From The National Review. THE CHILDREN OF FICTION. IF it be asked how children have come to occupy their present prominent position in literature, I think that the reply must be that it is due in a great degree to the realistic tendency of modern fiction. we Love's of man's life a thing apart, know as a matter of daily experi ence that life is a very complex affair, and that love as understood by poets and writers of fiction plays in it a somewhat subordinate part. Lord Lytton According to Mr. Hall long ago drew attention to the fact that Caine, the tide is turning, and romance | marriage has a much greater influence is beginning to resume its former sway. on life than love. Men may or may not Howsoever this may be, the tide has marry the woman with whom they fancy been flowing in one direction for several they are in love; but if they marry at years, and that direction has been all, that fact more than any other detertowards an almost Pre-Raphaelite faith- mines the color of their lives. In a fulness of detail in depicting human good many modern novels the interest life. In romance pure and simple there begins with marriage. In the compliis no room for children. They may ap-cations which arise children must play pear for a moment to heighten some tragic scene; but the larger joys and sorrows of grown-up men and women must keep children in the background. the cold, calculating selfishness of Becky, than in the scene where Rawdon plays with his boy in the nursery, while Becky flirts with the hateful old Lord Steyne in the drawing-room. an important part, if for no other reason than that the better and the worse characteristics of parents are brought out in their treatment of their children. There From fiction which sets before itself, is no truer touch in Thackeray than the as its main object, such a picture of life different way in which Rawdon Crawas ordinary persons will recognize to be ley and Becky his wife - née Sharpe -a faithful representation of what they treat their infant son. It would have know to be true, children cannot be ex-been impossible to show more clearly cluded. The case was very different the tender-heartedness of the big, bluswhen the novel always closed with a tering, dull-witted soldier who hitherto wedding, or possibly more than one. has seemed to have no soul above bilLove was then the one theme of fiction. | liards and other games of chance, and Its jealousies, complications, cold and hot fits, troubles, trials, and delights were ever to the front. No one was deemed worthy of notice until he fell in love; no one retained any claim upon attention after he was happily married. We might, perhaps, be presented with a picture of family life in the very last chapter of the third volume. Children's laughter is heard in the corridors of the noble home which enshrines the loving hearts of Edwin and Angelina. Children, the very image of their parents at the same age, lie upon the lawn at their parents' feet. But they are mere shadows which flit before our gaze for a moment, and then are gone forever. They say nothing, and do nothing, and seem merely meant to assure the reader that there is no fear that the ancient families in which they have been taking such deep interest are likely to lack representatives in days to come. Whatever we may think of Lord Byron's oft-quoted dictum, No picture of life which does not include children can be true to nature in a wide and general view of the forces which make up the sum and substance of human existence. Writers of fiction possessed by the realistic tendency of the age have felt this and acted accordingly. The same tendency is seen in modern works of art. Modern painters have been careful to delineate both the humorous and the pathetic side of childlife. Let any one compare the pictures of the second half of the nineteenth century with those of a previous period, and he will be forced to admit that in art as well as in literature children now occupy a foremost position. Whether art or literature led the way in the new development is not easy to determine. Probably the change was simultaneous. The remarkable thing is that it did not | the main motive is far removed from happen sooner. Writers have always the joys and sorrows of childhood, they felt the need of new interests; it is come in to brighten pages which might strange that they did not long ago per- otherwise be dull. ceive that in children they could find Those who can really make children what they wanted. The beauties of talk in natural fashion know that the spring have never lacked laudation. wit put into their mouths need not be Some of us are inclined to think that of a very exalted sort to evoke laughter. its glories have been unduly praised. They know, too, that the passionate We are a little jealous for the glory of sorrows of childhood — stormy and temsummer and autumn. Still, we freely pestuous as a day in early spring, and, admit that every spring is a recurring like such storms, brief of duration