E

OF CHILDREN.

PART FIRST.

cluding you from only this one of the small yet priceless
felicities which are showered like manna on the paths
of all the sons and the daughters of men. I envy not
your form of greatness, which would instantly make me,
if I had it, too lonely and too wretched to live. I must
needs still admire you much-having dipped in you, now
and then, a little-but I pity even more than I admire.
Wherefore, O Poet! depart, and disturb us at our romps no
more; and O ye small and teasing chivalry!—who can never
or scarcely ever tease-charge me desperately home; and
let me, from this grassy mound here, as I may, repel these
frightful attacks!' Will the kind reader be kind enough to
exert his imagination a little here. I am understood to be
a French square; and a thousand bold British dragoons,
in the shape of this one very small boy and these two
smaller girls, are rushing devotedly against me-resolute
to break me or to die. But here I must pause to explain
somewhat. My Tommy, for a creature of his years (scarcely
quite seven), is a boy of most bloodthirsty dispositions—
his martial precocity is surprising, and his great delight
is in "playing at battles." The grandfather of the child
(not yet many months gone from us in his mild and ven-
erable age) was a soldier in his fiery youth, and fought
bravely at Waterloo and in three other famous fights. The
good old man-in his earlier time, I have heard, rather
given to be reticent on such topics-was latterly not in-
disposed to recount to any good listener the story of his
early campaigns; and Tommy, who was in listening in-
defatigable, would frequently suffice him for an audience.
The old veteran and his little grandchild, whom he loved
beyond anything in the world, would often go about in
the garden together; and at such times-watching them
at once touched and amused-we could know, by an oc-
casional quick, energetic movement of the staff in the aged
hand, when Waterloo was the theme of discourse between
them. In this way, little Tom early picked up a stock
of military knowledge quite unusual at his years; and he
practically turns it to account by compelling little Kitty
and Mary and me to play fiercely "at battles" with him.
Kitty and Mary, I can see, with their small, feminine in-
stincts, do not quite approve or understand the pastime;
and at times they will plead pathetically for "housekeep-
ing" or the like, instead. But the will of our martial hero
is strong; and commonly it carries the day. Conceive of
me therefore now, as a doomed French square, exposed to
the terrific attacks of these murderous British dragoons.
Like a gallant French square as I am, for a time I resist
and stoutly hurl back my assailants. I am not going just
yet to be broken. Presently, however (such is the scheme
of battle laid out and sternly insisted on by my dear little

SINCE ever I was myself a little child I have been dearly fond of little children-passionately and, as I have sometimes been inclined to think, almost foolishly and ridiculously fond of them, beyond even my tender admitted privilege as a woman, and more lately a mother. I suppose it must be constitutional. I must, think, have been born so, as some people are born poets; for I can very distinctly remember that about the age of four or five I had begun to develope a quite scientific interest in babies. Certain of my immature, childish speculations about them I can recall, and might here set down, did they seem to me, at this date, at all profound and important enough to deserve a formal philosophic statement. Some people, it is said, are born poets; and I confess if there is one gift which I could wish had been dispensed to me at my birth, it is this divine one of poetry; including, as it needs must, I think, when given in any really rare and noble measure, the essential sum of all other human nobilities. But the planets, when I came into the world, did not please to be thus propitious; and, instead of making me a Sappho or a Mrs. Browning, they merely made me fond of babies at five; and gave me, during all my life after, a genuine, inexhaustible delight in the joy and the innocence of childhood; so that almost by sympathy with it I can share it, and every now and then, dismissing the arid present, can run back to live for a little again in that first strange brightness of the world. Let me say that I think the amende was not amiss; and that if we could conceive of Shakspere himself as a monster who did not love little children (how tenderly he did so we feel--do we not?-whenever a child is introduced in his dramas), I don't know that I should greatly care to change lots with him, if I could. The temptation would, I admit, be something. The mere fame would not indeed much tempt me. I at once dismiss the consideration of it as important only to very silly or very young people. But the possession of a majestic and unrivalled intellect, ique in the history of the world, and the grand consciousness which must needs more or less have attended it; the almost fierce sensations of power, tyrannous and triumphant, nearly of necessity, I should say, involved in all fiery and habitual exercise of faculties so splendid and so vast! Surely these are mighty and tempting things; yet somehow, I scarce know why, I feel as if they would frighten me even more than they allured; and in any case, when sharply looked into, they are seen to be merely a form of self glorification-in some sort indeed most magnificent, and yet in its essence most pitiful, as every form of selfish-Wellington in embryo), my resistance grows feebler and ness must be. On the whole, I think I should be disposed to cry out, on considering the entire matter-Keep, O mightiest Poet of the earth! that large intelligence without love (for the person who does not love children cannot, I believe, truly love anything else whatever); that eye which seeks into the secret of the world, yet is needs blind to the best joy of it;-keep them, and much good may you find you have got of them in the long run! For me, I will go tumble on the grass, through half a happy summer's day, with my little Tom and Kitty and Mary here, and commiserate you very much indeed, most mighty, yet Lost hapless Shakspere! This little game of romps I am engaged in is infinitely more to my mind than all your great Hamlets and Othellos, produced on these most sad and heartless terms. Your monopoly of your Hamlets and Othellos seems poor to me and even frightful, ex

