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"THOUGH trembling violently in the arms of the giantess, I became gradually self-assured by the sweet goodhumour of my nurse. She gazed and nodded smilingly at me, like a girl with a new doll; and although I felt distressed and humiliated, I nevertheless smiled-though I fear a wan, sickly smile- in acknowledgment of her tenderness. Then she threw me up in the air, and caught me again in her arms. Never before had I been so far from earth. My head swam, and my stomach-I had that day dined off eel-pie and goose-threatened treachery, when I heard a loud voice exclaim in the very purest English,-for the Turveytopians know all the languages of the earth,- Slut! baggage! Is that the way to toss and jolt a new-born babe?' Holding me in her arms, my nurse turned round, and I beheld in the speaker a matronly giantess, with a kind, motherly countenance. A pretty skittish thing you are to trust babies to,' she cried. Poor poppet,' and the benevolent gentlewoman wiped my nose, it doesn't look half an hour old; and yet here you are, throwing it up and churning its little bowels like butter.'-La, grandmother!' cried the girl, it doesn't mind it. See, if it doesn't laugh!' I certainly did grin. Laugh!' said the old dame; you know-nothing hoyden! laugh! Poor little heart, it's wind.' At this, I couldn't help it, I chuckled vigorously. 'There! if the dear lamb isn't choking,' cried the woman; away with it to the nursery, or you'll have its precious life upon your soul.' Instantly the girl hugged me to her bosom, cast her apron over nie, and ran-I thought she flew-with all her legs. I saw nothing until the girl carried me into a spacious, lofty room, which in a moment I knew must be the nursery. There were about twenty other infants, from a day to a week old; infants I must call them, though all of them were older than myself. Some were screaming, shouting, swearing in the most shocking manner that they

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were not babies, that they were men-wise, learned, authoritative men--and would shake the pillars of the heavens ere they would be treated as sucklings."

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"And what said the nurses?" we asked. "Oh, sir! what nurses usually say at such a time. They bawled and shouted too. Then they called the babies precious ducks,' darlings, apples of their eyes,' plagues,' and then precious ducks' again. There was an old dowager from the outside world-how she had ever wandered into Turveytop I know not-who, screaming like a catcall, begged to ask the wretches if they knew what they were about. Declared that she had a son lord chief justice, and then desired to know if she was to be

treated like a child."

"And what was the answer?" we inquired.

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None, sir," said the Hermit" none, save that the woman who was swathing and dressing her, shrilly sang a nursery song, and tossed her about like so much pie-crust. From this, I found that no big words, no struggling of mine, would prevail, and therefore meekly resigned myself. And, sir, I had my reward; for having been properly powdered and swaddled, my nurse declared that I was the quietest dove of a babe she had ever handled; quite a lamb."

"And, pray forgive the question, did they really give you to a wet nurse?"

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They did, sir," answered the Hermit smiling, "and a very comfortable woman she was. It was wonderful how soon I accommodated myself to a milk diet. In a short time I seemed to have sucked in a serenity of soul. Recovered somewhat from the amazement of the day, I took counsel with myself in bed." "Delicious, peace-giving bed," we cried. The Hermit looked grave. Happy is the man," he answered," who can say peace-giving bed. For oh, sir! what a rack to the spirit of man may be found in goose-down! You do not seem to apprehend me? Consider, sir, what an unavoidable self-confessional is bed. Think, sir, what it is to have our conscience put to the question of goose-feathers. You are in bed, peace-giving bed, you say it is deep night; and in that solemn pause, you seem to feel the pulse to hear the very heart of time. You try to think of many things, but the spirit or demon of the bed sets up yourself before yourself-brings all your doings to the bar of your own conscience; and what a set of scurvy gaolbirds may be among them. They peep in at your curtains, crowd at the foot of your bed, and though you burn no rushlight, you see their leering, sneaking faces. Alas! you cannot disown them: you know that some time or other you have given them house-room in your soul, and like unclean things, they have repaid the hospitality with defilement. There they are, old co-mates, worn acquaintances; and yet the

world could not believe that, for a moment, you kept such company. Oh, no! abroad in the world you have all sorts of graces credited to you: alack! that night-cap and sheets should, to your own conscience, make you bankrupt. They make you know yourself hypocrite; stand before you, even though you lie in darkness, your polished, easy, cordial, out-door self-a man without a subterfuge, a soul without a meanness. And your head upon your pillow-if conscious blood beat at your heart-you blush for the counterfeit you have a thousand times put off upon the world, and shudder at the accusing naughtinesses about you. Peace-giving bed! It may be so; and it may be-oh, sir!" cried the sage of Belly fulle, "if all our faults, our little tricks, our petty cozenings, our bopeep moods with truth and justice, could be sent upon us in the blankets all embodied, sir, in fleas, how many of us of lily skins would get up spotted scarlet?"

