Chapter LVII: Section VIII: Realistic Stories (1)

INTRODUCTORY

_Origin._ The history of realistic stories for children may well begin with the interest in juvenile education awakened by the great French teacher and author Rousseau (1712-1778). He taught that formal methods should be discarded in juvenile education and that children should be taught to know the things about them. The new method of education is illustrated, probably unintentionally, in _The Renowned History of Little Goody Two-Shoes_, the first selection in this section. Rousseau directly influenced the thought of such writers as Thomas Day, Maria Edgeworth, Dr. Aiken, and Mrs. Barbauld. The stories produced by these authors in the last quarter of the eighteenth century are among the first written primarily for the purpose of entertaining children. To these writers we are indebted for the creation of types of children's literature that modern authors have developed into the fascinating stories of child life, the thrilling stories of adventure, and the interesting accounts of nature that now abound in libraries and book stores.

_The didactic period._ When we read these first stories written for the entertainment of children, we can hardly fail to observe that each one presents a lesson, either moral or practical. The didactic purpose is so prominent that the term "Didactic Period" may be applied to the period from 1765 (the publication of _Goody Two-Shoes_) to 1825, or even later. The small amount of writing for children before this period was practically all for the purpose of moral or religious instruction; hence it was but natural for these first writers of juvenile entertainment stories to feel it their duty to present moral and practical lessons. It would be a mistake, however, to assume that these quaint old stories would not be interesting to children today, for they deal with fundamental truths, which are new and interesting to children of all ages.

In addition to the writers already mentioned, and represented by selections in the following pages, there were several others whose books are yet accessible and now and then read for their historical interest if not for any intrinsic literary value they may possess. One of these was Mrs. Sarah K. Trimmer (1741-1810), who, associated with the early days of the Sunday-school movement, wrote many books full of the overwrought piety which was supposed to be necessary for children of that earlier time. One of her books, _The History of the Robins_, stands out from the mass for its strong appeal of simple incident, and is still widely popular with very young readers. Hannah More (1745-1833) occupied a prominent place in the thought of her day as a teacher of religious and social ideas among the poorer classes. Her _Repository Tracts_, many of them in the form of stories, were devoted to making the poor contented with their lot through the consolations of a pious life. "The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain" was the most famous of these story-tracts, and there are still many people living whose childhood was fed upon this and like stories. Mrs. Sherwood's _History of the Fairchild Family_ has never been out of print since the date of its first publication (1818), and in recent years has had two or three sumptuous revivals at the hands of editors and publishers. The almost innumerable books of Jacob Abbott and S. G. Goodrich ("Peter Parley") in America belong to this didactic movement. They were, however, more devoted to the process of instilling a knowledge of all the wonders of this great world round about us, and were considerably less pietistic than their English neighbors. _The Rollo Books_ (24 vols.) are typical of this school.

_The modern period._ Charles Lamb apparently was one of the first to get the modern thought that literature for children should be just as artistic, just as dignified in its presentation of truth, and just as worthy of literary recognition, as literature for adults. In the hundred years since Lamb advanced his theory, students have gradually come to recognize the fact that good literature for children is also good literature for adults because art is art, whatever its form. In this connection, Lamb's feeling about the necessity for making children's books more vital found expression in a famous and much-quoted passage in a letter to Coleridge:

"_Goody Two-Shoes_ is almost out of print. Mrs.
Barbauld's stuff has banished all the old
classics of the nursery; and the shopman at
Newbery's hardly deigned to reach them off an
old exploded corner of a shelf, when Mary asked
for them. Mrs. B.'s and Mrs. Trimmer's nonsense
lay in piles about. Knowledge insignificant and
vapid as Mrs. Barbauld's books convey, it seems
must come to a child in the _shape of
knowledge_, and his empty noodle must be turned
with conceit of his own powers when he has
learnt that a horse is an animal, and Billy is
better than a horse, and such like; instead of
that beautiful interest in wild tales, which
made the child a man, while all the while he
suspected himself to be no bigger than a child.
Science has succeeded to poetry no less in the
little walks of children than with men. Is
there no possibility of averting this sore
evil? Think what you would have been now, if,
instead of being fed with tales and old wives'
fables in childhood, you had been crammed with
geography and natural history!"

