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dency, cannot fail to engage respect for the Writers. We have frequently had occasion to applaud the good sense and ingenuity by which works of this description are characterized ; and we have indulged the hope, that the hints on education which they contain, though of course lost upon the juvenile reader, may be of service to their seniors, to whom books for children often form a vehicle of most important instruction. But, as for the little folks themselves, their capacities and tastes are either little studied or very imperfectly understood by the greater part of those who write for them or about them. Because a story is about children,-and what is a more delightful subject for narrative?-it is taken for granted that the relation must interest a child ; but this will depend upon the style of the relation. One great defect of such works is, that too much is attempted. Milk and water is a very insipid beverage, but it is often found to suit the stomach of a child better than milk, and certainly better than strong drink. Another mistake is, the almost exclusive attention that is paid in modern education, to the development of the intellectual powers, to the neglect of the childish affections. These, it is unnecessary to remark, require to be as watchfully cherished and trained as the faculties of the mind. The feelings and the affections must not be confounded; but, in the mind of a child, they are closely connected in natural harmony, and the development of the affections greatly depends upon a right impulse and direction being given to the feelings; and at no period of life is the agency of imagination, as a stimulant to sensibility, more useful or less likely to be injurious, if judiciously exercised.

We throw out these hints, suggested by the remark cited from Mrs. Watts's preface, in the hope that they may meet the eye of those writers whom they chiefly concern. With regard to the publications before us, as they are obviously not intended for very young children, our objections will not apply to them in their full force. We cannot, however, conceal our opinion, that Mr. Ackermann's delightful little volume fails remarkably in point of adaptation to youth of both sexes.' The Graves of * Infants' is an instance of the mistake to which we have alluded: the subject is a very interesting one-to mothers, but not, especially as there treated, to young persons. Mr. Hood's very clever verses, 'Playing at Soldiers', are the retrospections of manhood, not the ideas of childhood or youth. A similar remark will apply to other contributions not deficient in merit or interest, but ill-calculated, in our opinion, for a Juvenile Forgetme-not. Ladies generally understand these matters best; and accordingly, the volumes edited by Mrs. Watts and Mrs. Hall are much less open to this objection. In point of adaptation, we must give the preference, upon the whole, to the Juvenile Souvenir, though, among the contents of the Juvenile Forgetme-not, there are some delightful contributions. In the former volumé, ' How disagreeable ', is an excellent specimen of the proper style of narrative in works for children. Every child would understand and be interested by it; and the lesson is excellent. A ‘Conversation on Mineralogy' is very well managed, and very suitable. We like the 'puzzles': they are fit for the Christmas fire-side. Nor should we have rejected a few good enigmas and charades, much as they may be thought below the dignity of this enlightened age. The insertion of a 'Hymn' reminds us too, that we know of no good reason for excluding compositions of this description, except, indeed, the extreme difficulty of succeeding in it. But the Authors of “Hymns for Infant minds” have set an excellent model, and have shewn that the task is worthy of genius. The following verses, by Bernard Barton, are recommended by their simplicity.

GUY FAWKES.
• What changes by the lapse of years

Are silently imprest!
The terror of one age appears

Another's vulgar jest.
• When first the fearless, desperate aim

Of Guido Fawkes was known,
The very

mention of his name
Woke wonder's breathless tone.
- Wonder and awe, and hate and fear,

Were his,—but these are past;
And now the rabble’s gibe and jeer

Are on his memory cast.
· His ruthless daring has not won

Even pity's fruitless sigh;
For ragged urchins beg in fun,

“ A penny for Old Guy!”
• While he who, in Rome's earlier age,

Leaped in the gulf profound,
Still lives in history's votive page,

With deathless honours crowned.
May we not draw a moral hence,

Which sober thought should claim,
Viewing the striking difference

'Twixt infamy and fame ?
• The plotter built upon the sands

Of ruin and disgrace:
The patriot's self-devotion stands
On virtue's rock-like base.'

Juvenile Forget-me-not.

We have met with nothing among the poetical pieces in these volumes, that has pleased us so much as the very elegant lines entitled,

"THE SPANISH MAIDEN’S SONG TO THE MARVEL

OF PERU.

BY A WEST INDIAN.

6

· Wake up from thy sunset bower,
Spread thy leaves, my pretty flower !
Spread thy leaves, unclose thine eyes,
For the silver moon doth rise,
And the golden stars are coming,
And the beetle 's at his humming,
And the moth is from his bed,
And the cricket from his shed,
And the fire-fly comes to roam
With his lantern-light from home,
Briskly wandering here and there,
Up and down, and every where,
Whispering to each flower he sees,
“What a night, without a breeze !"
Though the winds be sunk to rest,
With the daylight in the west,
And no dew the night-air yields,
To refresh the withered fields,-
Yet beside this roof of leaves,
Where the rose its lattice weaves,
And the starry jasmines be,
Is a sweet cool home for thee;
There each coming eve I bring
Water from the crystal spring,
Showering on thy flow'ret curls
Glittering gems and silver pearls,
Twinkling ʼmid those leaves of thine,
Bright as stars seem when they shine.
Our Panchita *, when she dresses
With sweet blooms her raven tresses,
Bids me cull of

every

hue
Flowers that feed on midnight dew;
Those that never close their

eyes
To the bright moon in the skies.
Blossoms blue, and red, and white,
I've plucked for a wreath to-night,
Severing flowers that twine each other
As a sister clasps a brother;

* Panchita, the familiar name for Francisca. The Spanish ladies of America dress their hair in the evening with natural flowers.

