the children(孩子们)-第2节
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silently bore the poet a grudge for having been the accessory of
Providence in the mandate that she should wear the loathed corduroy。
The unpractised ear played another little girl a like turn。 She had a
phrase for snubbing any anecdote that sounded improbable。 〃That；〃 she
said more or less after Sterne； 〃is a cotton…wool story。〃
The learning of words is； needless to say； continued long after the
years of mere learning to speak。 The young child now takes a current
word into use； a little at random； and now makes a new one； so as to save
the interruption of a pause for search。 I have certainly detected； in
children old enough to show their motives； a conviction that a word of
their own making is as good a communication as another； and as
intelligible。 There is even a general implicit conviction among them that
the grown…up people； too； make words by the wayside as occasion befalls。
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How otherwise should words be so numerous that every day brings
forward some hitherto unheard？ The child would be surprised to know
how irritably poets are refused the faculty and authority which he thinks to
belong to the common world。
There is something very cheerful and courageous in the setting…out of
a child on a journey of speech with so small baggage and with so much
confidence in the chances of the hedge。 He goes free； a simple
adventurer。 Nor does he make any officious effort to invent anything
strange or particularly expressive or descriptive。 The child trusts genially
to his hearer。 A very young boy； excited by his first sight of sunflowers；
was eager to describe them； and called them； without allowing himself to
be checked for the trifle of a name； 〃summersets。〃 This was simple and
unexpected； so was the comment of a sister a very little older。 〃Why
does he call those flowers summersets？〃 their mother said； and the girl；
with a darkly brilliant look of humour and penetration； answered； 〃because
they are so big。〃 There seemed to be no further question possible after an
explanation that was presented thus charged with meaning。
To a later phase of life； when a little girl's vocabulary was； somewhat
at random； growing larger； belong a few brave phrases hazarded to express
a meaning well realizeda personal matter。 Questioned as to the eating of
an uncertain number of buns just before lunch； the child averred； 〃I took
them just to appetize my hunger。〃 As she betrayed a familiar knowledge
of the tariff of an attractive confectioner； she was asked whether she and
her sisters had been frequenting those little tables on their way from
school。 〃I sometimes go in there； mother；〃 she confessed； 〃but I generally
speculate outside。〃
Children sometimes attempt to cap something perfectly funny with
something so flat that you are obliged to turn the conversation。 Dryden
does the same thing； not with jokes； but with his sublimer passages。 But
sometimes a child's deliberate banter is quite intelligible to elders。 Take
the letter written by a little girl to a mother who had； it seems； allowed her
family to see that she was inclined to be satisfied with something of her
own writing。 The child has a full and gay sense of the sweetest kinds of
irony。 There was no need for her to write； she and her mother being both at
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THE CHILDREN
home； but the words must have seemed to her worthy of a pen： 〃My dear
mother； I really wonder how you can be proud of that article； if it is
worthy to be called a article； which I doubt。 Such a unletterary article。
I cannot call it letterature。 I hope you will not write any more such
unconventionan trash。〃
This is the saying of a little boy who admired his much younger sister；
and thought her forward for her age： 〃I wish people knew just how old
she is； mother； then they would know she is onward。 They can see she is
pretty； but they can't know she is such a onward baby。〃
Thus speak the naturally unreluctant； but there are other children who
in time betray a little consciousness and a slight mefiance as to where the
adult sense of humour may be lurking in wait for them； obscure。 These
children may not be shy enough to suffer any self… checking in their talk；
but they are now and then to be heard slurring a word of which they do not
feel too sure。 A little girl whose sensitiveness was barely enough to
cause her to stop to choose between two words； was wont to bring a cup of
tea to the writing… table of her mother； who had often feigned indignation
at the weakness of what her Irish maid always called 〃the infusion。〃 〃I'm
afraid it's bosh again； mother；〃 said the child； and then； in a half…whisper；
〃Is bosh right； or wash； mother？〃 She was not told； and decided for
herself； with doubts； for bosh。 The afternoon cup left the kitchen an
infusion； and reached the library 〃bosh〃 thenceforward。
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CHILDREN IN MIDWINTER
Children are so flowerlike that it is always a little fresh surprise to see
them blooming in winter。 Their tenderness； their down； their colour； their
fulnesswhich is like that of a thick rose or of a tight grapelook out of
season。 Children in the withering wind are like the soft golden…pink
roses that fill the barrows in Oxford Street； breathing a southern calm on
the north wind。 The child has something better than warmth in the cold；
something more subtly out of place and more delicately contrary； and that
is coolness。 To be cool in the cold is the sign of a vitality quite
exquisitely alien from the common conditions of the world。 It is to have
a naturally； and not an artificially； different and separate climate。
We can all be more or less warmwith fur； with skating； with tea； with
fire； and with sleepin the winter。 But the child is fresh in the wind； and
wakes cool from his dreams； dewy when there is hoar… frost everywhere
else； he is 〃more lovely and more temperate〃 than the summer day and
than the winter day alike。 He overcomes both heat and cold by another
climate； which is the climate of life； but that victory of life is more
delicate and more surprising in the tyranny of January。 By the sight and
the touch of children； we are； as it were； indulged with something finer
than a fruit or a flower in untimely bloom。 The childish bloom is always
untimely。 The fruit and flower will be common later on； the strawberries
will be a matter of course anon； and the asparagus dull in its day。 But a
child is a perpetual primeur。
Or rather he is not in truth always untimely。 Some few days in the
year are his own seasonunnoticed days of March or April； soft； fresh and
equal； when the child sleeps and rises with the sun。 Then he looks as
though he had his brief season； and ceases for a while to seem strange。
It is no wonder that we should try to attribute the times of the year to
children； their likeness is so rife among annuals。 For man and woman we
are naturally accustomed to a longer rhythm； their metre is so obviously
their own； and of but a single stanza； without repetition； without renewel；
without refrain。 But it is by an intelligible illusion that we look for a
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quick waxing and waning in the lives of young childrenfor a waxing that
shall come again another time； and for a waning that shall not be final；
shall not be fatal。 But every winter shows us how human they are； and
how they are little pilgrims and visitants among the things that look like
their kin。 For every
