CORRESPONDENCE.
THE SAYINGS OF CHILDREN.
[To THE EDITOR or THE " SPECTATOR:1 SIE,—The children at a kindergarten in India were being asked the names of theirfavourite Kings and Queens. Akbar, William the Conqueror, Richard the Lion-hearted, were the answers of the mass. "King Edward the Seventh," said one small voice, with a flourish. " What can you know about King Edward P " asked his teacher, to try him. The child drew himself up to the full height of his four years. "He is my King!" was his answer, and surely a conclusive one. The child who described Henry VIII. as a "professional widower" was an English production. Then there was " Jack," writing to his aunt in England his six-year- old impressions of India,—" Here we have a larger moon, and we keep it better polished!" And N—, who upon being told he was getting quite old (he had had two birthdays), replied : " Indeed I am not ; I am almost new ! " When still " almost new " N— was found one day sitting solemnly on a chair, kicking his legs up and down. " What is it in me that wants to go for a walk?" he asked. " Not my legs, for I could move them here." Ethel and Marjory went with their mother to the Stores, to buy golf-clubs for their father, who was sweltering in the Indian plains. " Ethel," said Marjory, "are these for our Father which art in heaven, or our father which art in India P " " Hush, Marjory!" was the answer. "Don't you know that our Father which art in heaven only plays Sunday games !" [I cannot help inserting here the remark of one of my acquaintances to whom I take all my stories, because her absence of any sense of humour prompts her to inimitable comment. "Ala 1" she said on being told the above, "I suppose, then, the mother was married twice I"] Granville said his prayers at bed-time, but refused to do so in the morning. "A fellow must be a fool if he can't take care of himself in the day !" "Make Tom• a good boy," said another five-year-old ; adding, "Do you bear that, Tom ? " And—" Wait, Lord, while I kick Tom ! " was another of his interjections. Elsie's sayings were numerous. "I wish I could bathe in chapters," was one extracted on a shivering winter's night. When she was about eight she hated being called of a morning, and thought of a way out of the necessity. " Trespissure on my dreams shall be prosekuted!" was the announcement in her largest writing found pinned on to her coverlet. The spelling was what Elsie herself would have called "pathetic ! " " Some one once told me I spelt on the pathetic system," she confided to me! It was very pathetic sometimes, as when she wrote of her sweet little "ginny-pigs!" " King of Kings and Lord of Lords," was in the Sunday hymn. "Do you know Whom that means, dear ? " asked the mother. " Let me see; now, would it be hearts or dubs 1"
Sometimes the comment on younger brothers and sisters is• delicious. " Why does not baby speak ?" puzzled one small girL Later, dissatisfied with her mother's answer, she pro- duced her own. "I know: the things that baby saw in God's house before she came to live with us were so wonderful that she cannot speak about them. She's got to be quiet—till she's forgotten !" " Baby's broken a hole in the sky and
come through," was the explanation of another, aged three. Jack, rather older (aged eight), was a student of " ruling passions." " Oh! mother's been getting bargains again ! " he said in all good faith upon being shown his twin baby sisters. Enid and Edith were at a loss for a game. "Let's play at being at home," said Enid. " We'll have a day."—" But what does that mean P " begged Edith. " What is a day ?"—" Oh ! don't be stupid," said Enid. "All fashionable people have `days.' God's ,day is Sunday, and mother's is Tuesday !" " Is the gentleman in the sailor-hat an Apostle ?" was the comment of another child on the saint in a church window.
From a Bishop who had been preaching in his mitre I have my next story. It is the conversation of two small children, who sat just below the pulpit. The poor Bishop could not help overhearing their little whisperings. "He's a King !" said one.—" He isn't !" was the contemptuous reply ; "this is Church."—"He is !"—" No ! be isn't! "—" Well, then, he's a clown !" " I don't like Christian soldiers, I like barrat soldiers better," said Geoffrey, whose hero was Lord Roberts. His small brother's rendering of his nightly hymn was
original :— " May thine Angels spread,
Their white tails above me, Oier Ruby's bed !"
A learned friend of mine sends me, as marginalia to the story, a. photograph of the ancient " death-angel " from the Lycian Harpy tomb. The tails are beautifully marked; and I am sure Ruby was an archaeologist in some previous existence. " God would not send a Flood now," said Frances comfortably, after hearing the Noah story. " And why ? " asked her mother. " Oh ! He knows that every one can swim now ; it would not be any good 1 " " Please let's re-range about Christmas presents," said Rosamond to me last December.— " But don't you want a surprise ? " I asked.—" Oh no ! " she replied, "I've tried surprises, and they're only disappoints !" (Seven seems too early to grow blasé, even in this century.) Joan is just nine years old. " What is she like? " she asked of her mother about an expected guest. "But really, Joan, I can't tell what you want to know."—" Well! what does she look like ? Is she old or young P What does she think about ? " Her mother attempted a description. " I know," said Joan, summing her up, quite satisfied ; " black net and sequins !" Another " summary " one retails with tears at one's heart, for it is many years now since Ralph, aged seven, was called to enter the mists of death. It was his last Easter, and he begged hard to be allowed to go to church as usual. He was taken home after the Passover lesson. "And you could not understand that, my boy; you might have come out before," said his mother. " Oh, no !" said Ralph, " I loved it ; it was a beautiful story : the blood, and the Lamb—and, they were all safe "—I am, Sir, &c.,
CORNELIA SORABJI.
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