feebler; till at length I am fairly finished, and, lying quite quiet on the grass, am ridden over and over by the enemy. I am now conclusively broken, and, as Tommy says, "sabred to a man” (a phrase of his poor, dear, dead grandfather's); and a great yellow lily which I wear, and which is supposed to be a French eagle, is carried off in triumph by the victor, to be deposited in Chelsea Hospital with the other trophies of the fight. Of course this is all very silly and stupid; yet Tommy extremely delights in it; and Kitty and Mary, too, delight, though with preference expressed for "housekeeping," and ordering of dinners, &c. as sometimes they hear their mamma do; and for me, I enjoy it, I verily believe, more than any of my little children, and, while the pleasant, foolish romp proceeds, have no care about anything else in the world. All vain desires and dreams are dead in me; and particularly, I do

all else, they are so much more artless and honest than we? the boy began to bethink him of his old sport, and was eager to commence it anew. It has seemed to me that in such cases of loss we are sometimes too apt, in what is really a sort of wilful pride of grief, to prolong artificially the regrets to which, in the mere mercy of God and of Nature-accepted as it seems to be intended--a narrower limit is assigned. By process natural and tender as that by which presently the grass grows green over the first unsightliness of the grave, comfort is appointed to steal on every stricken human heart. I venture to say it is not good in anything to put it determinedly away from us. I sorrowed truly for the old man whom we had all so loved, with such gentle sorrow as we use for those who have dropped thus utterly ripe from the tree; but I did not see, after a day or two, why I might not play with my children. And in doing so, I did not very long resist the importunities of little Tommy that his favourite "battles" should be resumed. It occurred to me that-in relation to the dear old man who had been taken from us-it was better for me and for my children to choose the one sport of all in which he could not fail to be remembered, than, as it were, to hide him away from us in some other, wherein the memory of him could have no part. It also occurred to me (will the reader excuse the remark, which is made in no spirit of levity, but with a full sense of the awfulness of the mysteries with which it brings us in contact ?) that if the old man could still in the spirit, by some strange possibility, be looking at us, undoubtedly it would best please him to find us going on just as before. Still, the first time I found myself again on my little mound of grass figuring as the old French square, it was with a strange feeling of sad reluctance, and a little pang of something like self-reproach, which my reason told me was idle. The empty garden-chair still standing there, whence the quaint old "word of command" was not now to issue any more for ever, brought the tears thronging to my eyes. That one poor, helpless performance on the

