has yet another worth telling, which he says, used to be narrated by an
old Mr. Campbell of Jura, who told the story of his own son. The boy, it
seems, was much spoilt by indulgence. In fact, the parents were scarce
able to refuse him anything he demanded. He was in the drawing-room on
one occasion when dinner was announced, and on being ordered up to the
nursery he insisted on going down to dinner with the company. His
mother was for refusal, but the child persevered and kept saying, "If I
dinna gang, I'll tell yon." His father then, for peace sake, let him go.
So he went, and sat at the table by his mother. When he found every one
getting soup and himself omitted, he demanded soup, and repeated, "If I
dinna get it, I'll tell yon." Well, soup was given, and various other
things yielded to his importunities, to which he always added the usual
threat of "telling yon." At last, when it came to wine, his mother stood
firm, and positively refused, as "a bad thing for little boys," and so
on. He then became more vociferous than ever about "telling yon;" and,
as still he was refused, he declared, "Now I'll tell yon," and at last
roared out--"_My new breeks are made oot o' the auld curtains!_"
That, however, is not the most delectable of child stories. We prefer
the ideas of the little folks within the region of philosophy. When, for
example, they want to know "Whaur div' a' the figures gang when they're
rubbit oot?" and ask such questions as "Where does the dark go when the
light comes?" "Was it not very wrong of God not to make Cain good as
well as Abel?" or, "If it be true that some of the stars are bigger than
this earth, how do they not keep the rain off?"
"I say, father," asked a little fellow as he raised his eyes off his
home lesson, "Who invented the multiplication table?" "Oh, I don't
know," he was answered; "it was invented long ago; why?"
"Well, I was thinking if the gentleman that invented it didn't know it
already, he must have had a tough job; and if he did know it, what was
the good of him inventing it at all?" It was a cloudy and moonless
night when a little fellow was taken out by his mother, who went to call
for a friend. "Mamma," he exclaimed, looking up, "I expect God's been
very busy this evening, for I see He has forgotten to hang the stars
out."
She was a very small Miss who went to church alone one day, where an
organ had recently been introduced. As she stood gazing about just
within the door, an elder approached, and asked where she would prefer
to sit. "Well," she said pertly, "if there's a monkey, I would like to
be near the organ; but if there's no' a monkey, I'll just sit ony
place."
A pretty good story is related of one of Governor Tilton's staff. It is
said that when the individual referred to first presented himself _en
militaire_ to his wife and little daughter, the latter, after gazing at
him for a few minutes, turned to her mother, and exclaimed: "Why, Ma,
that's not a real soldier--it's Pa!" Equally observant was another
youngster, who was sent by his parent to take a letter to the
post-office and pay the postage on it. The boy returned highly elated,
and said: "Father, I seed a lot of men putting letters in a little
place; and when no one was looking, I slipped yours in for nothing." We
hardly know whether the father would laugh or storm over this
unconscious attempt to defraud the revenue. But no matter.
Two little London girls who had been sent by the kindness of the vicar's
wife to have "a happy day in the country," narrating their experiences
on their return, said, "Oh, yes, mum, we did 'ave a happy day. We saw
two pigs killed and a gentleman buried."
It is the rare that fascinates. Many years ago, I was living in a house
where, on an evening, a little Miss was toiling over her school-lesson,
and declaiming loudly, "The--sow--has--pigs." Being a city child, I
wondered whether she knew of what she was reading, and asked, "Did you
ever see a sow and pigs, Mary?" "No," she replied smartly, "but when I
was going to the school the day, I saw a policeman getting his
photograph taken."
But speaking here of London children, reminds me of two London stories
which should not be omitted. So here:--
Two small boys walking down Tottenham Court Road, passed a tobacconist's
shop. The bigger remarked--"I say, Bill, I've got a ha-penny, and if
you've got one too, we'll have a penny smoke between us."
Bill produced his copper, and Tommy, diving into the shop, promptly
re-appeared with a penny cigar in his mouth.
The boys walked side by side for a few minutes, when the smaller mildly
said, "I say, Tom, when am I to have a puff? The weed's half mine."
"Oh, you shut up," was the business-like reply. "I'm the chairman of
this company, and you are only a shareholder. You can spit."
That is the first. The second, though less precocious, is yet more
enjoyable. Besides, we know it is true, while the other--well, it is not
above suspicion.
One day, when seeking a model, Miss Dorothy Tennant (now Mrs. H. M.
