his brothers and sisters objectionable, we know well enough all the time that his heart is in the right place, and that the dream in which he sees himself as others see him, and learns to what fatal results his fault may lead not only himself, but those who should be nearest and dearest to him, will, in the end, make him a wiser and better boy. There is in this short story of a hero who was not perfect' a rich fund of genuine sentiment that appeals to the holiest and deepest thoughts; yet it is simplicity itself in style and language, so that a child of eight might comprehend its meaning. There is in it no assumption of a right to bewail the general wickedness and iniquity of young gentlemen home for the holidays, who regard brothers and sisters as a 'bore;' but as the tale of the dream works itself out, an undercurrent of kindly, loving teaching imperceptibly flows along with it, till no wonder Melchior, when he awoke, knelt down by the window and covered his face with his hands.' But though the moral sought to be pointed is a solemn and serious one, there is nothing heavy or incomprehensible in the way the authoress performs her task: her language is chatty in fact, just what that of a children's story-teller should be.

Of one of her characters she says:-
:-

'The speaker was a boy-if I may be allowed to use the word, in speaking of an individual whose jackets had for some time past been resigned to a younger member of his family, and who daily, in the privacy of his own apartment, examined his soft cheeks, by the aid of his sister's "back-hair glass." He did not, it must be confessed, think either small beer or small beans of himself, and as to the beer and beans his family thought of him, I think it was pale ale and kidney beans, at least. He had, however, his weak points, like the rest of us, and perhaps one of the weakest was, the difficulty he found in amusing himself without bothering other people. He had quite a monomania for proposing the most troublesome "larks" at the most inconvenient moments; and if his plans were thwarted, an Æolian harp is cheerful to the tone in which he argued and lamented, to the distraction of every occupied member of the household.'

Few will fail to recognise in the above a very faithful pen-andink sketch of our quondam friend Master Pickle, whose likeness poor John Leech so delighted to draw, and with whom all of us are well acquainted. A tiresome, mischievous, noisy, but withal loveable boy, who is never of the same mind ten minutes together; at one moment turning the kitchen topsy-turvy and destroying the cook's peace, by extemporising a carpenter's bench on the dresser, to the imminent danger of the best dinner service; at another, jeopardising his life and running the risk

of setting the house on fire, by performing the most perilous chemical experiments in the butler's pantry, to the horror and consternation of that worthy domestic, who remonstrates, but in vain. Know him! Why, of course we know him, with his endless chatter and restless eyes; who, when but a fortnight of the holidays has passed, begins to long for the society of Jones major, or Simpkins junior, or whatever the name of his particular school chum may be. The home folks are awful muffs, he thinks they shudder when he tells of fierce football contests, of frightful"shinners," and how Green, the captain of the eleven, had his leg broken; and if he dilates on the delights of Hare and Hounds, and in the most glowing language gives an account of the great 'run' of the quarter, when the most extraordinarily long distance was accomplished in the most incredibly short space of time, the Mater, as he calls her, appeals to the head of the household to forbid his putting his constitution to so severe a strain in future. Taking up another little book,* we find our young gentleman thoroughly in his element. A public school is in every way suited to him, and he to a public school; his shoulders are broad, his temper is excellent, and he is on the very best terms with all the institutions of the place. Fagging he regards as an inestimable blessing, calculated to do every boy good; and he performs his share of it with heartiness and spirit, not forgetting to express his opinion pretty plainly about those who shirk theirs. As for his masters, he speaks of them with respect and affection-a significant circumstance, and one that, we hold, testifies largely in his favour; for nothing is more objectionable than to meet a lad who is always complaining of the hardships and severities to which he is subjected, by those in authority over him, at school. We always fancy that a youth of this sort must either be very disobedient, or totally unfit to be let loose from his mother's apron-string. The little work to which we have been making reference belongs to that particular section of juvenile literature of which our dear old friend Tom Brown' still remains the most distinguished ornament. From unavoidable reasons, the proper enjoyment of books of this sort is confined to the male portion of the rising generation; though young ladies are very fond of pretending to be immensely interested in all that goes on at boys' schools, they get terribly bored, not to say disgusted, when they find a whole chapter dedicated to an elaborate description of the famous fight between Tom Brown and the Slogger. They admire the former because he protects right against might, and is always up in arms to prevent small boys from being

Recollections of Harrow.'

bullied; but the minutiae of his Rugby life weary them terribly, and all that is most interesting to male readers is passed over hurriedly, and very often not looked at at all.

