsels in rhyme—Verse in the Schoolroom—Didactic rhymes—Dr. Watts’s Divine and Moral Songs—Puerilia; or, Amusements for the Young; Gammer Gurton’s Garland and Songs for the Nursery—The Sublime Truant—Rules and prescriptions—Original Poems for Infant Minds—The old garden and the new—Jane Taylor’s verses—Poetry for Children, by Charles and Mary Lamb—The Butterfly’s Ball and other festivals—Miss Turner’s cautionary rhymes—“Edward, or Rambling Reasoned on”—The triumph of nonsense and rhythm.
“I think there are as many Kinds of Gardening as of Poetry”, wrote the Spectator. His own garden ran into the “beautiful Wildness of Nature”; he valued it more for being full of blackbirds than of cherries, and very frankly gave them fruit for their songs.172
Nature, regarded as a landscape gardener of more than ordinary skill, was even allowed to work under authority in the domain of poetry; but she neglected one corner of it, and there the trees were still clipped after the old fashion into “Cones, Globes, and Pyramids.” This little fenced-off portion was the eighteenth century Child’s Garden of Verses. The only way out of it was by a narrow gate in the midst of a Yew hedge, and of this only good nurses kept the key.
In the lane outside, the pedlar hawked his wares; the old ballads could still be heard, the seven lamps of enchantment burnt bright at nightfall.
But inside the garden there were curious knots, with flowers of the older sort and fragrant herbs. As time went on, some of the trees were allowed to grow as they would; the open country could be seen through gaps in the hedge, and the children began to make friends with travellers upon the road.
Good counsels had run into rhyme from the beginning, that they might hang together among wandering thoughts. Thus might the Whole Duty of a Child be remembered.173 It gave, in short couplets, without figure, all the matter of later exemplary and cautionary verse; and since the lines were spoken in the person of the counsellor, there was a certain dramatic interest added; for he that repeated the lines assumed the part of Monitor.
This is one of the secrets of a child’s pleasure in didactic rhymes. School, dull enough in itself, becomes a live thing the moment it passes into the world of make-believe, and words of caution and authority are a delight when spoken in character.
Pedagogues and guardians of youth discovered in rhythm and rhyme a means of teaching facts otherwise unrelated. Emblem writers, feeling the weakness of their strained symbolism, clutched eagerly at an effectual prop. Emblems without verses had some measure of attraction, for if no natural correspondence seemed to exist between a hypocrite and a frog, or between an egg and a Christian,174 the things had an interest of their own, and excited curiosity as to possible connections; but without rhymes, it would have been impossible to pair them aright.
Verse, brought as an accessory into school, twinkled a small mirror of imagination. Figures lurked in the letters of the alphabet; rhymed riddles were to be had for the piecing together of syllables. A Little Book for Little Children (1702)175 had these elements of interest; The Child’s Week’s Work176 was further lightened by a wide uncurtained schoolroom window, set so low that very small persons could stand a-tiptoe, and get new lessons from the creatures of earth and air. The very moderation of the writer invites acceptance:
“Come, take this Book
Dear Child, and look
On it awhile and try
What you can find
To please your Mind;
The Rest you may pass by.”
But most of it is too good to pass by; the moral is lost in little phrases of real music, albeit the rhymer ties himself to words of one syllable:
“Birds in the Spring
Do chirp and sing
With clear, shrill and sweet Throats;
Some hop, some fly,
Some soar on high,
Each of them knows its Notes.
“Hear you a Lark?
Tell me what Clerk
Can match her; he that beats
The next Thorn-Bush
May raise a Thrush
Would put down all our Wayts.”
Other “clerks” were appointed henceforth to the business of instruction. Rhymed sermons grew up in the midst of hymns of praise; these were marked by a forcible and rousing emphasis. If the voice of the Pharisee be heard no less distinctly than that of the Sluggard, in Dr. Watts’s Divine and Moral Songs177, it rises at times into something like a glow of patriotism:
“I would not change my Native Land
For rich Peru with all her Gold;
A nobler Prize lies in my Hand
Than East or Western Indies hold.”
Beneath the severity which his doctrine inspired, the learned Doctor had a genuine tenderness for children, a legacy not despised by the greatest and most revolutionary of his successors, William Blake. His Cradle Hymn, beginning:
“Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber;
Holy Angels guard thy bed;”
is remembered the better for Blake’s Cradle Song. In the old conventional but rhythmic fashion, he too could sing of lambs and children.
There is no answer to strictures on the more common errors of the nursery; they are so obvious that admiration halts before the power of rhythm that could give them life. Here and there comes a thought fresh turned:
“How proud we are, how fond to shew
Our Clothes, and call them rich and new!
When the poor Sheep and Silkworm wore
That very Clothing long before.”
The old indiscriminate approval that gave Dr. Watts a place of honour on the nursery shelf, started the echoes along two centuries. Critics could neither silence the triumphant march of the verse nor dispute a ring of sincerity that it has.
Few poets of the old-fashioned Child’s Garden failed in loyalty to its first planter; but editors made Lilliputian anthologies and filled “Poetical Flower Baskets” from other sources. Early in the new century, the author of The Butterfly’s Ball fell by his frivolous choice from the company of the elect:
“The Butterfly, an idle thing,
Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing.”178
He encouraged a spirit of revolt, and talking beasts of divers kinds broke into the garden.
Of the old order, John Marchant was welcome, despite his lack of originality, for a trick of rhythm which he had learnt from Dr. Watts, and apart from this, as a champion of children’s games. He had “Songs for Little Misses”, “Songs for Little Masters”, and “Songs”, varying the martial beat of Dr. Watts, on “Divine, Moral and Other Subjects”.179
Children, he is persuaded, would be “delighted with the Humour of them because adapted to their own Way of thinking and to the Occurrences that happen within their own little Sphere of Action.”
Stevenson could not give a more detailed picture of these “occurrences”; it is in the region of childish thought that his predecessor drifts into an uncharted sea. He knows nothing of the little mythologies of children; there are no imaginary countries, no “Unseen Playmate”, no dreams. It is the difference between the old garden and the new, which is of the child’s own planting.
There was a truant in the Babees’ Book180 who sang:
“I wolde my master were an hare
& all his bokis houndis were
& I myself a joly hontere.”
In the years between this and Puerilia, no child was encouraged to put his own thoughts into rhyme; but Marchant’s “Little Miss” is heard “Talking to her Doll”, “Working at her Sampler”, “playing on her Spinet”, even “learning to dance”. The “little Master” of 1751 whips his top, flies his kite and goes a-birds’-nesting in verse, when he is released from Arithmetic and the Languages.
