Children's Literature Part 136

But what a number of new ideas this afternoon's walk has afforded you! I do not wonder that you found it amusing; it has been very instructive, too. Did _you_ see nothing of all these sights, Robert?

R. I saw some of them, but I did not take particular notice of them.

Mr. A. Why not?

R. I don't know. I did not care about them, and I made the best of my way home.

Mr. A. That would have been right if you had been sent with a message; but as you walked only for amus.e.m.e.nt, it would have been wiser to have sought out as many sources of it as possible. But so it is--one man walks through the world with his eyes open, and another with them shut; and upon this difference depends all the superiority of knowledge the one acquires above the other. I have known sailors who had been in all the quarters of the world, and could tell you nothing but the signs of the tippling-houses they frequented in different ports, and the price and quality of the liquor. On the other hand, a Franklin could not cross the Channel without making some observations useful to mankind. While many a vacant, thoughtless youth is whirled throughout Europe without gaining a single idea worth crossing a street for, the observing eye and inquiring mind find matter of improvement and delight in every ramble in town or country. Do _you_, then, William, continue to make use of your eyes; and _you_, Robert, learn that eyes were given you to use.

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Thomas Day's _History of Sandford and Merton_ was published in three volumes, 1783-1789. Day died in the latter year at the early age of forty-one. He was a "benevolent eccentric."

Since he was well to do he could devote himself to the attempt to carry out the schemes of social reform which he had at heart. Influenced by Rousseau and the doctrines of the French Revolution, he believed human nature could be made over by an educational scheme. _Sandford and Merton_ is an elaborate setting forth of the concrete workings of this process. The inculcation of greater sympathy for the lower cla.s.ses and for animals, and a return to the natural, commonplace virtues as opposed to the artificial organization of society formed the main burden of the book. Tommy Merton, six-year-old spoiled darling of an over-indulgent gentleman of great fortune, and Harry Sandford, wonderfully perfect son of a "plain, honest farmer," are placed under the tuition of a minister-philosopher, named Barlow. This philosopher is evidently Mr. Day's fict.i.tious portrayal of himself. The story given below is one of a number by means of which the "encyclopedic" Barlow educates Tommy and Harry. Another story from this group, "Androcles and the Lion," may be found in the fables (No. 214). _Sandford and Merton_ is still, according to Sir Leslie Stephen, "among the best children's books in the language, in spite of its quaint didacticism, because it succeeds in forcibly expressing his [Day's]

high sense of manliness, independence, and sterling qualities of character."

THE GOOD-NATURED LITTLE BOY

THOMAS DAY

A little Boy went out, one morning, to walk to a village about five miles from the place where he lived, and carried with him, in a basket, the provision that was to serve him the whole day. As he was walking along, a poor little half-starved dog came up to him, wagging his tail, and seeming to entreat him to take compa.s.sion on him. The little Boy at first took no notice of him, but at length, remarking how lean and famished the creature seemed to be, he said, "This animal is certainly in very great necessity: if I give him part of my provision, I shall be obliged to go home hungry myself; however, as he seems to want it more than I do, he shall partake with me." Saying this, he gave the dog part of what he had in the basket, who ate as if he had not tasted victuals for a fortnight.

The little Boy then went on a little farther, his dog still following him, and fawning upon him with the greatest grat.i.tude and affection; when he saw a poor old horse lying upon the ground, and groaning as if he was very ill, he went up to him, and saw that he was almost starved, and so weak that he was unable to rise. "I am very much afraid," said the little Boy, "if I stay to a.s.sist this horse, that it will be dark before I can return; and I have heard that there are several thieves in the neighborhood; however, I will try; it is doing a good action to attempt to relieve him; and G.o.d Almighty will take care of me." He then went and gathered some gra.s.s, which he brought to the horse's mouth, who immediately began to eat with as much relish as if his chief disease was hunger. He then fetched some water in his hat, which the animal drank up, and seemed immediately to be so much refreshed, that, after a few trials, he got up, and began grazing.

The little Boy then went on a little farther, and saw a man wading about in a pond of water, without being able to get out of it, in spite of all his endeavors. "What is the matter, good man," said the little Boy to him; "can't you find your way out of this pond?" "No, G.o.d bless you, my worthy master, or miss," said the man; "for such I take you to be by your voice: I have fallen into this pond, and know not how to get out again, as I am quite blind, and I am almost afraid to move for fear of being drowned." "Well," said the little Boy, "though I shall be wetted to the skin, if you will throw me your stick, I will try to help you out of it." The blind man then threw the stick to that side on which he heard the voice; the little Boy caught it, and went into the water, feeling very carefully before him, lest he should unguardedly go beyond his depth; at length he reached the blind man, took him very carefully by the hand, and led him out. The blind man then gave him a thousand blessings, and told him he could grope out his way home; and the little Boy ran on as hard as he could, to prevent being benighted.

