{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_24271/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_24271","id":"gutenberg_24271","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24271","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's Anthologies","Children's literature","Children's songs","Nursery rhymes"],"text":"E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Huub Bakker, and the Project\nGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n file which includes the original illustration.\n See 24271-h.htm or 24271-h.zip:\n (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/2/3/24271/24271-h/24271-h.htm)\n or\n (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/2/3/24271/24271-h.zip)\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n Some text styles have been preserved by enclosing text between\n special characters. Italics uses _underlines_, small capitals\n uses ~tildes~, and bold uses =equal signs=.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHILDREN'S RHYMES\n\nCHILDREN'S GAMES\n\nCHILDREN'S SONGS\n\nCHILDREN'S STORIES\n\nA Book for Bairns and Big Folk\n\nby\n\nROBERT FORD\n\nAuthor of \"Thistledown,\" and Editor of\n\"Ballads of Bairnhood,\" \"Vagabond Songs\nand Ballads of Scotland\" Etc., etc.\n\n\n\n \"_Auld rhymes and auld chimes\n Gar us think on auld times_\"\n --_Proverb_\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: JINGO-RING.\nDRAWN BY KATE T. HILL.]\n\n\n\nPaisley: Alexander Gardner\nPublisher to the late Queen Victoria: 1904\n\nSecond Edition\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIn offering to the public this collection of Children's Rhymes,\nChildren's Games, Children's Songs, and Children's Stories--the\nmultitudinous items of which, or such, at least, as were not living in\nmy own memory, have been gathered with patient industry, albeit with\nmuch genuine delight, from wide and varied sources--I anticipate for the\nwork a hearty and general welcome, alike from old and young. It is the\nfirst really sincere effort to collect in anything like ample and\nexclusive fashion the _natural literature_ of the children of Scotland,\nand meets what has long appealed to me as decidedly a felt want. The\nearlier pages are occupied with a commentary, textually illustrated, on\nthe generally puerile, but regularly fascinating Rhymes of the Nursery,\nthe vitality and universal use of which have been at once the wonder and\nthe puzzle of the ages. This is followed in turn by a chapter on\nCounting-out Rhymes, with numerous examples, home and foreign; which is\nsucceeded, appropriately, by a section of the work embracing description\nof all the well-known out-door and in-door Rhyme-Games--in each case the\nRhyme being given, the action being portrayed. The remaining contents\nthe title may be left to suggest. I may only add that the\nStories--including \"Blue Beard,\" and \"Jack the Giant Killer,\" and their\nfellow-narratives--ten in all--are printed _verbatim_ from the old\nchapbooks once so common in the country, but now so rare as to be almost\nunobtainable.\n\nEssentially a book about children and their picturesque and innocent,\nthough often apparently meaningless, frolics, by the young in the land,\nI am assured, it will be received with open arms. From the \"children of\nlarger growth\"--those who were once young and have delight in\nremembering the fact--the welcome, if less boisterous, should be not\nless sincere. Commend to me on all occasions the man or woman who, \"with\nlyart haffets thin and bare,\" can sing with the poet--\n\n \"Och hey! gin I were young again,\n Ochone! gin I were young again;\n For chasin' bumbees owre the plain\n Is just an auld sang sung again.\"\n\nROBERT FORD.\n\n287 ~Onslow Drive~,\n ~Dennistoun~,\n ~Glasgow~.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n PAGE\n\n~Rhymes of the Nursery~, 9\n\n~Counting-out Rhymes~, 38\n\n~Children's Rhyme-Games~, 55\n\n \"Merry-ma-Tanzie,\" 56\n\n \"The Mulberry Bush,\" 57\n\n \"A Dis, a Dis, a Green Grass,\" 58\n\n \"Looby Looby,\" 59\n\n \"I Dree I Droppit it,\" 60\n\n \"Bab at the Bowster,\" 61\n\n \"The Wadds,\" 63\n\n \"The Wadds and the Wears,\" 65\n\n \"The Widow of Babylon,\" 68\n\n \"London Bridge,\" 69\n\n \"The Jolly Miller,\" 70\n\n \"Willie Wastle,\" 70\n\n \"Oats and Beans and Barley,\" 71\n\n \"Hornie Holes,\" 72\n\n \"The Craw,\" 73\n\n \"Neevie-neevie-nick-nack,\" 73\n\n \"Blind Man's Buff,\" 74\n\n \"Water Wallflower,\" 75\n\n \"The Emperor Napoleon,\" 75\n\n \"A' the Birdies i' the Air,\" 76\n\n \"Through the Needle-e'e, Boys,\" 76\n\n \"King Henry,\" 77\n\n \"The Blue Bird,\" 78\n\n \"When I was a Young Thing,\" 78\n\n \"Carry my Lady to London,\" 79\n\n \"A, B, C,\" 80\n\n \"My Theerie and my Thorie,\" 80\n\n \"Glasgow Ships,\" 81\n\n \"Airlie's Green,\" 83\n\n \"Het Rowes and Butter Cakes,\" 83\n\n \"Queen Mary,\" 84\n\n \"Whuppity Scoorie,\" 85\n\n \"Hinkumbooby,\" 85\n\n \"Three Brethren come from Spain,\" 87\n\n \"Here Comes a Poor Sailor from Botany Bay,\" 90\n\n \"Janet Jo,\" 91\n\n \"The Goloshans,\" 94\n\n~Children's Songs and Ballads~, 101\n\n Cock Robin, 101\n\n The Marriage of Cock Robin and Jenny Wren, 104\n\n The North Wind, 109\n\n Little Bo-Peep, 110\n\n The House that Jack Built, 111\n\n Simple Simon, 114\n\n Old Mother Hubbard, 114\n\n Old Mother Goose, 115\n\n The Old Woman and her Pig, 117\n\n A Frog he would a-wooing go, 122\n\n The Carrion Crow, 126\n\n My Pretty Maid, 127\n\n Can ye Sew Cushions? 127\n\n Hush-a-ba Birdie, Croon, 129\n\n Dance to your Daddie, 129\n\n Katie Beardie, 132\n\n The Miller's Dochter, 133\n\n Hap and Row, 133\n\n How Dan, Dilly Dow, 134\n\n Crowdie, 135\n\n Whistle, whistle, Auld Wife, 136\n\n The Three Little Pigs, 137\n\n Cowe the Nettle early, 138\n\n The Wren's Nest, 140\n\n Robin Redbreast's Testament, 141\n\n~Children's Humour and Quaint Sayings~, 143\n\n~Schoolroom Facts and Fancies~, 163\n\n~Children's Stories~, 182\n\n Blue Beard, 184\n\n Jack and the Bean-Stalk, 191\n\n The Babes in the Wood, 205\n\n Jack the Giant Killer, 210\n\n Little Red Riding Hood, 229\n\n Cinderella; or, the Little Glass Slipper, 233\n\n Puss in Boots, 243\n\n Whittington and his Cat, 249\n\n Beauty and the Beast, 259\n\n The Sleeping Beauty, 274\n\n\n\n\n\nRHYMES OF THE NURSERY.\n\n\nWriting on the subject of nursery rhymes more than half a century ago,\nthe late Dr. Robert Chambers expressed regret because, as he said,\n\"Nothing had of late been revolutionised so much as the nursery.\" But\nharking back on the period of his own childhood, he was able to say,\nwith a feeling of satisfaction, that the young mind was then \"cradled\namidst the simplicities of the uninstructed intellect; and _she_ was\nheld to be the best nurse who had the most copious supply of song, and\ntale, and drollery, at all times ready to soothe and amuse her young\ncharges. There were, it is true, some disadvantages in the system; for\nsometimes superstitious terrors were implanted, and little pains were\ntaken to distinguish between what tended to foster the evil and what\ntended to elicit the better feelings of infantile nature. Yet the ideas\nwhich presided over the scene,\" he continues, \"and rung through it all\nthe day in light gabble and jocund song, were simple, often beautiful\nideas, generally well expressed, and unquestionably suitable to the\ncapacities of children.... There was no philosophy about these gentle\ndames; but there was generally endless kindness, and a wonderful power\nof keeping their little flock in good humour. It never occurred to them\nthat children were anything but children--'Bairns are just bairns,' my\nold nurse would say--and they never once thought of beginning to make\nthem men and women while still little more than able to speak.\" They did\nnot; and, in the common homes of Scotland, they do not to this hour. The\nself-same rhymes and drollery which amused Dr. Chambers as a child are\namusing and engaging the minds and exercising the faculties of children\nover all the land even now. I question if there is a child anywhere\nnorth of the Tweed who has not been entertained by\n\n Brow, brow, brinkie,\n Ee, ee, winkie,\n Nose, nose, nebbie,\n Cheek, cheek, cherrie,\n Mou, mou, merry,\n Chin, chin, chuckie,\n Curry-wurry! Curry-wurry! etc.\n\nOr the briefer formula, referring only to the brow, the eye, the nose,\nand the mouth, which runs:--\n\n Chap at the door,\n Keek in,\n Lift the sneck,\n Walk in.\n\nAnd it was only the other evening that I saw a father with his infant\nson on his knee, having a little hand spread out, and entertaining its\nowner by travelling from thumb to little finger, and repeating the old\ncatch:--\n\n This is the man that broke the barn,\n This is the man that stole the corn,\n This is the man that ran awa',\n This is the man that tell't a',\n And puir Pirly Winkie paid for a', paid for a'.\n well as its fellow-rhyme:--\n\n This little pig went to the market,\n This little pig stayed at home;\n This little pig got roast beef,\n This little pig got none;\n This little pig cried, Squeak! squeak!\n I can't find my way home.\n\nThan the nonsense rhymes and capers that have delighted the nursery life\nof Scotland for many generations, none, of course, could be more\ndelectable--none more suitable. While charming the sense, they have\nawakened imagination and developed poetic fancy in thousands who\notherwise might have blundered into old age proving stolid and\nuninteresting men and women. They are, for this reason, part and parcel\nof every properly-balanced life, and the healthy and happy mind can\nnever let them go.\n\n Johnny Smith, my fallow fine,\n Can you shoe this horse o' mine?\n Yes, indeed, and that I can,\n Just as weel as ony man.\n Ca' a nail into the tae,\n To gar the pownie climb the brae;\n Ca' a nail into the heel,\n To gar the pownie trot weel;\n There's a nail, and there's a brod,\n There's a pownie weel shod,\n Weel shod, weel shod, weel shod pownie.\n\nWhat pleasing recollections of his own early childhood many a father has\nhad when, sitting with his child on his knee, he has demonstrated and\nchanted that rude rhyme by the fireside o' nights far, as often has\nbeen the case, from the scene where he learned it! To know such is to\nrealise one, at least, of the various reasons why the old delight in the\nfrolics of the young.\n\n Hush-a-by baby on the tree top,\n When the wind blows the cradle will rock;\n When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,\n And down will come cradle and baby and all.\n\nThis is a rhyme which \"every child has joyed to hear.\" Its origin, as\ntold in the records of the Boston (U.S.) Historical Society, is not more\ncurious than beautiful and significant. \"Shortly after our forefathers\nlanded at Plymouth, Massachusetts (I am quoting), a party were out in\nthe fields where the Indian women were picking strawberries. Several of\nthe women, or squaws as they were called, had papooses--that is\nbabies--and, having no cradle, they had them tied up in Indian fashion\nand hung from the limbs of the surrounding trees. Sure enough, when the\nwind blew these cradles would rock! A young man of the party observing\nthis, pulled off a piece of bark and wrote off the above words, which is\nbelieved to be the first poetry written in America.\" Several have\ncurious histories.\n\n Little Jack Horner\n Sat in a corner\n Eating his Christmas pie;\n He put in his thumb\n And pulled out a plum,\n And said, What a good boy am I!\n\nMaster Horner, it appears, was not a myth, but a real personage.\nTradition tells that when Henry VIII. suppressed the monasteries, and\ndrove the poor old monks from their nests, the title-deeds of the Abbey\nof Mells, including the sumptuous grange built by Abbot Bellwood, were\ndemanded by the Commissioners. The Abbot of Glastonbury determined\ninstead that he would send them to London; and, as the documents were\nvery valuable, and the road was infested by thieves, to get them to the\nmetropolis safely he ordered a pie to be made, as fine as ever smoked on\na refectory table, inside of which the precious documents were placed,\nand this dainty he entrusted to a lad named Horner to carry up to London\nand deliver into the hands of the party for whom it was intended. But\nthe journey was long, the day was cold, the boy was hungry, the pie was\ntempting, and the chances of detection, the youth presumed, were small.\nSo he broke the crust of the pie, and behold the parchment! He pulled it\nforth innocently enough, wondering by what chance it could have reached\nthere, and arrived in town. The parcel was delivered, but the\ntitle-deeds of Mells Abbey estate were missing. Jack had them in his\npocket, and--now learning their value--he kept them there. These were\nthe juiciest plums in the pie. Great was the rage of the Commissioners,\nheavy the vengeance they dealt out to the monks. But Jack kept his\nsecret and the documents, and when peaceful times were restored he\nclaimed the estates and received them. So goes the story; and it may be\ntrue. But, then, in the light of its truth, whether Master Horner\ndeserved the title of \"good boy\" bestowed on him by the rhyme will be\nmore than doubtful.\n\nWe all know the lines,\n\n Mary had a little lamb,\n Its fleece was white as snow;\n And everywhere that Mary went,\n The lamb was sure to go.\n\n It followed her to school one day,\n It was against the rule,\n And made the children laugh and play,\n To see a lamb at school.\n\nThese verses were founded, it appears, on an actual circumstance, and\nthe heroine Mary may be still living. Less than eighty years ago she was\na little girl, the daughter of a farmer in Worcester County,\nMassachusetts, U.S. One spring her father brought a feeble lamb into the\nhouse, and Mary adopted it as her especial pet. It became so fond of her\nthat it would follow her everywhere. One day it followed her to the\nvillage school, and, not knowing well what to do with it there, the girl\nput it under her desk and covered it over with her shawl. There it\nstayed until Mary was called up with her class to the teacher's desk to\nsay her lesson; but then the lamb went quietly after her, and the whole\nschool burst out laughing. Soon after, John Rollstone, a fellow-student\nwith Mary, wrote a little rhyme commemorating the incident, and the\nverses went rapidly from lip to lip, giving the greatest delight to all.\nThe lamb grew up to be a sheep, and lived many years; and when it died\nMary grieved so much that her mother took some of its wool, which was\n\"white as snow,\" and knitted for her a pair of stockings to wear in\nremembrance of her pet. Some years after, Mrs. Sarah Hall composed\nadditional verses to those of John Rollstone, making the complete rhyme\nas we know it.[A] Mary took such good care of the stockings made from\nher lamb's fleece that when she was a grown-up woman she was able to\ngive one of them to a church bazaar in Boston. As soon as it became\nknown that the stocking was from the fleece of \"Mary's little lamb,\"\nevery one wanted a piece of it. So the stocking was unravelled, and the\nyarn cut into short pieces. Each piece was fastened to a card on which\nMary wrote her full name, and those cards sold so well that they brought\nthe handsome sum of L28 to the Old South Church in Boston.\n\n[Footnote A: The following are the added lines referred to:--\n\n And so the teacher turned him out,\n But still he lingered near,\n And waited patiently about\n Till Mary did appear.\n\n And then he ran to her, and laid\n His head upon her arm.\n As if he said, \"I'm not afraid,\n You'll shield me from all harm.\"\n\n \"What makes the lamb love Mary so?\"\n The eager children cry.\n \"Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know,\"\n The teacher did reply.\n]\n\n Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall,\n Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall;\n Not all the King's horses, nor all the King's men,\n Could set Humpty-Dumpty up again.\n\nAttempts have been made to show how that was suggested by the fall of a\nbold bad baron who lived in the days of King John; but every child more\nthan ten years old knows that the lines present a conundrum, the answer\nto which is--an egg. And yet, were it no conundrum, but only a nonsense\nrhyme, its fascination for the budding intellect would be no less. It is\nenough when, with the jingle of rhyme, the imagination, is tickled, as\nin\n\n Hey diddle dumplin' my son John,\n Went to his bed with his trowsers on;\n One shoe off and the other shoe on,\n Hey diddle dumplin', my son John;\n\nor--\n\n Cripple Dick upon a stick,\n And Sandy on a soo,\n Ride away to Galloway\n To buy a pund o' woo';\n\nor yet again in--\n\n Sing a sang o' saxpence,\n A baggie fu' o' rye,\n Four-and-twenty blackbirds,\n Bakit in a pie.\n When the pie was opened\n The birds began to sing;\n And wasna that a dainty dish\n To set before the King?\n\n The King was in his counting-house\n Counting out his money,\n The Queen was in the parlour\n Eating bread and honey,\n The maid was in the garden\n Hanging out the clothes,\n When by came a blackbird\n And snapped aff her nose.\n\nFor such supreme nonsense no historical origin need be sought, surely.\nYet part of the latter has been at least applied to a historical\npersonage in a way that is worth recalling. Dr. H. J. Pye, who was\ncreated Poet Laureate in succession to Thomas Warton, in 1790, was, as\na poet, regularly made fun of. In his _New Year Odes_ there were\nperpetual references to the coming spring: and, in the dearth of more\nimportant topics, each tree and field-flower were described: and the\nlark, and every other bird that could be brought into rhyme, were sure\nto appear; and his poetical and patriotic _olla podrida_ ultimately\nprovoked the adaptation:--\n\n When the Pye was opened,\n The birds began to sing,\n And was not that a dainty dish,\n To set before a king?\n\nBut to take the rhymes only by themselves. Action rhymes, by reason of\ntheir practical drollery, never fail to amuse. And among the very\nearliest practised is the following. The nurse, with the child on her\nknee, takes a little foot in either hand, and, making them go merrily up\nand down, she sings:--\n\n This is Willie Walker, and that's Tam Sim,\n He ca'd him to a feast, and he ca'd him;\n He sticket him on the spit, and he sticket him;\n And he owre him, and he owre him,\n And he owre him, and he owre him, etc.\n\nThen, to keep up the diversion, may follow in the same manner:--\n\n Twa little doggies gaed to the mill,\n This way and that way, and this way and that way;\n They took a lick out o' this wife's poke,\n And a lick they took out o' that wife's poke,\n And a loup in the lade, and a dip in the dam,\n And hame they cam' wallopin', wallopin', wallopin', etc.\n\nOr:--\n\n Feetikin, feetikin,\n When will ye gang?\n When the nights turn short,\n And the days turn lang,\n I'll toddle and gang, toddle and gang.\n\nShould more active entertainment be demanded, the child will be set bold\nupright on one knee, and, suiting the action to the line, the rhyme will\nbe:--\n\n This is the way the ladies ride,\n Jimp and sma' jimp and sma';\n This is the way the gentlemen ride,\n Trotting a', trotting a';\n This is the way the cadgers ride,\n Creels and a'! creels and a'!!\n Creels and a'!!!\n\nFor variety's sake, on an easier swing, may follow:--\n\n A' the nicht owre and owre,\n And a' the nicht owre again;\n A' the nicht owre and owre\n The peacock followed the hen.\n\n The hen's a hungry beast,\n The cock is hollow within;\n But there's nae deceit in a puddin',\n A pie's a dainty thing.\n\n A' the nicht owre and owre.--_Da Capo._\n\nOr, yet more to engage the intellect may come:--\n\n Poussie, poussie, baudrons,\n Whaur ha'e ye been?\n I've been to London\n Seeing the Queen.\n\n Poussie, poussie, baudrons,\n What gat ye there?\n I gat a good fat mousikie,\n Rinning up a stair.\n\n Poussie, poussie, baudrons,\n What did ye wi't?\n I put it in my meal-poke\n To eat it wi' my bread.\n\nOr:--\n\n Hushie-ba, birdie beeton,\n Your mammie's gane to Seaton,\n For to buy a lammie's skin\n To row your bonnie boukie in.\n\nAnd:--\n\n Bye baby, buntin',\n Daddie's gane a-huntin':--\n Mammie's gane to buy a skin,\n To row the baby buntin' in.\n\nEast Coast mothers sing:--\n\n Ding dang, bell rang,\n Cattie's in the well, man.\n Fa' dang her in, man?\n Jean and Sandy Din, man.\n Fa' took her out, man?\n Me and Willie Cout, man.\n A' them that kent her\n When she was alive,\n Come to the burialie\n Between four and five.\n\nAgain:--\n\n Eezy ozy moolin's o' bread,\n Kens na whaur to lay her head,\n Atween the Kirkgate and the Cross\n There stands a bonnie white horse,\n It can gallop, it can trot,\n It can carry the mustard-pot.\n\nAnd yet again:--\n\n Willie Warstle, auld Carle,\n Dottered, dune, and doited bodie,\n Feeds his weans on calfs' lugs,\n Sowps o' brose, and draps o' crowdie.\n\nIn Arbroath and district, mothers, indicating the various parts of the\nchild's anatomy as they proceed, sing:--\n\n Brow o' knowledge,\n Eye o' life,\n Scent bottle,\n Penknife.\n Cheek cherry,\n Neck o' grace,\n Chin o' pluck--\n That's your face.\n Shoulder o' mutton,\n Breast o' fat,\n Vinegar-bottle,\n Mustard-pot--\n That's my laddie.\n\nTouching severally the various buttons on the child's dress during its\nrepetition, this sort of fortune-telling rhyme is common:--\n\n A laird, a lord,\n A rich man, a thief,\n A tailor, a drummer,\n A stealer o' beef.\n\nOr supposing for the nonce that the child is a piece of cooper-work,\nrequiring to be mended, the following, accompanied by the supposed\nprocess, may be sung:--\n\n Donald Cooper, Carle, quo' she,\n Can ye gird my coggie?\n Couthie Carline, that I can,\n As weel as ony bodie.\n There's ane about the mou' o't,\n And ane about the body o't,\n And ane about the leggen o't,\n And that's a girded coggie!\n\nThe next is lilted as an accompaniment to a pretended game of thumps:--\n\n Bontin's man\n To the town ran;\n He coffed and sold,\n And a penny down told;\n The kirk was ane, and the choir was twa,\n And a great muckle thump doon aboon a',\n Doon aboon a', doon aboon a'.\n\nThe following (as Dr. Chambers remarks) explains its own theatrical\ncharacter:--\n\n I got a little manikin, I set him on my thoomiken;\n I saddled him, I bridled him, I sent him to the tooniken:\n I coffed a pair o' garters to tie his little hosiken;\n I coffed a pocket-napkin to dight his little nosiken;\n I sent him to the garden to fetch a pund o' sage\n And found him in the kitchen-neuk kissing little Madge.\n\nWhile dandling the child on her knee the mother or nurse may sing:--\n\n I had a little pony,\n Its name was Dapple Grey:\n I lent it to a lady,\n To ride a mile away.\n\n She whipped it, she lashed it,\n She ca'd it owre the brae;\n I winna lend my pony mair,\n Though a' the ladies pray.\n\nIn the same manner the above may be followed by--\n\n Chick! my naigie,\n Chick! my naigie,\n How many miles to Aberdaigy?\n Eight and eight, and other eight;\n Try to win there by candlelight.\n\nOr:--\n\n Cam' ye by the kirk?\n Cam' ye by the steeple?\n Saw ye our gudeman,\n Riding on a ladle?\n\n Foul fa' the bodie,\n Winna buy a saddle,\n Wearing a' his breeks,\n Riding on a ladle!\n\nOr again:--\n\n The cattie rade to Passelet,\n To Passelet, to Passelet,\n The cattie rade to Passelet,\n Upon a harrow-tine, O.\n\n 'Twas on a weetie Wednesday,\n Wednesday, Wednesday:\n 'Twas on a weetie Wednesday,\n I missed it aye sin syne, O.\n\nLighting a stick, and making it wave to and fro, so as to form a\nsemi-circle of red fire before the child's eyes, the nurse will sing or\ncroon:--\n\n Dingle, dingle dousy,\n The cat's at the well,\n The dog's awa' to Musselbro'\n To buy the bairn a bell.\n\n Greet, greet bairnie,\n And ye'se get a bell;\n If ye dinna greet faster,\n I'll keep it to mysel'.\n\nOr again, dandling the child, the entertainment may be what some\nPerthshire children know well:--\n\n Riding on a horsie, never standing still,\n Doun by St. Martins, and owre by Newmill,\n In by Guildtown and round by Cargill,\n Richt up Burstbane, and owre by Gallowhill,\n Yont by the Harelaw, and doun to Wolfhill,\n And that's the way to ride a horse and never stand still.\n\nOr the universal favourite may ensue:--\n\n Ride a Cock-Horse to Banbury Cross,\n To see an old woman ride on a white horse;\n Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,\n She shall have music wherever she goes.\n\nOr:--\n\n Hey diddle diddle,\n The cat and the fiddle,\n The cow jumped over the moon;\n The little dog laughed,\n To see such sport,\n And the dish ran away with the spoon.\n\nIn a reposeful attitude, such rhymes as follow may be employed:--\n\n Jack and Jill\n Went up the hill\n To fetch a pail of water;\n Jack fell down\n And broke his crown,\n And Jill came tumbling after.\n\n\n Shoo shuggie, owre the glen,\n Mammie's pet, and daddie's hen.\n\n\n Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?\n Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full;\n One for the master, one for the dame,\n One for the little boy that lives in the lane.\n\n\n Goosey, Goosey Gander,\n Where shall I wander?\n Upstairs, downstairs,\n And in my lady's chamber.\n There I met an old man\n Who wouldn't say his prayers,\n I took him by the left leg,\n And threw him downstairs.\n\n\n Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard,\n To fetch her poor doggie a bone;\n But when she got there, the cupboard was bare,\n And so the poor doggie got none.\n\n\n Little Polly Flinders\n Sat among the cinders,\n Warming her pretty little toes,\n Her mother came and caught her,\n And whipped her little daughter\n For spoiling her nice new clothes.\n\n\n Tom, Tom, the piper's son,\n Stole a pig and away he run;\n Pig was eat, and Tom was beat,\n And Tom went roaring down the street.\n\n\n Little Betty Blue\n Has lost her holiday shoe,\n Give her another\n To match the other,\n And then she will walk in two.\n\n\n Three blind mice; three blind mice;\n See how they run; see how they run;\n They all ran after the farmer's wife,\n Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,\n Did ever you see such fools in your life?\n Three blind mice!\n\n\n Mary, Mary,\n Quite contrairy,\n How does your garden grow?\n Silver bells,\n And cockle shells,\n And pretty-maids all in a row.\n\n\n Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man!\n Bake a cake as fast as you can;\n Prick it, and pat it, and mark it with T,\n And put it in the oven for Tommy and me.\n\n\n Little Miss Muffet\n Sat on a tuffet,\n Eating her curds and whey;\n There came a great spider\n And sat down beside her,\n And frightened Miss Muffet away.\n\n\n Jack Sprat could eat no fat,\n His wife could eat no lean;\n And so, betwixt them both, you see,\n They licked the platter clean.\n\n\n Little Tom Tucker\n Sang for his supper.\n What shall we give him?\n Brown bread and butter.\n How shall he cut it\n Without any a knife?\n How shall he marry\n Without any wife?\n\n\n See-saw, Margery Daw,\n Jenny shall have a new master;\n She shall have but a penny a day,\n Because she can't work any faster.\n\n\n Roun', roun' rosie, cuppie, cuppie shell,\n The dog's awa' to Hamilton, to buy a new bell;\n If you don't tak' it, I'll tak' it to mysel',\n Roun', roun' rosie, cuppie, cuppie shell.\n\n\n There was a little man, and he had a little gun,\n And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead;\n He shot Johnnie Twig through the middle of his wig,\n And knocked it right off his head, head, head.\n\n\n Hickety, pickety, my black hen,\n Lays eggs for gentlemen,\n Whiles ane, whiles twa,\n Whiles a bonnie black craw.\n\nFor slightly more matured wits will be provided:--\n\n There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,\n She had so many children, she didn't know what to do;\n She gave them some broth, without any bread,\n And whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.\n\n\n Doctor Foster, went to Glo'ster\n In a shower of rain;\n He stepped in a puddle,\n Up to the middle,\n And never went there again.\n\nThis is another version of one that has been given earlier:--\n\n Ding, dong, bell, Pussy's in the well.\n Who put her in? Little Tommy Thin.\n Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Stout.\n What a naughty boy was that,\n Thus to drown poor Pussy Cat.\n\n\n Little Boy Blue, come, blow your horn,\n The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn;\n Where is the boy that looks after the sheep?\n He's under the haycock, fast asleep!\n\n\n Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief,\n Taffy came to my house, and stole a piece of beef;\n I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not at home;\n Taffy came to my house, and stole a marrow-bone.\n I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was in bed,\n I took up a broomstick and flung it at his head.\n\n\n The lion and the unicorn\n Fighting for the crown;\n Up jumps a wee dog\n And knocks them both down.\n Some got white bread,\n And some got brown:\n But the lion beat the unicorn\n All round the town.\n\n\n There was a wee wifie row'd up in a blanket,\n Nineteen times as high as the moon;\n And what she did there I canna declare,\n For in her oxter she bure the sun.\n\n Wee wifie, wee wifie, wee wifie, quo' I,\n O what are ye doin' up there so high?\n I'm blawin' the cauld clouds out o' the sky.\n Weel dune, weel dune, wee wifie, quo' I.\n\n\n What ca' they you?\n They ca' me Tam Taits!\n What do ye do?\n I feed sheep and gaits!\n\n Where feed they?\n Doun in yon bog!\n What eat they?\n Gerse and fog!\n\n What gie they?\n Milk and whey!\n Wha sups that?\n Tam Taits and I!\n\n\n The laverock and the lintie,\n The robin and the wren;\n Gin ye harry their nests,\n Ye'll never thrive again.\n\nDuring a hail-storm country children sing:--\n\n Rainy, rainy rattle-stanes,\n Dinna rain on me;\n But rain on Johnnie Groat's House,\n Far owre the sea.\n\nAgain, when snow is falling:--\n\n Snaw, snaw, flee awa'\n Owre the hills and far awa'.\n\nTowards the yellow-hammer, or yellow-yite--bird of beautiful plumage\nthough it be--because it is the subject of an unaccountable\nsuperstitious notion, which credits it with drinking a drop of the\ndevil's blood every May morning, the children of Scotland cherish no\ninconsiderable contempt, which finds expression in the rhyme:--\n\n Half a puddock, half a taed,\n Half a yellow yorling;\n Drinks a drap o' the deil's blood\n Every May morning.\n\nOn the East Coast, when the seagulls fly inland in search of food, the\nchildren, not desiring their appearance--because probably of the old\nsuperstition that they are prone to pick out the eyes of people--cry to\nthem:--\n\n Seamaw, seamaw, my mither's awa'\n For pouther an' lead, to shoot ye dead--\n Pit-oo! pit-oo! pit-oo!\n\nTo the lark's song the young mind gives language, in a kindly way,\nthus:--\n\n Larikie, larikie, lee!\n Wha'll gang up to heaven wi' me?\n No the lout that lies in his bed,\n No the doolfu' that dreeps his head.\n\nInterpreting similarly the lapwing's cry, they retaliate with:--\n\n Peese-weep! Peese-weep!\n Harry my nest, and gar me greet!\n\nOf the cuckoo they have this common rhyme:--\n\n The cuckoo is a bonnie bird,\n He sings as he flies;\n He brings us good tidings;\n He tells us no lies.\n\n He drinks the cold water\n To keep his voice clear;\n And he'll come again\n In the Spring of the year.\n\nThe lady-bird, or \"Leddy Lanners,\" is a favourite insect with children,\nand is employed by them to discover their future partners in life. When\na boy or girl finds one, he, or she, as the case may be, places it on\nthe palm of his, or her, hand, and repeats, until it flies off, the\nlines:--\n\n Leddy, Leddy Lanners,\n Leddy, Leddy Lanners,\n Tak' up yer cloak about yer head\n An' flee awa' to Flann'ers;\n Flee ower firth, an' flee ower fell,\n Flee ower pool, an' rinnin' well,\n Flee ower hill, an' flee ower mead,\n Flee ower livin', flee ower dead,\n Flee ower corn, an' flee ower lea,\n Flee ower river, flee ower sea,\n Flee ye East, or flee ye West,\n Flee to the ane that loves me best.\n\nThe following rhyme, old and curious, and still not unknown to the young\nin Scotland and England alike, has many varieties:--\n\n Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,\n Bless the bed that I lie on;\n Four posties to my bed,\n Six angels are outspread:\n Two to bottom, two to head,\n One to watch me while I pray,\n One to bear my soul away.\n\nAfter the first two lines it goes sometimes:--\n\n Four corners to my bed,\n Four angels round my head;\n One to read and one to write,\n Two to guard my bed at night.\n\nAnd often the closing lines run:--\n\n One to watch and two to pray,\n One to keep all fears away.\n\nIn an old MS. by Aubrey, in the British Museum, he states that this was\na prayer regularly used by people when they went to bed. Then Ody, in\nhis _Candle in the Dark_, 1656, tells that it was frequently used by old\npeople as a charm, and was repeated three times before going to bed.\nLauncelot Sharpe, in his _Towneley Mysteries_, 1838, relates that he had\noften, when a boy, heard similar words used in Kent as a prayer.\n\nSince about the time of the Crimean War--and more immediately after then\nthan now--the children of Glasgow have shouted in the streets:--\n\n Saw ye the Forty-Second?\n Saw ye them gaun awa'?\n Saw ye the Forty-Second\n Marching to the Broomielaw?\n Some o' them had boots an' stockin's,\n Some o' them had nane ava;\n Some of them had tartan plaidies,\n Marching to the Broomielaw.\n\nAt an earlier period they had:--\n\n Wha saw the Cotton-spinners?\n Wha saw them gaun awa'?\n Wha saw the Cotton-spinners\n Sailing frae the Broomielaw?\n Some o' them had boots an' stockin's,\n Some o' them had nane ava;\n Some o' them had umbrellas\n For to keep the rain awa'.\n\nThere are many similar entertainments which these suggest. But to follow\nin extent the out-door rhymes of the bairns would carry us beyond the\nprescribed limits of this chapter. None have been cited, so far, that do\nnot belong absolutely to the nursery; and the collection of these even,\nthough fairly ample, is not so full as it might be. We will conclude\nwith a few, each of which forms a puzzle or conundrum--some of them, in\nall conscience, gruesome enough, and full of terrible mystery--but,\nindividually, well calculated to awaken thought and stir imagination in\nany youthful circle.\n\n As I gaed owre the Brig o' Perth\n I met wi' George Bawhannan;\n I took aff his head, and drank his bluid,\n And left his body stannin'.\n [A bottle of wine.]\n\n As I looked owre my window at ten o'clock at nicht,\n I saw the dead carrying the living.\n [A ship sailing.]\n\n Hair without and hair within,\n A' hair, and nae skin. [A hair rope.]\n\n Three feet up, cauld and dead,\n Twa feet doun, flesh and bluid;\n The head o' the livin' in the mouth o' the dead:\n An auld man wi' a pot on his head.\n [Last line is the answer.]\n\n There was a man o' Adam's race,\n Wha had a certain dwellin' place;\n It was neither in heaven, earth, nor hell,\n Tell me where this man did dwell.\n [Jonah in the whale's belly.]\n\n A ha'penny here, an' a ha'penny there,\n Fourpence-ha'penny and a ha'penny mair;\n A ha'penny weet, an' a ha'penny dry,\n Fourpence-ha'penny an' a ha'penny forby--\n How much is that?\n [A shilling.]\n\n There was a prophet on this earth,\n His age no man could tell;\n He was at his greatest height\n Before e'en Adam fell.\n\n His wives are very numerous,\n Yet he maintaineth none;\n And at the day of reckoning\n He bids them all begone.\n\n He wears his boots when he should sleep,\n His spurs are ever new;\n There's no a shoemaker on a' the earth\n Can fit him wi' a shoe.\n [A cock.]\n\n Riddle me, riddle me, rot-tot-tot,\n A wee, wee man in a red, red coat;\n A staff in his hand and a stane in his throat,\n Riddle me, riddle me, rot-tot-tot.\n [A cherry.]\n\n There was a man made a thing,\n And he that made it did it bring;\n But he 'twas made for did not know\n Whether 'twas a thing or no.\n [A coffin.]\n\n Pease-porridge het, pease-porridge cauld,\n Pease-porridge in a pot ten days auld;\n Spell me that in four letters.\n [T-H-A-T.]\n\n I sat wi' my love, and I drank wi' my love,\n And my love she gave me light;\n I'll give any man a pint o' wine\n To read my riddle right.\n\n [He sat in a chair made of his mistress's bones, drank out of her skull,\n and was lighted by a candle made of the substance of her body.]\n\n Mouth o' horn, and beard o' leather;\n Ye'll no guess that were ye hanged in a tether.\n [A cock.]\n\n Bonnie Katie Brannie stands at the wa',\n Gi'e her little, gi'e her muckle, she licks up a':\n Gi'e her stanes, she eats them--but water, she'll dee,\n Come, tell this bonnie riddleum to me.\n [The fire.]\n\n Down in yon meadow\n There sails a boat;\n And in that boat\n The King's son sat.\n I'm aye telling ye,\n But ye're no calling,\n Hoo they ca' the King's son\n In the boat sailing.\n [Hoo, or Hugh.]\n\n As I gaed owre Bottle-brig,\n Bottle-brig brak';\n Though ye guess a' day,\n Ye winna guess that. [The ice.]\n\n If Dick's father is John's son,\n What relation is Dick to John?\n [His grandson.]\n\n The brown bull o' Baverton,\n Gaed owre the hill o' Haverton;\n He dashed his head atween twa stanes\n And was brought milk-white hame.\n [Corn sent to the mill and ground.]\n\n A beautiful lady in a garden was laid,\n Her beauty was fair as the sun;\n In the first hour of her life she was made a man's wife,\n And she died before she was born.\n [Eve.]\n\n The minister, the dominie, and Mr. Andrew Lang,\n Went to the garden where three pears hang:\n Each one took a pear--how many pears then?\n [Two: the three persons were one.]\n\n Mou'd like the mill-door, luggit like the cat;\n Though ye guess a' day, ye'll no guess that.\n [An old-fashioned kail-pot.]\n\n There stands a tree at our house-end,\n It's a' clad owre wi' leather bend:\n It'll fecht a bull, it'll fecht a bear,\n It'll fecht a thousand men o' wear.\n [Death.]\n\n Lang man legless,\n Gaed to the door staffless:\n Goodwife, put up your deuks and hens;\n For dogs and cats I carena.\n [A worm.]\n\n As I gaed to Falkland to a feast,\n I met me wi' an ugly beast:\n Ten tails, a hunder nails,\n And no a fit but ane.\n [A ship.]\n\n As I cam' owre the tap o' Trine,\n I met a drove o' Highland swine:\n Some were black, and some were brawnet,\n Some o' them was yellow tappit.\n Sic a drove o' Highland swine\n Ne'er cam' owre the tap o' Trine.\n [A swarm of bees.]\n\n Infir taris, inoknonis;\n Inmudeelis, inclaynonis.\n Canamaretots?\n\n [In fir tar is, in oak none is;\n In mud eel is, in clay none is.\n Can a mare eat oats?]\n\n Wee man o' leather\n Gaed through the heather,\n Through a rock, through a reel,\n Through an auld spinning-wheel,\n Through a sheep-shank bane.\n Sic a man was never seen.\n Wha had he been?\n [A beetle.]\n\n The robbers cam' to our house\n When we were a' in;\n The house lap out at the windows,\n And we were a' ta'en.\n [Fish caught in a net.]\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCOUNTING-OUT RHYMES.\n\n\nThe use of doggerel rhymes by children in playing their out-of-door\ngames, to decide by the last word which of their number shall be \"it\" or\n\"takkie,\" in games like \"Hide and Seek\" and \"I Spy,\" must be familiar to\nevery reader who has had any youth worthy of being so called. What is\nnot well known, however, is the fact that some of them--the rhymes, I\nmean--that very common one in particular, beginning--\"One-ery, two-ery,\ntickery, seven,\" and its fellow in like respect, with the opening\nline--\"Eeny, meeny, manny, mo\"--have, in almost identical form, been in\nactive use by the wee folks for hundreds of years, as they are still, in\nnearly every country of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America. That the\npastime has been common among the children of civilized and\nsemi-civilized races alike is certainly of curious interest, and yet\ninvestigation has proved this to be the case. Not only so, but the form\nof use is nearly always identical. A leader, as a rule self-appointed,\nhaving engaged the attention of the boys and girls about to join in a\nproposed game, arranges them either in a row or in a circle around him.\nHe then repeats the rhyme, fast or slow, as he is capable or disposed,\npointing with the hand or forefinger to each child in succession, not\nforgetting himself, and allotting to each one word of the mysterious\nformula. It may be, for example:--\n\n Eeny, meeny, manny, mo,\n Catch a nigger by the toe;\n When he hollers, let him go,\n Eeny, meeny, manny, mo.\n\nHaving completed the verse, the child on whom the last word falls is\nsaid to be \"out,\" and steps aside. At each repetition one in like manner\nsteps aside, and the one who survives the ordeal until all the rest have\nbeen \"chapped\" or \"titted\" out is declared \"it\" or \"takkie,\" and the\ngame proceeds forthwith. Sometimes the formula employed in certain parts\nof Scotland, as I recollect, was for each boy to insert his finger into\nthe leader's cap, around which all the company stood. The master of the\nceremonies then with his finger allotted a word to each \"finger in the\npie.\" It might be:--\n\n Eenity, feenity, fickety, feg,\n El, del, domen, egg,\n Irky, birky, story, rock,\n Ann, Dan, Toosh, Jock.\n\nWith the pronouncement of the word \"Jock,\" the M.C.'s finger came down\nwith a whack which made the one \"chapped out\" be withdrawn in a \"hunder\nhurries.\" In some parts of America a peculiar method obtains. The\nalphabet is repeated by the leader, who assigns one letter to each child\nin the group, and when a letter falls to a child which is the same as\nthe initial of his last name, that child falls out, and this is\ncontinued, observing the same plan, until only one child remains, who is\n\"it.\" There are other forms, too, but none strikingly dissimilar. Where\nthe little ones have been in haste to proceed with the game, and in no\nmood to waste time in counting out each one to the last, they have taken\nthe sharper process of saying--\n\n Red, white, yellow, blue,\n All out but you,\n\nand by the first reading fixed the relationship of parties.\n\nNow, a very important and interesting feature of these rhymes and their\napplication, as I have said, is found in the fact that they prevail in a\nmore or less identical form all over the world. When this is so, their\ncommon origin is placed almost beyond dispute. The question only, which\nperhaps no one can answer, is--Whence come they? It would not be\nhazarding too much to say, I think, that Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in\ntheir turn as boys, with other boys of their time, each used a form of\ncounting-out rhyme in the manner and for the purpose for which they are\nstill in vogue by the boys and girls of the present day. Undoubtedly\nthey found a precedent, if they did not actually themselves exercise a\npart, in the very ancient custom of casting lots, which prevailed among\nthe heathen as well as among the chosen people of God in very early\ntimes. From sacred history we learn that lots were used to decide\nmeasures to be taken in battle; to select champions in individual\ncontests; to determine the partition of conquered or colonised lands; in\nthe division of spoil; in the appointment of Magistrates and other\nfunctionaries; in the assignment of priestly offices; and in criminal\ninvestigations, when doubt existed as to the real culprit. Among the\nIsraelites, indeed, the casting of lots was divinely ordained as a\nmethod of ascertaining the Holy will, and its use on many interesting\noccasions is described in the Holy Scriptures. The simplicity of the\nprocess, and its unanswerable result, were appreciated by Solomon, who\nsays: \"The lot causeth contentions to cease, and parteth between the\nmighty\" (Prov. xviii. 18). In New Testament times, again, Matthias was\nchosen by lot to \"take the place in this ministry and apostleship from\nwhich Judas fell away\" (Acts i. 24-26). The Babylonians, when about to\nwage war against another nation, were wont to determine which city\nshould be attacked first by casting lots in a peculiar manner. The names\nof the cities were written on arrows. These were shaken in a bag, and\nthe one drawn decided the matter (see Ezekiel xxi. 21-22). A like method\nof divination, called _belomany_, was current among the Arabians before\nMahomet's rise, though it was afterwards prohibited by the Koran. By\nimitation of their elders, to which children are constantly prone--in\nthe making of \"housies,\" in nursing of dolls, etc. etc.--doubtless there\ncame the counting-out rhyme. What is not so easily understood is their\nexistence in so many identical forms in so many widely distant lands. As\nan example of how cosmopolitan some of them are, let us track a familiar\nenough one for a fair distance and see how it appears in the national\ngarb of the various countries in which it has found bed, board, and\nbiding. All over Britain and America it goes:--\n\n One, two, buckle my shoe,\n Three, four, open the door,\n Five, six, pick up the sticks,\n Seven, eight, lay them straight,\n Nine, ten, a good fat hen,\n Eleven, twel', bake it well,\n Thirteen, fourteen, maids a-courting,\n Fifteen, sixteen, maids a-kissing,\n Seventeen, eighteen, maids a-waiting,\n Nineteen, twenty, my stomach's empty.\n\nIn Germany it is found in various forms, but one will suffice:--\n\n 1, 2, Polizei,\n 3, 4, Offizier,\n 5, 6, Alte Hex,\n 7, 8, Gute Nacht,\n 9, 10, Auf Wiedersehen,\n 11, 12, Junge Woelf,\n 13, 14, Blaue Schuerzen,\n 15, 16, Alte Hexen,\n 17, 18, Maedle Wachsen,\n 19, 20, Gott Verdanzig.\n\nIn France it also appears in various forms, and the children of Paris,\nnot disposed to waste time and energy, cut it briefly, as follows:--\n\n Un, deux, trois,\n Tu ne l'es pas,\n Quatre, cinq, six,\n Va t'en d'ici.\n\nIn Italy a form goes:--\n\n Pan uno, pan duo,\n Pan tre, pan quattro,\n Pan cinque, pan sei,\n Pan sette, pan otto,\n Pancotto!\n\nAnd versions, all revealing a common origin, might be quoted in the\nlanguages of many more countries, but we can employ our space to better\npurpose. With regard to the rhyme already quoted, beginning, \"Eenity,\nfeenity, fickety, feg,\" it has been asked whether the second line, \"El,\ndel, domen, egg,\" would not warrant the conclusion that it sprang into\nexistence on the streets, and among the children, of Ancient Rome.\nPerhaps it did; for who may say it did not? There is that very common\none all over Scotland, which, it will be remembered, that wonderful\nchild, Marjorie Fleming, played off on Sir Walter Scott:--\n\n One-ery, two-ery, tickery, seven,\n Alibi, crackaby, ten and eleven;\n Pin, pan, musky dan;\n Tweedle-um, twoddle-um, twenty-one;\n Eerie, orie, ourie. You are out!\n\nA similar formula, only in slightly varying words, is found in the\nfolk-lore of almost every country in the world. Commenting on the\nopening line, the late Mr. Charles G. Leland, author of the _Hans\nBreitmann_ ballads, and an acknowledged authority on the language and\ncustoms of the Eastern Gypsies, sets against it a Romany stanza, used as\na spell, beginning:--\n\n Ekkeri, akai-ri, you kiar-an,\n\nand remarks that \"Ekkeri, akai-ri,\" literally translated, just gives the\nfamiliar \"One-ery, two-ery,\" which is etymologically analogous to\n\"Hickory, dickory,\" in the all-pervading nursery rhyme:--\n\n Hickory, dickory, dock,\n The mouse ran up the clock;\n The clock struck one, and down the mouse ran,\n Hickory, dickory, dock.\n\nAn American version of which, by the bye, goes:--\n\n Hiddlety, diddlety, dumpty,\n The cat ran up the plum tree;\n Half-a-crown to fetch her down,\n Hiddlety, diddlety, dumpty.\n\nBut still, before leaving the familiar chapping-out rhyme of Marjorie\nFleming, let us see how it occurs again in Scotland and among the\nchildren of some of the other English-speaking nations, to go no\nfurther. Charles Taylor, in the _Magpie; or Chatterings of the Pica_,\npublished at Glasgow in 1820, gives it thus:--\n\n Anery, twaery, duckery, seven,\n Alama, crack, ten am eleven;\n Peem, pom, it must be done,\n Come teetle, come total, come twenty-one;\n\nand remarks:--\"This is reported to have originated with the Druids; the\ntotal number of words is twenty-one, and it seems to be a mixture of\nwords put into rhyme.\" In the streets and lanes and open spaces of\nAberdeen it runs:--\n\n Enery, twa-ery, tuckery, taven,\n Halaba, crackery, ten or eleven;\n Peen, pan, musky dan,\n Feedelam, Fadelam, twenty-one.\n\nIn the county of Wexford, in Ireland, it goes:--\n\n One-ery, two-ery, dickery, Davy,\n Hallabone, crackabone, tenery, Navy;\n Discome, dandy, merry-come-tine,\n Humbledy, bumbledy, twenty-nine,\n O-U-T, out. You must go out!\n\nIn the Midlands of England:--\n\n One-ery, two-ery, dickery, dee,\n Halibo, crackibo, dandilee;\n Pin, pan, muskee dan,\n Twiddledum, twaddledum, twenty-one;\n Black fish, white trout,\n Eeny, meeny, you go out.\n\nIn Massachusetts, U.S., America:--\n\n Ena, deena, dina, dust,\n Catler, wheeler, whiler, whust;\n Spin, spon, must be done,\n Twiddleum, twaddleum, twenty-one.\n\nIn the island of Guernsey:--\n\n Eena, deena, dina, duss,\n Catalaweena, wina, wuss;\n Tittle, tattle, what a rattle,\n O-U-T spells out!\n\nAnother Scotch version:--\n\n One-ery, two-ery, tickery, ten,\n Bobs of vinegar, gentlemen;\n A bird in the air, a fish in the sea;\n A bonnie wee lassie come singing to thee.\n One, two, three!\n\nOf the \"Eeny, feenity, fickety, feg\" rhyme, we find these evident\nvarieties. This, said to be used in the West of Scotland:--\n\n Zeeny, meeny, fickety, fick,\n Deal, doll, dominick;\n Zarity-panty, on a rock, toosh!\n\nThis in Cumberland:--\n\n Eeny, pheeny, figgery, fegg,\n Deely, dyly, ham and egg.\n Calico back, and stony rock,\n Arlum, barlum, bash!\n\nIn the United States:--\n\n Inty, minty, tippity, fig,\n Dinah, donah, norma, nig,\n Oats, floats, country notes;\n Dinah, donah, tiz,\n Hulla-ballop-bulloo,\n Out goes you!\n\nThis curious one in Edinburgh:--\n\n Inty, tinty, tethery, methery,\n Bank for over, Dover, ding,\n Aut, taut, toosh;\n Up the Causey, down the Cross,\n There stands a bonnie white horse:\n It can gallop, it can trot,\n It can carry the mustard pot.\n One, two, three, out goes she!\n\nAgain, in Scotland:--\n\n Inky, pinky, peerie-winkie,\n Hi domin I.\n Arky, parky, tarry rope,\n Ann, tan, toozy Jock.\n\nThis is truly American--the first line of which, by the bye, is derived\nfrom, or is borrowed by, the College song, \"King of the Cannibal\nIslands\":--\n\n Hoky poky, winky wum,\n How do you like your 'taters done?\n Snip, snap, snorum,\n High popolorum,\n Kate go scratch it,\n You are out!\n\nThat this also is from beyond the \"pond\" is evident:--\n\n As I was walking down the lake,\n I met a little rattlesnake.\n I gave him so much jelly-cake,\n It made his little belly ache.\n One, two, three, out goes she!\n\nIn the West of Scotland they sometimes say:--\n\n Ease, ose, man's nose;\n Cauld parritch, pease brose.\n\nForfarshire bairns say:--\n\n Eemer-awmer, Kirsty Gawmer,\n Doon i' Carnoustie, merchant-dale.\n Leddy Celestie, Sandy Testie,\n Bonnie poppy-show.\n You--are--out!\n\nAnd elsewhere, but still in Scotland:--\n\n Eatum, peatum, potum, pie,\n Babylonie, stickum, stie,\n Dog's tail, hog's snout,\n I'm in, you're out.\n\nOr:--\n\n Eerie, orie, owre the dam,\n Fill your poke and let us gang;\n Black fish and white trout,\n Eerie, orie, you are out.\n\nAnother goes:--\n\n A ha'penny puddin', a ha'penny pie,\n Stand you there, you're out by.\n\nThe last appears in Chambers' _Popular Rhymes of\nScotland_, which interesting collection embraces also the\nnext two. First:--\n\n My grandfather's man and me fell out,\n How will we bring the matter about?