But the world of Make-believe is still unknown to grown-up travellers: a mystery jealously hidden by the child from unsympathetic eyes.
A doll, in the matter-of-fact view of Mr. Marchant, is a “mere painted piece of wood”:
“Legs thou hast, and tho’ they’re jointed,
Yet one Step thou canst not walk;
Head there is to thee appointed,
Yet thou canst not think or talk.”
The rudest image could not be such a dead thing to a child. The author is upon enchanted ground, and blind to all its wonders.
He is safer following the needle in a child’s hand, tracing the “odd and various” crochets upon a sampler, or drawing a moral from the building of a “Pasty Pye”.
To music, whether of kit or spinet, he can keep time. “Miss learning to dance”, in her saque and hooped petticoat, is a bewitching figure, and the musician, though his skill is not great, contrives not to put her out:
“How pretty ’tis to dance!
To curtsey and advance
And wave about my Hands
To sound of Kit.
My Steps true Measure keep,
Thus lightly do I trip,
Along the Floor I sweep
With nimble Feet.”
“Master”, watching a Puppet-show, plays Gulliver at the Court of Lilliput, surveys the “pigmy Troop” and makes appropriate reflections.
A boy’s kite carries this quaint versifier for a moment into the upper air. Even there his fancy cannot support itself; he snatches a simile for the sake of the rhyme, then takes a header to earth and fastens on his moral:
“He that soars a Pitch too high,
Riding on Ambition’s Wings:
Sudden in the Dirt may lie;
Pride its Shadow ever brings.”
But the Kite actually rises, waving a “knotty Tail,” seeming now “a little Cloud,” now “no bigger than a Spoon”; the birds play round her or mistake her for a hawk, and the boy, were his string long enough, “would send her to the Moon.”
The rhymes of Mother Goose’s Melody and The Top Book of All were wild flowers that sowed themselves in the midst of herbaceous borders. Two garlands of folk-songs for children grew out of the same soil. The date of Gammer Gurton’s Garland is unknown.181 A Bodleian copy in flowered covers has some rhymes from Mother Goose; but the most daring “Lulliputian” would not have chosen the fairy theme of impossible tasks:
“Can you make me a cambrick shirt,
Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme:
Without any seam or needle work?
And you shall be a true lover of mine.”
Here, also, is the singing-game of “London Bridge,” and “A very pretty little Christmas Carol:”
“God bless the Master of this house
The Misteress also
And all the little Children
That round the table go
And all your kin and kinsmen
That dwell both far and near:
I wish them a merry Christmas
And a happy New Year.”
Ritson reprinted Gammer Gurton, with additions, in 1810; but in the meantime an unknown editor had collected new “Songs for the Nursery”,182 and adapted them “to favourite national Melodies”.
This is the biggest gap in the hedge. Here, at last, is the open country,—the cuckoo’s song:
“The Cuckoo’s a bonny bird;
She sings as she flies;
She brings us good tidings
And tells us no lies:
She sucks little birds’ eggs
To make her voice clear
And never cries Cuckoo!
Till Springtime of the year.”,
the daffodil:
“Daffy-Down-Dilly is new come to town
With a yellow petticoat and a green gown.”,
and the song of the North Wind:
“The north Wind doth blow
And we shall have snow
And what will poor Robin do then?
Poor thing!
“He’ll sit in a barn
And keep himself warm
And hide his head under his wing,
Poor thing.”
It is even more surprising to find, in this trim garden, a nursery lyric that calls up the very spirit of child-thought:
“How many miles is it to Babylon?
Three score miles and ten.
Can I get there by candle-light?
Yes, and back again.”183
There are no other songs like these. The Poetical Flower Basket184 represents the Lilliputian tradition that prevailed between 1760 and 1789: rhymed fables, epigrams and inscriptions from poets who never wrote for children, and the story of “Inkle and Yarico” in verse.
Of Blake185, it is difficult to speak in such a company. He was a winged thing hovering over little formal beds of lavender, catching for a moment an echo of children’s voices repeating the creed of “The Little Black Boy,” dropping a tear for the Chimney-Sweeper, then flying off unseen and unheard to sing his own songs of joy and love, too much a child to suffer the interruptions of other children; scarcely to be understood by those who were dreaming their own dreams under the noses of the pedagogues. A Pied Piper who never offered his services to the community; a sublime truant from every school. Of the realistic faith that could map out a Geography of Heaven, he had no knowledge; yet Laws and Moralities were the burden of some songs that had touched him. There is a magic in the simplest form of verse that may quicken the beat of a child’s heart, and endow little forgotten rules and prescriptions of the nursery with unexpected significance. If Blake could have alighted in the starlight outside a window and heard Ann Taylor putting one of her children to bed, he might have come in and acknowledged the existence of naughtiness, just for the pleasure of being forgiven. Some voices can sweeten the longest homily, and the culprit waits patiently for the kiss that must come when the sermon begins:
“And has my darling told a lie?”186
There is a triumphant contradiction in so tender a severity; a very rainbow of promise:
“Do you think I can love you so naughty as this,187
Or kiss you all wetted with tears?”
“Idle Mary” can pass it all on to her doll. Later on, when she looks down from the height of the first speaker, she understands how forgiveness and hope came with a sudden rush at the end:
“Oh, Mary, this will never do!
This work is sadly done, my dear,
And then so little of it too!
You have not taken pains, I fear.
“Oh no, your work has been forgotten.
Indeed you’ve hardly thought of that;
I saw you roll your ball of cotton
About the floor to please the cat.
...
“The little girl who will not sew
Should neither be allowed to play;
But then I hope, my love, that you
Will take more pains another day.”188
The authors of the Original Poems189 wore the laurels of Dr. Watts “with a difference.” They remembered all his tunes, they played variations on most of his themes, but they added songs of their own. In these, Walter Scott caught a note of poetry, and wrote to thank “the Associate Minstrels”. Miss Edgeworth, who cared less for rhythm, praised them for other excellences. The songs were a means of gentle intercourse between these writers and “that interesting little race, the race of children” for whom they had “so hearty an affection”.
The child of the new garden can join hands, “through the windows of this book”, with the child of the old. Ann and Jane and Adelaide were the great aunts-in-literature of Louis Stevenson. A hundred years before him they sang of stars and sun, of day and night and play in gardens. The contrast is the greater because not one or two, but all their poems turned upon “the whole Duty of Children”. Instead of following a child “up the mountain sides of dreams”, they were intent on pointing out to him a world of greater Reality.
