CHAPTER VI

“Thou little child, yet glorious in the night

Of heaven-born freedom on thy Being’s height,

Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke

The Years to bring the inevitable yoke—

Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?

Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight,

And custom lie upon thee with a weight

Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life.”

WORDSWORTH.

[Picture: The Officer and a crying child] HERE I come to the very saddest

part of all my story. I know some people will only laugh at it, and call

it much ado about nothing. But I know one man who would not; and he was

an officer with a pair of gray moustaches as long as your arm, who said

once in company that two of the most heart-rending sights in the world,

which moved him most to tears, which he would do anything to prevent or

remedy, were a child over a broken toy and a child stealing sweets.

The company did not laugh at him; his moustaches were too long and too

gray for that: but, after he was gone, they called him sentimental and so

forth, all but one dear little old Quaker lady with a soul as white as

her cap, who was not, of course, generally partial to soldiers; and she

said very quietly, like a Quaker:

“Friends, it is borne upon my mind that that is a truly brave man.”

Now you may fancy that Tom was quite good, when he had everything that he

could want or wish: but you would be very much mistaken. Being quite

comfortable is a very good thing; but it does not make people good.

Indeed, it sometimes makes them naughty, as it has made the people in

America; and as it made the people in the Bible, who waxed fat and

kicked, like horses overfed and underworked. And I am very sorry to say

that this happened to little Tom. For he grew so fond of the

sea-bullseyes and sea-lollipops that his foolish little head could think

of nothing else: and he was always longing for more, and wondering when

the strange lady would come again and give him some, and what she would

give him, and how much, and whether she would give him more than the

others. And he thought of nothing but lollipops by day, and dreamt of

nothing else by night—and what happened then?

That he began to watch the lady to see where she kept the sweet things:

and began hiding, and sneaking, and following her about, and pretending

to be looking the other way, or going after something else, till he found

out that she kept them in a beautiful mother-of-pearl cabinet away in a

deep crack of the rocks.

And he longed to go to the cabinet, and yet he was afraid; and then he

longed again, and was less afraid; and at last, by continual thinking

about it, he longed so violently that he was not afraid at all. And one

night, when all the other children were asleep, and he could not sleep

for thinking of lollipops, he crept away among the rocks, and got to the

cabinet, and behold! it was open.

But, when he saw all the nice things inside, instead of being delighted,

he was quite frightened, and wished he had never come there. And then he

would only touch them, and he did; and then he would only taste one, and

he did; and then he would only eat one, and he did; and then he would

only eat two, and then three, and so on; and then he was terrified lest

she should come and catch him, and began gobbling them down so fast that

he did not taste them, or have any pleasure in them; and then he felt

sick, and would have only one more; and then only one more again; and so

on till he had eaten them all up.

And all the while, close behind him, stood Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid.

Some people may say, But why did she not keep her cupboard locked? Well,

I know.—It may seem a very strange thing, but she never does keep her

cupboard locked; every one may go and taste for themselves, and fare

accordingly. It is very odd, but so it is; and I am quite sure that she

knows best. Perhaps she wishes people to keep their fingers out of the

fire, by having them burned.

She took off her spectacles, because she did not like to see too much;

and in her pity she arched up her eyebrows into her very hair, and her

eyes grew so wide that they would have taken in all the sorrows of the

world, and filled with great big tears, as they too often do.

But all she said was:

“Ah, you poor little dear! you are just like all the rest.”

But she said it to herself, and Tom neither heard nor saw her. Now, you

must not fancy that she was sentimental at all. If you do, and think

that she is going to let off you, or me, or any human being when we do

wrong, because she is too tender-hearted to punish us, then you will find

yourself very much mistaken, as many a man does every year and every day.

But what did the strange fairy do when she saw all her lollipops eaten?

Did she fly at Tom, catch him by the scruff of the neck, hold him, howk

him, hump him, hurry him, hit him, poke him, pull him, pinch him, pound

him, put him in the corner, shake him, slap him, set him on a cold stone

to reconsider himself, and so forth?

