WHEREIN THE AUTHOR SPEAKS OF A TRAGEDY FOR THE LADIES, AND INTRODUCES
ONE OF WILLIAM DOVE'S STORIES FOR CHILDREN.
_Y donde sobre todo de su dueño
El gran tesoro y el caudal se infiere,
Es que al grande, al mediano, y al pequeño,
Todo se da de balde á quien lo quiere._
BALBUENA.
Here might be the place for enquiring how far the Doctor's opinions or
fancies upon this mysterious subject were original. His _notion_ he
used to call it; but a person to whom the reader will be introduced
ere long, and who regarded him with the highest admiration and the
profoundest respect, always spoke of it as the Columbian Theory of
Progressive Existence. Original indeed in the Doctor it was not; he
said that he had learned it from his poor Uncle William; but that
William Dove originated it himself there can be little doubt. From
books it was impossible that he should have derived it, because he
could not read; and nothing can be more unlikely than that he should
have met with it as a traditional opinion. The Doctor believed that
this poor Uncle, of whom he never spoke without some expression of
compassionate kindness, had deduced it intuitively as an inference
from his instinctive skill in physiognomy.
When subjects like these are treated of, it should be done discreetly.
There should be, in the words of Bishop Andrewes, “_Οἰκονομία_, a
dispensation, not a dissipation; a laying forth, not _διασκορπισμος_,
a casting away; a wary sowing, not a heedless scattering; and a sowing
_χεὶρι, οὐ θυλακῃ_, by handfulls, not by basket-fulls, as the
heathen-man well said.” Bearing this in mind I have given a
Chapterfull, not a Volumefull, and that Chapter is for physiologists
and philosophers; but this Opus is not intended for them alone; they
constitute but a part only of that “fit audience” and not “few,” which
it will find.
One Andrew Henderson, a Scotchman, who kept a bookseller's shop, or
stand, in Westminster Hall, at a time when lawyers' tongues and
witnesses' souls were not the only commodities exposed for sale there,
published a tragedy, called “Arsinoe, or The Incestuous Marriage.” The
story was Egyptian; but the drama deserves to be called Hendersonian,
after its incomparable author; for he assured the reader, in a
prefatory advertisement, that there were to be found in it “the most
convincing arguments against incest and self-murder, interspersed with
an inestimable treasure of ancient and modern learning, and the
substance of the principles of the illustrious Sir Isaac Newton,
adapted to the meanest capacity, and very entertaining to the Ladies,
containing a nice description of the passions and behaviour of the
Fair Sex.”
The Biographer, or Historian, or Anecdotist, or rather the reminiscent
relator of circumstances concerning the birth, parentage and
education, life, character and behaviour, of Dr. Daniel Dove, prefers
not so wide a claim upon the gratitude of his readers as Andrew
Henderson has advanced. Yet, like the author of “Arsinoe,” he trusts
that his work is “adapted to the meanest capacity;” that the lamb may
wade in it, though the elephant may swim, and also that it will be
found “very entertaining to the Ladies.” Indeed, he flatters himself
that it will be found profitable for old and young, for men and for
women, the married and the single, the idle and the studious, the
merry and the sad; that it may sometimes inspire the thoughtless with
thought, and sometimes beguile the careful of their cares. One thing
alone might hitherto seem wanting to render it a catholic, which is to
say, an universal book, and that is, that as there are Chapters in it
for the closet, for the library, for the breakfast room, for the
boudoir, (which is in modern habitations what the oriel was in ancient
ones,) for the drawing-room, and for the kitchen, if you please, (for
whatever you may think, good reader, I am of opinion, that books which
at once amuse and instruct, may be as useful to servant men and maids,
as to their masters and mistresses)—so should there be one at least
for the nursery. With such a chapter, therefore, will I brighten the
countenance of many a dear child, and gladden the heart of many a
happy father, and tender mother, and nepotious uncle or aunt, and fond
brother or sister;
_ἡδεῖαν φάτιν
Φεροίμεν ἀυτοῖς._[1]
For their sakes I will relate one of William Dove's stories, with
which he used to delight young Daniel, and with which the Doctor in
his turn used to delight his young favourites; and which never fails
of effect with that fit audience for which it is designed, if it be
told with dramatic spirit, in the manner that our way of printing it
may sufficiently indicate, without the aid of musical notation.
_Experto crede._ Prick up your ears then,
“My good little women and men;”[2]
and ye who are neither so little, nor so good, _favete linguis_, for
here follows the Story of the Three Bears.
[Footnote 1: SOPHOCLES.]
[Footnote 2: SOUTHEY.]
THE STORY OF THE THREE BEARS.
A tale which may content the minds
Of learned men and grave philosophers.
GASCOYNE.
Once upon a time there were Three Bears, who lived together in a house
of their own, in a wood. One of them was a Little, Small, Wee Bear;
and one was a Middle-sized Bear, and the other was a Great, Huge Bear.
They had each a pot for their porridge, a little pot for the Little,
Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized pot for the Middle Bear, and a
great pot for the Great, Huge Bear. And they had each a chair to sit
in; a little chair for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized
chair for the Middle Bear; and a great chair for the Great, Huge Bear.
