THE CUCKOO-CLOCK.*

Tun author of Carrots has a singularly delicate touch in dealing with children's stories,—showing both the genuine playfulness * rho Cuckoo-Clark. By Ennis Gratin m, author of " Carrots," and "Tell Me a Story," Illuetrated by Walter Crane. London ; Macmillan and Clo. dear to all children, young and old alike, and that kaleidoscopic: sort of fancy which can so swiftly vary and multiply the combina- tions of the bright colours of children's life, as to create marvels and wonders of imagination out of the simplest of their delights, and reflect back on those delights all the unspeak- able charm of magic associations. A more playful and ai bonnier story than the Cuckoo-Clock we have not read for many a year. There was a snatch of poetry in him who first entertained the notion of making a cuckoo—apparently the most idle and wandering of spring birds—punctually tell out the hours through day and night, indeed just the kind of poetry into which children most easily enter. And therefore it was a very happy conception of our author's to connect a fairy story with the genius of a cuckoo-clock. But of course the beauty of such a conception is not in the least of a kind to secure a successful execution. Everything must depend on the way in which it is worked out. And of the charm in both senses—the sense of magic and the sense of attractiveness—which the cuckoo in the cuckoo-clock wields in this tale, only those cars judge adequately who have read the whole, and read it through

the old associations of their own childhood. We cannot say that in general we are at all inelined to enjoy Must's,- tions, even of children's books, unless it be the old and grotesque illustrations by which the art of our great grandfathers' days added an element of whimsicality to the didactic marvels of the same period,—or the kind of illustrations which we can only get from such a genius as George Cruikshank. But Walter Crane's graceful and quaint illustrations do make a real and considerable addition to the fascinating qualities of this little story,—a story which, we venture to say, will be quite as popular with the avuncular and other ancestral antiques of our English house- holds, as it will be with those in the "foremost files of time," for whom it is written.

The first merit of this little book is that the rebellious fresh- ness of Griselda, who is its heroine, is so well given. One of the great difficulties of discipline for children in the present day is that the old people who ought to enforce that discipline don't impose upon themselves as old people used to do, and therefore, of course, can't impose upon the children either. Formerly, the old held it a great merit to be old. They felt venerable-, and regarded a child's objections to their rules,—however acute the objection, and however imbecile the rules,—as something intrinsically feeble, which was sufficiently put down by remarking that children should not ask questions, or should not " cavil,"—a word which has floored multitudes of children. Now, however, the epoch of republicanism as between the young and the old, has come. Though the conversation of a commoner is not yet regarded with the same flattering lenity as the conversa- tion of an Earl or a Duke, the conversation of a child pretty nearly holds its own with that of his ancient relations,. and you are bound either to answer the sharp objections of the little people, or to submit to "the logic of facts," and with- draw your objectionable decrees, if you cannot make them good agrinst their rationalising criticisms. In this story, however, though Griselda belongs to the young generation, the elders who? dispose of her fate belong to the generation now past away of those who saw something intrinsically superior in the torpid life of the aged. Aunt Grizzel and Aunt Tabitha had not learnt that it is a superstition to think aged ideas intrinsically. wise ; and the healthy collision between Griselda's notions an those of her teachers is given with admirable freshness :— " Griselde. had never been partial to sums, and her rather easy-going governess at home had not, to tell the truth, been partial to them either.. And Mr.—.I can't remember the little old gentleman's name,—suppose we call him Mr. Kneebreoches—Mr.Kneelbreeches, when he found this out,. conscientiously put her back to the very beginning. It was dreadful,. really. Ho came twice a wok, and the days ho didn't come were as bad as those he did, for he left her a whole rott) I was going to say, but you couldn't call Mr. Kneebreechoif addition sums rows, they wore far too fat and wide across to be so spoken of !.—whole slatefuls of these terrible mountains of figures to climb wearily to the top of. And not to climb once up merely. The terrible thing was Mr. Knoebreeehes• favourite method of what he called 'proving.' I can't explain it—it is far beyond my poor powers—but it had something to do with cutting off the top line, after you had added it all up and had actually done the sum, you understand—cutting off the top lino and adding the long rows up again without it, and then joining it on again somewhere else. '1 wouldn't mind so much,' said poor Grisolda, one day, ' if it was any good. But you see, Aunt °risco], it isn't. For I'm just as likely to ds the proving wrong as the sum itself—more likely, for I'm always so tired. when I get to the proving—and so all that's proved is that some- thing's wrong, and I'm sure that isn't any good, except to make me cross.'—' Hush said her aunt, gravely. That is not the way for a little girl to speak. Improve these golden hours of youth, Grisolda ; they will never return.'--6I hope not, muttered Griselda if it moans doing sums,' Miss Grizzel fortunately was a little deaf; she did not