While upon this particular branch of literature for young people, it is impossible to allow the opportunity to pass without uttering a strong protest against the outrageous nonsense which is so frequently foisted off upon the public under the designationTales of School Life. Individuals with the smallest amount of capacity, and an overabundant quantity of assurance, who are ambitious to see themselves in print, fancy that this is the most suitable atmosphere in which to air their early pretensions to literary notoriety. They imagine that nothing is easier than to write about schoolboys, their thoughts and doings. As for pausing a moment to consider how far, from experience in their subject and knowledge of character, they are in a position to perform their self-imposed task, no such thought ever occurs to them. Pens, ink, and paper represent to their minds all the material required in the successful prosecution of their enterprise; even blotting-paper appears superfluous, as its use suggests only an interruption to the rapid and undisturbed action of their pen. Dreary platitudes, shaped in bad English, and breathing worse sentiment, they can scribble off till it may be measured by the yard! To them their little knowledge is indeed a dangerous thing; the more paper they cover, the more satisfied do they become, that the mass of balderdash they have put upon it represents genius. In serious, sober earnest, it is a grievous and melancholy fact that, with very few exceptions, those books which are popularly termed stories of school life are utterly unworthy the name. Instead of being, as they should, real, faithful reflections of what actually goes on at school, and among schoolboys, representing characters who talk naturally and act reasonably, they are wretchedly false, weak, and washy, and any lad of common intelligence, measuring their value by his own experience, will fling them aside with derision and contempt. Some critics may think it well to ridicule the muscular Christianity in which certain writers so delight; but we would rather have our hero drawn after their fashion than framed according to Mr. Farrar's model of an English schoolboy.* Why, even Mrs. Henry Wood, whom we should hardly expect to be so thoroughly at home in matters relating to Young England, though she has now incontestibly asserted a most intimate knowledge of him and his pursuits, has compounded the hero and subordinate performers in her most agreeable stories, out of genuine materials.† Though it requires

Eric; or, Little by Little.' 'Orville College,' and 'The Channings.'

no very great acuteness to see that a woman's hand has been at work in welding them together, it is equally easy to perceive that she has thoroughly and conscientiously studied her subject before sitting down to write upon it; and we can heartily shake hands with her, and thank her for an earnest and successful endeavour to hold the mirror up to schoolboy nature. We do not want to fall foul of Mr. Farrar, because it is patent, from all his books, that he is earnest in what he writes, and only seeks to teach what is good and true. With reference to the first of these two aims we can most conscientiously affirm his complete success; as to the second, stern duty compels us to speak with considerable reserve. If Mr. Farrar has been in the habit of meeting boys such as he describes, we can only say that a most kind and indulgent fate has not permitted us the same advantage, and we are not inclined to upbraid it for remissness. Young gentlemen who do nothing but walk about their school playground with their arms round one another's necks, discussing the various responsibilities of the Christian's duty, with a gravity and philosophical depth worthy a Divinity Professor, are rare aves that deserve to be caged and kept for public exhibition. As for Mr. Farrar, we can wish him no more enviable task than to superintend the arrangement of this ornithological entertainment. For the sake of the exhibitioner, many eccentricities can be tolerated, while we look foward with some confidence to the time when he shall give us a story as true and vigorous in style as his imagination is undeniably fresh and lively. There are a multitude of other books belonging to the genus, Tales of School Life, with whose shortcomings we have no desire to deal. If they ever do find readers, who take the trouble to wade through their tedious pages, there is no need to fear that any serious damage to society will be the result. They only afford striking illustrations of the proposition set forth at the outset of this article, that to reconcile instruction and amusement is a labour of exceeding difficulty. To create an interest in youthful minds demands no very superior intelligence. Children are, of necessity, led by what bubbles up on the surface, and the most commonplace incidents will engage their attention. The younger they are, the more quickly do they identify themselves with the characters brought on the stage before them; and as each passes through his or her round of joys and sorrows, they appreciate every turn in the wheel of fortune as if it applied to themselves. They laugh when their hero is in good case, and are moved to tears when he has fallen into rough places; they, so to speak, put their hand in his, and journey on with him till the word 'Finis' is reached, sharing his

Happy Endings.

135

pleasures and pains the while with the most acute sensitiveness. Generally they prefer that he and the heroine should make a match of it in the end, and live happily ever afterwards; otherwise a gloomy impression is left behind, that requires time and a succession of sunnier tales to efface. Master of story-tellers though he is, Hans Christian Andersen's Little Mermaid' was perhaps the least successful of all his lovely productions, because her ultimate fate was so sad, while somehow or other Paul Dombey has never been such a favourite with young people as might have been expected. Had he lived to reward Florence's love and devotion, by some substantial mark of his gratitude, it is more than likely that at least the part he played in the history of Dombey, sen., would have been exceedingly popular in the nursery. Therefore, though, as has been observed, children may readily be amused, their approbation is hard to gain, and their prejudices are very strongly in favour of universal prosperity, general happiness, and thorough reformation in all the naughty characters. Not that they do not like to see wrong-doers properly punished for their transgressions, but because they prefer to find that correction has had the desired effect, and brought back the erring one to the paths of duty. When, however, the question of instruction comes to be considered, there are a variety of matters involved, which are classified under the term. Regard for what is holy and pure, contempt for things that are mean and despicable, in short, instruction of every sort and kind that can be introduced-or, to use a more appropriate phrase, interwoven with the thread of the story-all demand the attention of a writer for children, and tax his ingenuity to the utmost. It would be vain to attempt here or elsewhere an elaborate investigation of the requirements of juvenile readers of various ages; as the young mind expands and developes, it is a truism to say that so must the literary food provided for it grow in breadth and length. Such pleasant little books as 'Our Four-footed Friends' and 'Papa's Wise Dogs,' or the many delightful productions of the late C. H. Bennett, whose untimely death must have left a grievous blank in the ranks of nursery entertainers, are more suited to younger children, with an experience confined to 'Jack the Giant Killer,' and other romances of an equally simple and unadorned character. With this particular department of juvenile literature, the name of Mary Howitt has long been prominently and honourably associated. favourable criticisms could have turned her brain, she ought on innumerable occasions ere this to have been qualified for admission to Bedlam; but praise has failed to spoil her, and has only

If