The danger Lamb saw was averted. The bibliography on a preceding page indicates that about the middle of the nineteenth century many writers of first-rate literary ability began to write for young people. Among the number were Harriet Martineau, Captain Marryat, Charlotte M. Yonge, Thomas Hughes, and others. As we pass toward the end of that century and the beginning of the twentieth, the great names associated with juvenile classics are very noticeable, and with Miss Alcott, Mrs. Ewing, "Mark Twain," Stevenson, Kipling, Masefield, and a kindred host, childhood has come into its own.

SUGGESTIONS FOR READING

For tracing the stages in the development of
writing for children consult the books named in
the General Bibliography (p. 17, II,
"Historical Development.")

378

Among those authors of the past whom the
present still regards affectionately, Oliver
Goldsmith (1728-1774) holds a high place. At
least five of his works--a novel, a poem, a
play, a book of essays, a nursery story--rank
as classics. He had many faults; he was vain,
improvident almost beyond belief, certainly
dissipated throughout a part of his life. But
with all these faults he had the saving grace
of humor, a kind heart that led him to share
even his last penny with one in need, a genius
for friendships that united him with such men
as Burke and Johnson and Reynolds. Always "hard
up," he wrote much as a publisher's "hack" in
order merely to live. It was in this capacity
that he probably wrote the famous story that
follows--a story that stands at the beginning
of the long and constantly broadening current
of modern literature for children. While it has
generally been attributed to Goldsmith, no
positive evidence of his authorship has been
discovered. It was published at a time when he
was in the employ of John Newbery, the London
publisher, who issued many books for children.
We know that Goldsmith helped with the _Mother
Goose's Melody_ and other projects of Newbery,
and there are many reasons for supposing that
the general attribution of _Goody Two-Shoes_ to
him may be correct. Charles Welsh, who edited
the best recent edition for schools, says it
"will always deserve a place among the classics
of childhood for its literary merit, the purity
and loftiness of its tone, and its sound sense,
while the whimsical, confidential, affectionate
style which the author employs, makes it
attractive even to children who have long since
passed the spelling-book stage." The version
that follows has been shortened by the omission
of passages that have less importance for the
modern child than they may have had for that of
the eighteenth century. The story is thus
rendered more compact, and contains nothing to
draw attention away from the fine qualities
mentioned above. The quaint phrasing of the
title, in itself one of the proofs of
Goldsmith's authorship, furnishes a good
comment on the meaning of the story: "The
history of little Goody Two-Shoes/otherwise
called Mrs. Margery Two-Shoes/the means by
which she acquired her learning and wisdom, and
in consequence thereof her estate; set forth at
large for the benefit of those/

Who from a state of Rags and Care,
And having Shoes but half a Pair;
Their Fortune and their fame would fix,
And gallop in a Coach and Six."

[For the benefit of those who may overlook the
point, it may be explained that "Mrs." was
formerly used as a term of dignified courtesy
applied to both married and unmarried women.]

THE RENOWNED HISTORY OF LITTLE GOODY TWO-SHOES

ASCRIBED TO OLIVER GOLDSMITH

All the world must allow that Two-Shoes was not her real name. No; her father's name was Meanwell, and he was for many years a considerable farmer in the parish where Margery was born; but by the misfortunes which he met with in business, and the wicked persecutions of Sir Timothy Gripe, and an overgrown farmer called Graspall, he was effectually ruined. These men turned the farmer, his wife, Little Margery, and her brother out of doors, without any of the necessaries of life to support them.

Care and discontent shortened the days of Little Margery's father. He was seized with a violent fever, and died miserably. Margery's poor mother survived the loss of her husband but a few days, and died of a broken heart, leaving Margery and her little brother to the wide world. It would have excited your pity and done your heart good to have seen how fond these two little ones were of each other, and how, hand in hand, they trotted about.

They were both very ragged, and Tommy had no shoes, and Margery had but one. They had nothing, poor things, to support them but what they picked from the hedges or got from the poor people, and they lay every night in a barn. Their relatives took no notice of them; no, they were rich, and ashamed to own such a poor little ragged girl as Margery and such a dirty little curl-pated boy as Tommy. But such wicked folks, who love nothing but money and are proud and despise the poor, never come to any good in the end, as we shall see by and by.

