HERE I come to the very saddest part of all my story. I know some people
will only laugh at it, and call it much ado about nothing. But I know
one man who would not; and he was an officer with a pair of grey
moustaches as long as your arm, who said once in company that two of the
most heart-rending sights in the world, which moved him most to tears,
which he would do anything to prevent or remedy, were a child over a
broken toy and a child stealing sweets.
The company did not laugh at him; his moustaches were too long and too
grey for that: but, after he was gone, they called him sentimental and
so forth, all but one dear little old Quaker lady with a soul as white
as her cap, who was not, of course, generally partial to soldiers; and
she said very quietly, like a Quaker:
"Friends, it is borne upon my mind that that is a truly brave man."
[Illustration: "He crept away among the rocks, and got to the cabinet,
and behold! it was open."--_P. 172_.]
Now you may fancy that Tom was quite good, when he had everything that
he could want or wish: but you would be very much mistaken. Being quite
comfortable is a very good thing; but it does not make people good.
Indeed, it sometimes makes them naughty, as it has made the people in
America; and as it made the people in the Bible, who waxed fat and
kicked, like horses overfed and underworked. And I am very sorry to say
that this happened to little Tom. For he grew so fond of the
sea-bullseyes and sea-lollipops that his foolish little head could think
of nothing else: and he was always longing for more, and wondering when
the strange lady would come again and give him some, and what she would
give him, and how much, and whether she would give him more than the
others. And he thought of nothing but lollipops by day, and dreamt of
nothing else by night--and what happened then?
That he began to watch the lady to see where she kept the sweet things:
and began hiding, and sneaking, and following her about, and pretending
to be looking the other way, or going after something else, till he
found out that she kept them in a beautiful mother-of-pearl cabinet away
in a deep crack of the rocks.
And he longed to go to the cabinet, and yet he was afraid; and then he
longed again, and was less afraid; and at last, by continual thinking
about it, he longed so violently that he was not afraid at all. And one
night, when all the other children were asleep, and he could not sleep
for thinking of lollipops, he crept away among the rocks, and got to the
cabinet, and behold! it was open.
But, when he saw all the nice things inside, instead of being delighted,
he was quite frightened, and wished he had never come there. And then
he would only touch them, and he did; and then he would only taste one,
and he did; and then he would only eat one, and he did; and then he
would only eat two, and then three, and so on; and then he was terrified
lest she should come and catch him, and began gobbling them down so fast
that he did not taste them, or have any pleasure in them; and then he
felt sick, and would have only one more; and then only one more again;
and so on till he had eaten them all up.
And all the while, close behind him, stood Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid.
Some people may say, But why did she not keep her cupboard locked? Well,
I know.--It may seem a very strange thing, but she never does keep her
cupboard locked; every one may go and taste for themselves, and fare
accordingly. It is very odd, but so it is; and I am quite sure that she
knows best. Perhaps she wishes people to keep their fingers out of the
fire, by having them burned.
She took off her spectacles, because she did not like to see too much;
and in her pity she arched up her eyebrows into her very hair, and her
eyes grew so wide that they would have taken in all the sorrows of the
world, and filled with great big tears, as they too often do.
But all she said was:
"Ah, you poor little dear! you are just like all the rest."
But she said it to herself, and Tom neither heard nor saw her. Now, you
must not fancy that she was sentimental at all. If you do, and think
that she is going to let off you, or me, or any human being when we do
wrong, because she is too tender-hearted to punish us, then you will
find yourself very much mistaken, as many a man does every year and
every day.
But what did the strange fairy do when she saw all her lollipops eaten?
Did she fly at Tom, catch him by the scruff of the neck, hold him, howk
him, hump him, hurry him, hit him, poke him, pull him, pinch him, pound
him, put him in the corner, shake him, slap him, set him on a cold stone
to reconsider himself, and so forth?
Not a bit. You may watch her at work if you know where to find her. But
you will never see her do that. For, if she had, she knew quite well Tom
would have fought, and kicked, and bit, and said bad words, and turned
again that moment into a naughty little heathen chimney-sweep, with his
hand, like Ishmael's of old, against every man, and every man's hand
against him.