"But surely, sir," said we, "you had no time for such remorseful thoughts in the nursery?" "No-not then," answered the Hermit. "Then, as I said, I took counsel with myself; and resolved, since the strangeness of my fate had cast me in Turveytop, to bear with meekness all that might befall me. The giant folk are wise, benevolent, I thought; else, wherefore should they seek to purge men of their wicked worldliness, taking them back to their first swaddling-hour, that they may learn the lesson of life anew? Yes; I will forget the scurvy wisdom that puffed my heart, and made me cock my cap, a knowing fellow. I will let the cunning, self-complacent, braggart creature die here where I am, and be taken up a baby— yea, a very suckling."

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This, sir," we said, cret to teach men."

"would be a rare se

"It was taught in Turveytop-truly taught; but I know not how it was, there was something in the place, the people, that after a time made the most stubborn of the babes apt and cunning pupils. For myself, I resolved upon docility; and lying where my nurse had placed me, I bade all my rascal thoughts depart; by a strong effort of the soul kicked from my brain many a shrewd deceit, that, in former days, I had treasured more than gold and jewels."

"And so," we said, with a laugh, "became a babe again?"

'What a delicious pause was that! How sweet that cleanliness of soul! There I lay in thoughts of lavender; for the babihood of Ťurveytop is not like our first childhood. There, man is not a midway thing, between two mysteries, the cradle and the coffin. No, sir; having purged my brain of its secreted wickedness, I was conscious of my sweet condition. I felt and rejoiced in my infancy of heart, and I have not forgotten its deliciousness. I was resolved

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to begin my life anew; and as a droll destiny had given me a nursling to the giants, I so played my part of babihood, that my nurse outsounded all her gossips with my praises. Thus, I never cried or whimpered, but suffered myself to be dressed and undressed, crowing the while, and walking up my nurse's knees and cooing and laughing in her lap. In this, as I have said, I found my account: in a fortnight I was short-coated, and in another fortnight was put upon my feet, for my nurse declared that in a week I should be able to walk alone. Many of my companions were less docile. There was one-he had been an admiral-who roared and swore in a terrible vein, and vowed he would only be quieted with pig-tail tobacco. Another,

VOL. II.

a weazened babe-a money-lender in former life- -was never silent but when he was allowed to wear his nurse's silver thimble on his head, he did so love the metal. Most of the children, however, lost by degrees the errors and weaknesses of their former days, and in time became span-new creatures."

"And pray, sir," we asked, "what term of probation did they pass, ere they were permitted to claim man's estate?"

"That depended upon the progress of the individual; for, with the Turveytopians the year of discretion was not fixed by the almanac, but by the wisdom and purity of the neophyte. There were, certainly, a few babies-I must still call them so-who had been in Turveytop

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for centuries. You are aware, sir, that it was the fashion with those sorry dogs the Romans, when any of their heroes were missing, to swear that they had been carried off by Mars, charioted by a clap of thunder. A flam, sir-a political flam-to double-gild the memory of ruffians. The truth is, they were taken to Turveytop, and there they still remain; they are such hopeless blockheads, they can learn nothing good and peaceable. There, they are vermin-hunters to the giants, waging war with the rats and mice; no child's sport, sir, when you consider the strength and immensity of the beasts. Poor King Arthur, whom the Welshmen look for-and King Sebastian, still expected by all believing Portuguese-both of them are in Turveytop, and there, I think, are likely to remain. Arthur, the mirror of knighthood, is a sulky, watery-headed lout, continually robbing the other children of their nuts and apples-throwing sticks at the legs of flies, and slily sticking pins into the youngest babies. The Welshmen believe in Arthur's return, faithfully as in leeks; but, sir, the Turveytopians knew that he would only spoil his reputation, so keep him where he is. And for the good King Sebastian, who, nearly three hundred years ago, passed into Africa, to cut Moorish throats, he was spirited off to Turveytop, to be taught fair dealing."