hear this remark. Just then the cuokoo-clock struck eleven. Good

little cuckoo,' said Miss Grizzel. 'What sin example he sets you. His life is spent in tho faithful discharge of duty ;' and so saying, she loft the room. The cuckoo was still telling the hour ; eleven took a good while. It seemed to Grisolda that the bird repeated her aunt's last words. Faith—ful, die—charge, of—your, du—ty,' he said, ' faith—ful.' —` You horrid little creature l' exclaimed Griselda, in a passion ; what business have you to mock me ?' She seized a book, the first that came to hand, and flung it at the bird, who was just beginning his eleventh cuckoo, He disappeared with a snap, disappeared without flapping his wings, or, as Griselda always fancied he did, giving hor a friendly nod, and in an instant all was silent."

We shall not reveal the results of this revolutionary little out- burst, which, directed as it was against a cuckoo-clock of magic properties, bad, as our readers may suppose, consequences of an impressive kind. But we may say that the cuckoo in all probability agreed with Griselda in her criticism, though extremely anxious to take from her all pride in her sharp-sightedness as to the imbecile desire for "proving" addition sums, and to impress on her the extreme inadequacy of her modes of thought on other subjects,— on which, by the way, her aged instructors were probably even more puzzle-headed than herself. The " fairyfied cuckoo" who in- habited the clock had naturally reflected a good deal on the sub- ject of time, and being anxious to show Griselda that though she could see imbecilities in Mr. Kneebreeches's methods, she had a good deal to learn nevertheless, it mystified her in the following fashion, even in the very outset of an excursion, in which he pro- posed to take her to the country of the "Nodding Mandarins" "'A thought has just struck me,' said Griselda. How will you know what o'clock it is, seas to come back in time to toll the next hour? My aunts will got into such a fright if you go wrong again! Are you sure

we shall have time to go to the mandarins' country to-night? Time I ' repeated the cuckoo ; what is time ? Ali, Griselda, you have a very

great deal to learn! What do you mean by time ? don't know,

replied Griselda, feeling rather snubbed. Being slow or quick—I

suppose that's what I mean.'—' And what is slow, and what is quick ? ' mid, the cuckoo. 'All a matter of fancy 2 If everything that's boon done since the world was made till now was done over again in fivo minutes, you'd never know the difference.'—' Oh, cuckoo, I wish you wouldn't! ' cried poor Griselda; 'you're worse than sums, you do so puzzle me. It's like what you said about nothing being big or little, only It's worse. Where would all the days and hours be if there was nothing but minutes ? Oh, cuckoo you said you'd amuse me, and yen do nothing but puzzle me.'"

And the cuckoo tries to teach her humility after just the same fashion in relation to the idea of space, though here it must be admitted that the rebellious little rationalist gets the better of the " fairyfied cuckoo," who has recourse, we are ashamed to say, to the old warning to children against arguing,"—a warning never given, by-the-bye, till they begin to get the best of the argument :—

" ' You've a groat deal to learn, Griselda; repeated the cuckoo.—' I

wish you wouldn't say that so often,' said Griselda. I thought you were going to play with me.'—' There's something in that,' said the cuokoo, there's something in that. I 8hould like to talk about it. But we could talk more comfortably if you would come up hero and sit beside me.'—Griselda thought her friend must be going out of his mind. Sit beside you up there!' she exclaimed. ' Cuckoo, how could I ? I'm far, far too big.'—' Big!' returned the cuckoo. What do you mean by big ? It's all a matter of fancy. Don't you know that if the world and everything in it, counting yourself, of coarse, was all made little enough to go into a walnut, you'd never find out tho difference ? Wouldn't I,' said Griselda, feeling rather muddled ; but, not counting myself, cuckoo, I would then, wouldn't I?'—' Nonsense,' said the cuckoo hastily ; you've a great deal to learn, and one thing is not to argue. Nobody should argue ; it's a shocking bad habit, and ruins the diges- tion. Come up hero and sit beside me comfortably. Catch hold of the o ilcan ; ' find you can manage if you try.'—' But it'll stop the clock,' said Griselda. Aunt Grizzel said I was never to touch the weights or the chains.'—' Stuff,' said the cuckoo ; 'it won't stop the • Catch hold of the chains and swing yourself up. There now- t told you you could manage it,'"