Did she question him, hurry him, frighten him, threaten him, to make him
confess? Not a bit. You may see her, as I said, at her work often enough
if you know where to look for her: but you will never see her do that.
For, if she had, she would have tempted him to tell lies in his fright;
and that would have been worse for him, if possible, than even becoming
a heathen chimney-sweep again.
No. She leaves that for anxious parents and teachers (lazy ones, some
call them), who, instead of giving children a fair trial, such as they
would expect and demand for themselves, force them by fright to confess
their own faults--which is so cruel and unfair that no judge on the
bench dare do it to the wickedest thief or murderer, for the good
British law forbids it--ay, and even punish them to make them confess,
which is so detestable a crime that it is never committed now, save by
Inquisitors, and Kings of Naples, and a few other wretched people of
whom the world is weary. And then they say, "We have trained up the
child in the way he should go, and when he grew up he has departed from
it. Why then did Solomon say that he would not depart from it?" But
perhaps the way of beating, and hurrying, and frightening, and
questioning, was not the way that the child should go; for it is not
even the way in which a colt should go if you want to break it in and
make it a quiet serviceable horse.
Some folks may say, "Ah! but the Fairy does not need to do that if she
knows everything already." True. But, if she did not know, she would not
surely behave worse than a British judge and jury; and no more should
parents and teachers either.
So she just said nothing at all about the matter, not even when Tom came
next day with the rest for sweet things. He was horribly afraid of
coming: but he was still more afraid of staying away, lest any one
should suspect him. He was dreadfully afraid, too, lest there should be
no sweets--as was to be expected, he having eaten them all--and lest
then the fairy should inquire who had taken them. But, behold! she
pulled out just as many as ever, which astonished Tom, and frightened
him still more.
And, when the fairy looked him full in the face, he shook from head to
foot: however she gave him his share like the rest, and he thought
within himself that she could not have found him out.
But, when he put the sweets into his mouth, he hated the taste of them;
and they made him so sick that he had to get away as fast as he could;
and terribly sick he was, and very cross and unhappy, all the week
after.
Then, when next week came, he had his share again; and again the fairy
looked him full in the face; but more sadly than she had ever looked.
And he could not bear the sweets: but took them again in spite of
himself.
And when Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby came, he wanted to be cuddled like
the rest; but she said very seriously:
"I should like to cuddle you; but I cannot, you are so horny and
prickly."
And Tom looked at himself: and he was all over prickles, just like a
sea-egg.
Which was quite natural; for you must know and believe that people's
souls make their bodies just as a snail makes its shell (I am not
joking, my little man; I am in serious, solemn earnest). And therefore,
when Tom's soul grew all prickly with naughty tempers, his body could
not help growing prickly too, so that nobody would cuddle him, or play
with him, or even like to look at him.
What could Tom do now but go away and hide in a corner and cry? For
nobody would play with him, and he knew full well why.
And he was so miserable all that week that when the ugly fairy came and
looked at him once more full in the face, more seriously and sadly than
ever, he could stand it no longer, and thrust the sweetmeats away,
saying, "No, I don't want any: I can't bear them now," and then burst
out crying, poor little man, and told Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid every word
as it happened.
He was horribly frightened when he had done so; for he expected her to
punish him very severely. But, instead, she only took him up and kissed
him, which was not quite pleasant, for her chin was very bristly indeed;
but he was so lonely-hearted, he thought that rough kissing was better
than none.
"I will forgive you, little man," she said. "I always forgive every one
the moment they tell me the truth of their own accord."
"Then you will take away all these nasty prickles?"
"That is a very different matter. You put them there yourself, and only
you can take them away."
"But how can I do that?" asked Tom, crying afresh.
"Well, I think it is time for you to go to school; so I shall fetch you
a schoolmistress, who will teach you how to get rid of your prickles."
And so she went away.