Not a bit. You may watch her at work if you know where to find her. But

you will never see her do that. For, if she had, she knew quite well Tom

would have fought, and kicked, and bit, and said bad words, and turned

again that moment into a naughty little heathen chimney-sweep, with his

hand, like Ishmael’s of old, against every man, and every man’s hand

against him.

Did she question him, hurry him, frighten him, threaten him, to make him

confess? Not a bit. You may see her, as I said, at her work often

enough if you know where to look for her: but you will never see her do

that. For, if she had, she would have tempted him to tell lies in his

fright; and that would have been worse for him, if possible, than even

becoming a heathen chimney-sweep again.

No. She leaves that for anxious parents and teachers (lazy ones, some

call them), who, instead of giving children a fair trial, such as they

would expect and demand for themselves, force them by fright to confess

their own faults—which is so cruel and unfair that no judge on the bench

dare do it to the wickedest thief or murderer, for the good British law

forbids it—ay, and even punish them to make them confess, which is so

detestable a crime that it is never committed now, save by Inquisitors,

and Kings of Naples, and a few other wretched people of whom the world is

weary. And then they say, “We have trained up the child in the way he

should go, and when he grew up he has departed from it. Why then did

Solomon say that he would not depart from it?” But perhaps the way of

beating, and hurrying and frightening, and questioning, was not the way

that the child should go; for it is not even the way in which a colt

should go if you want to break it in and make it a quiet serviceable

horse.

Some folks may say, “Ah! but the Fairy does not need to do that if she

knows everything already.” True. But, if she did not know, she would

not surely behave worse than a British judge and jury; and no more should

parents and teachers either.

So she just said nothing at all about the matter, not even when Tom came

next day with the rest for sweet things. He was horribly afraid of

coming: but he was still more afraid of staying away, lest any one should

suspect him. He was dreadfully afraid, too, lest there should be no

sweets—as was to be expected, he having eaten them all—and lest then the

fairy should inquire who had taken them. But, behold! she pulled out

just as many as ever, which astonished Tom, and frightened him still

more.

And, when the fairy looked him full in the face, he shook from head to

foot: however she gave him his share like the rest, and he thought within

himself that she could not have found him out.

But, when he put the sweets into his mouth, he hated the taste of them;

and they made him so sick that he had to get away as fast as he could;

and terribly sick he was, and very cross and unhappy, all the week after.

Then, when next week came, he had his share again; and again the fairy

looked him full in the face; but more sadly than she had ever looked.

And he could not bear the sweets: but took them again in spite of

himself.

[Picture: Prickly Tom] And when Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby came, he wanted

to be cuddled like the rest; but she said very seriously:

“I should like to cuddle you; but I cannot, you are so horny and

prickly.”

And Tom looked at himself: and he was all over prickles, just like a

sea-egg.

Which was quite natural; for you must know and believe that people’s

souls make their bodies just as a snail makes its shell (I am not joking,

my little man; I am in serious, solemn earnest). And therefore, when

Tom’s soul grew all prickly with naughty tempers, his body could not help

growing prickly, too, so that nobody would cuddle him, or play with him,

or even like to look at him.

What could Tom do now but go away and hide in a corner and cry? For

nobody would play with him, and he knew full well why.

And he was so miserable all that week that when the ugly fairy came and

looked at him once more full in the face, more seriously and sadly than

ever, he could stand it no longer, and thrust the sweetmeats away,

saying, “No, I don’t want any: I can’t bear them now,” and then burst out

crying, poor little man, and told Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid every word as it

happened.

He was horribly frightened when he had done so; for he expected her to

punish him very severely. But, instead, she only took him up and kissed

him, which was not quite pleasant, for her chin was very bristly indeed;

but he was so lonely-hearted, he thought that rough kissing was better

than none.

“I will forgive you, little man,” she said. “I always forgive every one

the moment they tell me the truth of their own accord.”

“Then you will take away all these nasty prickles?”

“That is a very different matter. You put them there yourself, and only

you can take them away.”

“But how can I do that?” asked Tom, crying afresh.

“Well, I think it is time for you to go to school; so I shall fetch you a

schoolmistress, who will teach you how to get rid of your prickles.” And

so she went away.