\n We'll bring it about as weel as we can,\n And a' for the sake o' my grandfather's man.\n\nSecond:--\n\n Master Foster, very good man,\n Sweeps his college now and than,\n After that he takes a dance\n Up from London down to France,\n With a black bonnet and a white snout,\n Stand you there, you are out.\n\nIn Glasgow, I am told, the next one used to be common:--\n\n As I gaed up the apple tree\n A' the apples fell on me;\n Bake a puddin', bake a pie,\n Send it up to John Mackay;\n John Mackay is no in,\n Send it up to the man i' the mune;\n The man i' the mune's mendin' his shoon,\n Three bawbees and a farden in.\n\nAlso this:--\n\n As I went up the apple tree,\n All the apples fell on me;\n Bake a puddin', bake a pie,\n Did you ever tell a lie?\n Yes I did, and many times.\n O-U-T, out goes she\n Right in the middle of the deep blue sea.\n\nAnd this:--\n\n Eerie, orie, ickery, am,\n Pick ma nick, and slick ma slam.\n Oram, scoram, pick ma noram,\n Shee, show, sham, shutter,\n You--are--out!\n\nIn England and Scotland alike this has been used, with slight\nvariations, for at least a hundred years:--\n\n As I went up the brandy hill,\n I met my father, wi' gude will;\n He had jewels, he had rings,\n He had mony braw things;\n He'd a cat and nine tails,\n He'd a hammer wantin' nails.\n Up Jock, doun Tam,\n Blaw the bellows, auld man.\n The auld man took a dance,\n First to London, then to France.\n\nAnother:--\n\n Queen, Queen Caroline,\n Dipped her hair in turpentine;\n Turpentine made it shine,\n Queen, Queen Caroline.\n\nAnd yet another:--\n\n Tit, tat, toe,\n Here I go,\n And if I miss,\n I pitch on this.\n\nThe following have long been in active use all over Scotland, if not\nalso elsewhere:--\n\n Zeenty, teenty, halligo lum,\n Pitchin' tawties doun the lum.\n Wha's there? Johnnie Blair.\n What d'ye want? A bottle o' beer.\n Where's your money? In my purse.\n Where's your purse? In my pocket.\n Where's your pocket? I forgot it.\n Go down the stair, you silly blockhead.\n You--are--out.\n\n\n Zeenty, teenty, alligo, dan,\n Bobs o' vinegar, gentleman,\n Kiss, toss, mouse, fat,\n Bore a needle, bum a fiddle,\n Jink ma jeerie, jink ma jye,\n Stand you there, you're out bye.\n\n\n One, two, three, four,\n Jenny at the cottage door,\n Eating cherries aff a plate,\n Five, six, seven, eight.\n\n\n Zeenty, teenty, feggerie fell,\n Pompaleerie jig.\n Every man who has no hair\n Generally wears a wig.\n\n\n Mistress Mason broke a basin,\n How much will it be?\n Half-a-crown. Lay it down.\n Out goes she!\n\n\n One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,\n All good children go to heaven;\n When they die their sin's forgiven,\n One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.\n\n\n One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,\n All good children go to heaven:\n A penny by the water,\n Tuppence by the sea,\n Threepence by the railway,\n Out goes she!\n\n\n Me and the minister's wife coost out.\n Guess ye what it was about?\n Black puddin', dish-clout,\n Eerie, orrie, you are out!\n\n\n Master Monday, how's your wife?\n Very sick, and like to die.\n Can she eat? O yes,\n As much as I can buy.\n She makes the porridge very thin,\n A pound of butter she puts in,\n Black puddin', white clout,\n Eerie, orrie, you are out!\n\n\n Inky pinky, my black hen\n Lays eggs for gentlemen;\n Whiles ane, whiles twa,\n Whiles a bonnie black craw.\n One--two--three,\n You--are--out!\n\n\n Eeny, meeny, clean peeny,\n If you want a piece and jeely,\n Just walk out!\n\n\n John says to John,\n How much are your geese?\n John says to John,\n Twenty cents a-piece.\n John says to John,\n That's too dear;\n John says to John,\n Get out of here!\n\n\n Ching, Ching, Chinaman,\n How do you sell your fish?\n Ching, Ching, Chinaman,\n Six bits a dish.\n Ching, Ching, Chinaman,\n Oh! that's too dear;\n Ching, Ching, Chinaman,\n Clear out of here!\n\n\n Lemons and oranges, two for a penny,\n I'm a good scholar that counts so many.\n The rose is red, the leaves are green,\n The days are past that I have seen.\n\n\n I doot, I doot,\n My fire is out,\n And my little dog's not at home:\n I'll saddle my cat, and I'll bridle my dog,\n And send my little boy home.\n Home, home again, home!\n\n\n Jenny, good spinner,\n Come down to your dinner,\n And taste the leg of a roasted frog!\n I pray ye, good people,\n Look owre the kirk steeple,\n And see the cat play wi' the dog!\n\n\n Matthew, Mark, Luke, John,\n Haud the horse till I win on;\n Haud him siccar, haud him fair,\n Haud him by a pickle hair.\n One, two, three,\n You are out!\n\n\n Around the house, arickity-rary,\n I hope ye'll meet the green canary:\n You say ay, I say no,\n Hold fast--let go!\n Scottie Malottie, the king o' the Jews,\n Sell't his wife for a pair o' shoes;\n When the shoes began to wear\n Scottie Malottie began to swear.\n\nIn Dundee these lines are added to the \"Eenity feenity\" rhyme:--\n\n Jock out, Jock in,\n Jock through a hickle-pin.\n Eetle-ottle, black bottle;\n Eetle-ottle, out!\n\nThis, more commonly used as a test of truth-telling (little fingers\nbeing linked while it is uttered), is also used on the East Coast as a\ncounting-out rhyme:--\n\n I ring, I ring, a pinky!\n If I tell a lie\n I'll go to the bad place\n Whenever I die.\n White pan, black pan,\n Burn me to death,\n Tak' a muckle gully\n And cut my breath.\n Ten miles below the earth.\n Amen!\n\nBut these all, of course, as already stated, have been delivered and\nacted, as they are still, rather as a prelude to the more elaborate\ngames designed to follow than as a part of them, and to afford\ndesignedly the opportunity of deciding emphatically who shall be \"it\" or\n\"takkie.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHILDREN'S RHYME-GAMES.\n\n\nWhen by the aid of the \"chapping-out\" rhyme it has been decided who\nshould be \"it,\" the game to follow may be \"Single Tig,\" \"Cross Tig,\"\n\"Burly Bracks Round the Stacks,\" \"Pussie in the Corner,\" \"Bonnety,\" \"The\nTod and the Hounds,\" \"I Spy,\" \"Smuggle the Keg,\" \"Booly Horn,\" \"Dock,\"\n\"Loup the Frog,\" \"Foot and a Half,\" \"Bools,\" \"Pitch and Toss,\" or any\none of another dozen, all of which are essentially boys' games, and have\nno rhymes to enliven their action. But if it is to be a game in which\nboth sexes may equally engage, or a game for girls alone, then almost\ncertainly there is a rhyme with it. Somehow girls have always been more\nmusical than boys, even as in their maturer years they are more\nfrequently the subject of song than their confreres of the sterner sex.\n\"Peever,\" \"Tig,\" and \"Skipping Rope,\" are indeed, so far as I can recall\nat the moment, about all of the girls' commoner games which are played\nwithout the musical accompaniment of line and verse. Their rhyme-games,\non the other hand, are legion, and embrace \"A Dis, a Dis, a Green\nGrass,\" \"The Merry-Ma-Tanzie,\" \"The Mulberry Bush,\" \"Carry My Lady to\nLondon,\" \"I Dree I Droppit It,\" \"Looby-Looby,\" and ever so many more.\n\nLike the counting-out rhymes, the game-rhymes are found in only slightly\ndiffering forms in widely divided countries and places. But ever alike,\nthey are never quite the same. The \"Merry-Ma-Tanzie,\" for instance,\nthough always the same in name, will be found with varying lines in\nalmost every town and village in Scotland even. There are variants\nequally, I suppose, of all.\n\n\"~Merry-ma-Tanzie~\" is solely a girls' game, of which boys, however, may\nbe interested spectators. The counting-out rhyme having put one in the\ncentre, the rest join hands in a ring about her, and moving slowly\nround, they sing:--\n\n Here we go round the jingo-ring,\n The jingo-ring, the jingo-ring,\n Here we go round the jingo-ring,\n About the merry-ma-tanzie.\n\n Twice about and then we fa',\n Then we fa', then we fa',\n Twice about and then we fa',\n About the merry-ma-tanzie.\n\n Choose your maidens all around,\n All around, all around,\n Choose your maidens all around,\n About the merry-ma-tanzie.\n\nReplying to this invitation, the one in the centre chooses two from the\ncircle, and retires with them a short distance away. During their\nabsence the ring-band proceeds as before, and sing with imitating\ngesture:--\n\n Sweep the house ere the bride comes in,\n The bride comes in, the bride comes in,\n Sweep the house ere the bride comes in,\n About the merry-ma-tanzie.\n\nWhen those who left return, the one who was in the centre takes up her\noriginal position, as also do the others, and the ring moves on again\nwith:--\n\n Here's a bride new come hame,\n New come hame, new come hame;\n Here's a bride new come hame,\n About the merry-ma-tanzie.\n\nThen follows \"Mary Anderson is her name,\" with the usual repeats, and\n\"Guess ye wha is her true love,\" \"A bottle o' wine to tell his name,\"\n\"Andrew Wilson is his name,\" \"Honey is sweet and so is he,\" (or \"Apples\nare sour and so is he,\") \"He's married her wi' a gay gold ring,\" \"A gay\ngold ring's a cank'rous thing,\" \"But now they're married we wish them\njoy,\" \"Father and mother they must obey,\" \"Loving each other like sister\nand brother,\" \"We pray this couple may kiss together,\" all, of course,\nsung with their repeats as above; and the game may be played until every\nlittle girl has revealed her little sweetheart's name, which, to be\nsure, is the _motif_ of the play.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~The Mulberry Bush~,\" which goes to the same air as \"Merry-Ma-Tanzie,\"\nand is in some places called \"The Mulberry Tree,\" and in others \"The\nGooseberry Bush,\" is yet more of an action game. The arrangement is\nagain in a ring, and, moving round hand-in-hand, all sing:--\n\n Here we go round the mulberry bush,\n The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush;\n Here we go round the mulberry bush,\n On a cold and frosty morning.\n\nStopping short with a curtsey at the conclusion and disjoining hands,\nthey stand, and imitating the process of hand-washing, they sing:--\n\n This is the way we wash our hands,\n Wash our hands, wash our hands,\n This is the way we wash our hands,\n On a cold and frosty morning.\n\nAll joining hands again, they go round as before, singing--\"Here we go\nround the mulberry bush,\" and so on, which is repeated regularly after\neach action-verse on to the end. The opening lines of the action-verses\nalone may be given here to suggest the whole. They are:--\n\n \"This is the way we lace our stays.\"\n \"This is the way we comb our hair.\"\n \"This is the way we walk to school.\"\n \"This is the way we return from school.\"\n \"This is the way the ladies walk.\"\n \"This is the way the gentlemen walk.\"\n\n\"~A Dis, a Dis, a Green Grass~,\" is so simple it is a favourite\ngenerally with very little ladies. And there are different forms of the\ngame, both in Scotland and England, if not also in other countries. The\nmore common way, however, is for the children to stand all in a row,\nand, when the counting-out rhyme has been applied once and again, the\ntwo who have been \"hit out\" face up together hand-in-hand in front, and,\nadvancing and retiring, sing:--\n\n A dis, a dis, a green grass,\n A dis, a dis, a dis;\n Come all ye pretty fair maids,\n And dance along with us.\n For we are going a-roving,\n A-roving o'er the land;\n We'll take this pretty fair maid,\n We'll take her by the hand.\n\nThis sung, they select a girl from the group, who joins on either side,\nas she is directed, and the song continues, bearing now the comforting\nassurance to the one chosen:--\n\n Ye shall have a duck, my dear,\n And ye shall have a beau;\n And ye shall have a young prince\n By chance to marry you.\n\n And if this young prince he should die,\n Then ye will get another;\n And the birds will sing and the bells will ring,\n And we'll all clap hands together.\n\nHaving all joined in the last two verses, all clap hands together. And\nthe same process is repeated again and again until the last of the\n\"pretty fair maids\" is taken over from the row, when the game is\nended--though it may be but to begin again as the desire is expressed\nand supported.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSome one, to be sure, may suggest \"~Looby-Looby~,\" which has but to be\nnamed when all are ready and eager. A ring is formed, when all join\nhands and dance round singing:--\n\n Here we go looby-looby,\n Here we go looby light;\n Here we go looby-looby\n Every Saturday night.\n\nWhy on Saturday nights only I don't know, and it would be futile, I\nsuppose, to inquire. Anyway, with the expression of the last word they\nall instantly disjoin hands, and, standing each in her place, they sing\nthe next verse, suiting the action to the word:--\n\n Put your right hand in,\n Take your right hand out;\n Shake it, and shake it, and shake it,\n And turn yourself about.\n\nAs the last line is being sung each one wheels rapidly round by herself,\nthen hands are joined again, and they scurry round in a ring as before,\nsinging:--\n\n Here we go looby-looby,\n Here we go looby light;\n Here we go looby-looby\n Every Saturday night,\n\nand so on, the \"looby-looby\" coming in regularly between each of the\naction-verses, which are varied by \"left hand in\" and \"out,\" and \"right\nfoot in\" and \"out,\" and \"left foot in\" and \"out,\" \"noses,\" \"ears,\" etc.,\netc., the game finishing only when the anatomy of the players has been\nexhausted.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~I Dree I Droppit It~\" calls for a mixture of the sexes, and when the\nnumbers are even--or as nearly as chance affords--the players are ranged\nin a ring, a boy and girl alternately facing inwards with a space\nbetween each. The one who is \"chapped out\"--say it is a girl--goes\ntripping round the others' backs, with a handkerchief dangling in her\nhand, singing the while:--\n\n I sent a letter to my love,\n And by the way I droppit it,\n I dree, I dree, I droppit it,\n I dree, I dree, I droppit it;\n I sent a letter to my love,\n And by the way I droppit it.\n\n There's a wee, wee doggie in our cot-neuk,\n He'll no bite you, he'll no bite you;\n There's a wee, wee doggie in our cot-neuk,\n He'll no bite you--nor you--nor you--nor you,\n\nand so forth, until at length she drops the handkerchief stealthily at\nthe heel of one of the little boys, saying \"but you,\" and bolts round\nthis player, round that one, in here, out there, and away! And the boy,\nwho has first to pick up the handkerchief, gives chase, pursuing her\nexactly in the course which she may choose to take. If he makes a wrong\nturn, by that fact he is \"out,\" and must take her place; but if he\npursues her correctly and overtakes her, he may claim a kiss for his\npains, for which heroism he will receive the applause of the crowd; and\nthe girl--suffused with blushes, as it may be--must try and try\nagain--indeed, try until she proves herself more agile than her pursuer,\nwhom, of course, she is always free to choose. When at length--as come\nit will some time--her effort is successful, she takes her victim's\nplace in the ring, and he takes hers on the outside of it. And thus the\nplay may go on--boy and girl about--as long as time and energy will\npermit.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAs for \"~Bab at the Bowster~\" (more generally pronounced \"Babbity\nBowster\"), I am not sure but that grown people have engaged in it more\nthan wee folks have. Indeed, it is not improbable that the young\nborrowed this originally from the old, by observation. Now-a-days,\nundoubtedly, we know it exclusively as a child's play. But yet, within\nthe memory of living men, it was the regular custom in country places\nnearly over all Scotland to wind up every dancing-ball with \"Bab at the\nBowster.\" No wedding dance, no Handsel Monday ball, would have been\nesteemed complete without it; and I have seen it performed at both, less\nthan forty years ago. Performed by old or young, however, the mode is\nthe same. The girls sit down on one side of the barn or square, the boys\non the other. A boy takes a handkerchief--it is regularly a male who\nstarts this play--and while dancing up and down before the girls, all\nsing:--\n\n Wha learned you to dance,\n Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster;\n Wha learned you to dance,\n Bab at the bowster brawly?\n\n My minnie learned me to dance,\n Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster;\n My minnie learned me to dance,\n Bab at the bowster brawly.\n\n Wha ga'e you the keys to keep,\n Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster;\n Wha ga'e you the keys to keep,\n Bab at the bowster brawly?\n\n My minnie ga'e me the keys to keep,\n Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster;\n My minnie ga'e me the keys to keep,\n Bab at the bowster brawly.\n\n Kneel down and kiss the ground,\n Kiss the ground, kiss the ground;\n Kneel down and kiss the ground,\n Kiss the bonnie wee lassie.\n\nBy the time the last verse has been reached the boy has fixed on his\npartner, and at the command to \"kneel down and kiss the ground\" he\nspreads the handkerchief on the floor at the girl's feet, on which both\nimmediately kneel. A kiss ensues, even though it should be obtained\nafter a struggle; then the boy marches away round and round followed by\nthe girl, while all again sing the song. By the time the last verse is\nagain reached, the girl in turn has selected the next boy, but does not\nkneel down before him. She simply throws the handkerchief in his lap,\nand immediately joins her own partner by taking his arm. If, however,\nshe can be overtaken before she joins her partner, a penalty kiss may be\nenforced. Second boy selects second girl as the first did the first\ngirl, and pair after pair is formed in the same fashion until all are up\nand marching arm-in-arm round the room, or square, when the game is\nfinished. At adult assemblies, I should state, even as the company\npaired in this dance, they departed for home.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~The Wadds~\" is another game in which grown folks no less than children\nmay engage, and which, like \"Bab at the Bowster,\" is essentially a house\ngame. Its mode is for the players to be seated round the hearth, the\nlasses on one side and the lads on the other. One of the lads first\nchants:--\n\n O, it's hame, and its hame, it's hame, hame, hame,\n I think this nicht I maun gang hame.\n\nTo which one of the opposite party responds:--\n\n Ye had better licht, and bide a' nicht,\n And I'll choose ye a partner bonnie and bricht.\n\nThe first speaker again says:--\n\n Then wha wad ye choose an' I wad bide?\n\nAnswer:--\n\n The fairest and best in a' the countryside.\n\nAt the same time presenting a female and mentioning her name. If the\nchoice is satisfactory, the male player will say:--\n\n I'll set her up on the bonnie pear tree,\n It's straucht and tall and sae is she;\n I wad wauk a' nicht her love to be.\n\nIf, however, the choice is not satisfactory, he may reply:--\n\n I'll set her up on the auld fael dyke,\n Where she may rot ere I be ripe;\n The corbies her auld banes wadna pyke.\n\nOr (if the maiden be of surly temper):--\n\n I'll set her up on the high crab-tree,\n It's sour and dour, and sae is she;\n She may gang to the mools unkissed for me.\n\nBut he may decline civilly, by saying:--\n\n She's for another, she's no for me,\n I thank ye for your courtesie.\n\nA similar ritual is gone through with respect to one of the gentler sex,\nwhere such rhymes as the following are used. In the case of acceptance\nthe lady will say:--\n\n I'll set him up at my table-head,\n And feed him there wi' milk and bread.\n\nWhereas, if the proposal is not agreeable, her reply may be:--\n\n I'll put him on a riddle, and blaw him owre the sea,\n Wha will buy [Jamie Paterson] for me?\n\nOr:--\n\n I'll set him up on a high lum-heid,\n And blaw 'im in the air wi' poother and lead.\n\nA refusal on either side must, of course, be atoned for by a \"wadd,\" or\nforfeit--which may consist of a piece of money, a knife, a thimble, or\nany little article which the owner finds convenient for the purpose.\nThen, when a sufficient number of persons have made forfeits, the\nbusiness of redeeming them commences, which may afford any amount of\namusement. He, or she, as the case happens, may be ordered to \"kiss the\nfour corners of the room;\" \"bite an inch off the poker;\" \"kneel to the\nprettiest, bow to the wittiest, and kiss the one he (or she) loves\nbest,\" or any one of a dozen similarly silly ordeals, as the doomster\nproposes, may have to be gone through. When the forfeits have all been\nredeemed the game is ended.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSimilar to the foregoing, in some respects, is \"~The Wadds and the\nWears~,\" which John Mactaggart, the writer of _The Gallovidian\nEncyclopaedia_, describes as (in his day) \"the most celebrated amusement\nof the ingle-ring\" in the south-west of Scotland. As in the \"Wadds,\"\nthe players are seated round the hearth. One in the ring (says\nMactaggart), speaks as follows:--\n\n I hae been awa' at the wadds and the wears,\n These seven lang years;\n And's come hame a puir broken ploughman;\n What will ye gie me to help me to my trade?\n\nHe may either say he's a \"puir broken ploughman,\" or any other trade;\nbut since he has chosen that trade, some of the articles belonging to it\nmust always be given or offered, in order to recruit him. But the\narticle he most wants he privately tells one of the party, who is not\nallowed, of course, to offer him anything, as he knows the thing, which\nwill throw the _offerer_ in a _wadd_, and must be avoided as much as\npossible--for to be in a _wadd_ is a very serious matter, as shall\nafterwards be explained. Now the one on the left hand of the poor\nploughman makes the first offer, by way of answer to what above was\nsaid: \"I'll gie ye a _coulter_ to help ye to your trade.\"\n\nThe ploughman answers, \"I don't thank ye for your _coulter_, I hae ane\nalready.\" Then another offers him another article belonging to the\nploughman's business, such as the _mool-brod_, but this also is refused;\nanother, perhaps, gives the _sock_, another the _stilts_, another the\n_spattle_, another the _naigs_, another the _naig-graith_, and so on;\nuntil one gives the _soam_, which was the article he most wanted, and\nwas the thing secretly told to one, and is the thing that throws the\ngiver in a _wadd_, out of which he is relieved in the following\nmanner:--\n\nThe ploughman says to the one in the _wadd_, \"Whether will ye hae three\nquestions and twa commands, or three commands and twa questions, to\nanswer or gang on wi', sae that ye may win oot o' the _wadd_?\" For the\none so fixed has always the choice which of these alternatives to take.\nSuppose he takes the first, two commands and three questions, then a\nspecimen of these may run so:--\n\n\"I command ye to kiss the _crook_,\" says the ploughman, which must be\ncompletely obeyed by the one in the _wadd_--his naked lips must salute\nthe _sooty_ implement.\n\n\"Secondly,\" saith the ploughman, \"I command ye to stand up in that neuk,\nand say--\n\n 'Here stan' I, as stiffs a stake,\n Wha'll kiss me for pity's sake?'\"\n\nWhich must also be done; in a corner of the house must he stand and\nrepeat that couplet, till some tender-hearted lass relieves him. Now for\nthe questions which are most deeply laid, or so _touching_ to him, that\nhe finds much difficulty to answer them.\n\n\"Firstly, then, Suppose ye were sittin' aside Maggie Lowden and Jennie\nLogan, your twa great sweethearts, what ane o'm wad ye ding ower, and\nwhat ane wad ye turn to and clap and cuddle?\" He makes answer by\nchoosing Maggie Lowden, perhaps, to the great mirth of the party.\n\n\"Secondly, then, Suppose you were standin' oot i' the cauld, on the tap\no' Cairnhattie, whether wad ye cry on Peggie Kirtle or Nell o'\nKillimingie to come wi' your plaid?\"\n\nHe answers again in a similar manner.\n\n\"Lastly, then, Suppose you were in a boat wi' Tibbie Tait, Mary Kairnie,\nSallie Snadrap, and Kate o' Minnieive, and it was to cowp wi' ye, what\nane o'm wad ye _sink_? what ane wad ye _soom_? wha wad ye bring to lan'?\nand wha wad ye marry?\" Then he answers again, to the fun of the\ncompany, perhaps, in this way, \"I wad sink Mary Kairnie, soom Tibbie\nTait, bring Sallie Snadrap aneath my oxter to lan', and marry sweet Kate\no' Minnieive.\"\n\nAnd so ends that bout at the _wadds and the wears_.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBut the games engaged in exclusively by the \"wee folks\" are the really\ndelightsome ones. Such is \"~The Widow of Babylon~,\" the ritual of which,\nless elaborate, resembles that of \"Merry-Ma-Tanzie,\" though the rhymes\nare different. Girls only play here. One is chosen for the centre. The\nothers, with hands joined, form a ring about her, and move round\nbriskly, singing:--\n\n Here's a poor widow from Babylon,\n With six poor children all alone;\n One can bake, and one can brew,\n One can shape, and one can sew.\n One can sit at the fire and spin,\n One can bake a cake for the king;\n Come choose you east, come choose you west,\n Come choose the one that you love best.\n\nThe girl in the middle chooses one from the ring, naming her, and\nsings:--\n\n I choose the fairest that I do see,\n [Jeanie Anderson] come to me.\n\nThe girl chosen enters the ring, communicating the name of her\nsweetheart, when those in the ring resume their lightsome motion, and\nsing:--\n\n Now they are married, I wish them joy,\n Every year a girl or boy;\n Loving each other like sister and brother,\n I pray this couple may kiss together.\n\nThe girls within the ring kiss. The one who first occupied the circle\nthen joins the ring, while the last to come in enacts the part of\nmistress; and so on the game goes until all have had their turn.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~London Bridge~\" is a well-known and widely played game, though here\nand there with slightly differing rhymes. Two children--the tallest and\nstrongest, as a rule--standing face to face, hold up their hands, making\nthe form of an arch. The others form a long line by holding on to each\nother's dresses, and run under. Those running sing the first verse,\nwhile the ones forming the arch sing the second, and alternate verses,\nof the following rhyme:--\n\n London bridge is fallen down,\n Fallen down, fallen down;\n London bridge is fallen down,\n My fair lady.\n\n _Question._--What will it take to build it up?\n (With repeats.)\n\n _Answer._--Needles and preens will build it up.\n\n _Question._--Needles and preens will rust and bend.\n\n _Answer._--Silver and gold will build it up.\n\n _Question._--Silver and gold will be stolen away.\n\n _Answer._--Build it up with penny loaves.\n\n _Question._--Penny loaves will tumble down.\n\n _Answer._--Bricks and mortar will build it up.\n\n _Question._--Bricks and mortar will wash away.\n\n _Answer._--We will set a dog to bark.\n\n _Question._--Here's a prisoner we have got.\n\nAt the words \"a prisoner,\" the two forming the arch apprehend the\npassing one in the line, and, holding her fast, the dialogue resumes:--\n\n _Answer._--Here's a prisoner we have got.\n\n _Question._--What's the prisoner done to you?\n\n _Answer._--Stole my watch and broke my chain.\n\n _Question._--What will you take to set him free?\n\n _Answer._--A hundred pounds will set him free.\n\n _Question._--A hundred pounds I have not got.\n\n _Answer._--Then off to prison you must go.\n\nFollowing this declaration, the prisoner is led a distance away from the\nrest by her jailers, where the questions are put to her, whether she\nwill choose \"a gold watch,\" or \"a diamond necklace.\" As she decides she\ngoes to the one side or the other. When, in like manner, all in the line\nhave chosen, a tug-of-war ensues, and the game is ended.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~The Jolly Miller.~\"--In this the players take partners--all except the\nmiller, who takes his stand in the middle, while his companions walk\nround him in couples, singing:--\n\n There was a jolly miller, who lived by himself,\n As the wheel went round he made his wealth;\n One hand in the hopper, and the other in the bag,\n As the wheel went round he made his grab.\n\nAt the word \"grab,\" every one must change partners. The miller then has\nthe opportunity of seizing one: and if he succeeds in so doing, the one\nnecessarily left alone must take his place, and so on.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Willie Wastle~\" is essentially a boy's game. One standing on a hillock\nor large boulder, from which he defies the efforts of his companions to\ndislodge him, exclaims, by way of challenge:--\n\n I, Willie Wastle,\n Stand on my castle,\n And a' the dogs o' your toun,\n Will no ding Willie Wastle doun.\n\nThe boy who succeeds in dislodging him takes his place, and so on.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Oats and Beans and Barley~,\" a simple but pretty game, is played all\nover England, as well as in most parts of Scotland, with varying rhymes.\nIn Perthshire the lines run:--\n\n Oats and beans and barley grows,\n Oats and beans and barley grows;\n But you nor I nor nobody knows\n How oats and beans and barley grows.\n First the farmer sows his seeds,\n Then he stands and takes his ease;\n Stamps his feet, and claps his hands,\n Then turns around to view his lands.\n Waiting for a partner,\n Waiting for a partner;\n Open the ring and take one in,\n And kiss her in the centre.\n\nThe players form a ring by joining hands. One child--usually a\nboy--stands in the middle. The ring moving round, sing the first four\nlines. These completed, the ring stands, and still singing, each player\ngives suitable action to the succeeding words; showing how the \"farmer\nsows his seeds,\" and how he \"stands and takes his ease,\" etc. At the\ntenth line all wheel round. They then re-join hands, still singing, and\nat the words, \"Open the ring and take one in,\" the child in the middle\nchooses from the ring a partner (a girl, of course), whom he leads to\nthe centre and kisses as requested. The two stand there together, while\nthe ring, moving again, sing the marriage formula:--\n\n Now you're married, you must obey,\n Must be true to all you say;\n You must be kind, you must be good,\n And help your wife to chop the wood.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Hornie Holes~\" is a boys' game in which four play, a principal and\nassistant on either side. A stands with his assistant at one hole, and\nthrows what is called a \"cat\" (a piece of stick, or a sheep's horn),\nwith the design of making it alight into another hole at some distance,\nat which B stands, with his assistant, to drive it aside with his rod\nresembling a walking-stick. The following unintelligible rhyme is\nrepeated by a player on the one side, while they on the other are\ngathering in the \"cats.\" This is attested by old people as of great\nantiquity:--\n\n Jock, Speak, and Sandy,\n Wi' a' their lousie train,\n Round about by Edinbro',\n Will never meet again.\n Gae head 'im, gae hang 'im,\n Gae lay him in the sea;\n A' the birds o' the air\n Will bear 'im companie.\n With a nig-nag, widdy--(or worry) bag,\n And an e'endown trail, trail,\n Quo' he.\n\n * * * * *\n\n~The Craw~ admits of a good deal of lively exercise, involving, as Dr.\nChambers remarks, no more than a reasonable portion of violence. One boy\nis selected to be craw. He sits down upon the ground, and he and another\nboy then lay hold of the two ends of a long strap or twisted\nhandkerchief. The latter also takes into his right hand another\nhard-twisted handkerchief, called the _Cout_, and runs round the craw,\nand with the cout defends him against the attack of the other boys, who,\nwith similar couts, use all their agility to get a slap at the craw.\nBut, before beginning, the guard of the craw must cry out:--\n\n Ane, twa, three--my craw's free.\n\nAnd the first whom he strikes becomes craw, the former craw then\nbecoming guard. When the guard wants respite, he must cry:--\n\n Ane, twa, three--my craw's no free.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Neevie-neevie-nick-nack.~\"--A lottery game, and confined to boys, is\nof simple movement, but convenient in this--that only two players are\nrequired. They stand facing each other, the leader whirling his two\nclosed fists, one containing a prize, the other empty, while he cajoles\nhis opponent with the rhyme--\n\n Neevie-neevie-nick-nack,\n Whilk hand will ye tak'--\n The richt are or the wrang,\n I'll beguile ye gin I can?\n\nIf he guesses correctly, he gains the prize. If he misses, he has to\nequal the stake. Until success falls to the second, the original player\ncontinues the lead.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Blind Man's Buff~,\" though not a rhyme-game, is yet so well known it\nis worth mentioning for the mere purpose of telling its story. Like many\nmore such--if we only knew how--it is based on fact. It is of French\norigin, and of very great antiquity, having been introduced into Britain\nin the train of the Norman conquerors. Its French name, \"Colin\nMaillard,\" was that of a brave warrior, the memory of whose exploits\nstill lives in the chronicles of the Middle Ages.\n\nIn the year 999 Liege reckoned among its valiant chiefs one Jean Colin.\nHe acquired the name Maillard from his chosen weapon being a mallet,\nwherewith in battle he used literally to crush his opponents.\n\nIn one of the feuds which were of perpetual recurrence in those times,\nhe encountered the Count de Lourain in a pitched battle, and--so runs\nthe story--in the first onset Colin Maillard lost both his eyes.\n\nHe ordered his esquire to take him into the thickest of the fight, and,\nfuriously brandishing his mallet, did such fearful execution that\nvictory soon declared itself for him.\n\nWhen Robert of France heard of these feats of arms, he lavished favour\nand honours upon Colin, and so great was the fame of the exploit that it\nwas commemorated in the pantomimic representations that formed part of\nthe rude dramatic performances of the age. By degrees the children\nlearned to act it for themselves, and it took the form of a familiar\nsport.\n\nThe blindfold pursuer, as with bandaged eyes and extended hands he\ngropes for a victim to pounce upon, seems in some degree to repeat the\naction of Colin Maillard, the tradition of which is also traceable in\nthe name, \"blind man's buff.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Water Wallflower.~\"--All should know this game, which is more commonly\nplayed by very small misses.\n\nForming a ring, all join hands and dance, or move slowly round,\nsinging:--\n\n Water, water wallflower, growing up so high,\n We are all maidens, and we must all die,\n Excepting [Nellie Newton], the youngest of us all,\n She can dance and she can sing, and she can knock us all down.\n\nHere all clap hands, with the exception of the one named, who stands\nlooking abashed, while the others sing:--\n\n Fie, fie, fie, for shame,\n Turn your back to the wall again.\n\nAt the command, she who has been named turns, so that she faces outwards\nnow, with her back to the centre of the ring; though she still clasps\nhands with those on either side, and continues in the movement, singing\nwith the others. When all in like manner have been chapped out, and are\nfacing the open, the game is finished.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~The Emperor Napoleon~\" is a little game which affords, invariably, a\ngood deal of fun. Again, as so commonly, the form is in a ring, and all\ngo round, singing:--\n\n The Emperor Napoleon has a hundred thousand men,\n The Emperor Napoleon has a hundred thousand men,\n The Emperor Napoleon has a hundred thousand men,\n As he goes marching along.\n\nIn each successive singing of the verse, one syllable after another in\nthe main line, beginning at the far end, is left out--or at least is not\nspoken--the blank, or blanks, as it happens latterly, having to be\nindicated merely by nods of the head. As each player makes a mistake, by\nspeaking, instead of nodding, or _vice versa_, she pays a forfeit and\ndrops out. The play goes on till all have fallen.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~A' the Birdies i' the Air~,\" purely Scotch, is a simpler form merely\nof \"London Bridge.\" Two players, facing each other, hold up their hands\nto form an arch, and call the formula:--\n\n A' the birdies i' the air\n Tick-to to my tail.\n\nThe others, who may be running about indifferently, decide in time which\nside they will favour, and when each and all have chosen which champion\nthey will support, and have taken their places at her back, a tug-of-war\nensues. Afterwards the victors chase the vanquished, calling, \"Rotten\neggs! rotten eggs!\" and the game is ended; to be followed perhaps by\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Through the Needle-e'e, Boys~,\" played also to some extent in the form\nof \"London Bridge,\" and much resembling \"Barley Break,\" a pastime of\nhighborn lords and ladies in the time of Sir Philip Sydney, who\ndescribes it in his _Arcadia_. The boys first choose sides. The two\nchosen leaders join both hands, and raising them high enough to let the\nothers pass through below, they sing:--\n\n Brother [John], if ye'll be mine,\n I'll gie you a glass o' wine:\n A glass o' wine is good and fine,\n Through the needle-e'e, boys.\n\nLetting their arms fall, they enclose a boy, and ask him to which side\nhe will belong, and he is disposed according to his own decision. The\nparties being at length formed, are separated by a real or imaginary\nline, and place at some distance behind them, in a heap, their jackets,\ncaps, etc. They stand opposite to each other, the object being to make a\nsuccessful incursion over the line into the enemy's country, and bring\noff part or whole of the heap of clothes. It requires address and\nswiftness of foot to do so without being taken prisoner by the foe. The\nwinning of the game is decided by which party first loses all its men or\nall its property. At Hawick, where this legendary mimicry of old Border\nwarfare peculiarly flourishes, the boys are accustomed to use the\nfollowing lines of defiance:--\n\nKing Covenanter, come out if ye daur venture!\nSet your feet on Scots ground, English, if ye daur!\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~King Henry~\" somewhat resembles \"I dree I droppit it;\" only, instead\nof standing, the girls forming the ring sit, or rather crouch in a sort\nof working-tailor attitude. One girl, occupying the centre, is \"it.\" A\nsecond girl is on the outside. Immediately the ring begins singing the\nrhyme:--\n\n King Henry, King Henry,\n Run, boys, run;\n You, with the red coat,\n Follow with the drum,\n\nThe one on the outside is pursued by the girl from the centre. The rhyme\nmay be repeated as often as the ring decides; but the object of the one\nwho is \"it\" is to overtake and \"tig\" the other before the singing\nceases. Otherwise she remains unrelieved, and must try, and try, until\nshe succeeds in getting out, and putting another in her place; and so\non.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~The Blue Bird~,\" played by very small children, is rather pretty. The\nrhyme is:--\n\n Here comes a [blue] bird through the window,\n Here comes a [blue] bird through the door;\n Here comes a [blue] bird through the window,\n Hey, diddle, hi dum, day.\n Take a little dance and a hop in the corner,\n Take a little dance and a hop in the floor;\n Take a little dance and a hop in the corner,\n Hey, diddle, hi dum, day.\n\nThe players dance round in a ring. One previously, by the process of a\nchapping-out rhyme, being made \"it,\" goes first outside, then into the\ncentre. Her business now is to decide who shall succeed her; and\naccording as the colour-word in the rhyme--red, blue, green, or yellow,\netc.--corresponds with the dress of all the individual players in the\nsuccessive singing, the ones spotted successively take their place in\nthe centre, and the process goes on, of course, until all have shared\nalike in the game.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~When I was a Young Thing~,\" of simple though pretty action, has had a\nwide vogue. Its rhyme goes:--\n\n When I was a young thing,\n A young thing, a young thing;\n When I was a young thing,\n How happy was I.\n 'Twas this way, and that way,\n And this way, and that way;\n When I was a young thing,\n Oh, this way went I.\n\n When I was a school-girl, etc.\n When I was a teacher, etc.\n When I had a sweetheart, etc.\n When I had a husband, etc.\n When I had a baby, etc.\n When I had a donkey, etc.\n When I took in washing, etc.\n When my baby died, oh died, etc.\n When my husband died, etc.\n\nThe players, joining hands, form a ring, and dance or walk round singing\nthe words, and keeping the ring form until the end of the fourth line in\neach successive verse, when they unclasp, and stand still. Each child\nthen takes hold of her skirt and dances individually to the right and\nleft, making two or three steps. Then all walk round singly, singing the\nsecond four lines, and making suitable action to the words as they sing\nand go: the same form being continued throughout.\n\n * * * * *\n\nStill simpler is \"~Carry my Lady to London~.\" In this game two children\ncross hands grasping each other's wrists and their own as well--thus\nforming a seat, on which a third child can be carried. When hoisted and\nin order, the bearers step out singing:--\n\n Gie me a needle to stick i' my thoom\n To carry my lady to London;\n London Bridge is broken down,\n And I must let my lady down.\n\nEach child is thus carried in turn.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"A B C\" is a spirited game, admirably adapted for indoor practice on a\nwet day, which is played by children seated round a table, or at the\nfireside. One sings a solo--a verse of some nursery rhyme. For instance:--\n\n Hey, diddle, diddle,\n The cat and the fiddle,\n The cow jumped over the moon;\n The little dog laughed\n To see such sport,\n And the dish ran away with the spoon.\n\nThe chorus of voices takes up the tune, and the solo is repeated; after\nwhich the alphabet is sung through, and the last letter, Z, is sustained\nand repeated again and again, to bother the next child, whose turn it\nnow is to sing the next solo. The new solo must be a nursery rhyme not\nhitherto sung by any of the company. If unable to supply a fresh rhyme\nwithin a fixed limit, the player stands out of the game and pays a\nforfeit. Less brain-taxing entertainments often engage adult wits.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~My Theerie and my Thorie~,\" with a political significance, is a game\nwidely played. In one place it is known as \"Cam a teerie arrie ma\ntorry;\" in another, \"Come a theory, oary mathorie;\" in yet another,\n\"Come a theerie, Come a thorie;\" or it may be, as in Perthshire, \"My\ntheerie and my thorie.\" And even as the refrain varies, so do the\nrhymes. But the action is generally the same. The players divide into\ntwo sides of about equal number, in lines facing each other. Moving\nforwards and backwards the sides sing verse about of the following\nrhyme:--\n\n _Question._--Have you any bread and wine,\n Bread and wine, bread and wine;\n Have you any bread and wine,\n My theerie and my thorie?\n\n _Answer._--Yes, we have some bread and wine,\n Bread and wine, bread and wine,\n Yes, we have some bread and wine,\n My theerie and my thorie.\n\n _Question._--We shall have one glass of it, etc.\n\n _Answer._--One glass of it you shall not get, etc.\n\n _Question._--We are all King George's men, etc.\n\n _Answer._--What care we for King George's men, etc.\n\n _Question._--How many miles to Glasgow Lee? etc.\n\n _Answer._--Sixty, seventy, eighty-three, etc.\n\n _Question._--Will I be there gin candle-licht? etc.\n\n _Answer._--Just if your feet be clean and slicht, etc.\n\n _Question._--Open your gates and let me through, etc.\n\n _Answer._--Not without a beck and a boo.\n\n _Reply._--There's a beck and there's a boo,\n Open your gates and let me through.\n\nA struggle ensues to break through each other's lines, and reach a fixed\ngoal on either side--the first to arrive being the victors.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Glasgow Ships~\" is a simple but pretty game. All join hands, forming a\nring, and, moving round, sing:--\n\n Glasgow ships come sailing in,\n Come sailing in, come sailing in;\n Glasgow ships come sailing in\n On a fine summer morning.\n\n You daurna set your fit upon,\n Your fit upon, your fit upon;\n You daurna set your fit upon,\n Or Gentle John will kiss you.\n\n Three times will kiss you;\n Four times will bless you;\n Five times butter and bread\n Upon a silver salver.\n\n Who shall we send it to?\n Send it to, send it to;\n Who shall we send it to?\n To Mrs. [Thomson's] daughter.\n\n Take her by the lily-white hand,\n Lead her o'er the water;\n Give her kisses, one, two, three,\n She's the favourite daughter.\n\n Braw news is come to town,\n Braw news is carried;\n Braw news is come to town,\n [Maggie Thomson's] married.\n\n First she got the kail-pot,\n Syne she got the ladle;\n Syne she got a dainty wean,\n And syne she got a cradle.\n\nThe girl named turns her back to the centre of the ring, and the game is\nresumed. When all in like manner have been named and have turned, the\n\"soo's race\" ensues: a hurry-scurry round--which continues until some\none falls, and the game ends by all tumbling in a confused heap.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Airlie's Green~,\" played by boys and girls alike, has perhaps had its\ngreatest vogue in Strathmore. A space is set apart for the \"green,\" upon\nwhich he, or she, who is \"Airlie\" takes his, or her, stand. The play\nbegins by the crowd encroaching on the \"green,\" when all but \"Airlie\"\nsing:--\n\n I set my fit on Airlie's green,\n And Airlie canna tak' me:\n I canna get time to steer my brose\n For Airlie trying to catch me.\n\n\"Airlie's\" object is to \"tig\" one within the boundary. The player\ntouched takes his, or her, place, and the game may proceed thus as long\nas desired.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Het Rowes and Butter Cakes~,\" in some places called \"Hickety,\nBickety,\" is a purely boy's game. One stands with his eyes bandaged, and\nhis hands against a wall or post, with his head resting upon them. One\nafter another his fellows come up unnamed behind him, laying hands on\nhis back; and the rhyme is repeated by all in chorus:--\n\n Launchman, launchman, lo,\n Where shall this poor Scotchman go?\n Will he gang east, or will he gang west,\n Or will he gang to the hoodiecraw's nest?\n\nThe \"hoodiecraw's nest\" is the space between the blindfolded one's feet\nand the wall. When all have been sent to different places around, he who\nis \"it\" removes the bandage from his eyes; and when all are ready he\ngives the call--\"Het rowes and butter cakes!\" when all rush back to the\nspot whence despatched. The last to arrive is \"it;\" and the game goes on\nas before. Where played as \"Hickety, Bickety,\" the rhyme is:--\n\n Hickety, bickety, pease scone,\n Where shall this poor Scotchman gang?\n Will he gang east, or will he gang west;\n Or will he gang to the craw's nest?\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Queen Mary.~\" In this game the rhyme goes:--\n\n Queen Mary, Queen Mary, my age is sixteen,\n My father's a farmer on yonder green,\n With plenty of money to dress me fu' braw,\n But nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa'.\n One morning I rose, and I looked in the glass,\n Says I to myself I'm a handsome young lass;\n My hands by my side and I gave a ha! ha!\n Yet there's nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa'.\n\nIt is played by girls only, who stand in a row, with one in front alone\nto begin with, who sings the verses, and chooses another from the line.\nThe two then join hands and advance and retire, repeating together the\nverses, with suitable action, as the one had done before alone. At the\nclose they select a third from the line; and the game proceeds thus\nuntil all are taken over.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Whuppity Scoorie~,\" though a game peculiar to Lanark, and to the boys\nof Lanark, and played only once a year, is yet worth mentioning. Its\norigin, like so many of the Lanark celebrations, is lost in the mists of\nantiquity, nevertheless, it is still regularly played, and creates a\nsensation on its annual recurrence, affecting the old scarcely less than\nthe young in the community. From the month of October till the month of\nFebruary, inclusive, the bells in the Parish Church steeple there cease\nto ring at six o'clock in the evening, but resume on the first day of\nMarch. At the first peal of the bell then the children start and march\nthree times round the church, after which a rush is made for the\nWellgate Head, where they engage in a stand-up fight with the youth of\nNew Lanark (who come that length to meet them), the weapons used being\ntheir bonnets attached to a long string. The fight over, the victors\n(generally the boys of the Old Town) return, marching in order, headed\nby one carrying a huge stick in exalted attitude, with a flag or\nhandkerchief attached to it; and thus arranged, they parade the\nprincipal streets, singing, as their fathers and grandfathers sang\nbefore them:--\n\n Hooray, boys, hooray,\n For we have won the day;\n We've met the bold New Lanark boys,\n And chased them doun the brae!\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn Chambers's _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_ there is a description of\n\"~Hinkumbooby~,\" which I have never seen played. It is, however, only an\nextended version of \"Looby-Looby.\" The party form a circle (says the\nwriter), taking hold of each other's hands. One sings, and the rest\njoin, to the tune of _Lullibero_:\n\n Fal de ral la, fal de ral la;\n\nwhile doing so they move a little sideways and back again, beating the\ntime (which is slow) with their feet. As soon as the line is concluded,\neach claps his hands and wheels grotesquely round, singing at the same\ntime the second line of the verse:--\n\n Hinkumbooby, round about,\n\nThen they sing, with the appropriate gesture--that is, throwing their\nright hand into the circle and the left out:--\n\n Right hands in, and left hands out,\n\nstill beating the time; then add as before, while wheeling round, with a\nclap of the hands:--\n\n Hinkumbooby, round about,\n Fal de ral la, fal de ral la;\n [_Moving sideways as before, hand in hand._]\n Hinkumbooby, round about,\n [_Wheeling round as before, with a clap of the hands._]\n\n Left hands in and right hands out,\n Hinkumbooby, round about,\n Fal de ral la, fal de ral la,\n Hinkumbooby, round about.\n\n Right foot in, and left foot out,\n [_Right feet set into the centre._]\n Hinkumbooby, round about,\n Fal de ral la, fal de ral la,\n Hinkumbooby, round about.\n\n Left foot in, and right foot out,\n Hinkumbooby, round about,\n Fal de ral la, fal de ral la, etc.\n\n Heads in, and backs out,\n Hinkumbooby, round about,\n Fal de ral la, etc.\n\n Backs in, and heads out,\n Hinkumbooby, round about,\n Fal de ral la, etc.\n\n A' feet in, and nae feet out,\n [_On this occasion all sit down, with their feet stretched into\n the centre of the ring; and it is a great point to rise up\n promptly enough to be ready for the wheel round_.]\n Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, etc.\n\n Shake hands a', shake hands a',\n Hinkumbooby, round about,\n Fal de ral la, etc.\n\n Good-night a', good-night a',\n [_The boys bowing and the misses curtseying in an affected\n formal manner_.]