Tom was frightened at the notion of a schoolmistress; for he thought she
would certainly come with a birch-rod or a cane; but he comforted
himself, at last, that she might be something like the old woman in
Vendale--which she was not in the least; for, when the fairy brought
her, she was the most beautiful little girl that ever was seen, with
long curls floating behind her like a golden cloud, and long robes
floating all round her like a silver one.
"There he is," said the fairy; "and you must teach him to be good,
whether you like or not."
"I know," said the little girl; but she did not seem quite to like, for
she put her finger in her mouth, and looked at Tom under her brows; and
Tom put his finger in his mouth, and looked at her under his brows, for
he was horribly ashamed of himself.
The little girl seemed hardly to know how to begin; and perhaps she
would never have begun at all if poor Tom had not burst out crying, and
begged her to teach him to be good and help him to cure his prickles;
and at that she grew so tender-hearted that she began teaching him as
prettily as ever child was taught in the world.
And what did the little girl teach Tom? She taught him, first, what you
have been taught ever since you said your first prayers at your mother's
knees; but she taught him much more simply. For the lessons in that
world, my child, have no such hard words in them as the lessons in
this, and therefore the water-babies like them better than you like your
lessons, and long to learn them more and more; and grown men cannot
puzzle nor quarrel over their meaning, as they do here on land; for
those lessons all rise clear and pure, like the Test out of Overton
Pool, out of the everlasting ground of all life and truth.
So she taught Tom every day in the week; only on Sundays she always went
away home, and the kind fairy took her place. And before she had taught
Tom many Sundays, his prickles had vanished quite away, and his skin was
smooth and clean again.
"Dear me!" said the little girl; "why, I know you now. You are the very
same little chimney-sweep who came into my bedroom."
"Dear me!" cried Tom. "And I know you, too, now. You are the very little
white lady whom I saw in bed." And he jumped at her, and longed to hug
and kiss her; but did not, remembering that she was a lady born; so he
only jumped round and round her till he was quite tired.
And then they began telling each other all their story--how he had got
into the water, and she had fallen over the rock; and how he had swum
down to the sea, and how she had flown out of the window; and how this,
that, and the other, till it was all talked out: and then they both
began over again, and I can't say which of the two talked fastest.
And then they set to work at their lessons again, and both liked them
so well that they went on well till seven full years were past and gone.
You may fancy that Tom was quite content and happy all those seven
years; but the truth is, he was not. He had always one thing on his
mind, and that was--where little Ellie went, when she went home on
Sundays.
To a very beautiful place, she said.
But what was the beautiful place like, and where was it?
Ah! that is just what she could not say. And it is strange, but true,
that no one can say; and that those who have been oftenest in it, or
even nearest to it, can say least about it, and make people understand
least what it is like. There are a good many folks about the
Other-end-of-Nowhere (where Tom went afterwards), who pretend to know it
from north to south as well as if they had been penny postmen there;
but, as they are safe at the Other-end-of-Nowhere, nine hundred and
ninety-nine million miles away, what they say cannot concern us.
But the dear, sweet, loving, wise, good, self-sacrificing people, who
really go there, can never tell you anything about it, save that it is
the most beautiful place in all the world; and, if you ask them more,
they grow modest, and hold their peace, for fear of being laughed at;
and quite right they are.
So all that good little Ellie could say was, that it was worth all the
rest of the world put together. And of course that only made Tom the
more anxious to go likewise.
"Miss Ellie," he said at last, "I will know why I cannot go with you
when you go home on Sundays, or I shall have no peace, and give you none
either."
"You must ask the fairies that."
So when the fairy, Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid, came next, Tom asked her.
"Little boys who are only fit to play with sea-beasts cannot go there,"
she said. "Those who go there must go first where they do not like, and
do what they do not like, and help somebody they do not like."
"Why, did Ellie do that?"
"Ask her."
And Ellie blushed, and said, "Yes, Tom; I did not like coming here at
first; I was so much happier at home, where it is always Sunday. And I
was afraid of you, Tom, at first,--because--because----"
"Because I was all over prickles? But I am not prickly now, am I, Miss
Ellie?"