The dream world lies all about Stevenson’s “Garden”, there is no hedge to separate it from ordinary roads and rivers; they all lead to Fairyland. Yet this most practical dreamer could speak in the very accents and call up the silhouettes of his gentle predecessors at any moment.
It is impossible to read of “The friendly cow all red and white”,190 without thinking of Jane Taylor’s
“Thank you, pretty cow that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread.”191
The child in her garden looked up and wondered at one star; that other child in the hundred-years-distant garden, escaped at bedtime to watch “thousands and millions of stars”.
Who would recognise the theme of Stevenson’s “Wind” symphony, under the old title of “The Child’s Monitor”?192 Yet the first two lines proclaim it:
“The wind blows down the largest tree
And yet the wind I cannot see—”
The wind that brings mystery into the new Garden was an emblem of human thought in the old. Stevenson’s myth is a real product of the child mind:
“O you that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?”
There could be no such heathen explanation for Adelaide O’Keefe. The Wind took shape as an allegory in her day: it changed into the Voice of Conscience, it became an ever-watchful angel:
“Thus, something very near must be,
Although invisible to me;
Whate’er I do, it sees me still,
O then, Good Spirit, guide my will!”
In another place the four elements are considered in a modestly scientific light.193 They balance a juvenile version of The Seasons. Nature is regarded from the old didactic point of view. Spring, when “the Creatures begin their employ” invites to industry; the Idle who in Summer “love best in the shade to recline” are admonished by the active joys of haymaking; the innocent hare is remembered in the hunting season, and in Winter, Charity sits by a glowing hearth and comforts itself with the sophistries of Dr. Watts for the unequal distribution of faggots.
These are but echoes; there are many touches that give the personal records of keen and watchful eyes:
“I saw a leaf come tilting down,
From a bare wither’d bough;
The leaf was dead, the branch was brown,
No fruit was left it now:
“But much the rattling tempest blew,
The naked boughs among:
And here and there came whistling through
A leaf that loosely hung.
...
“I saw an old man totter slow,
Wrinkled, and weak, and grey.
He’d hardly strength enough to go
Ever so short a way.”194
The leaf and the old man had been seen and remembered, the one for the sake of the other. There were times when Ann, in her gentle way, came very near the heart of things. The three could not have sung so well together if they had not practised different parts. Jane, comparing her own verses with the rest, modestly explained: “I allow my pieces to rank as the leaves which are, you know, always reckoned a necessary and even pleasing part of the bouquet.”
The comparison is hardly just, or if so, they are bright leaves, more striking, though fewer than the flowers.
There is a crisp touch about her simplest work. The verses are better turned than Adelaide’s or Ann’s. She is content to take her subjects from the common stock of moral tales195, to arrange her nursery pictures in twos and fours; but in spite of convention, her “Morning” is a Reveillé:
“O come, for the bee has flown out of his bed,
To begin his day’s labours anew;
The spider is weaving her delicate thread,
Which brilliantly glitters with dew.
...
“Awake, little sleeper, and do not despise
Of insects instruction to ask,
From your pillow with good resolution arise,
And cheerfully go to your task.”
“Evening”, the companion picture, is no more original; in due order all the properties of Morpheus move before tired eyes; sheep, and the parting linnet and the owl, the setting sun, the friendly moon that peeps through the curtain. Children know them all, and for that reason, the cradle-movement of the verse is the more soothing. Conventional portraits, “The Shepherd Boy” and “The Gleaner” stand out in clear simplicity, one on each side of the nursery mantel-piece, as “Evening” and “Morning” go over the bed. But when all the pictures are arranged, some of the figures walk out of them and begin to dance upon the floor.
“The Creatures” are never mere moral messengers. Jane has the same eye for character in beasts as in flowers or children. “The Toad’s Journal” in Q. Q. is a better example of this than any of her nursery pieces. This “venerable reptile”, supposed to have been found alive in the ruins of an Egyptian temple, records the events of his first thousand years:
“Crawled forth from some rubbish and wink’d with one eye;
Half opened the other, but could not tell why;
Stretched out my left leg, as it felt rather queer,
Then drew all together and slept for a year.
Awaken’d, felt chilly—crept under a stone;
Was vastly contented with living alone.
One toe became wedged in the stone like a peg,
Could not get it away—had the cramp in my leg:
Began half to wish for a neighbour at hand
To loosen the stone which was fast in the sand;
Pull’d harder—then dozed as I found it no use;—
Awoke the next summer, and lo! it was loose.”
...
The next sleep (“for a century or more”) gives time to dream; the dreamer, awakened,
“Grew pensive—discovered that life is a load;
Began to be weary of being a toad:”
It is a daring moralist who laughs at her own moral:
“To find a moral when there’s none
Is hard indeed—yet must be done:”
The moral, just because “there’s none,” presses the unspoken analogy:
“Age after age afforded him
To wink an eye or move a limb,
To doze and dream;—and then to think
Of noting this with pen and ink;
Or hieroglyphic shapes to draw,
More likely with his hideous claw;
Such length of days might be bestowed
On something better than a toad!
Had his existence been eternal,
What better could have filled his journal?”
To go back to the Nursery (the Original Poets were scarcely more than children when they wrote), Jane’s talking beasts quickened the old stuff of fables by a new sense of likeness and incongruity. The spider and his wife (Jane loved spiders) are as real to a child as any married couple of his acquaintance. He follows their fortunes with personal concern; he would forego a feast to dine with them:
“One day when their cupboard was empty and dry
His wife, (Mrs. Hairy-leg Spinner,)
Said to him, ‘Dear, go to the cobweb, and try
If you can’t find the leg or the wing of a fly,
As a bit of a relish for dinner’”.
The Cow and the Ass, meeting where the child may see them on any summer day, reconcile nonsense and natural history. The small actor can take both parts, and laughs the more at his own drollery.
“‘Take a seat,’ cried the cow, gently waving her hand.
‘By no means, dear Madam,’ said he, ‘while you stand.’
Then stooping to drink, with a complaisant bow,
‘Ma’am, your health,’ said the ass:—‘Thank you, Sir,’ said the cow.”
Thus laughter crept into the garden under the eye of Caution and Example, and, for his coaxing ways, was allowed to stay as a probationer.