"And how has the teaching prospered?" we inquired.

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Very badly, sir," answered the Hermit. "I don't know how it is, but the heroes and wise folks of our world become sad lubbers and dunces among the giants. I have seen King Sebastian seated with twenty other kings and legislators, all of them famous upon our earth for their justice and wisdom; I have seen them, each with a piece of chalk between his fingers, vainly trying to draw a straight line. For centuries have they in Turveytop been set to do such simple task, before they should be permitted to return to their old world again; yet has no one of them accomplished it. No, sir; there is not one of them who does not draw zig-zag. And the best of it is, each of them swears that his own crookedness is the straightest of the straight. The Turveytop geometrician shakes his head with a mild pity, whereupon the late kings and lawmakers sulk, and, in a low voice, swear at him. Fate alone can tell when poor Sebastian will get to Portugal again. A sad thing for him, sir," said the Hermit-" for I doubt not that there his worst zig-zag might pass for a perfect straight line. The dunces I have heard at school, too!"—and the Hermit sighed.

"Then they sent you all to school?" we observed.

"Assuredly," said the Hermit, "and to me sweet and pleasant was the academy. Not that

we were packed off, to be nailed to a form, as soon as we could lisp;-the Turveytopians are wiser, more benevolent ;-no-we sprawled and kicked about in the sun, and rode cock-horse upon the backs of snails, and took flying leaps upon grasshoppers, and tore our frocks, and rolled in puddles, and dirtied our faces, and ran thorns into our fingers-and, in short, did every other trick that endears a child to its parents. Yes, our constitution was suffered to strengthen like palm trees in the sun and air, and the alphabet was an unthought-of calamity, until we were at least seven years old. The girls were taken in hand at five; for women, sir, are somehow always in advance of us.' "Is that your faith?”

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"Is it not indisputable? Though Eve was younger than Adam, was she not more than a match for him? As for girls," said the Hermit with a gentle chuckle, I know not if it be not a great defect in their education that they are taught to read and write at all."

"It cannot be, sir," we cried. "What! rear the tender, blooming souls in ignorance?"

"Why not?" said the Hermit, stroking his chin, whilst his eye twinkled. "Why not, sir? Ignorance is the mother of admiration. Perhaps they'd love us all the better for it. Ha, my friend! you know not what mischief may be done when you teach a girl to spell, and put a pen in her hand. It's adding weapons of offence where there was more than enough before. 'Tis like giving another quill to a porcupine. Relentless souls, how many of them will write! Man,--let him be praised, though praised in a whisper for it!-has his fits of lordly idleness, his accidental headache in the morning, and he turns from his standish as from a nauseous draught, and his grey goose feather rises upon his stomach as though it were the bird's yesterday's flesh; and so, taking his hat, he lounges abroad hugging his laziness and dearly loving it; or he sits in his chair, the world unthought of, spinning upon its axis, and he, in sweetest independence, twiddling his thumbs. Not so with woman, sir; she has no idleness, not she; that blot darkens not the crystal purity of her resolution. She, like frail bibulous man, has never one of his headaches! No, sir, the world gets no such respite. Fatally industrious, and sweetly temperate, your writing woman, like a cuttle-fish, secretes ink for every day."

""Twill go ill with you," said we to the sage, "should woman write your epitaph."

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Nay, her gratitude will protect me," answered the Hermit, "seeing that I shall then let her have what is dearest to the sex." "And what is that?" we asked.

"The last word," and the Hermit blandly smiled. "Nevertheless, sir, let what I have said rest between us. For the sex-blessings