"No," said Ellie. "I like you very much now; and I like coming here,
too."
"And perhaps," said the fairy, "you will learn to like going where you
don't like, and helping some one that you don't like, as Ellie has."
But Tom put his finger in his mouth, and hung his head down; for he did
not see that at all.
So when Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby came, Tom asked her; for he thought in
his little head, She is not so strict as her sister, and perhaps she
may let me off more easily.
Ah, Tom, Tom, silly fellow! and yet I don't know why I should blame you,
while so many grown people have got the very same notion in their heads.
But, when they try it, they get just the same answer as Tom did. For,
when he asked the second fairy, she told him just what the first did,
and in the very same words.
Tom was very unhappy at that. And, when Ellie went home on Sunday, he
fretted and cried all day, and did not care to listen to the fairy's
stories about good children, though they were prettier than ever.
Indeed, the more he overheard of them, the less he liked to listen,
because they were all about children who did what they did not like, and
took trouble for other people, and worked to feed their little brothers
and sisters instead of caring only for their play. And, when she began
to tell a story about a holy child in old times, who was martyred by the
heathen because it would not worship idols, Tom could bear no more, and
ran away and hid among the rocks.
And, when Ellie came back, he was shy with her, because he fancied she
looked down on him, and thought him a coward. And then he grew quite
cross with her, because she was superior to him, and did what he could
not do. And poor Ellie was quite surprised and sad; and at last Tom
burst out crying; but he would not tell her what was really in his
mind.
And all the while he was eaten up with curiosity to know where Ellie
went to; so that he began not to care for his playmates, or for the
sea-palace or anything else. But perhaps that made matters all the
easier for him; for he grew so discontented with everything round him
that he did not care to stay, and did not care where he went.
"Well," he said, at last, "I am so miserable here, I'll go; if only you
will go with me?"
"Ah!" said Ellie, "I wish I might; but the worst of it is, that the
fairy says that you must go alone if you go at all. Now don't poke that
poor crab about, Tom" (for he was feeling very naughty and mischievous),
"or the fairy will have to punish you."
Tom was very nearly saying, "I don't care if she does"; but he stopped
himself in time.
"I know what she wants me to do," he said, whining most dolefully. "She
wants me to go after that horrid old Grimes. I don't like him, that's
certain. And if I find him, he will turn me into a chimney-sweep again,
I know. That's what I have been afraid of all along."
"No, he won't--I know as much as that. Nobody can turn water-babies into
sweeps, or hurt them at all, as long as they are good."
"Ah," said naughty Tom, "I see what you want; you are persuading me all
along to go, because you are tired of me, and want to get rid of me."
Little Ellie opened her eyes very wide at that, and they were all
brimming over with tears.
"Oh, Tom, Tom!" she said, very mournfully--and then she cried, "Oh, Tom!
where are you?"
And Tom cried, "Oh, Ellie, where are you?"
For neither of them could see each other--not the least. Little Ellie
vanished quite away, and Tom heard her voice calling him, and growing
smaller and smaller, and fainter and fainter, till all was silent.
Who was frightened then but Tom? He swam up and down among the rocks,
into all the halls and chambers, faster than ever he swam before, but
could not find her. He shouted after her, but she did not answer; he
asked all the other children, but they had not seen her; and at last he
went up to the top of the water and began crying and screaming for Mrs.
Bedonebyasyoudid--which perhaps was the best thing to do--for she came
in a moment.
"Oh!" said Tom. "Oh dear, oh dear! I have been naughty to Ellie, and I
have killed her--I know I have killed her."
"Not quite that," said the fairy; "but I have sent her away home, and
she will not come back again for I do not know how long."
And at that Tom cried so bitterly that the salt sea was swelled with his
tears, and the tide was .3,954,620,819 of an inch higher than it had
been the day before: but perhaps that was owing to the waxing of the
moon. It may have been so; but it is considered right in the new
philosophy, you know, to give spiritual causes for physical
phenomena--especially in parlour-tables; and, of course, physical
causes for spiritual ones, like thinking, and praying, and knowing right
from wrong. And so they odds it till it comes even, as folks say down in
Berkshire.
