great juvenile classics are rich illustrations of this law, and they
have a "variety" as "infinite" as Cleopatra's, whilst they aim at a
purpose far more true and persistent than hers, and do not end with a
broken life and a serpent's sting. They are invariably _sensuous_ in
their imagery, but not _sensual_; and the great masters of the nursery
well know that the senses are not made to be earth-born drudges of the
flesh, but godly ministers of the spirit, and their true office is to
open the gates of the whole world of truth and goodness and beauty. All
who know the ways of true children will understand the distinction
between _sensual_ and _sensuous_ impression. Hold up before a true child
a ripe, red apple, or a bunch of purple grapes, and how the eye sparkles
and the hand reaches forth! But the desire expressed is half aspiration
and half appetite, and the dainty rises into ideal beauty under this
dear little aspirant's gaze, and is seen in a light quite other than
that which falls on a gourmand's table, after he is gorged with viands
and wine, and ends his gross banquet with a dessert of fruit which his
stupid and uncertain eye can hardly distinguish. The child is
_sensuous_, the gourmand is _sensual_. We should give the benefit of
this distinction to all of our authors who abound in graphic description
and encourage pictorial illustration. The senses should be skilfully
appealed to, and the higher spheres of the reason, conscience, and
affections may thus be effectually reached. Pictures, whether in words
or lines or colors, are symbols; and the child's mind is a rare master
of all the true symbolism of Nature and Art. There is no end to the
range of susceptibility in children to impressions from this source; and
all the chords of feeling and impulse, pathos and humor, seem waiting
and eager to be played upon. Instead of needing to be laboriously
schooled to pass from one emotion or mental state to another, they go by
alternations as easy as the changing feet that pass from a walk to a run
and back again, as if change were the necessity of Nature, not the work
of the striving will.

Our books for children should study this great law, and be free to go
"from grave to gay, from gentle to severe," as is the habit of all high
literature. They should not be afraid to let the child have a good
hearty laugh before or after telling him that he should study or should
pray. It is odd to see the rapid transitions through which