Prodigal Son, and that done, she proceeded to put questions. All went
well until near the close, when she asked, "Now, tell me who was not
pleased to see the prodigal son when he came home," and to her
consternation got the reply, "Please, ma'am, the fatted calf."
In a Sunday school in Ayrshire, attended chiefly by miners' children,
the lesson for the day had been the parable of the ten wise and ten
foolish virgins, and the teacher asked--"Can any one of you tell me why
the virgins' lamps went out?" "I ken," immediately responded the dullest
boy in the class; "it was the wicks that was needin' pykin'."
And the story is hoary with age of how a teacher, when the lesson had
been read which bore on Jacob's dream, invited questions from the class,
and how one little fellow asked--"Why did the angels need a ladder for
ascending and descending when they had wings and could flee?" The
teacher was nonplussed, but got out of the difficulty by
saying--"Perhaps some of the other boys can answer." "I think I ken,"
ventured a little fellow, whose father was a bird fancier, "maybe they
wad be moultin' at the time."
His solutions may be extraordinary, but nothing, you see, can baffle the
young wit. It was again in a Sunday school that a teacher had been
instructing a class in the relative positions of man and the lower
animals in the scale of intelligence, and wishing to test how the lesson
had been imbibed, she asked--"Now, what is next to man?" and got the
answer promptly--"His shirt."
"What is meant by a 'hireling'?" was asked of a class in a day-school.
"You are a hireling," responded a little fellow; "you are hired to teach
us."
Giving a reading lesson to his class in the presence of an inspector, a
teacher asked his boys what was meant by conscience--a word that had
occurred in the course of the reading--and the class having been duly
crammed for the occasion answered as one boy--"An inward monitor." "But
what do you understand by an inward monitor?" put in the inspector. To
this further question, only one boy announced himself ready to respond,
and his triumphantly given answer was--"A hironclad, sir."
Their definitions are at all times interesting, if not constantly
reliable. After a reading of Gray's "Elegy" by a fourth standard class,
the boys were asked what was meant by "fretted vaults," and one youth
replied--"The vaults in which these poor people were buried; their
friends came and fretted over them." Asked what he understood by
"Elegy," another boy in the same class answered--"Elegy is some poetry
wrote out for schools to learn, like Gray's 'Elegy.'"
Asked to describe a kitten, a boy, after a moment's thought, replied--"A
kitten is remarkable for rushing like mad at nothing whatever, and
stopping before it gets there."
Another boy's definition of a lie was probably the fruit of good
experience. "A lie," said he, "is an abomination in the eyes of the
Lord, but a very present help in time of trouble."
Asked to define the expression, "Sufficient unto the day is the evil
thereof." "It just means," responded a little fellow, "that the evil
committed at the present day is quite sufficient without any more."
In a sixth standard examination, a vacuum was recently described as "an
empty space without anything in it;" and a compass, at the same time,
was explained as "a tripod with a round or circular box surmounting it,
which always points due north."
A Government inspector not long ago gave the following in a list of
historical and other "facts," elicited from boys under examination:--
"Of whom was it said 'He never smiled again'?" "William Rufus, and this
after he was shot by the arrow."
"My favourite character in English history is Henry VIII., because he
had eight wives and killed them all."
"The cause of the Peasants' Revolt was that a shilling poultice should
be put on everybody over sixteen."
"Henry VIII. was a very good king. He liked plenty of money, he had
plenty of wives, and died of ulcers in the legs." "Edward III. would
have been king of France if his mother had been a man."
"Doomsday Book.--A book signifying that each man should have seven feet
of land for a grave."
"Alexander the Great was born in the absence of his parents."
"What followed the murder of Becket?" "Henry II. received wacks with a
birch."
"What is a watershed?" "A shed for keeping water in."
"A watershed is a house between two rivers so that a drop of water
falling on one side of the roof runs into one river, and a drop on the
other side goes into the other river."
"The battle of Waterloo was fought off Cape Trafalgar. Nelson led up one
squadron and Collingwood the other. When it was over Wellington rode
over the field by moonlight, and met Blucher, the French general, and
they shook hands and were friends ever after."