Mr. Smith was a very worthy clergyman who lived in the parish where Little Margery and Tommy were born; and having a relative come to see him, he sent for these children. The gentleman ordered Little Margery a new pair of shoes, gave Mr. Smith some money to buy her clothes, and said he would take Tommy and make him a little sailor.

The parting between these two little children was very affecting. Tommy cried, and Margery cried, and they kissed each other an hundred times. At last Tommy wiped off her tears with the end of his jacket, and bid her cry no more, for he would come to her again when he returned from sea.

As soon as Little Margery got up the next morning, which was very early, she ran all round the village, crying for her brother; and after some time returned greatly distressed. However, at this instant, the shoemaker came in with the new shoes, for which she had been measured by the gentleman's order.

Nothing could have supported Little Margery under the affliction she was in for the loss of her brother but the pleasure she took in her two shoes. She ran out to Mrs. Smith as soon as they were put on, and, stroking down her ragged apron, cried out, "Two shoes, mamma, see, two shoes!"

And she so behaved to all the people she met, and by that means obtained the name of Goody Two-Shoes, though her playmates called her Old Goody Two-Shoes.

Little Margery was very happy in being with Mr. and Mrs. Smith, who were very charitable and good to her, and had agreed to breed her up with their family. But at last they were obliged to send her away, for the people who had ruined her father commanded them to do this, and could at any time have ruined them.

Little Margery saw how good and how wise Mr. Smith was, and concluded that this was owing to his great learning; therefore she wanted, of all things, to learn to read. For this purpose she used to meet the little boys and girls as they came from school, borrow their books, and sit down and read till they returned. By this means she soon got more learning than any of her playmates, and laid the following scheme for instructing those who were more ignorant than herself. She found that only the following letters were required to spell all the words in the world; but as some of these letters are large and some small, she with her knife cut out of several pieces of wood ten sets of each of these:

a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z

And six sets of these:

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

And having got an old spelling-book, she made her companions set up all the words they wanted to spell, and after that she taught them to compose sentences. You know what a sentence is, my dear. _I will be good_, is a sentence; and is made up, as you see, of several words.

Every morning she used to go round to teach the children, with these rattletraps in a basket. I once went her rounds with her. It was about seven o'clock in the morning when we set out on this important business, and the first house we came to was Farmer Wilson's. Here Margery stopped, and ran up to the door, tap, tap, tap.

"Who's there?"

"Only little Goody Two-Shoes," answered Margery, "come to teach Billy."

"Oh! little Goody," said Mrs. Wilson, with pleasure in her face, "I am glad to see you. Billy wants you sadly, for he has learned all his lesson."

Then out came the little boy. "How do, Doody Two-Shoes," said he, not able to speak plain. Yet this little boy had learned all his letters; for she threw down this alphabet mixed together thus:

b d f h k m o q s u w y z a c e g i l n p r t v x j

and he picked them up, called them by their right names, and put them all in order thus:

a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z.

The next place we came to was Farmer Simpson's. "Bow, bow, bow," said the dog at the door.

"Sirrah," said his mistress, "why do you bark at Little Two-Shoes? Come in, Madge; here, Sally wants you sadly; she has learned all her lesson."

Then out came the little one.

"So, Madge!" says she.

"So, Sally!" answered the other. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes, that's what I have," replied the little one in the country manner; and immediately taking the letters she set up these syllables:

ba be bi bo bu, ca ce ci co cu,
da de di do du, fa fe fi fo fu,

and gave them their exact sounds as she composed them.

After this, Little Two-Shoes taught her to spell words of one syllable, and she soon set up pear, plum, top, ball, pin, puss, dog, hog, fawn, buck, doe, lamb, sheep, ram, cow, bull, cock, hen, and many more.

The next place we came to was Gaffer Cook's cottage. Here a number of poor children were met to learn. They all came round Little Margery at once; and, having pulled out her letters, she asked the little boy next her what he had for dinner. He answered, "Bread." (The poor children in many places live very hard.) "Well, then," said she, "set the first letter."

