1856.] POETS AND FISHERS. C. K. 29 But think just of the plants which stuff'd our box, (old Yarrel's gift,) And of those which might have stuff'd it if the clouds had given a lift; Of tramping bogs, and climbing cliffs, and shoving down stone fences For Spiderwort, Saussurea, and Woodsia ilvensis. T. H. Oh my dear namesake's breeches, you never see the like, T. T. But can we say enough of those legs of mountain muttons, And that onion sauce lies on our souls, for it made of us three gluttons, And the Dublin stout is genuine, and so's the Burton beer; And the apple tarts they've won our hearts, and think of soufflets here! C. K. Resembling that old woman that never could be quiet, Though victuals (says the child's song) and drink formed all their diet: T. H. Now all I've got to say is, you can't be better treated; Order pancakes and you'll find they're the best you ever eated. If you scramble o'er the mountains you should bring an ordnance map. I endorse all as previous gents have said about the tap. T. T. Pen-y-gwryd, when wet and worn has kept a warm fireside for us, T. H. T. T. C. K. Nos tres in uno juncti hos fesimus versiculos; Tomas piscator pisces qui non cepi sed pisciculos, T. H. There's big trout I hear in Edno, likewise in Gwynant lake, If you think to catch big fishes I only Hope you may. T. T. I have come in for more of mountain gloom than mountain glory, But I've seen old Snowdon rear his head with storm-tossed mist wreaths hoary; I stood in the fight of mountain winds upon Bwlch-Cwm-y-Llan, And I go back an unsketching but a better minded man. C. K. And I too have another debt to pay another way, For kindness shown by these good souls to one who's far away, For one who seeks strange birds and flowers on far Australia's shore. In the course of the autumn several American friends, including Mrs. Beecher Stowe, made pilgrimages to Eversley; among them one from the Southern States thus recalls the Rectory life in 1856: . . . . It is your own fault if Eversley does no more seem to me a name. When I think of Mrs. Kingsley and of you I seem to myself to be sitting with you still in those quaint old rooms. Still Maurice comes by with an insect or a flower, or just a general wonder and life in his eyes-still I hear the merry laugh of the little Princess, and see Dandy lying lazy, smiling and winking in the sun; and I fill my olive-wood pipe, and saunter in and out of the aromatic old study, and lounge, a new man and a happier one, on the sloping green lawn, under the good old fir-trees. And so I talk on as if I were with friends long known, and known long to be cherished much. All of which is wholly your fault and Mrs. Kingsley's. If you are not too busy, I am sure you will write and tell me how the novel advances (Two Years Ago!), and how Eversley in all its regions is. ... CHAPTER XV. THE FATHER IN HIS HOME-An Atmosphere of Joy-The OUTDOOR NURSERY-LIFE ON THE MOUNT-HAPPY SUNDAYS-FEAR AND FALSEHOOD-THE TRAINING OF LOVE-FAVOURITES AND FRIENDS IN The House, in THE STABLE, AND ON THE Lawn. WE must pause a moment in the midst of work and letters; we have seen the rector in his church and parish, and now must see the father in his home. "Cheerful ness or joyousness," said Jean Paul Richter, "is the atmosphere under which all things thrive—especially the young "—and with this atmosphere the parents tried to surround the children at the Rectory-not only as a means of present enjoyment, but as a tonic to brace the young creatures to meet the inevitable trials of life. They had the best of everything; the sunniest and largest rooms indoors; and because the house was on low ground, the grass sloping down from the churchyard, their father built them on the "Mount," — the highest and loveliest point of moorland in the glebe, a real bit of primæval forest—as an outdoor nursery, a hut, where they kept books, toys, and tea-things, and spent long happy days; and there he would join them when his parish work was done, bringing them some fresh treasure picked up in his walk, a choice wild flower or fern, or rare beetle, sometimes a lizard or a field-mouse; ever waking up their sense of wonder, calling out their powers of observation, and teaching them lessons out of God's great green book, without their knowing how much they were learning. And then the Sundays, the hardest day of the week to him, were bright to the children, who began the day with decking the graves in the dear churchyard, an example which the poor people learnt to follow, so that before Morning Service it looked like a flower garden; and when his day's work was done, however weary he might be, there was always the Sunday walk, a stroll on the moor, and some fresh object of natural beauty pointed out at every step. Indoors, the Sunday picture books were brought out. Each child had its own, and chose its subject for the father to draw, either some Bible story, or bird, or beast, or flower mentioned in Scripture. Happy Sundays! never associated with 1844-75.] THE TRAINING OF LOVE. 33 gloom or restrictions, but with God's works as well as His word, and with sermons that never wearied. Punishment was a thing little known in his house. Corporal punishment was never allowed. His own childish experience of the sense of degradation and unhealthy fear it produced, of the antagonism it called out between a child and its parents, a pupil and his teachers, gave him a horror of it. It had other evils, too, he considered, besides degrading both parties concerned. "More than half the lying of children," he said, “is, I believe, the result of fear, and the fear of punishment." On these grounds he made it a rule (from which he never departed,) not to take a child suspected of a fault, at unawares, by sudden question or hasty accusation, the stronger thus taking an unfair advantage of the weaker and defenceless creature, who, in the mere confusion of the moment, might be tempted to deny or equivocate. "Do we not," he asked, "pray daily, 'Lord, confound me not,' and shall we dare to confound our own children by sudden accusation, or angry suspicion, making them give evidence against themselves, when we don't allow a criminal to do that in a court of law? The finer the nature the more easily is it confounded, whether it be of child, dog, or horse. Suspicion destroys confidence between parent and child." "Do not train a child," he once said to a friend, "as men, train a horse, by letting anger and punishment be the first announcement of his having sinned. If you do, you induce two bad habits; first, the boy regards his parent with a kind of blind dread, as a being who may be offended by actions which to him are innocent, and whose wrath he expects to fall upon him any moment in his most pure and unselfish happiness. Alas! for such a childhood! Eidos Aéyw! Next, and worse still, the boy learns not to fear sin, but the punishment of it, VOL. II. D |