And they had each a bed to sleep in; a little bed for the Little,
Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized bed for the Middle Bear; and a
great bed for the Great, Huge Bear.
One day, after they had made the porridge for their breakfast, and
poured it into their porridge-pots, they walked out into the wood
while the porridge was cooling, that they might not burn their mouths,
by beginning too soon to eat it. And while they were walking, a little
old Woman came to the house. She could not have been a good, honest
old Woman; for first she looked in at the window, and then she peeped
in at the keyhole; and seeing nobody in the house, she lifted the
latch. The door was not fastened, because the Bears were good Bears,
who did nobody any harm, and never suspected that any body would harm
them. So the little old Woman opened the door, and went in; and well
pleased she was when she saw the porridge on the table. If she had
been a good little old Woman, she would have waited till the Bears
came home, and then, perhaps, they would have asked her to breakfast;
for they were good Bears,—a little rough or so, as the manner of Bears
is, but for all that very good natured and hospitable. But she was an
impudent, bad old Woman, and set about helping herself.
So first she tasted the porridge of the Great, Huge Bear, and that was
too hot for her; and she said a bad word about that. And then she
tasted the porridge of the Middle Bear, and that was too cold for her;
and she said a bad word about that, too. And then she went to the
porridge of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and tasted that; and that was
neither too hot, nor too cold, but just right; and she liked it so
well, that she ate it all up: but the naughty old Woman said a bad
word about the little porridge-pot, because it did not hold enough for
her.
Then the little old Woman sate down in the chair of the Great Huge
Bear, and that was too hard for her. And then she sate down in the
chair of the Middle Bear, and that was too soft for her. And then she
sate down in the chair of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and that was
neither too hard, nor too soft, but just right. So she seated herself
in it, and there she sate till the bottom of the chair came out, and
down came hers, plump upon the ground. And the naughty old Woman said
a wicked word about that too.
Then the little old Woman went up stairs into the bed-chamber in which
the three Bears slept. And first she lay down upon the bed of the
Great, Huge Bear; but that was too high at the head for her. And next
she lay down upon the bed of the Middle Bear; and that was too high at
the foot for her. And then she lay down upon the bed of the Little,
Small, Wee Bear; and that was neither too high at the head, nor at the
foot, but just right. So she covered herself up comfortably, and lay
there till she fell fast asleep.
By this time the Three Bears thought their porridge would be cool
enough; so they came home to breakfast. Now the little old Woman had
left the spoon of the Great, Huge Bear, standing in his porridge.
“_Somebody has been at my porridge!_”
said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice. And when
the Middle Bear looked at his, he saw that the spoon was standing in
it too. They were wooden spoons; if they had been silver ones, the
naughty old Woman would have put them in her pocket.
“Somebody has been at my porridge!”
said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice.
Then the Little, Small, Wee Bear, looked at his, and there was the
spoon in the porridge-pot, but the porridge was all gone.
“_Somebody has been at my porridge, and has eaten it all up!_”
said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.
Upon this the Three Bears, seeing that some one had entered their
house, and eaten up the Little, Small, Wee Bear's breakfast, began to
look about them. Now the little old Woman had not put the hard cushion
straight when she rose from the chair of the Great, Huge Bear.
“_Somebody has been sitting in my chair!_”
said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice.
And the little old Woman had squatted down the soft cushion of the
Middle Bear.
“Somebody has been sitting in my chair!”
said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice.
And you know what the little old Woman had done to the third chair.
“_Somebody has been sitting in my chair, and has sate the bottom of
it out!_”
said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.
Then the Three Bears thought it necessary that they should make
farther search; so they went up stairs into their bed-chamber. Now the
little old Woman had pulled the pillow of the Great, Huge Bear, out of
its place.
“_Somebody has been lying in my bed!_”
said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice.
And the little old Woman had pulled the bolster of the Middle Bear out
of its place.
“Somebody has been lying in my bed!”
said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice.
And when the Little, Small, Wee Bear, came to look at his bed, there
was the bolster in its place; and the pillow in its place upon the
bolster; and upon the pillow was the little old Woman's ugly, dirty
head,—which was not in its place, for she had no business there.
“_Somebody has been lying in my bed,—and here she is!_”
said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.
The little old Woman had heard in her sleep the great, rough, gruff
voice, of the Great, Huge Bear; but she was so fast asleep that it was
no more to her than the roaring of wind, or the rumbling of thunder.
And she had heard the middle voice of the Middle Bear, but it was only
as if she had heard some one speaking in a dream. But when she heard
the little, small, wee voice, of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, it was
so sharp, and so shrill, that it awakened her at once. Up she started;
and when she saw the Three Bears on one side of the bed, she tumbled
herself out at the other, and ran to the window. Now the window was
open, because the Bears, like good, tidy Bears, as they were, always
opened their bed-chamber window when they got up in the morning. Out
the little old Woman jumped; and whether she broke her neck in the
fall; or ran into the wood and was lost there; or found her way out of
the wood, and was taken up by the constable and sent to the House of
Correction for a vagrant as she was, I cannot tell. But the Three
Bears never saw any thing more of her.