Tom was frightened at the notion of a school-mistress; for he thought she

would certainly come with a birch-rod or a cane; but he comforted

himself, at last, that she might be something like the old woman in

Vendale—which she was not in the least; for, when the fairy brought her,

she was the most beautiful little girl that ever was seen, with long

curls floating behind her like a golden cloud, and long robes floating

all round her like a silver one.

[Picture: Tom and the little girl]

“There he is,” said the fairy; “and you must teach him to be good,

whether you like or not.”

“I know,” said the little girl; but she did not seem quite to like, for

she put her finger in her mouth, and looked at Tom under her brows; and

Tom put his finger in his mouth, and looked at her under his brows, for

he was horribly ashamed of himself.

The little girl seemed hardly to know how to begin; and perhaps she would

never have begun at all if poor Tom had not burst out crying, and begged

her to teach him to be good and help him to cure his prickles; and at

that she grew so tender-hearted that she began teaching him as prettily

as ever child was taught in the world.

And what did the little girl teach Tom? She taught him, first, what you

have been taught ever since you said your first prayers at your mother’s

knees; but she taught him much more simply. For the lessons in that

world, my child, have no such hard words in them as the lessons in this,

and therefore the water-babies like them better than you like your

lessons, and long to learn them more and more; and grown men cannot

puzzle nor quarrel over their meaning, as they do here on land; for those

lessons all rise clear and pure, like the Test out of Overton Pool, out

of the everlasting ground of all life and truth.

So she taught Tom every day in the week; only on Sundays she always went

away home, and the kind fairy took her place. And before she had taught

Tom many Sundays, his prickles had vanished quite away, and his skin was

smooth and clean again.

“Dear me!” said the little girl; “why, I know you now. You are the very

same little chimney-sweep who came into my bedroom.”

“Dear me!” cried Tom. “And I know you, too, now. You are the very

little white lady whom I saw in bed.” And he jumped at her, and longed

to hug and kiss her; but did not, remembering that she was a lady born;

so he only jumped round and round her till he was quite tired.

And then they began telling each other all their story—how he had got

into the water, and she had fallen over the rock; and how he had swum

down to the sea, and how she had flown out of the window; and how this,

that, and the other, till it was all talked out: and then they both began

over again, and I can’t say which of the two talked fastest.

And then they set to work at their lessons again, and both liked them so

well that they went on well till seven full years were past and gone.

You may fancy that Tom was quite content and happy all those seven years;

but the truth is, he was not. He had always one thing on his mind, and

that was—where little Ellie went, when she went home on Sundays.

To a very beautiful place, she said.

But what was the beautiful place like, and where was it?

Ah! that is just what she could not say. And it is strange, but true,

that no one can say; and that those who have been oftenest in it, or even

nearest to it, can say least about it, and make people understand least

what it is like. There are a good many folks about the

Other-end-of-Nowhere (where Tom went afterwards), who pretend to know it

from north to south as well as if they had been penny postmen there; but,

as they are safe at the Other-end-of-Nowhere, nine hundred and

ninety-nine million miles away, what they say cannot concern us.

But the dear, sweet, loving, wise, good, self-sacrificing people, who

really go there, can never tell you anything about it, save that it is

the most beautiful place in all the world; and, if you ask them more,

they grow modest, and hold their peace, for fear of being laughed at; and

quite right they are.

So all that good little Ellie could say was, that it was worth all the

rest of the world put together. And of course that only made Tom the

more anxious to go likewise.

“Miss Ellie,” he said at last, “I will know why I cannot go with you when

you go home on Sundays, or I shall have no peace, and give you none

either.”

“You must ask the fairies that.”

So when the fairy, Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid, came next, Tom asked her.

“Little boys who are only fit to play with sea-beasts cannot go there,”

she said. “Those who go there must go first where they do not like, and

do what they do not like, and help somebody they do not like.”

“Why, did Ellie do that?”

“Ask her.”

And Ellie blushed, and said, “Yes, Tom; I did not like coming here at

first; I was so much happier at home, where it is always Sunday. And I

was afraid of you, Tom, at first, because—because—”

“Because I was all over prickles? But I am not prickly now, am I, Miss

Ellie?”

“No,” said Ellie. “I like you very much now; and I like coming here,

too.”