Stanley) discovered a likely subject in the shape of a crossing-sweeper;
and, while conducting him to Richmond Terrace, she met her family's old
friend, Mr. Gladstone. Greatly moved by her companion, he exclaimed:
"Who's your friend?" Then and there the crossing-sweeper, much to his
dismay, was presented to the "People's William."
On entering the Tennant mansion, the urchin was tremendously impressed
by the liveried servant who had opened the door, and, after looking back
at him several times, whispered mysteriously to his kind hostess:
"I say, miss, why does your big brother wear brass buttons?"
Always thoughtful, Miss Tennant first led her charge to the servants
hall, where she sat beside him as he played havoc with the well-filled
dishes placed before him. At the conclusion of his repast, Miss Tennant
asked the boy how he liked it.
"Proper," replied the crossing-sweeper; "yer mother do cook prime!"
London having yielded its quota, the "Second City" may be again drawn
upon.
A little boy of tender years was sitting on the doorstep of a house in
Bridgeton, there, the other morning, crying bitterly, when a girl of
about the same age accosted him, and the following conversation was
overheard:--"What are ye greetin' for, laddie?" she inquired, in
sympathetic tones. "Did onybody hit ye?" "N-n-na," sobbed the boy.
"Then, what is't ye're greetin' for?" the little damsel went on. "'Cause
my wee brither's gane to heaven," exclaimed the little fellow, bitterly,
between his sobs. "Oh!" ejaculated the girl; and then, after a pause,
"but ye shouldna greet like that--maybe he hasna."
Another. Recently a little fellow came home from school crying bitterly,
and altogether manifesting great sorrow. "What's the matter, Geordie,"
sympathetically inquired his mother, "has onybody been hittin' ye?"
"N-n-n-o," answered the boy between his sobs. "Then, what are you crying
about?" she went on. "Boo! hoo! wee Sammy Sloan's faither an' mither hae
flitted to Coatbrig!" "Tuts, laddie, dinna greet about that," she
exclaimed, re-assuringly, "there's plenty mair laddies bidin' in the
street besides Sammy Sloan that ye can play wi'." "I ken that," said
Geordie, with another sob, "but he was the only yin I could lick."
Children, really, as we have been revealing so frequently here, have the
fresh and original notions of things, and are always frank enough to
give them voice.
A little boy was reading the story of a missionary having been eaten by
cannibals. "Papa," he asked, "will the missionary go to heaven?" "Yes,
my son," replied the father. "And will the cannibals go there, too?"
queried the youthful student. "No," was the reply. After thinking the
matter over for some time, the little fellow exclaimed--"Well, I don't
see how the missionary can go to heaven if the cannibals don't, when
he's inside the cannibals."
One Sunday evening, while sitting on his mother's knee listening to the
story of Jonah being swallowed by the whale, a little fellow looked up
seriously into her face and asked, "Ma, did Jonah wear his slippers in
the whale's belly? Because, if he didna, the tackets in his boots wad
tear a' its puddin's."
Dr. John Ker of Edinburgh, in his recently published volume of
reminiscences--_Memories Grave and Gay_--tells of how "in a Banffshire
manse one Sunday evening, all the family were sitting quietly reading in
the drawing-room, when the youngest boy, with a laudable thirst for
knowledge, went up to his mother and asked a question, for the answer
to which she referred him to me. Coming up to me, he said--
"'Mr. Ker, is it true that the devil goes about like a roaring lion?"
"'It must,' I replied, 'be true, for it is in the Bible.'
"This was followed by another question which I did not attempt to
answer--
"'Then, wha keeps his fire in when he's gaun aboot?'"
"Do you know, mamma, I don't believe Solomon was so rich after all?"
observed a sharp boy to his mother, who prided herself on her orthodoxy.
"My child!" she exclaimed in pious horror, "what does the Bible say?"
"That's just it," he answered. "It says that 'Solomon slept with his
fathers.' Now, surely, if he had been rich he'd have had a bed to
himself."
A father once said to a little boy, not so obedient as might be desired,
"Everything I say to you goes in at one ear and out at the other." "Is
that what little boys has two ears for, daddy?" asked the child, quite
innocently.
Engaging his tender "hopeful" in the wonders of astronomy--"Men have
learned the distances of the stars," observed the father; "and, with
their spectroscopes, found out what they are made of." "Yes," responded
the boy admiringly; "and isn't it strange, pa, how they found out their
names too!"
