founded an agricultural association; or haply intimates that she made some astronomical discovery in the constellation Taurus.

Big Mr. Dhas the ordinary notions of grown people upon most subjects, and amongst others, has lived all his life in the belief that a whale is a great fish.

What a triumph to little Mr. D-, not six weeks trowsered!

"A fish! a whale, a fish! Lucy! Harry! only think of pa calling a whale a fish!"

Then Lucy respectfully observes that a whale is no more a fish than papa himself.

Harry authoritatively adds, that fish are cold-blooded animals-which whales are not.

And my young polytechnician, not six weeks breeched, winds up the lecture, by solemnly informing his untutored parent that the whale belongs to the order of mammalia!

Big Mr. D-, blushes and slinks away to play backgammon, or ride his hobby.

Another reverend father, unobservant of the strides of" young England," promises to buy marbles for the scientific scions of his house. The offer is accepted with glee.

"What kind of marbles will you have, Master Tom?" "The ELGIN marbles for me, pa?"

Papa stares.

"What marbles will you have, Johnny?"

"The ARUNDELIAN please, sir," says little Johnny.

Papa stares still more staringly, and when he has recovered from his surprise, he puts the same question to his third son, a mere eight-year old.

"The XANTHIAN," quoth sage Hop-o'-my-thumb.

The old 'un has never heard of either Elgin, Arundelian, or Xanthian marbles; he has no notion of any marbles except the round ones for shooting with.

The little savans make a party for the British Museum, and their bearded sire marches off to secure a seat for the Christmas pantomime at the Olympic.

Observe the crowds that fill the theatres at this festive season, gazing at the clowneries of clowns and the harlequinades of harlequins. Nineteen spectators out of twenty are persons of ripe age, and probably of the small fraction of young people in the crowd, the majority are pre-> sent by compulsion, or out of complaisance to their parents and guardians.

Petticoat government used to signify the ascendancy of wives and mothers; it now means the ascendancy of children in that influential garb. The Fool in "King Lear," reproaches the aged monarch with "making his daughters his mothers." This is precisely what we are doing at the present time, and nothing has contributed more to countenance our folly than Mr. Wordsworth's pernicious maxim,

The child is father of the man.

The child so considers himself! The fathers and mothers of England, according to this doctrine are the babies and infants, who consequently exercise parental authority, and are beginning to be sensibly felt in

every sphere of society. We shall soon hear of maternal disobedience, of spoiled fathers, incorrigible uncles, and over-indulged and cockered grandames. "Woman and her Master," ought to be "Woman and her Little Master," for there is nothing now more absurd than to speak of the "mistress" of a family, and no term more appropriate than "master" to describe the small gentleman of the day.

We can imagine a visit to a house where "young England" rules the roast. Papa would be found on the stool of repentance, and mamma whimpering at her sampler in the corner. One little master would probably be playing off a model of Perkins's steam-gun upon his mother's canary-birds, and another composing a treatise on "the Rights of Babies."

We should see Miss Augusta studying the Polarization of Light, and Miss Priscilla at Conic Sections or Geology. Geology for young people," has been announced, and the minims of humanity may be heard discussing fossil remains and arguing about strata. We wonder who the authors can be of the modern books for children, for it is clear we have no grown people able to write them. We think they must all be the productions of Mrs. Child!

A learned little man of our own acquaintance was presented the other day with a guinea-pig for a Christmas-box. He requested the donor to change it for an icthyosaurus, or at least for a megatherion!

Now, to us, all this is extremely formidable; this growing power terrifies us. We are not ashamed to own that we quail before the infantry of England, and are not undismayed in presence of the world -in arms! It is notorious that troops of babies in arms are daily to be seen parading in the parks, and particularly in St. James's, under the very nose of her sacred majesty ! And it ought not to be forgotten that upon every occasion that an attack has been made upon the royal person, the assailant has been a boy; one of the rising party of "young England."

Indeed, no portion of the British people seems less in subjection to Queen Victoria than the small fry in question. Her majesty, probably, thinks herself well off if she can command the little people of her own palace, and keep her own peace in her own nursery. We have no doubt she rules in that province as wisely and as brilliantly as in every other, recollecting the maxim of Bacon (as applicable to the smallest empire as the largest) that "the monarch who would feel his (or her) crown light, must wear it every day."

These observations will not be thought unseasonable, when it is considered what a formidable thing it would be, should our royal little MASTER, the Prince of Wales ever be led astray from the paths of loyalty and filial duty, and induced to put himself at the head of the babies of Great Britain. We are not afraid of this POWER, as long as it wants a leader; but should it ever be headed by the heir apparent to the throne-knowing, as we do, its headstrong nature, and how little it is under the control of reason-it is impossible not to foresee the most serious domestic troubles. It is well known that the very cries and whoops of insurgent infants are often so intolerable, that brave men are put to flight, and evacuate those houses which the constitution of England in vain calls our castles. A hundred times over have we seen an Englishman's castle taken absolute possession of by a

detachment of pigmy warriors (the tallest grenadier not higher than the table), and the unfortunate châtelain reduced to the most vexatious servitude in his own rightful fortress.