Charles and Mary Lamb wrote their Poetry for Children196 as a task. It was probably suggested by Mrs. Godwin, anxious to rival the publishers of Original Poems. In a letter to Coleridge (June, 1809), Lamb says: “Our little poems are but humble, but they have no name. You must read them, remembering they were task-work; and perhaps you will admire the number of subjects, all of children, picked out by an old Batchelor and an old Maid. Many parents would not have found so many.”
The Lambs could do nothing together without enjoying it; they could not speak in a child’s voice, and had almost forgotten the way to Babylon, but there are fewer subtleties of child-thought here than in Mrs. Leicester’s School. The verses are full of practical interests. The humour of the writers brought tenderness and delight to the “task”, and children, who are quick to catch the note of sympathy, would feel this without understanding it.
Lamb had already tried his hand at children’s rhymes. In 1805 he had written The King and Queen of Hearts197, a careless and farcical impromptu which he sent by carrier to “Mr. Johnny Wordsworth”, begging his “acceptance and opinion”.
It is not easy to decide his exact share in Poetry for Children. The pieces reprinted in 1818198 are not children’s poems. One of them, “To a River in which a Child was drowned”, was suggested by the translation of a Spanish ballad in Percy’s Reliques. “Love, Death and Reputation” was recognised by Swinburne as a translation from Webster’s Duchess of Malfi.
Lamb seems to have amused himself now and then by casting fragments of mature flavour into this jar of nursery simples.
Of children, but assuredly not for them is the beautiful “Parental Recollections” which suggests understanding as well as love:
“A child’s a plaything for an hour;
Its pretty tricks we try
For that or for a longer space;
Then tire and lay it by.
“But I knew one that to itself
All Seasons could controul,
That would have mock’d the sense of pain
Out of a grieved soul.
“Thou, straggler into loving arms
Young climber up of knees,
When I forget thy thousand ways
Then life and all shall cease.”
Charles Lamb knew the Child that Wordsworth reverenced: the child of imagination
“... that to itself
All seasons could controul”.
The verses he would have repeated in that child’s company were nonsense rhymes or metrical “wild tales”; not without a song or two from Shakespeare (after the wise example of Mother Goose); for he never could keep the things he loved best out of talk or writing.
Poetry for Children was written to fit parental ideals, just as stories were sometimes invented to accompany stock illustrations; yet Lamb’s gay humour played pranks here and there, as in the gratulatory ode, “Going into Breeches”:
“Joy to Philip, he this day
Has his long coats cast away
And (the childish season gone)
Puts the manly breeches on.
Officer on gay parade,
Red-coat in his first cockade,
Bridegroom in his wedding trim,
Birthday beau surpassing him,
Never did with conscious gait
Strut about in half the state,
Or the pride (yet free from sin)
Of my little Manikin:
Never was there pride or bliss,
Half so rational as his.
Sashes, frocks, to those that need ’em—
Philip’s limbs have got their freedom—
He can run, or he can ride,
And do twenty things beside,
Which his petticoats forbade:
Is he not a happy lad?”
And is not this a mischievous poet, that dares sympathise thus openly with nursery vanities? A dangerous man, with a tendency to romantic, unlawful sentiment. He places the revolutionary effusion between two tender and wholly innocent little poems of Mary’s.199 It should have been pilloried instead in a column facing “George and the Chimney Sweeper”, by Adelaide O’Keefe:200
“His petticoats now George cast off,
For he was four years old;
His trousers were nankeen so fine,
His buttons bright as gold,—
‘May I,’ said little George, ’go out
My pretty clothes to show?
May I, papa? May I, mamma? ’
The answer was—‘No, no!’”
Here, retribution is foreshadowed in the first stanza, if a second glance be given at the title.
In another mood. Lamb could sit patient under his reverend predecessor, or give new life to an old text:
“In your garb and outward clothing
A reserved plainness use;
By their neatness more distinguish’d
Than the brightness of their hues.
“All the colours in the rainbow
Serve to spread the peacock’s train;
Half the lustre of their feathers
Would turn twenty coxcombs vain.
“Yet the swan that swims in rivers,
Pleases the judicious sight;
Who, of brighter colours heedless,
Trusts alone to simple white.
“Yet all other hues, compared
With his whiteness, show amiss;
And the peacock’s coat of colours
Like a fool’s coat looks by his.”
Lamb’s instincts were all against the timid doctrine of cautionary tales. A sermon is a thing that may be borne, even enjoyed, at the appointed hour; but there is no escape from regulations which cramp and restrict every natural movement. Philip is not encouraged to eschew games and concentrate on “little books”; he is not warned on promotion that all the things he wants to do are dangerous; he may play Baste the Bear, Leap-frog, Foot-ball and Cricket, he may run in the snow, he may even
“Climb a tree, or scale a wall,
Without any fear to fall.”
If a branch will not bear his weight,
“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 understand
The rare structure of a hand,
With its branching fingers fine,
Work itself of hands divine,
...
“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.”
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, which ladies 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 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 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 in Poetry 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 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 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 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’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 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 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,”
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.”
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 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 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 Ball203, 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 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 in Mother Goose’s Melody; the pictures, early efforts of Mulready’s204, 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 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 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, in Dorset they 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 of Minor Morals and Rural 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 Baboon as a Counsellor: Alderman Glutton:
A Lamb, Miss in 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 in Hamlet, 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.”
Those were great naval days; the English sailor is represented by a Mastiff:
“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 with The 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 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 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 apply
When children are crying and cannot tell why!”
The names of her two little books206 have no obvious connection with the verses. She explains The Daisy in a Cowslip rhyme:
“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 by The Snowdrop and The Crocus. Mary Elliott suffered herself to be turned by the Muse from Precept and Example; she added The Rose207 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-seeking in a glory of gingerbread, candy, little gilt books and many sorts of toys:
“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 know
The Dame does not like to be teased,
And when indecision they show,
Cries ‘children can never be pleased!’
“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 Louvre
Display their bright perfections,
But we should first manœuvre
To see some home collections.
...
“The Royal Institution
Gives knowledge, taste and skill,
And change without confusion
Attends its lectures still.
“Some folks have wished to be
Whole years in the Museum:
So much there is to see,
No fear it should ennui ’em.”
The unconscious humorist rambles thus through a dozen stanzas. But the last lines are drowned by the voice of the Pedlar at the door. He is singing new rhymes to old tunes: Whimsical Incidents, Cinderella in Verse, Mother Hubbard, Dame Trot and Goody Flitch.209 The Lady of Ninety who wrote Dame Wiggins of Lee210 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 the Sixteen Wonderful Old Women211 came too late for Mr. Day:
“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.
