ccupied ourselves quite sufficiently with these novels, and
shall pass over "O.T." without further comment. Neither shall we bestow
any of our space upon "The Poet's Bazaar," which seems to be nothing
else than the Journal which the author may be supposed to have kept
during his second visit to Italy, when he also extended his travels into
Greece and Constantinople.

We take refuge in the nursery--we will listen to these tales for
children--we throw away the rigid pen of criticism--we will have a
story.

What precisely are the laws, what the critical rules, on which tales for
children should be written, we will by no means undertake to define. Are
they to contain nothing, in language or significance, beyond the
apprehension of the inmates of the nursery? It is a question which we
will not pretend to answer. Aristotle lays down nothing on the subject
in his "Poetici;" nor Mr Dunlop in his "History of Fiction." If this be
the law, if every thing must be level to the understanding of the
frock-and-trousers population, then these, and many other Tales for
Children, transgress against the first rule of their construction. How
often does the story turn, like the novels for elder people, upon a
marriage! Some king's son in disguise marries the beautiful princess.
What idea has a child of marriage?--unless the sugared plum-cake
distributed on such occasions comes in aid of his imagination. Marriage,
to the infantine intelligence, must mean fine dresses, and infinite
sweetmeats--a sort of juvenile party that is never to break up. Well,
and the notion serves to carry on the tale withal. The imagination
throws this temporary bridge over the gap, till time and experience
supply other architecture. Amongst this collection, is a story in which
vast importance is attached to a kiss. What can a curly-headed urchin,
who is kissing, or being kissed, all day long, know of the value that
may be given to what some versifier calls,

"The humid seal of soft affections!"

To our apprehension, it has always appeared that the best books for
children were those not written expressly for them, but which,
interesting to all readers, happened to fasten peculiarly upon the
youthful imagination,--such as "Robinson Crusoe," the "Arabian Nights,"
"Pilgrim's Progress," &c. It is quite true that in all these there is
much the child does not understand, but where there is something vividly
apprehended, there is an additional pleasure procured, and