But we must not give the impression that the story is really much concerned with lessons of this sort. They only come in by the way, as if to lend a zest to the magic of the cuckoo-clock, and to make you see that Griselda does not lose her individuality in the presence of the marvels with which the cuckoo familiarises her. The real charm of the book is the brilliancy of its pictures of these marvels, and this without anything Arabian-nightish or grown-up about them,—without any departure from the region of bonny things, in which children take perhaps their deepest delight. Take, for instance, this portion of the Cuckoo's excursion with Griselda to the land of the "Nodding Mandarins ":— " She found that they wore at the entrance to a very much grander palace than the one in her aunt's saloon. The stops leading up to the ,door were very wide and shallow, and covered with a gold embroidered carpet which looked as if it would be pi ieltly to her bare feet, but which, on the contrary, when she trod upon it, felt softer than the softest moss. She could see very little besides the carpet, for at each Hide of the steps stood rows and rows of mandarins, all something like, but a groat deal grander than the pair outside her aunt's cabinet ; and as the cuckoo hopped and Griselda walked up the staircase, they all, in turn, row by row, began solemnly to nod, It gave them the look of a field of very high grass, through which, any one passing, leaves for the moment a trail, till all the heads bob up again into their places. What do they moan ? whispered Glrisolda.—' it's a royal salute,' said the cuckoo.—' A salute !' said Griselda; I thought that meant kissing or guns.'—' Hush!' said the cuckoo, for by this time they bad arrived at the top of the staircase; you must be dressed now' Two mundariny- looking young ladies, with porcelain faces and three-cornered, head- dresses, stopped forward and led Glisoldsi into a small ante-room, where lay waiting for her the most magnificent dress you ever saw. But how do you think they dressed her ? It was all by nodding. They nodded to the blue and silver embroidered jacket, and in a moment it had fitted itself on to her. They nodded to the splendid scarlet satin skirt, made very short in front and very long behind, and before Griselda knew where she was, it was adjusted quite correctly.

They nodded to the head-dress, and the sashes, and the necklaces and bracelets, and forthwith they all arranged themselves. Last of all, they nodded to the dearest, sweetest little pair of high-heeled shoes imaginable—all silver, and blue, and gold, and scarlet, and everything mixed up together, only they were rather a stumpy shape about the toes ; and Griselda's bare foot were encased in them, and to her surprise, quite comfortably so. They don't hurt mo a bit,' she said aloud;'yet they didn't look the least the shape of my foot.'"

The scene, too, is very charming in which Griselda is convinced that she was not right in objecting to be thought so like her grandmother. "No one," she says, and the present reviewer at all events, heartily agrees with her, "would like to be told they were like their grandmother. It makes me feel as if my face must be all screwy-up and wrinkly, and as if I should have spectacles on and a wig." But in spite of this vehemently healthy and just condition of mind, Griselda's views on this subject suffer a revolution when the cuckoo shows her her grandmother as she really was,—a beautiful young girl, who only (survived her early marriage by about a year,—clearly an exceptional sort of grand-

mother, not so likely as most grandmothers to be domineering and didactic. And what a charming little touch is this of the cuckoo-

clock (which had been the greatest treasure of this very exceptional grandmother, and which afterwards becomes to her grandchild all it had been to her), that "the night she died—she died soon after your father was born, a year after she was married—for a whole hour, from twelve to one, that cuckoo went on cuckooieg in a soft, sad way, like some living creature in trouble."

We have said enough to show that the author of this beautiful story can command the springs of humour and of pathos, as well as those of wonder ; and we will only say in conclusion that we must protest against the objectionable indi- cations here and there that the marvels of the story are meant to he rationalised, at least by the elder readers, into lively dreams. This is the only defect in the book, and probably one which most children will pass over with the simplicity and earnestness proper to their years. But even for older readers these hints are grievous. We like to take our marvels seriously, and not have them dissipated almost as soon as they have made us open our eyes wide. And the half-and-half course of not explaining them

away, but yet suggesting how possibly they might be explained away, is hardly worthy of so charming a writer as Ennis Graham. Like all compromising courses, this has a certain half -heartednem about it which is doubly painful. However, this is the only take-off we can find in one of the most delicate and charming stories which it has been our lot to read for many a day, a story which, as we

have already implied, wields not only the magic wand of a bril- liant fancy, but also one of a nature in one page to fill its readers with mirth, and in another to touch the springs of their most innocent and deepest affections.