Footnotes
1 The Tatler, No. 95.
2 See Appendix A. I. Note on these and other romances.
3 The History of Thomas Hickathrift, 1750 (?). See below. Chapter II and Appendix A. II.
4 See Appendix A. I. Note on Dr. Faustus.
5 See Appendix A. I. Note on Nonsense Books.
6 For details of this and of other tracts, see Appendix A. I.
7 First edition, 1678.
8 See Introduction to The Pilgrim’s Progress (Methuen) by Prof. C. H. Firth.
9 Richard Graves, in the Spiritual Quixote (1772), likens the adventures of Christian to those of Jack the Giant Killer and John Hickathrift.
10 Published 1719. Abridged 12 mo. in the same year. See Note on Philip Quarll, Appendix A. I.
11 First edition, 1726.
12 Spectator, Nos. 70, 74 and 85. See Appendix A. I.
13 See further Appendix A. I.
14 See Appendix A. I.
15 See note on sea songs and ballads—Appendix A. I.
16 First printed by W. Copland.
17 First printed by Wynkyn de Worde.
18 Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, by Weber, Jamieson and Scott.
19 Printed from the earliest extant copies, and edited by G. L. Gomme. (Chap-books and Folk-lore Tracts, First Series, 1885).
20 See Coleridge’s Biographia Literaria, Vol. II., Ch. XVIII. (1870 ed.).
21 A Douce chap-book of Tom Thumb (verse) is “corrected after an old copy, printed for F. Coles”. This has a note on an earlier edition (1621).
22 (a) “The Wandering Young Gentlewoman, or Catskin (complete)”. W. Armstrong, Liverpool, n.d. (early 19th c.) (b) “Catskin’s Garland, or the Wandering Young Gentlewoman”, in five parts (verse). Printed and sold by T. Cheney, Banbury, n.d.
23 For a full account of ballads and prose chap-books, see the introduction to “The History of Sir Richard Whittington”, edited by H. B. Wheatley (Chap-books and Folk-lore Tracts, 1885). See Appendix A for references in the Tatler, Spectator, etc.
24 Histoires ou Contes du Tems passé, avec des Moralités. A Paris, chez Claude Barbin. Avec Privilège de sa Majesté, 1697. Title on frontispiece: Contes de ma mère Loye. Another edition: Histoires ou Contes du Temps passé, avec des Moralités. Par le fils de Monsieur Perrault de l’Academie François. Suivant la copie à Paris. A Amsterdam, chez Jacques Desbordes, 1708. For a full account of Charles Perrault and the Contes, see Mr. Andrew Lang’s introduction to his edition, 1888.
25 The original English translation is advertised in the Flying Post, or Weekly Medley for June 7, 1729, “printed for J. Pope at Sir Isaac Newton’s Head, the corner of Suffolk Street, Charing Cross—just published (very entertaining and instructive for children, with cuts to every tale). Done into English from the French by Mr. Samber.”
26 (a) Tales of the Fairys. Translated from the French. For T. Cockerill, 1699. 12s. (b) The collected Works of Madame D’Aulnoy, published by John Nicolson, at the King’s Arms, and at the Cross Keys and Bible in Cornhill, 1707.
27 Translated into English c. 1770. 3rd edition 1776.
29 The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. Translated into French from the Arabian MSS. by M. Galland of the Royal Academy, and now done into English. For A. Bell, 1708, 12mo. (8 vols.). See Appendix A. II.
30 See Wordsworth’s “Prelude”, Book V.
31 The History of Sinbad was published as a nursery chap-book by E. Newbery (between 1779 and 1801) at 6d.
32 See De Quincey’s Autobiographic Sketches, Vol. I, Ch. III. “Infant Literature,” pp. 121-125.
33 See Spectator, 535.
34 Rambler, 65.
35 Anecdotes of Johnson (1786) by Mrs. Thrale (aft. Piozzi).
36 The Oriental Moralist, or the Beauties of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments: “Translated from the original, accompanied with suitable reflections, adapted to each story”. London, E. Newbery, c. 1796.
37 The Travels of Tom Thumb over England and Wales, “containing Descriptions of whatever is most remarkable in the several Counties, interspersed with many pleasant Adventures that happened to him personally during the Course of his Journey. Written by Himself.” London, 1746. Price 1s. 6d. bound.
38 Robin Goodfellow, “A Fairy Tale written by a Fairy, for the amusement of all the pretty little Faies and Fairies in Great Britain and Ireland”. Printed for F. Newbery, 1770.
39 See Appendix A. II.
40 Mr. Charles Welsh in A Bookseller of the Last Century, gives a full account of John Newbery and his work. There is a complete list of the Newbery Books in the Appendix.
41 By J. Wright. Second edition, 1738.
42 The “Advertisement” is quoted in Appendix A. III.
43 Advertised in the Penny London Post, January 18, 1745.
44 Adv., April 9th, 1761. See Appendix A. III.
45 From Francis Newbery’s Autobiography.
46 Advertised in the General Evening Post, March 4, 1751, Price 3d. Additions in Appendix A. III.
47 An “Entertainment” later performed with Garrick’s “Fairy Tale from Shakespeare” (1777). See p. 82, Note 2.
48 See note in Appendix A. III.
49 See Appendix A. III.—Novels abridged or adapted for children.
50 See Appendix A. III.
51 Title-page, etc. in Appendix A. III.
52 First edition, April, 1765. Others in Appendix A. III.
53 For details of the Valentine’s and Twelfth Day Gifts, see Appendix A. III.
54 Spectator, 117, July 14, 1711; and Goldsmith, “On Deceit and Falsehood”, The Bee, No. 8, Nov. 24, 1759.
55 See below. Chap. VII.
56 The Bee. Nov. 10, 1759—“On Education.”
57 See Note in Appendix A. III.
58 Examples in Appendix A. III.
59 Some account of them, and of the later “Lilliputian” books is given in Appendix A. III.
60 Mentioned in Carnan’s list of 1787. For details see Appendix A. III.
61 Juvenile Trials “for robbing orchards, telling fibs and other heinous offences—Embellished with Cuts. By Master Tommy Lyttleton, Secretary to the Court”. T. Carnan, 1781. Another edition—Lond. for T. Carnan, 1786.
62 See below, Chapter VI.
63 The Juvenile Biographer, “containing the lives of little Masters and Misses, both good and naughty. Price three-pence”. E. Newbery’s list, 1789. The first edition must have been earlier, since a New England edition was published in 1787. See Appendix A. III.