"How cruel of you to send Ellie away!" sobbed Tom. "However, I will find
her again, if I go to the world's end to look for her."
The fairy did not slap Tom, and tell him to hold his tongue: but she
took him on her lap very kindly, just as her sister would have done; and
put him in mind how it was not her fault, because she was wound up
inside, like watches, and could not help doing things whether she liked
or not. And then she told him how he had been in the nursery long
enough, and must go out now and see the world, if he intended ever to be
a man; and how he must go all alone by himself, as every one else that
ever was born has to go, and see with his own eyes, and smell with his
own nose, and make his own bed and lie on it, and burn his own fingers
if he put them into the fire. And then she told him how many fine things
there were to be seen in the world, and what an odd, curious, pleasant,
orderly, respectable, well-managed, and, on the whole, successful (as,
indeed, might have been expected) sort of a place it was, if people
would only be tolerably brave and honest and good in it; and then she
told him not to be afraid of anything he met, for nothing would harm him
if he remembered all his lessons, and did what he knew was right. And at
last she comforted poor little Tom so much that he was quite eager to
go, and wanted to set out that minute. "Only," he said, "if I might see
Ellie once before I went!"
"Why do you want that?"
"Because--because I should be so much happier if I thought she had
forgiven me."
And in the twinkling of an eye there stood Ellie, smiling, and looking
so happy that Tom longed to kiss her; but was still afraid it would not
be respectful, because she was a lady born.
"I am going, Ellie!" said Tom. "I am going, if it is to the world's end.
But I don't like going at all, and that's the truth."
"Pooh! pooh! pooh!" said the fairy. "You will like it very well indeed,
you little rogue, and you know that at the bottom of your heart. But if
you don't, I will make you like it. Come here, and see what happens to
people who do only what is pleasant."
And she took out of one of her cupboards (she had all sorts of
mysterious cupboards in the cracks of the rocks) the most wonderful
waterproof book, full of such photographs as never were seen. For she
had found out photography (and this is a fact) more than 13,598,000
years before anybody was born; and, what is more, her photographs did
not merely represent light and shade, as ours do, but colour also, and
all colours, as you may see if you look at a blackcock's tail, or a
butterfly's wing, or indeed most things that are or can be, so to speak.
And therefore her photographs were very curious and famous, and the
children looked with great delight for the opening of the book.
And on the title-page was written, "The History of the great and famous
nation of the Doasyoulikes, who came away from the country of Hardwork,
because they wanted to play on the Jews' harp all day long."
In the first picture they saw these Doasyoulikes living in the land of
Readymade, at the foot of the Happy-go-lucky Mountains, where flapdoodle
grows wild; and if you want to know what that is, you must read Peter
Simple.
They lived very much such a life as those jolly old Greeks in Sicily,
whom you may see painted on the ancient vases, and really there seemed
to be great excuses for them, for they had no need to work.
Instead of houses they lived in the beautiful caves of tufa, and bathed
in the warm springs three times a day; and, as for clothes, it was so
warm there that the gentlemen walked about in little beside a cocked hat
and a pair of straps, or some light summer tackle of that kind; and the
ladies all gathered gossamer in autumn (when they were not too lazy) to
make their winter dresses.
They were very fond of music, but it was too much trouble to learn the
piano or the violin; and as for dancing, that would have been too great
an exertion. So they sat on ant-hills all day long, and played on the
Jews' harp; and, if the ants bit them, why they just got up and went to
the next ant-hill, till they were bitten there likewise.
And they sat under the flapdoodle-trees, and let the flapdoodle drop
into their mouths; and under the vines, and squeezed the grape-juice
down their throats; and, if any little pigs ran about ready roasted,
crying, "Come and eat me," as was their fashion in that country, they
waited till the pigs ran against their mouths, and then took a bite, and
were content, just as so many oysters would have been.
