Looking far forth into the ocean wide,
A goodly ship, with banners bravely dight,
And flag in her top-gallant, I espied,

Through the main sea making her merry flight;
Fair blew the wind into her bosom right,
And the heavens looked lovely all the while,
That she did seem to dance as in delight,

And at her own felicity did smile:
All suddenly there clove unto her keel

A little fish, that men call Remora,

Which stopt her course, and held her by the heel,
That wind nor tide could move her thence away.

SPENSER.

English Stonehull 12-9-84 29741

CHAPTER I.

For children's sports too old and grave,
Too much a child to be content.

LORD GOWER'S FAUST.

Where is Miss Myrtle, can any one tell?

Literary Souvenir for 1830.

How often the above enquiry had to be made of little Julia Osborne, and how strange were the answers that had in general to be given, and how dismayed was nurse and grandmother full five times every day, not excluding Sunday, will be fully understood in the progress of a few pages. All children must, of necessity, occasion anxiety and trouble: blessed be those parental spirits who never lose their tempers even with the best; whilst if any in a remoter degree of relationship outlive the fiery trial of bringing up and having patience with a regularly naughty child, such individuals have earned a place in the calendar of domestic

B 2

saints. It must however be admitted, that what in the nursery is technically denominated naughtiness, frequently arises from the premature and therefore troublesome development of character. Energy which eventually turns to splendid account, and spirits that in after life bear their possessor, as with wings, over an ocean of mortal agony, or enable him, as with "shoes of iron and brass," to tread down the thorns and briars that obstruct his path, are generally in childhood abundant sources of annoyance. Except in cases of supererogatory misdoings, there is a tacit toleration extended to boys; from their birth they have the benefit of sex; but this toleration is never extended even to the least naughty of girls. It is an understood thing, that from the cradle they ought, at all events, to be good; and neither tear books, spill ink, "play in the pretty mud,”* or make a rent in the flounced white frock.

It would be a question for the Sorbonne to decide, whether a neat, precise, lady-like gentlewoman, to whom a speck on her gown is emblematic of a stain on her moral conduct; who never suffers an end of thread to find rest on her carpet,

* The birth-day request made by infant royalty (Buonapartean to be sure) not many years since.

or a fly to brush his wings on her white dimity curtains without threatening him with a paper cage; whether this personage, or a mischievous, romping, untidy, destructive child, would suffer most from being made to inhabit the same apartment. The gentlewoman would suffer most if she had to endure the propinquity, without the power given by consanguinity; and the child would suffer most, if she professed such power coupled with the will to use it; at least, so I think, from a lively impression of what my spinster matronhood has endured, and from a dim remembrance of what my childhood inflicted.

Those who agree with Milton, that—

"Childhood shews the man as morning shews the day," will not perhaps object to commencing their acquaintance with the enthusiast through the medium of a nursery dialogue.

"Where is Miss Julia? Miss Osborne, where are you? Julia! Julia Osborne !—come here this instant, I tell you! Martin, how can you be so careless of my grand-daughter? I am exceedingly displeased. Why do you not look better after her ?” “Ma'am, I might as well look after the wind, and the wind would pay as much heed to me."

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Martin, I shall take no excuses; what do I

keep you for but to attend to Miss Julia? There, she is never to be found when she is wantednever fit to be seen-never out of mischief; is this a proper training up, do you think, for a young lady? Really, Martin, if you were not such an old servant, and so fond of the child, I don't know what I should say."

"Well, ma'am, I must indeed own, that for all she is the greatest darling that ever lived, she is, certainly, the naughtiest child that ever was born."

"You will have the goodness not to speak so of Miss Osborne, she is just as good as other children; and pray, Martin, now I think of it, why, when I saw her last, had she that dirty white frock on?" "It is her second this morning, ma'am." "There it is there is no end to the washing you make."

"I, ma'am?"

"Yes, you; ought not you, as her nurse, to teach and persuade her to take care of her things? Spend-spend-spend; I shall be ruined in keeping her clothes in repair."

"If she had fewer toys and more books she would not be half so destructive, I'm just positive; if she can but get hold of a book—”