Dr. Stiggins:
and (who knows?) ideas from the cheerful prattle of the little ones. I love to think of these men who guide the great destinies of English Literature as interested in all the details of innocent child-life, as more learned, perhaps, in the shape and uses of the tiny garments of extreme infancy than in the arid history of the masterpieces, as taking a greater interest in Nelly's doll than in the author of Don Quixote, as giving greater thought to the quarrel between Phillis and Jacky (who is always naughty), than to the debates of the Tassoists and Ariostoists. Indeed, I feel sure than this fancy of mine must correspond to the truth, for in no other way can I explain the enthusiasm for the cause of youth which has so often edified me in the writings of these excellent gentlemen. Only fathers could identify themselves so absolutely with the childish mind, only fathers would perceive with such sure instinct the weak places, as it were, in the nursery wall and appreciate the need of guarding against the latent taste for decadent literature, so
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