TITLE PAGE OF “THE UNCLE’S PRESENT”
The Uncle’s Present,
A NEW BATTLEDOOR.
Published by Jacob Johnson, 147 Market Street Philadelphia.
The moral of Tom Jones, as translated for its youthful readers, seems to boil down to this: If you are a good child you will never annoy your neighbors! Fancy Henry Fielding’s amusement when Tom Jones appeared abridged for children! What a marvelous leap this was from the dry-as-dust New England primers and Protestant Tutors, from austere catechisms to—Tom Jones!
Printers early discovered that books for children should be made in proportion to their little clients—small. Miniature volumes have always held a great fascination for children of all ages. Their very neatness and compactness make them seem the more precious and desirable. Perhaps it was with a view to making Bible stories valued more highly by their small readers that they were printed in tiny volumes called Thumb Bibles. These adorable wee volumes, illustrated with crude woodcuts, are extremely rare. Not long ago a lady came to my Philadelphia office with an old-fashioned hand bag—the silk gathered sort, roomy if not beautiful. I noticed that it stuck out in little points, and wondered what on earth she could have brought in it. My curiosity was more than gratified when she emptied it upon my desk—some twenty Thumb Bibles! When I asked her what she wanted for these little charmers she shook her head and said that anything I cared to offer would be acceptable. I suggested $300. She looked at me aghast.
“Why,” she said, “I would have been willing to take twenty-five!”
Children began to assert themselves, beginning with the last quarter of the eighteenth century. They became individuals rather than so much parental property. Thomas Bradford must have realized this when, in 1775, he placed such juvenile delights upon the market as The Scotch Rogue, Moll Flanders, Lives of Highwaymen, Lives of Pirates, The Buccaneers of America, and The Lives of the Twelve Cæsars.
At the beginning of the nineteenth century shockers began to appear. Lurid tales of dastardly deeds were read by children who hitherto knew life through such stories as The Prize for Youthful Obedience, The Search After Happiness, Little Truths, and other edifying concoctions. The colorful experiences of Motherless Mary, A Young and Friendless Orphan who was eventually Decoyed to London, appearing from the presses of a New York house in 1828, interpreted life in a new if less safe way. John Paul Jones’s Life was issued with a terrifying frontispiece and in a dress to attract small boys with an admiration and envy for buccaneers and their fierce and bloody lives. Even Noah Webster, that staid dictionarist, wrote The Pirates, A Tale for Youth.
The interest in American history began at the close of the Revolution. The scenes of all the juvenile histories were formerly laid in foreign countries. The American Colonies now had their own history, and some of the rarest, and perhaps the most attractive to the student, are those dealing with this subject. The History of America abridged for the use of Children of all Denominations, adorned with cuts, Philadelphia, Wrigley and Berriman, 1795, is engaging and wonderful. The little illustrations are marvelous examples of the illustrator’s skill. On account of the expense, the publisher duplicated the portraits, and one cut served for several worthies. Thus Christopher Columbus, General Montgomery, and His Excellency Richard Howel, Governor of New Jersey, were depicted exactly alike, the American eighteenth-century military costume looking picturesque and fearful on Columbus.
The New York Cries, printed and sold by Mahlon Day in 1826, is particularly entertaining. According to the introduction of this little book: “New York island is 15 miles long, and from one to two miles broad. It is laid out in spacious streets and avenues, with large squares and market places. The circuit of the city is about eight miles, and the number of buildings which it contains is estimated at 30,000, and the inhabitants at about 172,000.”
I cannot resist quoting the cry of Sand, as it is a reflection of the time when New Yorkers used sand on their floors, instead of costly Oriental rugs:—