\n Hinkumbooby, round about,\n Fal de ral la, fal de ral la,\n Hinkumbooby, round about.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMore generally played--and not in Scotland only--is \"~Three Brethren\ncome from Spain~.\" The players stand in two lines, slightly apart,\nfacing each other--the boys on one side, the girls on the other. The\nboys advance dancing, and singing the first verse. The girls remain\nmotionless, and only she who represents the mother speaks.\n\n We are three brethren come from Spain,\n All in French garlands;\n We are come to court your daughter, Jane,\n And adieu to you, my darlings.\n\nAs they recede, the mother replies:--\n\n My daughter Jane she is too young,\n All in French garlands;\n She cannot bide your flattering tongue,\n And adieu to you, my darlings.\n\nThe boys advance again, singing:--\n\n Be she young, or be she old,\n All in French garlands,\n It's for a bride she must be sold,\n And adieu to you, my darlings.\n\nAnswer:--\n\n A bride, a bride, she shall not be,\n All in French garlands,\n Till she go through the world with me,\n And adieu to you, my darlings.\n\nAddress:--\n\n Then fare ye well, my lady gay,\n All in French garlands;\n We'll come again some other day,\n And adieu to you, my darlings.\n\nAnswer:--\n\n Come back, come back, you scornful knight,\n All in French garlands;\n Clear up your spurs, and make them bright,\n And adieu to you, my darlings.\n\nAddress:--\n\n Of my spurs take you no thought,\n All in French garlands;\n For in this town they were not bought,\n And adieu to you, my darlings.\n\nAnswer:--\n\n Smell my lilies, smell my roses,\n All in French garlands:\n Which of my daughters do you choose?\n And adieu to you, my darlings.\n\nAddress:--\n\n Are all your daughters safe and sound?\n All in French garlands:\n Are all your daughters safe and sound?\n And adieu to you, my darlings.\n\nAnswer:--\n\n In every pocket a thousand pounds,\n All in French garlands;\n On every finger a gay, gold ring,\n And adieu to you, my darlings.\n\nThe formula is repeated as above until every boy has chosen a lady-mate,\nwhen all march round arm-in-arm in pairs, and the game is ended.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Here Comes a Poor Sailor from Botany Bay~.\" This is played as a\npreliminary game to decide who shall join, and which side they will\ntake, in a coming tug-of-war. The chief delight derived is in putting\nand answering questions. Two principals, standing as rival chiefs, and\nacting together as catechists, begin the play; and all are warned before\nreplying:--\n\n You must say neither \"Yes,\" \"No,\" nor \"Nay,\"\n \"Black,\" \"White,\" nor \"Grey.\"\n\nThen, as each child approaches, the formula proceeds:--\n\n Here comes a poor sailor from Botany Bay;\n Pray, what are you going to give him to-day?\n A pair of boots [may be the answer].\n What colour are they?\n Brown.\n Have you anything else to give him?\n I think so.\n What colour is it?\n Red.\n What is it made of?\n Cloth.\n And what colour?\n Blue.\n Have you anything else to give him?\n I don't think so.\n Would you like a sweet?\n Yes.\n\nNow he is trapped. He has given one of the fatal replies; and the child\nwho answered \"Yes\" goes to a den. After all have gone through a similar\nform, the youngsters are divided into two classes--those who avoided\nanswering in the prohibited terms, and the little culprits in the den,\nor prison, who had failed in the examination. The tug-of-war now begins,\nthe one class being pitted against the other. No rope is used; but arms\nare entwined round waists, or skirts, or coat-tails are taken hold of;\nand the victors crow over the vanquished.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~Janet Jo~,\" widely played, has for _dramatis personae_, a Father, a\nMother, Janet, and a Lover. Janet lies stretched at full length behind\nthe scenes. The father and mother stand revealed to receive the visits\nof the lover, who approaches singing, to an air somewhat like \"The Merry\nMasons\":--\n\n I'm come to court Janet jo,\n Janet jo, Janet jo;\n I'm come to court Janet jo--\n How is she the day?\n\nParents reply together:--\n\n She's up the stair washin',\n Washin', washin';\n She's up the stair washin'--\n Ye canna see her the day.\n\nThe lover retires, and again, and yet again, advances with the same\nannouncement of his object and purpose, to which he receives similar\nevasive answers from Janet's parents, who successively represent her as\nup the stair \"bleaching,\" \"drying,\" and \"ironing clothes.\" At last they\nreply:--\n\n Janet jo's dead and gane,\n Dead and gane, dead and gane;\n Janet jo's dead and gane--\n Ye'll see her face nae mae!\n\nShe is then carried off to be buried, the lover and the rest weeping.\nSometimes she revives (to their great joy), and sometimes not, _ad\nlibitum_--that is, as Janet herself chooses.\n\nA south-country version (Dr. Chambers tells) differs a little, and\nrepresents Janet as \"at the Well,\" instead of upstairs, and afterwards\n\"at the Mill,\" and so on. A Glasgow edition gives the whole in good\nwest-country prose, and the lover begins: \"I'm come to court your\ndochter, Kate Mackleister!\"\n\nIn the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, \"Janet Jo\" used to be a dramatic\nentertainment amongst young rustics. Suppose a party have met on a\nwinter evening round a good peat fire, writes Chambers, and is resolved\nto have \"Janet Jo\" performed. Two undertake to personate a goodman and a\ngoodwife; the rest a family of marriageable daughters. One of the\nlads--the best singer of the party--retires, and equips himself in a\ndress proper for representing an old bachelor in search of a wife. He\ncomes in, bonnet in hand, bowing, and sings:--\n\n Gude e'en to ye, maidens a',\n Maidens a', maidens a';\n Gude e'en to ye, maidens a',\n Be ye or no.\n\n I've come to court Janet jo,\n Janet jo, Janet jo;\n I've come to court Janet jo,\n Janet, my jo.\n\nGudewife sings:--\n\n What'll ye gie for Janet jo,\n Janet jo, Janet jo;\n What'll ye gie for Janet jo,\n Janet, my jo?\n\nThe wooer replies:--\n\n I'll gie ye a peck o' siller,\n A peck o' siller, peck o' siller;\n I'll gie ye a peck o' siller\n For Janet, my jo.\n\nGudewife exclaims, \"Gae awa', ye auld carle!\" then sings:--\n\n Ye'se never get Janet jo,\n Janet jo, Janet jo;\n Ye'se never get Janet jo,\n Janet, my jo.\n\nThe wooer hereupon retires, singing a verse expressive of mortification,\nbut soon re-enters with a re-assured air, singing:--\n\n I'll gie ye a peck o' gowd,\n A peck o' gowd, peck o' gowd;\n I'll gie ye a peck o' gowd,\n For Janet, my jo.\n\nThe matron gives him a rebuff as before, and he again enters, singing an\noffer of \"twa pecks o' gowd,\" which, however, is also refused. At his\nnext entry he offers \"three pecks o' gowd,\" at which the gudewife\nbrightens up, and sings:--\n\n Come ben beside Janet Jo,\n Janet jo, Janet jo;\n Ye're welcome to Janet jo,\n Janet, my jo.\n\nThe suitor then advances gaily to his sweetheart, and the affair ends in\na scramble for kisses.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"~The Goloshans.~\" This is a Hogmanay play, and not confined to children\nalone, which for that, as well as other reasons, will not inaptly close\nthis chapter. In some parts it was called \"The Galatians,\" to be sure, I\nsay _was_, because one never sees it now-a-days, though fifty years ago,\nunder the one designation or the other, it was played annually by the\nHogmanay guizards, who, dressed for the occasion, set it forth with\ndeliciously unsophisticated swagger and bluster in every house they\nvisited that had a kitchen floor broad and wide enough for the\noperation. It formed the material of a chap-book which was regularly on\nsale at the \"Johnnie-a'-thing\" shops in the middle of last century,\nthough now, I suppose, a copy could scarcely be had for love or money.\nSir Walter Scott, who delighted to keep up old customs, and could\ncondescend to simple things without losing genuine dignity, invariably\nhad a set of guizards to perform the play before his family both at\nAshestiel and at Abbotsford. The _dramatis personae_ of \"The Goloshans,\"\nafter the character in the title-role--who was inevitable on all\noccasions--differed somewhat in the various districts. Chambers gives a\nfairly adequate version in his _Popular Rhymes of Scotland;_ but the\nfullest and best I have seen is contained in _Proverbs and Proverbial\nExpressions_, edited by \"Andrew Cheviot,\" and recently published by Mr.\nAlexander Gardner, of Paisley, and which I take the liberty of quoting\nmainly, though part also is taken from Chambers's version. The\ncharacters are Sir Alexander; Farmer's Son; Goloshan; Wallace; Dr.\nBrown; and Beelzebub.\n\nEnter Sir Alexander, and speaks:--\n\n Haud away rocks, and haud away reels,\n Haud away stocks and spinning-wheels;\n Redd room for Gorland, and gie us room to sing,\n And I will show you the prettiest thing\n That ever was seen in Christmas time.\n Muckle-head and Little-wit stand ahint the door:\n But sic a set as we are ne'er were seen before.\n\nEnter next Farmer's Son:--\n\n Here come I, the farmer's son,\n Although I be but young sir,\n I've got a spirit brave.\n And I'll freely risk my life,\n My country for to save.\n\nGoloshan appears:--\n\n Here come I, Goloshan--Goloshan is my name,\n With sword and pistol by my side, I hope to win the game.\n\nFarmer's Son:--\n\n The game, sir, the game, sir! it is not in your power,\n I'll cut you into inches in less than half-an-hour.\n My head is made of iron, my heart is made of steel,\n My sword is a Ferrara that can do its duty weel.\n\nGoloshan:--\n\n My body is like rock, sir, my head is like a stone,\n And I will be Goloshan when you are dead and gone.\n\nEnter Wallace:--\n\n Here come I, Sir William Wallace, wight,\n Who shed his blood for Scotland's right;\n Without a right, without a reason,\n Here I draw my bloody weapon.\n\n(_Fights with Goloshan--the latter falls._) Farmer's Son:--\n\n Now that young man is dead, sir, and on the ground is laid;\n And you shall suffer for it, I'm very much afraid.\n\nWallace:--\n\n It was not me that did the deed, nor me that did the crime,\n 'Twas this young man behind me who drew his sword so fine.\n\nSir Alexander:--\n\n Oh, you artful villain, to lay the blame on me!\n For my two eyes were shut, sir, when this young man did dee.\n\nWallace:--\n\n How could your eyes be shut, sir, when you were looking on?\n How could your eyes be shut, sir, when both the swords were drawn?\n\nFarmer's Son (to Wallace):--\n\n How can you thus deny the deed? As I stood looking on,\n You drew your sword from out its sheath, and slashed his body down.\n\nWallace:--\n\n If I have slain Goloshan, Goloshan I will cure,\n And I will make him rise and sing in less than half-an-hour;\n Round the kitchen, round the town,\n Haste and bring me Dr. Brown.\n\nDr. Brown enters:--\n\n Here come I, old Dr. Brown, the foremost doctor in the town.\n\nWallace:--\n\n What makes you so good, sir?\n\nDoctor:--\n\n Why, my travels.\n\nWallace:--\n\n And where have you travelled?\n\nDoctor:--\n\n From Hickerty-pickerty-hedgehog, three times round the West Indies,\n and back to old Scotland.\n\nWallace:--\n\n Is that all?\n\nDoctor:--\n\n No sir. I have travelled from fireside to chairside, from chairside\n to stoolside, from stoolside to tableside, from tableside to bedside,\n from bedside to press-side, and got many a lump of bread and butter\n from my mother; and that's the way my belly's so big.\n\nWallace:--\n\n Well, what can you cure?\n\nDoctor:--\n\n I can cure the rurvy-scurvy, and the rumble-gumption of a man who\n has been seven years dead or more, and can make an old woman of\n sixty look like a girl of sixteen.\n\nWallace:--\n\n How much would you take to cure this dead man? Would five pounds do?\n\nDoctor (turning away):--\n\n Five pounds! No, five pounds would not get a good kit of brose.\n\nWallace:--\n\n Would ten pounds do?\n\nDoctor:--\n\n Yes, perhaps ten pounds would do--- that, and a pint of wine. I have\n a bottle of inky-pinkie in my pocket. (_Approaches Goloshan._) By\n the hocus-pocus and the magical touch of my little finger; heigh ho!\n start up, Jack, and sing!\n\nGoloshan (rises and sings):--\n\n Oh, once I was dead, sir, but now I am alive,\n And blessed be the doctor that made me revive;\n We'll all join hands, and never fight no more,\n We'll all be good fellows, as we have been before.\n\nAll four:--\n\n We'll all shake hands and agree, and never fight no more,\n We'll all be like brothers, as we were once before;\n God bless the master of this house, the mistress fair likewise,\n And all the pretty children that round the table rise.\n Go down into your cellar and see what you can find,\n Your barrels being not empty, we hope you will prove kind;\n We hope you will prove kind, with whisky and with beer,\n We wish you a Merry Christmas, likewise a good New Year.\n\nEnter Beelzebub (for the collection):--\n\n Here come I, Old Beelzebub, over my shoulder I carry a club,\n And in my hand a frying-pan. Am not I a jolly old man?\n It's money I want, and money I crave,\n If ye don't give me money I'll sweep ye to your grave.\n\nOld Beelzebub's appeal not being resisted (for who might dare to resist\nsuch?), the picturesque players retire, and proceed from thence merrily\nto occupy another stage.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMr. Sandys, it may be noted, in his elegant volume of _Christmas Carols_\n(1833), transcribes a play called \"St. George,\" which still is, or used\nto be, acted at the New Year in Cornwall, exactly after the manner of\nour Scottish play of \"Goloshan\" which it resembles as much as various\nversions of \"Goloshan\" in Scotland resemble each other. The leading\ncharacters, besides St. George himself and the Dragon, which is twice\nkilled, are a Turkish knight and the King of Egypt. It is curious thus,\nas Dr. Chambers remarks, to find one play, with unimportant variations,\npreserved traditionally by the common people in parts of the island so\ndistant from each other, and in many respects so different.\n\nIt is curious further, and of much interest to note, that in these\nsinging-games, if nowhere else, the country and the city child, the\nchildren of the mansion and the children of the alley, meet all,\nbeautifully, on common ground. And, how the out-door ones lie dormant\nfor spaces, and spring simultaneously into action in widely separated\nparts--town and country alike--is a problem which may not be easily\nsolved. It seems to us that, like the songs of birds, they belong to\ncertain seasons, and are suggested, each in its turn, or class by class,\nby the feeling in the air. But mark, I say only _seems_, for who may\ndogmatize on such matters!\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHILDREN'S SONGS AND BALLADS.\n\n\nNot the more exalted songs of child life here--not \"Willie Winkie,\" and\n\"Cuddle Doon,\" and \"Castles in the Air,\" and all that widely esteemed\nband, which, collectively, would themselves tax the limits of a large\nvolume--but some of the ruder ditties only which the children for many\ngenerations have delighted to sing, and been no less charmed by hearing\nsung, and which of late have not been so frequently seen in print. These\nrude old favourites, too, with slight comment--little being required.\nAnd of such, surely \"Cock Robin\" may well be awarded the place of\nhonour--a song which, together with the more elaborate tale of \"The\nBabes in the Wood,\" has done more to make its pert and dapper\nred-waistcoated subject the general favourite he is with old and young,\nthan any virtue that may be claimed for the little tyrant himself.\n\n\n\n\nCOCK ROBIN.\n\n\n Who killed Cock Robin?\n I, said the Sparrow,\n With my bow and arrow,\n I killed Cock Robin.\n\n Who saw him die?\n I, said the Fly,\n With my little eye,\n I saw him die.\n\n Who caught his blood?\n I, said the Fish,\n With my little dish,\n I caught his blood.\n\n Who'll make his shroud?\n I, said the Beetle,\n With my thread and needle,\n I'll make his shroud.\n\n Who'll carry him to his grave?\n I, said the Kite,\n If it's not in the night,\n I'll carry him to his grave.\n\n Who'll dig his grave?\n I, said the Owl,\n With my spade and shovel,\n I'll dig his grave.\n\n Who'll carry the link?\n I, said the Linnet,\n I'll fetch it in a minute,\n I'll carry the link.\n\n Who'll be chief mourner?\n I, said the Dove,\n I'll mourn for my love,\n I'll be chief mourner.\n\n Who'll sing the psalm?\n I, said the Thrush,\n As he sat on a bush,\n I'll sing the psalm.\n\n Who'll be the parson?\n I, said the Rook,\n With my little book,\n I'll be the parson.\n\n Who'll be the clerk?\n I, said the Lark,\n If it's not in the dark,\n I'll be the clerk.\n\n Who'll toll the bell?\n I, said the Bull,\n Because I can pull,\n I'll toll the bell.\n\n And all the little birds\n Fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,\n When they heard the bell toll\n For poor Cock Robin.\n\nAnd of Cock Robin again, no less captivating has been the ballad\ncelebrating his wedding with little Jenny Wren. Though why with a lady\nof the Wren family, must always strike naturalists as an absurdity; and,\nI suppose, we may not ask how it was the banns were not forbidden, since\nthe Messrs. Wren, with the children, and the whole creation of\nbirds--with the single exception of a blackguard cuckoo--have jubilantly\nacquiesced in the nuptials.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MARRIAGE OF COCK ROBIN AND JENNY WREN.\n\n\n It was a merry time,\n When Jenny Wren was young,\n So neatly as she dressed,\n And so sweetly as she sung.\n\n Robin Redbreast lost his heart,\n He was a gallant bird;\n He doffed his hat to Jenny,\n And thus to her he said:\n\n \"My dearest Jenny Wren,\n If you will but be mine,\n You shall dine on cherry pie\n And drink nice currant wine.\n\n \"I'll dress you like a goldfinch,\n Or like a peacock gay;\n So, if you'll have me, Jenny,\n Let us appoint the day.\"\n\n Jenny blushed behind her fan,\n And thus declared her mind:\n \"Then let it be to-morrow, Bob--\n I take your offer kind.\n\n \"Cherry pie is very good,\n So is currant wine;\n But I'll wear my russet gown\n And never dress too fine.\"\n\n Robin rose up early,\n At the break of day;\n He flew to Jenny Wren's house\n To sing a roundelay.\n\n He met the Cock and Hen,\n And bade the Cock declare\n This was his wedding day\n With Jenny Wren the fair.\n\n The Cock then blew his horn,\n To let the neighbours know\n This was Robin's wedding day,\n And they might see the show.\n\n Then followed him the Lark,\n For he could sweetly sing,\n And he was to be the clerk\n At Cock Robin's wedding.\n\n He sang of Robin's love\n For little Jenny Wren;\n And when he came unto the end,\n Then he began again.\n\n At first came Parson Rook,\n With his spectacles and band;\n And one of Mother Hubbard's books\n He held within his hand.\n\n The Goldfinch came on next,\n To give away the bride;\n The Linnet, being bridesmaid,\n Walked by Jenny's side;\n\n And as she was a-walking,\n Said, \"Upon my word,\n I think that your Cock Robin\n Is a very pretty bird.\"\n\n The Blackbird and the Thrush,\n And charming Nightingale,\n Whose sweet songs sweetly echo\n Through every grove and dale;\n\n The Sparrow and the Tomtit,\n And many more were there;\n All came to see the wedding\n Of Jenny Wren the fair.\n\n The Bullfinch walked by Robin,\n And thus to him did say:\n \"Pray mark, friend Robin Redbreast,\n That Goldfinch dressed so gay;\n\n \"That though her gay apparel\n Becomes her very well,\n Yet Jenny's modest dress and look\n Must bear away the bell.\"\n\n Then came the bride and bridegroom;\n Quite plainly was she dressed,\n And blushed so much, her cheeks were\n As red as Robin's breast.\n\n But Robin cheered her up;\n \"My pretty Jen,\" says he,\n \"We're going to be married.\n And happy we shall be.\"\n\n \"Oh,\" then says Parson Rook,\n \"Who gives this maid away?\"\n \"I do,\" says the Goldfinch,\n \"And her fortune I will pay:\n\n \"Here's a bag of grain of many sorts,\n And other things beside;\n Now happy be the bridegroom,\n And happy be the bride!\"\n\n \"And you will have her, Robin,\n To be your wedded wife?\"\n \"Yes, I will,\" says Robin,\n \"And love her all my life!\"\n\n \"And you will have him Jenny,\n Your husband now to be?\"\n \"Yes, I will,\" says Jenny,\n \"And love him heartily.\"\n\n Then on her finger fair\n Cock Robin put the ring;\n \"You're married now,\" says Parson Rook,\n While the lark aloud did sing:\n\n \"Happy be the bridegroom,\n And happy be the bride!\n And may not man, nor bird, nor beast,\n This happy pair divide!\"\n\n The birds were asked to dine;\n Not Jenny's friends alone,\n But every pretty songster\n That had Cock Robin known.\n\n They had a cherry pie,\n Besides some currant wine,\n And every guest brought something,\n That sumptuous they might dine.\n\n Now they all sat or stood,\n To eat and to drink;\n And every one said what\n He happened to think.\n\n They each took a bumper,\n And drank to the pair;\n Cock Robin the bridegroom,\n And Jenny the fair.\n\n The dinner-things removed,\n They all began to sing;\n And soon they made the place\n For a mile around to ring.\n\n The concert it was fine,\n And every birdie tried\n Who best should sing for Robin\n And Jenny Wren the bride.\n\n When in came the Cuckoo,\n And made a great rout;\n He caught hold of Jenny,\n And pulled her about.\n\n Cock Robin was angry,\n And so was the Sparrow,\n Who fetched in a hurry\n His bow and his arrow.\n\n His aim then he took,\n But he took it not right,\n His skill was not good,\n Or he shot in a fright;\n\n For the Cuckoo he missed,\n But Cock Robin he killed!\n And all the birds mourned\n That his blood was so spilled.\n\nYet another song of the Robin which has moistened the eyes of many a\nyouthful vocalist. I don't know that it ever had a title, but we will\ncall it\n\n\n\n\nTHE NORTH WIND.\n\n\n The North wind doth blow,\n And we shall have snow,\n And what will the Robin do then, poor thing?\n\n He will sit in the barn,\n And keep himself warm,\n With his little head under his wing, poor thing!\n\nIt is not claimed for these pieces that they belong to any high order of\nverse--though really, in more senses than one, they belong to the very\nfirst. In point of popularity alone, they are not surpassed by \"Paradise\nLost,\" nor by the plays of Shakespeare, or the songs of Burns. Then,\nthey have so thoroughly commanded the interest and engaged the\naffections of the wee folks, that, with old and young alike--for the\nyoung so soon grow into the old, alas!--there are no compositions in\nthe world better secured for the honour and glory of immortal fame. They\nhave not been very often printed, I have said--not often in recent\nyears, at least--and the reason, I suppose, is because it was not deemed\nnecessary to set out in print what everybody knows so well by heart. It\nmust be refreshing for the eye, however, to scan what is so familiar to\nthe ear, and I make no apology--yea, I hope to be thanked for their\nappearance in this little book for bairns and big folk. Let the next be\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE BO-PEEP.\n\n\n Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep,\n And doesn't know where to find them;\n Let them alone, and they'll come home,\n Bringing their tails behind them.\n\n Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep.\n And dreamt she heard them bleating;\n But when she awoke, she found it a joke,\n For still they all were fleeting.\n\n Then up she took her little crook,\n Determined for to find them;\n She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed.\n For they'd left their tails behind them.\n\n It happen'd one day, as Bo-peep did stray\n Under a meadow hard by,\n That she espied their tails, side by side,\n All hung on a tree to dry.\n\n She heaved a sigh, and wiped her eye,\n And over the hillocks went stump-o;\n And tried as she could, as a shepherdess should,\n To tack again each to its rump-o.\n\nThe ballad lacks sadly in particulars, to be sure. How the tails of the\nentire flock disappeared in one fell swoop--whether by malice\naforethought, at the instance of a lurking enemy, or in a miraculous\naccident, whilst the young shepherdess slept at her charge--has never\nbeen told, though thousands of wondering pows, multiplied by ten, have\nwanted to know. Perhaps it is better not explained. Mystery is so often\njust another word for charm.\n\nWe will now have the curious tale of \"The House that Jack Built.\" In no\nsense a curious house, perhaps, but famous because of the fortuitous\nevents which issued in regular sequence from the simple fact of the\nbuilder having stored a quantity of malt within its walls. It is told\nbest with the accompaniment of pictorial illustrations, but here these\nare not available.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.\n\n\n This is the house that Jack built.\n\n This is the malt\n That lay in the house\n That Jack built.\n\n This is the rat\n That ate the malt\n That lay in the house\n That Jack built.\n\n This is the cat\n That killed the rat\n That ate the malt\n That lay in the house\n That Jack built.\n\n This is the dog\n That worried the cat\n That killed the rat\n That ate the malt\n That lay in the house\n That Jack built.\n\n This is the cow with the crumpled horn\n That tossed the dog\n That worried the cat\n That killed the rat\n That ate the malt\n That lay in the house\n That Jack built.\n\n This is the maiden all forlorn\n That milked the cow with the crumpled horn\n That tossed the dog\n That worried the cat\n That killed the rat\n That ate the malt\n That lay in the house\n That Jack built\n\n This is the man all tattered and torn\n That kissed the maiden all forlorn\n That milked the cow with the crumpled horn\n That tossed the dog\n That worried the cat\n That killed the rat\n That ate the malt\n That lay in the house\n That Jack built.\n\n This is the priest all shaven and shorn\n That married the man all tattered and torn\n That kissed the maiden all forlorn\n That milked the cow with the crumpled horn\n That tossed the dog\n That worried the cat\n That killed the rat\n That ate the malt\n That lay in the house\n That Jack built.\n\n This is the cock that crowed in the morn\n And waked the priest all shaven and shorn\n That married the man all tattered and torn\n That kissed the maiden all forlorn\n That milked the cow with the crumpled horn\n That tossed the dog\n That worried the cat\n That killed the rat\n That ate the malt\n That lay in the house\n That Jack built.\n\nIt has been a satisfaction to many a little boy, I am sure, to feel that\nhe was not, by many miles, so simple as that most abject of all\nsimpletons, familiar to him as--\n\n\n\n\nSIMPLE SIMON.\n\n\n Simple Simon met a pie-man,\n Going to the fair;\n Said Simple Simon to the pie-man,\n \"Let me taste your ware.\"\n\n Says the pie-man, \"Simple Simon,\n Show me first your penny;\"\n Said Simple Simon to the pie-man,\n \"Indeed, I have not any.\"\n\n Simple Simon went a-fishing,\n For to catch a whale;\n All the water he had got\n Was in his mother's pail!\n\nSome may follow without comment.\n\n\n\n\nOLD MOTHER HUBBARD.\n\n\n Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard,\n To get her poor doggie a bone;\n When she got there, the cupboard was bare,\n And so the poor doggie had none.\n\n She went to the baker's to buy him some bread,\n But when she came back the poor doggie was dead.\n\n She went to the undertaker's to buy him a coffin,\n And when she came back the doggie was laughing.\n\n She went to the butcher's to get him some tripe,\n And when she came back he was smoking a pipe.\n\n She went to the fish-shop to buy him some fish,\n And when she came back he was washing the dish.\n\n She went to the tavern for white wine and red,\n And when she came back doggie stood on his head.\n\n She went to the hatter's to buy him a hat,\n And when she came back he was feeding the cat.\n\n She went to the tailor's to buy him a coat,\n And when she came back he was riding the goat.\n\n She went to the barber's to buy him a wig,\n And when she came back he was dancing a jig.\n\n She went to the draper's to buy him some linen,\n And when she came back the good dog was spinning.\n\n She went to the hosier's to buy him some hose,\n And when she came back he was dressed in his clothes.\n\n The dame made a curtsey, the dog made a bow,\n The dame said, \"Your servant,\" the dog said, \"Bow-wow.\"\n\n\n\n\nOLD MOTHER GOOSE.\n\n\n Old Mother Goose, when\n She wanted to wander,\n Would ride through the air\n On a very fine gander.\n\n Mother Goose had a house,\n 'Twas built in a wood,\n Where an owl at the door\n For a sentinel stood.\n\n She had a son Jack,\n A plain-looking lad,\n Not very good,\n Nor yet very bad.\n\n She sent him to market,\n A live goose he bought,\n \"Here, mother,\" says he,\n \"It won't go for nought.\"\n\n Jack's goose and the gander\n Grew very fond,\n They'd both eat together,\n Or swim in one pond.\n\n Jack found, one fine morning,\n As I have been told,\n His goose had laid him\n An egg of pure gold.\n\n Jack rode to his mother\n The news for to tell;\n She called him a good boy,\n And said it was well.\n\n Jack sold his gold egg\n To a rascally Jew,\n Who cheated him out of\n The half of his due.\n\n Then Jack went a-courting\n A lady so gay,\n As fair as the lily,\n And sweet as the May.\n\n The Jew and the Squire\n Came behind his back\n And began to belabour\n The sides of poor Jack.\n\n And then the gold egg\n Was thrown in the sea,\n When Jack he jumped in\n And got it presently.\n\n The Jew got the goose,\n Which he vowed he would kill,\n Resolving at once\n His pockets to fill.\n\n Jack's mother came in\n And caught the goose soon,\n And mounting its back,\n Flew up to the moon.\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD WOMAN AND HER PIG.\n\n\nAn old woman was sweeping her house, and she found a little crooked\nsixpence. \"What,\" she said, \"shall I do with this little sixpence? I\nwill go to market and buy a little pig.\" As she was coming home she came\nto a stile. The piggy would not go over the stile. She went a little\nfarther, and she met a dog, so she said to the dog:--\n\n \"Dog, dog, bite pig;\n Piggy won't get over the stile,\n And I shan't get home to-night!\"\n\nBut the dog would not.\n\nShe went a little farther, and she met a stick. So she said:--\n\n \"Stick, stick, beat dog;\n Dog won't bite pig;\n Piggy won't get over the stile,\n And I shan't get home to-night!\"\n\nBut the stick would not.\n\nShe went a little farther, and she met a fire. So she said:--\n\n \"Fire, fire, burn stick;\n Stick won't beat dog;\n Dog won't bite pig;\n Piggy won't get over the stile;\n And I shan't get home to-night!\"\n\nBut the fire would not.\n\nShe went a little farther, and she met some water. So she said:--\n\n \"Water, water, quench fire;\n Fire won't burn stick;\n Stick won't beat dog;\n Dog won't bite pig;\n Piggy won't get over the stile,\n And I shan't get home to-night!\"\n\nBut the water would not.\n\nShe went a little farther, and she met an ox. So she said:--\n\n \"Ox, ox, drink water;\n Water won't quench fire;\n Fire won't burn stick;\n Stick won't beat dog;\n Dog won't bite pig;\n Piggy won't get over the stile,\n And I shan't get home to-night!\"\n\nBut the ox would not.\n\nShe went a little farther, and she met a butcher. So she said:--\n\n \"Butcher, butcher, kill ox;\n Ox won't drink water;\n Water won't quench fire;\n Fire won't burn stick;\n Stick won't beat dog;\n Dog won't bite pig;\n Piggy won't get over the stile,\n And I shan't get home to-night!\"\n\nBut the butcher would not.\n\nShe went a little farther, and she met a rope. So she said:--\n\n \"Rope, rope, hang butcher;\n Butcher won't kill ox;\n Ox won't drink water;\n Water won't quench fire;\n Fire won't burn stick;\n Stick won't beat dog;\n Dog won't bite pig;\n Piggy won't get over the stile,\n And I shan't get home to-night!\"\n\nBut the rope would not.\n\nShe went a little farther, and she met a rat. So she said:--\n\n \"Rat, rat, gnaw rope;\n Rope won't hang butcher;\n Butcher won't kill ox;\n Ox won't drink water;\n Water won't quench fire;\n Fire won't burn stick;\n Stick won't beat dog;\n Dog won't bite pig;\n Piggy won't get over the stile,\n And I shan't get home to-night!\"\n\nBut the rat would not.\n\nShe went a little farther, and she met a cat. So she said:--\n\n \"Cat, cat, kill rat;\n Rat won't gnaw rope;\n Rope won't hang butcher;\n Butcher won't kill ox;\n Ox won't drink water;\n Water won't quench fire;\n Fire won't burn stick;\n Stick won't beat dog;\n Dog won't bite pig;\n Piggy won't get over the stile,\n And I shan't get home to-night!\"\n\nBut the cat said to her, \"If you will go to yonder cow, and fetch me a\nsaucer of milk, I will kill the rat.\" So away went the old woman to the\ncow, and said:--\n\n \"Cow, cow, give me a saucer of milk;\n Cat won't kill rat;\n Rat won't gnaw rope;\n Rope won't hang butcher;\n Butcher won't kill ox;\n Ox won't drink water;\n Water won't quench fire;\n Fire won't burn stick;\n Stick won't beat dog;\n Dog won't bite pig;\n Piggy won't get over the stile,\n And I shan't get home to-night!\"\n\nBut the cow said to her, \"If you will go to yonder haymakers, and fetch\nme a wisp of hay, I'll give you the milk.\" So away went the old woman to\nthe haymakers, and said:--\n\n \"Haymakers, give me a wisp of hay;\n Cow won't give milk;\n Cat won't kill rat;\n Rat won't gnaw rope;\n Rope won't hang butcher;\n Butcher won't kill ox;\n Ox won't drink water;\n Water won't quench fire;\n Fire won't burn stick;\n Stick won't beat dog;\n Dog won't bite pig;\n Piggy won't get over the stile,\n And I shan't get home to-night!\"\n\nBut the haymakers said to her, \"If you will go to yonder stream, and\nfetch us a bucket of water, we'll give you the hay.\" So away the old\nwoman went. But when she got to the stream, she found the bucket was\nfull of holes. So she covered the bottom with pebbles, and then filled\nthe bucket with water, and she went back with it to the haymakers, and\nthey gave her a wisp of hay.\n\nAs soon as the cow had eaten the hay, she gave the old woman the milk;\nand away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. As soon as the cat had\nlapped up the milk--\n\n The cat began to kill the rat;\n The rat began to gnaw the rope;\n The rope began to hang the butcher;\n The butcher began to kill the ox;\n The ox began to drink the water;\n The water began to quench the fire;\n The fire began to burn the stick;\n The stick began to beat the dog;\n The dog began to bite the pig;\n The little pig in a fright jumped over the stile;\n So the old woman got home that night!\n\n\n\n\nA FROG HE WOULD A-WOOING GO.\n\n\n A Frog he would a-wooing go,\n Heigho, says Roly!\n Whether his mother would let him or no,\n With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,\n Heigho, says Anthony Roly!\n\n So off he set in his coat and hat,\n Heigho, says Roly!\n And on the way he met a Rat,\n With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,\n Heigho, says Anthony Roly!\n\n \"Please, Mr. Rat, will you go with me?\"\n Heigho, says Roly!\n \"Good Mrs. Mousie for to see?\"\n With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,\n Heigho, says Anthony Roly!\n\n When they came to the door of Mousie's hole,\n Heigho, says Roly!\n They gave a loud knock, and they gave a loud call,\n With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,\n Heigho, says Anthony Roly!\n\n \"Please, Mrs. Mouse, are you within?\"\n Heigho, says Roly!\n \"Oh yes, dear sirs, I am sitting to spin,\"\n With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,\n Heigho, says Anthony Roly!\n\n \"Please, Mrs. Mouse, will you give us some beer?\"\n Heigho, says Roly!\n \"For Froggy and I are fond of good cheer,\"\n With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,\n Heigho, says Anthony Roly!\n\n \"Please, Mr. Frog, will you give us a song?\"\n Heigho, says Roly!\n \"But let it be something that's not very long,\"\n With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,\n Heigho, says Anthony Roly!\n\n But while they were making a terrible din,\n Heigho, says Roly!\n The cat and her kittens came tumbling in,\n With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,\n Heigho, says Anthony Roly!\n\n The cat she seized Mr. Rat by the crown,\n Heigho, says Roly!\n The kittens they pulled Mrs. Mousie down,\n With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,\n Heigho, says Anthony Roly!\n\n This put Mr. Frog in a terrible fright,\n Heigho, says Roly!\n He took up his hat and he wished them good-night,\n With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,\n Heigho, says Anthony Roly!\n\n But as Froggy was crossing over a brook,\n Heigho, says Roly!\n A lily-white duck came and swallowed him up,\n With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,\n Heigho, says Anthony Roly!\n\nThere are various versions of the above narrative of a sadly disastrous\nexpedition, in English and in Scotch alike. _The Ballad Book_, a curious\ncollection, of which thirty copies only were printed, in 1824, embraces\none beginning:--\n\n There lived a Puddy in a well,\n Cuddy alone, Cuddy alone;\n There lived a Puddy in a well,\n Cuddy alone and I.\n There lived a Puddy in a well,\n And a Mousie in a mill;\n Kickmaleerie, cowden down,\n Cuddy alone and I.\n\n Puddy he'd a-wooin' ride,\n Cuddy alone, Cuddy alone;\n Sword and pistol by his side,\n Cuddy alone and I.\n Puddy came to the Mousie's home;\n \"Mistress Mouse, are you within?\"\n Kickmaleerie, cowden down,\n Cuddy alone and I.\n\nAnd which goes forward narrating the almost identically same story:\nwhich story, homely and simple as it appears, is of surprising\nantiquity. In 1580, the Stationers' Company licensed \"a ballad of a most\nstrange wedding of the frogge and the mouse;\" and that same ballad Dr.\nRobert Chambers printed from a small quarto manuscript of poems formerly\nin the possession of Sir Walter Scott, dated 1630. This very old version\nbegins:--\n\n Itt was ye frog in ye wall,\n Humble doune, humble doune;\n And ye mirrie mouse in ye mill,\n Tweidle, tweidle, twino.\n\nAnd the closing lines tell that\n\n Quhen ye supper they war at,\n The frog, mouse, and evin ye ratt.\n\n There com in Gib our cat,\n And chaught ye mouse evin by ye back.\n\n Then did they all seperat,\n And ye frog lap on ye floor so flat.\n\n Then in com Dick our drack,\n And drew ye frog evin to ye lack.\n\n Ye rat ran up ye wall,\n A goodlie companie, ye devall goe with all.\n\nOf meaner antiquity, perhaps, but no less a favourite with the young, is\nthe amusing ditty of\n\n\n\n\nTHE CARRION CROW.\n\n\n A Carrion Crow sat on an oak,\n Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do,\n Watching a tailor shape his coat;\n Sing he, sing ho, the old carrion crow,\n Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do!\n\n Wife, bring me my old bent bow,\n Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do,\n That I may shoot yon carrion crow;\n Sing he, sing ho, the old carrion crow,\n Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do!\n\n The tailor shot, and missed his mark,\n Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do,\n But shot the pig right through the heart;\n Sing he, sing ho, the old carrion crow,\n Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do.\n\nThe next, though it has engaged the attention of\nthe adult population, is a prime old-time favourite with\nthe children as well.\n\n\n\n\nMY PRETTY MAID.\n\n\n \"Where are you going to, my pretty maid?\"\n \"I am going a-milking, sir,\" she said.\n\n \"May I go with you, my pretty maid?\"\n \"You're kindly welcome, sir,\" she said.\n\n \"What is your father, my pretty maid?\"\n \"My father's a farmer, sir,\" she said.\n\n \"What is your fortune, my pretty maid?\"\n \"My face is my fortune, sir,\" she said.\n\n \"Then I won't marry you, my pretty maid.\"\n \"Nobody asked you, sir,\" she said.\n\nThe original of the following, which has delighted particularly the\nchildren of Scotland for many generations, appears with its pleasing air\nin Johnson's _Musical Museum_:--\n\n\n\n\nCAN YOU SEW CUSHIONS?\n\n\n O can ye sew cushions?\n Or can ye sew sheets?\n An' can ye sing ba-la-loo\n When the bairnie greets?\n\n An' hee an' ba, birdie,\n An' hee an' ba, lamb,\n Ah' hee an' ba, birdie,\n My bonnie wee man.\n\n Hee O, wee O, what'll I do wi' ye?\n Black is the life that I lead wi' ye;\n Owre mony o' ye, little to gie ye,\n Hee O, wee O, what'll I do wi' ye?\n\n Now hush-a-ba, lammie,\n An' hush-a-ba, dear;\n Now hush-a-ba, lammie,\n Thy minnie is here,\n The wild wind is ravin',\n Thy minnie's heart's sair;\n The wild wind is ravin',\n An' ye dinna care.\n\n Hee O, wee O, etc.\n\n Sing ba-la-loo, lammie,\n Sing bo-la-loo, dear;\n Does wee lammie ken\n That his daddie's no here?\n Ye're rockin' fu' sweetly\n On mammie's warm knee,\n But daddie's a-rockin'\n Upon the saut sea.\n\n Hee O, wee O, etc.\n\n O I hung thy cradle\n On yon holly top,\n An' aye as the wind blew\n Thy cradle did rock.\n An' hush-a-ba, baby,\n O ba-lilly-loo;\n An' hee an' ba, birdie,\n My bonnie wee doo!\n\n Hee O, wee O, etc.\n\nWe see continually how dear to the songs of childlife are the mention of\nbirds and all things sweet in the round of everyday life. Here now--\n\n\n\n\nHUSH-A-BA BIRDIE, CROON.\n\n\n Hush-a-ba birdie, croon, croon,\n Hush-a-ba birdie, croon;\n The sheep are gane to the silver wood,\n And the coos are gane to the broom, broom,\n And the coos are gane to the broom.\n\n And it's braw milking the kye, kye,\n It's braw milking the kye;\n The birds are singing, the bells are ringing,\n The wild deer come galloping by, by,\n The wild deer come galloping by.\n\n And hush-a-ba birdie, croon, croon,\n Hush-a-ba birdie, croon;\n The gaits are gane to the mountain hie,\n And they'll no be hame till noon,\n And they'll no be hame till noon.\n\nA prime favourite--none excelling it--has been\n\n\n\n\nDANCE TO YOUR DADDIE.\n\n\n Dance to your daddie,\n My bonnie laddie,\n Dance to your daddie, my bonnie lamb;\n And ye'll get a fishie,\n In a little dishie,\n Ye'll get a fishie when the boat comes hame!\n\n Dance to your daddie,\n My bonnie laddie,\n Dance to your daddie, my bonnie lamb!\n And ye'll get a coatie,\n And a pair o' breekies--\n Ye'll get a whippie and a supple Tam!\n\nBy the bye, as touching the lullaby order of these songs, it is\ninteresting to note that, no matter of what age or nation they may be,\nthey are all but regularly made up on precisely the same plan. There is\nfirst the appeal to the child to slumber, or to rest and be happy; then\ncomes the statement that the father is away following some toilsome\noccupation; and the promise succeeds that he will soon return laden with\nthe fruits of his labour, and all will be well. We have been seeing, and\nwill see again, how the Scottish go. The Norwegian mother sings:--\n\n Row, row to Baltnarock,\n How many fish caught in the net?\n One for father and one for mother.\n One for sister and one for brother.\n\nEven the Hottentot mother promises her child that its \"dusky sire\" shall\nbring it \"shells from yonder shore,\" where he has probably been occupied\nin turning turtles over on their broad backs. The Breton song goes:--\n\n Fais dado, pauvre, p'tit Pierrot.\n Papa est sur l'eau\n Qui fait des bateaux\n Pour le p'tit Pierrot.\n\nThe Swedish cradle song follows the almost universal custom. It runs (in\nEnglish):--\n\n Hush, hush; baby mine!\n Pussy climbs the big green pine,\n Ma turns the mill stone,\n Pa to kill the pig has gone.\n\nThe Danish does not prove an exception:--\n\n Lullaby, sweet baby mine!\n Mother spins the thread so fine;\n Father o'er the bridge has gone,\n Shoes he'll buy for little John.\n\nThe North German cradle song is:--\n\n Schlaf Kindchen, schlaf!\n Dein Vater hut't die schaf;\n Dein Mutter schuttelts Baumelien,\n Da fallt herab ein Tramelein,\n Schlaf, Kindchen, schlaf!\n\nWhich, being done into English, runs:--\n\n Sleep, baby, sleep!\n Thy father guards the sheep;\n The mother shakes the dreamland tree,\n And from it falls sweet dreams for thee.\n Sleep, baby, sleep.\n\nThe simplest and crudest of these, we may be sure, has lulled millions\nto sleep, and by virtue of that association is worth more than many\nquartos of recent verse deliberately composed with the view of engaging\nthe attention of the nursery circle. How many volumes of the newer\nwares, for instance, might be accepted in exchange for\n\n\n\n\nKATIE BEARDIE.\n\n\n Katie Beardie had a coo,\n Black and white about the mou';\n Wasna that a dentie coo?\n Dance, Katie Beardie!\n\n Katie Beardie had a hen,\n Cackled but an' cackled ben;\n Wasna that a dentie hen?\n Dance, Katie Beardie!\n\n Katie Beardie had a cock\n That could spin a gude tow rock;\n Wasna that a dentie cock?\n Dance, Katie Beardie!\n\n Katie Beardie had a grice,\n It could skate upon the ice;\n Wasna that a dentie grice?\n Dance, Katie Beardie!\n\n Katie Beardie had a wean,\n That was a' her lovin' ain;\n Wasna that a dentie wean?\n Dance, Katie Beardie!\n\nYet, there is tolerable proof extant that the above dates from at least\nthe beginning of the seventeenth century. \"Katherine Beardie,\" anyway,\nis the name affixed to an air in a manuscript musical collection which\nbelonged to the Scottish poet, Sir William Mure, of Rowallan, written,\npresumably, between the years 1612 and 1628. The same tune, under the\nname of \"Kette Bairdie,\" also appears in a similar collection which\nbelonged to Sir John Skene of Hallyards, supposed to have been written\nabout 1629. Further, so well did Sir Walter Scott know that this was a\npopular dance during the reign of King James VI., as Mr. Dawney points\nout, that he introduces it in the _Fortunes of Nigel_, with this\ndifference, that it is there called \"Chrichty Bairdie,\" a name not\nprecisely identical with that here given; but as Kit is a diminutive of\nChristopher, it is not difficult to perceive how the two came to be\nconfounded. Old as it certainly is--and older by a deal it may be than\nthese presents indicate--it maintains yet the charm of youth--delighting\nall with its lightly tripping numbers. No less does--\n\n\n\n\nTHE MILLER'S DOCHTER.\n\n\n There was a miller's dochter,\n She wadna want a baby, O;\n She took her father's grey hound\n An' row'd it in a plaidie, O.\n\n Singing, Hush-a-ba! hush-a-ba!\n Hush-a-ba, my baby, O!\n An 'twere na for you lang beard,\n I wad kiss your gabbie, O!\n\nWhile bedding operations have been in progress no song, surely, has been\nmore welcome and effective than\n\n\n\n\nHAP AND ROW.\n\n\n Hap and row, hap and row,\n Hap and row the feetie o't;\n I never kent I had a bairn\n Until I heard the greetie o't.\n\n The wife put on the wee pan\n To boil the bairn's meatie, O,\n When down fell a cinder\n And burn't a' its feetie, O.\n\n Hap and row, hap and row,\n Hap and row the feetie o't;\n I never kent I had a bairn\n Until I heard the greetie o't.\n\n Sandy's mither she came in\n As sune's she heard the greetie o't,\n She took the mutch frae aff her head\n And rowed it round the feetie o't.\n\n Hap and row, hap and row, etc.\n\nIn about equal favour stands\n\n\n\n\nHOW DAN, DILLY DOW.\n\n\n How dan, dilly dow,\n Hey dow, dan,\n Weel were ye're minnie.\n An' ye were a man.\n\n Ye wad hunt an' hawk,\n An' hand her o' game,\n An' water your daddie's horse\n When he cam' hame.\n\n How dan, dilly dow,\n Hey dan, floors,\n Ye'se lie i' your bed\n Till eleven hours.\n\n If at eleven hours\n You list to rise,\n Ye'se hae your dinner dight\n In a new guise.\n\n Laverocks' legs,\n And titlins' taes,\n And a' sic dainties\n My mannie shall hae.\n\nA cheery and comforting lilt, indeed, with its promise of plenty. Much\nsuperior to the next, which bears in its bosom the hollow and unwelcome\nring of a \"toom girnal\"--a sound no child should ever know. It is yet a\nlilt familiar to the nursery:--\n\n\n\n\nCROWDIE.\n\n\n Oh, that I had ne'er been married,\n I wad never had nae care;\n Now I've gotten wife and bairns,\n They cry Crowdie! ever mair.\n\n Crowdie ance, crowdie twice,\n Three times crowdie in a day;\n Gin ye crowdie ony mair,\n Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.\n\nQuoting the stanzas as an old ballad in a letter to his friend, Mrs.\nDunlop, in December, 1795, the poet Burns wrote:--\"There had much need\nto be many pleasures annexed to the states of husband and father, for,\nGod knows, they have many peculiar cares. I cannot describe to you the\nanxious, sleepless hours these ties frequently give me. I see a train of\nhelpless little folks; me and my exertions all their stay; and on what\na brittle thread does the life of man hang! If I am nipt off at the\ncommand of Fate, even in all the vigour of manhood, as I am--such things\nhappen every day--Gracious God! what would become of my little flock?\n'Tis here that I envy your people of fortune. A father on his death-bed,\ntaking an ever-lasting leave of his children, has indeed woe enough; but\nthe man of competent fortune leaves his sons and daughters independency\nand friends; while I--but I shall run distracted if I think any longer\non the subject!\" So might we all. Then, away with it, and let us have a\nmore lightsome spring.\n\n\n\n\nWHISTLE, WHISTLE, AULD WIFE.\n\n\n \"Whistle, whistle, auld wife.\n An' ye'se get a hen.\"\n \"I wadna whistle,\" quo' the wife,\n \"Though ye wad gi'e me ten.\"\n\n \"Whistle, whistle, auld wife,\n An' ye'se get a cock.\"\n \"I wadna whistle,\" quo' the wife,\n \"Though ye'd gi'e me a flock.\"\n\n \"Whistle, whistle, auld wife,\n And ye'se get a goun.\"\n \"I wadna whistle,\" quo' the wife,\n \"For the best ane i' the toun.\"\n\n \"Whistle, whistle, auld wife,\n An' ye'se get a coo.\"\n \"I wadna whistle,\" quo' the wife,\n \"Though ye wad gi'e me two.\"\n\n \"Whistle, whistle, auld wife,\n An' ye'se get a man.\"\n \"_Wheeple-whauple_\" quo' the wife,\n \"I'll whistle as I can.\"\n\nSung with vocal mimicry, the above makes a strikingly effective\nentertainment.\n\nThe song of \"The Three Little Pigs\" embraces a palpable moral, which not\nchildren alone would be the better for taking to heart. I wish I could\nsing it for you, my reader, as I have heard Mr. Tom Hunt, the well-known\nanimal painter, sing it in social circles in Glasgow:--\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE LITTLE PIGS.\n\n\n A jolly old sow once lived in a sty,\n And three little piggies had she;\n And she waddled about saying, \"grumph! grumph! grumph!\"\n While the little ones said \"wee! wee!\"\n\n And she waddled about saying, \"grumph! grumph! grumph!\"\n While the little ones said \"wee! wee!\"\n\n \"My dear little piggies,\" said one of the brats,\n \"My dear little brothers,\" said he,\n \"Let us all for the future say, 'grumph! grumph! grumph!'\n 'Tis so childish to say, 'wee! wee!'\"\n\n Let us all, etc.\n\n These three little piggies grew skinny and lean,\n And lean they might very well be,\n For somehow they couldn't say \"grumph! grumph! grumph!\"\n And they wouldn't say \"wee! wee!\"\n\n For somehow, etc.\n\n So after a time these little pigs died,\n They all died of fe-lo-de-see,\n From trying too hard to say \"grumph! grumph! grumph!\"\n When they only could say \"wee! wee!\"\n\n From trying, etc.\n\n A moral there is to this little song,\n A moral that's easy to see:\n Don't try when you're young to say \"grumph! grumph! grumph!\"\n When you only can say \"wee! wee!\"\n Don't try when you're young to say \"grumph! grumph! grumph!\"\n When you only can say \"wee! wee!\"\n\nAnother delectable song for children--also of a subtly didactic\ncharacter--is\n\n\n\n\nCOWE THE NETTLE EARLY.