But he had not proceeded far, before he saw a poor Sailor who had lost both his legs in an engagement by sea, hopping along upon crutches. "G.o.d bless you, my little master!" said the Sailor; "I have fought many a battle with the French, to defend poor old England: but now I am crippled, as you see, and have neither victuals nor money, although I am almost famished." The little Boy could not resist his inclination to relieve him; so he gave him all his remaining victuals, and said, "G.o.d help you, poor man! This is all I have, otherwise you should have more."

He then ran along, and presently arrived at the town he was going to, did his business, and returned towards his own home with all the expedition he was able.

But he had not gone much more than half way, before the night shut in extremely dark, without either moon or stars to light him. The poor little Boy used his utmost endeavors to find his way, but unfortunately missed it in turning down a lane which brought him into a wood, where he wandered about a great while without being able to find any path to lead him out. Tired out at last, and hungry, he felt himself so feeble that he could go no farther, but set himself down upon the ground, crying most bitterly. In this situation he remained for some time, till at last the little dog, who had never forsaken him, came up to him, wagging his tail, and holding something in his mouth. The little Boy took it from him, and saw it was a handkerchief nicely pinned together, which somebody had dropped and the dog had picked up; and on opening it, he found several slices of bread and meat, which the little Boy ate with great satisfaction, and, felt himself extremely refreshed with his meal.

"So," said the little Boy, "I see that if I have given you a breakfast, you have given me a supper; and a good turn is never lost, done even to a dog."

He then once more attempted to escape from the wood; but it was to no purpose; he only scratched his legs with briars, and slipped down in the dirt, without being able to find his way out. He was just going to give up all farther attempts in despair, when he happened to see a horse feeding before him, and, going up to him, saw by the light of the moon, which just then began to s.h.i.+ne a little, that it was the very same he had fed in the morning. "Perhaps," said the little Boy, "this creature, as I have been so good to him, will let me get upon his back, and he may bring me out of the wood, as he is accustomed to feed in this neighborhood." The little Boy then went up to the horse, speaking to him and stroking him, and the horse let him mount his back without opposition; and then proceeded slowly through the wood, grazing as he went, till he brought him to an opening which led to the high road. The little Boy was much rejoiced at this, and said, "If I had not saved this creature's life in the morning, I should have been obliged to have staid here all night; I see by this that a good turn is never lost."

But the poor little Boy had yet a greater danger to undergo; for, as he was going along a solitary lane, two men rushed out upon him, laid hold of him, and were going to strip him of his clothes; but, just as they were beginning to do it, the little dog bit the leg of one of the men with so much violence that he left the little Boy and pursued the dog, that ran howling and barking away. In this instant a voice was heard that cried out, "There the rascals are; let us knock them down!" which frightened the remaining man so much that he ran away, and his companion followed him. The little Boy then looked up, and saw that it was the Sailor, whom he had relieved in the morning, carried upon the shoulders of the blind man whom he had helped out of the pond. "There, my little dear," said the Sailor, "G.o.d be thanked! We have come in time to do you a service, in return for what you did us in the morning. As I lay under a hedge I heard these villains talk of robbing a little Boy, who, from the description, I concluded must be you: but I was so lame that I should not have been able to come time enough to help you, if I had not met this honest blind man, who took me upon his back while I showed him the way."

The little Boy thanked him very sincerely for thus defending him; and they went all together to his father's house, which was not far off; where they were all kindly entertained with a supper and a bed. The little Boy took care of his faithful dog as long as he lived, and never forgot the importance and necessity of doing good to others, if we wish them to do the same to us.

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It has been no unusual thing for critics and others following in their wake to sneer at Maria Edgeworth (1767-1849) and her school as hopelessly utilitarian. But to find fault with her on that score is to blame her for having achieved the very end she set out to reach. Sir Walter Scott, who certainly knew what good story-telling was, had the highest opinion of her abilities, and it is difficult to see how any reader with a fair amount of catholicity in his nature can fail to be impressed with her power to build up a story in skillful dramatic fas.h.i.+on, to portray various types of character in most convincing manner, and to emphasize in unforgettable ways the old and basic verities of life. Of course fas.h.i.+ons change in outward matters, and we must not quarrel with a taste that prefers the newest in literature any more than with one that prefers the newest in dress.