not the least want to be the author of "Hamlet" and "Othello;" or even-which might be more in my woman's way-a poetess like poor, dead, great Mrs. Browning. It is quite enough fame for me to find myself the happy mother of these three famous little children. For, of course, these children in their way are famous; and I - know that in the families about they enjoy a much wider popularity than their poor foolish mother, as I greatly fear, is like to acquire by writing of them. How precisely this terrible, bloody play originated, I never could quite get to know. The dear old grandfather (whom I suspected) always assured us, 66 on the honour of an old soldier," that except indirectly by means of "his stupid old stories," as he called them, he was quite innocent in the business. Be this as it may, it is certain if the little sport had been the clever and darling invention of his own aged military brain, he would not have been more curiously proud of it. Smiling placidly, he would sit in his garden-chair in the sun, and, with a really keen soldier's interest, would superintend the operations. Occasionally, even, he would in person organise the assault; would marshal the British dragoons in front of him; and, after a brief address, shout to them-in tones strangely decayed from those which of old rang out upon the roar of battle-to "charge" these rascally French. Once I remember he essayed, as he phrased it, to "sound a recall "--blowing it on his two great gaunt hands as a bugle. It was a poor, helpless, quavering, decrepit attempt; and, I am sorry to say, we all most irreverently laughed at it. The old man joined heartily in the mirth, and admitted his music a failure. It was all the fault of the bugle, he said; which was got terribly stupid, and cracked, and worthless, and quite old. Throughout the whole business, the exultation of the old man in the prowess displayed by that frightful, fiery dragoon, favourite little Tommy, his grandson (the other two troops were always, by comparison, ineffective and slightly deficient in élan), was, I think, as dear and absurd a sight as one need ever wish to see on a happy summer's day. What especially amused me in the boy-mimic bugle, and the glad laughing we had all had over shall I sillily say, delighted me?--and positively transported grandpapa, was the fierceness of his protest, if ever it was proposed, to arrange that I, the square, should be British, and the three small dragoons Frenchmen, and, in fact, cuirassiers. Rather than consent to such an ignominy, Tom would have been content to forego the "battles " altogether, and take up with some other game despised in his heart as effeminate. In vain did I urge that on the famous day of Waterloo this was really the manner of it. The point seemed of no weight whatever with him. Again, on my once inquiring of my young patriot hero, in a serious and quasi-vexed manner, why it was constantly I, the poor square, that was to suffer this terrible doom of being French, and never he, the dragoon, the creature had the insolence to reply that, as I was "only a woman," it could not much matter to me; but for him, (Heaven bless my dear, brave, obstinate little Englishman, of full six years old !) the disgrace would be quite too dreadful! For this sad impertinence to his mother, I regret to say he received from his wicked grandpapa a whole half-crown on the spot; and the old gentleman, for days after, told the story with infinite glee to every one who came about the house. When our dear old grandfather died—passing out of life quite softly--and was laid away in the earth from us for ever, there was an end as you may guess, for a time, of our "playing at battles." But soon, with the strange touching heartlessness of a child-is it, indeed, heartless. ness in children; or only, alas! that in these matters, as in

it together, struck back upon and touched me strangely. The French square, in a word, was on this day scarcely in a condition to resist, and quite unworthy of its ancient reputation. I broke up the little game, with which I could not proceed; and, gathering my three little creatures round me, told them that in all this eager play of "battles" they must try never to quite forget the dear old grandpapa who had loved them all so tenderly, and used many a time to play it along with them; and that even when they grew, as I hoped they might, to be old, old people, like myself, it would be very unkind and ungrateful if they did not sometimes remember him. We have done a good many battles since then, and fought them with various degrees of spirit. Still, I seem to have remarked that, since the day on which the poor, feeble French square broke suddenly thus of its own accord, and proceeded, with tears in its eyes, to deliver such a sweet, sad, serious, and solemn lecture as the occasion seemed to suggest, the fighting has been on the whole less fierce; and Tommy, in his "charge,' has only at fiery intervals exhibited the full recklessness of his former valour.

I purposed, in beginning this little paper, to discourse easily concerning children in general, and their pure perfection and delightfulness; their strange, quaint wisdom and shrewdness; and the irresistible little winning ways by which they find their entrance into every heart. What I have done, I find, is to discourse wholly concerning myself and my own children-very stupidly, as many will

of authority over the liberated Colonies lost us sixty million pounds' worth of commercial advantages. Yet such losses might result under two possible conditions. In the event of our former dependencies falling a prey to some of those political sharks which exhibit so insatiable an appetite for territorial empire; or in the event of the Colonies themselves becoming narrow and protective in their commercial policy; for, to fling the reins entirely into any Colony's somewhat unpractised hands, would certainly expose it prematurely to the vagaries of an unballasted imagination -it might start on the proverbial ride to the fiend, or allow itself to be gobbled up by some unscrupulous pirate. In either case, in addition to the bitter grief which this country would feel at such catastrophes, our material loss might be incalculable; while to the Colony itself it would probably amount to total ruin; or at least to a fatal retardation, and very likely to an emasculation of its social, commercial, and political growth. But such a result would act inimically in another important direction. It would seriously interfere with, if not entirely shut up, the stream of immigration from the mother country-that stream which acts like a healthy drain, as it flows from a densely-peopled land; and like a blessed current of irrigation, as it rolls its living waves into the unpeopled desert.

In the controversy to which we have thus referred, the leading representatives of the pro and the antiemancipation policy are, or were, Goldwin Smith, professor of modern history at Oxford, and Mr. Hermann Merivale, C. B. A paper by the latter gentleman, on the 'Utility of Colonization,' was read at the recent meeting of the British Association at Cambridge. In this brief but comprehensive production, the potential arguments in favour of maintaining our Colonial Empire-so long as the interests of the mother country and her different dependencies