SCHOOLROOM FACTS AND FANCIES.
These are so numerous as to demand a separate chapter.
Talking of the serpent in the Garden of Eden, a lady teacher asked her
class what a serpent was like, when a boy aptly replied, "It's like a
lang rope furlin'."
On another occasion, in the same class, the question was, "What does the
devil tempt little boys and girls to do?" when the comical answer came,
"To chap at fouk's doors, mem."
It has been often told, but is worth repeating, how a pupil teacher was
doing his level best to make the children remember Samson's mighty deeds
with the jawbone of an ass, and, recapitulating, he asked, "What did
Samson slay ten thousand Philistines with? Eh?" No reply came. Then,
pointing to his jawbone, he asked, "What is this?" And at once the
answer belched proudly from half-a-dozen throats in unison, "The jawbone
of an ass."
In a country school the lesson was on "The Prodigal Son," and the
question, "What were the husks that the swine did eat?" met with the
prompt answer, "Tawtie peelin's." In a city seminary a teacher asked
her class, "Who knows everything we say and do?" when she received the
unexpected reply, "The fouk that bides next door to us."
Expecting to get the answer "Carnivorous" (as it bore on the lesson), a
teacher asked his class for an example of a bird of prey, and among
other answers he got was "A yellow yite." The boy who responded so, on
being asked to explain, continued, "Because it eats worms."
"What do you call the bird or beast that feeds on both animal and
vegetable foods?" was the next question. The teacher anticipated
"Omnivorous" this time, but it did not come. There was silence for a
little. Then a boy, who evidently had been ruminating, responded
nonchalantly, "A gutsy brute, sir."
In examining the boys in the composition of sentences, a master began:
"If I ask you," said he, "what have I in my hand? you must not say
simply 'Chalk,' but make a full sentence of it, and say, 'You have chalk
in your hand.' Now I will proceed. What have I on my feet?" The answer
came immediately, "Boots." "Wrong; you haven't been observing my
directions," he rebukingly replied. "Stockings," another heedlessly
ventured to answer. "Wrong again--worse than ever," wrathfully exclaimed
the _magister_. "Well?" he continued interrogatively to a lad near him.
"Please, sir," then he paused--perhaps he thought it _might_ sound
funny, but he felt it _must_ be right, and so he recklessly gasped
out--"Corns!"
But the answers are not always so stupid.
"Why is it," asked a teacher, "the sun never sets on the British
possessions?" "Because," slowly responded an ingenuous youngster, "the
British possessions are in the north, south, and east, and the sun
always sets in the west."
During a recent School Board examination in the west of Scotland, the
examiner asked a little girl to explain what was meant by the
expression, _He was amply rewarded._ "Paid for't," was her instant
reply. "No, no; you are wrong. Suppose you have to go into a baker's
shop and buy a half-quarter loaf, and lay down fourpence, would you say
you had amply rewarded the baker?" Unhesitatingly she replied "Yes."
"Why?" "Because the loaf's only twopence-three-farthings," was the
unlooked-for answer.
Quite like that is the story of a small boy into whose head a teacher
was one day labouring almost in vain to get, as he thought, even the
faintest correct notion of the first rule in arithmetic. "Look here now,
Johnnie," he said at length, "if I were to give you two rabbits and your
father were to give you three rabbits, how many rabbits would you then
have?" "Six." "No, no;" and the teacher set out bits of chalk to show
how he could only have five. "Ah, but," drawled out Johnnie, "I have a
rabbit at hame already."
It was a notion of multiplication that another teacher was endeavouring
to get properly lodged within the skull of another boy, and by way of
putting the effort to a practical test, he said: "Now, Peter, suppose I
was a tailor who supplied your father with a suit of clothes for three
pounds, which he promised to pay me in weekly instalments of one
shilling, how much would your father be due me at the end of a year?"
"Three pounds," replied Peter slowly. "Nonsense, Peter; think again."
Peter thought again, but again answered as before. "You don't know that
simple sum!" exclaimed the teacher in amazement. "Ay, I ken it weel
enough," responded Peter, "but ye dinna ken my faither."
"Did any of you ever see an elephant's skin?" asked the master of an
infant school. "I have," shouted a six-year-old at the foot of the
class. "Where?" "On the elephant."