64 Vincent Voiture (1598-1648). See Some Thoughts Concerning Education, § 189. Pope also praised Voiture.
65 Printed for T. Carnan in St. Paul’s Churchyard, 1786.
66 This advice suggests a sly hit at the conversation-parties of the bluestockings, some of whom became writers of children’s books.
67 Juvenile Correspondence; or letters suited to Children from four to above ten Years of Age. In three Sets. 2nd edition, London, John Marshall, n.d. (c. 1777). For details of another collection by Lucy Aikin (1816), see Appendix A. III.
68 The letters of real children were even more mature. See Appendix A. III.
69 Called here “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”. This must have been Garrick’s Fairy Tale in Two Acts, taken from Shakespeare, played at the Haymarket in 1777. “The young Princes and Princesses” mentioned as having been at the play, were the children of George III, then between the ages of three and fourteen.
70 See below—Chapters V and VI.
71 See further—Appendix A. III.
72 For nursery-books printed by Catnach and Pitts, see Appendix A. III.
73 The History of a Banbury Cake, “An entertaining Book for Children”. Banbury, printed and sold by J. G. Rusher, Bridge Street, 1d., n.d.
74 Rousseau’s Emile was published in 1762. Translated into English, 1763.
75 Contributed to Le Mercure (c. 1758). Translated into English “by a Lady” (Miss Roberts), 1763. Translated by Mrs. Pilkington and illustrated by Bewick, 1799.
76 L’Ami des Enfans. Published monthly “avec approbation et privilège du roi”, January, 1782-December, 1783. First English translation (24 vols.) by M. A. Meilan, 1783. See Appendix A. IV. Note on Armand Berquin.
77 The Looking Glass for the Mind; or, Intellectual Mirror; “being an elegant collection of the Most Delightful little Stories, and Interesting Tales: chiefly translated from that much admired Work, L’Ami des Enfans. With seventy-four Cuts, designed and engraved on Wood, by J. Bewick.” First published 1787. E. Newbery’s list, 1789. Reprinted in 1885, with an introduction by Charles Welsh.
78 Les Conversations d’Emilie, crowned by the French Academy in 1783. Translated into English. London, John Marshall, 1787.
79 Adèle et Théodore (3 tomes), Paris, 1782. Translated (3 vols.), London, 1783.
80 Les Veillées du Château. 1784. Translated by T. Holcroft, Dublin, 1785. See Appendix A. IV, for an account of Mrs. Pilkington’s Tales of the Cottage, 1799.
81 See Mr. Austin Dobson’s account of Madame de Genlis in Four Frenchwomen. London, 1890.
82 Le Théâtre d’Education, published, 1779. Translated (4 vols.) 2nd edition, London, 1781. See Appendix A. IV, Educational Dramas.
83 Translated into English as The History of Little Grandison. “By M. Berquin, Author of The Children’s Friend.” London, printed for John Stockdale, 1791. (Price one shilling.) Frontispiece by John Bewick.
84 Le Petit La Bruyère; ou, Caractères et Moeurs des Enfans de ce Siècle. Nouvelle édition, Paris, 1801. Translated as La Bruyère the Less, Dublin, 1801.
85 See Appendix A. V.
86 The History of Sandford and Merton, “A work intended for the use of children”. London. For L. Stockdale, 1783-6-9 (3 vols.). The book was reprinted all through the nineteenth century.
87 The first volumes were published in 1766, the fifth not till 1770, when an abridged chap-book version also appeared. Charles Kingsley edited a reprint in 1872.
88 See below, Chapter VIII.
89 This story had appeared in The Twelfth Day Gift, and was very popular in pre-revolutionary days.
90 The Children’s Miscellany. London, printed for John Stockdale, 1787. It included “The Gentleman and the Basket Maker”. “Little Jack”, printed separately, became a favourite chap-book.
91 See Appendix A. V.
92 The Hermit; or, the Unparalled (sic) sufferings and surprising adventures of Mr. Philip Quarll, an Englishman, who was lately discovered by Mr. D—— upon an uninhabited island in the South Sea, etc. London, 1727. For other editions see Appendix A. V.
93 The New Robinson Crusoe, 4 vols. London, 1788.
94 Original Stories from Real Life, “with Conversations calculated to Regulate the Affections and Form the Mind to Truth and Goodness”. By Mary Wollstonecraft. London. Printed for J. Johnson, 1791 (Illustrated by William Blake). Reprinted, Oxford, 1906, with five of Blake’s illustrations. Intro. Mr. E. V. Lucas.
95 See below—Chapter VI.
96 Dated (1783) by a reference to “the invention of Air Balloons”, quoted below. Earliest edition seen: The Juvenile Tatler, “by a Society of Young Ladies under the Tuition of Mrs. Teachwell.” London, J. Marshall. 1789.
97 The Fairy Spectator; or, The Invisible Monitor. By Mrs. Teachwell and her Family (Eleanor, Lady Fenn). London. J. Marshall. 1789.
98 See the Memoir of Thomas Bewick (1862). See also Mr. Austin Dobson’s account in Thomas Bewick and His Pupils (1884)
99 Fables, by the late Mr. Gay. In one Volume complete. Newcastle, T. Saint, etc., 1779.
100 See below—Appendix A. VI.
101 The Governess; or the Little Female Academy, “calculated for the entertainment and Instruction of Young Ladies in their Education. By the Author of David Simple.” London, printed for A. Millar, over against Catharine Street in the Strand. The Third Edition, Revised and Corrected, 1751.
A second edition had been printed in 1749. Miss Fielding’s novel, David Simple, had appeared in 1744.
102 Le Magasin des Enfans, par Madame le Prince de Beaumont. 2nd ed. 1757. Translated into English in 1767 as The Young Misses’ Magazine. See Appendix A. VI.
103 The Village School, “interspersed with entertaining stories.” By M. P. 2 vols. Price 1/-. From a list of “New Books for the Instruction and Amusement of Children”. London, J. Marshall c. 1788. (At the back of a copy of Primrose Prettyface, inscribed “Thomas Preston,” with date March 22nd, 1788). See Appendix A. VI.
104 Jemima Placid; or, the Advantage of Good-Nature, etc. By S. S. Price 6d. Marshall’s List, c. 1788.
105 See John Hookham Frere and his Friends, by Gabrielle Festing. Nisbet, 1899. Jemima Placid is ascribed in a foot-note to “Miss Dorothy Kilner.”
