Then I thought of the dispersion of these
tribes of playthings; peeped into the thousand
parlours into which the joy-bringers
were destined, each in its good time, to come.
Then I felt as though all shouts of mirth, all
merry chatterings and choruses of fun that
those things were to beget, were being shouted,
chattered, and chorused in one moment
through the heart of me, John Starch; and
my heart felt great with such a thought in it.
In the next place, the particular parlours,
whose interest I represented, were suggested
naturally to my mind; nephews, nieces, and
godchildren, danced into my recollection, and
my sister Kate's astonishing boy (he really
is an astonishing boy) seemed to have his
small pair of arms, as usual, round my neck,
with corresponding legs in my coat-pockets.
So I proceeded to a critical examination of the
toys with a view to purchase. This business
fetched out the whole strength of my philosophy,
because I don't buy toys at random.

The first walk round the German Fair
suggested a few very obvious reflections. I dare
say if I were well read in my modern metaphysics,
I could express my thoughts more
precisely by discussing objective and subjective
relations with the world, and the peculiar form
of German ontology. Nine-tenths of the toys
were mere ideas—grotesque, humorous,
pleasant to look at; but when you had looked
at them—there they were. I will explain
what I mean by an example. Let it be
granted that I had bought for Kate's boy a
toy in the fair, one belonging to a most
numerous class, of which the following is a
description:—It is a humorous burlesque of
the amateur shepherdess that belonged to a
past age of European literature. A piece of
pink gauze fitted round a tall, thin, scarecrow
shape, with a wooden head fastened on the
top; a caricature Daphne is placed behind
three white sheep with curly hair, and many
bands and ornaments about them. Between
the lady and the sheep is a black dog. The
effect of the whole group upon a stand is
very funny to the reader of the bygone Idyls
that suggested it; it might amuse also a
child, especially a German child.—Now, if I
had bought that toy as a present for my
nephew Tom it would have delighted him
amazingly for five minutes. Then with the
instinct of a little Englishman, he would have
thought it high time for the toy to do
something. As the sheep would not baa, the dog
would not bark, and the lady would not
do so much as waggle her head—as the whole
thing would have stood still on the table—
Tom would have understood at once, like
any of his elder countrymen, that what will
not move of its own accord must be pushed
or pulled. The shepherdess and her flock
would then have been dragged about the
carpet by a bit of string, until it was
discovered that they were not worth dragging.
My nephew would then, I am quite sure,
have adopted the only course remaining
open to him, if he would still extract
active amusement from the toy. He would
have broken sheep, and dog, and lady from
their fastenings, have plucked the wool from
the sheeps' backs, have eaten the sheeps' heads,
and perhaps have bathed the lady in his
father's ink-bottle.

Now I quite agree with Tom in the view
he takes of such matters. If the
shepherdess after her bath had been provided
with the nearest towel in the shape of my
sister's cambric handkerchief, and Kate had
made any complaint to me, I should have
said, "Your son does credit to his family, he is
no German, he cannot sit before a toy, and
look at it. In this country, at any rate,
children are active things, and a child's toys
are only proper toys when they provide
materials for action."

In fact I would say to the great German
nation, reform your toys. A great measure
for Toy Reform is the first thing wanted, if
you hope ever to get a strong United Germany.
Since I have seen that large museum full of
German toys, I have been strongly impressed
with this fact. Begin your revolutions in your
nurseries.

I like a dreamy child, a child dreamy by
nature, differing from his companions and
gifted with an early thoughtfulness that
comes direct from Heaven. But I don't like
to see an active child made dreamy by art,
and dosed with stupidity—or ostentatious
wisdom either—from the toy-shop. It is the
nature of children to be doing, and to see
things done. The toys most popular in
England are of the right sort, and quite
characteristic of the English temper. It was
a curious fact, though any one can see the
cause of it, that in my journey round the
German Fair I did not see one ship or boat,
except a frigate an inch high upon paper
waves, mounted upon a bon-bon box. (I am
glad, by-the-bye, that we have no English
name for bon-bons.) Now, I should like to
know what honest man there is in England,
who has not, as a boy, done homage to the
genius of our great maritime country by
possessing a toy-boat or ship capable of sailing
upon water. The poorest children in this
country will put mast and rigging to a walnut
shell; the sons of the more prosperous buy
toy-boats, without which no sane keeper of a
Noah's Ark would ever open shop and look
for custom. I should like to know what are
the real statistics of ship-building among the
children of this country. Of eighteen boys,
my own nephews and godsons, ten have
moulded hulls with their own hands out of
blocks of wood, and spent I know not how
many active, happy hours in working out the
details of the masts and riggings, in cutting
out the sails, and in qualifying their vessels
to sail well before the wind, and to tack
cleverly. Thirteen possess more than one
vessel. Six have bought ships made by
playfellows. Among the whole fleet that can