\n\n\n Gin ye be for lang kail,\n Cowe the nettle, stoo the nettle:\n Gin ye be for lang kail,\n Cowe the nettle early.\n\n Cowe it laich, cowe it sune,\n Cowe it in the month o' June;\n Stoo it ere it's in the bloom,\n Cowe the nettle early.\n\n Cowe it by the old wa's,\n Cowe it where the sun ne'er fa's,\n Stoo it when the day daws,\n Cowe the nettle early.\n\n Auld heuk wi' no ae tooth,\n Cowe the nettle, stoo the nettle;\n Auld gluive wi' leather loof,\n Cowe the nettle early.\n\nThe following curious song, which Mrs. Burns, the wife of the poet, was\nfond of crooning to her children, is not yet without some vogue outwith\nthe printed page--though mainly in this verse, the place of which, by\nthe bye, would be difficult to fix in the song as printed by Herd:--\n\n The robin cam' to the wren's door,\n And keekit in, and keekit in:\n O, blessings on your bonnie pow,\n Wad ye be in, wad ye be in?\n I wadna let you lie thereout,\n And I within, and I within,\n As lang's I hae a warm clout,\n To row ye in, to row ye in.\n\nTo students of Burns it will ever be of prime interest from the fact\nthat its air, as played by Miss Jessie Lewars to the poet only a few\ndays before his death, supplied the hint for his most tender and\ntouching lyric, \"O Wert them in the Cauld Blast.\" Herd prints it\nthus:--\n\n\n\n\nTHE WREN'S NEST.\n\n\n The wren scho lyes in care's bed,\n In care's bed, in care's bed;\n The wren scho lyes in care's bed,\n Wi' meikle dule and pyne, O.\n\n When in cam' Robin Redbreist,\n Redbreist, Redbreist;\n When in cam' Robin Redbreist,\n Wi' succar-saps and wine, O.\n\n Now, maiden, will ye taste o' this,\n Taste o' this, taste o' this;\n Now, maiden, will ye taste o' this,\n It's succar saps and wine, O?\n\n Na, ne'er a drap, Robin,\n Robin, Robin:\n Na, ne'er a drap, Robin,\n Though it were ne'er sae fine, O.\n\n And where's the ring that I gied ye,\n That I gied ye, that I gied ye:\n And where's the ring that I gied ye,\n Ye little cutty-quean, O?\n\n I gied it till an ox-ee,\n An ox-ee, an ox-ee;\n I gied it till an ox-ee,\n A true sweetheart o' mine, O.\n\nWe began with the robin in this, I hope, not wearisome but entertaining\n_Melange_ of child-songs. We have never, indeed, got at any time far\naway from the lively and interesting little fellow; and, that being so,\nperhaps no item could more fittingly close the series than the very old\nsong of\n\n\n\n\nROBIN REDBREAST'S TESTAMENT.\n\n\n Gude-day now, bonnie Robin,\n How long have you been here?\n I've been bird about this bush\n This mair than twenty year!\n\n But now I am the sickest bird\n That ever sat on brier;\n And I wad mak' my testament,\n Gudeman, if ye wad hear.\n\n Gae tak' this bonnie neb o' mine,\n That picks upon the corn;\n And gie't to the Duke o' Hamilton\n To be a hunting-horn.\n\n Gae tak' these bonnie feathers o' mine,\n The feathers o' my neb;\n And gi'e to the Lady o' Hamilton\n To fill a feather-bed.\n\n Gae tak' this gude richt leg o' mine,\n And mend the brig o' Tay;\n It will be a post and pillar gude--\n Will neither bow nor gae.\n\n And tak' this other leg o' mine,\n And mend the brig o' Weir;\n It will be a post and pillar gude--\n Will neither bow nor steer.\n\n Gae tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine,\n The feathers o' my tail:\n And gie to the lads o' Hamilton\n To be a barn-flail.\n\n And tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine,\n The feathers o' my breast:\n And gie to ony bonnie lad\n Will bring to me a priest.\n\n Now in there came my Lady Wren\n Wi' mony a sigh and groan:\n O what care I for a' the lads\n If my ain lad be gone!\n\n Then Robin turned him roundabout,\n E'en like a little king;\n Go; pack ye out o' my chamber-door,\n Ye little cutty quean!\n\n Robin made his testament\n Upon a coll of hay;\n And by cam' a greedy gled\n And snapt him a' away.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHILDREN'S HUMOUR AND QUAINT SAYINGS.\n\n\nThe humours of little folks, fresh and original, and invariably of the\nunconscious variety, and their quaint sayings, unrehearsed and uttered\nregularly without regard to effect--though with merciless honesty\noften--form a never-palling treat; and every man and woman who has\nreared a family, or has had joy in the society of other people's\nchildren, has his and her own budget, comprising tit-bits at once\ninteresting, startling, and amusing. When occasion has saved us from the\nfoolishly doting parent who is everlastingly prosing about the very\nclever things his own little Johnnie has said or done, I have seldom\nfound greater enjoyment of a mixed company than when the queer sayings\nof children went round the board, and we had \"recollections,\" by\nsuggestion, of things which perhaps had been better left unsaid, as also\nof things which had been more agreeably expressed if differently worded;\nyet all so honestly set forth that even the \"victims\" could not help but\nenjoy them in some measure. Children accept all statements so\nimplicitly, and, with their quick-working wits, they reason so\nstraight-forwardly, that the application when voiced comes at times with\na bang sufficient to take one's breath away. Given this and that,\nhowever, an application is unavoidable. As lief set fire behind powder\nin a gun and expect there will be no report. A mite of five, thus, will\non occasion utter a syllogism that would not discredit a professor of\nlogic, or will put a question to which a whole college of theologians\nmight not venture an answer. A little lady of my acquaintance who had\nnot yet seen her fourth birthday, was one morning told by her mother\nthat she could not get out to play--the frost was too severe. \"Who makes\nthe frost, ma?\" was asked. \"God, dear.\" \"What does He make frost for?\"\n\"To kill the worms.\" \"And why does He make worms, and has to make frost\nto kill them?\" This was a sufficient poser, but the mother continued,\n\"The worms have to be killed, else they would eat the roots of all the\nplants and flowers.\" The little lady reflected, then gravely asked, \"But\ndoes God kill the wee chicky worms that never eated any roots?\" The\nmother did not answer, but looked now even more grave than the child.\nThe same little miss was listening one evening to a newspaper report\nbeing read, which told how a man in a storm of wind had been blown with\na ladder from a house-top in Glasgow, and was killed. \"Who makes the\nwind?\" she asked sharply. She was told. \"And does God make the bad winds\nthat kills the mans?\" was demanded. There was no reply; but she read the\nsilence as meaning \"yes,\" and turning to leave the room she muttered\nmore to herself than otherwise, \"When I die and go to Heaven I'll not\nsit beside God.\" When repeating the _Pater-noster_ one evening she stuck\nat the first sentence, and wanted to know \"If God is our Father in\nHeaven who is our Mother in Heaven?\" But the mother was saved this time\nby the interposition of the little one's elder brother, who, with stern\nemphasis, exclaimed, \"Stupid! God's wife, of course.\" A little\nboy-relative of that girl returned from school one day, while he was but\na pupil in the infant department, and stepping proudly up to where his\nfather was seated, \"Pa,\" he exclaimed, \"I am the cleverest boy in the\nclass.\" \"Indeed,\" returned the parent, \"I am proud to hear that; but who\nsaid it?\" \"The teacher.\" \"If the teacher said so, it surely must be\ntrue. What did she say, though?\" \"She said, 'Stand up the cleverest boy\nin the class,' and I stood up.\" The same little fellow was on the way to\nschool with a friend one morning, towards the end of December, when the\ntwo were attracted by the appearance of a sweep on the chimney of a\nneighbouring building. \"I ken what that man's doin' up there,\" he\nasserted; \"he's sweepin' the lums for Santa Claus to get doon.\" And that\nrecalls the story I once heard of a little man in the Carse of Gowrie.\nIt happened on an evening towards the close of the year, as he was\npreparing for bed, and was sitting by the fire with his first liberated\nstocking in his hand, that he looked over to his mother, and \"Mither,\"\nhe asked, \"will I get a pair o' new stockin's before Christmas?\" \"Maybe,\nladdie; but what gars ye speir?\" \"Because\"--and he spoke mournfully, as\nhe stuck his fingers through a large hole in the toe--\"if Santa Claus\nputs onything intil thir anes, it'll fa' oot.\" How cleverly they reason,\nyou see! \"Bring me a drink o' water, Johnnie,\" was the order delivered\nby a Perthshire farmer to his little son one day a good many years ago.\nThe boy went to do as he was asked, but the water-stoup had been nearly\nempty, and, as he was approaching his parent with the liquid, he paused\nand peered doubtfully into the hand-vessel, then, as if suddenly\ninspired by a happy thought, \"Will I put meal in't, father?\" he asked.\n\"No.\" \"Oh, weel, then\"--and he turned to go back--\"ye'll need to wait\ntill somebody gangs to the well.\" But to return to children I have known\nfor yet one or two more illustrations. I was at a tea-table one\nafternoon where the company was mostly composed of the smaller fry, and\nan incident, important to all, was mentioned, which had happened some\nseven or eight years before. Several of the older children declared,\ntruthfully, that they remembered it quite well. \"So do I mind o' it,\"\nasserted a little fellow about five. \"How could you mind o' it?\"\nquestioned scornfully an older brother; \"you wasna born at the time.\" \"I\nken,\" as scornfully returned the younger theologian; \"I was dust at the\ntime; but I mind o' it weel enough.\" Here is the verbatim copy of a\nletter written since by the hand of that same boy--in a country village\nin Perthshire--where he has been staying continuously for several years,\nand addressed to his father in Glasgow:--\"Dear Pa, The Rabbits is all\ndead. Worried with dogs. The gold fishes is dead. Died with the cold.\nThe cat has had kittens, four of them, and the rest of us is all well.\"\nThe remark of a prominent Scottish novelist who recently passed the\nepistle through his hands was--\"That's style, the most crisp and\npicturesque. And then--'the rest of us'--how beautifully innocent!\"\n\nThe little girl of a friend of mind--while still of very tender\nyears--was first taken to church by her aunt. On the way home, and soon\nafter leaving the portals of the sacred edifice, she looked up solemnly\nin her guardian's face, and, \"Auntie,\" she asked, \"was yon God on the\nmantel-piece?\" She referred doubtless to the minister in the pulpit.\nDon't think of irreverence, my reader! The child, in its atmosphere of\nperfect innocence, knows not the word. And bear that in mind further\nwhen I tell you of a little boy and girl--both of whom I know well--who\nwere having a walk with me one Sunday in early Autumn, when suddenly a\nrailway train appeared in view. A train on Sunday! They were staggered\nby the sight; and the boy demanded to know why it should be there. \"Oh,\nI know,\" exclaimed the girl, after some reflection; \"it'll be God coming\nback from his holidays.\" The question, \"Can prayer be answered?\" may be\noften discussed by grown-up minds. It is never raised by the children.\nNo doubts trouble them in that relation. They are quite certain they\nwill get what they ask for. Perfect confidence in that alone could have\nmade it possible for a certain little miss, who, when being put to bed\nin a tired condition, and asked to say her prayer, began:--\n\n \"This night I lay me down to sleep,\n I pray the Lord----\"\n\nthen gave a long, loud yawn, and added, \"Oh God, I am awfully\nsleepy--you know the rest\"--making thus, in her rude simplicity, a\nfinely trustful and beautiful prayer. \"Give us each day our daily\nbread,\" was the honest petition of a little fellow--who, however,\nrecalling probably some recent violent experiences, immediately\nadded--\"but dinna let our Lizzie bake it.\" An elaborately-trained little\nfellow who had nightly to pray for blessings on \"mamma, and papa,\ngrandpapa, and grandmamma,\" and all his uncles, his aunts, and his\ncousins, committing each by name, after exhausting the catalogue one\nevening, heaved a heavy sigh and exclaimed wearily, \"Oh, dear, I wish\nthese people would pray for themselves, for I am so tired of praying for\nthem all!\"\n\nA little girl, whose baby brother had died, was told that he had gone to\nHeaven, and that night she refused to pray--\"Take me to Heaven for\nJesus' sake\"--because, as she said; \"I don't want to go to Heaven, I\nwant to stay here, with ma, and pa, and dolly.\" Were all prayers as\nhonest, many of them, I suspect, would be much shorter than they are.\n\nI have heard of a little boy who was continually being told that he\nshould be good.\n\n\"And if I am gooder, and gooder,\" he asked, \"what will I be?\"\n\n\"Oh, you will be a little angel.\"\n\n\"But I don't want to be an angel,\" he retorted; \"I want to be an\nengine-driver.\" They are never else than frank in their statements. A\nmother who suffers from severe headaches, said to her little girl about\neight, one day not long ago, \"What would you do, Lottie dear, if your\ndarling mother was taken away from you--if she died?\" \"Well, mother,\"\nwas the little one's startling answer, \"I suppose we would cry at\nfirst--then we would bury you, and then we would come home and take all\nthe money out of your pocket.\" Now, while it is possible that something\nelse might also be done, it is almost certain--yea, it is certain,\nwithout doubt--that all these ceremonials, however reluctantly, would,\nin turn, be duly performed.\n\nFrom a story bearing on death to one relating to birth is a transition\nnot so unnatural as may at the first blush appear. And births are\naffairs ever of prime interest to children. Not many years ago it\nhappened in a village in Perthshire that twins arrived in a family, and\nnext day one of the little misses of the house was out on the street\nplaying, when a neighbouring lady came up to where she was, and, \"So\nyou've got two little babies at home, Bizzie,\" she remarked. \"Yes,\"\nresponded the little one, very solemnly; \"and do you know, my father was\naway at Edinburgh when the doctor brought them. But it was a good thing\nmy mother was in; for if she hadna, there would have been naebody in the\nhouse but me, and I wadna have kent what to do wi' them.\" They tell this\ndelightful story of the little daughter of Professor Van Dyke, of the\nPhiladelphia University:--\n\n\"Papa, where were you born?\"\n\n\"In Boston, my dear.\"\n\n\"Where was mamma born?\"\n\n\"In San Francisco.\"\n\n\"And where was I born?\"\n\n\"In Philadelphia.\"\n\n\"Well, pap, isn't it funny how we three people got together?\"\n\nAnd that now recalls another which Mrs. Keeley, the actress, tells of a\ntradesman's little boy who was often taken to stay with his grandmother\nand grandfather--the latter a very feeble old man, bald and toothless.\nThis little fellow was told that his father and mother had \"bought\" a\nnice new baby brother for him. The little man was much interested by the\nnews, and was taken to see the new arrival. He looked at it with\nastonishment for a few seconds, then remarked--\"Why, he's got no hair,\nfather!\" This was at once admitted. \"And he's got no teeth,\" observed\nthe boy again, touching another fact which could not be denied. Then a\nlong and thoughtful pause ensued, after which the little critic (who had\nprobably been comparing the baby with his grandfather), observed\nconfidentially--\"I'll tell you what, father; if they called him a new\nbaby, they've taken you in--he's an old 'un!\" You cannot easily get\nround children. And it is almost impossible to suppress them. As\ntouching this fact an excellent story is told of our present King and\nhis sister, the late Empress of Germany, when they were boy and girl.\nLord----, who had a deformed foot, was invited to Osborne; and before\nhis arrival the Queen and Prince Albert debated whether it would be\nbetter to warn the Prince of Wales and the Princess Royal of his\nphysical calamity, so as to avoid embarrassing remarks, or to leave the\nmatter to their own good feeling. The latter course was adopted. Lord\n---- duly arrived. The foot elicited no remark from the Royal children,\nand the visit passed off with perfect success. But next day the Princess\nRoyal asked the Queen, \"Where is Lord----?\" \"He has gone back to London,\ndear.\" \"Oh, what a pity! He had promised to show Berty and me his foot!\"\nThe _enfants terrible_ had wilily caught his lordship in the corridor,\nand made their own terms.\n\nThere is pleasure in telling that story were it but for the revelation\nit affords of how the children of Kings and Queens are animated by the\nsame curiosities, and may act at times so like the children of the\ncommonality. That Royalty again may be moved by the action or word of a\nchild of common birth we have many pleasing proofs. One is pat. A late\nKing of Prussia, while visiting in one of the villages of his dominion,\nwas welcomed by the school children. Their sponsor made a speech for\nthem. The King thanked them. Then, taking an orange from a plate, he\nasked--\"To what kingdom does this belong?\" \"The vegetable kingdom,\nsire,\" replied a little girl. The King next took a gold coin from his\npocket, and, holding it up, asked--\"And to what kingdom does this\nbelong?\" \"To the mineral kingdom,\" was the reply. \"And to what kingdom\ndo I belong then?\" asked the King. The little girl coloured deeply; for\nshe did not like to say the \"animal kingdom,\" as he thought she would,\nlest His Majesty should be offended. But just then it flashed upon her\nmind that \"God made man in His own image,\" and looking up with\nbrightening eye, she said--\"To God's Kingdom, sire.\" The King was moved.\nA tear stood in his eye. He placed his hand on the child's head, and\nsaid, most devoutly--\"God grant that I may be accounted worthy of that\nKingdom.\" Thus did the words of a common child, you see, move the heart\nof a King. But, oh, we are all the same. It is only the environment that\nis different. And the distinction there even is not so great as one, not\nknowing, may be disposed to imagine. In high and low life alike, anyway,\nthe children, we know, are free; and all alike are susceptible of\neccentricity. What a fine confession of this the Princess of Wales made\nnot long ago when, as Duchess of York, she was addressing a Girls'\nSociety in London. As a school-girl, she said, she disliked geography;\nof which, she added, she was very ignorant. Once she was set to draw an\noutline map of the world from memory. \"On showing it to my governess,\"\nsaid the Princess, \"she said in quite an alarmed manner--'Why, you have\nleft out China! Don't you know where it is?' 'Yes,' I replied, very\nstubbornly, but very loyally, 'I know where it should be, but I am not\ngoing to put it in my map. The Queen is angry with China now, so it has\nno right to have a place in the world at all.'\" The spirit of\nexclusiveness manifested by the little lady might readily be quarrelled\nwith in some quarters; but surely the act gives promise of a Queen who,\nlike her to whom she was loyal, will, when her glory cometh--though, may\nit be far distant--prove the pride of every loyal Briton!\n\nThe somersaultic cleverness by which a child will get out of an awkward\nsituation has been often revealed, but seldom with more humour than in\nthe two succeeding illustrations. A minister returning from church\ntowards the manse on a Sunday, came suddenly on a boy leaning earnestly\nover the parapet of a bridge with a short rod and a long string having a\nbaited hook on the far end, by which he was trying his luck in the burn\nbeneath. \"Boy,\" he exclaimed severely, \"is this a day on which you\nshould be catching fish?\" \"Wha's catchin' fish?\" drawled the budding\nIsaac Walton; \"I'm juist tryin' to droon this worm.\" The next boy was\nyet cleverer--alike in fishing and in speech. He had several trout\ndangling from his hand by a string when he met the minister abruptly in\na quick bend of the road. There was no chance of escape; but his ready\nwit saved him. He walked boldly forward, and taking the first word as\nthe two were about to meet, he dangled the trout-hand high, looked the\nminister square in the face, and exclaimed, \"That sorts them for\nsnappin' at flees on the Sabbath!\" and passed hence, leaving his\nanticipated accuser flabbergasted.\n\nRuskin says of children: \"They are forced by nature to develop their\npowers of invention, as a bird its feathers of flight;\" and we might\nadd, remarks another writer, \"that the inventive faculty, like a bird,\nis apt, when fully grown, to fly away. Then, when their own imaginative\nresources begin to fail them, one observes children begin to read books\nof adventure with avidity--at the age, say, of ten or twelve years.\nBefore that, no Rover of the Andes or Erling the Bold can equal the\nheroic achievements they evolve from their inner consciousness.\" Who,\nfor instance, could hope to \"put a patch\" on the experience of those two\nlittle boys who spent a snowy day during the Christmas holidays\ntiger-shooting in their father's dining-room; and as one, making his\ncautious way among the legs of the dinner-table, for the nonce a\npathless jungle, was hailed by the other with, \"Any tigers there, Bill?\"\nhe answered gloriously: \"Tigers? I'm knee-deep in them!\"\n\nThat excellent story recalls to me another, not unlike it. Also of a\nChristmas time. The children had asked permission to get up a play, and\nit had been granted on the condition that they did it all themselves\nwithout help or hint. As the eldest was only ten they accepted the\ncondition with alacrity, for young children hate to be interfered with\nand hampered by their elders. When the evening came and the family and\naudience had collected, the curtain was drawn back and revealed the\nheroine (aged nine), who stated with impassioned sobs that her husband\nhad been in South Africa for the past three years, but that she was\nexpecting his return. Truly enough the hero (aged ten) entered, and\nproceeded, after affectionate but hasty greetings, to give his wife an\neloquent account of his doings, the battles he had fought, the Boers he\nhad killed, and the honours he had won.\n\nWhen he at last paused for breath, his wife rose, and taking his hand\nled him to the back, where a short curtain covered a recess. \"I, too,\ndear,\" she said proudly, \"have not been idle.\"\n\nAnd pulling back the curtain she displayed six cradles occupied by six\nlarge baby dolls!\n\nAnd that again recalls another, quite in the same line. One day a\ngentleman walking down a street observed a little boy seated on a\ndoorstep. Going up to him, he said, \"Well, my little chap, how is it you\nare sitting outside on the doorstep, when I see through the window all\nthe other young folks inside playing games and having a good time? Why\naren't you inside joining in the fun?\" \"I guess, stranger, that I'm in\nthis game.\" replied the boy. \"But how can you be, when you are out on\nthe doorstep, and the others are all inside?\" \"Oh, I'm in the show right\nenough. You see, we're playing at being married. I'm the baby, and I'm\nnot born yet!\"\n\nThe late Dr. Norman M'cLeod--the great Norman--rejoiced in telling a\nstory about two ragged children whom he found busy on the side of a\ncountry road one day, working with some stiffened mud, which they had\ncarefully scraped together. \"What's this you are making?\" he asked. One\nof the children replied that it was a kirk. \"A kirk! Ay, and where's the\ndoor?\" \"There it's.\" \"And the pulpit?\" \"That's it.\" \"And the minister?\"\nThe little one hesitated, then replied, very innocently--\"We hadna dirt\nenough left to mak' a minister.\"\n\nThe minister, of course--and the weaker his character he should be the\nmore careful--must always approach children with caution if he hopes to\ncome out of the interview with his reputation unscathed. I have heard or\nread of a member of the cloth--a supreme egoist--who was visiting at a\nhouse when but the mother and her little girl--a mere child--were at\nhome. As the self-esteemed great man was holding the mother in\nconversation, he noticed with pride that the child, who reposed on the\nhearthrug with a school-slate tilted on her knee, was making furtive\nglances up at his face, and returning her attention regularly to the\nslate, on which she kept scrawling with a pencil. When at length she\nstopped and looked serious, \"Well, my dear,\" he exclaimed, \"have you\nbeen trying to draw my portrait?\" She did not reply, \"Come,\" he\ncontinued, coaxingly, \"you must let me see it.\" \"Oh,\" interposed the\nproud mother, \"she's awfu' clever at the drawin'.\" This made the\nminister still more eager to see the work, and he repeated his request\nfor an exposure; but the child clutched the slate only more tightly to\nher breast and did not look up. \"She's aye sae shy, ye ken,\" interceded\nthe mother, as she reached her hand to procure the work of art by main\nforce. It was then the little one found her tongue, and she\nexclaimed--\"Oh, it wasna very like him, and I just put a tail till't,\nand ca'd it a doggie.\" The _denouement_ leaves nothing to be desired.\n\nDean Ramsay, to whom his country owes so much for the elucidation of its\ncharacteristics, tells humorously of the elder of a kirk having found a\nlittle boy and his sister playing marbles on Sunday, and put his reproof\nnot at all in judicious form by exclaiming--\"Boy, do you know where\nchildren go who play marbles on the Sabbath-day?\" Not in judicious form,\ntruly, for the boy replied, \"Ay, they gang doun to the field by the\nwater below the brig.\" \"No,\" roared out the elder, \"they go to hell, and\nare burned.\" Worse than ever--for the elder--for the little fellow,\nreally shocked, now called to his sister, \"Come awa', Jeanie, here's a\nman swearin' awfu'.\"\n\n\"Among the lower orders in Scotland humour is found, occasionally, very\nrich in mere children,\" observes the Dean, \"and I recollect a remarkable\nillustration of this early native humour occurring in a family in\nForfarshire, where I used in former days to be very intimate. A wretched\nwoman, who used to traverse the country as a beggar or tramp, left a\npoor half-starved little girl by the road-side near the house of my\nfriends. Always ready to assist the unfortunate, they took charge of the\nchild, and as she grew a little older they began to give her some\neducation, and taught her to read. She soon made some progress in\nreading the Bible, and the native odd humour of which we speak began\nsoon to show itself. On reading the passage which began 'Then David\nrose,' etc., the child stopped and looked up knowingly to say, 'I ken\nwha that was,' and being asked what she could mean, she confidently\nsaid, 'That's David Rowse the pleuchman.' And again, reading the passage\nwhere the words occur, 'He took Paul's girdle,' the child said, with\nmuch confidence, 'I ken what he took that for;' and on being asked to\nexplain, replied at once, 'To bake his bannocks on.'\"\n\nAmong less than a dozen examples in all of child humour, the good Dean\nhas yet another worth telling, which he says, used to be narrated by an\nold Mr. Campbell of Jura, who told the story of his own son. The boy, it\nseems, was much spoilt by indulgence. In fact, the parents were scarce\nable to refuse him anything he demanded. He was in the drawing-room on\none occasion when dinner was announced, and on being ordered up to the\nnursery he insisted on going down to dinner with the company. His\nmother was for refusal, but the child persevered and kept saying, \"If I\ndinna gang, I'll tell yon.\" His father then, for peace sake, let him go.\nSo he went, and sat at the table by his mother. When he found every one\ngetting soup and himself omitted, he demanded soup, and repeated, \"If I\ndinna get it, I'll tell yon.\" Well, soup was given, and various other\nthings yielded to his importunities, to which he always added the usual\nthreat of \"telling yon.\" At last, when it came to wine, his mother stood\nfirm, and positively refused, as \"a bad thing for little boys,\" and so\non. He then became more vociferous than ever about \"telling yon;\" and,\nas still he was refused, he declared, \"Now I'll tell yon,\" and at last\nroared out--\"_My new breeks are made oot o' the auld curtains!_\"\n\nThat, however, is not the most delectable of child stories. We prefer\nthe ideas of the little folks within the region of philosophy. When, for\nexample, they want to know \"Whaur div' a' the figures gang when they're\nrubbit oot?\" and ask such questions as \"Where does the dark go when the\nlight comes?\" \"Was it not very wrong of God not to make Cain good as\nwell as Abel?\" or, \"If it be true that some of the stars are bigger than\nthis earth, how do they not keep the rain off?\"\n\n\"I say, father,\" asked a little fellow as he raised his eyes off his\nhome lesson, \"Who invented the multiplication table?\" \"Oh, I don't\nknow,\" he was answered; \"it was invented long ago; why?\"\n\n\"Well, I was thinking if the gentleman that invented it didn't know it\nalready, he must have had a tough job; and if he did know it, what was\nthe good of him inventing it at all?\" It was a cloudy and moonless\nnight when a little fellow was taken out by his mother, who went to call\nfor a friend. \"Mamma,\" he exclaimed, looking up, \"I expect God's been\nvery busy this evening, for I see He has forgotten to hang the stars\nout.\"\n\nShe was a very small Miss who went to church alone one day, where an\norgan had recently been introduced. As she stood gazing about just\nwithin the door, an elder approached, and asked where she would prefer\nto sit. \"Well,\" she said pertly, \"if there's a monkey, I would like to\nbe near the organ; but if there's no' a monkey, I'll just sit ony\nplace.\"\n\nA pretty good story is related of one of Governor Tilton's staff. It is\nsaid that when the individual referred to first presented himself _en\nmilitaire_ to his wife and little daughter, the latter, after gazing at\nhim for a few minutes, turned to her mother, and exclaimed: \"Why, Ma,\nthat's not a real soldier--it's Pa!\" Equally observant was another\nyoungster, who was sent by his parent to take a letter to the\npost-office and pay the postage on it. The boy returned highly elated,\nand said: \"Father, I seed a lot of men putting letters in a little\nplace; and when no one was looking, I slipped yours in for nothing.\" We\nhardly know whether the father would laugh or storm over this\nunconscious attempt to defraud the revenue. But no matter.\n\nTwo little London girls who had been sent by the kindness of the vicar's\nwife to have \"a happy day in the country,\" narrating their experiences\non their return, said, \"Oh, yes, mum, we did 'ave a happy day. We saw\ntwo pigs killed and a gentleman buried.\"\n\nIt is the rare that fascinates. Many years ago, I was living in a house\nwhere, on an evening, a little Miss was toiling over her school-lesson,\nand declaiming loudly, \"The--sow--has--pigs.\" Being a city child, I\nwondered whether she knew of what she was reading, and asked, \"Did you\never see a sow and pigs, Mary?\" \"No,\" she replied smartly, \"but when I\nwas going to the school the day, I saw a policeman getting his\nphotograph taken.\"\n\nBut speaking here of London children, reminds me of two London stories\nwhich should not be omitted. So here:--\n\nTwo small boys walking down Tottenham Court Road, passed a tobacconist's\nshop. The bigger remarked--\"I say, Bill, I've got a ha-penny, and if\nyou've got one too, we'll have a penny smoke between us.\"\n\nBill produced his copper, and Tommy, diving into the shop, promptly\nre-appeared with a penny cigar in his mouth.\n\nThe boys walked side by side for a few minutes, when the smaller mildly\nsaid, \"I say, Tom, when am I to have a puff? The weed's half mine.\"\n\n\"Oh, you shut up,\" was the business-like reply. \"I'm the chairman of\nthis company, and you are only a shareholder. You can spit.\"\n\nThat is the first. The second, though less precocious, is yet more\nenjoyable. Besides, we know it is true, while the other--well, it is not\nabove suspicion.\n\nOne day, when seeking a model, Miss Dorothy Tennant (now Mrs. H. M.\nStanley) discovered a likely subject in the shape of a crossing-sweeper;\nand, while conducting him to Richmond Terrace, she met her family's old\nfriend, Mr. Gladstone. Greatly moved by her companion, he exclaimed:\n\n\"Who's your friend?\" Then and there the crossing-sweeper, much to his\ndismay, was presented to the \"People's William.\"\n\nOn entering the Tennant mansion, the urchin was tremendously impressed\nby the liveried servant who had opened the door, and, after looking back\nat him several times, whispered mysteriously to his kind hostess:\n\n\"I say, miss, why does your big brother wear brass buttons?\"\n\nAlways thoughtful, Miss Tennant first led her charge to the servants\nhall, where she sat beside him as he played havoc with the well-filled\ndishes placed before him. At the conclusion of his repast, Miss Tennant\nasked the boy how he liked it.\n\n\"Proper,\" replied the crossing-sweeper; \"yer mother do cook prime!\"\n\nLondon having yielded its quota, the \"Second City\" may be again drawn\nupon.\n\nA little boy of tender years was sitting on the doorstep of a house in\nBridgeton, there, the other morning, crying bitterly, when a girl of\nabout the same age accosted him, and the following conversation was\noverheard:--\"What are ye greetin' for, laddie?\" she inquired, in\nsympathetic tones. \"Did onybody hit ye?\" \"N-n-na,\" sobbed the boy.\n\"Then, what is't ye're greetin' for?\" the little damsel went on. \"'Cause\nmy wee brither's gane to heaven,\" exclaimed the little fellow, bitterly,\nbetween his sobs. \"Oh!\" ejaculated the girl; and then, after a pause,\n\"but ye shouldna greet like that--maybe he hasna.\"\n\nAnother. Recently a little fellow came home from school crying bitterly,\nand altogether manifesting great sorrow. \"What's the matter, Geordie,\"\nsympathetically inquired his mother, \"has onybody been hittin' ye?\"\n\"N-n-n-o,\" answered the boy between his sobs. \"Then, what are you crying\nabout?\" she went on. \"Boo! hoo! wee Sammy Sloan's faither an' mither hae\nflitted to Coatbrig!\" \"Tuts, laddie, dinna greet about that,\" she\nexclaimed, re-assuringly, \"there's plenty mair laddies bidin' in the\nstreet besides Sammy Sloan that ye can play wi'.\" \"I ken that,\" said\nGeordie, with another sob, \"but he was the only yin I could lick.\"\n\nChildren, really, as we have been revealing so frequently here, have the\nfresh and original notions of things, and are always frank enough to\ngive them voice.\n\nA little boy was reading the story of a missionary having been eaten by\ncannibals. \"Papa,\" he asked, \"will the missionary go to heaven?\" \"Yes,\nmy son,\" replied the father. \"And will the cannibals go there, too?\"\nqueried the youthful student. \"No,\" was the reply. After thinking the\nmatter over for some time, the little fellow exclaimed--\"Well, I don't\nsee how the missionary can go to heaven if the cannibals don't, when\nhe's inside the cannibals.\"\n\nOne Sunday evening, while sitting on his mother's knee listening to the\nstory of Jonah being swallowed by the whale, a little fellow looked up\nseriously into her face and asked, \"Ma, did Jonah wear his slippers in\nthe whale's belly? Because, if he didna, the tackets in his boots wad\ntear a' its puddin's.\"\n\nDr. John Ker of Edinburgh, in his recently published volume of\nreminiscences--_Memories Grave and Gay_--tells of how \"in a Banffshire\nmanse one Sunday evening, all the family were sitting quietly reading in\nthe drawing-room, when the youngest boy, with a laudable thirst for\nknowledge, went up to his mother and asked a question, for the answer\nto which she referred him to me. Coming up to me, he said--\n\n\"'Mr. Ker, is it true that the devil goes about like a roaring lion?\"\n\n\"'It must,' I replied, 'be true, for it is in the Bible.'\n\n\"This was followed by another question which I did not attempt to\nanswer--\n\n\"'Then, wha keeps his fire in when he's gaun aboot?'\"\n\n\"Do you know, mamma, I don't believe Solomon was so rich after all?\"\nobserved a sharp boy to his mother, who prided herself on her orthodoxy.\n\"My child!\" she exclaimed in pious horror, \"what does the Bible say?\"\n\"That's just it,\" he answered. \"It says that 'Solomon slept with his\nfathers.' Now, surely, if he had been rich he'd have had a bed to\nhimself.\"\n\nA father once said to a little boy, not so obedient as might be desired,\n\"Everything I say to you goes in at one ear and out at the other.\" \"Is\nthat what little boys has two ears for, daddy?\" asked the child, quite\ninnocently.\n\nEngaging his tender \"hopeful\" in the wonders of astronomy--\"Men have\nlearned the distances of the stars,\" observed the father; \"and, with\ntheir spectroscopes, found out what they are made of.\" \"Yes,\" responded\nthe boy admiringly; \"and isn't it strange, pa, how they found out their\nnames too!\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSCHOOLROOM FACTS AND FANCIES.\n\n\nThese are so numerous as to demand a separate chapter.\n\nTalking of the serpent in the Garden of Eden, a lady teacher asked her\nclass what a serpent was like, when a boy aptly replied, \"It's like a\nlang rope furlin'.\"\n\nOn another occasion, in the same class, the question was, \"What does the\ndevil tempt little boys and girls to do?\" when the comical answer came,\n\"To chap at fouk's doors, mem.\"\n\nIt has been often told, but is worth repeating, how a pupil teacher was\ndoing his level best to make the children remember Samson's mighty deeds\nwith the jawbone of an ass, and, recapitulating, he asked, \"What did\nSamson slay ten thousand Philistines with? Eh?\" No reply came. Then,\npointing to his jawbone, he asked, \"What is this?\" And at once the\nanswer belched proudly from half-a-dozen throats in unison, \"The jawbone\nof an ass.\"\n\nIn a country school the lesson was on \"The Prodigal Son,\" and the\nquestion, \"What were the husks that the swine did eat?\" met with the\nprompt answer, \"Tawtie peelin's.\" In a city seminary a teacher asked\nher class, \"Who knows everything we say and do?\" when she received the\nunexpected reply, \"The fouk that bides next door to us.\"\n\nExpecting to get the answer \"Carnivorous\" (as it bore on the lesson), a\nteacher asked his class for an example of a bird of prey, and among\nother answers he got was \"A yellow yite.\" The boy who responded so, on\nbeing asked to explain, continued, \"Because it eats worms.\"\n\n\"What do you call the bird or beast that feeds on both animal and\nvegetable foods?\" was the next question. The teacher anticipated\n\"Omnivorous\" this time, but it did not come. There was silence for a\nlittle. Then a boy, who evidently had been ruminating, responded\nnonchalantly, \"A gutsy brute, sir.\"\n\nIn examining the boys in the composition of sentences, a master began:\n\"If I ask you,\" said he, \"what have I in my hand? you must not say\nsimply 'Chalk,' but make a full sentence of it, and say, 'You have chalk\nin your hand.' Now I will proceed. What have I on my feet?\" The answer\ncame immediately, \"Boots.\" \"Wrong; you haven't been observing my\ndirections,\" he rebukingly replied. \"Stockings,\" another heedlessly\nventured to answer. \"Wrong again--worse than ever,\" wrathfully exclaimed\nthe _magister_. \"Well?\" he continued interrogatively to a lad near him.\n\"Please, sir,\" then he paused--perhaps he thought it _might_ sound\nfunny, but he felt it _must_ be right, and so he recklessly gasped\nout--\"Corns!\"\n\nBut the answers are not always so stupid.\n\n\"Why is it,\" asked a teacher, \"the sun never sets on the British\npossessions?\" \"Because,\" slowly responded an ingenuous youngster, \"the\nBritish possessions are in the north, south, and east, and the sun\nalways sets in the west.\"\n\nDuring a recent School Board examination in the west of Scotland, the\nexaminer asked a little girl to explain what was meant by the\nexpression, _He was amply rewarded._ \"Paid for't,\" was her instant\nreply. \"No, no; you are wrong. Suppose you have to go into a baker's\nshop and buy a half-quarter loaf, and lay down fourpence, would you say\nyou had amply rewarded the baker?\" Unhesitatingly she replied \"Yes.\"\n\"Why?\" \"Because the loaf's only twopence-three-farthings,\" was the\nunlooked-for answer.\n\nQuite like that is the story of a small boy into whose head a teacher\nwas one day labouring almost in vain to get, as he thought, even the\nfaintest correct notion of the first rule in arithmetic. \"Look here now,\nJohnnie,\" he said at length, \"if I were to give you two rabbits and your\nfather were to give you three rabbits, how many rabbits would you then\nhave?\" \"Six.\" \"No, no;\" and the teacher set out bits of chalk to show\nhow he could only have five. \"Ah, but,\" drawled out Johnnie, \"I have a\nrabbit at hame already.\"\n\nIt was a notion of multiplication that another teacher was endeavouring\nto get properly lodged within the skull of another boy, and by way of\nputting the effort to a practical test, he said: \"Now, Peter, suppose I\nwas a tailor who supplied your father with a suit of clothes for three\npounds, which he promised to pay me in weekly instalments of one\nshilling, how much would your father be due me at the end of a year?\"\n\"Three pounds,\" replied Peter slowly. \"Nonsense, Peter; think again.\"\nPeter thought again, but again answered as before. \"You don't know that\nsimple sum!\" exclaimed the teacher in amazement. \"Ay, I ken it weel\nenough,\" responded Peter, \"but ye dinna ken my faither.\"\n\n\"Did any of you ever see an elephant's skin?\" asked the master of an\ninfant school. \"I have,\" shouted a six-year-old at the foot of the\nclass. \"Where?\" \"On the elephant.\"\n\nA little boy of my acquaintance, while yet a pupil in the infant\ndepartment, was one day given a slate more to engage his attention than\naught else. But he had some notion of drawing, and when the teacher came\nround she was astonished to find he had set down a fair picture of a\nbird on a bough. \"Ha! who drew this?\" she asked. \"Mysel',\" was the canny\nScotch reply. \"And who's mysel'?\" she queried. \"Oh, I'm fine,\" was the\nsecond response, not less Scotch than the first. The English reader, of\ncourse, won't fairly understand the word \"fine\" as spoken there; but\nevery Scotsman will, as also how \"who's\" may be mistaken for \"how's.\"\n\nThere is another \"fine\" story. It was asked of a class, \"How did the\nIsraelites get across the Red Sea?\" \"Fine,\" exclaimed a youth with\nbrightening eyes; \"'twas the 'Gyptians was droon'd.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by a temperate region?\" asked an inspector of a class,\nputting due emphasis on the word temperate. \"The region, sir,\" responded\na boy \"where they drinks only temperants drinks.\"\n\nNot long ago a class of boys were being examined on the different kinds\nof wood; and one little chap was asked to name the specimen (a piece of\nmahogany) which was held in the examiner's hand. He hesitated, and the\ninspector, by way of suggestion, remarked, \"Why, don't you know the\nmaterials that your mother's drawers are made of?\" This seemed to\nsimplify the matter, and, amidst a roar of laughter, came the quick\nreply--\"Flannelette!\"\n\n\"Name anything friable,\" said a teacher. \"Ham,\" was the ready answer.\n\n\"What is a papal bull?\"\n\n\"A golden calf.\"\n\n\"What is ice?\"\n\n\"Water fast asleep.\"\n\n\"What is a skeleton?\"\n\n\"A man without any meat on it.\"\n\nA teacher was examining a class on the battle of Bannockburn, and asked,\n\"Who killed de Bohun?\" No one knew. He raised his arm in an attitude of\nstriking, and yelled, with flashing eyes, \"Who killed de Bohun, I say?\"\nA little fellow near him, who expected the blow, raised his arm in a\ndefensive attitude, and whined, \"Oh, please, sir, it wasna me.\"\n\n\"What is meant by faith?\" was one day asked of a class. \"Faith,\"\nresponded a thoughtful youth, \"is the faculty which enables us to\nbelieve things that we know to be not true.\"\n\nIn the lesson of a class of country boys not long ago, the words \"above\nthe average\" occurred, and the lady teacher asked if any one could tell\nwhat the word \"average\" meant. There was no response for a time, and she\npassed the question from one to another until a more than average\nspecimen eagerly responded, \"It's a thing that hens lay on.\" The teacher\nwas dumb-founded, and asked for an explanation. \"Well,\" drawled the\nbudding Solomon, \"my mother says that our hens lay each four eggs a\nweek--on an average.\"\n\nIt is a teacher's business to observe that his scholars are clean as\nwell as clever, and the Rev. David Macrae, in his entertaining little\nbook of _Quaint Sayings of Children_, tells how a teacher, after\nglancing round the class one day, said to a boy, \"I'll let you off if\nyou can find a hand in all the school as dirty as that one,\" indicating\nthe boy's own grimy exposed paw. The youth promptly brought forth and\nshowed his other fist, which was certainly dirtier still, and the\nmaster, in view of his pledge, had no resource but to let the offender\ngo for that time any way.\n\nAn old story, which has had a lively currency, tells of how a boy when\nhe returned from school was always asked where he stood in his class,\nand whose invariable answer was, \"I'm second dux.\" For the regular\nholding of this excellent position he received many fine things in the\nshape of sweets and biscuits, and pennies, etc., until at length it\noccurred to one of the family to ask him how many were in his class. It\nwas then the gilt fell off the ginger-bread. \"Oh,\" said he, \"there's\njust me and anither lassie.\"\n\nDean Ramsay tells of a very practical answer given by a little girl who\nhad been asked the meaning of \"darkness,\" as it occurred in Scripture\nreading--\"Just steek your een.\" In the same place, he says, on the\nquestion, \"What is the pestilence that walketh in darkness?\" being put\nto a class, a little boy answered, after consideration, \"Oh, it's just\n_bugs_.\"\n\nOur friend, Dr. John Ker, has often told of an occasion when he was\nexamining a class in mathematics, and put the question to a boy--\"If a\nsalmon weighed 16 lbs., and was to be sold at 2d. per lb., what would it\nbe worth?\"--and how the lad, who was the son of a fishmonger, hastily\nreplied--\"It wadna be worth a curse!\" Salmon at that price, I should\nsay, would nowhere in these days be esteemed above suspicion anyway.\nAnd boys _will_ be frank even although their replies at times appear\nmore smart than respectful. Once a Cockney manufacturer was taking part\nin a school examination and asked a boy pompously--\"W'at's the capital\nof 'Olland?\" \"H,\" was the unconsciously smart reply given. And that\nrecalls a good dialect story, under the early Board system, which tells\nhow an English clergyman and a Lowland Scotsman entered one of the best\nschools in Aberdeen. The master received them kindly, and enquired--\n\n\"Would you prefer that I should spier (question) the boys, or that you\nshould spier them?\"\n\nThe English clergyman desired the master to proceed. He did so with\ngreat success, and the boys answered satisfactorily numerous\ninterrogatories as to the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt. The\nclergyman then said he would be glad to \"spier the boys,\" and at once\nbegan--\n\n\"How did Pharaoh die?\"\n\nThere was a dead silence.\n\nIn his dilemma the Lowland gentleman interposed.\n\n\"I think, sir, the boys are not accustomed to your English accent; let\nme try what I can make of them.\" And he inquired in broad Scotch--\n\n\"Hoo did Phawroah dee?\"\n\nAgain there was a dead silence, upon which the master said--\n\n\"Noo, boys, fat cam' to Phawroah at his hinner end?\"\n\nThe boys with one voice answered--\n\n\"He was drooned.\"\n\nAnd a smart little fellow added--\n\n\"Ony lassie could hae tell't ye that.\"\n\nNot unlike the above is a story told by Dr. Ker. The venerable\ninspector was one day putting a class \"through its facings,\" and asked a\nboy where the River Dee was. The answer came correctly, \"In\nAberdeenshire.\"\n\n\"Assuming quite a serious look (says Dr. Ker), I asked him if he was not\nmistaken, adding that I thought the Dee was in Kirkcudbright, and flowed\ninto the Solway Firth. He was a bashful boy, and made no reply. To give\nthe class a needed fillip, I appealed to them to settle whether I or the\nboy was right. To give a verdict against the inspector was, of course,\nnot to be thought of, and there was silence for a time; but at last a\nboy put his hand to his mouth, and said to his neighbour in a stage\nwhisper not meant for, but which reached my ear--'He disna ken there's\ntwa Dees.'\"\n\nOnce by way of stimulant, the doctor asked a somewhat sleepy history\nclass which of the four Georges wore the largest hat? and a boy who had\nnot till then opened his mouth, replied--\"Him that had the biggest\nheid.\"\n\nIn an Ayrshire town, immediately after the Whitsunday term a year or two\nago, a female teacher asked her class of little ones to be sure all of\nthem and bring their new addresses to her on the morrow, as these were\nrequired for the re-adjustment of the register. \"Please, mem,\" blurted\nout a wee fellow in petticoats, \"my mither says I'm no' to get ony mair\ndresses. She's gaun to mak' a suit for me oot o' my faither's auld\nbreeks.\"\n\nSunday school stories are not inferior to those of the week-day seminary\nin their irresistible fun and drollery.\n\nA Sunday school teacher asked her scholars to learn an appropriate text\nto say as they gave in their pennies to the next collection. The first\nwas--\"He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord\"; and all went\nright until it came to the last boy, who, reluctantly dropping his penny\ninto the box, said--to the great amazement of teachers and\nscholars--\"The fool and his money are soon parted!\"\n\nAs an example of the error of talking figuratively to those who do not\nappreciate, and who are apt to take everything literally, a story is\nworth telling. The respected superintendent of a Sunday school had told\nhis boys that they should endeavour to bring their neighbours to the\nschool, saying that they should be like a train--the scholar being the\nengine, and his converts the carriages. Judge of his surprise when, next\nSunday, the door opened during lessons, and a little boy, making a noise\nlike an engine, ran in, followed by half-a-dozen others in single file\nat his back! He came to a halt before the superintendent, who asked the\nmeaning of it all. The naive answer was--\"Please, sir, I'm the engine,\nand them's the carriages.\"\n\nA Sabbath school teacher, at the finish of a lesson on \"The Fall,\"\nasked--\"Now, children, what lesson can we learn from the story of Adam\nand Eve? Well, Johnnie?\" Johnnie--\"Never believe what your wife says.\"\n\nA lady asked one of the children in her class, \"What was the sin of the\nPharisees?\" \"Eating camels, ma'am,\" was the reply. The little girl who\nanswered had read that the Pharisees \"strained at gnats and swallowed\ncamels.\" \"In what condition was the patriarch Job at the end of his\nlife?\" questioned a teacher of a stolid-looking boy. \"Dead,\" was the\nquiet response.\n\n\"What is the outward and visible sign in baptism?\" asked a lady. There\nwas silence for some seconds, and then a girl broke in triumphantly\nwith, \"The baby, please, mem.