ach are by Samuel Williams, an artist who yet awaits his due
appreciation. A large number of classics of their kind, "The Adventures
of Philip Quarll," "Gulliver's Travels," Blake's "Songs of Innocence,"
Charles Lamb's "Stories from Shakespeare," Mrs. Sherwood's "Henry and
his Bearer," and a host of other religious stories, cannot even be
enumerated. But even were it possible to compile a full list of
children's books, it would be of little service, for the popular books
are in no danger of being forgotten, and the unpopular, as a rule, have
vanished out of existence, and except by pure accident could not be
found for love or money.

[Illustration: ILLUSTRATION FROM "COMIC NURSERY TALES" (G. ROUTLEDGE.
1846)]

With the publications of Newbery and Harris, early in the nineteenth
century, we encounter examples more nearly typical of the child's book
as we regard it to-day. Among them Harris's "Cabinet" is noticeable.
The first four volumes, "The Butterfly's Ball," "The Peacock at Home,"
"The Lion's Masquerade," and "The Elephant's Ball," were reprinted a few
years ago, with the original illustrations by Mulready carefully
reproduced. A coloured series of sixty-two books, priced at one shilling
and sixpence each (Harris), was extremely popular.

With the "Paths of Learning strewed with Flowers, or English Grammar
Illustrated" (1820), we encounter a work not without elegance. Its
designs, as we see by the examples reproduced on page 9, are the obvious
prototype of Miss Greenaway, the model that inspired her to those dainty
trifles which conquered even so stern a critic of modern illustration as
Mr. Ruskin. On its cover--a forbidding wrapper devoid of ornament--and
repeated within a wreath of roses inside, this preamble occurs: "The
purpose of this little book is to obviate the reluctance children evince
to the irksome and insipid task of learning the names and meanings of
the component parts of grammar. Our intention is to entwine roses with
instruction, and however humble our endeavour may appear, let it be
recollected that the efforts of a Mouse set the Lion free from his
toils." This oddly phrased explanation is typical of the affected
geniality of the governess. Indeed, it might have been penned by an
assistant to Miss Pinkerton, "the Semiramis of Hammersmith"; if not by
that friend of Dr. Johnson, the correspondent of Mrs. Chapone herself,
in a moment of gracious effort to bring her intellect down to the level
of he