They needed no weapons, for no enemies ever came near their land; and no
tools, for everything was readymade to their hand; and the stern old
fairy Necessity never came near them to hunt them up, and make them use
their wits, or die.
And so on, and so on, and so on, till there were never such comfortable,
easy-going, happy-go-lucky people in the world.
"Well, that is a jolly life," said Tom.
"You think so?" said the fairy. "Do you see that great peaked mountain
there behind," said the fairy, "with smoke coming out of its top?"
"Yes."
"And do you see all those ashes, and slag, and cinders lying about?"
"Yes."
"Then turn over the next five hundred years, and you will see what
happens next."
And behold the mountain had blown up like a barrel of gunpowder, and
then boiled over like a kettle; whereby one-third of the Doasyoulikes
were blown into the air, and another third were smothered in ashes; so
that there was only one-third left.
"You see," said the fairy, "what comes of living on a burning mountain."
"Oh, why did you not warn them?" said little Ellie.
"I did warn them all that I could. I let the smoke come out of the
mountain; and wherever there is smoke there is fire. And I laid the
ashes and cinders all about; and wherever there are cinders, cinders may
be again. But they did not like to face facts, my dears, as very few
people do; and so they invented a cock-and-bull story, which, I am sure,
I never told them, that the smoke was the breath of a giant, whom some
gods or other had buried under the mountain; and that the cinders were
what the dwarfs roasted the little pigs whole with; and other nonsense
of that kind. And, when folks are in that humour, I cannot teach them,
save by the good old birch-rod."
And then she turned over the next five hundred years: and there were the
remnant of the Doasyoulikes, doing as they liked, as before. They were
too lazy to move away from the mountain; so they said, If it has blown
up once, that is all the more reason that it should not blow up again.
And they were few in number: but they only said, The more the merrier,
but the fewer the better fare. However, that was not quite true; for all
the flapdoodle-trees were killed by the volcano, and they had eaten all
the roast pigs, who, of course, could not be expected to have little
ones. So they had to live very hard, on nuts and roots which they
scratched out of the ground with sticks. Some of them talked of sowing
corn, as their ancestors used to do, before they came into the land of
Readymade; but they had forgotten how to make ploughs (they had
forgotten even how to make Jews' harps by this time), and had eaten all
the seed-corn which they brought out of the land of Hardwork years
since; and of course it was too much trouble to go away and find more.
So they lived miserably on roots and nuts, and all the weakly little
children had great stomachs, and then died.
"Why," said Tom, "they are growing no better than savages."
"And look how ugly they are all getting," said Ellie.
"Yes; when people live on poor vegetables instead of roast beef and
plum-pudding, their jaws grow large, and their lips grow coarse, like
the poor Paddies who eat potatoes."
And she turned over the next five hundred years. And there they were all
living up in trees, and making nests to keep off the rain. And
underneath the trees lions were prowling about.
"Why," said Ellie, "the lions seem to have eaten a good many of them,
for there are very few left now."
"Yes," said the fairy; "you see it was only the strongest and most
active ones who could climb the trees, and so escape."
"But what great, hulking, broad-shouldered chaps they are," said Tom;
"they are a rough lot as ever I saw."
"Yes, they are getting very strong now; for the ladies will not marry
any but the very strongest and fiercest gentlemen, who can help them up
the trees out of the lions' way."
And she turned over the next five hundred years. And in that they were
fewer still, and stronger, and fiercer; but their feet had changed shape
very oddly, for they laid hold of the branches with their great toes, as
if they had been thumbs, just as a Hindoo tailor uses his toes to thread
his needle.
The children were very much surprised, and asked the fairy whether that
was her doing.
"Yes, and no," she said, smiling. "It was only those who could use their
feet as well as their hands who could get a good living: or, indeed, get
married; so that they got the best of everything, and starved out all
the rest; and those who are left keep up a regular breed of
toe-thumb-men, as a breed of short-horns, or skye-terriers, or fancy
pigeons is kept up."
"But there is a hairy one among them," said Ellie.