Miss Edgeworth helped her eccentric father present in _Practical Education_ an extended discussion for the layman of the whole question of the ways and means of educating people. That was one of the very first modern treatments of that much-discussed subject, and its ideas are not all obsolete yet by any means. _Castle Rackrent_ belongs in the list of cla.s.sic fiction. However, her chief interest for this collection rests in the most important of her books for children, _The Parent's a.s.sistant or, Stories for Children_ (1796-1800). The forbidding primary t.i.tle was something the publisher was mainly responsible for, and has been relegated to second place in modern reprints. In these stories, according to the preface, "only such situations are described as children can easily imagine, and which may consequently interest their feelings. Such examples of virtue are painted as are not above their conceptions of excellence, and their powers of sympathy and emulation." Miss Edgeworth knew children thoroughly. She was surrounded by a crowd of brothers and sisters for whom she had to invent means of entertainment as well as instruction. They really collaborated in the making of the stories. As the stories were written out on a slate, the sections were read to eager listeners, and the author had the advantage of their honest expressions of approval or dissent. "Waste Not, Want Not" first appeared in the final form given to _The Parent's a.s.sistant_, the third edition published in six volumes in 1800. It is perhaps the best to represent Miss Edgeworth's work, though "Simple Susan," "Lazy Lawrence," and others have their admirers. In judging her work the student should keep in mind (1) that she wrote at a time when, unlike the present, the best authors thought it beneath their dignity to write for children, (2) that the too repressive and dogmatic att.i.tude towards children which one now and then feels in her stories was due to a conscious effort to offset the undisciplined enthusiasms and sentimentalisms of her day, and (3) that she has been a living influence in the lives of countless men and women for over a century. She was a real pioneer.

WASTE NOT, WANT NOT

OR

TWO STRINGS TO YOUR BOW

MARIA EDGEWORTH

Mr. Gresham, a Bristol merchant, who had by honorable industry and economy acc.u.mulated a considerable fortune, retired from business to a new house which he had built upon the Downs, near Clifton. Mr. Gresham, however, did not imagine that a new house alone could make him happy: he did not purpose to live in idleness and extravagance, for such a life would have been equally incompatible with his habits and his principles.

He was fond of children, and as he had no sons, he determined to adopt one of his relations. He had two nephews, and he invited both of them to his house, that he might have an opportunity of judging of their dispositions, and of the habits which they had acquired.

Hal and Benjamin, Mr. Gresham's nephews, were about ten years old; they had been educated very differently. Hal was the son of the elder branch of the family; his father was a gentleman, who spent rather more than he could afford; and Hal, from the example of the servants in his father's family, with whom he had pa.s.sed the first years of his childhood, learned to waste more of everything than he used. He had been told that "gentlemen should be above being careful and saving"; and he had unfortunately imbibed a notion that extravagance is the sign of a generous, and economy of an avaricious disposition.

Benjamin, on the contrary, had been taught habits of care and foresight: his father had but a very small fortune, and was anxious that his son should early learn that economy insures independence, and sometimes puts it in the power of those who are not very rich, to be very generous.

The morning after these two boys arrived at their uncle's, they were eager to see all the rooms in the house. Mr. Gresham accompanied them, and attended to their remarks, and exclamations.

"Oh! what an excellent motto!" exclaimed Ben, when he read the following words which were written in large characters over the chimneypiece, in his uncle's s.p.a.cious kitchen:

WASTE NOT, WANT NOT

"Waste not, want not!" repeated his cousin Hal, in rather a contemptuous tone; "I think it looks stingy to servants; and no gentleman's servants, cooks especially, would like to have such a mean motto always staring them in the face."

Ben, who was not so conversant as his cousin in the ways of cooks and gentleman's servants, made no reply to these observations.

Mr. Gresham was called away while his nephews were looking at the other rooms in the house. Some time afterwards, he heard their voices in the hall.

"Boys," said he, "what are you doing there?"

"Nothing, Sir," said Hal; "you were called away from us, and we did not know which way to go."

"And have you nothing to do?" said Mr. Gresham.

"No, Sir, nothing," answered Hal, in a careless tone, like one who was well content with the state of habitual idleness.

"No, Sir, nothing!" replied Ben, in a voice of lamentation.

"Come," said Mr. Gresham, "if you have nothing to do, lads, will you unpack these two parcels for me?"

The two parcels were exactly alike, both of them well tied up with good whipcord. Ben took his parcel to a table, and, after breaking off the sealing wax, began carefully to examine the knot, and then to untie it.

Hal stood still exactly in the spot where the parcel was put into his hands, and tried first at one corner, and then at another, to pull the string off by force: "I wish these people wouldn't tie up their parcels so tight, as if they were never to be undone," cried he, as he tugged at the cord; and he pulled the knot closer instead of loosening it.

"Ben! why how did you get yours undone, man? What's in your parcel? I wonder what is in mine! I wish I could get this string off--I must cut it."

"Oh, no," said Ben, who now had undone the last knot of his parcel, and who drew out the length of string with exultation, "don't cut it, Hal--look what a nice cord this is, and yours is the same; it's a pity to cut it; '_Waste not, want not!_' you know."

"Pooh!" said Hal, "what signifies a bit of pack-thread?"

"It is whipcord," said Ben.

"Well, whipcord! What signifies a bit of whipcord! You can get a bit of whipcord twice as long as that for twopence; and who cares for twopence!