Picturesque Sketches of London, Past and Present — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
Picturesque Sketches of London, Past and Present
John Stuart Mill · en
Spring brings with it Easter--the first holiday that brightens on the
departing gloom of winter. Then we hear mingled with the cry of "All
a-blowing! all a-growing!" the reedy notes of penny trumpets, and the
beat of tiny drums, and the shrill pipings of yellow wooden whistles:
and tired children walk home from Greenwich with little dolls on their
arms; and mothers carry their sleeping babies without murmuring; and
little feet, that "scarcely stir the dust," come plodding on, just as
their young fathers and mothers had done some three or four-and-twenty
years ago. Here, one on each side clung to her gown, there he carried
another pick-a-back, who kept grinding his organ as he rode; while the
fourth slept, covered over with the shawl, regardless of the busy crowds
that were hurrying to and fro. Surely there was no selfishness in the
enjoyment of the day on the part of the parents, shared as it was by
those dear dusty children, the eldest not five years old, the youngest
not so many months; and two of them carried every inch of the five miles
back. For days after will those children talk about what they saw in the
park at Greenwich, in the fair, and on the road; and their dreams will
be of gilt gingerbread horses, and swings high as the tall trees, and
booths, and music, the distant river, old pensioners with wooden legs
and spyglasses, donkeys on Blackheath, swarthy gipsies, drinks of beer,
and the heads and tails of shrimps. They will mimic the sights, and try
to imitate the sounds, and go sounding and drumming through the house
until the trumpet refuses to speak, and the drum is burst, and not a
wire is left inside the threepenny organ. Then their grandfathers and
grandmothers (if they were not with them) will come and ask a hundred
questions as to what they saw, and what they did, and whither they went;
and, from the answers they receive, go away convinced that there are no
other children in this huge overgrown London to be compared with their
grandchildren. May heaven shower its blessings on the conceit, and they
never have cause to think otherwise!