He put up the letter _B_, to which the next added _r_, and the next _e_, the next _a_, the next _d_ and it stood thus, "_Bread_".

"And what had you, Polly Comb, for your dinner?" "Apple-pie," answered the little girl: upon which the next in turn set up a great _A_, the two next a _p_ each, and so on until the two words _Apple_ and _pie_ were united and stood thus, "_Apple-pie_."

The next had Potatoes, the next Beef and Turnips, which were spelt, with many others, until the game of spelling was finished. She then set them another task, and we went on.

The next place we came to was Farmer Thompson's, where there were a great many little ones waiting for her.

"So, little Mrs. Goody Two-Shoes," said one of them. "Where have you been so long?"

"I have been teaching," says she, "longer than I intended, and am afraid I am come too soon for you now."

"No, but indeed you are not," replied the other, "for I have got my lesson, and so has Sally Dawson, and so has Harry Wilson, and so have we all"; and they capered about as if they were overjoyed to see her.

"Why, then," says she, "you are all very good, and God Almighty will love you; so let us begin our lesson."

They all huddled round her, and though at the other place they were employed about words and syllables, here we had people of much greater understanding, who dealt only in sentences.

_The Lord have mercy upon me, and grant I may always be good, and say my prayers, and love the Lord my God with all my heart, and with all my soul, and with all my strength; and honor government and all good men in authority._

Little Margery then set them to compose the following:

LESSON FOR THE CONDUCT OF LIFE

He that will thrive
Must rise by five.

He that hath thriv'n
May lie till seven.

Truth may be blamed,
But cannot be shamed.

Tell me with whom you go,
And I'll tell what you do.

A friend in your need
Is a friend indeed.

They ne'er can be wise
Who good counsel despise.

As we were returning home, we saw a gentleman, who was very ill, sitting under a shady tree at the corner of his rookery. Though ill, he began to joke with Little Margery, and said laughing, "So, Goody Two-Shoes! They tell me you are a cunning little baggage; pray, can you tell me what I shall do to get well?"

"Yes," said she, "go to bed when your rooks do and get up with them in the morning; earn, as they do, every day what you eat, and eat and drink no more than you earn, and you will get health and keep it."

The gentleman, laughing, gave Margery sixpence, and told her she was a sensible hussy.

Mrs. Williams, who kept a college for instructing little gentlemen and ladies in the science of A, B, C, was at this time very old and infirm, and wanted to decline that important trust. This being told to Sir William Dove, who lived in the parish, he sent for Mrs. Williams, and desired she would examine Little Two-Shoes and see whether she was qualified for the office.

This was done, and Mrs. Williams made the following report in her favor; namely, that Little Margery was the best scholar, and had the best head and the best heart of any one she had examined. All the country had a great opinion of Mrs. Williams, and her words gave them also a great opinion of Mrs. Margery, for so we must now call her.

No sooner was Mrs. Margery settled in this office than she laid every possible scheme to promote the welfare and happiness of all her neighbors, and especially of the little ones, in whom she took great delight; and all those whose parents could not afford to pay for their education, she taught for nothing but the pleasure she had in their company; for you are to observe that they were very good, or were soon made so by her good management.

The school where she taught was that which was before kept by Mrs. Williams. The room was large, and as she knew that nature intended children should be always in action, she placed her different letters, or alphabets, all round the school, so that every one was obliged to get up to fetch a letter or spell a word when it came to his turn; which not only kept them in health but fixed the letters and points firmly in their minds.

She had the following assistants to help her, and I will tell you how she came by them. One day as she was going through the next village she met with some wicked boys who had got a young raven, which they were going to throw at; she wanted to get the poor creature out of their cruel hands, and therefore gave them a penny for him, and brought him home. She called his name Ralph, and a fine bird he was.

Some days after she had met with the raven, as she was walking in the fields she saw some naughty boys who had taken a pigeon and tied a string to its leg, in order to let it fly and draw it back again when they pleased; and by this means they tortured the poor animal with the hopes of liberty and repeated disappointment. This pigeon she also bought. He was a very pretty fellow, and she called him Tom.

