e verses--as it were, a classic selection
of her little pleasures. Poetry binds the blossoms of all things
together into a light garland, and so little Wilhelmina talks in rhyme
about regions, times, events, persons, toys and things to eat--all
mixed together in a romantic chaos, every word a picture. And she does
all that without any qualifications or artistic transitions, which
after all only aid the understanding and impede the free flight of the
fancy.

For her fancy everything in nature is alive and animate. I often
recall with pleasure the first time she ever saw and felt of a doll.
She was not more than a year old. A divine smile lighted up her little
face, as she pressed an affectionate kiss on the painted wooden lips.
Surely there lies deep in the nature of man an impulse to eat anything
he loves, to lift to his mouth every new object and there, if
possible, reduce it to its original, constituent parts. A wholesome
thirst for knowledge impels him to seize the object, penetrate into
its interior and bite it to pieces. On the other hand, touching stops
at the surface, while grasping affords only imperfect, mediate
knowledge. Nevertheless it is a very interesting spectacle, when a
bright child catches sight of another child, to watch her feel of it
and strive to orient herself by means of those antennae of the reason.
The strange baby creeps quietly away and hides himself, while the
little philosopher follows him up and goes busily on with her manual
investigation.

But, to be sure, mind, wit and originality are just as rare in
children as in adults. All this, however, does not belong here, and is
leading me beyond the bounds of my purpose. For this sketch proposes
merely to portray an ideal, an ideal which I would ever keep before my
eyes, so that in this little artistic volume of beautiful and elegant
philosophy I may not wander away from the delicate line of propriety;
and so that you will forgive me in advance for the audacious liberties
that I am going to take, or at least you will be able to judge them
from a higher viewpoint.

Am I wrong, think you, in seeking for morality in children--for
delicacy and prettiness of thought and word?

Now look! Dear little Wilhelmina often finds inexpressible delight in
lying on her back and kicking her little legs in the air, unconcerned
about her clothes or about the judgment of the world. If Wilhelmina
does that, what is there that I may not do, since I, by Heaven,