"Ah!" said the fairy, "that will be a great man in his time, and chief
of all the tribe."
And, when she turned over the next five hundred years, it was true.
For this hairy chief had had hairy children, and they hairier children
still; and every one wished to marry hairy husbands, and have hairy
children too; for the climate was growing so damp that none but the
hairy ones could live: all the rest coughed and sneezed, and had sore
throats, and went into consumptions, before they could grow up to be men
and women.
Then the fairy turned over the next five hundred years. And they were
fewer still.
"Why, there is one on the ground picking up roots," said Ellie, "and he
cannot walk upright."
No more he could; for in the same way that the shape of their feet had
altered, the shape of their backs had altered also.
"Why," cried Tom, "I declare they are all apes."
"Something fearfully like it, poor foolish creatures," said the fairy.
"They are grown so stupid now, that they can hardly think: for none of
them have used their wits for many hundred years. They have almost
forgotten, too, how to talk. For each stupid child forgot some of the
words it heard from its stupid parents, and had not wits enough to make
fresh words for itself. Beside, they are grown so fierce and suspicious
and brutal that they keep out of each other's way, and mope and sulk in
the dark forests, never hearing each other's voice, till they have
forgotten almost what speech is like. I am afraid they will all be apes
very soon, and all by doing only what they liked."
And in the next five hundred years they were all dead and gone, by bad
food and wild beasts and hunters; all except one tremendous old fellow
with jaws like a jack, who stood full seven feet high; and M. Du Chaillu
came up to him, and shot him, as he stood roaring and thumping his
breast. And he remembered that his ancestors had once been men, and
tried to say, "Am I not a man and a brother?" but had forgotten how to
use his tongue; and then he had tried to call for a doctor, but he had
forgotten the word for one. So all he said was "Ubboboo!" and died.
And that was the end of the great and jolly nation of the Doasyoulikes.
And, when Tom and Ellie came to the end of the book, they looked very
sad and solemn; and they had good reason so to do, for they really
fancied that the men were apes, and never thought, in their simplicity,
of asking whether the creatures had hippopotamus majors in their brains
or not; in which case, as you have been told already, they could not
possibly have been apes, though they were more apish than the apes of
all aperies.
"But could you not have saved them from becoming apes?" said little
Ellie, at last.
"At first, my dear; if only they would have behaved like men, and set to
work to do what they did not like. But the longer they waited, and
behaved like the dumb beasts, who only do what they like, the stupider
and clumsier they grew; till at last they were past all cure, for they
had thrown their own wits away. It is such things as this that help to
make me so ugly, that I know not when I shall grow fair."
"And where are they all now?" asked Ellie.
"Exactly where they ought to be, my dear."
"Yes!" said the fairy, solemnly, half to herself, as she closed the
wonderful book. "Folks say now that I can make beasts into men; by
circumstance, and selection, and competition, and so forth. Well,
perhaps they are right; and perhaps, again, they are wrong. That is one
of the seven things which I am forbidden to tell, till the coming of the
Cocqcigrues; and, at all events, it is no concern of theirs. Whatever
their ancestors were, men they are; and I advise them to behave as such,
and act accordingly. But let them recollect this, that there are two
sides to every question, and a downhill as well as an uphill road; and,
if I can turn beasts into men, I can, by the same laws of circumstance,
and selection, and competition, turn men into beasts. You were very near
being turned into a beast once or twice, little Tom. Indeed, if you had
not made up your mind to go on this journey, and see the world, like an
Englishman, I am not sure but that you would have ended as an eft in a
pond."
"Oh, dear me!" said Tom; "sooner than that, and be all over slime, I'll
go this minute, if it is to the world's end."
"And Nature, the old Nurse, took
The child upon her knee,
Saying, 'Here is a story book
Thy father hath written for thee.
"'Come wander with me,' she said,
'Into regions yet untrod,
And read what is still unread
In the Manuscripts of God.'
"And he wandered away and away
With Nature, the dear old Nurse,
Who sang to him night and day
The rhymes of the universe."
LONGFELLOW.