All this does strike us as insufferably didactic, yet we cannot approve the virulence with which Southey and Charles Lamb attacked good Mrs. Barbauld in her old age; for her purpose was eminently earnest, her views of education healthy and sensible for the time in which she lived, her style polished and admirably quiet, her love for young people indubitably sincere and profound, and her character worthy of all respect and admiration in its dignity, womanliness, and strength.  Nevertheless, Charles Lamb exclaims in a whimsical burst of spleen:  “‘Goody Two Shoes’ is out of print, while Mrs. Barbauld’s and Mrs. Trimmer’s nonsense lies in piles around.  Hang them—­the cursed reasoning crew, those blights and blasts of all that is human in man and child.”

Miss Edgeworth has what seems to us, in these days, the same overplus of sublime purpose, and, though a much greater writer, is quite as desirous of being instructive, first, last, and all the time, and quite as unable or unwilling to veil her purpose.  No books, however, have ever had a more remarkable influence upon young people, and there are many of them—­old-fashioned as they are—­which the sophisticated children of to-day could read with pleasure and profit.

Poor, naughty Rosamond! choosing the immortal “purple jar” out of that apothecary’s window, instead of the shoes she needed; and in a following chapter, after pages of excellent maternal advice, taking the hideous but useful “red morocco housewife” instead of the coveted “plum.”

People may say what they like of Miss Edgeworth’s lack of proportion as a moralist and economist, but we have few writers for children at present who possess the practical knowledge, mental vigor, and moral force which made her an imposing figure in juvenile literature for nearly a century.

There has never been a time when the difficulty of making a good use of books was as great as it is to-day, or a time when it required so much decision to make a wise choice, simply because there is so much printed matter precipitated upon us that we cannot “see the wood for the trees.”

It is not my province to discriminate between the various writers for children at the present time.  To give a complete catalogue of useful books for children would be quite impossible; to give a partial list, or endeavor to point out what is worthy and what unworthy, would be little better.  No course of reading laid down by one person ever suits another, and the published “lists of best books,” with their solemn platitudes in the way of advice, are generally interesting only in their reflection of the writer’s personality.

I would not choose too absolutely for a child save in his earliest years, but would rather surround him with the best and worthiest books, and let him choose for himself; for there are elective affinities and antipathies here that need not be disregarded,—­that are, indeed, certain indications of latent powers, and trustworthy guides to the child’s unfolding possibilities.