106 The Boys’ School; or, Traits of Character in Early Life. A Moral Tale by Miss Sandham. London, printed for John Souter at the School Library, 73 St. Paul’s Churchyard, 1800. See Appendix A. VI.
107 The Schoolfellows, a Moral Tale. By the author of The Twin Sisters, etc. 1818.
108 The Academy; or, a Picture of Youth. London, G. Harris, and Darton and Harvey. Edinburgh, W. Bury, 1808.
109 The Juvenile Spectator, “Being observations on the Tempers Manners and Foibles of Various Young Persons. Interspersed with such lively matter as it is presumed will amuse as well as instruct.” By Arabella Argus. London, W. & T. Darton, 1810.
110 For other books by Mrs. Argus, see Appendix A. VI.
111 A satire on well-known persons of the day, by F. Coventry, 1751.
112 Fabulous Histories, “Designed for the Instruction of Children, Respecting their Treatment of Animals”. By Mrs. Trimmer. London, Printed for J. Johnson, etc., J. Harris and others. 1786. Eighth edition (dedicated to “H.R.H. Princess Sophia”, then a child of nine), 1807.
113 See Some Account of the Life and Writings of Mrs. T. Further details in Appendix A. VI.
114 The Life and Perambulation of a Mouse. By M. P. 2 vols. Price 1/-. c. 1788.
115 Keeper’s Travels in Search of his Master. By Edward Augustus Kendall. London, E. Newbery, 1798.
116 See Appendix A. VI.
117 The Adventures of a Donkey. By Arabella Argus, Author of The Juvenile Spectator. London, W. Darton, 1815.
118 London. J. Harris, 1809. See Appendix A. VI.
119 Felissa; or, the Life and Opinions of a Kitten of Sentiment. J. Harris, 1811. Reprinted, Methuen, 1903.
120 Chrysal; or, the Adventures of a Guinea. By Charles Johnstone (1760).
121 The Adventures of a Silver Threepence, “containing much Amusement and many Characters with which young Gentlemen and Ladies ought to be acquainted”. Adorned with cuts. Burslem, J. Tregortha, n.d. (Dutch flowered bds.) For other “adventures” of things, see Appendix A. VI.
122 The Adventures of a Pincushion, “Designed chiefly for the Use of Young Ladies”. By S. S. Price 6d., Marshall’s list, c. 1788.
123 Anna Laetitia Aikin (afterwards Mrs. B.). See the Memoir by A. L. Le Breton, 1874. Her sister Lucy was the author of Juvenile Correspondence and other children’s books.
124 Hymns in Prose for Children, 1781. This was preceded by Mrs. B.’s Lessons for Children, a first reading-book. (1780).
125 Harry Beaufoy; or, The Pupil of Nature, by Maria Hack (1821), was written to illustrate Paley’s doctrine.
126 Mrs. G., the mother of Mrs. Ewing, published her Parables from Nature between 1855 and 1871.
127 Published in six volumes (1792-1796) and frequently reprinted during the nineteenth century.
128 Written 1805-1806. Published by M. J. Godwin, at the Juvenile Library, Skinner Street, 1807. 2nd Edition, 1809.
129 William Betty, “the celebrated Young Roscius”, appeared in Belfast, Dublin and London, between 1803 and 1805. A “Biographical Sketch” of him, by G. D. Harley, appeared in 1804.
130 Published by M. J. Godwin, at the Juvenile Library, Skinner Street, 1808. Mentioned in the European Magazine for November, 1808. See Appendix A. VII.
131 Mrs. Leicester’s School; or, the History of Several Young Ladies, Related by Themselves.
Written 1808. Published 1809. 2nd edition, 1809. Mentioned in the Critical Review for December, 1808. See Appendix A. VII.
132 See the note in “Emily Barton”, Vol. III of the Works of Charles and Mary Lamb, edited by Mr. E. V. Lucas.
133 See Appendix A. VII.
134 See The Family Pen, edited by Isaac Taylor, Jun., 1867. See further, Appendix A. VII.
135 See below, Chapter IX.
136 Published June, 1816.
137 From Feb., 1816, to the end of 1822. Collected as “The Contributions of Q. Q. to a Periodical Work”, with some pieces not before published. By the late Jane Taylor. 2 vols. London. B. J. Holdsworth, St. Paul’s Churchyard, 1824.
138 From a letter of J. T.’s, describing her room.
139 The Wedding Among the Flowers (verse) by Ann Taylor, 1808.
140 See “Spring Flowers”, No. XXX of The Contributions of Q. Q.
141 Martha Mary Butt (afterwards Mrs. Sherwood), 1755-1851. See The Life and Times of Mrs. Sherwood, edited by F. J. Harvey Darton. London, 1910.
142 See Appendix A. VII.
143 Reprinted by Mr. Darton in his Life and Times of Mrs. S.
144 The Infant’s Progress from the Valley of Destruction to Everlasting Glory. By Mrs. Sherwood, author of Little Henry and his Bearer, etc., etc. Houlston, 1821. Composed in India, 1814.
145 The Governess; or, the Little Female Academy. “By Mrs. Sherwood.” See Appendix. A. VII.
146 The History of the Fairchild Family; or, the Child’s Manual. “Being a Collection of Stories calculated to show the Importance and Effects of a Religious Education”. By Mrs. Sherwood. London. Printed for J. Hatchard and sold by F. Houlston & Son, Wellington, 1818.
147 The Orphan Boy; or, a Journey to Bath. By Mary Elliott. See Appendix A. VII.
148 See Helen Zimmern’s Maria Edgeworth, 1883.
149 Never published, as Holcroft’s translation appeared before it was ready (1785).
150 The Parent’s Assistant; or, Stories for Children. By “M. E.” London, Joseph Johnson, St. Paul’s Churchyard. 3 vols. 12 mo. published in 2 parts. Announced in the Monthly Review for Sept., 1796. See Appendix A. VIII.
151 “Waste Not, Want Not; or, Two Strings to Your Bow.” P. A. Vol. III.
152 “Old Poz” (P. A. Vol. II) was the only play published early. Others, written between 1808 and 1814, appeared in Little Plays for Young People; “Warranted Harmless”. By Maria Edgeworth. London, Baldwin & Cradock. 1827. See Appendix A. VIII.
153 A letter from Maria Edgeworth to Mary Sneyd (March 19, 1803) describing her visit to Madame de Genlis, suggests a want of sympathy between them. See Appendix A. VIII.