Some time after this a poor lamb had lost its dam, and the farmer being about to kill it, she bought it of him and brought it home with her to play with the children and teach them when to go to bed: for it was a rule with the wise men of that age (and a very good one, let me tell you) to

_Rise with the lark and lie down with the lamb._

This lamb she called Will, and a pretty fellow he was.

Soon after this a present was made to Mrs. Margery of a little dog, Jumper, and a pretty dog he was. Jumper, Jumper, Jumper! He was always in good humor and playing and jumping about, and therefore he was called Jumper. The place assigned for Jumper was that of keeping the door, so that he may be called the porter of the college, for he would let nobody go out or any one come in without the leave of his mistress.

But one day a dreadful accident happened in the school. It was on a Thursday morning, I very well remember, when the children having learned their lessons soon, she had given them leave to play, and they were all running about the school and diverting themselves with the birds and the lamb. At this time the dog, all of a sudden, laid hold of his mistress's apron and endeavored to pull her out of the school. She was at first surprised; however, she followed him to see what he intended.

No sooner had he led her into the garden than he ran back and pulled out one of the children in the same manner; upon which she ordered them all to leave the school immediately; and they had not been out five minutes before the top of the house fell in. What a miraculous deliverance was here! How gracious! How good was God Almighty, to save all these children from destruction, and to make use of such an instrument as a little sagacious animal to accomplish His divine will! I should have observed that as soon as they were all in the garden, the dog came leaping round them to express his joy, and when the house had fallen, laid himself down quietly by his mistress.

Some of the neighbors, who saw the school fall and who were in great pain for Margery and the little ones, soon spread the news through the village, and all the parents, terrified for their children, came crowding in abundance; they had, however, the satisfaction to find them all safe, and upon their knees, with their mistress, giving God thanks for their happy deliverance.

You are not to wonder, my dear reader, that this little dog should have more sense than you, or your father, or your grandfather.

Though God Almighty has made man the lord of creation, and endowed him with reason, yet in many respects He has been altogether as bountiful to other creatures of His forming. Some of the senses of other animals are more acute than ours, as we find by daily experience.

The downfall of the school was a great misfortune to Mrs. Margery; for she not only lost all her books, but was destitute of a place to teach in. Sir William Dove, being informed of this, ordered the house to be built at his own expense, and till that could be done, Farmer Grove was so kind as to let her have his large hall to teach in.

While at Mr. Grove's, which was in the heart of the village, she not only taught the children in the daytime, but the farmer's servants, and all the neighbors, to read and write in the evening. This gave not only Mr. Grove but all the neighbors a high opinion of her good sense and prudent behavior; and she was so much esteemed that most of the differences in the parish were left to her decision.

One gentleman in particular, I mean Sir Charles Jones, had conceived such a high opinion of her that he offered her a considerable sum to take care of his family and the education of his daughter, which, however, she refused. But this gentleman, sending for her afterwards when he had a dangerous fit of illness, she went and behaved so prudently in the family and so tenderly to him and his daughter that he would not permit her to leave his house, but soon after made her proposals of marriage. She was truly sensible of the honor he intended her, but, though poor, she would not consent to be made a lady until he had effectually provided for his daughter.

All things being settled and the day fixed, the neighbors came in crowds to see the wedding; for they were all glad that one who had been such a good little girl, and was become such a virtuous and good woman, was going to be made a lady. But just as the clergyman had opened his book, a gentleman richly dressed, ran into the church, and cried, "Stop! stop!"

This greatly alarmed the congregation, particularly the intended bride and bridegroom, whom he first accosted and desired to speak with them apart. After they had been talking some little time, the people were greatly surprised to see Sir Charles stand motionless and his bride cry and faint away in the stranger's arms. This seeming grief, however, was only a prelude to a flood of joy which immediately succeeded; for you must know, gentle reader, that this gentleman, so richly dressed and bedizened with lace, was that identical little boy whom you before saw in the sailor's habit; in short, it was little Tom Two-Shoes, Mrs. Margery's brother, who had just come from beyond sea, where he had made a large fortune. Hearing, as soon as he landed, of his sister's intended wedding, he had ridden in haste to see that a proper settlement was made on her; which he thought she was now entitled to, as he himself was both able and willing to give her an ample fortune. They soon returned to their places and were married in tears, but they were tears of joy.