"The Feudal System lies between the Humber and the Thames."
"Caractacus was a Roman Emperor who had conquered Britain. He had to
abandon it shortly afterwards because it was overrun by the Picts and
the Scots."
"The principal products of Kent are Archbishops at Canterbury."
"The chief clause in Magna Charta was that no free man should be put to
death or imprisoned without his own consent."
"What and where are the Pyramids?" "The Pyramids is a kind of
night-lights as is generally used in the bed-rooms, but you can get
Clark's as well." "Where were the Kings of England crowned?" "On their
heads."
"What were the most important Feudal dues?" "Friendship, courtship,
marriage."
"What do you know of Dermot?" "Dermot's daughter married Magna Charta.
Dermot himself married Strongbow."
"What do you know of Dryden and Buckingham?" "Dryden and Buckingham were
at first friends, but soon became contemporaries."
"What is Milton's chief work?" "Milton wrote a sensible poem called the
'Canterbury Tails.'"
"The gamut is a musical scale. The name is derived from gamut or catgut,
the material from which the strings of musical instruments used to be
made."
"An optimist is a man who looks after your eyes, and a pessimist is a
man who looks after your feet."
"A man who looks on the bright side of things is called an optimist, and
one who looks on the dull side is called a pianist."
Dr. Charles Wilson, in his general report on the Scottish Training
Colleges, gives several curious answers which he had received from
candidates and pupil-teachers. A young lady in commenting on the
proverb, "Penny wise and pound foolish," wrote--"This proverb clearly
shows that for every wise and good action a man does, he will commit two
hundred and forty foolish bad ones."
Under examination by Dr. John Ker, a boy wrote regarding Oliver
Cromwell--"Oliver Cromwell's eyes were of a dark grey, his nose was very
large and of a deep, red colour, but underneath it was a truly religious
soul." Another wrote--"By the Declaration of Indulgence people were
allowed to worship God in their own way. Seven Bishops refused to do so.
They were accordingly put on their trial and found not guilty."
Another declared that the Salic Law says--"No one can be made King who
was descended from a woman."
Speaking there of Oliver Cromwell, recalls the story of a boy's school
essay which the late Mr. W. E. Gladstone was fond of telling--albeit,
the great Commoner had no very lively sense of humour. The "G.O.M.'s"
comically-mixed youthful historian wrote--"Oliver Cromwell began his
career by cutting off the head of his king, and when he was dying he
said, 'Had I served my God with half the zeal I have served my king, he
would not in mine age have left me naked to mine enemies.'"
I have examples of other boys' essays not less surprising and
entertaining.
"The horse," wrote a youthful Cuvier, in an essay on the "friend of
man," "is a useful creacher. It eats corn, it is a sort of square animal
with a leg at each corner, and has a head at one end and a tail at the
other."
Here is a boy's essay on "Breath," well calculated to almost take any
one's breath away--"Breath is made of air. We breathe with our lungs,
our livers, and our kidneys. If it wasn't for our lights and our breath
we should die when we slept. Our breath keeps life agoing through the
nose when we are asleep. Boys that stay in a room all day should not
breathe. They should wait till they get outdoors. Boys in a room make
carbonicide. Carbonicide is more poisonous than mad dogs. A heap of
soldiers was in a black hole in India and carbonicide got into that
black hole and killed nearly every one afore morning. Girls kill the
breath with corsets that squeeze the diagram. Girls can't run or holler
like boys because their diagram is squeezed too much. If I was a girl,
I'd rather be a boy so I can run and holler and have a good big
diagram."
The next looks rather knowing for a lad of eleven-and-a-half; but Dr. T.
J. Macnamara, M.P., in an article on "Children's Witticisms,"
contributed to the _New Liberal Review_, vouches for its authenticity.
The subject reveals itself in the work: "What I expect to do in my
holidays is the greater part of the time to mind the baby. Two years and
a half old. Just old enough to run into a puddle or to fall downstairs.
Oh! what a glorious occupation, my aunt or Sunday-school teacher would
say. But it is all very well for them; they ought to have a turn with
him. I am going to have a game at tying doors, tying bundles of mud
in paper, and then drop it on the pavement. I shall buy a bundle of
wood and tie a piece of cord to it, and when some one goes to pick
it up, lo! it has vanished--not lost, but gone before. I shall go
butterfly-catching, and catch some fish at Snob's Brighton (Lea Bridge).