miracle, bringing with it brightness and are sure to awaken sympathy in hearts beauty and promise of a future better which are less ready to feel acutely the than any past. Is it not so with child- woes of maturer life. The records of hood? It has unknown possibilities; it the bookselling trade prove that no topic has a present full of interest, because it touches the public heart so swiftly, so is as yet fresh and fair and unspoiled surely, and so continuously, as does by worldliness. Nor does it interest child-life. I have already, in the Napeople of one time of life. The young tional Review, pointed out that it is to delight in youth. They may, indeed, women that we are indebted for many sometimes desire to be grown up, be- of the best stories in this department of cause they fancy that they will be more literature. Their careful attention to able to do as they like. - delusive idea! minute detail, and their readiness to but they are always full of the feeling reproduce faithfully what many men that old age is a terrible thing. They might regard as mere trivialities, give draw towards one another in a way that to women a great advantage in dealing now and again brings a pang unreason- with the lives of the young. able, perhaps, to the hearts of parents who have tried to be friends and companions of their children. The writer who can make children move and talk like children is sure of their adhesion. Nor will such a writer lack readers among children of a larger growth." 66 In her own way Miss Rhoda Broughton takes a high place in this class of literature. Her children are nearly always those of the upper part of the middle class. They are never too good, nor are they monsters of mischief. It may, perhaps, be said that the Let two grey-headed men who have young people who play such a promiknown each other in childish days nent part in "Nancy" are hardly chilget together, and they will soon sink dren. Even Tou Tou, of the thin legs into talk about their early days. The and the short frocks, would scarcely be very memory of childish merriment kept in the nursery unless she belonged makes them laugh as they seldom laugh to a family of position, one, moreover, nowadays. How the old jokes renew where the father is a somewhat terrible their youth! They see themselves as personage, who takes small pleasure in they were some fifty years ago. They the witticisms and amusements of youth. almost feel as if time had stood still. In many homes children, long before Those who have children of their own, they reach the age of Nancy and Baror who see still in memory the figures bara, Algy, Bobby, and the Brat, are of little ones who have passed away, the companions of their parents, and delight in books which give true pictures have no separate life in nursery or of child-life. Hence it has come to pass schoolroom. Considering, however, the that the literature which deals with the conditions supposed to exist in Nancy's lives of children has an enormous sale, home, we feel that nothing can be better and that much of the best talent of the than the way these young folks talk time is taken up in producing stories and act. They criticise one another, about children. Even in books where make jokes at one another's expense, hold back no truth, howsoever unflat- | intellectual than practical, has stealthily tering, yet thoroughly love one an- climbed upon a chair, and by aid of a other, and delight in one another's grammar and a door ajar, is cautiously society. All this is as true to nature as arranging a booby-trap for the reception it is amusing. of his sister Faustine, who left the room about ten minutes ago, and may shortly be expected to return." What Rupert and Faustine - the one a lazy, greedy, mischievous boy; the other a worldly little woman of tender years are as real as Monty, the lover of books. "Going to dine? says Rupert when Faustine brings mamma's commands to Joan on that matter. "How I wish I was going to dine! What a lot I'd eat! I'd have twice of everything!" Faustine is much exercised as to what Miss Dering will wear; she has so few Possibly the picture of Nancy's return, a nineteen-year-old bride with a bridegroom "who was at school with It is easy to see those boys, easy to father," after her honeymoon, may parallel them in one's own experience. seem a little overdrawn; but who can- I can fancy that it is a voice I have not see Tou Tou as she "backs before often heard which says as "the little her sister and the others with easy student lifts up his stooped head, his grace," and "nearly capsizes into a intently wrinkled forehead, and his rabbit-hole which, in her backward shrill voice: Miss Dering, why wasn't progress, she has not perceived"? Queen Caroline a good woman? Her quarrel with Bobby is exactly like did she do? did she cut off people's many a quarrel; it rises out of nothing heads?'" Very natural is the way in more substantial than this. "We think," which the little lad returns to the says Bobby, giving a friendly but