\"\n\nThe Rev. David Macrae tells that in a Brooklyn Sunday school a small boy\nwas asked the question, \"Who was the first man?\" and, with\ncharacteristic American cocksureness, he immediately replied, \"General\nWashington.\" The teacher smiled, then asked--\"Did you never hear of\nAdam?\" \"Why, yes,\" responded the child, \"I've heard of Adam; but I\ndidn't know you were counting foreigners.\"\n\nRecently, in a Sunday school in Scotland, a little boy, who had been\ntransferred to a new class, was asked on arrival if he had had the\nShorter Catechism. For a moment he looked puzzled, and then\nreplied--\"I'm no sure, mem, until I ask my mither; but I ken I've had\nthe measles.\"\n\nElsewhere, a teacher had been carefully explaining the parable of the\nProdigal Son, and that done, she proceeded to put questions. All went\nwell until near the close, when she asked, \"Now, tell me who was not\npleased to see the prodigal son when he came home,\" and to her\nconsternation got the reply, \"Please, ma'am, the fatted calf.\"\n\nIn a Sunday school in Ayrshire, attended chiefly by miners' children,\nthe lesson for the day had been the parable of the ten wise and ten\nfoolish virgins, and the teacher asked--\"Can any one of you tell me why\nthe virgins' lamps went out?\" \"I ken,\" immediately responded the dullest\nboy in the class; \"it was the wicks that was needin' pykin'.\"\n\nAnd the story is hoary with age of how a teacher, when the lesson had\nbeen read which bore on Jacob's dream, invited questions from the class,\nand how one little fellow asked--\"Why did the angels need a ladder for\nascending and descending when they had wings and could flee?\" The\nteacher was nonplussed, but got out of the difficulty by\nsaying--\"Perhaps some of the other boys can answer.\" \"I think I ken,\"\nventured a little fellow, whose father was a bird fancier, \"maybe they\nwad be moultin' at the time.\"\n\nHis solutions may be extraordinary, but nothing, you see, can baffle the\nyoung wit. It was again in a Sunday school that a teacher had been\ninstructing a class in the relative positions of man and the lower\nanimals in the scale of intelligence, and wishing to test how the lesson\nhad been imbibed, she asked--\"Now, what is next to man?\" and got the\nanswer promptly--\"His shirt.\"\n\n\"What is meant by a 'hireling'?\" was asked of a class in a day-school.\n\"You are a hireling,\" responded a little fellow; \"you are hired to teach\nus.\"\n\nGiving a reading lesson to his class in the presence of an inspector, a\nteacher asked his boys what was meant by conscience--a word that had\noccurred in the course of the reading--and the class having been duly\ncrammed for the occasion answered as one boy--\"An inward monitor.\" \"But\nwhat do you understand by an inward monitor?\" put in the inspector. To\nthis further question, only one boy announced himself ready to respond,\nand his triumphantly given answer was--\"A hironclad, sir.\"\n\nTheir definitions are at all times interesting, if not constantly\nreliable. After a reading of Gray's \"Elegy\" by a fourth standard class,\nthe boys were asked what was meant by \"fretted vaults,\" and one youth\nreplied--\"The vaults in which these poor people were buried; their\nfriends came and fretted over them.\" Asked what he understood by\n\"Elegy,\" another boy in the same class answered--\"Elegy is some poetry\nwrote out for schools to learn, like Gray's 'Elegy.'\"\n\nAsked to describe a kitten, a boy, after a moment's thought, replied--\"A\nkitten is remarkable for rushing like mad at nothing whatever, and\nstopping before it gets there.\"\n\nAnother boy's definition of a lie was probably the fruit of good\nexperience. \"A lie,\" said he, \"is an abomination in the eyes of the\nLord, but a very present help in time of trouble.\"\n\nAsked to define the expression, \"Sufficient unto the day is the evil\nthereof.\" \"It just means,\" responded a little fellow, \"that the evil\ncommitted at the present day is quite sufficient without any more.\"\n\nIn a sixth standard examination, a vacuum was recently described as \"an\nempty space without anything in it;\" and a compass, at the same time,\nwas explained as \"a tripod with a round or circular box surmounting it,\nwhich always points due north.\"\n\nA Government inspector not long ago gave the following in a list of\nhistorical and other \"facts,\" elicited from boys under examination:--\n\n\"Of whom was it said 'He never smiled again'?\" \"William Rufus, and this\nafter he was shot by the arrow.\"\n\n\"My favourite character in English history is Henry VIII., because he\nhad eight wives and killed them all.\"\n\n\"The cause of the Peasants' Revolt was that a shilling poultice should\nbe put on everybody over sixteen.\"\n\n\"Henry VIII. was a very good king. He liked plenty of money, he had\nplenty of wives, and died of ulcers in the legs.\" \"Edward III. would\nhave been king of France if his mother had been a man.\"\n\n\"Doomsday Book.--A book signifying that each man should have seven feet\nof land for a grave.\"\n\n\"Alexander the Great was born in the absence of his parents.\"\n\n\"What followed the murder of Becket?\" \"Henry II. received wacks with a\nbirch.\"\n\n\"What is a watershed?\" \"A shed for keeping water in.\"\n\n\"A watershed is a house between two rivers so that a drop of water\nfalling on one side of the roof runs into one river, and a drop on the\nother side goes into the other river.\"\n\n\"The battle of Waterloo was fought off Cape Trafalgar. Nelson led up one\nsquadron and Collingwood the other. When it was over Wellington rode\nover the field by moonlight, and met Blucher, the French general, and\nthey shook hands and were friends ever after.\"\n\n\"The Feudal System lies between the Humber and the Thames.\"\n\n\"Caractacus was a Roman Emperor who had conquered Britain. He had to\nabandon it shortly afterwards because it was overrun by the Picts and\nthe Scots.\"\n\n\"The principal products of Kent are Archbishops at Canterbury.\"\n\n\"The chief clause in Magna Charta was that no free man should be put to\ndeath or imprisoned without his own consent.\"\n\n\"What and where are the Pyramids?\" \"The Pyramids is a kind of\nnight-lights as is generally used in the bed-rooms, but you can get\nClark's as well.\" \"Where were the Kings of England crowned?\" \"On their\nheads.\"\n\n\"What were the most important Feudal dues?\" \"Friendship, courtship,\nmarriage.\"\n\n\"What do you know of Dermot?\" \"Dermot's daughter married Magna Charta.\nDermot himself married Strongbow.\"\n\n\"What do you know of Dryden and Buckingham?\" \"Dryden and Buckingham were\nat first friends, but soon became contemporaries.\"\n\n\"What is Milton's chief work?\" \"Milton wrote a sensible poem called the\n'Canterbury Tails.'\"\n\n\"The gamut is a musical scale. The name is derived from gamut or catgut,\nthe material from which the strings of musical instruments used to be\nmade.\"\n\n\"An optimist is a man who looks after your eyes, and a pessimist is a\nman who looks after your feet.\"\n\n\"A man who looks on the bright side of things is called an optimist, and\none who looks on the dull side is called a pianist.\"\n\nDr. Charles Wilson, in his general report on the Scottish Training\nColleges, gives several curious answers which he had received from\ncandidates and pupil-teachers. A young lady in commenting on the\nproverb, \"Penny wise and pound foolish,\" wrote--\"This proverb clearly\nshows that for every wise and good action a man does, he will commit two\nhundred and forty foolish bad ones.\"\n\nUnder examination by Dr. John Ker, a boy wrote regarding Oliver\nCromwell--\"Oliver Cromwell's eyes were of a dark grey, his nose was very\nlarge and of a deep, red colour, but underneath it was a truly religious\nsoul.\" Another wrote--\"By the Declaration of Indulgence people were\nallowed to worship God in their own way. Seven Bishops refused to do so.\nThey were accordingly put on their trial and found not guilty.\"\n\nAnother declared that the Salic Law says--\"No one can be made King who\nwas descended from a woman.\"\n\nSpeaking there of Oliver Cromwell, recalls the story of a boy's school\nessay which the late Mr. W. E. Gladstone was fond of telling--albeit,\nthe great Commoner had no very lively sense of humour. The \"G.O.M.'s\"\ncomically-mixed youthful historian wrote--\"Oliver Cromwell began his\ncareer by cutting off the head of his king, and when he was dying he\nsaid, 'Had I served my God with half the zeal I have served my king, he\nwould not in mine age have left me naked to mine enemies.'\"\n\nI have examples of other boys' essays not less surprising and\nentertaining.\n\n\"The horse,\" wrote a youthful Cuvier, in an essay on the \"friend of\nman,\" \"is a useful creacher. It eats corn, it is a sort of square animal\nwith a leg at each corner, and has a head at one end and a tail at the\nother.\"\n\nHere is a boy's essay on \"Breath,\" well calculated to almost take any\none's breath away--\"Breath is made of air. We breathe with our lungs,\nour livers, and our kidneys. If it wasn't for our lights and our breath\nwe should die when we slept. Our breath keeps life agoing through the\nnose when we are asleep. Boys that stay in a room all day should not\nbreathe. They should wait till they get outdoors. Boys in a room make\ncarbonicide. Carbonicide is more poisonous than mad dogs. A heap of\nsoldiers was in a black hole in India and carbonicide got into that\nblack hole and killed nearly every one afore morning. Girls kill the\nbreath with corsets that squeeze the diagram. Girls can't run or holler\nlike boys because their diagram is squeezed too much. If I was a girl,\nI'd rather be a boy so I can run and holler and have a good big\ndiagram.\"\n\nThe next looks rather knowing for a lad of eleven-and-a-half; but Dr. T.\nJ. Macnamara, M.P., in an article on \"Children's Witticisms,\"\ncontributed to the _New Liberal Review_, vouches for its authenticity.\nThe subject reveals itself in the work: \"What I expect to do in my\nholidays is the greater part of the time to mind the baby. Two years and\na half old. Just old enough to run into a puddle or to fall downstairs.\nOh! what a glorious occupation, my aunt or Sunday-school teacher would\nsay. But it is all very well for them; they ought to have a turn with\nhim. I am going to have a game at tying doors, tying bundles of mud\nin paper, and then drop it on the pavement. I shall buy a bundle of\nwood and tie a piece of cord to it, and when some one goes to pick\nit up, lo! it has vanished--not lost, but gone before. I shall go\nbutterfly-catching, and catch some fish at Snob's Brighton (Lea Bridge).\nI shall finish up by having a whacking, tearing my breeches, giving a\nboy two black eyes, and then wake up on Monday morning refreshed and\nquite happy to make the acquaintance of Mr.----'s cane.\"\n\nDr. M. quotes the following as well--the genuineness of which he also\nguarantees:--\"Man goes fishing, takes his rod and enough tackle to make\na telegraph wire, and starts on his piscatorial expedition. He arrives,\nand happy man is he if he has not forgot something, a hook, his bait, or\nhis float. He sits there, apparently contented; he catches a frog or\nsome other fine specimen of natural history, and a cold, and a jolly\ngood roasting from his bitter (_sic_) half, when he arrives with some\nmackerel which he had bought at the fish-monger's. He, poor man, did not\nknow that they were sea-fish, but his wife did. When juveniles go\nfishing, they take a willow, their ma's reel of best six cord, a pickle\njar, and a few worms, and proceed to the New River quite happy. When\nthey arrive they catch about fifty (a small thousand, they call it), and\nare thinking of returning home, when a gent, with N.R. on his hat, and a\ngood ash stick in his hand, comes up, ''Ullo, there,' says he, 'what are\nyou doing there?' 'Fishing, sir,' answer they meekly. The man then takes\naway their fish and rod, and gives them some whales instead (on their\nback). And they return home sadder but wiser boys.\"\n\nI can vouch myself for the genuineness of the next example, recently\ncopied _verbatim_ from the original manuscript in the possession of a\nfriend in the teaching profession in Glasgow. The general subject had\nbeen \"Athletic Sports,\" and a boy wrote:--\"Athletic sports is very\nuseful football especially it strengthens the mussles all sports is good\nfor the helth for some people I think the best game is rugby there is\nmore fun in it than anything else I will give a description of football\nthe Rangers have the best men that ever stood in the football park there\nis one man I know and that is Chas. Raisback and he is center and a\nnother good player is Bobby M'Coll his wright wing and J. Drummond is a\nnother good player I think this is all about athletic sports I have got\nto say and I will never forget the good wee rangers the result was on\nSaturday Rangers 2 Morton 1. Good old Rangers.\" Isn't it beautiful? To\nthe question, \"With what weapon did Samson slay the Philistines?\" the\ncorrect answer has already been given, or extracted, here; but I recall\nanother, more ingenious, from a boy, who replied, \"With the _axe_ of the\nApostles.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about there?\" demanded a teacher, addressing\nhimself to the loquacious son of a railway porter. But the teacher\nreceived no response, and was obliged to ask another lad who sat next\nthe delinquent, \"What was George talking about?\" \"Please, sir, he was\nsaying as his father's trousers is sent down to Brighton when they gets\nold, and they's made into _sugar_ there, and that's how 'tis sugar's\ngone down.\"\n\nHome influences appeared in the answer of a child, whose father was a\nstrong teetotaller, to the query, \"Do you know the meaning of syntax?\"\n\"Yes, syntax is the dooty upon spirits.\"\n\nIn reply to the question, \"Why do we cook our food?\" one child replied:\n\"There are five ways of cooking potatoes. We should die if we eat our\nfood raw.\" A second pupil wrote: \"Food digested is when we put it into\nour mouths, our teeth chews it, and our mouth drops it down into our\nbody. We should not eat so much bone-making food as flesh-making and\nwarmth-giving foods, for, if we did, we should have too many bones, and\nthat would make us look funny.\"\n\nIn answer to the question, \"Mention any occupations that are injurious\nto health?\" one child's reply was: \"Occupations which are injurious to\nhealth are carbonic acid gas, which is impure blood.\" Another responded:\n\"A stone-mason's work is injurious, because when he is chipping, he\nbreathes in all the little chips, and they are taken into the lungs.\" A\nthird advanced the theory that \"A boot-maker's trade is very injurious,\nbecause they press the boots against the thorax, and therefore it\npresses the thorax in, and it touches the heart, and if they do not die,\nthey are cripples for life.\"\n\nFinally, here is an extract from an essay on \"The Moon,\" which--in\ndefiance of its title--affords some very interesting glimpses of\nsublunary home life:--\"To look at the white moon shinin threw your\nwinder at night, sitting on the edge of the bed, and lissin to your\nfather and mothers knives and forks rattlin on their plates while they\nare getting their nice suppers, is the prittist site you ever seed. When\nits liver and hunyens there a having, you can smell it all the way\nupstairs. It looks very brite and nearly all white. Once when they was a\nhaving fried fish and potaters I crept out of my bed-room to the top of\nthe stairs all in the dark, just so as to have a better lissen and a\nnearer smell. I forget whether there was a moon that night. I don't\nthink as there was, cose I got to the top of the stares afore I knew I\nwas there, and I tumbled right down to the bottom of the stares, a\nbursting open the door at the bottom, and rolling into the room nearly\nas far as the supper table. My father thote of giving me the stick for\nit, but he let my mother give me a bit of fish on some bread, and told\nme to skittle off to bed again. I am sure there was not no moon, else I\nshould have seed there wasn't a top stare when I put my foot out so\nslow. I only skratted my left eye and ear a bit with that last bump at\nthe bottom, witch was a hard one, Stares are steeper than girls think,\nspeshilly where the corner is.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHILDREN'S STORIES.\n\n\nThe editor of a London literary journal was recently inviting men and\nwomen in prominent positions in public life to name for publication the\nbooks of their childhood. So far as I observed, none of the half-hundred\nor more who responded gave _Blue Beard_, _Cinderella_, _Little Red\nRiding Hood_, or any of the others in the same category that follow\nhere. But I am none the less convinced that these old-time favourites,\nnot yet unknown, though familiar to city children in the present\ngeneration mainly in their variegated and fantastic Christmas pantomime\nform, were in Scotland and England alike in the last century more\nessentially the books of childhood than any others known and read beyond\nthe walls of the school-room. The travelling stationers and packmen\ncarried them in their thousands, in chapbook form, into even the most\nremote parts of the country, where they were bartered for and explored\nwith avidity. In many quarters, indeed, they were so familiar fifty\nyears ago that the books on occasions could be dispensed with, and the\nelder members of families would recite the stories from memory for the\ndelectation of the younger fry, when all foregathered in a crescent\nbefore the kitchen fire to wear out the long winter evenings. In this\nmanner, under the dim-flickering light of an \"oilie cruizie,\" in a\nstraggling village in Perthshire, did I learn first of Blue Beard and\nJack the Giant Killer, and many another hero of chapbook literature. And\nmy experience, I am sure, was by no means singular. Rather, I feel\ncertain that while telling thus my own, I am expressing no less truly\nthe experience of many thousands of men and women now beyond middle life\nwho similarly were born and bred in any rural parish in Scotland. And,\noh, the weird fascination of it all! There was no doubting of Blue\nBeard's reality; no hesitation in accepting as actual every\nextraordinary feat of Jack the Giant Killer. Both were as real in our\ninnocent imagination as is now the personality of King Edward the\nSeventh. It never occurred to us then, as it does now, that the story of\nBlue Beard is only a gory and fantastic parody of the history of Eden--a\ntemptation, a fall, and a rescue. And we had no concern about\nauthorship. We did not know then, as we do now--and as few are yet\naware, perhaps--that _Blue Beard_, _Cinderella_, and _Little Red Riding\nHood_ were all written by Charles Perrault, a celebrated French\nliterateur and poet, who was born in Paris in 1628, and died there in\n1703. And to have been told, as we have recently been, on authority that\nPerrault's Blue Beard--the Comte Gilles de Rais--was no mere wife-killer\n(though he was such) but from his youth upwards, in the fifteenth\ncentury, a man of exquisite culture, and a soldier under Joan of Arc,\nwould have made for disillusionment so emphatic as to have shred the\ntale of a serious amount of its blood-curdling charm. As I can still\nenjoy reading them, it is a real pleasure to embrace here these old-time\nexamples of child literature. Such as follow--and all the more popular\nwill be found in the list--are printed _verbatim_ from the chapbooks now\nunobtainable, except at a ransom price--and without individual\ncomment--none being required.\n\n\n\n\nBLUE BEARD.\n\n\nThere was, some time ago, a gentleman who was extremely rich: he had\nelegant town and country houses; his dishes and plates were of gold or\nsilver; his rooms were hung with damask; his chairs and sofas were\ncovered with the richest silks; and his carriages were all magnificently\ngilt with gold.\n\nBut, unfortunately, this gentleman had a blue beard, which made him so\nvery frightful and ugly, that none of the ladies in the neighbourhood\nwould venture to go into his company.\n\nIt happened that a lady of quality, who lived very near him, had two\ndaughters, who were both extremely beautiful. Blue Beard asked her to\nbestow one of them upon him in marriage, leaving to herself the choice\nwhich of the two it should be.\n\nThey both, however, again and again refused to marry Blue Beard; but to\nbe as civil as possible, they each pretended that they refused because\nshe would not deprive her sister of the opportunity of marrying so much\nto her advantage. But the truth was, they could not bear the thought of\nhaving a husband with a blue beard: and, besides, they had heard of his\nhaving already been married to several wives, and nobody could tell what\nhad afterwards become of them.\n\nAs Blue Beard wished very much to gain their favour, he invited the lady\nand her daughters, and some ladies who were on a visit at their house,\nto accompany him to one of his country seats, where they spent a whole\nweek, during which nothing was thought of but parties for hunting and\nfishing, music, dancing, collations, and the most delightful\nentertainments. No one thought of going to bed, and the nights were\npassed in merriment of every kind.\n\nIn short, the time had passed so agreeably, that the youngest of the two\nsisters began to think that the beard which had so much terrified her\nwas not so very blue, and that the gentleman to whom it belonged was\nvastly civil and pleasing.\n\nSoon after they returned home, she told her mother that she had no\nlonger any objection to accept Blue Beard as her husband; and,\naccordingly, in a short time they were married.\n\nAbout a month after the marriage had taken place, Blue Beard told his\nwife that he should be obliged to leave her for a few weeks, as he had\nsome business to do in the country. He desired her to be sure to procure\nherself every kind of amusement, to invite as many of her friends as she\nliked, and to treat them with all sorts of delicacies, that the time\nmight pass agreeably during his absence. \"Here,\" said he, \"are the keys\nof the two large wardrobes. This is the key of the great box that\ncontains the best plate, which we use for company; this belongs to my\nstrong box, where I keep my money; and this to the casket in which are\nall my jewels. Here also is a master key to all the apartments in my\nhouse--but this small key belongs to the closet at the end of the long\ngallery on the ground floor. I give you leave,\" continued he, \"to open\nor do what you like with all the rest excepting this closet: this, my\ndear, you must not enter, nor even put the key into the lock, for all\nthe world. Should you disobey me, expect the most dreadful of\npunishments.\"\n\nShe promised to obey his orders in the most faithful manner; and Blue\nBeard, after tenderly embracing her, stepped into his carriage and drove\naway.\n\nThe friends of the bride did not, on this occasion, wait to be invited,\nso impatient were they to see all the riches and magnificence she had\ngained by marriage, for they had been prevented from paying their\nwedding visit by their aversion to the blue beard of the bridegroom.\n\nNo sooner were they arrived than they impatiently ran from room to room,\nfrom cabinet to cabinet, and then from wardrobe to wardrobe, examining\neach with the utmost curiosity, and declaring that the last was still\nricher and more beautiful than what they had seen the moment before. At\nlength they came to the drawing-rooms, where their admiration and\nastonishment were still increased by the costly splendour of the\nhangings, of the sofas, the chairs, carpets, tables, girandoles, and\nlooking-glasses, the frames of which were silver gilt, most richly\nornamented, and in which they saw themselves from head to foot.\n\nIn short, nothing could exceed the magnificence of what they saw; and\nthe visitors did not cease to extol and envy the good fortune of their\nfriend, who all this time was far from being amused by the fine\ncompliments they paid her, so eagerly did she desire to see what was in\nthe closet her husband had forbidden her to open. So great indeed was\nher curiosity, that, without recollecting how uncivil it would be to\nleave her guests, she descended a private staircase that led to it, and\nin such a hurry, that she was two or three times in danger of breaking\nher neck.\n\nWhen she reached the door of the closet, she stopped for a few moments\nto think of the charge her husband had given her, and that he would not\nfail to keep his word in punishing her very severely, should she\ndisobey him. But she was so very curious to know what was in the inside,\nthat she determined to venture in spite of everything.\n\nShe, accordingly, with a trembling hand, put the key into the lock, and\nthe door immediately opened. The window shutters being closed, she at\nfirst saw nothing; but in a short time she perceived that the floor was\ncovered with clotted blood, on which the bodies of several dead women\nwere lying. These were all the wives whom Blue Beard had married and\nmurdered, one after another. She was ready to sink with fear, and the\nkey of the closet door, which she held in her hand, fell on the floor.\nWhen she had somewhat recovered from her fright, she took it up, locked\nthe door, and hastened to her own room, that she might have a little\ntime to get into humour for amusing her visitors; but this she found\nimpossible, so greatly was she terrified by what she had seen.\n\nAs she observed that the key of the closet had got stained with blood in\nfalling on the floor, she wiped it two or three times over to clean it;\nstill, however, the blood remained the same as before; she next washed\nit, but the blood did not stir at all; she then scoured it with\nbrickdust, and afterwards with sand, but notwithstanding all she could\ndo the blood was still there, for the key was a fairy, who was Blue\nBeard's friend, so that as fast as she got it off on one side, it\nappeared again on the other.\n\nEarly in the evening Blue Beard returned home, saying he had not\nproceeded far on his journey before he was met by a messenger who was\ncoming to tell him that his business was happily concluded without his\nbeing present, upon which his wife said everything she could think of,\nto make him believe she was transported with joy at his unexpected\nreturn.\n\nThe next morning he asked for the keys: she gave them to him; but as she\ncould not help showing her fright, Blue Beard easily guessed what had\nhappened. \"How is it,\" said he, \"that the key of the closet upon the\nground floor is not here?\"\n\n\"Is it not? Then I must have left it on my dressing-table,\" said she,\nand left the room in tears.\n\n\"Be sure you give it to me by and by,\" cried Blue Beard.\n\nAfter going several times backwards and forwards, pretending to look for\nthe key, she was at last obliged to give it to Blue Beard. He looked at\nit attentively, and then said, \"How came the blood upon the key?\"\n\n\"I am sure I do not know,\" replied the lady, turning at the same time as\npale as death.\n\n\"You do not know,\" said Blue Beard sternly; \"but I know well enough. You\nhave been in the closet on the ground floor. Very well, madam; since you\nare so mightily fond of this closet, you shall certainly take your place\namong the ladies you saw there.\"\n\nHis wife, almost dead with fear, fell upon her knees, asked his pardon a\nthousand times for her disobedience, and entreated him to forgive her,\nlooking all the time so very sorrowful and lovely, that she would have\nmelted any heart that was not harder than a rock.\n\nBut Blue Beard answered, \"No, no, madam; you shall die this very\nminute!\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the poor trembling creature, \"if I must die, allow me, at\nleast, a little time to say my prayers.\"\n\n\"I give you,\" replied the cruel Blue Beard, \"half a quarter of an hour;\nnot one moment longer.\" When Blue Beard had left her to herself, she\ncalled her sister; and after telling her, as well as she could for\nsobbing, that she had but half a quarter of an hour to live: \"Pr'ythee,\"\nsaid she, \"sister Ann\" (this was her sister's name), \"run up to the top\nof the tower, and see if my brothers are yet in sight, for they promised\nto come and visit me to-day; and if you see them make a sign for them to\ngallop as fast as possible.\"\n\nHer sister instantly did as she was desired, and the terrified lady\nevery minute called out to her, \"Ann! sister Ann! do you see any one\ncoming?\"\n\nAnd her sister answered, \"I see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust,\nand the grass which looks green.\"\n\nIn the meantime, Blue Beard, with a great scimitar in his hand, bawled\nas loud as he could to his wife, \"Come down instantly, or I will fetch\nyou.\"\n\n\"One moment longer, I beseech you,\" replied she; and again called softly\nto her sister, \"Sister Ann, do you see any one coming?\"\n\nTo which she answered, \"I see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust,\nand the grass which looks green.\"\n\nBlue Beard now again bawled out, \"Come down, I say, this very moment, or\nI shall come and fetch you.\"\n\n\"I am coming; indeed, I will come in one minute,\" sobbed his unhappy\nwife. Then she once more cried out, \"Ann! sister Ann! do you see any one\ncoming?\"\n\n\"I see,\" said her sister, \"a cloud of dust a little to the left.\"\n\n\"Do you think it is my brothers?\" continued the wife.\n\n\"Alas! no, dear sister,\" replied she; \"it is only a flock of sheep.\"\n\n\"Will you come down or not, madam?\" cried Blue Beard, in the greatest\nrage imaginable. \"Only one single moment more,\" answered she. And then\nshe called out for the last time, \"Sister Ann! do you see any one\ncoming?\"\n\n\"I see,\" replied her sister, \"two men on horseback coming to the house:\nbut they are still at a great distance.\"\n\n\"God be praised!\" cried she, \"it is my brothers; give them a sign to\nmake what haste they can.\"\n\nAt the same moment Blue Beard cried out so loud for her to come down,\nthat his voice shook the whole house.\n\nThe poor lady with her hair loose, and her eyes swimming in tears,\ninstantly came down, and fell on her knees to Blue Beard, and was going\nto beg him to spare her life, but he interrupted her, saying, \"All this\nis of no use at all, for you shall die;\" then seizing her with one hand\nby the hair, and raising the scimitar he held in the other, was going\nwith one blow to strike off her head.\n\nThe unfortunate creature turning towards him, desired to have a single\nmoment allowed her to recollect herself.\n\n\"No, no,\" said Blue Beard, \"I will give you no more time, I am\ndetermined--you have had too much already;\" and again raised his\narm--Just at this instant a loud knocking was heard at the gates, which\nmade Blue Beard wait for a moment to see who it was. The gates were\nopened, and two officers dressed in their regimentals entered, and, with\ntheir swords in their hands, ran instantly to Blue Beard, who, seeing\nthey were his wife's brothers, endeavoured to escape from their\npresence; but they pursued and seized him before he had gone twenty\nsteps, and plunging their swords into his body, he immediately fell\ndown dead at their feet.\n\nThe poor wife, who was almost as dead as her husband, was unable at\nfirst to rise and embrace her brothers. She soon, however, recovered;\nand as Blue Beard had no heirs, she found herself the lawful possessor\nof his great riches.\n\nShe employed a portion of her vast fortune in giving a marriage dowry to\nher sister Ann, who soon after became the wife of a young gentleman by\nwhom she had long been beloved. Another part she employed in buying\ncaptains' commissions for her two brothers; and the rest she presented\nto a most worthy gentleman, whom she married soon after, and whose kind\ntreatment soon made her forget Blue Beard's cruelty.\n\n\n\n\nJACK AND THE BEAN-STALK.\n\n\nIn days of yore, there lived a widow who had a son named Jack. Being an\nonly child, he was too much indulged, and became so extravagant and\ncareless that he wasted the property which his mother possessed, until\nat last there remained only a cow, the chief support of her and her son.\n\nOne day the poor woman, with tears in her eyes, said to Jack--\"O, you\nwicked child, by your ungrateful course of life you have brought me to\nbeggary in my old age; cruel boy! I have not money to buy even a bit of\nbread, and we must now sell the cow. I am grieved to part with her, but\nI cannot see you starve.\"\n\nJack felt some remorse, but having less affection for the cow than his\nmother had, he drove her to the nearest market town, where he met a\nbutcher, who made a very curious offer for her. \"Your cow,\" said he,\n\"you young prodigal dog! is worth nothing; you have starved her until\nshe would disgrace the shambles; and, as to milk, no wonder that you and\nyour mother have been starving while you were depending upon that\nsupply. One _ill_ turn deserves another, and receives it just as surely\nas one _good_ turn deserves another. But you shall not take back the cow\nto perish with hunger. I have got some beans in my pocket; they are the\noddest I ever saw, not one of them being, either in colour or shape,\nlike another; if you will take them in exchange for the cow, you may\nhave them.\"\n\nThe silly boy could not conceal the pleasure he felt at the offer. The\nbargain was struck, and the cow exchanged for a few paltry beans. Jack\nmade the best of his way home, calling to his mother before he reached\nthe house, thinking to surprise her. When she saw the beans and heard\nJack's story, her patience quite forsook her; she kicked the beans away\nin a passion; they flew in all directions--some were scattered in the\ngarden. Not having anything to eat, they both went supperless to bed.\n\nJack awoke early in the morning, and, seeing something uncommon in the\ngarden, soon discovered that some of the beans had taken root and sprung\nup surprisingly; the stalks were of great thickness, and had so entwined\nthat they formed a ladder, nearly like a chain in appearance.\n\nLooking upwards, he could not discern the top; it appeared to be lost in\nthe clouds. He tried the beanstalks, found them firm and not to be\nshaken. He quickly formed the resolution of climbing to the top to seek\nhis fortune, and ran to communicate his intention to his mother, not\ndoubting but she would be equally pleased with himself. She declared he\nshould not go; said it would break her heart if he did--entreated and\nthreatened, but all in vain.\n\nJack set out, and, after climbing for some hours, reached the top of the\nbean-stalk quite fatigued. Looking around, he found himself in a strange\ncountry. It appeared to be a desert, quite barren--not a tree, shrub,\nhouse, or living creature to be seen.\n\nJack seated himself upon a stone, and thought of his mother; he\nreflected with sorrow on his disobedience in climbing the bean-stalk\nagainst her will, and concluded that he must die of hunger.\n\nHowever, he walked on, hoping to see a house where he might beg\nsomething to eat and drink. Presently a handsome young woman appeared at\na distance. As she approached, Jack could not help admiring how\nbeautiful she looked; she was dressed in the most elegant manner, and\nhad a white wand in her hand, on the top of which was a peacock of pure\ngold. While Jack was looking with the greatest surprise at this charming\nfemale, with a smile of the most bewitching sweetness, she inquired how\nhe came there? Jack told how he had climbed up the bean-stalk. She asked\nhim if he recollected his father? He answered that he did not; and added\nthat he had inquired of his mother who or where his father was, but that\nshe avoided answering him, and even seemed afraid of speaking, as if\nthere was some secret connected with his father's history.\n\nThe lady replied, \"I will reveal the whole story; your mother must not.\nBut, before I begin, I require a solemn promise, on your part, to do\nwhat I command. I am a fairy, and if you do not perform exactly what I\ndesire, you will be destroyed.\" Jack promised to obey her injunctions,\nand the fairy thus addressed him:--\n\n\"Your father was a rich and benevolent man; he was good to the poor, and\nconstantly relieving them; he never let a day pass without doing good to\nsome person. On one particular day in the week he kept open house, and\ninvited those who were reduced and had lived well. He always sat at the\ntable with them himself, and did all he could to render his guests\ncomfortable. The servants were all happy, and greatly attached to their\nmaster and mistress. Such a man was soon known and talked of. A giant\nlived a great many miles off, who was altogether as wicked as your\nfather was good; he was envious, covetous, and cruel, but had the art of\nconcealing these vices.\n\n\"Hearing your father spoken of, he formed the design of becoming\nacquainted with him, hoping to ingratiate himself into your father's\nfavour. He removed quickly into your neighbourhood, caused it to be\nreported that he had lost all he possessed by an earthquake, and found\nit difficult to escape with his life; his wife was with him. Your father\nbelieved his story, and pitied him; he gave him apartments in his own\nhouse, and caused him and his wife to be treated hospitably, little\nimagining that the giant was meditating a horrid return for all his\nfavours.\n\n\"Things went on in this way for some time, the giant becoming daily more\nimpatient to put his plan into execution. At last, an opportunity\npresented itself. Your father's house was at some distance from the\nsea-shore, but the giant, standing on a hill one stormy day, observed\nsome ships in distress off the rocks; he hastened to your father, and\nrequested that he would send all the people he could spare to relieve\nthe mariners.\n\n\"While the servants were all employed upon this service, the giant\ndespatched your father by stabbing him with a dagger. You were then only\nthree months old, and your mother, upon discovering what had happened,\nfainted, but still clasping you in her arms. The giant, who intended to\nmurder both of you, having found her in that state, for a short time\nrepented of the dreadful crime he had committed, and granted your mother\nand you your lives, but only upon condition that she should never inform\nyou who your father was, nor answer any questions concerning him,\nassuring her that, if she did, he would certainly put both of you to\ndeath in the most cruel manner. Your mother took you in her arms, and\nfled as quickly as possible. Having gained your father's confidence, he\nknew where to find all his treasure. He and his wife soon carried off\ntwo large chests filled with gold, which they could not have done unless\nthey had been giants, and, having set the house on fire in several\nplaces, when the servants returned it was burned quite down to the\nground.\n\n\"Your poor mother wandered with you a great many miles from this scene\nof desolation; fear added to her haste; she settled in the cottage where\nyou were brought up, and it was entirely owing to her fear of the giant\nthat she never mentioned your father to you.\n\n\"I became your father's guardian at his birth; but fairies have laws to\nwhich they are subject as well as mortals. A short time before the giant\nwent to your father's, I transgressed; my punishment was a suspension of\npower for a limited time--an unfortunate circumstance, as it totally\nprevented my succouring your father.\n\n\"The day on which you met the butcher, as you went to sell your mother's\ncow, my power was restored; and, as I had been told by Oberon, the King\nof the Fairies, how dreadful were the consequences to your father of my\nsingle error, I resolved to take you under my protection, and to be more\ncircumspect in future. It was I who secretly prompted you to take the\nbeans in exchange for the cow.\n\n\"By my power the bean-stalk grew to so great a height, and formed a\nladder. I need not add that I inspired you with a strong desire to\nascend the ladder.\n\n\"The giant now lives in this country; you are the person appointed to\npunish him for all his wickedness. You will have dangers and\ndifficulties to encounter, but you must persevere in avenging the death\nof your father or you will not prosper in any of your undertakings, but\nbe always miserable.\n\n\"As to the giant's possessions, you may seize on all you can, for\neverything he has belongs either to you or to me; for you must know\nthat, not satisfied with the gold he carried off from your father, he\nbroke into my house and stole the two greatest curiosities ever\npossessed even by a fairy, and would have killed me as he did your\nfather, if it could have been possible to kill a fairy. One thing I\ndesire--do not let your mother know you are acquainted with your\nfather's history till you see me again.\n\n\"Go along the direct road; you will soon see the house where your cruel\nenemy lives. While you do as I order you, I will protect and guard you;\nbut, remember, if you disobey my commands a most dreadful punishment\nawaits you.\"\n\nWhen the fairy had concluded, she disappeared, leaving Jack to pursue\nhis journey. He walked on till after sunset, when, to his great joy, he\nespied a large mansion. A plain-looking woman was at the door; he\naccosted her, begging she would give him a morsel of bread and a night's\nlodging. She expressed the greatest surprise at seeing him, and said it\nwas quite uncommon to see a human being near the house, for it was well\nknown that her husband was a large and powerful giant, and that he would\nnever eat anything but human flesh, if he possibly could get it; that he\ndid not think anything of walking fifty miles to procure it.\n\nThis account greatly terrified Jack, but he still hoped to elude the\ngiant, and therefore he again entreated the woman to take him in for one\nnight only, and hide him where she thought proper. The woman at last\nsuffered herself to be persuaded, for although she had assisted in the\nmurder of Jack's father and in stealing the gold, she was of a\ncompassionate and generous disposition, and took him into the house.\n\nFirst they entered a fine large hall, magnificently furnished; they then\npassed through several spacious rooms, all in the same style of\ngrandeur.\n\nA long gallery was next; it was very dark, just light enough to show\nthat, instead of a wall on one side, there was a grating of iron which\nparted off a dismal dungeon, whence issued the groans of those poor\nvictims whom the cruel giant reserved in confinement for his own\nvoracious appetite.\n\nPoor Jack was half dead with fear, and would have given the world to\nhave been with his mother again, for he now began to fear that he should\nnever see her more, and gave himself up for lost; he even mistrusted the\ngiant's wife, and thought she had let him into the house for no other\npurpose than to lock him up among the unfortunate people in the dungeon.\n\nAt the farther end of the gallery there was a spacious kitchen, and a\nfire was burning in the grate. The good woman bade Jack sit down, and\ngave him plenty to eat and drink. Jack, not seeing anything here to make\nhim uncomfortable, soon forgot his fear, and was beginning to enjoy\nhimself, when he was aroused by a loud knocking at the door, which made\nthe whole house shake; the giant's wife ran to secure him in the oven,\nand then went to let her husband in.\n\nJack heard him accost her in a voice like thunder, saying--\n\n\"Wife, I smell fresh meat.\"\n\n\"Oh! my dear,\" replied she, \"it is only the people in the dungeon.\"\n\nThe giant appeared to believe her and walked into the kitchen, where\npoor Jack lay concealed, shaking with fear and trembling in every limb.\n\nAt last, the monster seated himself by the fireside, whilst his wife\nprepared supper. By degrees Jack took courage to look at the giant\nthrough a small crevice; he was quite astonished to see what an amazing\nquantity he devoured, and thought he never would have done eating and\ndrinking. When supper was ended, the giant desired his wife to bring him\nhis hen, which was one of the curiosities he had stolen from the fairy.\nA very beautiful hen was brought, and placed on the table before him.\nJack's curiosity was very great to see what would happen; he observed\nthat every time the giant said, \"Lay!\" the hen laid an egg of solid\ngold.\n\nThe giant amused himself a long time with his hen; meanwhile his wife\nwent to bed. At length the giant fell asleep by the fireside, and\nsnored like the roaring of a cannon. At daybreak, Jack, finding the\ngiant still asleep, crept softly out of his hiding-place, seized the\nhen, and ran off with her.\n\nHe easily found the way to the bean-stalk, and descended it more quickly\nthan he expected. His mother was overjoyed to see him, for she concluded\nhe had come to a shocking end.\n\nJack was impatient to show his hen, and inform his mother how valuable\nit was.\n\n\"And now, mother,\" said Jack, \"I have brought home that which will\nquickly make us rich; and I hope to make you some amends for the\naffliction I have caused you through my idleness and extravagance.\"\n\nThe hen produced as many golden eggs as they desired, and so they became\npossessed of immense riches.\n\nFor some months, Jack and his mother lived very happily together; but\nhe, recollecting the fairy's commands, and fearing that if he delayed to\navenge his father's death, she would put her threats into execution,\nlonged to climb the bean-stalk again and pay the giant another visit.\nJack was, however, afraid to mention it to his mother, being well\nassured that she would endeavour to prevent his going. However, one day\nhe told her boldly that he must take a journey up the bean-stalk. She\nbegged and prayed him not to think of it; she told him that the giant's\nwife would certainly know him again, and that the giant would desire\nnothing better than to get him into his power, that he might put him to\na cruel death in order to be revenged for the loss of his hen.\n\nJack resolved to go at all events; for, being a very clever fellow,\nalthough a very idle one, he had no great dread of the giant,\nconcluding that, although he was a cannibal, he must be a very stupid\nfellow not to have regained his hen, it being just as easy to come down\nthe stupendous bean-stalk as to ascend it. Jack, therefore, had a dress\nmade, not exactly invisible, like that of his illustrious namesake, the\nGiant-killer, but one which so disguised him that even\n\n \"The mother that him bore\n Would not have known her child.\"\n\nIn a few mornings after this, he rose very early, changed his\ncomplexion, and, unperceived by any one, climbed the bean-stalk a second\ntime. He was greatly fatigued when he reached the top, and very hungry,\nfor, with his usual thoughtlessness, he forgot to take a piece of bread\nin his pocket.\n\nHere we are inclined to remark that, as he had neither _bread_ nor\n_bacon_, he must in his progress have met with a good supply of beans;\nbut perhaps he never thought of this resource.\n\nHaving rested some time, he pursued his journey to the giant's mansion.\nHe reached it late in the evening; the woman was at the door as before.\nJack addressed her, telling a pitiful tale, and requesting that she\nwould give him some victuals and drink, and also a night's lodging.\n\nShe told him (what he knew before very well) about her husband's being a\npowerful and cruel giant; and also that she one night admitted a poor,\nhungry, friendless boy, who was half-dead with travelling; that the\nlittle ungrateful fellow had stolen one of the giant's treasures, and\never since that her husband had used her very cruelly, and continually\nupbraided her with being the cause of his loss. But at last she\nconsented and took him into the kitchen, where, after he had done\neating and drinking, she laid him in an old lumber closet. The giant\nreturned at the usual time, and walked in so heavily that the house was\nshaken to the foundation. He seated himself by the fire, and soon after\nexclaimed, \"Wife, I smell fresh meat.\"\n\nThe wife replied, \"It was the crows which had brought a piece of raw\nmeat, and left it on the top of the house.\"\n\nThe giant was very ill-tempered and impatient, continually crying for\nhis supper, like little Tom Tucker, and complaining of the loss of his\nwonderful hen, which we verily believe he would have eaten, disregarding\nthe treasures which she produced. Jack therefore rejoiced that he had\nnot only got possession of the hen, but had in all probability saved her\nprecious life.\n\nThe giant's wife at last set supper on the table, and when he had eaten\ntill he was satisfied, he said to her--\"I must have something to amuse\nme, either my bags of money or my harp.\" Jack, as before, peeped out of\nhis hiding-place, and presently his wife brought two bags into the room,\none filled with gold and the other with silver.\n\nThey were both placed before the giant, who began reprimanding his wife\nfor staying so long. She replied, trembling with fear, that the bags\nwere so heavy that she could scarcely lift them, and adding that she had\nnearly fainted owing to their weight.\n\nThe giant took his bags, and began to count their contents. First the\nbag which contained the silver was emptied, and the contents placed on\nthe table. Jack viewed the glittering heaps with delight, and most\nheartily wished the contents in his own possession. The giant (little\nthinking he was so narrowly watched) reckoned the silver over several\ntimes; and, having satisfied himself that all was safe, put it into the\nbag again, which he made very secure.\n\nThe other bag was opened next, and the gold pieces placed on the table.\nIf Jack was pleased at the sight of the silver, how much more delighted\nmust he have felt when he saw such a heap of glittering gold?\n\nWhen the giant had counted over the gold till he was tired, he put it\nup, if possible, more secure than he had put up the silver before; he\nthen fell back on the chair by the fireside, and fell asleep. He snored\nso loud that Jack compared the noise to the roaring of the sea in a high\nwind, when the tide is coming in. At last, Jack, being certain that he\nwas asleep, stole out of his hiding-place and approached the giant, in\norder to carry off the two bags of money; but, just as he laid his hand\nupon one of the bags, a little dog, which he had not perceived before,\nstarted from under the giant's chair and barked at Jack most furiously,\nwho now gave himself up for lost. But Jack, recollecting that the giant\nhad left the bones which he had picked at supper, threw one to the dog,\nwho instantly seized it, and took it into the lumber closet which Jack\nhad just left.\n\nFinding himself delivered from a noisy and troublesome enemy, and seeing\nthe giant did not awake, Jack seized the bags, and, throwing them over\nhis shoulders, ran out of the kitchen. He reached the door in safety,\nand found it quite daylight.\n\nJack was overjoyed when he found himself near the bean-stalk; although\nmuch incommoded with the weight of the money bags, he soon reached the\nbottom, and immediately ran to seek his mother. He was greatly shocked\non finding her apparently dying, and could scarcely bear his own\nreflections, knowing himself to be the cause. On being informed of\nJack's safe return, his mother gradually recovered. Jack presented her\nhis two valuable bags, and they lived as happily and comfortably as\never.\n\nFor three years, notwithstanding the comforts Jack enjoyed, his mind\ndwelt continually upon the bean-stalk; for the fairy's menaces were ever\npresent to his mind, and prevented him from being happy. It was in vain\nhe endeavoured to amuse himself; he became thoughtful, and would rise at\nthe dawn of day and view the bean-stalk for hours together.