These ere morn must withered be;
So I gather none from thee,
But, untouched through night's still noon,
Leave thy sweet flowers to the moon.
• Wake then from thy sunset bower;
Spread thy leaves, my pretty flower!
Spread thy leaves, unclose thine

eyes,
For the silver moon doth rise,
And the golden stars are coming,
And the beetle 's at his humming,
And the moth is from its bed,
And the cricket from his shed,
And the fire-fly comes to roam
With his lantern-light from home,
Briskly wandering here and there,
Up and down, and

every

where,
Whispering to each flower he sees,
“What a night, without a breeze !" !

Juvenile Forget-me-not.

In the same volume, there is a very pleasing American Tale, · The Travelling Tin-man', by Miss Leslie, from which, as giving the reader an insight into the manners and customs of Pennsylvany', we must make room for an extract.

• The tin-man came blowing his horn to the steps of the porch, and there stopping his cart, addressed the farmer's wife in the true nasal twang that characterizes the lower class of New Englanders, and inquired " if she had any notion of a bargain.” She replied that “she believed she had no occasion for any thing ;" her customary answer to all such questions. But Israel, who looked into futurity, and entertained views towards his own housekeeping, stepped forward to the tin cart, and began to take down and examine various mugs, pans, kettles, and coffee-pots,- the latter particularly; as he had a passion for coffee, which he secretly determined to indulge in both morning and evening as soon as he was settled in his domicile.

" " Mother,” said Amy, “ I do wish thee would buy a new coffeepot, for ours has been leaking all summer, and I have to stop it every morning with

rye meal. Thee knows we can give the old one to Israel.”

To be sure," replied Mrs. Warner, “it will do well enough for young beginners. But I cannot say I feel quite free to buy a new coffee-pot at this time. I must consider about it.”

." And there's the cullender,” said Orphy; or it has such a big crack at the bottom, that when I am smashing the squashes * for din

* The American name for Vegetable Marrow. VOL. IV.N.S.

3 G

man.

ner, not only the water, but the squashes themselves drip through. Better give it to Israel, and get a new one for ourselves.”. < " What's this?" she continued, taking up a water-dipper. «« That's for dipping water out of the bucket,” replied the tin

«« Oh yes,” cried Amy, “I've seen such a one at Rachel Johnson's. What a clever thing it is !--with a good long handle, so that there's no danger of splashing the water on our clothes. Do buy it, mother. Thee knows that Israel can have the big calebash: I patched it myself yesterday, where it was broken, and bound the edge with new tape; and now it 's as good as ever.”

"" I don't know”, said the farmer, “ that we want any thing but a new lantern, for ours had the socket burnt out long before these moonlight nights, and it 's dangerous work taking a candle into the stable."

The tin-man knowing our plain old farmers, though extremely liberal of every thing that is produced on their plantations, are, fres quently, very tenacious of coin, and much averse to parting with actual money, recommended his wares more on account of their cheapness, than their goodness, and, in fact, the price of most of the articles was two or three cents lower than they could be purchased for at the stores.

Old Micajah thought there was no absolute necessity for any thing except the lantern ; but his daughters were so importunate for the coffee-pot, the cullender, and the water-dipper, that, finally, all three were purchased and paid for. The tin-man in vain endeavoured to prevail on Mrs. Warner to buy some large patty pans, which the girls looked at with longing eyes; and he reminded them how pretty the pumpkin pies would look at their next quilting, baked in scollop-edged tins. But this purchase was peremptorily refused by the good Quaker woman; alleging that scollop-edged pies were all pride and vanity, and that if properly made, they were quite good enough baked in round plates.

The travelling merchant then produced divers boxes and phials of quack medicines, prepared at a celebrated manufactory of those articles, and duly sealed with the maker's own seal, and inscribed with his name in his own hand-writing. Among these, he said, "there were certain cures for every complaint in natur; drops for the agur, the tooth-ache, and the rheumatiz, salves for ring-worms, corns, frostbitten heels, and sore eyes, and pills for consumption and fall-févers : beside that most waluable of all physic, Swain's vormifuge." 1.4 9011

The young people exclaimed with one accord against the purchase of any of the medicines ; and business being over, the tin-man was invited by the farmer to sit down and take supper with the family; an invitation as freely accepted as given.

• The twilight was now closing, but the full moon had risen) and afforded sufficient light for the supper-table in the porch. The tinman took a seat, and before Mrs. Warner had finished her usual invi. tation to strangers of—"reach to, and help thyself; we are poor hands at inviting, but thee's welcome to it, such as it is; "-he had already cut himself a huge piece of the cold pork, and an enormous slice of bread. He next poured out a porringer of milk, to which he afterwards added one-third of the peach-pie, and several platefuls of rice

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