I shall finish up by having a whacking, tearing my breeches, giving a
boy two black eyes, and then wake up on Monday morning refreshed and
quite happy to make the acquaintance of Mr.----'s cane."
Dr. M. quotes the following as well--the genuineness of which he also
guarantees:--"Man goes fishing, takes his rod and enough tackle to make
a telegraph wire, and starts on his piscatorial expedition. He arrives,
and happy man is he if he has not forgot something, a hook, his bait, or
his float. He sits there, apparently contented; he catches a frog or
some other fine specimen of natural history, and a cold, and a jolly
good roasting from his bitter (_sic_) half, when he arrives with some
mackerel which he had bought at the fish-monger's. He, poor man, did not
know that they were sea-fish, but his wife did. When juveniles go
fishing, they take a willow, their ma's reel of best six cord, a pickle
jar, and a few worms, and proceed to the New River quite happy. When
they arrive they catch about fifty (a small thousand, they call it), and
are thinking of returning home, when a gent, with N.R. on his hat, and a
good ash stick in his hand, comes up, ''Ullo, there,' says he, 'what are
you doing there?' 'Fishing, sir,' answer they meekly. The man then takes
away their fish and rod, and gives them some whales instead (on their
back). And they return home sadder but wiser boys."
I can vouch myself for the genuineness of the next example, recently
copied _verbatim_ from the original manuscript in the possession of a
friend in the teaching profession in Glasgow. The general subject had
been "Athletic Sports," and a boy wrote:--"Athletic sports is very
useful football especially it strengthens the mussles all sports is good
for the helth for some people I think the best game is rugby there is
more fun in it than anything else I will give a description of football
the Rangers have the best men that ever stood in the football park there
is one man I know and that is Chas. Raisback and he is center and a
nother good player is Bobby M'Coll his wright wing and J. Drummond is a
nother good player I think this is all about athletic sports I have got
to say and I will never forget the good wee rangers the result was on
Saturday Rangers 2 Morton 1. Good old Rangers." Isn't it beautiful? To
the question, "With what weapon did Samson slay the Philistines?" the
correct answer has already been given, or extracted, here; but I recall
another, more ingenious, from a boy, who replied, "With the _axe_ of the
Apostles."
"What are you talking about there?" demanded a teacher, addressing
himself to the loquacious son of a railway porter. But the teacher
received no response, and was obliged to ask another lad who sat next
the delinquent, "What was George talking about?" "Please, sir, he was
saying as his father's trousers is sent down to Brighton when they gets
old, and they's made into _sugar_ there, and that's how 'tis sugar's
gone down."
Home influences appeared in the answer of a child, whose father was a
strong teetotaller, to the query, "Do you know the meaning of syntax?"
"Yes, syntax is the dooty upon spirits."
In reply to the question, "Why do we cook our food?" one child replied:
"There are five ways of cooking potatoes. We should die if we eat our
food raw." A second pupil wrote: "Food digested is when we put it into
our mouths, our teeth chews it, and our mouth drops it down into our
body. We should not eat so much bone-making food as flesh-making and
warmth-giving foods, for, if we did, we should have too many bones, and
that would make us look funny."
In answer to the question, "Mention any occupations that are injurious
to health?" one child's reply was: "Occupations which are injurious to
health are carbonic acid gas, which is impure blood." Another responded:
"A stone-mason's work is injurious, because when he is chipping, he
breathes in all the little chips, and they are taken into the lungs." A
third advanced the theory that "A boot-maker's trade is very injurious,
because they press the boots against the thorax, and therefore it
presses the thorax in, and it touches the heart, and if they do not die,
they are cripples for life."