are one and the same-are set forth with much calm

immense numbers of emigrants; and France none at all that is, her trifling loss of population by emigration is fully balanced by accessions from withemigration in France, and only four per cent. of out. One would be apt to imagine, since there is no increase in population during a whole decennium, that there must be a variety of adverse causes preventing that increase. Yet, curiously enough, the material comfort of the French people is equal to that of our own; the mortality in France exhibits a tendency to diminish; while the number of marriages appears to be unaffected either way-they remain singularly stationary. To account for the scarcely perceptible rate of advance in the French population, we are shut up to the conclusion that it must spring that, while the well-being of the people in England from the decreased fertility of marriages. It follows and France is nearly equal, and does not diminish if it does not increase-it results from strikingly different causes. To secure general comfort, by contracting later marriages and having fewer children, is not a beautiful, and cannot be a healthy, mode of life. "The English,' says Mr. Merivale, can enjoy the same result without putting the same restraint on nature; and may marry almost as early as their forefathers did, although they live much longer. This they owe in great measure, though not wholly, to an established emigration, which has become part of the institutions of the country, and which makes provision for nearly one child in six. Opinions will, of course, differ regarding the French method of maintaining the rational well-being, by sacrificing a portion of the reproductive powers of their people. Few, however, will hesitate to yield the palm to that nation which can escape so unnatural a sacrifice without losing a particle of happiness. Britain undoubtedly occupies that remarkable position; and it is principally due to the enormous advantage of continuous and therefore reliable emigration as an outlet.'

6

The full value of our splendid Colonies-Canada, Australia, New-Zealand, and the rest-will appear in the light of these facts. It is maintained, we are aware, that it is not necessary we should retain large dependencies, at great expense, simply that they may remain open fields for our surplus population. Under certain conditions, it would certainly not be necessary. ness and force. Population, in nearly all countries, the land of promise to the vast European overflow of For many years, the United States of America were doubles in 25 years—a rate which outstrips consider-population. But the great receptacle of the emigrants ably the increase in the means of subsistence. Nature of the world, the great refuge of the poor, the great demands that the disproportion between subsistence home of the homeless, the great field for the adven and population should be diminished to the proper is beyond the ken of mortal prophet. At present, turous, is closed;' and when it may be opened again level, in order that life may be rendered bearable. neither Federal nor Confederate America is likely to This is achieved in a variety of ways; such as by in- attract the emigrant. The superb natural advantages crease of deaths, or by a diminution in the amount of of the country remain the same, but there is no secusubsistence enjoyed by each individual-which is just rity. It has assumed an unfriendly attitude to the a falling off in the general well-being; or by diminu. whole world, and is a standing example of how soon tion of births through the 'prudential' check-which a country, once the Paradise of Paddies as of other is, generally speaking, by fewer and later marriages; for emigrants and colonists. wanderers, may become the most unprofitable field or, lastly, by emigration. Throughout Western Europe, since the commencement of the potato disease in 1845, population has increased at a greatly diminished rate. In Germany and France, the increase of population has been quite insignificant; while in the United Kingdom of Great Britain the increase since 1841 has been also small. Population in Ireland has greatly diminished; and in Scotland there has been very little advance. Any increase has been in England and Wales. During the last decennium, the natural increase in the population of this country has been under ten per cent.; that of France something under four per cent. Yet during that period, England and Wales have sent out

We should not at any time advise the severance of our political relationship with any of our Colonies; but at the present moment we should especially refrain from such unwise advocacy. More than ever are they necessary to us; and perhaps more than ever are we necessary to them. If America is at present shut to the great European surplusses, Canada, Australia, and New-Zealand are quite qualified to take the whole of them. Doubtless, copious streams will flow to those regions; and we regard it as a supreme advantage that the mother country of all these mag nificent lands is one from whose protectoratè nothing can emerge but the blessings of freedom, know

'Well, well, my dear; I shall not dwell longer on so exciting a theme. But how well you yourself would look in a white dress and tartan scarf! Now, Rachel, do gratify me in one thing. Go to Macgregor, and tell her to bring me the dress I wore at Grandtully in the year '16-thirty years ago. Just think of that!"

'In compliance with my aunt's wishes, I left the room; and shortly returned, followed by Macgregor bearing an amplitude of lace, white feathers, &c. Lady Macdonald's eyes beamed with delight. Taking me by the hand, she said, "Now, you must don the dress I wore in my gay days; and we shall see whether Nature intended you for an English or Scotch girl. No one save a genuine Scotchwoman knows how to wear a tartan scarf: it must fall off the shoulder with an easy grace never likely to be acquired by a foreigner."

'In no small degree amused with my aunt's whim of transforming me into a fashionable lady of thirty years back, I placed myself in Macgregor's hands. In the lapse of a few minutes, Lady Macdonald declared my dress perfect; and protested I was in every respect worthy of -"being considered a daughter of Caledonia.