379

_Evenings at Home_, one of the important books
in the history of the development of literature
for children, was published in six small
volumes, from 1792 to 1796. It was a result of
a newly awakened interest in the real world
round about us and represented the profound
reaction against the "fantastic visions" and
"sweetmeats" of popular literature. The main
purpose was to give instruction by showing
things as they really are. The plan of the book
is very simple. The Fairbornes, with a large
"progeny of children, boys and girls," kept a
sort of open house for friends and relatives.
Many of these visitors, accustomed to writing,
would frequently produce a fable, a story, or a
dialogue, adapted to the age and understanding
of the young people. These papers were dropped
into a box until the children should all be
assembled at holidays. Then one of the youngest
was sent to "rummage the budget," which meant
to reach into the box and take the paper that
he happened to touch. It was brought in and
read and considered; then the process was
repeated. "Eyes, and No Eyes" was drawn out on
the twentieth evening. _Evenings at Home_ was
written by Dr. John Aikin (1747-1822) and his
sister Mrs. Anna Letitia Barbauld (1743-1825).
Dr. Aikin seems to have written the larger
number of the hundred papers composing the
book. Mrs. Barbauld's share is placed at
fifteen papers by authority of the _Dictionary
of National Biography_. Some of the children in
these stories may perceive more closely than
normal children do, but this defect may add a
charm if the reader keeps in mind that this is
one of the earliest nature books for children.
Stories of this kind require the presence of
some omniscient or "encyclopedic" character to
whom all the things requiring an answer may be
referred. Mr. Andrews in "Eyes, and No Eyes,"
Mr. Barlow in Day's _Sandford and Merton_, and
Mr. Gresham in Miss Edgeworth's "Waste Not,
Want Not" are good illustrations of this type.

EYES, AND NO EYES

OR

THE ART OF SEEING

DR. AIKIN AND MRS. BARBAULD

"Well, Robert, whither have you been walking this afternoon?" said Mr. Andrews to one of his pupils at the close of a holiday.

R. I have been, sir, to Broom-heath, and so round by the windmill upon Camp-mount, and home through the meadows by the river side.

Mr. A. Well, that's a pleasant round.

R. I thought it very dull, sir; I scarcely met with a single person. I had rather by half have gone along the turnpike-road.

Mr. A. Why, if seeing men and horses were your object, you would, indeed, have been better entertained on the high-road. But did you see William?

R. We set out together, but he lagged behind in the lane, so I walked on and left him.

Mr. A. That was a pity. He would have been company for you.

R. Oh, he is so tedious, always stopping to look at this thing and that! I had rather walk alone. I dare say he has not got home yet.

Mr. A. Here he comes. Well, William, where have you been?

W. Oh, sir, the pleasantest walk! I went all over Broom-heath, and so up to the mill at the top of the hill, and then down among the green meadows, by the side of the river.

Mr. A. Why, that is just the round Robert has been taking, and he complains of its dullness, and prefers the high-road.

W. I wonder at that. I am sure I hardly took a step that did not delight me, and I have brought home my handkerchief full of curiosities.

Mr. A. Suppose, then, you give us some account of what amused you so much. I fancy it will be as new to Robert as to me.

W. I will, sir. The lane leading to the heath, you know, is close and sandy; so I did not mind it much, but made the best of my way. However, I spied a curious thing enough in the hedge. It was an old crab-tree, out of which grew a great bunch of something green, quite different from the tree itself. Here is a branch of it.

Mr. A. Ah! this is mistletoe, a plant of great fame for the use made of it by the Druids of old in their religious rites and incantations. It bears a very slimy white berry, of which birdlime may be made, whence its Latin name of Viscus. It is one of those plants which do not grow in the ground by a root of their own, but fix themselves upon other plants; whence they have been humorously styled _parasitical_, as being hangers-on, or dependents. It was the mistletoe of the oak that the Druids particularly honored.

