THE STORY OF THESE STORIES.

THIS little volume of prose and verse was compiled several years ago, and was destined for publication by our father and mother. It is, in fact, the collection of "Childish Articles," written for the "rising generation," which is alluded to in pp. 178, 196, of the second volume of the "Memorials of Thomas Hood," lately published.

Nearly every one of its chapters has some recollection associated with it. As a very tiny child, I might have been accosted with,—

"Why, then, I see Queen Mab has been with you;"

for "the little fairy that comes at night," and is so minutely described at page 90, was one of my earliest friends, and doubtless inspired many a dream of her enchanted realms.

Some of the tales were related to us when we were ill; when the little weary limbs were too

pe

weak to sit up, and the little eyes too dim and aching for us to read for ourselves. Then the tition of, "A story-only one little story!" was never refused by either of the tender parents who nursed and watched us so carefully. Only sometimes, when the favourite tale had been told over and over again, a mischievous variation would, in the spirit of fun, be slily and quietly introduced, and the catastrophe would be altered, so that the giant was not killed and the castle not taken. This deviation from the original narrative was, however, always greeted with such a rebellious reception, that it generally ended in the tale being told over again and more in accordance with the proper dramatic justice, of the giant slain, the castle surrendered, and the princess won.

Several of these little stories are supplied from memory, as they were told to us in those happy evenings that will never be forgottenevenings when the actual work needed for the day was over, and our dear father employed his few leisure moments by giving himself up to the amusement of his children. Then, in the dim twilight, by the flickering fire, we used to sit at his feet, and listen eagerly to tale, ballad, or history, according to the mood of the moment. And we were as happy as any eastern caliph-for our Sche

herazade never confined his active fancy to one land, and its manners and customs; but, as if borrowing the magic carpet of Prince Houssein, he took flight over all the globe. The customs and manners of other countries, the marvellous trees and plants of tropical climates, the course and names of the stars, the instinct and habits of animals, all these, gathered in the course of his extensive reading, assorted and arranged in fitting order for a child's understanding, were told, in clear and picturesque fashion, to our delighted

ears.

Of most of these, alas! after so many years of change, the very faintest memories have faded, and the few we have preserved here are all that remain, being necessarily but imperfect versions.

Other stories are from the pen of our motherthat gentle friend of our childhood, to whom we owe our first knowledge of all that is good and great. Through the whole course of a very troubled life, hers was always the loving heart and hand, ready to add to the enjoyment and instruction of her children. From her lips we never heard the answer so often obtained by restless, inquisitive children-"I have no time to attend to you!"-which might be rendered into the still more expressive Scotticism, "I canna be fashed!"

For, in spite of the heavy and incessant calls on her time, our mother made opportunities, not only to teach us, but to show us how best to teach ourselves a valuable lesson that too many parents ignore.

And it must be a great and almost sufficient reward even to such a mother, for a life of care and anxiety, to know that she leaves so precious and enduring a monument in the hearts of her children, and that all their earliest and happiest remembrances, after so many years of separation and sorrow, still live and blossom, sweetly and fondly, round her memory.

Two other papers in this little book were contributed many years ago, by old friends, to add to the collection.

We have not altered or departed from the original plan and constitution of it, beyond adding such little additional matter as was requisite to make up the volume.

FRANCES FREELING BRODERIP.

COSSINGTON, Nov. 1860.

FAIRY LAND;

OR,

RECREATION FOR THE RISING GENERATION.

F. L.

YOUTH AND AGE.

IMPATIENT of his childhood,

"Ah me!" exclaims young Arthur,
Whilst roving in the wild wood,
"I wish I were my father!"

Meanwhile, to see his Arthur
So skip, and play, and run,
"Ah me!" exclaims the father,
"I wish I were my son!"

T. H.

B