Finally, here is an extract from an essay on "The Moon," which--in
defiance of its title--affords some very interesting glimpses of
sublunary home life:--"To look at the white moon shinin threw your
winder at night, sitting on the edge of the bed, and lissin to your
father and mothers knives and forks rattlin on their plates while they
are getting their nice suppers, is the prittist site you ever seed. When
its liver and hunyens there a having, you can smell it all the way
upstairs. It looks very brite and nearly all white. Once when they was a
having fried fish and potaters I crept out of my bed-room to the top of
the stairs all in the dark, just so as to have a better lissen and a
nearer smell. I forget whether there was a moon that night. I don't
think as there was, cose I got to the top of the stares afore I knew I
was there, and I tumbled right down to the bottom of the stares, a
bursting open the door at the bottom, and rolling into the room nearly
as far as the supper table. My father thote of giving me the stick for
it, but he let my mother give me a bit of fish on some bread, and told
me to skittle off to bed again. I am sure there was not no moon, else I
should have seed there wasn't a top stare when I put my foot out so
slow. I only skratted my left eye and ear a bit with that last bump at
the bottom, witch was a hard one, Stares are steeper than girls think,
speshilly where the corner is."
CHILDREN'S STORIES.
The editor of a London literary journal was recently inviting men and
women in prominent positions in public life to name for publication the
books of their childhood. So far as I observed, none of the half-hundred
or more who responded gave _Blue Beard_, _Cinderella_, _Little Red
Riding Hood_, or any of the others in the same category that follow
here. But I am none the less convinced that these old-time favourites,
not yet unknown, though familiar to city children in the present
generation mainly in their variegated and fantastic Christmas pantomime
form, were in Scotland and England alike in the last century more
essentially the books of childhood than any others known and read beyond
the walls of the school-room. The travelling stationers and packmen
carried them in their thousands, in chapbook form, into even the most
remote parts of the country, where they were bartered for and explored
with avidity. In many quarters, indeed, they were so familiar fifty
years ago that the books on occasions could be dispensed with, and the
elder members of families would recite the stories from memory for the
delectation of the younger fry, when all foregathered in a crescent
before the kitchen fire to wear out the long winter evenings. In this
manner, under the dim-flickering light of an "oilie cruizie," in a
straggling village in Perthshire, did I learn first of Blue Beard and
Jack the Giant Killer, and many another hero of chapbook literature. And
my experience, I am sure, was by no means singular. Rather, I feel
certain that while telling thus my own, I am expressing no less truly
the experience of many thousands of men and women now beyond middle life
who similarly were born and bred in any rural parish in Scotland. And,
oh, the weird fascination of it all! There was no doubting of Blue
Beard's reality; no hesitation in accepting as actual every
extraordinary feat of Jack the Giant Killer. Both were as real in our
innocent imagination as is now the personality of King Edward the
Seventh. It never occurred to us then, as it does now, that the story of
Blue Beard is only a gory and fantastic parody of the history of Eden--a
temptation, a fall, and a rescue. And we had no concern about
authorship. We did not know then, as we do now--and as few are yet
aware, perhaps--that _Blue Beard_, _Cinderella_, and _Little Red Riding
Hood_ were all written by Charles Perrault, a celebrated French
literateur and poet, who was born in Paris in 1628, and died there in
1703. And to have been told, as we have recently been, on authority that
Perrault's Blue Beard--the Comte Gilles de Rais--was no mere wife-killer
(though he was such) but from his youth upwards, in the fifteenth
century, a man of exquisite culture, and a soldier under Joan of Arc,
would have made for disillusionment so emphatic as to have shred the
tale of a serious amount of its blood-curdling charm. As I can still
enjoy reading them, it is a real pleasure to embrace here these old-time
examples of child literature. Such as follow--and all the more popular
will be found in the list--are printed _verbatim_ from the chapbooks now
unobtainable, except at a ransom price--and without individual
comment--none being required.
BLUE BEARD.
There was, some time ago, a gentleman who was extremely rich: he had
elegant town and country houses; his dishes and plates were of gold or
silver; his rooms were hung with damask; his chairs and sofas were
covered with the richest silks; and his carriages were all magnificently
gilt with gold.
But, unfortunately, this gentleman had a blue beard, which made him so
very frightful and ugly, that none of the ladies in the neighbourhood
would venture to go into his company.