\n\nHis inclination at length growing too powerful for him, he began to make\nsecret preparations for his journey, and, on the longest day, arose as\nsoon as it was light, ascended the bean-stalk, and reached the top. He\narrived at the giant's mansion in the evening, and found his wife\nstanding, as usual, at the door. Jack had disguised himself so\ncompletely that she did not appear to have the least recollection of\nhim; however, when he pleaded hunger and poverty in order to gain\nadmittance, he found it very difficult indeed to persuade her. At last\nhe prevailed, and was concealed in the oven.\n\nWhen the giant returned, he said, as upon the former occasions, \"I smell\nfresh meat!\" But Jack felt quite composed, as he had said so before, and\nhad been soon satisfied; however, the giant started up suddenly, and,\nnotwithstanding all his wife could say, he searched all around the room.\nJack was ready to die with fear, wishing himself at home; the giant\napproached the oven and put his hand into it; Jack thought his death was\ncertain.\n\nThe giant at last gave up the search and ate a hearty supper. When he\nhad finished, he commanded his wife to fetch down his harp. Jack peeped\nas he had done before, and saw the most beautiful harp that could be\nimagined; it was placed by the giant on the table, who said, \"Play!\" and\nit instantly played of its own accord without being touched. The music\nwas very fine; Jack was delighted, and felt more anxious to get the harp\ninto his possession than either of the former treasures.\n\nThe music soon lulled the giant into a sound sleep. This, therefore, was\nthe time to carry off the harp. As the giant appeared to be in a more\nprofound sleep than usual, Jack soon determined, got out of the oven,\nand seized the harp. The harp had also been stolen by the giant from the\nfairy.\n\nThe giant suddenly awoke and tried to pursue him; but he had drank so\nmuch that he could hardly stand. Jack ran as fast as he could; in a\nlittle time the giant recovered sufficiently to walk slowly, or rather\nto reel after him. Had he been sober, he must have overtaken Jack\ninstantly; but, as he then was, Jack contrived to be first at the top of\nthe bean-stalk. The giant called after him in a voice like thunder, and\nsometimes was very near him.\n\nThe moment Jack got down the bean-stalk, he ran for a hatchet. Just at\nthat instant the giant was beginning to descend, but Jack with his\nhatchet cut the bean-stalk close off at the root, which made the giant\nfall headlong into the garden, and the fall killed him.\n\nAt this instant the fairy appeared; she charged Jack to be dutiful to\nhis mother, and to follow his father's good example, which was the only\nway to be happy. She then disappeared, after recovering her hen and her\nharp, which Jack gave to her most thankfully, having acquired great\nriches and revenged the tragical death of his father.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BABES IN THE WOOD.\n\n\nA great many years ago, there lived in the county of Norfolk a gentleman\nand his lady. The gentleman was brave, generous, and honourable; and the\nlady gentle, beautiful, and virtuous; they were beloved by all who knew\nthem, and were blessed with two children, a boy and a girl. The boy was\nonly about three years old, and the girl not quite two, when the\ngentleman was seized with a dangerous malady, and the lady, in attending\nher beloved husband, caught the contagion. Notwithstanding every medical\nassistance, their disorder daily increased; and, as they expected to be\nsoon snatched away from their little babes, they sent for the\ngentleman's brother, and gave the darlings into his care.\n\n\"Ah! brother,\" said the dying man, \"you see I have but a short time to\nlive; yet neither death nor pain can pierce my heart with half so much\nanguish as what I feel at the thought of what these dear babes will do\nwithout a parent's care. Brother, they will have none but you to be kind\nto them, to see them clothed and fed, and to teach them to be good.\"\n\n\"Dear, dear brother,\" said the dying lady, \"you must be father, mother,\nand uncle too, to these dear innocent lambs. First, let William be\ntaught to read; and then he should be told how good his father was. And\nlittle Jane--Oh! brother, it wrings my heart to talk of her; think of\nthe gentle usage she will need, and take her fondly on your knee,\nbrother, and she and William too will pay your care with love.\"\n\n\"How it does grieve my heart to see you, my dear relatives, in this\nmournful condition,\" replied the uncle. \"But be comforted, there may\nyet be hopes of your well-doing; but should we have the misfortune to\nlose you, I will do all you can desire for your darling children. In me\nthey shall find father, mother, and uncle; but, dear brother, you have\nsaid nothing of your wealth.\"\n\n\"H-e-r-e, h-e-r-e, brother,\" replied he, \"is my will, in which I have\nprovided for my dear babes.\"\n\nThe gentleman and his lady then kissed their children, and a short time\nafter they both died.\n\nThe uncle, after shedding a few tears, opened the will, in which he\nfound that to William was bequeathed three hundred pounds a year when he\nbecame of age, and to little Jane five hundred pounds in gold on her\nmarriage day. But if the children should chance to die before coming of\nage, then all their wealth was to be enjoyed by their uncle. The will of\nthe unfortunate gentleman next desired that he and his beloved wife\nshould be buried side by side in the same grave.\n\nThe two little innocents were now taken to the house of their uncle,\nwho, for some time, recollecting what their parents said so sorrowfully\nupon their death-bed, behaved to them with great kindness. But when he\nhad kept them about a twelvemonth, he by degrees forgot to think both\nhow their parents looked when they gave their children to his care, and\nthe promises he made to be their father, mother, and uncle, all in one.\n\nAfter a little more time had passed, the uncle could not help thinking\nthat he wished the little boy and girl would die, for he should then\nhave all their wealth for himself; and when he had begun to think this,\nhe went on till he could not think scarcely of anything else; and at\nlast, says he to himself, \"It will not be very difficult for me to kill\nthem, as nobody knows anything of the matter, and then their gold is\nmine.\"\n\nWhen the barbarous uncle had once brought his mind to kill the helpless\nlittle creatures, he was not long in finding a way to execute his cruel\npurpose. He hired two sturdy ruffians, who had already killed many\ntravellers in a dark, thick wood, at some distance, and then robbed them\nof their money. These two wicked creatures agreed, for a large reward,\nto do the blackest deed that ever yet was heard of; and the uncle began\nto prepare everything accordingly.\n\nHe told an artful story to his wife, of what good it would be to put the\nchildren forward in their learning; how he had a relation in London who\nwould take the greatest care of them. He then said to the innocent\nchildren, \"Should you not like, my pretty ones, to see the famous town\nof London, where you, William, can buy a fine wooden horse to ride upon\nall day long, and a whip to make him gallop, and a fine sword to wear by\nyour side? And you, Jane, shall have pretty dolls and pretty\npincushions, and a nice gilded coach shall be got to take you there.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, I will go, uncle,\" said William.\n\n\"Oh yes, I will go, uncle,\" said Jane.\n\nAnd the uncle, with a heart of stone, soon got them ready for their\njourney.\n\nThe unsuspecting little creatures were a few days after put into a fine\ncoach, and with them the two inhuman butchers, who were soon to end\ntheir joyful prattle, and turn their smiles to tears. One of them served\nas coachman, and the other sat between little William and little Jane.\n\nWhen they had reached the entrance to the dark, thick wood, the two\nruffians took them out of the coach, telling them they might now walk a\nlittle way and gather flowers; and, while the children were skipping\nabout like lambs, the ruffians turned their backs on them, and began to\nconsult about what they had to do.\n\n\"In good truth,\" says the one who had been sitting all the way between\nthe children, \"now I have seen their cherub faces, and heard their\npretty speech, I have no heart to do the bloody deed; let us fling away\nthe ugly knife, and send the children back to their uncle.\"\n\n\"That I will not,\" says the other; \"what boots their pretty speech to\nus? And who will pay us for being so chicken-hearted?\"\n\nAt last the ruffians fell into so great a passion about butchering the\ninnocent little creatures, that he who wished to spare their lives\nsuddenly opened the great knife he had brought to kill them, and stabbed\nthe other to the heart, so that he fell down dead.\n\nThe one who had killed him was now greatly at a loss what to do with the\nchildren, for he wanted to get away as fast as he could, for fear of\nbeing found in the wood. He was not, however, long in determining that\nhe must leave them in the wood, to the chance of some traveller passing\nby. \"Look ye, my pretty ones,\" said he, \"you must each take hold and\ncome along with me.\" The poor children each took a hand and went on, the\ntears bursting from their eyes, and their little limbs trembling with\nfear.\n\nThus did he lead them about two miles further on in the wood, and told\nthem to wait there till he came back with some cakes.\n\nWilliam took his sister Jane by the hand, and they wandered fearfully up\nand down the wood. \"Will the strange man come with some cakes, Billy?\"\nsays Jane.\n\n\"Presently, dear Jane,\" says William.\n\nAnd soon again, \"I wish I had some cakes, Billy,\" said she.\n\nAnd it would have melted a heart of stone to see how sorrowfully they\nlooked.\n\nAfter waiting very long, they tried to satisfy their hunger with\nblackberries, but they soon devoured all that were within their reach;\nand night coming on, William, who had tried all he could to comfort his\nlittle sister, now wanted comfort himself; so when Jane said once more,\n\"How hungry I am, Billy, I b-e-l-i-e-v-e I cannot help crying,\" William\nburst out crying too; and down they lay upon the cold earth, and putting\ntheir arms round each other's neck, there they starved, and there they\ndied.\n\nThus were these pretty little innocents murdered; and as no one knew of\ntheir death, so no one sought to give them burial.\n\nThe wicked uncle, supposing they had been killed as he desired, told all\nwho asked after them an artful tale of their having died in London of\nthe smallpox, and accordingly took possession openly of their fortune.\n\nBut all this did him very little service, for soon after his wife died;\nand being very unhappy, and always thinking too that he saw the bleeding\ninnocents before his eyes, he neglected all his business; so that,\ninstead of growing richer, he every day grew poorer. His two sons, also,\nwho had embarked for a foreign land, were both drowned at sea, and he\nbecame completely miserable.\n\nWhen things had gone on in this manner for years, the ruffian who took\npity on the children committed another robbery in the wood, and, being\npursued by some men, he was laid hold of and brought to prison, and soon\nafter was tried at the assizes, and found guilty--so that he was\ncondemned to be hanged for the crime.\n\nAs soon as he found what his unhappy end must be, he sent for the keeper\nof the prison, and confessed to him all the crimes he had been guilty of\nin his whole life, and thus declared the story of the pretty innocents,\ntelling him at the same time in what part of the wood he had left them\nto starve.\n\nThe news of the discovery he had made soon reached the uncle's ears,\nwho, being already broken-hearted by misfortunes that had befallen him,\nand unable to bear the load of public shame that could not but await\nhim, lay down upon his bed and died that very day.\n\nNo sooner were the tidings of the fate of the two children made public\nthan proper persons were sent to search the wood; when, after many\nfruitless endeavours, the pretty babes were at length found outstretched\nin each other's arms, with William's arm round the neck of Jane, his\nface turned close to her's, and his frock pulled over her body. They\nwere covered all over with leaves, which in all that time never\nwithered; and on a bush near this cold grave a Robin-Redbreast watched\nand chirped--so that many gentle hearts still think that pretty bird did\nbring the leaves which made their grave.\n\n\n\n\nJACK THE GIANT KILLER.\n\n\nIn the reign of King Arthur, near the Land's End of England, in the\nCounty of Cornwall, there lived a wealthy farmer, who had one only son,\ncommonly known by the name of Jack. He was brisk, and of a lively ready\nwit; so that whatever he could not perform by strength, he completed by\nwit and policy. Never was any person heard of that could worst him; nay,\nthe learned he baffled by his cunning and ready inventions.\n\nFor instance, when he was no more than seven years of age, his father\nsent him into the field to look after his oxen; a country vicar, by\nchance one day coming across the field, called Jack, and asked him\nseveral questions--in particular, How many commandments were there? Jack\ntold him there were nine.\n\nThe Parson replied, \"There are ten.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Jack, \"Master Parson, you are out of that; it is true there\nwere ten, but you broke one of them with your own maid Margery.\"\n\nThe Parson replied, \"Thou art an arch wag, Jack.\"\n\n\"Well, Master Parson,\" quoth Jack, \"you have asked me one question, and\nI have answered it; let me ask you another. Who made these oxen?\"\n\nThe Parson replied, \"God.\"\n\n\"You are out again,\" quoth Jack, \"for God made them bulls, but my father\nand his man Hobson made oxen of them.\"\n\nThe Parson, finding himself fooled, trudged away, leaving Jack in a fit\nof laughter.\n\nIn those days the mount of Cornwall was kept by a huge and monstrous\nGiant, of twenty-seven feet high, and three yards in compass, of a grim\ncountenance, to the terror of all the neighbouring towns. His habitation\nwas a cave in the midst of the mount; neither would he suffer any living\ncreature near him; his feeding was upon other men's cattle; for\nwhensoever he had occasion for food, he would wade over to the\nmainland, where he would furnish himself with whatever he could find.\nFor the people at his approach would forsake their habitations; then he\nwould take their cows and oxen, of which he would make nothing to carry\nover his back half-a-dozen at a time; and as for sheep and hogs, he\nwould tie them round his waist. This he had for many years practised in\nCornwall.\n\nBut one day Jack, coming to the Town Hall, when the Magistrates were\nsitting in consternation about the Giant, he asked what reward they\nwould give to any person that would destroy him?\n\nThey answered, \"He shall have all the Giant's treasure in recompense.\"\n\nQuoth Jack, \"Then I myself will undertake the work.\"\n\nJack furnished himself with a horn, a shovel, and a pick-axe, and over\nto the mount he goes in the beginning of a dark winter evening, where he\nfell to work, and before morning had digged a pit twenty-two feet deep\nand as broad, and covered the same over with long sticks and straw; then\nstrewed a little mould upon it, so that it appeared like the plain\nground.\n\nThis done, Jack places himself on the contrary side of the pit, just\nabout the dawning of the day, when, putting his horn to his mouth, he\nthen blew, _Tan Twivie, tan twivie_. Which unexpected noise roused the\nGiant, who came roaring towards Jack, crying out--\"You incorrigible\nvillain, are you come hither to break my rest; you shall dearly pay for\nit; satisfaction I will have, and it shall be this: I will take you\nwholly and broil you for my breakfast.\"\n\nWhich words were no sooner out of his mouth but he tumbled headlong into\nthe deep pit, which heavy fall made the very foundation of the mount to\nshake. \"Oh, Giant! where are you now? Faith, you are got into Lobb's\nPond, where I shall plague you for your threatening words. What do you\nthink now of broiling me for your breakfast? Will no other diet serve\nyou but poor Jack?\"\n\nThus having tantalized the Giant for a while, he gave him a most weighty\nknock on the crown of his head with his pick-axe, so that he immediately\ntumbled down, gave a most dreadful groan, and died. This done, Jack\nthrew the earth in upon him, and so buried him; then going and searching\nthe cave, he found a great quantity of treasure.\n\nNow, when the Magistrates who employed him heard the work was over, they\nsent for him, declaring that he should be called Jack the Giant Killer.\nAnd in honour thereof, they presented him with a sword, together with a\nfine rich embroidered belt, on which these words were wrought in letters\nof gold--\n\n \"Here's the right valiant Cornish man,\n Who slew the Giant Cormillan.\"\n\nThe news of Jack's victory was soon spread; when another huge Giant\nnamed Blunderboar, hearing of it, vowed to be revenged on Jack, if ever\nit was his fortune to light upon him. This Giant kept an enchanted\ncastle, situated in the midst of a lonesome wood. Now Jack, about four\nmonths after, walking near the borders of the said wood on his journey\ntowards Wales, grew weary, and therefore sat himself down by the side of\na pleasant fountain, where a deep sleep suddenly seized on him, at which\ntime the Giant, coming for water, found him; and, by the line on his\nbelt, knew him to be Jack that killed his brother, and, without any\nwords, threw him upon his shoulder to carry him to his enchanted castle.\n\nNow, as they passed through a thicket, the ruffling of the boughs awaked\npoor Jack, who, finding himself in the clutches of the Giant, was\nstrangely surprised; for, at the entering within the first walls of the\ncastle, he beheld the ground all covered with bones and skulls of dead\nmen, the Giant telling Jack that his bones would enlarge the number that\nhe saw. This said, he brought him into a large parlour, where he beheld\nthe bloody quarters of some who were lately slain, and in the next room\nwere many hearts and livers, which the Giant, in order to terrify Jack,\ntold him--\"That men's hearts and livers were the choicest of his diet,\nfor he commonly ate them with pepper and vinegar, and he did not\nquestion but his heart would make him a dainty bit.\" This said, he locks\nup poor Jack in an upper room, while he went to fetch another Giant\nliving in the same wood, that he might partake in the destruction of\npoor Jack.\n\nNow, while he was gone, dreadful shrieks and cries affrighted poor Jack,\nespecially a voice which continually cried--\n\n \"Do what you can to get away,\n Or you'll become the Giant's prey;\n He's gone to fetch his brother, who\n Will kill and likewise torture you.\"\n\nThis dreadful noise so amazed poor Jack, he was ready to run distracted;\nseeing from the window afar off the two Giants coming, \"Now,\" quoth Jack\nto himself, \"my death or deliverance is at hand.\"\n\nThere were strong cords in the room by him, of which he takes two, at\nthe end of which he makes a noose, and, while the Giant was unlocking\nthe gate, he threw the ropes over each of the heads, and drawing the\nother end across the beam, he pulled with all his strength until he had\nthrottled them; and then fastening the rope to the beam, turning towards\nthe window he beheld the two Giants to be black in their faces. Sliding\ndown by the rope, he came close to their heads, where the helpless\nGiants could not defend themselves; and, drawing out his sword, slew\nthem both, and delivered himself from their intended cruelty; then\ntaking out a bunch of keys, he unlocked the rooms, where he found three\nfair ladies tied by the hair of their heads, almost starved to death,\nwho told Jack that their husbands were slain by the Giant, and that they\nwere kept many days without food, in order to force them to feed upon\nthe flesh of their husbands.\n\n\"Sweet ladies,\" quoth Jack, \"I have destroyed this monster and his\nbrutish brother, by which I have obtained your liberties.\" This said, he\npresented them with the keys of the castle, and so proceeded on his\njourney to Wales.\n\nJack, having but very little money, thought it prudent to make the best\nof his way by travelling as fast as he could; but, losing his road, was\nbenighted, and could not get a place of entertainment until he came to a\nvalley placed between two hills, where stood a large house in a lonesome\nplace. He took courage to knock at the gate, and to his great surprise\nthere came forth a monstrous Giant, having two heads; yet he did not\nseem so fiery as the others had been, for he was a Welsh Giant, and what\nhe did was by secret malice; for, Jack telling his condition, he bid him\nwelcome, showing him a room with a bed in it, whereon he might take his\nnight's repose; therefore, Jack undressed himself, and, as the Giant was\nwalking to another apartment, Jack heard him muttering forth these\nwords to himself--\n\n \"Though here you lodge with me this night,\n You shall not see the morning light;\n My club shall dash your brains out quite.\"\n\n\"Sayest thou so,\" quoth Jack; \"this is like your Welsh tricks, yet I\nhope to be cunning enough for you.\" Then, getting out of bed, he put a\nbillet in his stead, and hid himself in a corner of the room; and, in\nthe dead time of the night, the Welsh Giant came with his great knotty\nclub, and struck several blows upon the bed where Jack had laid the\nbillet, and then returned to his own chamber, supposing he had broken\nall the bones in his body.\n\nIn the morning, Jack gave him hearty thanks for his lodging.\n\nThe Giant said to him, \"How have you rested? Did you not feel something\nin the night?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" quoth Jack, \"but a rat which gave me three or four slaps with\nher tail.\"\n\nSoon after the Giant arose and went to breakfast with a bowl of hasty\npudding, containing nearly four gallons, giving Jack the like quantity,\nwho, being loath to let the Giant know he could not eat with him, got a\nlarge leathern bag, putting it very artfully under his loose coat, into\nwhich he secretly conveyed his pudding, telling the Giant he could show\nhim a trick; then, taking a large knife, he ripped open the bag, which\nthe Giant supposed to be his belly, when out came the hasty pudding, at\nwhich the Welsh Giant cried, \"Cotplut, hur can do dat trick hurself.\"\n\nThen, taking his sharp knife, he ripped up his own belly from the bottom\nto the top, and out dropped his tripes and trolly bags, so that he fell\ndown for dead. Thus Jack outwitted the Giant, and proceeded on his\njourney.\n\nAbout this time King Arthur's son only desired of his father to furnish\nhim with a certain sum of money, that he might go and seek his fortune\nin Wales, where a beautiful lady lived, whom he heard was possessed with\nseven evil spirits; but the King, his father, advised him utterly\nagainst it, yet he would not be persuaded of it; so he granted what he\nrequested, which was one horse loaded with money, and another for\nhimself to ride on. Thus he went forth without any attendants.\n\nNow, after several days' travel, he came to a market town in Wales,\nwhere he beheld a large concourse of people gathered together; the\nKing's son demanded the reason of it, and was told that they had\narrested a corpse for many large sums of money which the deceased owed\nwhen he died. The King's son replied, \"It is a pity that creditors\nshould be so cruel; go bury the dead, and let his creditors come to my\nlodging, and their debts shall be discharged.\" Accordingly, they came in\ngreat numbers, so that he left himself moneyless.\n\nNow, Jack the Giant Killer being there and seeing the generosity of the\nKing's son, he was taken with him, and desired to be his servant; it was\nagreed upon the next morning, when riding out at the town-end, the\nKing's son turning to Jack, said, \"I cannot tell how I will subsist in\nmy intended journey.\"\n\n\"For that,\" quoth Jack, \"take you no care; let me alone, I warrant you\nwe will not starve.\"\n\nNow Jack, having a spell in his pocket, which served at noon for a\nrefreshment, when done they had not one penny left betwixt them. The\nafternoon they spent in travel and discourse till the sun began to grow\nlow, at which time the King's son said, \"Jack, since we have no money,\nwhere can we think to lodge this night?\"\n\nJack replied, \"We'll do well enough, for I have an uncle living within\ntwo miles of this; he is a monstrous Giant with three heads; he will\nfight five hundred men in armour, and make them to fly before him.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" saith the King's son, \"what shall we do there; he will certainly\nchop us both up at one mouthful!\"\n\n\"It is no matter for that,\" quoth Jack; \"I will go before and prepare\nthe way for you; tarry here.\"\n\nHe waits, and Jack rides full speed. When he came to the castle, he\nknocked with such a force that he made all the neighbouring hills to\nresound. The Giant, with a voice like thunder, roared out, \"Who's\nthere?\"\n\nJack answered, \"None but your own cousin Jack. Dear uncle, heavy news,\nGod wot.\"\n\n\"Prithee, what heavy news can come to me? I am a Giant with three heads,\nand besides thou knowest I can fight five hundred men.\"\n\n\"O! but,\" quoth Jack, \"here's the King's son coming with one thousand\nmen to kill you.\"\n\n\"Oh! Jack, this is heavy news indeed; I have a large vault underground,\nwhere I will hide myself, and thou shalt lock, bolt, and bar me in, and\nkeep the keys till the King's son is gone.\"\n\nJack, having secured the Giant, he returned and fetched his master. They\nwere both heartily merry with the wine and other dainties which were in\nthe house; so that night they rested in very pleasant lodgings, whilst\nthe poor uncle, the Giant, lay trembling in the vault underground.\n\nEarly in the morning, Jack furnished his master with a supply of gold\nand silver, and set him three miles forward on his journey, concluding\nhe was then pretty well out of the smell of the Giant, and then returned\nto let his uncle out of the hole, who asked Jack what he would give him\nin reward, since his castle was not demolished.\n\n\"Why,\" quoth Jack, \"I desire nothing but the old Coat and Cap, together\nwith the old rusty Sword and Slippers, which are at your bed-head.\"\n\n\"Jack, thou shalt have them, and pray keep them for my sake, for they\nare things of excellent use. The Coat will keep you invisible, the Cap\nwill furnish you with knowledge, the Sword cuts asunder whatever you\nstrike, and the Shoes are of extraordinary swiftness; these may be\nserviceable to you, and therefore pray take them with all my heart.\"\n\nJack takes them, thanking his uncle, and follows his master.\n\nJack, having overtaken his master, soon after arrived at the lady's\nhouse, who, finding the King's son to be a suitor, prepared a banquet\nfor him, and, being ended, she wiped his mouth with her napkin, saying,\n\"You must show this to-morrow or lose your head;\" and she put it safely\ninto her bosom.\n\nThe King's son went to bed sorrowful, but Jack's Cap of knowledge\ninstructed him how to obtain it. In the middle of the night, she called\nupon her familial-spirit to carry her to Lucifer. Jack put on his Coat\nof darkness, with his Shoes of swiftness, and was there as soon as she;\nby reason of his Coat they could not see him. When she entered the\nplace, she gave the handkerchief to old Lucifer, who laid it carefully\nupon a shelf, from whence Jack brought it to his master, who showed it\nto the lady the next day. The next night she saluted the King's son,\ntelling him he must show her to-morrow morning the lips that she kissed\nlast this night, or lose his head.\n\n\"Ah!\" replied he, \"if you kiss none but mine I will.\"\n\n\"It is neither here nor there,\" said she; \"if you do not, death's your\nportion.\"\n\nAt midnight, she went as before, and was angry with Lucifer for letting\nthe handkerchief go. \"But now,\" said she, \"I will be too hard for the\nKing's son, for I will kiss thee, and he's to show thy lips.\" Jack,\nstanding near him with his Sword of sharpness, cut off the devil's head,\nand brought it under his invisible Coat to his master, who was in bed,\nand laid it at the end of his bolster. In the morning when the lady came\nup, he pulled it out by the horns and showed her the devil's lips, which\nshe kissed last.\n\nThus, having answered her twice, the enchantment broke, and the evil\nspirits left her, at which time she appeared a beautiful and virtuous\ncreature. They were married next morning in great pomp and solemnity,\nand returned with a numerous company to the Court of King Arthur, where\nthey were received with the greatest joy and loud acclamations. Jack,\nfor the many and great exploits he had done for the good of his country,\nwas made one of the Knights of the Round Table.\n\nJack, having resolved not to be idle, humbly requested of the King to\nfit him with a horse and money to travel; \"for,\" said he, \"there are\nmany Giants alive in the remotest parts of the kingdom, to the\nunspeakable damage of your Majesty's liege subjects; wherefore, may it\nplease your Majesty to give me encouragement to rid the realm of those\ncruel and devouring monsters of nature, root and branch.\"\n\nNow, when the King had heard these noble propositions, and had duly\nconsidered the mischievous practices of those bloodthirsty Giants, he\nimmediately granted what Jack requested; and, being furnished with all\nnecessaries for his progress, he took his leave of King Arthur, taking\nwith him the Cap of knowledge, Sword of sharpness, Shoes of swiftness,\nand likewise the invisible Coat, the better to perfect and complete the\ndangerous enterprises that lay before him.\n\nJack travelled over vast hills and mountains, when at the end of three\ndays he came to a large and spacious wood, where on a sudden he heard\ndreadful shrieks and cries; whereupon, casting his eyes around, he\nbeheld a Giant rushing along with a worthy knight and his fair lady,\nwhom he held by the hair of their heads in his hands; wherefore he\nalighted from his horse, and then putting on his invisible Coat, under\nwhich he carried his Sword of sharpness, he came up to the Giant, and,\nthough he made several passes at him, yet he could not reach the trunk\nof his body, by reason of his height, though he wounded his thighs in\nseveral places; but at length, giving a swinging stroke, he cut off both\nhis legs just below the knee, so that the trunk of his body made the\nground to shake with the force of his fall, at which the knight and the\nlady escaped. Then had Jack time to talk with him, and, setting his foot\nupon his neck, said, \"You savage and barbarous wretch, I am come to\nexecute upon you the just reward of your villainy.\" And with that\nrunning him through and through, the monster sent forth a hideous groan,\nand yielded up his life, while the noble knight and virtuous lady were\njoyful spectators of his sudden downfall and their own deliverance.\n\nThis being done, the courteous knight and his fair lady returned him\nhearty thanks for their deliverance, but also invited him home, there to\nrefresh himself after the dreadful encounter, as likewise to receive\nample reward, by way of gratitude for his good service.\n\n\"No,\" quoth Jack, \"I cannot be at ease till I find out the den which was\nthis monster's habitation.\"\n\nThe knight hearing this, waxed sorrowful, and replied, \"Noble stranger,\nit is too much to run a second risk, for this monster lived in a den\nunder yon mountain, with a brother of his, more fierce than himself;\ntherefore, if you go thither and perish in the attempt, it will be the\nheartbreaking of both me and my lady. Let me persuade you to go with\nus.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Jack, \"if there were twenty I would shed the last drop of\nmy blood before one of them should escape my fury, but when I have\nfinished this task, I will come and pay my respects to you.\" So, taking\ndirections to their habitation, he mounted his horse, and went in\npursuit of the deceased Giant's brother.\n\nJack had not rode past a mile before he came in sight of the cave's\nmouth, at the entrance of which he beheld the other Giant sitting upon a\nhuge block of timber, with a knotty iron club by his side, waiting for\nhis brother's return with his cruel prey; his goggle eyes appeared like\nterrible flames of fire, his countenance grim and ugly, and his cheeks\nappeared like a couple of large flitches of bacon; the bristles of his\nhead seemed to resemble rods of iron wire; his locks hung down on his\nbroad shoulders like curled snakes. Jack alighted from his horse, and\nput him into a thicket; then with his Coat of darkness he came near to\nbehold his figure, and said, \"Oh! are you there? It will not be long\nbefore I take you by the beard.\"\n\nThe Giant could not see him by reason of his invisible Coat: so Jack\nfetching a blow at his head with his Sword of sharpness, and missing\nsomewhat of his aim, cut off the Giant's nose, whose nostrils were wider\nthan a pair of jack-boots; the pain was terrible; he put up his hand to\nfeel for his nose, and when he could not find it he raved and roared\nlouder than thunder; and though he turned up his large eyes, he could\nnot see from whence the blow came, nevertheless, he took up his\niron-headed club and began to thrash about him like one stark mad.\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Jack, \"if you be for that sport, then I will dispatch you\nquickly, for fear of an accidental blow.\"\n\nThen Jack makes no more to do, but runs his sword up to the hilt in the\nGiant's fundament, where he left it sticking for a while, and stood\nhimself laughing, to see the Giant caper and dance with the sword in his\nbody, crying out, \"I shall die with the gripping of my guts.\"\n\nThus did the Giant continue raving for an hour or more, and at length\nfell down dead.\n\nThis being done, Jack cut off both the Giants' heads, and sent them to\nKing Arthur by a waggoner, whom he hired for the purpose.\n\nJack having dispatched these two monsters, resolved to enter the cave in\nsearch of the Giants' treasure. He passed through many turnings and\nwindings, which led him at length to a room paved with freestone, at the\nupper end of which was a boiling caldron; on the right hand stood a\nlarge table, where the Giants used to dine. Then he came to an iron\ngate, where was a window secured with bars of iron, through which he\nlooked, and beheld a vast many captives, who, seeing Jack, said, \"Young\nman, art thou come to be one among us in this miserable den?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Jack, \"I hope I shall not tarry long here; but what is the\nmeaning of your captivity?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said one of them, \"we have been taken by the Giants, and here we\nare kept till they have a feast, then the fattest among us is\nslaughtered for their devouring jaws. It is not long since they took\nthree of us for the purpose.\"\n\n\"Say you so,\" quoth Jack; \"well, I have given them both such a dinner\nthat it will be long enough ere they need any more. You may believe me,\nfor I have slain them both, and as for their monstrous heads, I sent\nthem to the court of King Arthur, as trophies of my victory.\"\n\nThen leading them to the aforesaid room, he placed them round the table,\nand set before them two quarters of beef, also bread and wine, so that\nthey feasted there very plentifully. Supper being ended, they searched\nthe Giants' coffers, where, finding a vast store of gold, Jack divided\nit equally among them. They all returned him hearty thanks for their\ntreasure and miraculous deliverance. That night they went to their rest,\nand in the morning they arose and departed, to their respective places\nof abode, and Jack to the knight's house.\n\nJack mounted his horse, and by his direction he came to the knight's\nhouse, where he was received with all demonstrations of joy, by the\nknight and his lady, who, in respect to Jack, prepared a feast which\nlasted for many days, inviting all the gentry in the adjacent parts. He\npresented him with a ring of gold in which was engraven by curious art,\nthe picture of the Giant dragging a distressed knight and his fair lady\nby the hair of the head.\n\nNow, there were five aged gentlemen who were fathers to some of those\nmiserable captives whom Jack had set at liberty; who immediately paid\nhim their venerable respects. And the smiling bowl was passed round in\nhonour of the victorious conqueror, but during their mirth, a dark cloud\nappeared, which daunted the assembly.\n\nA messenger brought the dismal tidings of the approach of one\nThunderfold, a huge Giant with two heads; who, having heard of the death\nof his kinsmen, the above-named Giants, was come in search of Jack, to\nbe revenged on him for their terrible downfall, and was within a mile of\nthe knight's seat, the people flying before him from their habitations.\n\nWhen they had related this, Jack said, \"Let him come, I am prepared with\na tool to pick his teeth, and you, gentlemen and ladies, walk forth into\nthe garden, and you shall be the joyful spectators of this monstrous\nGiant's death.\"\n\nTo which they consented, wishing him good fortune in that great\nenterprise.\n\nThe situation of the knight's house was in a small island encompassed\nwith a vast moat thirty feet deep, and twenty feet wide, over which lay\na drawbridge. Wherefore Jack employed two men to cut it on both sides,\nand then dressing himself in his Coat of darkness, putting on his Shoes\nof swiftness, he marched against the Giant, with his Sword of sharpness\nready drawn. When he came close up, the Giant could not see Jack, by\nreason of his invisible Coat. Nevertheless, he was sensible of\napproaching danger, which made him cry out:--\n\n \"_Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum,\n I smell the blood of an Englishman.\n Be he living, or be he dead,\n I'll grind his bones to mix my bread._\"\n\n\"Sayest thou so,\" quoth Jack. \"Then thou art a monstrous miller. But how\nif I serve thee as I did the two Giants of late, I should spoil your\npractice for the future?\"\n\nAt which time the Giant spoke with a voice as loud as thunder. \"Art thou\nthat villain which destroyed my kinsmen? Then I will tear thee with my\nteeth, and suck thy blood, I will grind thy bones to powder.\"\n\n\"Catch me first,\" quoth Jack. And he threw off his Coat of darkness that\nthe Giant might see him, and then ran from him as through fear.\n\nThe Giant, with glaring eyes, followed after like a walking castle,\nmaking the earth to shake at every step. Jack led him a dance three or\nfour times round the moat, that the ladies and gentlemen might take a\nfull view of this huge monster who followed him, but could not overtake\nhim by reason of his Shoes of swiftness.\n\nAt length Jack took over the bridge, the Giant with full speed pursuing\nafter him, with his iron club. But coming to the middle of the\ndrawbridge, the weight of his body, and the most dreadful steps which he\ntook, it broke down, and he tumbled into the water, where he rolled and\nwallowed like a whale.\n\nJack standing at the side of the moat laughed at the Giant, and said,\n\"You would grind my bones to powder; you have water, pray, where is your\nmill?\" The Giant foamed to hear him scoffing at that rate, though he\nplunged from place to place in the moat.\n\nJack at length got a cart rope, and cast it over the Giant's two heads,\nwith a slip knot, and by the help of horses he dragged him out again,\nnearly strangled, before he would let him loose. He cut off both his\nheads with his Sword of sharpness, in the view of all the assembly of\nknights and ladies, who gave a shout when they saw the Giant dispatched.\nThen before he would either eat or drink, he sent these heads also to\nthe court of King Arthur.\n\nAfter some mirth and pastime, Jack, taking leave of the noble knights\nand ladies, set off in search of new adventures. Through many woods and\ngroves he passed, till coming to the foot of a high mountain late at\nnight, he knocked at the door of a lonesome house, at which a man, with\na head as white as snow, arose and let him in.\n\n\"Father,\" said Jack, \"have you any entertainment for a benighted\ntraveller that has lost his way?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the old man, \"if thou wilt accept of such as my poor cottage\naffords, thou shalt be welcome.\"\n\nJack returned him thanks; they sat together, and the old man began to\ndiscourse as follows. \"Son, I am sensible thou art the great conqueror\nof Giants, and it is in thy power to free this place; for, there is an\nenchanted castle, kept by a monstrous Giant, named Galligantus, who, by\nthe help of a conjuror, betrays knights and ladies into this strong\ncastle, where, by magic art, they are transformed into sundry shapes;\nbut above all, I lament the misfortune of a Duke's daughter, whom they\nfetched from her father's garden, carrying her through the air in a\nchariot drawn by fiery dragons. She was immediately transformed into\nthe shape of a White Hind. Many knights have endeavoured to break the\nenchantment for her deliverance, yet none could accomplish it, by reason\nof two Griffins, who are at the entrance of the castle gate, who\ndestroys them as they see them; but you, being furnished with an\ninvisible Coat, may pass them undiscovered; where, on the gates of the\ncastle, you will find engraven in characters, the means by which the\nenchantment may be broken.\"\n\nJack gave him his hand, with a promise that in the morning he would\nbreak the enchantment, and free the lady.\n\nHaving refreshed themselves with a morsel of meat, they lay down to\nrest. In the morning Jack arose, and put on his invisible Coat, his Cap\nof knowledge, and Shoes of swiftness, and so prepared himself for the\ndangerous enterprise.\n\nNow, when he had ascended the mountain, he discovered the two fiery\nGriffins. He passed between them, for they could not see him by reason\nof his invisible Coat. When he had got beyond them, he found upon the\ngate a golden trumpet, hung in a chain of fine silver, under which were\nengraven:--\n\n _Whoever shall this trumpet blow,\n Shall soon the Giant overthrow.\n And break the black enchantment straight,\n So all shall be in happy state._\n\nJack had no sooner read this inscription than he blew the trumpet, at\nwhich the foundation of the castle trembled, and the Giant, with the\nConjuror, were tearing their hair, knowing their wicked reign was at an\nend. At which time the Giant was stooping to take up his club, Jack, by\none blow with his Sword of sharpness, cut off his head. The Conjuror\nmounted into the air, and was carried away by a whirlwind.\n\nThus was the enchantment broken, and every knight and lady, who had been\ntransformed into birds and beasts, returned to their proper shapes, and\nthe castle, though it seemed to be of vast strength and bigness,\nvanished away like a cloud; whereupon universal joy appeared among the\nreleased knights and ladies. This being done, the head of Galligantus\nwas conveyed to the court of King Arthur.\n\nThe next day, having refreshed the knights and ladies at the old man's\nhabitation, Jack set forward to the court of King Arthur, with those\nknights and ladies whom he delivered.\n\nComing to His Majesty, his fame rang through the court; and, as a reward\nfor his service, the Duke bestowed his daughter in marriage to Jack. The\nwhole kingdom was filled with joy at the wedding. After which the King\nbestowed upon him a noble house, with a large estate, where he and his\nlady passed their days in great joy and happiness.\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a little girl who lived in a village. She was\nsuch a nice little girl that her grandmother was very fond of her, and\nmade her a little red cloak with a hood. So everybody called her Little\nRed Riding Hood.\n\nOne day when her mother was baking, she said: \"I hear your poor\ngrandmother is ill in bed. You shall go across the forest and see how\nshe is, and take her this cake and a pot of butter.\" Little Red Riding\nHood was delighted to go, though it was rather a long walk. So she took\nthe basket with the cakes and butter on her arm, and set off.\n\nNo sooner had she got well into the forest, than a wolf came by that\nroad. \"Good morning, Red Riding Hood,\" said the wolf; \"where are you\ngoing?\"\n\nNow, Red Riding Hood did not know that it is dangerous to stop and speak\nto wolves, and she only thought him a nice respectable wolf who knew\nmanners. So she made a curtsey, and said:\n\n\"I'm going to see grandmother, because she's ill; and I am taking her a\ncake and a pot of butter.\"\n\n\"Where does your grandmother live?\" asked the wolf.\n\n\"In a cottage quite by itself, across the forest,\" said Red Riding Hood.\n\n\"Well, good morning,\" said the wolf. \"If I were you, I would stop for a\nwhile, and pick some wild flowers to make a posy for your grandmother.\"\n\nRed Riding Hood thought this would please her granny very much, and the\nwolf trotted away.\n\nAs soon as he was out of her sight, he galloped away to the old woman's\ncottage, and knocked.\n\n\"Who's there?\" asked the old woman, in a feeble voice.\n\n\"Little Red Riding Hood,\" said the wolf, imitating a little girl's\nvoice. \"Mother has sent you a cake and a pot of butter.\n\n\"Lift up the latch and walk in,\" said the grandmother; \"I'm ill in bed,\nand can't come to the door.\"\n\nSo the wolf lifted the latch and sprang in, and gobbled up the poor old\ngrandmother in a moment. Then he put on her nightgown and nightcap, got\ninto bed, and pulled up the bedclothes. Presently Red Riding Hood came\nand knocked at the door.\n\n\"Who's there?\" asked the wolf, imitating the grandmother's voice.\n\n\"Little Red Riding Hood. Mother has sent you a cake and a pot of\nbutter.\"\n\n\"Lift up the latch and walk in,\" said the wolf, and Red Riding Hood\nentered.\n\nThe wolf had got down so far under the bedclothes that nothing of him\ncould be seen but the top of his nightcap.\n\n\"How hoarse you are, Granny!\" said Red Riding Hood.\n\n\"That's because I've got such a bad cold, my dear,\" said the wolf. \"It's\ngetting late, so you must undress and come to bed.\"\n\nWhen Red Riding Hood got into bed, she saw the wolf's ears sticking out\nfrom under the nightcap. \"What great ears you've got, Granny!\" she said.\n\n\"All the better to hear with, my dear!\" said the wolf.\n\n\"And what great arms you've got, Granny!\"\n\n\"All the better to hug with, my dear!\"\n\n\"But, Granny, what great eyes you've got!\"\n\n\"All the better to see with, my dear!\"\n\n\"But, Granny, what great teeth you've got!\" said Red Riding Hood, who\nbegan to feel frightened.\n\n\"All the better to eat you, my dear!\" shouted the wolf. And the wicked\nbeast jumped up, and ate her all up at a mouthful.\n\nAs it got dusk, Red Riding Hood's mother began to get very anxious\nbecause she had not come back, for as she had never thought Red Riding\nHood would stop and pick flowers in the forest, she had expected her\nhome by sunset, and had said nothing about her stopping at her\ngrandmother's for the night. So when her husband came home, she said:\n\n\"I'm afraid something has happened to Red Riding Hood. I sent her to her\ngrandmother's this morning, and she has never come back. You must go and\nlook for her; and take your lantern and your axe, for fear of wolves.\"\nSo Red Riding Hood's father took his lantern and axe, and asked a friend\nto go with him across the forest.\n\nWhen they got to the grandmother's cottage, it was quite dark. They\nknocked, and the wolf called out:\n\n\"Lift up the latch and walk in,\" for he thought he would make another\nmeal off whoever it was. But when he saw the two men enter, one with the\naxe and the other with the lantern, he began to feel horribly\nuncomfortable, especially as he could not run away quickly, because he\nwas so fat from eating the grandmother and Red Riding Hood. Red Riding\nHood's father saw in a minute what had happened, and he flung his axe at\nthe wolf and cut him open. Immediately the grandmother and Red Riding\nHood jumped out of the wolf's inside, and the wolf made straight up the\nchimney.\n\n\"I think we've got him now,\" said Red Riding Hood's father: \"make up the\nfire, Granny, and we'll put on the big porridge-pot full of hot water,\nand some savoury soup in it to smell nice.\"\n\nSo they made up the fire, and put on the great pot, full of hot water,\nand then they poured some soup into it; and when it boiled, the savoury\nsmell went up the chimney.\n\n\"_Aughrr!_\" said the wolf; \"how nice that smells; I feel quite hungry\nagain.\" So he put his head and forelegs into the chimney as he stood on\nthe roof, and, as he bent further in to catch the smell, all of a sudden\nhe lost his balance, and fell headlong down the chimney, and into the\ngreat pot, and was killed.\n\nSo they all went home safely, and when Red Riding Hood's mother put her\nto bed, she said, \"Never you stop when you're out to talk to strange\ncreatures ever any more.\" And Red Riding Hood, who was only too glad to\nhave got safely out of the wolf's inside, promised faithfully that she\nnever would.\n\n\n\n\nCINDERELLA;\n\nOR,\n\nTHE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER.\n\n\nThere was once a very rich gentleman who lost his wife; and having loved\nher exceedingly, he was very sorry when she died. Finding himself quite\nunhappy for her loss, he resolved to marry a second time, thinking by\nthis means he should be as happy as before. Unfortunately, however, the\nlady he chanced to fix upon was the proudest and most haughty woman ever\nknown; she was always out of humour with every one; nobody could please\nher, and she returned the civilities of those about her with the most\naffronting disdain. She had two daughters by a former husband, whom she\nbrought up to be proud and idle: indeed, in temper and behaviour they\nperfectly resembled their mother; they did not love their books, and\nwould not learn to work; in short, they were disliked by everybody. The\ngentleman on his side, too, had a daughter, who, in sweetness of temper\nand carriage, was the exact likeness of her own mother, whose death he\nhad so much lamented, and whose tender care of the little girl he was in\nhopes to see replaced by that of his new bride.\n\nBut scarcely was the marriage ceremony over, before his wife began to\nshow her real temper; she could not bear the pretty little girl, because\nher sweet obliging manners made those of her own daughters appear a\nthousand times the more odious and disagreeable.\n\nShe therefore ordered her to live in the kitchen; and, if ever she\nbrought anything into the parlour, always scolded her till she was out\nof sight. She made her work with the servants, in washing the dishes,\nand rubbing the tables and chairs: it was her place to clean madam's\nchamber, and that of the misses, her daughters, which was all inlaid,\nhad beds of the newest fashion, and looking-glasses so long and broad,\nthat they saw themselves from head to foot in them; while the little\ncreature herself was forced to sleep up in a sorry garret, upon a\nwretched straw bed, without curtains, or anything to make her\ncomfortable.