the example of the first gentleman and lady
in England:—

"When good King Arthur ruled this land,
He was a goodly King;
He STOLE two pecks of barley-meal,
To make a bag-pudding.

"A bag-pudding the King did make,
And stuff'd it well with plums,
And in it put some lumps of fat
As big as my two thumbs.

"The King and Queen did eat thereof,
And Nobles ate beside;
And what they could not eat that night
The Queen next morning fried."

These songs are, beyond question, highly
amusing to children. They admit of capital
illustrations. In the example just quoted,
the "goodly" King is represented, of course,
in his state robes, and with the crown upon
his head, running away, as fast as he can lay
legs to the ground, with a couple of meal-bags,
one under each arm. In the next illustration,
His Majesty is represented with his
cooking apron and sleeves, and without his coat,
though still with his crown on, "as he appeared"
while engaged in the operation of making the
bag-pudding. The third illustration represents
the Queen, who is the receiver of the stolen
goods, together with the Nobles, who all come
to share the spoil, seated at table "making a
feast." In the concluding tableau, Her Gracious
Majesty, with her crown on, is represented
holding the handle of the frying-pan,
being sedulously employed in frying slices.
Not a word in apology or explanation of the
King's theft. If the owner of the meal had
appeared at one of the windows during the
feast, one feels that he would only have been
laughed at, and had a piece of pudding flung in
his face, or perhaps His Majesty, in his own
pleasant off-hand way, would have ordered
the intruder to have his head cut off. No one
can expect children to give up such things as
these. They delight in them, crave for them,
and they are abominably well supplied.

It may be thought too harsh a construction to
say that murder is made a light and familiar
subject of excitement and interest to the nursery;
but that killing, by direct intention, is
one of the favourite subjects of these songs
and tales, is but too evident. The principle
of destructiveness is artificially developed by
these means (and, sooth to confess, there is no
need for this in human nature) from the
earliest period. Even in assisting the infant
to learn the alphabet by the help of signs and
figures, we find that—

"A was an Archer,
And shot at a Frog!"

In the illustration, we, in most cases, see the
effect of the shot, the Frog being transfixed
with an arrow, having one hand clasped over
his head, and turning up his large eyes. Some
children of tender and affectionate nature,
whose imagination also aids them to realise
this as something painful, are affected by the
sight; but it is to be feared that most of them
laugh at the fun of the thing, and would like
to do the same—and also, moreover, take the
first opportunity of doing the same act, and
other things of the sort. But in both cases,
the attention of the child being arrested,
its mind amused, and its feet and fingers kept
out of mischief, the end in view is obtained.
Mischief sown in the mind goes for nothing.

"Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the Sparrow,
With my bow and arrow—
And I killed Cock Robin!"

The outspoken, barefaced, valiant impudence
of the answer, which is far more like a
boast than a confession, finds but too much
sympathy with the hearers. It is true that
the children are, in many instances, affected by
the sight of the deceased Cock Robin, with
his legs sticking up in the air, as he lies on his
little black pall, and more especially when it
is found that—

"All the birds in the air fell a sighing and sobbing,
When they heard of the death of poor Cock Robin."

But not a word of the Sparrow being put
upon his trial for the crime; no justice is done,
no punishment awarded.

What can surpass the tragic conciseness of
the following, added to a prelusive touch of
the infant's Latin primer:—

"Hic, hac, hoc,
Lay him on the block!"

Killing, for the sake of eating, is by no
means the most amiable picture to present a
child's imagination:—

"There was a little Man,
And he had a little gun,
And his bullets were made of lead," &c.

He shoots a little duck, which his wife
roasts while he goes to kill her husband the
drake. We only wonder that the writer of
this song did not add the "ducklings," by way
of making the family slaughter complete in its
interest. But these killings are often effected
(as we too often see practically enacted by
children) out of pure wantonness, and with
no assignable cause:—

"Where are you going? said Robin to Bobbin;
Where are you going? said Richard to Robin," &c.

To shoot an old hen, said Robin to Bobbin,
To shoot an old hen," &c.

How skilfully the verses retard the
"delightful" catastrophe, and how they exult
in repetition! The killing of a poor harmless
old hen is thus exalted into a great event.
But sometimes theft is very directly associated
with killing:—

"Butcher, butcher, kill a calf—
Run away with the better half."