It happened that a lady of quality, who lived very near him, had two
daughters, who were both extremely beautiful. Blue Beard asked her to
bestow one of them upon him in marriage, leaving to herself the choice
which of the two it should be.
They both, however, again and again refused to marry Blue Beard; but to
be as civil as possible, they each pretended that they refused because
she would not deprive her sister of the opportunity of marrying so much
to her advantage. But the truth was, they could not bear the thought of
having a husband with a blue beard: and, besides, they had heard of his
having already been married to several wives, and nobody could tell what
had afterwards become of them.
As Blue Beard wished very much to gain their favour, he invited the lady
and her daughters, and some ladies who were on a visit at their house,
to accompany him to one of his country seats, where they spent a whole
week, during which nothing was thought of but parties for hunting and
fishing, music, dancing, collations, and the most delightful
entertainments. No one thought of going to bed, and the nights were
passed in merriment of every kind.
In short, the time had passed so agreeably, that the youngest of the two
sisters began to think that the beard which had so much terrified her
was not so very blue, and that the gentleman to whom it belonged was
vastly civil and pleasing.
Soon after they returned home, she told her mother that she had no
longer any objection to accept Blue Beard as her husband; and,
accordingly, in a short time they were married.
About a month after the marriage had taken place, Blue Beard told his
wife that he should be obliged to leave her for a few weeks, as he had
some business to do in the country. He desired her to be sure to procure
herself every kind of amusement, to invite as many of her friends as she
liked, and to treat them with all sorts of delicacies, that the time
might pass agreeably during his absence. "Here," said he, "are the keys
of the two large wardrobes. This is the key of the great box that
contains the best plate, which we use for company; this belongs to my
strong box, where I keep my money; and this to the casket in which are
all my jewels. Here also is a master key to all the apartments in my
house--but this small key belongs to the closet at the end of the long
gallery on the ground floor. I give you leave," continued he, "to open
or do what you like with all the rest excepting this closet: this, my
dear, you must not enter, nor even put the key into the lock, for all
the world. Should you disobey me, expect the most dreadful of
punishments."
She promised to obey his orders in the most faithful manner; and Blue
Beard, after tenderly embracing her, stepped into his carriage and drove
away.
The friends of the bride did not, on this occasion, wait to be invited,
so impatient were they to see all the riches and magnificence she had
gained by marriage, for they had been prevented from paying their
wedding visit by their aversion to the blue beard of the bridegroom.
No sooner were they arrived than they impatiently ran from room to room,
from cabinet to cabinet, and then from wardrobe to wardrobe, examining
each with the utmost curiosity, and declaring that the last was still
richer and more beautiful than what they had seen the moment before. At
length they came to the drawing-rooms, where their admiration and
astonishment were still increased by the costly splendour of the
hangings, of the sofas, the chairs, carpets, tables, girandoles, and
looking-glasses, the frames of which were silver gilt, most richly
ornamented, and in which they saw themselves from head to foot.
In short, nothing could exceed the magnificence of what they saw; and
the visitors did not cease to extol and envy the good fortune of their
friend, who all this time was far from being amused by the fine
compliments they paid her, so eagerly did she desire to see what was in
the closet her husband had forbidden her to open. So great indeed was
her curiosity, that, without recollecting how uncivil it would be to
leave her guests, she descended a private staircase that led to it, and
in such a hurry, that she was two or three times in danger of breaking
her neck.
When she reached the door of the closet, she stopped for a few moments
to think of the charge her husband had given her, and that he would not
fail to keep his word in punishing her very severely, should she
disobey him. But she was so very curious to know what was in the inside,
that she determined to venture in spite of everything.
She, accordingly, with a trembling hand, put the key into the lock, and
the door immediately opened. The window shutters being closed, she at
first saw nothing; but in a short time she perceived that the floor was
covered with clotted blood, on which the bodies of several dead women
were lying. These were all the wives whom Blue Beard had married and
murdered, one after another. She was ready to sink with fear, and the
key of the closet door, which she held in her hand, fell on the floor.
When she had somewhat recovered from her fright, she took it up, locked
the door, and hastened to her own room, that she might have a little
time to get into humour for amusing her visitors; but this she found
impossible, so greatly was she terrified by what she had seen.