wonder-dilated eyes, and then burst out, "Oh, Piggy-wiggy,
Piggy-wiggy! You _are_ Piggy-wiggy." Probably she is now languishing in
the dungeon keep of Windsor Castle.

If the essence of the _Enfant Terrible_ is that he or she causes
profound embarrassment to the surrounding adults, the palm of
pre-eminence must be assigned to the children of a famous diplomatist,
who, some twenty years ago, organized a charade and performed it without
assistance from their elders. The scene displayed a Crusader knight
returning from the wars to his ancestral castle. At the castle gate he
was welcomed by his beautiful and rejoicing wife, to whom, after tender
salutations, he recounted his triumphs on the tented field and the
number of paynim whom he had slain. "And I too, my lord," replied his
wife, pointing with conscious pride to a long roll of dolls of various
sizes--"and I too, my lord, have not been idle." _Tableau_ indeed!

The argumentative child is scarcely less trying than the _Enfant
Terrible_. Miss Sellon, the foundress of English sisterhoods, adopted
and brought up in her convent at Devonport a little Irish waif who had
been made an orphan by the outbreak of cholera in 1849. The infant's
customs and manners, especially at table, were a perpetual trial to a
community of refined old maids. "Chew your food, Aileen," said Miss
Sellon. "If you please, mother, the whale didn't chew Jonah," was the
prompt reply of the little Romanist, who had been taught that the
examples of Holy Writ were for our imitation. Answers made in
examinations I forbear, as a rule, to quote, but one I must give,
because it so beautifully illustrates the value of ecclesiastical
observances in our elementary schools:--

_Vicar_. "Now, my dear, do you know what happened on Ascension Day?"

_Child_. "Yes, sir, please. We had buns and a swing."

Natural childhood should know nothing of social forms, and the
coachman's son who described his father's master as "the man that rides
in dad's carriage," showed a finely democratic instinct. But the
boastful child is a very unpleasant product of nature or of art. "We've
got a private master comes to teach us at home, but we ain't proud,
because Ma says it's sinful," quoth Morleena Kenwigs, under her mother's
instructions, when Nicholas Nickleby gave her French lessons. The infant
daughter of a country clergyman, drinking tea in the nursery of the
episcopal Palace, boasted that at the Vicarage they had a hen which