154 See Appendix A. VIII.
155 The two sisters, contrasted with the frivolous Lady Augusta in “Mademoiselle Panache”.
156 The first tale of Rosamond: “The Birth-day Present”. (P. A. Vol. I.)
157 See “The Mimic”. (P. A. Vol. II.)
158 A remark of Scott’s to Mrs. Davy, quoted in Lockhart’s Life.
159 First edition (2 Vols.) 1801. A continuation in 2 volumes was published in 1815. See Appendix A. VIII.
160 The Botanic Garden; a Poem, in Two Parts. Part I containing The Economy of Vegetation. Part II, The Loves of the Plants. With Philosophical Notes. 1789. Quoted in Appendix A. VIII.
161 Begun by Mr. Edgeworth and Mrs. Honora Edgeworth, to follow Mrs. Barbauld’s Lessons for Children. The first part was printed for use in the family.
162 Harry and Lucy, Vol. II. “Young Travellers.” A piece of pure nonsense composed by Samuel Foote, comic actor and playwright. (c. 1720-1777). See Appendix A. VIII.
163 First edition, 1801.
164 Madame de Staël made this criticism to M. Dumont.
165 Early Lessons, Vol. II.
166 See Mr. Edgeworth’s preface to The Parent’s Assistant.
167 Harry and Lucy, Vol. III (4th ed. 1846).
168 Writing from Black Castle, Mrs. Ruxton’s house, in 1803, Miss E. calls it “this enchanted castle”.
169 See Mr. Edgeworth’s “Address to Mothers”, Early Lessons (Vol. III). a list of books which he mentions is given in Appendix A. VIII.
170 See The Life and Letters of Maria Edgeworth, edited by A. J. C. Hare.
171 In a letter to C. Sneyd Edgeworth, May 1, 1813.
172 Spectator, No. 477. Sat. Sep. 6. 1712.
173 MS. Bodl. 832. There is a reprint in the Babees’ Book (E.E.T.S.)
174 See Bunyan’s Book for Boys and Girls; or, Country Rhimes for Children, 1686. See Appendix A. IX.
175 See Appendix A. IX.
176 By William Ronksley, 1712. See Appendix A. IX.
177 Divine Songs for Children, by the Rev. Isaac Watts, D.D., 1715. Divine and Moral Songs for Children, 10th ed., 1729.
178 “The Butterfly”, by Adelaide O’Keefe. See below. Original Poems by the Taylors and A. O’K.
179 Puerilia; or, Amusements for the Young. “Consisting of a Collection of Songs adapted to the Fancies and Capacities of those of tender Years, and taken from their usual Diversions and Employments: also on Subjects of a more elevated Nature. Divided into three Parts, viz.: I. Songs for little Misses. II. Songs for little Masters. III. Songs on Divine, Moral and other Subjects, etc.” By John Marchant, Gent.
London, Printed for P. Stevens and sold by the Booksellers in Town and Country. 1751.
180 Preserved in a Balliol MS. Quoted by Mrs. E. M. Field in The Child and His Book.
181 Gammer Gurton’s Garland; or, The Nursery Parnassus. “A choice Collection of pretty Songs and Verses for the Amusement of all little Children.” Stockton. Christopher and Jennett, n.d.
182 Songs for the Nursery, “collected from the Works of the most renowned Poets and adapted to favourite national Melodies.” London, printed for Tabart & Co. at the Juvenile and School Library, 157, New Bond Street, 1805 (price sixpence).
183 See Appendix A. IX. for a reference by R. L. Stevenson.
184 The Poetical Flower-Basket; or, The Lilliputian Flight to Parnassus. price 4d., in Dutch flowered bds. n.d. (c. 1780).
185 Blake’s Songs of Innocence appeared in 1789.
186 “To a Little Girl That Has Told a Lie”, by Ann Taylor. (Original Poems, Vol. I. See below.)
187 From the same: “For a Naughty Little Girl.”
188 “Idle Mary”. See Rhymes for the Nursery. By the authors of Original Poems. London, Darton & Harvey. 1806.
189 Original Poems for Infant Minds. By Several Young Persons. London, printed for Darton & Harvey. 1804. (7th edition). The authors were Ann and Jane Taylor and their friend Adelaide O’Keefe.
190 “The Cow”, in A Child’s Garden of Verses, by R. L. Stevenson. 1885.
191 “The Cow”, by Jane Taylor: the first piece in Rhymes for the Nursery.
192 By Adelaide O’Keefe. Compare “The Wind” by R. L. S.
193 Poems on “Fire”, “Air”, “Earth” and “Water”, by Ann Taylor. Original Poems. Vol. II.
194 “The Yellow Leaf”, by Ann Taylor.
195 See Appendix A. IX.
196 Poetry for Children, “Entirely Original. By the Author of Mrs. Leicester’s School. In 2 Vols. 18 mo., ornamented with two beautiful Frontispieces. Price 1s. 6d. each, half-bound and lettered.” Published by Mrs. Godwin in 1809. See Appendix A. IX.
197 Printed for Thomas Hodgkins. London, 1805.
198 See Appendix A. IX.
199 “The Lame Brother” and “Nursing”.
200 Original Poems, Vol I.
201 See Appendix A. IX.
202 “A Penny Plain and Twopence Coloured,” by R. L. S. Memories and Portraits. Paper XIII.
203 The Butterfly’s Ball and the Grasshopper’s Feast, by Mr. Roscoe. Illustrated with Elegant Engravings. London, Printed for J. Harris, Successor to E. Newbery, at the Original Juvenile Library, the Corner of St. Paul’s Churchyard, 1807. Facsimile reprint, with introduction by Charles Welsh, Griffith and Farran, successors to Harris, 1883.
204 Mulready, whose history was told in The Looking-Glass (See below, Appendix A. VIII), was supposed to have drawn these illustrations in his childhood.
205 For this and other sequels to The Butterfly’s Ball, see Appendix A. IX.
206 The Daisy; or, Cautionary Stories in Verse, 1807.
The Cowslip; or, More Cautionary Stories in Verse, 1811.
For additions, reprints and imitations, see Appendix A. IX.
207 The Rose, Containing Original Poems for Young People. By their friend Mary Elliott.
208 From Mamma’s Verses; or, Lines for Little Londoners, said to have been suggested by Original Poems. Brentford, P. Norbury, n.d.
209 See Appendix A. IX.
210 See Appendix A. IX.
211 See Appendix A. IX.
212 See Appendix A. IX.