on their honied hearts!-will forgive wrong, outrage, perjury sworn ten times deep-anything against their quiet, but a jest. Break a woman's heart, and she'll fit the pieces toge ther, and, with a smile, assure the penitent that no mischief is done-indeed, and indeed, she was never better. Break a joke, light as waterbubble, upon her constancy, her magnanimity -nay, upon her cookery-and take good heed; she declares war-war to the scissors. There was my great aunt Dorcas. Poor soul! Her husband had tried the woman a hundred cruel ways, and found her, as her own mother declared, quite an angel. Her heart had been broken many, many years; and yet so well do women repair the ravages of time and accident, nobody would ever have thought it. Well, sir, this woman, who had endured wrong, neglect-nay, some did whisper, the slight of infidelity, to boot-this woman, who, placidly as a saint in china, had smiled upon a husband's villanies, at length parted from the man upon a custard! Yes, sir: her tyrant of a mate-as he thought, poor wretch! pleasantly enough-flung a heavy joke, before company, too, upon his wife's pastry. The man had never been known to attempt a jest till then. Whereupon, aunt Dorcas said she had endured enough; there was a limit even to a wife's forbearance. She rose from the table, and died upon a separate maintenance."

"Pray, sir," we inquired, "has your philosophy fathomed the cause of all this?"

Tis in the deeper gravity of the sex," said the Hermit."Nay, sir, I mean it. They are shallow thinkers, sir, who declare women to be light and frivolous. Depend upon it, they take life much more in earnest than we do. Hence, sir, woman is rarely a joke-making animal. Far better than we does she know the perishable materials of which life is made, and takes serious care of them accordingly. And then, sir, the delicacy of the sex makes them shrink from a jest. Like pistol or small sword, it is a masculine weapon, and not to be intruded upon their gentle presence. No, sir; a woman may be brought to forgive bigamy, but not a joke.' "It may be so," said we; "but, sir, all this time we have wandered from Turveytop. were sent to school there, you say ?"

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"I was and there, indeed, the time went gaily by. Benevolent and gentle was the schoolmaster, and worthy of the honours lavished by the state upon him. Aye, sir, you may look; but in Turveytop the schoolmaster is not a half-drudge, half-executioner. No, sir; the importance, the solemnity, of his mission is conceded. Children are not sent to him with no more ceremony than if they were terrier-pups, packed to the farrier to have their tails docked and their ears rounded. In Turveytop, the schoolmaster is considered the

maker of the future people—the moral artificer of society. Hence, the state pays him peculiar consideration. It is allowed that his daily labours are in the immortal chambers of the mind-the mind of childhood, new from the Maker's hand, and undefiled by the earth. Hence, there is a solemnity, almost a sacredness, in the schoolmaster's function; upon him and his high and tender doings does the state of Turveytop depend, that its prisons shall be few. It is for him to wage a daily war with the gaoler. His work is truly glorious, for it is with childhood

beautiful childhood!" cried the Hermit passionately-"holy childhood, with still the bloom of its first home upon it! For, indeed, there is a sanctity about it--it is a bright new-comer from the world unknown, a creature with unfolded soul!-And yet, sir, are there not states where, whilst yet the creature draws its pauper milkof the same sort, by the way, that nurtured Abel-we give it to those fiends of earth, violence and wrong, and then scourge, imprison, hang the pupil for the teaching of its masters? Childhood, with its innocence killed in the very seed! Childhood, a fetid imp in rags, with fox-like, thievish eyes and lying breath, the foul weed of a city. Such, indeed, it is to the niceness of our senses, shrinking at the filth and whining of that world-wrinkled babe! But look at it aright, sir,"-cried the Hermit with new animation-translate its mutterings into their true meaning. What do you see?-what hear? The lineaments and cryings of an accusing demon; a giant thing of woe and mischief scowling and shrieking at the world that hath destroyed its holiness of life; that, seizing it, yea from the hand of its Maker, hath defaced the divinity of its impress, and made it devila devil to do a devil's mischief; then to be doomed and punished by a self-complacent world, that lays the demon in a felon's grave, and after, sighs and wrings the hands at human wickedness."

"In the strange land you speak of," we observed, wishing to divert the passion of the Hermit, for, indeed, he seemed strangely possessed," you said that childhood had its sacred claims allowed. There, all were taught-all tended. The schoolmaster, too, had high privileges?"

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"The highest," cried the sage, his light good-humour returning. Indeed, in Turveytop the schoolmasters may be said to take the place of our commanding soldiers. We give rank, distinction, high praises to generals and such folk for the cunning slaughter of their thousands. We take the foul smell out of bloodshed, and call men-quellers heroes. We give them gold lace, and stick feathers upon them, and hang them about with Orders of Saint Fire, Saint Pillage, and Saint Slaughter. We strip the skin from the innocent sheep to make

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