severe charge, not to be put off by an evasive pull to our youngest sister's outspread answer. yellow locks, "that Tou Tou would adorn the Church. Bishops have mostly thin legs so it is to be presumed that they admire them: we destine Tou Tou for a bishop's lady." Thereupon follows a lively fire of argument between Bobby and his sister, she protesting that she will not espouse a bishop, and he asseverating that she shall. It lasts for the best part of a quarter of an hour, and ends by reducing Tou Tou to tears. Whether the young people in "Nancy "dresses, whilst mamma has so many. fairly come within the scope of this article or not, there can be no sort of doubt that Miss Broughton has shown power to produce life-like portraits of children in "Joan." They do not appear early in the book. We should never make their acquaintance at all if it were not that Joan is compelled to earn her bread by acting as governess in the house "Papa and mamma quarrelled this which was once her home. The Smith-morning," says Rupert triumphantly, Deloraines are rich people or rather, in the tone of a discoverer. "They Mr. Smith-Deloraine is rich his wife often quarrel! Do husbands and wives a woman of family. Their children are always quarrel, Miss Dering?" young people of marked individuality, as we learn on their first introduction to us. I will let Miss Broughton speak for herself." At the window sat a little boy with a big book, supported on small crossed-knees, bent head, and hair falling into his studious eyes, evidently buried full five fathom deep in the quarto page before him. Another boy, a To the studious Montacute time size larger, and apparently of a bent less passes pleasantly enough, for he is Miss Broughton must have seen some eminently unpleasant specimens of parents. Nancy's father has a cold, cutting manner to his children which renders him hateful to them, whilst he is a most charming person in society. As for the Smith-Deloraines: Rupert lets us into their home life a little. Many grown-up people will sympathize with the description of Sunday at the Smith-Deloraines. Where neither father nor mother takes any trouble to make that day a pleasant one, though different from ordinary days, it is doubtless a trying time to children. buried in a book from which he only ence. Though Algy and Bobby, Bar emerges now and again to put a question as posing as those he puts about Queen Caroline, whose wickedness, he thinks, must be because she wouldn't say her prayers, though, as he adds, he never heard of any one who wouldn't except Old Daddy Longlegs." Faustine and Rupert sit side by side, each with an open Bible, pretending to learn texts; but scuffling, chuckling, and other noises, prove that they are not very intent on their work. At length Master Rupert's voice rises high and shrill in this choice ditty: Mr. Lolsky said to his ugly wife, I'm going to the river to fish for my life. You nasty beast, you know you ar'n't, You know you're going to gallivarnt. Miss Dering naturally stops this song, not very suitable for any day of the week (to say nothing of Sunday), though Rupert assures her that "James sings it and knows a great many more verses.' Rupert rebellious, repeating half audibly the objectionable words, Faustine egging him on by nudges and a display of inordinate mirth, though she manages to keep within bounds herself, for fear of forfeiting her Sunday dinner, - these will bring back to many memories of their own childish misdemeanors. For my own part, I enjoy Miss Broughton's young folks better than the rest of her books. They are not only natural in themselves, but—an admirable contrast to her other characters. As in "Joan," they help on the action of the story, and relieve it from what would otherwise be a too dense gloom. They are often intensely funny, and always show that careful attention to minute detail which gives verisimilitude. As a rule, they are pleasant young people, with only a sufficient dash of naughtiness to give them piquancy. They are not given to sickly sentiment, nor do they ever pose as superior beings. It is a good test of word-painting when one can see the picture in one's mind's eye. The young people in Miss Broughton's books are so vividly portrayed that one can not only see them, but also put names to them out of one's own experi bara, the Brat, and Tou Tou have passed their first youth when we make their acquaintance, they are splendid specimens of the genus hobble-de-hoy. As for Nancy herself: She is one of those invincibly young people who seem as if they never can grow old. There is the flavor of youth throughout the book. The good old crusted jokes, the mere hints which are enough to bring back bygone delights, the very shrugs and grimaces which make up so much of childish life and fun, last longer in the Gray family than they are wont to do in most. Many of us, however, can recall homes in which every member of the Gray family finds a counterpart. As for Monty, Rupert, and Faustine in "Joan: I