A little boy of my acquaintance, while yet a pupil in the infant
department, was one day given a slate more to engage his attention than
aught else. But he had some notion of drawing, and when the teacher came
round she was astonished to find he had set down a fair picture of a
bird on a bough. "Ha! who drew this?" she asked. "Mysel'," was the canny
Scotch reply. "And who's mysel'?" she queried. "Oh, I'm fine," was the
second response, not less Scotch than the first. The English reader, of
course, won't fairly understand the word "fine" as spoken there; but
every Scotsman will, as also how "who's" may be mistaken for "how's."
There is another "fine" story. It was asked of a class, "How did the
Israelites get across the Red Sea?" "Fine," exclaimed a youth with
brightening eyes; "'twas the 'Gyptians was droon'd."
"What do you mean by a temperate region?" asked an inspector of a class,
putting due emphasis on the word temperate. "The region, sir," responded
a boy "where they drinks only temperants drinks."
Not long ago a class of boys were being examined on the different kinds
of wood; and one little chap was asked to name the specimen (a piece of
mahogany) which was held in the examiner's hand. He hesitated, and the
inspector, by way of suggestion, remarked, "Why, don't you know the
materials that your mother's drawers are made of?" This seemed to
simplify the matter, and, amidst a roar of laughter, came the quick
reply--"Flannelette!"
"Name anything friable," said a teacher. "Ham," was the ready answer.
"What is a papal bull?"
"A golden calf."
"What is ice?"
"Water fast asleep."
"What is a skeleton?"
"A man without any meat on it."
A teacher was examining a class on the battle of Bannockburn, and asked,
"Who killed de Bohun?" No one knew. He raised his arm in an attitude of
striking, and yelled, with flashing eyes, "Who killed de Bohun, I say?"
A little fellow near him, who expected the blow, raised his arm in a
defensive attitude, and whined, "Oh, please, sir, it wasna me."
"What is meant by faith?" was one day asked of a class. "Faith,"
responded a thoughtful youth, "is the faculty which enables us to
believe things that we know to be not true."
In the lesson of a class of country boys not long ago, the words "above
the average" occurred, and the lady teacher asked if any one could tell
what the word "average" meant. There was no response for a time, and she
passed the question from one to another until a more than average
specimen eagerly responded, "It's a thing that hens lay on." The teacher
was dumb-founded, and asked for an explanation. "Well," drawled the
budding Solomon, "my mother says that our hens lay each four eggs a
week--on an average."
It is a teacher's business to observe that his scholars are clean as
well as clever, and the Rev. David Macrae, in his entertaining little
book of _Quaint Sayings of Children_, tells how a teacher, after
glancing round the class one day, said to a boy, "I'll let you off if
you can find a hand in all the school as dirty as that one," indicating
the boy's own grimy exposed paw. The youth promptly brought forth and
showed his other fist, which was certainly dirtier still, and the
master, in view of his pledge, had no resource but to let the offender
go for that time any way.
An old story, which has had a lively currency, tells of how a boy when
he returned from school was always asked where he stood in his class,
and whose invariable answer was, "I'm second dux." For the regular
holding of this excellent position he received many fine things in the
shape of sweets and biscuits, and pennies, etc., until at length it
occurred to one of the family to ask him how many were in his class. It
was then the gilt fell off the ginger-bread. "Oh," said he, "there's
just me and anither lassie."
Dean Ramsay tells of a very practical answer given by a little girl who
had been asked the meaning of "darkness," as it occurred in Scripture
reading--"Just steek your een." In the same place, he says, on the
question, "What is the pestilence that walketh in darkness?" being put
to a class, a little boy answered, after consideration, "Oh, it's just
_bugs_."
Our friend, Dr. John Ker, has often told of an occasion when he was
examining a class in mathematics, and put the question to a boy--"If a
salmon weighed 16 lbs., and was to be sold at 2d. per lb., what would it
be worth?"--and how the lad, who was the son of a fishmonger, hastily
replied--"It wadna be worth a curse!" Salmon at that price, I should
say, would nowhere in these days be esteemed above suspicion anyway.
And boys _will_ be frank even although their replies at times appear
more smart than respectful. Once a Cockney manufacturer was taking part
in a school examination and asked a boy pompously--"W'at's the capital
of 'Olland?" "H," was the unconsciously smart reply given. And that
recalls a good dialect story, under the early Board system, which tells
how an English clergyman and a Lowland Scotsman entered one of the best
schools in Aberdeen. The master received them kindly, and enquired--
"Would you prefer that I should spier (question) the boys, or that you
should spier them?"
