GENIUS.—Bravo! my little Artist. I dare say if you try again you will improve upon your first attempt. All people should learn to draw, that they may be able to describe a form in a very few lines, making things intelligible at sight which could not be described in any other way. A little knowledge of drawing will lead to a love of pictures and delight in the beautiful works of nature. Giotto, a great painter, who lived many hundred years ago, was but a poor shepherd-boy, who amused himself by drawing portraits of his sheep as he tended them on the hills; from rude attempts he rose to be a great artist, whose works are treasured by kings and princes. I dare say you may some day see some of the works of Giotto, the great Italian painter.
HORROR.—This drawing represents little Lady Selina Jemima Townsend as she appeared when afraid. Afraid—of what? Why, a poor tiny reptile, a harmless frog, that had jumped into her hat full of daisies, with a croak, as much as to say—“How do you do? Good morning, Lady Townsend; I am glad to see you down in the country.” But what do you think she did? Why, the little lady scampered away as fast as she could to her governess, in whose dress she hid her face, crying,—saying she had seen “a nasty horrid thing.” For this her governess reproved her, saying, “God created nothing in vain.” Frogs are harmless and beautiful when in the water, through which they can swim and dive with wonderful ease.
ICHABOD AT THE JAM.—Ichabod is an odd name, but such is the name of the little boy in the picture. He was much pampered by his parents, and never knew when he had had enough. Ichabod would cry for things to eat, then cry again because he could eat no more, and after all cry, because eating made him feel sick and ill: but that was not all; Ichabod was, I am ashamed to say, a thief. He stole the jam when his mother thought he was asleep in bed. See, Betty the maid has heard a noise, and caught the rogue in the act. To-morrow and for many days Ichabod will be ill in bed, and have to take much nasty physic. I wish he had mis-taken the mustard for honey, and burnt his naughty, fibbing tongue.
KNOWING.—Ah! ah! Jemmy Small. I fear the steeds are too knowing for you to-day. They appear conscious: they would like the beans and corn you have in the sieve, but do not like the halter you are hiding behind your back. More than one has kicked up his heels, as much as to say—“Catch me if you can!” You seem to think, as you bite the straw in your mouth, that they may give you a pretty run. I know Bob, the pony, will not be soon caught.
Horses and other animals like play much better than work, but good boys and girls ought to love both, and not require sweetmeats to induce them to do their duty—for they have intellects of a high order, and may become clever men and women.
LUCKY.—Master Lovebook was indeed lucky in his escape from the Bull—and I will tell you how it happened: In going to school, this young gentleman had to go round by the wood and across the meadows, when one day he observed a savage bull making towards him; alarmed, he did not run crying anywhere, but considered one moment, and made back the shortest way to the wood, with all speed for the posts, just as the savage animal was going to toss him high in the air.
Master Lovebook was unfortunate in meeting the bull, but fortunate in having the posts between him and the infuriated animal.
In danger, brave little boys never cry, but think what is the best to be done.
MIMIC.—To be vain of anything is not right, and to be proud of fine clothes very silly indeed. The young gentleman in the picture, I think, is vain. See, he is smoking a cigar, and if we may judge by the expression of his face, we may presume that he does not fully enjoy it. As he struts along the rude boys ridicule him. See the boy behind mimicking his airs and graces—using the handle of the door-key for an eye-glass. I fear that lad’s mirth will soon be changed into sorrow—for the jug must be broken against the post, and the beer spilled—so that in turn he will be laughed at.
We cannot help smiling at the little coxcomb, although at the same time we pity him.