\n\nThe poor child bore all this with the greatest patience, not daring to\ncomplain to her father, who, she feared, would only reprove her, for she\nsaw that his wife governed him entirely. When she had done all her work\nshe used to sit in the chimney corner among the cinders; so that in the\nhouse she went by the name of Cinderbreech: the youngest of the two\nsisters, however, being rather more civil than the eldest, called her\nCinderella. And Cinderella, dirty and ragged as she was, as often\nhappens in such cases, was a thousand times prettier than her sisters,\ndrest out in all their splendour. It happened that the king's son gave\na ball, to which he invited all the persons of fashion in the country:\nour two misses were of the number; for the king's son did not know how\ndisagreeable they were; but supposed, as they were so much indulged,\nthat they were extremely amiable. He did not invite Cinderella, for he\nhad never seen or heard of her.\n\nThe two sisters began immediately to be very busy in preparing for the\nhappy day: nothing could exceed their joy; every moment of their time\nwas spent in fancying such gowns, shoes, and head-dresses as would set\nthem off to the greatest advantage. All this was new vexation to poor\nCinderella, for it was she who ironed and plaited her sisters' muslins.\nThey talked of nothing but how they should be dressed.\n\n\"I,\" said the eldest, \"will wear my scarlet velvet with French\ntrimming.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said the youngest, \"shall wear the same petticoat I had made\nfor the last ball; but then, to make amends for that, I shall put on my\ngold muslin train, and wear my diamonds in my hair; with these I must\ncertainly look well.\"\n\nThey sent several miles for the best hairdresser that was to be had, and\nall their ornaments were bought at the most fashionable shops.\n\nOn the morning of the ball they called up Cinderella to consult with her\nabout their dress, for they knew she had a great deal of taste.\nCinderella gave them the best advice she could, and even offered to\nassist them in adjusting their head-dresses; which was exactly what they\nwanted, and they accordingly accepted her proposals.\n\nWhile Cinderella was busily engaged in dressing her sisters, they said\nto her, \"Should you not like, Cinderella, to go to the ball?\" \"Ah,\"\nreplied Cinderella, \"you are only laughing at me; it is not for such as\nI am to think of going to balls.\"\n\n\"You are in the right,\" said they; \"folks might laugh indeed to see a\nCinderbreech dancing in a ball-room.\"\n\nAny other than Cinderella would have tried to make the haughty creatures\nlook as ugly as she could; but the sweet-tempered girl, on the contrary,\ndid every thing she could think of to make them look well.\n\nThe sisters had scarcely eaten anything for two days, so great was their\njoy as the happy day drew near. More than a dozen laces were broken in\nendeavouring to give them a fine slender shape, and they were always\nbefore the looking-glass.\n\nAt length the much-wished-for moment arrived; the proud misses stepped\ninto a beautiful carriage, and, followed by servants in rich liveries,\ndrove towards the palace. Cinderella followed them with her eyes as far\nas she could; and when they were out of sight, she sat down in a corner\nand began to cry.\n\nHer godmother, who saw her in tears, asked what ailed her.\n\n\"I wish--I w-i-s-h,\" sobbed poor Cinderella, without being able to say\nanother word.\n\nThe godmother, who was a fairy, said to her, \"You wish to go to the\nball, Cinderella; is not this the truth?\"\n\n\"Alas! yes,\" replied the poor child, sobbing still more than before.\n\n\"Well, well, be a good girl,\" said the godmother, \"and you shall go.\"\n\nShe then led Cinderella to her bed-chamber, and said to her, \"Run into\nthe garden and bring me a pumpion.\" Cinderella flew like lightning, and\nbrought the finest she could lay hold of. Her godmother scooped out the\ninside, leaving nothing but the rind; she then struck it with her wand,\nand the pumpion instantly became a fine coach gilded all over with gold.\nShe next looked into her mouse-trap, where she found six mice all alive\nand brisk. She told Cinderella to lift up the door of the trap very\ngently; and as the mice passed out, she touched them one by one with her\nwand, and each immediately became a beautiful horse of a fine dapple\ngrey mouse-colour.\n\n\"Here, my child,\" said the godmother, \"is a coach and horse, too, as\nhandsome as your sisters; but what shall we do for a postilion?\"\n\n\"I will run,\" replied Cinderella, \"and see if there be not a rat in the\nrat-trap. If I find one, he will do very well for a postilion.\"\n\n\"Well thought of, my child!\" said her godmother; \"make what haste you\ncan.\"\n\nCinderella brought the rat-trap, which to her great joy, contained three\nof the largest rats ever seen. The fairy chose the one which had the\nlongest beard, and touching him with her wand, he was instantly turned\ninto a smart, handsome postilion, with the finest pair of whiskers\nimaginable.\n\nShe next said to Cinderella, \"Go again into the garden, and you will\nfind six lizards behind the watering-pot; bring them hither.\"\n\nThis was no sooner done, than, with a stroke from the fairy's wand, they\nwere changed into six footmen, who all immediately jumped up behind the\ncoach in gold-laced liveries, and stood side by side as cleverly as if\nthey had been used to nothing else the whole of their lives. The fairy\nthen said to Cinderella, \"Well, my dear, is not this such an equipage\nas you could wish for to take you to the ball? Are you not delighted\nwith it?\"\n\n\"Y-e-s,\" replied Cinderella, with hesitation; \"but must I go thither in\nthese filthy rags?\"\n\nHer godmother touched her with the wand, and her rags instantly became\nthe most magnificent apparel, ornamented with the most costly jewels in\nthe whole world. To these she added a beautiful pair of glass slippers,\nand bade her set out for the palace.\n\nThe fairy, however, before she took leave of Cinderella, strictly\ncharged her on no account whatever to stay at the ball after the clock\nhad struck twelve; telling her that, should she stay but a single moment\nafter that time, her coach would again become a pumpion, her horses\nmice, her footmen lizards, and her fine clothes be changed to filthy\nrags.\n\nCinderella did not fail to promise all her godmother desired of her;\nand, almost wild with joy, drove away to the palace.\n\nAs soon as she arrived, the king's son, who had been informed that a\ngreat princess whom nobody knew was come to the ball, presented himself\nat the door of the carriage, helped her out, and conducted her to the\nball-room.\n\nCinderella no sooner appeared than every one was silent; both the\ndancing and the music stopped, and everybody was employed in gazing at\nthe uncommon beauty of this unknown stranger: nothing was heard but\nwhispers of \"How handsome she is!\" The king himself, old as he was,\ncould not keep his eyes from her, and continually repeated to the queen,\nthat it was a long time since he had seen so lovely a creature. The\nladies endeavoured to find out how her clothes were made, that they\nmight get some of the same pattern for themselves by the next day,\nshould they be lucky enough to meet with such handsome materials, and\nsuch good workpeople to make them.\n\nThe king's son conducted her to the most honourable seat, and soon after\ntook her out to dance with him. She both moved and danced so gracefully,\nthat every one admired her still more than before, and she was thought\nthe most beautiful and accomplished lady ever beheld.\n\nAfter some time a delicious collation was served up; but the young\nprince was so busily employed in looking at her, that he did not eat a\nmorsel.\n\nCinderella seated herself near her sisters, paid them a thousand\nattentions, and offered them a part of the oranges and sweetmeats with\nwhich the prince had presented her; while they on their part were quite\nastonished at these civilities from a lady whom they did not know.\n\nAs they were conversing together, Cinderella heard the clock strike\neleven and three quarters: she rose from her seat, curtsied to the\ncompany, and hastened away as fast as she could.\n\nAs soon as she got home she flew to her godmother, and, after thanking\nher a thousand times, told her she would give the world to be able to go\nagain to the ball the next day, for the king's son had entreated her to\nbe there.\n\nWhile she was telling her godmother everything that had happened to her\nat the ball, the two sisters knocked a loud rat-tat-tat at the door,\nwhich Cinderella opened.\n\n\"How late you have stayed!\" said she, yawning, rubbing her eyes, and\nstretching herself as if just awaked out of her sleep, though she had\nin truth felt no desire to sleep since they left her.\n\n\"If you had been at the ball,\" said one of the sisters, \"let me tell\nyou, you would not have been sleepy: there came thither the handsomest,\nyes, the very handsomest princess ever beheld! She paid us a thousand\nattentions, and made us take a part of the oranges and sweetmeats the\nprince had given her.\"\n\nCinderella could scarcely contain herself for joy: she asked her sisters\nthe name of the princess: to which they replied, that nobody had been\nable to discover who she was; that the king's son was extremely grieved\non that account, and had offered a large reward to any person who could\nfind out where she came from.\n\nCinderella smiled, and said, \"How very beautiful she must be! How\nfortunate you are! Ah, could I but see her for a single moment! Dear\nMiss Charlotte, lend me only the yellow gown you wear every day, and let\nme go and see her.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I warrant you; lend my clothes to a Cinderbreech! Do you\nreally suppose me such a fool? No, no; pray, Miss Forward, mind your\nproper business, and leave dress and balls to your betters.\"\n\nCinderella expected some such answer, and was by no means sorry, for she\nwould have been sadly at a loss what to do if her sister had lent her\nthe clothes that she asked of her.\n\nThe next day the two sisters again appeared at the ball, and so did\nCinderella, but dressed much more magnificently than the night before.\nThe king's son was continually by her side, and said the most obliging\nthings to her imaginable.\n\nThe charming young creature was far from being tired of all the\nagreeable things she met with: on the contrary, she was so delighted\nwith them, that she entirely forgot the charge her godmother had given\nher.\n\nCinderella at last heard the striking of a clock, and counted one, two,\nthree, on till she came to twelve, though she had thought that it could\nbe but eleven at most. She got up and flew as nimbly as a deer out of\nthe ball-room.\n\nThe prince tried to overtake her; but Cinderella's fright made her run\nthe faster. However, in her great hurry, she dropped one of the little\nglass slippers from her foot, which the prince stooped down and picked\nup, and took the greatest care of it possible.\n\nCinderella got home tired and out of breath, in her dirty old clothes,\nwithout either coach or footman, and having nothing left of her\nmagnificence but the fellow of the glass slipper which she had dropped.\n\nIn the meanwhile, the prince had enquired of all his guards at the\npalace gates, if they had not seen a magnificent princess pass out, and\nwhich way she went?\n\nThe guards replied that no princess had passed the gates; and that they\nhad not seen a creature but a little ragged girl, who looked more like a\nbeggar than a princess.\n\nWhen the two sisters returned from the ball, Cinderella asked them if\nthey had been as much amused as the night before, and if the beautiful\nprincess had been there? They told her that she had; but that as soon as\nthe clock struck twelve she hurried away from the ball-room, and in the\ngreat haste she made, had dropped one of her glass slippers, which was\nthe prettiest shape that could be; that the king's son had picked it up,\nand had done nothing but looked at it all the rest of the evening; and\nthat everybody believed he was violently in love with the handsome lady\nto whom it belonged.\n\nThis was very true; for a few days after, the prince had it proclaimed\nby sound of trumpet, that he would marry the lady whose foot should\nexactly fit the slipper he had found.\n\nAccordingly the prince's messengers took the slipper, and carried it\nfirst to all the princesses; then to the duchesses: in short, to all the\nladies of the court--but without success.\n\nThey then brought it to the two sisters, who each tried all she could to\nsqueeze her foot into the slipper, but saw at last that this was quite\nimpossible.\n\nCinderella, who was looking at them all the while, and knew her slipper,\ncould not help smiling, and ventured to say, \"Pray, sir, let me try to\nget on the slipper.\"\n\nHer sisters burst out a-laughing in the rudest manner possible:--\"Very\nlikely, truly,\" said one of them, \"that such a clumsy foot as your's\nshould fit the slipper of a beautiful princess.\"\n\nThe gentleman, however, who brought the slipper, turned round, looked at\nCinderella, and observing that she was very handsome, said, that as he\nwas ordered by the prince to try it on every one till it fitted, it was\njust that Cinderella should have her turn.\n\nSaying this, he made her sit down: and putting the slipper to her foot,\nit instantly slipped in, and he saw that it fitted her like wax.\n\nThe two sisters were amazed to see that the slipper fitted Cinderella:\nbut how much greater was their astonishment, when she drew out of her\npocket the other slipper and put it on! Just at this moment the fairy\nentered the room, and touching Cinderella's clothes with her wand, made\nher all at once appear more magnificently dressed than they had seen her\nbefore.\n\nThe two sisters immediately perceived that she was the beautiful\nprincess they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet,\nand asked her forgiveness for the ill treatment she had received from\nthem. Cinderella helped them to rise, and, tenderly embracing them, said\nthat she forgave them with all her heart, and begged them to bestow upon\nher their affection.\n\nCinderella was then conducted, drest as she was, to the young prince,\nwho finding her more beautiful than ever, instantly desired her to\naccept of his hand.\n\nThe marriage ceremony took place in a few days; and Cinderella, who was\nas amiable as she was handsome, gave her sisters magnificent apartments\nin the palace, and a short time after married them to two great lords of\nthe court.\n\n\n\n\nPUSS IN BOOTS.\n\n\nThere was a miller who had three sons, and when he died he divided what\nhe possessed among them in the following manner:--He gave his mill to\nthe eldest, his ass to the second, and his cat to the youngest.\n\nEach of the brothers accordingly took what belonged to him without the\nhelp of an attorney, who would soon have brought their little fortune to\nnothing in law expenses.\n\nThe poor young fellow who had nothing but the cat complained that he was\nhardly used: \"My brothers,\" said he, \"by joining their stocks together,\nmay do very well in the world; as for me, when I have eaten my cat, and\nmade a fur-cap of his skin, I may soon die of hunger!\"\n\nThe cat, which all this time sat listening just inside the door of a\ncupboard, now ventured to come out, and addressed him as follows:--\n\n\"Do not thus afflict yourself, my good master; you have only to give me\na bag, and get a pair of boots made for me, so that I may scamper\nthrough the dirt and the brambles, and you shall see that you are not so\nill provided for as you imagine.\"\n\nThough the cat's master did not much depend upon these promises, yet as\nhe had often observed the cunning tricks Puss used to catch rats and\nmice, such as hanging by the hindlegs, and hiding in the meal to make\nthem believe that he was dead, he did not entirely despair of his being\nof some use to him in his unhappy condition.\n\nWhen the cat had obtained what he asked for, he gaily began to equip\nhimself; he drew on the boots--and putting the bag about his neck, he\ntook hold of the strings with his forepaws, and, bidding his master take\ncourage, immediately sallied forth.\n\nThe first attempt Puss made was to go into a warren, in which there was\na great number of rabbits. He put some bran and some parsley into his\nbag; and then, stretching himself out at full length as if he was dead,\nhe waited for some young rabbits (which as yet knew nothing of the\ncunning tricks of the world) to come and get into the bag, the better to\nfeast upon the dainties he had put into it.\n\nScarcely had he laid down before he succeeded as well as could be\nwished. A giddy young rabbit crept into the bag, and the cat\nimmediately drew the strings, and killed him without mercy.\n\nPuss, proud of his prey, hastened directly to the palace, where he asked\nto speak to the king. On being shown into the apartment of his majesty,\nhe made a low bow, and said--\"I have brought you, sire, this rabbit from\nthe warren of my lord the Marquis of Carabas, who commanded me to\npresent it to your majesty with the assurance of his respect.\" This was\nthe title the cat thought proper to bestow upon his master.\n\n\"Tell my lord Marquis of Carabas,\" replied the king, \"that I accept of\nhis present with pleasure, and that I am greatly obliged to him.\"\n\nSoon after the cat laid himself down in the same manner in a field of\ncorn, and had as much good fortune as before; for two fine partridges\ngot into his bag, which he immediately killed and carried to the palace.\nThe king received them as he had done the rabbit, and ordered his\nservants to give the messenger something to drink. In this manner he\ncontinued to carry presents of game to the king from my lord Marquis of\nCarabas, once at least every week.\n\nOne day, the cat having heard that the king intended to take a ride that\nmorning by the river side with his daughter, who was the most beautiful\nprincess in the world, he said to his master, \"If you will but follow my\nadvice your fortune is made. Take off your clothes, and bathe yourself\nin the river, just in the place I shall show you, and leave the rest to\nme.\"\n\nThe Marquis of Carabas did exactly as he was desired, without being able\nto guess what the cat intended. While he was bathing, the king passed\nby, and Puss directly called out as loud as he could bawl \"Help! help!\nmy lord Marquis of Carabas is in danger of being drowned!\"\n\nThe king hearing the cries, put his head out at the window of his\ncarriage to see what was the matter; when, perceiving the very cat which\nhad brought him so many presents, he ordered his attendants to go\ndirectly to the assistance of my lord Marquis of Carabas.\n\nWhile they were employed in taking the Marquis out of the river, the cat\nran to the king's carriage and told his majesty, that while his master\nwas bathing, some thieves had run off with his clothes as they lay by\nthe river side, the cunning cat all the time having hid them under a\nlarge stone.\n\nThe king hearing this, commanded the officers of his wardrobe to fetch\none of the handsomest suits it contained, and present it to my lord\nMarquis of Carabas, at the same time loading him with a thousand\nattentions. As the fine clothes they brought him made him look like a\ngentleman, and set off his person, which was very comely, to the\ngreatest advantage, the king's daughter was mightily taken with his\nappearance, and the Marquis of Carabas had no sooner cast upon her two\nor three respectful glances, than she became violently in love with him.\n\nThe king insisted on his getting into the carriage, and taking a ride\nwith them. The cat, enchanted to see how well his scheme was likely to\nsucceed, ran before to a meadow that was reaping, and said to the\nreapers, \"Good people, if you do not tell the king, who will soon pass\nthis way, that the meadow you are reaping belongs to my lord Marquis of\nCarabas, you shall be chopped as small as minced meat.\"\n\nThe king did not fail to ask the reapers to whom the meadow belonged,\n\"To my lord Marquis of Carabas,\" said they all at once; for the threats\nof the cat had terribly frightened them.\n\n\"You have here a very fine piece of land, my lord Marquis,\" said the\nking.\n\n\"Truly, sire,\" replied he, \"it does not fail to bring me every year a\nplentiful harvest.\"\n\nThe cat, which still went on before, now came to a field where some\nother labourers were making sheaves of the corn they had reaped, to whom\nhe said as before, \"Good people, if you do not tell the king, who will\npresently pass this way, that the corn you have reaped in this field\nbelongs to my lord Marquis of Carabas, you shall be chopped as small as\nminced meat.\"\n\nThe king accordingly passed a moment after, and inquired to whom the\ncorn he saw belonged, \"To my lord Marquis of Carabas,\" answered they\nvery glibly; upon which the king again complimented the Marquis on his\nnoble possessions.\n\nThe cat still continued to go before, and gave the same charge to all\nthe people he met with; so that the king was greatly astonished at the\nsplendid fortune of my lord Marquis of Carabas.\n\nPuss at length arrived at a stately castle, which belonged to an Ogre,\nthe richest ever known; for all the lands the king had passed through\nand admired were his. The cat took care to learn every particular about\nthe Ogre, and what he could do, and then asked to speak with him,\nsaying, as he entered the room in which he was, that he could not pass\nso near his castle without doing himself the honour to enquire for his\nhealth.\n\nThe Ogre received him as civilly as an Ogre could do, and desired him to\nbe seated.\n\n\"I have been informed,\" said the cat, \"that you have the gift of\nchanging yourself into all sorts of animals, into a lion, or an\nelephant, for example.\"\n\n\"It is very true,\" replied the Ogre somewhat sternly; \"and to convince\nyou, I will directly take the form of a lion.\"\n\nThe cat was so much terrified at finding himself so near a lion, that he\nsprang from him, and climbed to the roof of the house; but not without\nmuch difficulty, as his boots were not very fit to walk upon the tiles.\n\nSome minutes after, the cat perceiving that the Ogre had quitted the\nform of a lion, ventured to come down from the tiles, and owned that he\nhad been a good deal frightened.\n\n\"I have been further informed,\" continued the cat, \"but I know not how\nto believe it, that you have the power of taking the form of the\nsmallest animals also; for example, of changing yourself to a rat or a\nmouse; I confess I should think this must be impossible.\"\n\n\"Impossible! you shall see;\" and at the same instant he changed himself\ninto a mouse, and began to frisk about the room.\n\nThe cat no sooner set his eyes upon the Ogre in this form, than he\nsprang upon him, and devoured him in an instant.\n\nIn the meantime the king, admiring, as he came near it, the magnificent\ncastle of the Ogre, ordered his attendant to drive up to the gates, as\nhe wished to take a nearer view of it. The cat, hearing the noise of the\ncarriage on the drawbridge, immediately came out, saying, \"Your majesty\nis welcome to the castle of my lord Marquis of Carabas.\"\n\n\"And is this splendid castle your's also, my lord Marquis of Carabas? I\nnever saw anything more stately than the building, or more beautiful\nthan the park and pleasure-grounds around it; no doubt, the castle is\nno less magnificent within than without; pray, my lord Marquis, indulge\nme with a sight of it.\"\n\nThe Marquis gave his hand to the young princess as she alighted, and\nfollowed the king, who went before; they entered a spacious hall, where\nthey found a splendid collation which the Ogre had prepared for some\nfriends he had expected that day to visit him; but who, hearing that the\nking with the princess and a great gentleman of the court were within\nhad not dared to enter.\n\nThe king was so much charmed with the amiable qualities and noble\nfortune of the Marquis of Carabas, and the young princess too had fallen\nso violently in love with him, that when the king had partaken of the\ncollation, and drank a few glasses of wine, he said to the Marquis, \"It\nwill be your own fault, my lord Marquis of Carabas, if you do not soon\nbecome my son-in-law.\"\n\nThe Marquis received the intelligence with a thousand respectful\nacknowledgments, accepted the honour conferred upon him, and married the\nprincess that very day.\n\nThe cat became a great lord, and never again ran after rats and mice but\nfor his amusement.\n\n\n\n\nWHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.\n\n\nIn the reign of the famous King Edward the Third, there was a little boy\ncalled Dick Whittington, whose father and mother died when he was very\nyoung, so that he remembered nothing at all about them, and was left a\ndirty little fellow running about a country village. As poor Dick was\nnot old enough to work, he was in a sorry plight; he got but little for\nhis dinner, and sometimes nothing at all for his breakfast; for the\npeople who lived in the village were very poor themselves, and could\nspare him little more than the parings of potatoes, and now and then a\nhard crust.\n\nFor all this, Dick Whittington was a very sharp boy, and was always\nlistening to what every one talked about.\n\nOn Sundays he never failed to get near the farmers, as they sat talking\non the tombstones in the church-yard, before the parson was come: and\nonce a week you might be sure to see little Dick leaning against the\nsign-post of the village ale-house, where people stopped to drink as\nthey came from the next market-town; and whenever the barber's shop-door\nwas open, Dick listened to all the news he told his customers.\n\nIn this manner, Dick heard of the great city called London; how the\npeople who lived there were all fine gentlemen and ladies; that there\nwere singing and music in it all day long; and that the streets were\npaved all over with gold.\n\nOne day a waggoner, with a large waggon and eight horses, all with bells\nat their heads, drove through the village while Dick was lounging near\nhis favourite sign-post. The thought immediately struck him that it must\nbe going to the fine town of London; and taking courage, he asked the\nwaggoner to let him walk by the side of the waggon. The man, hearing\nfrom poor Dick that he had no parents, and seeing by his ragged\ncondition that he could not be worse off, told him he might go if he\nwould; so they set off together.\n\nDick got safe to London; and so eager was he to see the fine streets\npaved all over with gold, that he ran as fast as his legs would carry\nhim through several streets, expecting every moment to come to those\nthat were all paved with gold; for Dick had three times seen a guinea in\nhis own village, and observed what a great deal of money it brought in\nchange; so he imagined he had only to take up some little bits of the\npavement to have as much money as he desired.\n\nPoor Dick ran till he was tired, and at last, finding it grow dark, and\nthat whichever way he turned he saw nothing but dirt instead of gold, he\nsat down in a dark corner, and cried himself asleep.\n\nLittle Dick remained all night in the streets; and next morning, finding\nhimself very hungry, he got up and walked about, asking those he met to\ngive him a halfpenny to keep him from starving; but nobody stayed to\nanswer him, and only two or three gave him anything; so that the poor\nboy was soon in the most miserable condition. Being almost starved to\ndeath, he laid himself down at the door of one Mr. Fitzwarren, a great\nrich merchant. Here he was soon perceived by the cook-maid, who was an\nill-tempered creature, and happened just then to be very busy dressing\ndinner for her master and mistress: so, seeing poor Dick, she called\nout, \"What business have you here, you lazy rogue? There is nothing else\nbut beggars; if you do not take yourself away, we will see how you will\nlike a sousing of some dish-water, I have here that is hot enough to\nmake you caper!\"\n\nJust at this time Mr. Fitzwarren himself came home from the city to\ndinner, and seeing a dirty ragged boy lying at the door, said to him,\n\"Why do you lie there, my lad? You seem old enough to work. I fear you\nmust be somewhat idle.\" \"No, indeed, sir,\" says Whittington, \"that is\nnot true, for I would work with all my heart, but I know nobody, and I\nbelieve I am very sick for want of food.\"\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" answered Mr. Fitzwarren.\n\nDick now tried to rise, but was obliged to lie down again, being too\nweak to stand; for he had not eaten anything for three days, and was no\nlonger able to run about and beg a halfpenny of people in the streets:\nso the kind merchant ordered that he should be taken into his house, and\nhave a good dinner immediately, and that he should be kept to do what\ndirty work he was able for the cook.\n\nLittle Dick would have lived very happily in this worthy family, had it\nnot been for the crabbed cook, who was finding fault and scolding at him\nfrom morning till night; and was withal so fond of roasting and basting,\nthat, when the spit was out of her hands, she would be at basting poor\nDick's head and shoulders with a broom, or anything else that happened\nto fall in her way; till at last her ill usage of him was told to Miss\nAlice, Mr. Fitzwarren's daughter, who asked the ill-tempered creature if\nshe was not ashamed to use a little friendless boy so cruelly; and\nadded, she would certainly be turned away if she did not treat him with\nmore kindness.\n\nBut though the cook was so ill-tempered, Mr. Fitzwarren's footman was\nquite the contrary; he had lived in the family many years, was rather\nelderly, and had once a little boy of his own, who died when about the\nage of Whittington; so he could not but feel compassion for the poor\nboy.\n\nAs the footman was very fond of reading, he used generally in the\nevening to entertain his fellow-servants, when they had done their work,\nwith some amusing book. The pleasure our little hero took in hearing\nhim made him very much desire to learn to read too; so the next time the\ngood-natured footman gave him a halfpenny, he bought a horn-book with\nit; and, with a little of his help, Dick soon learned his letters, and\nafterwards to read.\n\nAbout this time Miss Alice was going out one morning for a walk; and the\nfootman happening to be out of the way, little Dick, who had received\nfrom Mr. Fitzwarren a neat suit of clothes, to go to church on Sundays,\nwas ordered to put them on, and walk behind her. As they walked along,\nMiss Alice, seeing a poor woman with a child in her arms, and another at\nher back, pulled out her purse, and gave her some money; and as she was\nputting it again into her pocket, she dropped it on the ground, and\nwalked on. Luckily Dick, who was behind, saw what she had done, picked\nit up, and immediately presented it to her.\n\nBesides the ill-humour of the cook, which now, however, was somewhat\nmended, Whittington had another hardship to get over. This was, that his\nbed, which was of flock, was placed in a garret, where there were so\nmany holes in the floor and walls, that he never went to bed without\nbeing awakened in his sleep by great numbers of rats and mice, which\ngenerally ran over his face, and made such a noise, that he sometimes\nthought the walls were tumbling down about him.\n\nOne day a gentleman who paid a visit to Mr. Fitzwarren, happened to have\ndirtied his shoes, and begged they might be cleaned. Dick took great\npains to make them shine, and the gentleman gave him a penny. This he\nresolved to lay out in buying a cat, if possible; and the next day,\nseeing a little girl with a cat under her arm, he went up to her, and\nasked if she would let him have it for a penny; to which the girl\nreplied, she would with all her heart, for her mother had more cats than\nshe could maintain; adding, that the one she had was an excellent\nmouser.\n\nThis cat Whittington hid in the garret, always taking care to carry her\na part of his dinner: and in a short time he had no further disturbance\nfrom the rats and mice, but slept as sound as a top.\n\nSoon after this, the merchant, who had a ship ready to sail, richly\nladen, and thinking it but just that all his servants should have some\nchance for good luck as well as himself, called them into the parlour,\nand asked them what commodity they chose to send.\n\nAll mentioned something they were willing to venture but poor\nWhittington, who, having no money nor goods, could send nothing at all,\nfor which reason he did not come in with the rest; but Miss Alice,\nguessing what was the matter, ordered him to be called, and offered to\nlay down some money for him from her own purse; but this, the merchant\nobserved, would not do, for it must be something of his own.\n\nUpon this, poor Dick said he had nothing but a cat, which he bought for\na penny that was given him.\n\n\"Fetch thy cat, boy,\" says Mr. Fitzwarren, \"and let her go.\"\n\nWhittington brought poor puss, and delivered her to the captain with\ntears in his eyes, for he said \"He should now again be kept awake all\nnight by the rats and mice.\"\n\nAll the company laughed at the oddity of Whittington's adventure, and\nMiss Alice, who felt the greatest pity for the poor boy, gave him some\nhalfpence to buy another cat. This, and several other marks of kindness\nshown him by Miss Alice, made the ill-tempered cook so jealous of the\nfavours the poor boy received, that she began to use him more cruelly\nthan ever, and constantly made game of him for sending his cat to sea,\nasking him if he thought it would sell for as much money as would buy a\nhalter.\n\nAt last, the unhappy little fellow, being unable to bear this treatment\nany longer, determined to run away from his place. He accordingly packed\nup the few things that belonged to him, and set out very early in the\nmorning on Allhallow Day, which is the first of November. He travelled\nas far as Holloway, and there sat down on a stone, which to this day is\ncalled Whittington's Stone, and began to consider what course he should\ntake.\n\nWhile he was thus thinking what he could do, Bow-Bells, of which there\nwere then only six, began to ring: and it seemed to him that their\nsounds addressed him in this manner:\n\n \"Turn again Whittington,\n Lord Mayor of London.\"\n\n\"Lord Mayor of London!\" says he to himself. \"Why, to be sure, I would\nbear anything to be Lord Mayor of London, and ride in a fine coach!\nWell, I will go back, and think nothing of all the cuffing and scolding\nof old Cicely, if I am at last to be Lord Mayor of London.\"\n\nSo back went Dick, and got into the house, and set about his business\nbefore Cicely came down stairs.\n\nThe ship, with the cat on board, was long beaten about at sea, and was\nat last driven by contrary winds on a part of the coast of Barbary,\ninhabited by Moors that were unknown to the English. The natives in\nthis country came in great numbers, out of curiosity, to see the people\non board, who were all of so different a colour from themselves, and\ntreated them with great civility; and, as they became better acquainted,\nshowed marks of eagerness to purchase the fine things with which the\nship was laden.\n\nThe captain, seeing this, sent patterns of the choicest articles he had\nto the king of the country, who was so much pleased with them, that he\nsent for the captain and his chief mate to the palace. Here they were\nplaced, as is the custom of the country, on rich carpets flowered with\ngold and silver: and the king and queen being seated at the upper end of\nthe room, dinner was brought in, which consisted of the greatest\nrarities. No sooner, however, were the dishes set before the company,\nthan an amazing number of rats and mice rushed in, and helped themselves\nplentifully from every dish, scattering pieces of flesh and gravy all\nabout the room.\n\nThe captain, extremely astonished, asked if these vermin were not very\noffensive.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said they, \"very offensive; and the king would give half his\ntreasure to be free of them: for they not only destroy his dinner, but\nthey disturb him even in his chamber, so that he is obliged to be\nwatched while he sleeps.\"\n\nThe captain, who was ready to jump for joy, remembering poor\nWhittington's hard case, and the cat he had intrusted to his care, told\nhim he had a creature on board his ship that would kill them all.\n\nThe king was still more overjoyed than the captain. \"Bring this creature\nto me,\" says he, \"and if she can really perform what you say, I will\nload your ship with wedges of gold in exchange for her.\" Away flew the\ncaptain, while another dinner was providing, to the ship, and taking\npuss under his arm, returned to the palace in time to see the table\ncovered with rats and mice, and the second dinner in a fair way to meet\nwith the same fate as the first.\n\nThe cat, at sight of them, did not wait for bidding, but sprang from the\ncaptain's arms, and in a few moments laid the greater part of the rats\nand mice dead at her feet, while the rest, in the greatest fright\nimaginable, scampered away to their holes.\n\nThe king having seen and considered of the wonderful exploits of Mrs.\nPuss, and being informed she would soon have young ones, which might in\ntime destroy all the rats and mice in the country, bargained with the\ncaptain for his whole ship's cargo, and afterwards agreed to give a\nprodigious quantity of wedges of gold, of still greater value, for the\ncat; with which, after taking leave of their majesties, and other great\npersonages belonging to the court, he, with all his ship's company, set\nsail, with a fair wind for England, and, after a happy voyage, arrived\nsafely in the port of London.\n\nOne morning, Mr. Fitzwarren had just entered his counting-house, and was\ngoing to seat himself at the desk, when who should arrive but the\ncaptain and the mate of the merchant-ship, the _Unicorn_, just arrived\nfrom the coast of Barbary, and followed by several men, bringing with\nthem a prodigious quantity of wedges of gold that had been paid by the\nKing of Barbary in exchange for the merchandise, and also in exchange\nfor Mrs. Puss. Mr. Fitzwarren, the instant he heard the news, ordered\nWhittington to be called, and having desired him to be seated, said,\n\"Mr. Whittington, most heartily do I rejoice in the news these gentlemen\nhave brought you; for the captain has sold your cat to the King of\nBarbary, and brought you in return more riches than I possess in the\nwhole world; and may you long enjoy them.\"\n\nMr. Fitzwarren then desired the men to open the immense treasures they\nhad brought, and added that Mr. Whittington had now nothing to do but to\nput it in some place of safety.\n\nPoor Dick could scarce contain himself for joy. He begged his master to\ntake what part of it he pleased, since to his kindness he was indebted\nfor the whole.\n\n\"No, no; this wealth is all your own, and justly so,\" answered Mr.\nFitzwarren; \"and I have no doubt you will use it generously.\"\n\nWhittington, however, was too kind-hearted to keep all for himself; and,\naccordingly, made a handsome present to the captain, the mate, and every\none of the ship's company, and afterwards to his excellent friend the\nfootman, and the rest of Mr. Fitzwarren's servants, not even excepting\ncrabbed old Cicely.\n\nAfter this, Mr. Fitzwarren advised him to send for tradespeople, and get\nhimself dressed as became a gentleman; and made him the offer of his\nhouse to live in, till he could provide himself with a better.\n\nWhen Mr. Whittington's face was washed, his hair curled, his hat cocked,\nand he was dressed in a fashionable suit of clothes, he appeared as\nhandsome and genteel as any young man who visited at Mr. Fitzwarren's;\nso that Miss Alice, who had formerly thought of him with compassion, now\nconsidered him as fit to be her lover; and the more so, no doubt,\nbecause Mr. Whittington was constantly thinking what he could do to\noblige her, and making her the prettiest presents imaginable. Mr.\nFitzwarren, perceiving their affection for each other, proposed to unite\nthem in marriage, to which, without difficulty, they each consented; and\naccordingly a day for the wedding was soon fixed, and they were attended\nto church by the lord mayor, the court of aldermen, the sheriffs, and a\ngreat number of the wealthiest merchants in London; and the ceremony was\nsucceeded by a most elegant entertainment and splendid ball.\n\nHistory tells us that the said Mr. Whittington and his lady lived in\ngreat splendour, and were very happy; that they had several children;\nthat he was sheriff of London in the year 1340, and several times\nafterwards Lord Mayor; that in the last year of his mayoralty he\nentertained King Henry the Fifth, on his return from the battle of\nAgincourt. And some time afterwards, going with an address from the city\non one of His Majesty's victories, he received the honour of knighthood.\n\nSir Richard Whittington constantly fed great numbers of the poor; he\nbuilt a church and college to it, with a yearly allowance to poor\nscholars, and near it erected an hospital.\n\nThe effigy of Sir Richard Whittington was to be seen, with his cat in\nhis arms, carved in stone, over the archway of the late prison of\nNewgate, that went across Newgate Street.\n\n\n\n\nBEAUTY AND THE BEAST.\n\n\nA few centuries ago lived a very wealthy merchant, who had three sons\nand three daughters. The education he gave them was of the most superior\nkind. The girls were all handsome; but the youngest was styled the\n_Little Beauty_, and hence she was, when grown up, called by the name of\n_Beauty_, which made her sisters jealous,--who were proud of their\nriches, kept only the grandest company, and laughed at their youngest\nsister, whose study was to improve her mind. They would only marry to a\nduke or an earl, while Beauty declined every offer, thinking herself too\nyoung to be removed from her father's house.\n\nAll at once the merchant lost his whole fortune, excepting a small\ncountry house at a great distance from town, and told his children, with\ntears in his eyes, they must go there and work for their living. The two\neldest answered that they had lovers, who, they were sure, would be glad\nto have them, though they had no fortune; but in this they were\nmistaken, for their lovers slighted and forsook them in their poverty.\nAs they were not beloved, on account of their pride, everybody said,\n\"They do not deserve to be pitied; we are glad to see their pride\nhumbled; let them go and give themselves quality airs in milking the\ncows and minding the dairy. But,\" added they, \"we are extremely\nconcerned for Beauty; she was such a charming, sweet-tempered creature,\nspoke so kindly to poor people, and was of such an affable, obliging\ndisposition.\" Nay, several gentlemen would have married her, though they\nknew she had not a penny, but she told them she could not think of\nleaving her poor father in his misfortunes, but was determined to go\nalong with him into the country to comfort and attend him. Poor Beauty\nat first was sadly grieved at the loss of her fortune; \"But,\" said she\nto herself, \"were I to cry ever so much, as that would not make things\nbetter, I must try to make myself happy without a fortune.\" When they\ncame to their country house, the merchant and his three sons applied\nthemselves to husbandry and tillage, and Beauty rose at four in the\nmorning, and made haste to have the house clean, and breakfast ready for\nthe family. In the beginning she found it very difficult, for she had\nnot been used to work as a servant, but in less than two months she grew\nstronger and healthier than ever. After she had done her work, she read,\nplayed on the harpsichord, or else sang whilst she spun. On the\ncontrary, her two sisters did not know how to spend their time; they got\nup at ten, and did nothing but saunter about the whole time, lamenting\nthe loss of their fine clothes and acquaintance.\n\n\"Do but see our younger sister,\" said one to the other, \"what a poor,\nstupid, mean-spirited creature she is, to be contented with such an\nunhappy situation.\"\n\nThe good merchant was of quite a different opinion; he knew very well\nthat Beauty outshone her sisters in her person as well as her mind, and\nadmired her humility, industry, and patience, for her sisters not only\nleft her all the work of the house to do, but insulted her every moment.\n\nThe family had lived about a year in this retirement, when the merchant\nreceived a letter with an account that a vessel, on board of which he\nhad effects, had safely arrived. This news had liked to have turned the\nheads of the two eldest daughters, who immediately flattered themselves\nwith the hope of returning to town, for they were quite weary of a\ncountry life, and when they saw their father ready to set out, they\nbegged of him to buy them new gowns, caps, rings, and all manner of\ntrifles; but Beauty asked for nothing, for she thought to herself that\nall the money her father was going to receive would scarce be\nsufficient to purchase everything her sisters wanted.\n\n\"What will you have, Beauty?\" said her father.\n\n\"Since you are so good as to think of me,\" answered Beauty, \"be so kind\nas to bring me a rose; for as none grow hereabouts, they are a kind of\nrarity.\"\n\nNot that Beauty cared for a rose, but she asked for something lest she\nshould seem by her example to condemn her sisters' conduct, who would\nhave said she did it only to look particular. The good man went on his\njourney; but when he arrived there they went to law with him about the\nmerchandise, and after a great deal of trouble and pains to no purpose,\nhe came back as poor as before.\n\nHe was within thirty miles of his own house, thinking of the pleasure he\nshould have in seeing his children again, when, going through a large\nforest, he lost himself. It rained and snowed terribly; besides, the\nwind was so high that it threw him twice off his horse; and night coming\non, he began to apprehend being either starved to death with cold and\nhunger, or else devoured by the wolves, whom he heard howling all around\nhim, when, on a sudden, looking through a long walk of trees, he saw a\nlight at some distance, and going on a little farther, perceived it came\nfrom a palace illuminated from top to bottom. The merchant returned God\nthanks for this happy discovery, and hastened to the palace, but was\ngreatly surprised at not meeting with any one in the out-courts. His\nhorse followed him, and seeing a large stable open went in, and finding\nboth hay and oats, the poor beast, who was almost famished, fell to\neating very heartily. The merchant tied him up to the manger and walked\ntowards the house, where he saw no one; but entering into a large hall\nhe found a good fire, and a table plentifully set out, but with one\ncover laid. As he was quite wet through with the rain and the snow, he\ndrew near the fire to dry himself. \"I hope,\" said he, \"the master of the\nhouse, or his servants, will excuse the liberty I take. I suppose it\nwill not be long before some of them appear.\"\n\nHe waited a considerable time, till it struck eleven o'clock, and still\nnobody came; at last he was so hungry that he could stay no longer, but\ntook a chicken and ate it in two mouthfuls, trembling all the while.\nAfter this he drank a few glasses of wine, and growing more courageous,\nhe went out of the hall, and crossed through several grand apartments,\nwith magnificent furniture, till he came into a chamber, which had an\nexceeding good bed in it, and, as he was very much fatigued, and it was\npast midnight, he concluded it was best to shut the door and go to bed.\nIt was ten the next morning before the merchant waked, and as he was\ngoing to rise, he was astonished to see a good suit of clothes in the\nroom of his own, which were quite spoiled. \"Certainly,\" said he, \"this\npalace belongs to some kind fairy, who has seen and pitied my\ndistresses.\" He looked through a window, but instead of snow, saw the\nmost delightful arbours, interwoven with the most beautiful flowers that\never were beheld. He then returned to the great hall, where he had\nsupped the night before, and found some chocolate ready made on a little\ntable. \"Thank you, good Madam Fairy,\" said he aloud, \"for being so\ncareful as to provide me a breakfast. I am extremely obliged to you for\nall your favours.\"\n\nThe good man drank his chocolate, and then went to look for his horse;\nbut passing through an arbour of roses, he remembered Beauty's request\nto him, and gathered a branch on which were several; immediately he\nheard a great noise, and saw such a frightful beast coming towards him\nthat he was ready to faint away.\n\n\"You are very ungrateful,\" said the Beast to him in a terrible voice. \"I\nhave saved your life by receiving you into my castle, and in return you\nsteal my roses, which I value beyond anything in the universe; but you\nshall die for it. I give you but a quarter of an hour to prepare\nyourself, and to say your prayers.\"\n\nThe merchant fell on his knees, and lifted up both his hands. \"My Lord,\"\nsaid he, \"I beseech you to forgive me; indeed, I had no intention to\noffend in gathering a rose for one of my daughters, who desired me to\nbring her one.\"\n\n\"My name is not My Lord,\" replied the monster, \"but Beast. I don't like\ncompliments, not I; I like people to speak as they think; and so do not\nimagine I am to be moved by any of your flattering speeches. But you say\nyou have got daughters. I will forgive you, on condition that one of\nthem come willingly and suffer for you. Let me have no words, but go\nabout your business, and swear that, if your daughters refuse to die in\nyour stead, you will return within three months.\"\n\nThe merchant had no mind to sacrifice his daughters to the ugly monster,\nbut he thought, in obtaining this respite, he should have the\nsatisfaction of seeing them once more; so he promised upon oath he would\nreturn, and the Beast told him he might set out when he pleased. \"But,\"\nadded he, \"you shall not depart empty handed. Go back to the room where\nyou lay, and you will see a great empty chest; fill it with whatever you\nlike best, and I will send it to your home,\" and at the same time the\nBeast withdrew. \"Well,\" said the good man to himself, \"if I must die, I\nshall have the comfort, at least, of leaving something to my poor\nchildren.\"\n\nHe returned to the bed-chamber, and finding a quantity of broad pieces\nof gold, he filled the great chest the Beast had mentioned, locked it,\nand afterwards took his horse out of the stable, leaving the palace with\nas much grief as he had entered it with joy. The horse, of his own\naccord, took one of the roads of the forest, and in a few hours the good\nman was at home. His children came around him, but instead of receiving\ntheir embraces with pleasure, he looked on them, and holding up the\nbranch he had in his hands, he burst into tears.\n\n\"Here, Beauty,\" said he, \"take those roses; but little do you think how\ndear they are likely to cost your unhappy father.\"\n\nHe then related his fatal adventure. Immediately the two eldest set up\nlamentable outcries, and in a reproachful and malignant tone said all\nmanner of ill-natured things to Beauty, who did not cry at all.\n\n\"Do but see the pride of the little wretch,\" said they. \"She would not\nask for fine clothes, as we did; but no, truly, Miss wanted to\ndistinguish herself; so now she will be the death of our poor father,\nand yet she does not so much as shed a tear.