The English clergyman desired the master to proceed. He did so with
great success, and the boys answered satisfactorily numerous
interrogatories as to the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt. The
clergyman then said he would be glad to "spier the boys," and at once
began--
"How did Pharaoh die?"
There was a dead silence.
In his dilemma the Lowland gentleman interposed.
"I think, sir, the boys are not accustomed to your English accent; let
me try what I can make of them." And he inquired in broad Scotch--
"Hoo did Phawroah dee?"
Again there was a dead silence, upon which the master said--
"Noo, boys, fat cam' to Phawroah at his hinner end?"
The boys with one voice answered--
"He was drooned."
And a smart little fellow added--
"Ony lassie could hae tell't ye that."
Not unlike the above is a story told by Dr. Ker. The venerable
inspector was one day putting a class "through its facings," and asked a
boy where the River Dee was. The answer came correctly, "In
Aberdeenshire."
"Assuming quite a serious look (says Dr. Ker), I asked him if he was not
mistaken, adding that I thought the Dee was in Kirkcudbright, and flowed
into the Solway Firth. He was a bashful boy, and made no reply. To give
the class a needed fillip, I appealed to them to settle whether I or the
boy was right. To give a verdict against the inspector was, of course,
not to be thought of, and there was silence for a time; but at last a
boy put his hand to his mouth, and said to his neighbour in a stage
whisper not meant for, but which reached my ear--'He disna ken there's
twa Dees.'"
Once by way of stimulant, the doctor asked a somewhat sleepy history
class which of the four Georges wore the largest hat? and a boy who had
not till then opened his mouth, replied--"Him that had the biggest
heid."
In an Ayrshire town, immediately after the Whitsunday term a year or two
ago, a female teacher asked her class of little ones to be sure all of
them and bring their new addresses to her on the morrow, as these were
required for the re-adjustment of the register. "Please, mem," blurted
out a wee fellow in petticoats, "my mither says I'm no' to get ony mair
dresses. She's gaun to mak' a suit for me oot o' my faither's auld
breeks."
Sunday school stories are not inferior to those of the week-day seminary
in their irresistible fun and drollery.
A Sunday school teacher asked her scholars to learn an appropriate text
to say as they gave in their pennies to the next collection. The first
was--"He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord"; and all went
right until it came to the last boy, who, reluctantly dropping his penny
into the box, said--to the great amazement of teachers and
scholars--"The fool and his money are soon parted!"
As an example of the error of talking figuratively to those who do not
appreciate, and who are apt to take everything literally, a story is
worth telling. The respected superintendent of a Sunday school had told
his boys that they should endeavour to bring their neighbours to the
school, saying that they should be like a train--the scholar being the
engine, and his converts the carriages. Judge of his surprise when, next
Sunday, the door opened during lessons, and a little boy, making a noise
like an engine, ran in, followed by half-a-dozen others in single file
at his back! He came to a halt before the superintendent, who asked the
meaning of it all. The naive answer was--"Please, sir, I'm the engine,
and them's the carriages."
A Sabbath school teacher, at the finish of a lesson on "The Fall,"
asked--"Now, children, what lesson can we learn from the story of Adam
and Eve? Well, Johnnie?" Johnnie--"Never believe what your wife says."
A lady asked one of the children in her class, "What was the sin of the
Pharisees?" "Eating camels, ma'am," was the reply. The little girl who
answered had read that the Pharisees "strained at gnats and swallowed
camels." "In what condition was the patriarch Job at the end of his
life?" questioned a teacher of a stolid-looking boy. "Dead," was the
quiet response.
"What is the outward and visible sign in baptism?" asked a lady. There
was silence for some seconds, and then a girl broke in triumphantly
with, "The baby, please, mem."
The Rev. David Macrae tells that in a Brooklyn Sunday school a small boy
was asked the question, "Who was the first man?" and, with
characteristic American cocksureness, he immediately replied, "General
Washington." The teacher smiled, then asked--"Did you never hear of
Adam?" "Why, yes," responded the child, "I've heard of Adam; but I
didn't know you were counting foreigners."
Recently, in a Sunday school in Scotland, a little boy, who had been
transferred to a new class, was asked on arrival if he had had the
Shorter Catechism. For a moment he looked puzzled, and then
replied--"I'm no sure, mem, until I ask my mither; but I ken I've had
the measles."