W. A little further on, I saw a green woodpecker fly to a tree, and run up the trunk like a cat.

Mr. A. That was to seek for insects in the bark, on which they live. They bore holes with their strong bills for that purpose, and do much damage to the trees by it.

W. What beautiful birds they are!

Mr. A. Yes; the woodpecker has been called, from its color and size, the English parrot.

W. When I got upon the open heath, how charming it was! The air seemed so fresh, and the prospect on every side so free and unbounded! Then it was all covered with gay flowers, many of which I had never observed before. There were, at least, three kinds of heath (I have got them in my handkerchief here), and gorse, and broom, and bell-flower, and many others of all colors that I will beg you presently to tell me the names of.

Mr. A. That I will, readily.

W. I saw, too, several birds that were new to me. There was a pretty greyish one, of the size of a lark, that was hopping about some great stones; and when he flew, he showed a great deal of white about his tail.

Mr. A. That was a wheat-ear. They are reckoned very delicious birds to eat, and frequent the open downs in Sussex, and some other counties, in great numbers.

W. There was a flock of lapwings upon a marshy part of the heath, that amused me much. As I came near them, some of them kept flying round and round, just over my head, and crying _pewet_, so distinctly, one might almost fancy they spoke. I thought I should have caught one of them, for he flew as though one of his wings was broken, and often tumbled close to the ground; but as I came near, he always made a shift to get away.

Mr. A. Ha, ha! you were finely taken in then! This was all an artifice of the bird's, to entice you away from its nest; for they build upon the bare ground, and their nests would easily be observed, did they not draw off the attention of intruders by their loud cries and counterfeit lameness.

W. I wish I had known that, for he led me a long chase, often over-shoes in water. However, it was the cause of my falling in with an old man and a boy who were cutting and piling up turf for fuel, and I had a good deal of talk with them about the manner of preparing the turf, and the price it sells at. They gave me, too, a creature I never saw before--a young viper, which they had just killed, together with its dam. I have seen several common snakes, but this is thicker in proportion, and of a darker color than they are.

Mr. A. True. Vipers frequent those turfy, boggy grounds pretty much; and I have known several turf-cutters bitten by them.

W. They are very venomous, are they not?

Mr. A. Enough so to make their wounds painful and dangerous, though they seldom prove fatal.

W. Well--I then took my course up to the windmill, on the mount. I climbed up the steps of the mill, in order to get a better view of the country around. What an extensive prospect! I counted fifteen church-steeples; and I saw several gentlemen's houses peeping out from the midst of green woods and plantations; and I could trace the windings of the river all along the low grounds, till it was lost behind a ridge of hills. But I'll tell you what I mean to do, sir, if you will give me leave.

Mr. A. What is that?

W. I will go again, and take with me the county map, by which I shall probably be able to make out most of the places.

Mr. A. You shall have it, and I will go with you, and take my pocket spying-glass.

W. I shall be very glad of that. Well--a thought struck me, that as the hill is called Camp-mount, there might probably be some remains of ditches and mounds, with which I have read that camps were surrounded. And I really believe I discovered something of that sort running round one side of the mound.

Mr. A. Very likely you might. I know antiquaries have described such remains as existing there, which some suppose to be Roman, others Danish. We will examine them further, when we go.

W. From the hill, I went straight down to the meadows below, and walked on the side of a brook that runs into the river. It was all bordered with reeds and flags, and tall flowering plants, quite different from those I had seen on the heath. As I was getting down the bank, to reach one of them, I heard something plunge into the water near me. It was a large water-rat, and I saw it swim over to the other side, and go into its hole. There were a great many large dragonflies all about the stream. I caught one of the finest, and have got him here in a leaf. But how I longed to catch a bird that I saw hovering over the water, and that every now and then darted down into it! It was all over a mixture of the most beautiful green and blue, with some orange-color. It was somewhat less than a thrush, and had a large head and bill, and a short tail.

Mr. A. I can tell you what that bird was--a kingfisher, the celebrated halcyon of the ancients, about which so many tales are told. It lives on fish, which it catches in the manner you saw. It builds in holes in the banks, and is a shy, retired bird, never to be seen far from the stream which it inhabits.

