: Popular Rhymes And Nursery Tales

Our collection of vernacular scraps, which, like the "brave beggars of

Coudingham fair," have been gathered from the lanes and by-ways, is now

brought to a conclusion. They are, it must be confessed, but literary

vagrants at the best; but they breathe of country freshness, and may

impart some of their spirit to our languishing home-life. The cottage

without its traditional literature is but a poor feature in the

pe that is loved by the poet. The legend or antique rhyme

emanating from its door expresses a characteristic he would not

willingly see perish. It may be that little of this now remains in

England, but the minutest indications should be carefully chronicled ere

they disappear.

Many of the fragments in the preceding pages are, in fact, rather

indications of what formerly existed than complete specimens of their

class. It is beyond a doubt that, two centuries ago, our rural districts

were rich in all kinds of popular and traditional literature, in legends

and ancient rhymes. Unfortunately, the antiquaries of the old school

considered such matters beneath their notice; and instead of conferring

a very important benefit on literature by preserving them, occupied a

great portion of their time in essays of very questionable utility. It

thus happened that allusions in our old poets, intelligible enough in

those days, became enigmas when the memory of these trifles disappeared.

We should fall into a similar error did we neglect those which still

remain, merely because their value is not always immediately apparent,

or be alarmed at a suggestion that we are "suckling fools, and

chronicling small beer."

Let us hope the reader may view these trifles with more indulgence, and

enlist his sympathies with our own; for if literary value is insisted

upon as the sole use of their publication, the critic may require an

abler apologist. He may refuse to admit the importance of preserving a

large collection for the sake of the few which may illustrate the works

of our ancient authors. But we trust this opinion will not be general;

that their natural simplicity will compensate in some respects for

deficiency of literary elegance; and that the universal and absorbing

prevalence of one pursuit has not put to flight all kindly memory of the

recreations of a happier age:

The sports of childhood's roseate dawn

Have passed from our hearts like the dew-gems from morn:

We have parted with marbles--we own not a ball,

And are deaf to the hail of a "whoop and a call."

But there's an old game that we all keep up,

When we've drank much deeper from life's mixed cup;

Youth may have vanished, and manhood come round,

Yet how busy we are on "Tom Tidler's ground

Looking for gold and silver!"