always think of them under other names, names of real children. This power of bringing before the mind fictitious personages to whom we instantly give living shape and form is only possible for those who observe minutely, and can draw upon a past experience, the vivid outlines of which have not faded from their memory. It is in these minute and delicate touches that women excel. Very unlike Miss Broughton in her pictures of grown-up life, Mrs. Hodgson Burnett has equal power in depicting children. "Little Lord Fauntleroy" had almost unequalled success. Mrs. Hodgson Burnett has not been allowed to enjoy that success without annoyance. Whether she did in truth get hints from another book which was unfortunate enough never to take possession of the public mind may be matter of doubt. So far as I am able to judge, wherever there is a resemblance between the two the balance is in favor of Mrs. Hodgson Burnett. In literary finish, in pathos, in the delicate touches which give harmony and beauty to the little lord, Mrs. Hodgson Burnett reigns supreme. That she is well able to give to the world pictures of child-life which are real is beyond question. Haworths" is a book of great power. I is in some respects a very unpleasant story. I can imagine many parents objecting to their children reading it; "Memoirs,' responded Murdock. "Memoyers of Mary Ann Gibbs.' "I don't seem to have heard of it before.' 666 but I cannot imagine any one doubting | ton Sunday Skoo'. It's the Memthat "Janey Briarly is just such a m-e-m-o-i-r-schild as may be seen to-day in many a Lancashire home. She is as real as her miserable, feeble father, whom she has had to "look after" ever since she "wur three year owd." Her first appearance on the scene is a triumph of description. She is twelve years old, and the eldest of twelve-"a mature young person," whose business-like air had attracted Hilary. She had assisted her mother in the rearing of her family from her third year, and had apparently done with the follies of youth. She was stunted with much nursing, and her small face had a careworn look. One rainy day she came into the yard enveloped in a large shawl, evidently her mother's, and also evidently very much in her way. Her dinner-can, her beer-jug, and her shawl were more than she could manage. "Eh! I am in a mess," she said to Hilary. "I dunnot know which way to turn, what wi' the beer and what wi' the dinner. I've getten on mother's shawl, as she had afore she wur wed, an' th' eends keep a-draggin' an' adraggin', an' the mud'll be the ruin on 'em." Murdock, the clever son of a clever but unfortunate inventor, takes great interest in Janey. Here is a life-like bit of description, of Janey as she appears when he sees her one Saturday: "He found the little kitchen shining with the Saturday cleaning up.' The flagged floor as glaringly spotless as pipeclay and sandstone could make it; the brass oven-handles and tin pans in a condition to put an intruder out of countenance, the fire replenished, and Janey sitting on a stool on the hearth enveloped in an apron of her mother's, and reading laboriously aloud. "Eh! dear me!' she exclaimed; 'it's yo', an' I am na fit to be seen. I wur sitting down to rest a bit. I've been doing th' cleaning aw day, an' I were real done fur.' Hannot yo? Well, it's a noice book, an' theer's lots more loike it in th' skoo' libery-aw about Sundayskoo' scholars as has consumption an' th' loike and reads th' Boible an' dees. They aw on 'em dee.' "Oh! it's not very cheerful, is it?' "Eh, no; they're none of 'em cheerful, but they're noice to read."" Janey has plenty of good sense in her twelve-year-old head. It would be well if some of the people who pose as friends of the "working man" were as wise as she. "We've bin having trouble lately,' she said. Eh! but I've seed a lot o' trouble i' my day.' "What's the trouble now?' Murdock asked. 666 He's "Feyther; it's allus him. getten in wi' a bad lot, an' he's drinking agen. Seems loike neyther mother nor me can keep him straight fur aw we told him Haworth'll turn him off. Haworth's not goin' to stand his drink an' th' lot he goes wi'. I would na stand it mysen.' "What lot does he go with?' "Eh!' impatiently, a lot o' foo's as stands round th' publics an' grumbles at th' wages they get. An' feyther's one o' these soft uns as believes aw they hears, an' has na getten gumption to think fur hissen.'" Nothing certainly could be more unlike "Janey" than little Lord Fauntleroy, yet there is likeness in their very unlikeness. Both are perfectly simple and straightforward; they say just what they mean, they delight us by their lack of self-consciousness. They look out at the world through clear, truthful eyes; they are full of courage, unselfishness, and faith. Spite of her hard up-bringing, and all her troubles with 'feyther," Janey has not lost heart. Both are true under the conditions "What's that you're reading?' said " Murdock. "It's a book I getten fro' th' Brox- which surround them. One is a child |