ding in Parliament street, just where the street
commences as you leave Whitehall; and was making two young gentlemen
laugh heartily at something which he seemed to be relating.

* * * * *

COOKE'S EDITION OF THE BRITISH POETS.--In those times, Cooke's edition
of the British Poets came up. I had got an odd volume of Spenser; and
I fell passionately in love with Collins and Gray. How I loved those
little sixpenny numbers, containing whole poets! I doated on their
size; I doated on their type, on their ornaments, on their wrappers
containing lists of other poets, and on the engraving from Kirk. I
bought them over and over again, and used to get up select sets, which
disappeared like buttered crumpets; for I could resist neither giving
them away nor possessing them. When the master tormented me, when
I used to hate and loathe the sight of Homer, and Demosthenes, and
Cicero, I would comfort myself with thinking of the sixpence in my
pocket, with which I should go out to Paternoster Row, when school
was over, and buy another number of an English poet.

* * * * *

CHILDREN'S BOOKS: "SANDFORD AND MERTON."--The children's books
in those days were Hogarth's pictures taken in their most literal
acceptation. Every good boy was to ride in his coach, and be a lord
mayor; and every bad boy was to be hung, or eaten by lions. The
gingerbread was gilt, and the books were gilt like the gingerbread:
a "take in" the more gross, inasmuch as nothing could be plainer
or less dazzling than the books of the same boys when they grew a
little older. There was a lingering old ballad or so in favor of the
gallanter apprentices who tore out lions' hearts and astonished gazing
sultans; and in antiquarian corners, Percy's "Reliques" were preparing
a nobler age, both in poetry and prose. But the first counteraction
came, as it ought, in the shape of a new book for children. The pool
of mercenary and time-serving ethics was first blown over by the fresh
country breeze of Mr. Day's "Sandford and Merton," a production that
I well remember, and shall ever be grateful for. It came in aid of my
mother's perplexities, between delicacy and hardihood, between courage
and conscientiousness. It assisted the cheerfulness I inherited from
my father; showed me that circumstances were not to check a healthy
gaiety, or the most masculine self-respect; and helped to supply me
with the resolution of stand