The gradual change which took place in juvenile literature was brought about partly by the captivating whimsicalities of Oliver Goldsmith. The finest collection of Goldsmith’s books is in the beautiful library of my dear friend, William M. Elkins, but I have a few of Goldsmith’s juveniles that even he has been unable to obtain. Goldsmith’s delightful books for children, which his publisher, John Newbery, had bound in gilt paper and adorned with woodcuts, were sent over here from his far-famed shop at the corner of Saint Paul’s Churchyard in London. When they were reprinted in staid New England, they were a startling innovation to the book trade. Then old ballads began to return to the market, each with some striking change also. Contrast the stern outpourings of the learned Cotton Mather with Doctor Goldsmith’s “Elegy on that Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Mary Blaize”:—
Good people, all, with one accord
Lament for Madame Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word—
From those who spoke her praise....
She strove the neighborhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways—
Unless when she was sinning!...
The Royal Battledoor, the Mother Goose Melodies, A Pretty Book for Children, and some of the best verse ever written for juveniles then came into being. “Bah, Bah, Black Sheep,” “Pease-Porridge Hot,” “Little Tommy Tucker”—have they since been improved upon? I doubt it.