W. I must try to get another sight of him, for I never saw a bird that pleased me so much. Well--I followed this little brook till it entered the river, and then took the path that runs along the bank. On the opposite side, I observed several little birds running along the shore, and making a piping noise. They were brown and white, and about as big as a snipe.

Mr. A. I suppose they were sandpipers, one of the numerous family of birds that get their living by wading among the shallows, and picking up worms and insects.

W. There were a great many swallows, too, sporting upon the surface of the water, that entertained me with their motions. Sometimes they dashed into the stream; sometimes they pursued one another so quickly that the eye could scarcely follow them. In one place, where a high, steep sand-bank rose directly above the river, I observed many of them go in and out of holes, with which the bank was bored full.

Mr. A. Those were sand-martins, the smallest of our species of swallows. They are of a mouse-color above, and white beneath. They make their nests and bring up their young in these holes, which run a great depth, and by their situation are secure from all plunderers.

W. A little further, I saw a man in a boat, who was catching eels in an odd way. He had a long pole with broad iron prongs at the end, just like Neptune's trident, only there were five, instead of three. This he pushed straight down among the mud, in the deepest parts of the river, and fetched up the eels sticking between the prongs.

Mr. A. I have seen this method. It is called spearing of eels.

W. While I was looking at him, a heron came flying over my head, with his large, flagging wings. He alighted at the next turn of the river, and I crept softly behind the bank to watch his motions. He had waded into the water as far as his long legs would carry him, and was standing with his neck drawn in, looking intently on the stream. Presently, he darted his long bill, as quick as lightning, into the water, and drew out a fish, which he swallowed. I saw him catch another in the same manner. He then took alarm at some noise I made, and flew away slowly to a wood at some distance, where he settled.

Mr. A. Probably his nest was there, for herons build upon the loftiest trees they can find, and sometimes in society together, like rooks. Formerly, when these birds were valued for the amusement of hawking, many gentlemen had their _heronries_, and a few are still remaining.

W. I think they are the largest wild birds we have.

Mr. A. They are of great length and spread of wing, but their bodies are comparatively small.

W. I then turned homeward, across the meadows, where I stopped awhile to look at a large flock of starlings, which kept flying about at no great distance. I could not tell at first what to make of them; for they arose all together from the ground as thick as a swarm of bees, and formed themselves into a sort of black cloud, hovering over the field. After taking a short round, they settled again, and presently arose again in the same manner. I dare say there were hundreds of them.

Mr. A. Perhaps so; for in the fenny countries their flocks are so numerous as to break down whole acres of reeds by settling on them. This disposition of starlings to fly in close swarms was remarked even by Homer, who compares the foe flying from one of his heroes, to a _cloud_ of _stares_ retiring dismayed at the approach of the hawk.

W. After I had left the meadows, I crossed the corn-fields in the way to our house, and passed close by a deep marlpit. Looking into it, I saw in one of the sides a cluster of what I took to be shells; and, upon going down, I picked up a clod of marl, which was quite full of them; but how sea-shells could get there, I cannot imagine.

Mr. A. I do not wonder at your surprise, since many philosophers have been much perplexed to account for the same appearance. It is not uncommon to find great quantities of shells and relics of marine animals even in the bowels of high mountains, very remote from the sea. They are certainly proofs that the earth was once in a very different state from what it is at present; but in what manner, and how long ago these changes took place, can only be guessed at.

W. I got to the high field next our house just as the sun was setting, and I stood looking at it till it was quite lost. What a glorious sight! The clouds were tinged purple and crimson and yellow of all shades and hues, and the clear sky varied from blue to a fine green at the horizon. But how large the sun appears just as it sets! I think it seems twice as big as when it is overhead.

Mr. A. It does so; and you may probably have observed the same apparent enlargement of the moon at its rising?

W. I have; but, pray, what is the reason of this?

Mr. A. It is an optical deception, depending upon principles which I cannot well explain to you till you know more of that branch of science. 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 amusement, 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.

380

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
classes 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
fictitious 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 compassion 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 gratitude 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 assist 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 God Almighty will take care of me." He then went and gathered some grass, 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, God 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. "God 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, "God 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."