It is just imaginable that Windsor Castle should be seized upon after this fashion; and the example of successful rebellion there would be instantly followed all over the kingdom, and with particular promptitude in Ireland, which has long been the nursery of agitation, and where, consequently, we may be certain that agitation in the nursery is in a tolerable state of forwardness. Our first dependence then is upon the Queen in person. We trust our little master, the prince, will not master his illustrious mother, and we respectfully assure that august lady that all the little eyes in England are anxiously looking to the proceedings in the royal nursery, and that thousands and tens of thousands of little men are eagerly watching the first indications of the triumph of their party in that high quarter, to commence a general movement throughout the kingdom, the effect of which would be to shake THE BRITISH NURSERY to its foundation.

But what has principally induced us to make the few last foregoing remarks, is the following account of the Christmas festivities at Windsor Castle, which has gone the round of the newspapers, uncontradicted:

"Last evening three imitation fir-trees, in green stands, and upwards of eight feet in height, were placed in the drawing-room (to which her majesty and the prince, with the royal attendants, retired after dinner), each beautifully ornamented with seventy-two wax lights appended to the branches. One of the trees was entirely frosted over to resemble icicles and snow. To the branches of each were suspended an immense quantity of bon-bons (for presentation to the company), contained in small boxes and cases of various devices, richly and elaborately ornamented. One of these trees was for her majesty, another for the prince consort, and the third for her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent.”

Not a word about bon-bons for the prince and princesses! Bon-bons for her majesty ;-bon-bons for Prince Albert ;-bon-bons for papa and mamma, and even for her Royal Highness the grandmamma;— none for the royal little ones, male or female! We are, therefore, to presume that the Prince of Wales was working his electrotype apparatus, while his illustrious parents were luxuriating in French sugarplums. A peep into the imperial nursery (or rather into the library) would probably have shown the princess royal studying the theory of real snow and icicles, while queenly ma and kingly pa were diverting themselves with the mimic winter upon the mock fir-trees. The branches of confectionary for the parent,-those of the tree of knowledge for the child.

How charming is divine philosophy!

Not harsh and crabbed, as mammas suppose,
But musical as is Apollo's lute,

And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,

Where no crude surfeit reigns.

Such is now the soliloquy of "young England" in the libraries, studies, and laboratories that have taken the place of the nurseries and play-grounds. Lady Littleton is not mentioned in the account of the

Christmas doings in "the great wigwam," but no doubt her governessship had her own box of good things in the corner, or was amusing herself with her baby-house and miniature tea equipage.

One is surprised, at first sight, at the numerous collections of nursery rhymes which have appeared of late; but it is evident, on reflection, that they are intended for presents for good fathers, and rewards for dutiful mammas.*

Son.-Papa, if you will give me your Newton, which you never read, I will give you my "Sandford and Merton," and "Blue-Beard" into the bargain.

Sire.-Agreed, my dear; but I believe I read my Newton as much as you read your "Blue-Beard."

Son. But you don't understand it, papa!

However, run and

fetch the Newton; you'll find me in the observatory.

Sire. I can't, my love; I'm going to play hide and seek with your mother.

Son.-Can't! Is that your respect for your son? know what Juvenal says?

Sire.-What?-who?

Son.-Maxima debetur puero reverentia.
Sire.--Translate, my dear.

Don't you

This saying of Juvenal has been as mischievous as that of Wordsworth already quoted. Children are told that they are the first objects of respect and veneration! Imagine a venerable baby! Figure to yourself a reverend little gentleman in a go-cart!

We ourselves heard one of these minute philosophers observe, that it was a "delightful task"

To teach the old idea how to shoot.

This was applied to his mother, a lady who might have sat for the picture of Boadicea or Thalestris, or at least for the mother of the Gracchi!

We have often burned to ascertain from what quarters those numerous recent publications of various kinds have issued, in which physical force is so loudly decried, and all appeals to it denounced as cruel and barbarous. Our conviction is that the children of England have been influencing the press enormously. It is inconceivable that such writings proceed from the parental pen, or from the pen of any pedagogue or any governess. They unquestionably issue from the nursery. The nursery is essentially republican, yet there are no such tyrants as your little republicans, with their air-pumps and Cabinet Cyclopedias; nor any such abject slaves as your Mrs. Fondlechilds and your Lady Coax'ems. The infant schools have done not a little mischief. They have been, in fact, "normal schools of juvenile agitation," and then the scholars have been taught arithmetic, which has taught them the power of numbers, so that we should not wonder if "young England" were soon to declare " WE ARE SEVEN MILLIONS!" to the common phrase "little people." people, and it would have been better misses and masters had never known

We object for the same reason There is a magic in the word that so numerous a body of that they were even a little

* An edition is actually announced of "Puss in Boots" for "grown people !”