\"\n\n\"Why should I?\" answered Beauty; \"it would be very needless, for my\nfather shall not suffer upon my account. Since the monster will accept\nof one of his daughters, I will deliver myself up to all his fury, and I\nam very happy in thinking that my death will save my father's life, and\nbe a proof of my tender love for him.\" \"No, sister,\" said her three\nbrothers, \"that shall not be; we will go and find the monster, and\neither kill him or perish in the attempt.\"\n\n\"Do not imagine any such thing, my sons,\" said the merchant; \"Beast's\npower is so great that I have no hopes of your overcoming him. I am\ncharmed with Beauty's kind and generous offer, but I cannot yield to it.\nI am old, and have not long to live, so can only lose a few years, which\nI regret for your sakes, my poor children.\n\n\"Indeed, father,\" said Beauty, \"you shall not go to the palace without\nme; you cannot hinder me from following you.\"\n\nIt was to no purpose all they could say, Beauty still insisted on\nsetting out for the fine palace; and her sisters were delighted at it,\nfor her virtue and amiable qualities made them envious and jealous.\n\nThe merchant was so afflicted at the thought of losing his daughter,\nthat he had quite forgot the chest full of gold; but at night, when he\nretired to rest, no sooner had he shut his chamber door, than to his\ngreat astonishment, he found it by his bedside. He was determined,\nhowever, not to tell his children that he was grown rich, because they\nwould have wanted to return to town, and he was resolved not to leave\nthe country; but he trusted Beauty with the secret, who informed him\nthat two gentleman came in his absence and courted her sisters. She\nbegged her father to consent to their marriage, and give them fortunes:\nfor she was so good that she loved them, and forgave them heartily for\nall their ill-usage. These wicked creatures rubbed their eyes with an\nonion to force some tears when they parted with their sister, but her\nbrothers were really concerned. Beauty was the only one who did not\nshed tears at parting, because she would not increase their uneasiness.\n\nThe horse took the direct road to the palace, and towards evening they\nperceived it, illuminated as at first. The horse went of himself into\nthe stable, and the good man and his daughter came into the great hall,\nwhere they found a table splendidly served up, and two covers. The\nmerchant had no heart to eat, but Beauty endeavoured to appear cheerful,\nsat down to table, and helped him. Afterwards, thought she to herself,\n\"Beast surely has a mind to fatten me before he eats me, since he\nprovides such a plentiful entertainment.\" When they had supped, they\nheard a great noise, and the merchant, in tears, bid his poor child\nfarewell, for he thought Beast was coming. Beauty was sadly terrified at\nhis horrid form, but she took courage as well as she could, and the\nmonster having asked her if she came willingly, \"Y-e-s,\" said she,\ntremblingly.\n\n\"You are very good, and I am greatly obliged to you. Honest man, go your\nways to-morrow morning, but never think of returning here again.\nFarewell, Beauty.\"\n\n\"Farewell, Beast,\" answered she sighing, and immediately the monster\nwithdrew.\n\n\"O, daughter,\" said the merchant, embracing Beauty, \"I am almost\nfrightened to death; believe me, you had better go back, and let me stay\nhere.\"\n\n\"No, father,\" said Beauty, in a resolute tone; \"you shall set out\nto-morrow morning, and leave me to the care and protection of\nProvidence.\"\n\nThey went to bed, and thought they should not close their eyes all\nnight; but scarce had they laid down than they fell fast asleep; and\nBeauty dreamed a fine lady came and said to her, \"I am content, Beauty,\nwith your good will; this good action of yours in giving up your own\nlife to save your father's shall not go unrewarded.\" Beauty waked and\ntold her father her dream, and though it helped to comfort him a little,\nyet he could not help crying bitterly when he took leave of his dear\nchild from the uncertainty of again beholding her.\n\nAs soon as he was gone, Beauty sat down in the great hall, and fell\na-crying likewise; but as she was mistress of a great deal of\nresolution, she recommended herself to God, and resolved not to be\nuneasy the little time she had to live, for she firmly believed Beast\nwould eat her up that night.\n\nHowever, she thought she might as well walk about till then, and view\nthis fine castle, which she could not help admiring. It was a\ndelightful, pleasant place, and she was extremely surprised at seeing a\ndoor, over which was written \"~Beauty's Apartment~.\" She opened it\nhastily, and was quite dazzled with the magnificence that reigned\nthroughout; but what chiefly took up her attention was a large library,\na harpsichord, and several music books. \"Well,\" said she to herself, \"I\nsee they will not let my time hang heavily on my hands for want of\namusement.\" Then she reflected, \"Were I but to stay here a day, there\nwould not have been all these preparations.\" This consideration inspired\nher with fresh courage, and opening the library, she took a book and\nread these words in letters of gold:--\n\n \"Welcome, Beauty; banish fear,\n You are queen and mistress here;\n Speak your wishes, speak your will,\n Swift obedience meets them still.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said she, with a sigh, \"there is nothing I desire so much as to\nsee my poor father, and to know what he is doing.\" She had no sooner\nsaid this than, to her great amazement, she saw her own home, where her\nfather had arrived with a very dejected countenance; her sisters went to\nmeet him, and, notwithstanding their endeavours to appear sorrowful,\ntheir joy, felt for having got rid of their sister, was visible in every\nfeature. A moment after, everything disappeared, with Beauty's\napprehensions at this proof of Beast's complaisance.\n\nAt noon she found dinner ready, and while at table was entertained with\nan excellent concert of music, though without seeing anybody; but at\nnight, as she was going to sit down to supper, she heard the noise Beast\nmade, and could not help being sadly terrified.\n\n\"Beauty,\" said the monster, \"will you give me leave to see you sup?\"\n\n\"That is as you please,\" answered Beauty, trembling.\n\n\"No,\" replied the Beast; \"you alone are mistress here; you need only bid\nme begone, if my presence is troublesome, and I will immediately\nwithdraw. Everything here is yours, and I should be very uneasy if you\nwere not happy. My heart is good, though I am a monster.\"\n\n\"Among mankind,\" said Beauty, \"there are many that deserve that name\nmore than you, and I prefer you, just as you are, to those who, under a\nhuman form, hide a treacherous, corrupt, and ungrateful heart.\"\n\nBeauty ate a hearty supper, and had almost conquered her dread of the\nmonster; but she had like to have fainted away when he said to her,\n\"Beauty, will you be my wife?\"\n\nIt was some time before she durst answer, for she was afraid of making\nhim angry if she refused. At last, however, she said, trembling, \"No,\nBeast.\"\n\nImmediately the poor monster began to sigh, and howl so frightfully,\nthat the whole palace echoed. But Beauty soon recovered her fright, for\nBeast, having said in a mournful voice, \"Then farewell, Beauty,\" left\nthe room, and only turned back now and then to look at her as he went\nout.\n\nWhen Beauty was alone, she felt a great deal of compassion for poor\nBeast. \"Alas!\" said she, \"'tis a thousand pities anything so\ngood-natured should be so ugly!\"\n\nBeauty spent three months very contentedly in the place. Every evening\nBeast paid her a visit, and talked to her during supper very rationally,\nwith plain, good common-sense, but never with what the world calls wit;\nand Beauty daily discovered some valuable qualifications in the monster,\ntill seeing him often had so accustomed her to his deformity, that, far\nfrom dreading the time of his visit, she would often look on her watch\nto see when it would be nine, for the Beast never missed coming at that\nhour. There was but one thing that gave Beauty any concern, which was\nthat every night, before she went to bed, the monster always asked her\nif she would be his wife. One day, she said to him, \"Beast, you make me\nvery unhappy. I wish I could consent to marry you; but I am too sincere\nto make you believe that will ever happen. I shall always esteem you as\na friend; endeavour to be satisfied with this.\"\n\n\"I must,\" said the Beast, \"for alas! I know too well my own misfortune;\nbut then I love you with the tenderest affection. However, I ought to\nthink myself happy that you will stay here. Promise me never to leave\nme?\"\n\nBeauty blushed at these words. She had seen in her glass that her father\nhad pined himself sick for the loss of her, and she longed to see him\nagain.\n\n\"I could,\" answered she, \"indeed promise never to leave you entirely,\nbut I have so great a desire to see my father, that I shall fret to\ndeath if you refuse me that satisfaction.\"\n\n\"I had rather die myself,\" said the monster, \"than give you the least\nuneasiness. I will send you to your father; you will remain with him,\nand poor Beast shall die of grief.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Beauty, weeping, \"I love you too well to be the cause of your\ndeath. I give you my promise to return in a week, for I indeed feel a\nkind of liking for you. You have shown me that my sisters are married,\nand my brothers gone to the army; only let me stay a week with my\nfather, as he is alone.\"\n\n\"You shall be there to-morrow morning,\" said the Beast; \"but remember\nyour promise. You need only lay your ring on the table before you go to\nbed, when you have a mind to come back. Farewell, Beauty.\"\n\nBeast sighed as usual, bidding her good-night; and Beauty went to bed\nvery sad at seeing him so afflicted. When she waked the next morning,\nshe found herself at her father's, and having rung a little bell that\nwas by her bed-side, she saw the maid come, who, the moment she saw her,\ngave a loud shriek, at which the good man ran upstairs, and thought he\nshould have died with joy to see his dear daughter again. He held her\nfast locked in his arms above a quarter of an hour. As soon as the first\ntransports were over, Beauty began to think of rising, and was afraid\nshe had no clothes to put on; but the maid told her that she had just\nfound, in the next room, a large trunk full of gowns, covered with gold\nand diamonds. Beauty thanked good Beast for his kind care, and taking\none of the plainest of them, she intended to make a present of the\nothers to her sisters. She scarcely had said so, when the trunk\ndisappeared. Her father told her that Beast insisted on her keeping them\nherself, and immediately both gowns and trunk came back again.\n\nBeauty dressed herself; and in the meantime they sent to her sisters,\nwho hastened thither with their husbands. They were both of them very\nunhappy. The eldest had married a gentleman, extremely handsome, indeed,\nbut so fond of his own person that he neglected his wife. The second had\nmarried a man of wit, but he only made use of it to plague and torment\nevery one. Beauty's sisters sickened with envy when they saw her dressed\nlike a Princess, and look more beautiful than ever. They went down into\nthe garden to vent their spleen, and agreed to persuade her to stay a\nweek longer with them, which probably might so enrage the Beast as to\nmake him devour her. After they had taken this resolution, they went up\nand behaved so affectionately to their sister that poor Beauty wept for\njoy, and, at their request, promised to stay seven nights longer.\n\nIn the meantime, Beauty was unhappy. The tenth night she dreamed she was\nin the palace garden, and that she saw Beast extended on the grass plot,\nwho seemed just expiring, and, in a dying voice, reproached her with her\ningratitude. Beauty started out of her sleep, and bursting into tears,\nreproached herself for her ingratitude, and her insensibility of his\nmany kind and agreeable qualifications. Having said much on this, she\nrose, put her ring on the table, and lay down again. Scarcely was she in\nbed before she fell asleep; and when she wakened next morning, she was\noverjoyed to find herself in the Beast's palace. She put on one of her\nrichest suits to please him, and waited for evening with the utmost\nimpatience; at last the wished for hour came, the clock struck nine, yet\nno Beast appeared. After having sought for him everywhere, she\nrecollected her dream, and flew to the canal in the garden. There she\nfound poor Beast stretched out quite senseless, and, as she imagined,\ndead. She threw herself upon him without any dread, and finding his\nheart beat still, she fetched some water from the canal, and poured it\non his head.\n\nBeast opened his eyes, and said to Beauty, \"You forgot your promise, and\nI was so afflicted at having lost you that I resolved to starve myself.\nBut since I have the happiness of seeing you once more, I die\nsatisfied.\"\n\n\"No, dear Beast,\" said Beauty, \"you must not die; live to be my husband.\nFrom this moment I give you my hand, and swear to be none but yours.\"\n\nBeauty scarcely had pronounced these words, when the palace sparkled\nwith lights and fireworks, instruments of music--everything seemed to\nportend some great event; but nothing could fix her attention. She\nturned to her dear Beast, for whom she trembled with fear; but how great\nwas her surprise! Beast had disappeared, and she saw at her feet one of\nthe loveliest Princes that ever eye beheld, who returned her thanks for\nhaving put an end to the charm under which he had so long resembled a\nbeast. Though this Prince was worthy of all her attention, she could not\nforbear asking where Beast was. \"You see him at your feet,\" said the\nPrince; \"a wicked fairy had condemned me to remain under that shape till\na beautiful virgin should consent to marry me. In offering you my crown,\nI can't discharge the obligations I have to you.\"\n\nBeauty, agreeably surprised, gave the charming Prince her hand to rise;\nthey went together into the castle, and Beauty was overjoyed to find, in\nthe great hall, her father and his whole family, whom the beautiful\nlady, that appeared to her in her dream, had conveyed thither.\n\n\"Beauty,\" said this lady, \"come and receive the reward of your judicious\nchoice; you are going to be a great Queen. I hope the throne will not\nlessen your virtue, nor make you forget yourself. As for you, ladies,\"\nsaid the fairy to Beauty's two sisters, \"I know your hearts and all the\nmalice they contain. Become two statues: but under this transformation,\nstill retain your reason. You shall stand before your sister's palace\ngate, and be it your punishment to behold her happiness.\"\n\nImmediately the fairy gave a stroke with her wand, and, in a moment, all\nthat were in the hall were transported into the Prince's palace. His\nsubjects received him with joy. He married Beauty, and lived with her\nmany years; and their happiness, as it was founded on virtue, was\ncomplete.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SLEEPING BEAUTY.\n\n\nThere was formerly, in a distant country, a king and queen, the most\nbeautiful and happy in the world: having nothing but the want of\nchildren to participate in the pleasures they enjoyed. This was their\nwhole concern; physicians, waters, vows, and offerings were tried, but\nall to no purpose. At last, however, the queen proved with child, and in\ndue time she was brought to bed of a daughter. At the christening, the\nprincess had seven fairies for her god-mothers, who were all they could\nfind in the whole kingdom, that every one might give her a gift.\n\nThe christening being over, a grand feast was prepared to entertain and\nthank the fairies. Before each of them was placed a magnificent cover,\nwith a spoon, a knife, and a fork, of pure gold and excellent\nworkmanship, set with divers precious stones; but, as they were all\nsitting down at the table, they saw come into the hall a very old fairy,\nwhom they had not invited, because it was near fifty years since she had\nbeen out of a certain tower, and was thought to have been either dead or\nenchanted.\n\nThe king ordered her a cover, but could not furnish her with a case of\ngold as the others had, because he had only seven made for the seven\nfairies. The old fairy, thinking she was slighted by not being treated\nin the same manner as the rest, murmured out some threats between her\nteeth.\n\nOne of the young fairies who sat by her, overheard how she grumbled, and\njudging that she might give the little princess some unlucky gift, she\nwent, as soon as she rose from the table, and hid herself behind the\nhangings, that she might speak last, and repair, as much as possibly she\ncould, the evil which the old fairy might intend.\n\nIn the meantime, all the fairies began to give their gifts to the\nprincess in the following manner:--\n\nThe youngest gave her a gift that she should be the most beautiful\nperson in the world. The third, that she would have a wonderful grace\nin everything that she did.\n\nThe fourth, that she would sing perfectly well.\n\nAnd the sixth, that she would play on all kinds of musical instruments\nto the utmost degree of perfection.\n\nThe old fairy's turn coming next, she advanced forward, and, with a\nshaking head which seemed to show more spite than age, she said, \"That\nthe princess would have her hands pierced with a spindle, and die of the\nwound.\"\n\nThis terrible gift made the whole company tremble, and every one of them\nfell a-crying.\n\nAt this very instant, the young fairy came out from behind the curtains,\nand spoke these words aloud:--\"Assure yourselves, O king and queen, that\nyour daughter shall not die of this disaster. It is true I have not\npower to undo what my elder has done. The princess shall indeed pierce\nher hand with a spindle; but instead of dying, she shall only fall into\na profound sleep, which shall last a hundred years, at the expiration of\nwhich a king's son shall come, and awake her from it.\"\n\nThe king, to avoid this misfortune told by the old splenetic and\nmalicious fairy, caused immediately his royal proclamation to be issued\nforth, whereby every person was forbidden, upon pain of death, to spin\nwith a distaff or spindle; nay, even so much as to have a spindle in any\nof their houses.\n\nAbout fifteen or sixteen years after, the king and queen being gone to\none of their houses of pleasure, the young princess happened to divert\nherself by going up and down the palace, when, going up from one\napartment to another, she at length came into a little room at the top\nof the tower, where an old woman was sitting all alone, and spinning\nwith her spindle.\n\nThis good woman had not heard of the king's proclamation against\nspindles.\n\n\"What are you doing there, Goody?\" said the princess.\n\n\"I am spinning, my pretty child,\" said the old woman, who did not know\nwho she was.\n\n\"Ha!\" said the princess, \"that is very pretty; how do you do it? Give it\nto me, that I may see if I can do so.\"\n\nThe old woman, to satisfy the child's curiosity, granted her request.\nShe had no sooner taken it into her hand, than, whether being very hasty\nat it and somewhat unhandy, or that the decree of the spiteful fairy had\nordained it, is not to be certainly ascertained, but, however, it\nimmediately ran into her hand, and she directly fell down upon the\nground in a swoon.\n\nThe good old woman, not knowing what to do in this affair, cried out for\nhelp. People came in from every quarter in great numbers. Some threw\nwater upon the princess's face, unlaced her, struck her on the palms of\nher hands, and rubbed her temples with Hungary water; but all they could\ndo did not bring her to herself.\n\nThe good fairy who had saved her life, by condemning her to sleep one\nhundred years, was in the kingdom of Matakin, twelve thousand leagues\noff, when this accident befel the princess; but she was instantly\ninformed of it by a little dwarf, who had boots of seven leagues: that\nis, boots with which he could tread over seven leagues of ground at one\nstride. The fairy left the kingdom immediately, and arrived at the\npalace in about an hour after, in a fiery chariot drawn by dragons. The\nking handed her out of the chariot, and she approved of everything he\nhad done: but, as she had a very great foresight, she thought that when\nthe princess should awake, she might not know what to do with herself,\nbeing all alone in this old palace; therefore, she touched with her wand\neverything in the palace, except the king and queen, governesses, maids\nof honour, ladies of the bed-chamber, gentlemen, officers, stewards,\ncooks, under-cooks, scullions, guards, with their beef-eaters, pages,\nand footmen. She likewise touched all the horses that were in the\nstables, as well pads as others, the great dog in the outer court, and\nthe little spaniel bitch which lay by her on the bed.\n\nImmediately on her touching them they all fell asleep, that they might\nnot wake before their mistress, and that they might be ready to wait\nupon her when she wanted them. The very spits at the fire, as full as\nthey could be of partridges and pheasants, and everything in the place,\nwhether animate or inanimate, fell asleep also.\n\nAll this was done in a moment, for fairies are not long in doing their\nbusiness.\n\nAnd now the king and queen, having kissed their child without waking\nher, went out of the palace, and put forth a proclamation that nobody\nshould come near it. This, however, was unnecessary, for in less than a\nquarter of an hour there got up all around the park such a vast number\nof trees, great and small bushes, and brambles, twined one within the\nother, that neither man nor beast could pass through, so that nothing\ncould be seen but the very tops of the towers of the palace, and not\nthat even, unless it was a good way off. Nobody doubted but the fairy\ngave therein a very extraordinary sample of her art, that the princess,\nwhile she remained sleeping, might have nothing to fear from any curious\npeople.\n\nWhen a hundred years had gone and past, the son of a king then reigning,\nand who was of another family from that of the sleeping princess, being\nout a-hunting on that side of the country, asked what these towers were\nwhich he saw in the midst of a great thick wood. Every one answered\naccording as they had heard; some said it was an old ruinous castle,\nhaunted by spirits; others, that all the sorcerers and witches kept\ntheir Sabbath, or weekly meeting, in that place.\n\nThe most common opinion was that an ogre lived there, and that he\ncarried thither all the little children he could catch, that he might\neat them up at his leisure, without anybody being able to follow him, as\nhaving himself only power to pass through the wood.\n\nThe prince was at a stand, not knowing what to believe, when an aged man\nspoke to him thus:--\n\n\"May it please your highness, it is about fifty years since I heard from\nmy father, who heard my grandfather say that there was then in this\ncastle a princess, the most beautiful that was ever seen, that she must\nsleep there for a hundred years, and would be wakened by a king's son,\nfor whom she was reserved.\"\n\nThe young prince was all on fire at these words, believing, without\nconsidering the matter, that he could put an end to this rare adventure,\nand, pushed on by love and honour, resolved that moment to look into it.\n\nScarce had he advanced towards the wood, when all the great trees, the\nbushes, and brambles, gave way of their own accord, and let him pass\nthrough. He went up to the castle, which he saw at the end of a large\navenue, which he went into; and what not a little surprised him was he\nsaw none of his people could follow him, because the trees closed again\nas soon as he passed through them.\n\nHowever, he did not cease from valiantly continuing his way. He came\ninto a spacious outward court, where everything he saw might have frozen\nup the most hardy person with horror. There reigned all over a most\nfrightful silence; the image of death everywhere showed itself, and\nthere was nothing to be seen but stretched-out bodies of men and\nanimals, all seeming to be dead.\n\nHe, however, very well knew, by the rosy faces and the pimpled noses of\nthe beef-eaters, that they were only asleep; and their goblets, wherein\nstill remained some few drops of wine, plainly showing that they all had\nfallen asleep in their cups.\n\nHe then, crossing a court paved with marble, went upstairs, and came\ninto the guard-chamber, where the guards were standing in their ranks,\nwith their muskets upon their shoulders, and snoring as loud as they\ncould. After that, he went through several rooms full of gentlemen and\nladies all asleep, some standing, and others sitting.\n\nAt last he came into a chamber all gilt with gold; here he saw upon a\nbed, the curtains of which were all open, the finest sight that ever he\nbeheld--a princess, who appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen years of\nage, and whose resplendent beauty had in it something divine. He\napproached with trembling and admiration, and fell down before her on\nhis knees. And now the enchantment was at an end; the princess awaked,\nand looked on him with eyes more tender than the first view might seem\nto admit of. \"Is it you, my prince?\" she said to him; \"you have waited\na long time.\"\n\nThe prince, charmed with these words, and much more with the manner in\nwhich they were spoken, assured her that he loved her better than\nhimself.\n\nTheir discourse was so well conducted that they did weep more than talk:\nthere was very little eloquence, but a great deal of love. He was more\nat a loss than she was, and no wonder, as she had time to think on what\nto say to him; for it is very probable, though the history mentions\nnothing of it, that the good fairy, during so long a sleep, had given\nher agreeable dreams. In short, they talked four hours together, and yet\nsaid not half of what they had got to say.\n\nIn the meantime, all in the palace awaked, every one thinking on his\nparticular business; and as all of them were not in love, they were\nready to die with hunger. The chief lady of honour, being as sharp set\nas the others, grew very impatient, and told the princess aloud that the\nsupper was served up. The prince helped the princess to rise, she being\nentirely dressed, and very magnificent, though his royal highness did\nnot forget to tell her that she was dressed like his grandmother, and\nhad a point-band peeping over a high collar; but, however, she looked no\nless beautiful and charming for all that.\n\nThey went into the great hall of looking glasses, where they supped, and\nwere served by the officers of the princess; the violins and hautboys\nplayed all old tunes, but very excellent, though it was now about a\nhundred years since they had lived. And after supper without any loss of\ntime, the lord almoner married them in the chapel of the castle, and the\nchief lady of honour drew the curtains. They had but very little sleep\nthat night, the princess had no occasion; and the prince left her the\nnext morning to return into the city, where his father had been in great\npain anxious for his return.\n\nThe prince told him he had lost his way in the forest as he was hunting,\nand had lain at the cottage of a collier, who had given him some brown\nbread and cheese.\n\nThe king; his father, who was a very good man, readily believed him; but\nhis mother, the queen, could not be persuaded that this was altogether\ntrue; and seeing that he went almost every day a-hunting, and that he\nhad always found some excuse for so doing, though he had lain out three\nor four nights together, she began to suspect (and very justly too) his\nhaving some little private amour, which he then endeavoured that she\nshould remain ignorant of.\n\nNow these frequent excursions, which he then made from the palace, were\nthe times that he retired to the princess, with whom he lived in this\nmanner for about two years, and by whom he had two fine children, the\neldest of whom was a girl, whom they named Morning, and the youngest a\nboy, whom they named Day, because he was a great deal handsomer and much\nmore beautiful and comely than the sister.\n\nThe queen's jealousy increasing, she several times spoke to her son,\ndesiring him to inform her after what manner he spent his time, alleging\nthat, as he saw her so very uneasy, he ought in duty to satisfy her. But\nhe never dared to trust her with his secret, for she was of the race of\nogres, and the king would certainly not have married her had it not been\nfor her vast riches. It was whispered among the court that she had an\nogrish inclination, and that whenever she saw any little children going\nby, she had all the difficulty in the world to refrain from falling upon\nthem; so the prince would never tell her one word.\n\nBut when the king was dead, which happened about two years afterwards,\nand he saw himself lord and master, he then openly declared his\nmarriage, and went in great ceremony to conduct his queen to the palace.\nThey made a very magnificent entry into the city, with their two\nchildren beside them.\n\nSome time after, the king went to make war with the Emperor Cantalabute,\nhis neighbour.\n\nHe left the government of the kingdom to the queen, his mother, and\nearnestly recommended to her the care of his wife and children.\n\nAs soon as he was departed, the queen sent for her daughter-in-law to\ncome to her, and then sent her to a country house among the woods, that\nshe might with more ease and secrecy gratify her inclinations.\n\nSome days after she went to this country house herself, and calling for\nthe clerk of the kitchen, she said to him, \"I have a mind to eat little\nMorning for my dinner to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Ah, madam,\" cried the clerk of the kitchen in a very great surprise.\n\n\"No excuse,\" replied she, interrupting him; \"I will have it so,\"--and\nthis she spoke in the tone of an ogress, seeming to have a strong desire\nto taste fresh meat. \"And to make the dish more delicious,\" added she,\n\"I will eat her with sauce made of Robert.\"\n\nThis poor man, knowing very well how dangerous it was to play tricks\nwith ogresses, took his great knife and went up into little Morning's\nchamber. She was then four years old, and came up to him leaping and\nlaughing, to take him about the neck, and asked him for some\nsugar-candy, on which he began to weep, and the knife fell out of his\nhand; and he went into the back yard and killed a lamb, which he dressed\nwith such good sauce that his mistress assured him she had never eaten\nanything so good in all her life.\n\nHe had at the same time taken up little Morning, and carried her to his\nwife, in order that she might be concealed in a lodging which he had at\nthe bottom of the courtyard.\n\nThe queen's lascivious appetite (according to her own apprehensions)\nbeing once humoured, she again began to long for another dainty bit.\nAccordingly, a few days after, she called for the clerk of the kitchen,\nand told him that she intended that night to sup out of little Day. He\nanswered never a word, being resolved to cheat her as he had done\nbefore. He went to find little Day, and saw him with a foil in his hand,\nwith which he was fencing with a monkey, the child being but three years\nold. He took him up in his arms and carried him to his wife, that she\nmight conceal him in her chamber, along with his sister; and, in the\nroom of little Day, cooked up a young kid very tender, which the ogress\npraised as much as the former, saying it was wonderfully good.\n\nAll hitherto was mighty well; but a few evenings after this craving, the\nogress said to the clerk of the kitchen, \"I will also eat the young\nqueen with the same sauce that I had with the children.\"\n\nNow was the critical time, for the poor clerk despaired of being able to\ndeceive her.\n\nThe young queen was turned of twenty years of age, not counting the\nhundred years she had been asleep. Though her skin was somewhat tough,\nyet she was fair and beautiful: and how to find a beast in the yard so\nfirm that he might kill and cook to appease her canine appetite, was\nwhat puzzled him greatly, and made him totally at a loss what to do.\n\nHe then took a resolution that he must save his own life, and cut the\nqueen's throat; and going into her chamber with an intent to do it at\nonce, he put himself into as great a fury as he could, went into the\nqueen's room with his dagger in his hand. However, his humanity would\nnot allow him to surprise her; but he told her, with a great deal of\nrespect, the orders he had received from the queen her mother.\n\n\"Do it,\" said she, stretching out her neck; \"execute your orders, and I\nshall go and see my children, whom I so dearly love.\" For she thought\nthem dead ever since they had been taken from her.\n\n\"No, fair princess!\" cried the humane clerk of the kitchen, all in\ntears; \"you shall see your children again. But then you shall go with me\nto my lodgings, where I have concealed them; and I shall deceive the\nqueen once more by giving her another young kid in your stead.\"\n\nUpon this he forthwith conducted her to her chamber, where he left her\nto embrace her children, and cry aloud with them; and he then went and\ndressed a young kid, which the queen had for supper, and devoured it\nwith the same appetite as though it had been the young queen.\n\nNow was she exceedingly delighted with this unheard of cruelty; and she\nhad invented a story to tell the king at his return how the mad wolves\nhad eaten up the queen, his wife, with her two children. One evening\nsome time after, as she was, according to her usual custom, rambling\nabout the court and yards of the palace to see if she could smell any\nfresh meat, she heard, in a ground room, little Day crying, for his\nmother was going to whip him because he had been guilty of some fault\nand she heard at the same time little Morning soliciting pardon for her\nbrother.\n\nThe ogress presently knew the voice of the queen and her children, and\nbeing quite in a rage to think she had been thus deceived, she commanded\nthe next morning, by break of day, in a most terrible voice, which made\nevery one tremble, that they should bring into the middle of the court a\nvery large tub, which she caused to be filled with toads, vipers,\nsnakes, and all sorts of serpents, in order to throw into it the queen\nand her children, the clerk of the kitchen, his wife and maid: all of\nwhom she had given orders to have brought thither, with their hands tied\nbehind them, to suffer the vengeance of the incensed ogress.\n\nThey were brought out accordingly, and the executioners were going to\nthrow them into the tub, when the king fortunately entered the court in\nhis carriage, and asked with the utmost astonishment, what was meant by\nthis horrid spectacle, no one daring to tell him.\n\nWhen the ogress saw what had happened, she fell into a violent passion,\nand threw herself head foremost into the tub, and was instantly devoured\nby the ugly creatures she had ordered to be thrown into it by others.\n\nThe king could not but grieve, being very sorry, for she was his mother;\nbut he soon comforted himself with his beautiful wife, and his two\npretty children. And after all things were settled, he well rewarded\nthe clerk of the kitchen for his wisdom, humanity, and compassion.\n\n\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nPRINTED BY ALEXANDER GARDNER, PAISLEY\n\n\nALEXANDER GARDNER,\n\n Publisher\n and Bookseller\n By\n Special Appointment\n\n To\n her late Majesty\n Queen Victoria.\n\nChildren's Rhymes, Games, Songs, and Stories. By ~Robert Ford~. Crown\n8vo. Price 3s. 6d. nett.\n\n\"If there is any more entertaining book for juveniles who 'want to know'\nthan Mr. Robert Ford's _Children's Rhymes, Children's Games, Children's\nSongs, Children's Stories_, we have not yet made its acquaintance. The\ntitle is descriptive, as few titles are, of the unusual range of the\nbook, which, be it said, will probably be read with as much zest by 'big\nfolk' as by bairns.\"--_Glasgow Herald._\n\n\"The volume partakes of the character both of a book of folk-lore, a\nchildren's story book, and a book of humour: and it will be highly\nappreciated on all these grounds, and not least on the close sympathy\nwith the children's ideas, tastes, and point of view which Mr. Ford\nblends with an intimate knowledge of the traditional sports and rhymes,\nfascinating even where they are meaningless, of childhood.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n\"This man Ford has his heart in the right place. He loves the children,\nand a man who loves children is on the way to heaven. The volume is\ndescribed on the title-page as 'A Book for Bairns and Big Folk,' and no\nbetter description of it could be invented, for, while it must be\ninteresting to the young people, it cannot fail to touch chords, perhaps\nlong forgotten, in men and women who have left their youth behind\nthem.\"--_Daily Record and Mail._\n\n\"The volume is a perfect mine for those in search of stories about\nchildren. Parents will find within its pages much that will fascinate\nand amuse them.\"--_Dundee Courier._\n\n\"Taken as a finished work, it is well done. The most harassed man of\nmiddle-age will turn over the pages with delight and have dreams of\nhalf-forgotten yore.\"--_Glasgow Evening Citizen._\n\n\"A very interesting little book, carefully made--a good one for students\nof folk-lore as well as children.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\n\"Altogether we have here a delightful book.\"--_Evening Times._\n\n\nScottish Vagabond Songs and Ballads. With Notes and Music. Edited by\n~Robert Ford~. A New Edition, in one Volume. Crown 8vo. [_In the Press_.]\n\n\nThistledown. A Book of Scotch Humour, Character, Folk-Lore, Story, and\nAnecdote. New, Enlarged, and Illustrated Edition. Price 3s. 6d. Cheap\nEdition, illustrated paper covers, price 1s. nett.\n\n\nTayside Songs, and Other Verses. By ~Robert Ford~. With Portrait. Crown\n8vo. 250 pages. 3s. 6d. nett.\n\n\nAmerican Humourists. Selected and Edited by ~Robert Ford~. Crown 8vo,\n3s. 6d., post free.\n\nEdited by ~Robert Ford~. 1s. Post Free, 1s. 2d. each.\n\n\nPopular English Readings. From Sir F. H. Doyle, G. A. Sala, Samuel K.\nCowan, Robert Overton, Tom Hood, Charles Dickens, W. S. Gilbert, E. B.\nBrowning, James Payn, Wilkie Collins, George R. Sims, Douglas Jerrold,\nLord Lytton, &c., &c.\n\n\nPopular Scotch Readings. From Buchanan, Barrie, W. Graham, LL.D., \"John\nStrathesk,\" Outram, Lochore, \"J. B. Selkirk,\" Willock, Latto, Ford,\nProfessor Aytoun, Rev. David Macrae, &c., &c.\n\n\nPopular Irish Readings. From J. Gilkison, Archibald M'Connochie, Father\nRyan, Samuel Lover, Charles Lever, J. S. Lefanu, G. Griffin, T. C.\nCroker, &c., &c.\n\n\nPopular American Readings. From T. C. Harbaugh, Bret Harte, Will\nCarleton, Sam Davis, \"Max Adeler,\" \"Mark Twain,\" \"Mozis Addums,\" Col.\nJohn Hay, J. M. Bailey, \"Wyoming Kit,\" Oliver W. Holmes, &c., &c.\n\n_The above also in one vol., 4s. Post free, 4s. 6d._\n\nEdited by ~Robert Ford~. Crown 8vo. 550 Pages. With Etched Frontispiece\nand Facsimile. Price 7s. 6d.; Large Paper, 15s.\n\n\nThe Harp of Perthshire. A Collection of Songs and other Poetical Pieces,\nmany of which are Original. With Notes Explanatory, Critical, and\nBiographical.\n\n \"Perthshire men, and others than they, will be grateful to have all\n the varied streams of song brought within the compass of a single\n volume. Mr. Ford has compiled the book with evident love for his\n task, and has been at pains in preparing critical notes on\n Perthshire poems and biographical notices of Perthshire\n poets.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n\nBallads of Bairnhood. Selected and Edited, with Notes, by ~Robert Ford~.\nUniform with above. 5s.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe Paisley Shawl and the Men who Produced It. A Record of an\nInteresting Epoch in the History of the Town. With 10 facsimile\nReproductions in Colours of Paisley Shawls, and numerous other\nIllustrations, including portraits of the leading Manufacturers and\nPublic Men of the time. By ~Matthew Blair~, Chairman of the Incorporated\nWeaving, Dyeing, and Printing College of Glasgow. Crown 410, Art Liner\nBinding, Gilt Top. Price 75. 6d. nett.\n\n\nSchleiermacher: Personal and Speculative. By ~Robert Munro, B.D.~, Old\nKilpatrick. Crown 8vo. 312 pages. Price 45. 6d. nett.\n\n\nThe Weavers' Craft; being a History of the Weavers' Incorporation of\nDunfermline. By ~Daniel Thomson~. 38 Illustrations. Fcap. 4to. 380 pp.\n5s. nett.\n\n\nScottish Chapbook Literature. By ~William Harvey~. With Illustrations.\nFcap. 4to. 150 pages. Price 3s. 6d. nett.\n\n\nThe Waggon and the Star. By ~Walter A. Mursell~. Crown 8vo. 180 pages.\nPrice 2s. 6d. nett.\n\n\nLectures on Scottish Literature: Ballad Minstrelsy--Allan\nRamsay--Robert Burns. By D. T. ~Holmes~, B.A., Author of \"French Essays\non British Poets,\" \"The Teaching of Modern Languages in Schools and\nColleges,\" \"An Outline of French Literature.\" Crown 8vo. 2s. nett.\n\n\nThe Teaching of Modern Languages in Schools and Colleges. Adapted from\nthe French of Professor Horner of Fribourg. By D. T. ~Holmes~, B.A.,\nAssistant-Examiner to the University of London; author of \"French Essays\non British Poets,\" etc. Crown 8vo. 96 pages. Price 2s. nett.\n\n \"Deserving of careful perusal: fresh, suggestive, and evidently\n founded on experience.\"--Sir ~Joshua Fitch~, LL.D.\n\n \"Teaching by the living voice, as here advocated, is by far the\n best way, and I hope it will be more and more in use.\"--Rev. Prof.\n ~Skeat~, LL.D., _Cambridge._\n\n\nThe Autobiography of Peter Taylor. With 45 illustrations by Wat. Miller.\nCrown 8vo. 256 pages. Price 3s. 6d.\n\n \"Better reading than nine novels out of ten.\"--_Daily News._\n\n \"An interesting record of a useful and honourable life.\"--_Glasgow\n Herald._\n\n \"A volume that affords a vast amount of entertainment.... The work\n is a genuine autobiography.\"--_Glasgow Evening Citizen._\n\n \"A book that for interest and genuine worth is equal to any of the\n lines penned by Mr. Samuel Smiles, is _The Autobiography of Peter\n Taylor_, just issued by Mr. Gardner of Paisley. It is the story of\n a self-made man, related in no boastful spirit, but abounding with\n homely touches and delightful reminiscences.... It is a most\n notable little book, abounding with capital stories, the pawky\n humour of which will be hugely relished.\"--_Dundee Courier._\n\n\nPlain Papers on Subjects Light and Grave. By ~Belinda's Husband~. Fcap.\n8vo. 230 pages. Price 2s. 6d. nett.\n\n\nSelections from the British Apollo; containing Answers to Curious\nQuestions in Literature, Science, Folk-Lore, and Love. Performed by a\nSociety of Gentlemen in the Reign of Queen Anne. A Study in the\nEvolution of Periodical Literature. Edited by the late G. W. ~Niven~,\nHonorary Secretary, Greenock Natural History Society; with Preface by\nthe Rev. ~Hugh Macmillan~, D.D., LL.D., F.R.S.E., F.S.A. (Scot.). Crown\n8vo. Cloth extra. 300 pages. Price 33. 6d. nett.\n\n\nRomantic Narratives from Scottish History and Tradition. By ~Robert\nScott Fittis~. Crown 8vo. 364 pages. Price 6s.\n\n\nThe Art of Being Happy. By the Rev. ~Charles A. Hall~. Fcap. 8vo. Price\n1s. nett; post free, 1s. 2d.\n\n\nThe Art of Being Healthy. By the Rev. ~Charles A. Hall~, author of \"The\nArt of Being Happy,\" etc. 1s. nett. Post free, 1s. 2d.\n\n\nJephtha: a Drama. Translated from the Latin of George Buchanan. By A.\n~Gordon Mitchell~, Minister of Killearn. Illustrated by Jessie M. King.\nCrown 8vo. 130 pages. Price 3s. 6d. nett.\n\n\nJohn the Baptist: A Drama. Translated from the Latin of ~George\nBuchanan~. By ~A. Gordon Mitchell~, Minister of Killearn, Translator of\nBuchanan's \"Jephthes.\" Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. nett. [_In the Press._\n\n\nHistory of the Outer Hebrides. By ~Wm C. Mackenzie~. With a Chapter on\nthe Physical Features and Natural History of the Group, by Rev. ~Wm.\nMorrison~, of Carr-Bridge. Price 12s 6d. nett; also 100 copies on\nsuperior paper, leather back, gilt top, price 21s. nett.\n\n\nM'Kerlie, P. H.--History of the Lands and their Owners in Galloway, with\nHistorical Sketches of the District. By the late ~P. H. M'Kerlie~,\nF.S.A. Scot., F.R.G.S., etc. WIGTOWNSHIRE. Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 500\npages each volume. A New Edition, entirely re-written. [_In the Press._\n\n=Two Parish Histories.= Uniform with \"Historical and Archaeological\nCollections relating to Rentrewshire.\"\n\n\nKilbarchan Parish, History of. By ~Robert D. MacKenzie~, Minister of the\nParish. Numerous Illustrations. Demy 4to, 21s. nett. Large Paper, Royal\n4to 35s. nett.\n\n\nNotes on the Ecclesiastical Antiquities of Eastwood Parish. By the Rev.\n~George Campbell~, Minister of the Parish. Demy 4to, 12s. 6d. nett.\nLarge Paper, Royal 4to, 25s. nett.\n\n Charters and Documents relating to the Burgh of Paisley, with\n Extracts from the Town Council Records. By ~W. M. Metcalfe~, D.D.\n Crown 410. 21s. nett.\n\n\nHistory of the Church in Scotland. By Rev. ~John Macpherson~, M.A. Demy\n8vo. Cloth Extra. 450 Pages. Price 7s. 6d.\n\n \"It is a carefully executed work, comprehensive in the best sense,\n and bringing the story down to the great act of union which was\n celebrated in October last, when the United Presbyterian and the\n Free Churches became one United Free Church of Scotland. Mr.\n Macpherson has put much conscientious labour into the making of\n this volume, in which a large historical literature is admirably\n digested. The generous spirit of the writer should secure a wide\n acceptance of the book in all circles in Scotland and out.\"--_The\n Christian._\n\n \"This large and handsome volume aims at giving a comprehensive\n account of ecclesiastical and religious movements in Scotland from\n the original planting of Christianity down to the close of the\n nineteenth century. To this great task the author has brought\n adequate knowledge, sound judgment and conspicuous fairness. His\n style, while always lucid, is yet sufficiently graphic and\n forceful. This great work supplies a long-felt want, and should\n have a large sale. The publisher has done his part\n admirably.\"--_Primitive Methodist._\n\n\nMemoir of James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. By his daughter, Mrs.\n~Garden~. A New Edition. _Enlarged._ Edited by Sir ~George Douglas~,\nBart. With Portrait. Large Crown 8vo. Price 5s.\n\n\nPaisley Characters: Military and Otherwise. By Rev. ~James Cunningham~,\nM.A. (~John Gilroy~). Crown 8vo. 265 pages. With Frontispiece. Price 3s.\n6d. nett.\n\n \"The characters sketched by Mr. Gilroy are indeed remarkable, and\n his book is more valuable than scores of novels. 'A Captive of His\n Bow and Spear' is a charming love-story.\"--_Glasgow Herald._\n\nOnly 150 Copies Printed for Private Sale.\n\n\nScotland Sixty Years Ago: a Series of Thirty-two Fine Copperplate Etchings\nof the Chief Towns of Scotland and their Surroundings. In One Magnificent\nDouble Super-Royal Folio Volume, Half-bound. Printed on Finest Plate\nPaper. Price L5 5s. to Subscribers.\n\n~List of Plates.~--Glasgow, Aberdeen, Aberdeen (from the South),\nCromarty, Falkirk, Dumbarton, Forfar, Gretna Green, Dunkeld, Greenock,\nHamilton, Dingwall, Inverness, Jedburgh, Renfrew, Tain, Edinburgh,\nElgin, Dundee, Lanark, Inveraray, Montrose, Linlithgow, Melrose,\nPeebles, Perth, Port-Glasgow, Peterhead, St. Andrews, Stirling,\nRothesay, Paisley.\n\n\nPractical First Aid. By William ~Robertson, M.D., D.P.H.~, Lecturer to\nthe St. Andrew and St. John Ambulance Associations. 40 Illustrations.\nThird Edition, 1s. 6d. nett.\n\n\nThe Flywheel: and What Keeps Us Steady. By the Rev. ~Peter Anton~,\nauthor of \"Masters in History,\" etc. Crown 8vo. Cloth. With Portrait.\n260 pages. Price 3s. 6d. net.\n\n\nThoughts for Book Lovers. By ~Harry S. Lumsden~. Fcap. 8vo. Illustrated.\nFrontispiece. 176 pp. 2s. nett.\n\n\nPinkerton's Lives of the Scottish Saints. Revised and Enlarged by ~W. M.\nMetcalfe, D.D.~ Two Vols. Demy 8vo. Price 15s. per Volume. Very limited\nimpression.\n\n\nAncient Lives of the Scottish Saints. Translated by ~W. M. Metcalfe,\nD.D.~ Demy 8vo. Price 15s; on Whatman's Paper, 25s Very limited\nimpression.\n\n\nSS. Ninian and Machor--the Legends of, in the Scottish Dialect of the\nFourteenth Century. Revised Text, with Introduction, Notes, Glossarial\nIndex, and Appendices containing Translations of S. Ailred's Life of S.\nNinian and O'Donell's Account of S. Machor, by ~W. M. Metcalfe, D.D.~\n_Very Limited Issue._ [_In the Press._\n\n\nA Popular History of the Highlands and Gaelic Scotland from the Earliest\nTimes till the Close of the Forty-Five. By ~Dugald Mitchell, M.D.~, J.P.\nDemy 8vo. Cloth extra, gilt top. 708 pages. With 3 Maps and\nFrontispiece. 12s. 6d. nett.\n\n =\"Dr. Mitchell has undoubtedly fulfilled his own ambition, and\n produced the best and handiest history of the Highlands that has\n ever seen the light ... He is not given to wild theories. He\n represents the Highlands and the Highlanders as they actually seem\n to him, not as he would like them to be.\"=--_Spectator._\n\n\nLife in Scotland a Hundred Years Ago, By Rev. ~James Murray, M.A.~,\nauthor of \"Kilmacolm: a Parish History.\" Crown 8vo. Cloth. 290 pages.\n5s. nett.\n\nComplete in Four Volumes.\n\n_Extra Crown 8vo, Cloth extra, full gilt Celtic design on side, gilt\ntop, Price 7s. 6d. each, post free. With numerous Illustrations._\n\n\nPopular Tales of the West Highlands. Orally Collected, with a\nTranslation By the late ~J. F. Campbell~, Islay.\n\n\nThe Land o' Cakes and Brither Scots; or, Scotland and Things Scottish.\nBy Rev. ~T. B. Johnstone~, D.D. Demy 8vo. Cloth. 286 pages. 6s.\n\n=IN 4 VOLUMES. 500 PAGES EACH.=\n\n The Editions are--\n 1. The ~Ordinary Edition~, in Demy Octavo. L4 4s.\n 2. The ~Same Edition~, in Half-crimson Calf Extra. L5 5s.\n 3. The ~Large Paper Edition~, in Royal 8vo, Roxburgh Binding. L6 6s.\n\n\nThe History of Civilisation in Scotland. By ~John Mackintosh, LL.D.~\n\n =\"The book has already taken a definite place as a monument of\n learning and patient patriotic industry,\"=--_Glasgow Herald._\n\n\nCurious Episodes in Scottish History. By ~R. Scott Fittis~. Crown 8vo.\n330 pages. 6s. Post Free.\n\n\nHeroines of Scotland. By Robert ~Scott Fittis~, Author of\n\"Ecclesiastical Annals of Perth,\" etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 350 pages.\nPrice 6s.\n\n\nThe New Testament in Braid Scots. Rendered by Rev. ~William Wye Smith~.\nDemy 8vo. New Edition. Price 6s. nett.\n\n \"One has only praise, and that of the heartiest, for the sense of\n patriotism and the religious devotion that prompted the book, and\n for the spiritual insight of many of the little notes and comments\n that are appended at the foot of its pages.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n\nThe History of Old Cumnock. By the Rev. ~John Warrick, M.A.~, Free\nChurch, Old Cumnock. With a Map and 16 Illustrations. Small 4to, Cloth\nExtra. 382 pages. Price 7s. 6d. nett.\n\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n 'befel' replaced by 'befell,' which appears in the 1828\n _Webster's Dictionary_.","title":"Children's Rhymes, Children's Games, Children's Songs, Children's Stories: A Book for Bairns and Big Folk","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":72074}