“And perhaps,” said the fairy, “you will learn to like going where you

don’t like, and helping some one that you don’t like, as Ellie has.”

But Tom put his finger in his mouth, and hung his head down; for he did

not see that at all.

So when Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby came, Tom asked her; for he thought in

his little head, She is not so strict as her sister, and perhaps she may

let me off more easily.

Ah, Tom, Tom, silly fellow! and yet I don’t know why I should blame you,

while so many grown people have got the very same notion in their heads.

But, when they try it, they get just the same answer as Tom did. For,

when he asked the second fairy, she told him just what the first did, and

in the very same words.

Tom was very unhappy at that. And, when Ellie went home on Sunday, he

fretted and cried all day, and did not care to listen to the fairy’s

stories about good children, though they were prettier than ever.

Indeed, the more he overheard of them, the less he liked to listen,

because they were all about children who did what they did not like, and

took trouble for other people, and worked to feed their little brothers

and sisters instead of caring only for their play. And, when she began

to tell a story about a holy child in old times, who was martyred by the

heathen because it would not worship idols, Tom could bear no more, and

ran away and hid among the rocks.

And, when Ellie came back, he was shy with her, because he fancied she

looked down on him, and thought him a coward. And then he grew quite

cross with her, because she was superior to him, and did what he could

not do. And poor Ellie was quite surprised and sad; and at last Tom

burst out crying; but he would not tell her what was really in his mind.

And all the while he was eaten up with curiosity to know where Ellie went

to; so that he began not to care for his playmates, or for the sea-palace

or anything else. But perhaps that made matters all the easier for him;

for he grew so discontented with everything round him that he did not

care to stay, and did not care where he went.

“Well,” he said, at last, “I am so miserable here, I’ll go; if only you

will go with me?”

“Ah!” said Ellie, “I wish I might; but the worst of it is, that the fairy

says that you must go alone if you go at all. Now don’t poke that poor

crab about, Tom” (for he was feeling very naughty and mischievous), “or

the fairy will have to punish you.”

Tom was very nearly saying, “I don’t care if she does;” but he stopped

himself in time.

“I know what she wants me to do,” he said, whining most dolefully. “She

wants me to go after that horrid old Grimes. I don’t like him, that’s

certain. And if I find him, he will turn me into a chimney-sweep again,

I know. That’s what I have been afraid of all along.”

“No, he won’t—I know as much as that. Nobody can turn water-babies into

sweeps, or hurt them at all, as long as they are good.”

“Ah,” said naughty Tom, “I see what you want; you are persuading me all

along to go, because you are tired of me, and want to get rid of me.”

Little Ellie opened her eyes very wide at that, and they were all

brimming over with tears.

“Oh, Tom, Tom!” she said, very mournfully—and then she cried, “Oh, Tom!

where are you?”

And Tom cried, “Oh, Ellie, where are you?”

For neither of them could see each other—not the least. Little Ellie

vanished quite away, and Tom heard her voice calling him, and growing

smaller and smaller, and fainter and fainter, till all was silent.

Who was frightened then but Tom? He swam up and down among the rocks,

into all the halls and chambers, faster than ever he swam before, but

could not find her. He shouted after her, but she did not answer; he

asked all the other children, but they had not seen her; and at last he

went up to the top of the water and began crying and screaming for Mrs.

Bedonebyasyoudid—which perhaps was the best thing to do—for she came in a

moment.

[Picture: Tom crying] “Oh!” said Tom. “Oh dear, oh dear! I have been

naughty to Ellie, and I have killed her—I know I have killed her.”

“Not quite that,” said the fairy; “but I have sent her away home, and she

will not come back again for I do not know how long.”

And at that Tom cried so bitterly that the salt sea was swelled with his

tears, and the tide was .3,954,620,819 of an inch higher than it had been

the day before: but perhaps that was owing to the waxing of the moon. It

may have been so; but it is considered right in the new philosophy, you

know, to give spiritual causes for physical phenomena—especially in

parlour-tables; and, of course, physical causes for spiritual ones, like

thinking, and praying, and knowing right from wrong. And so they odds it

till it comes even, as folks say down in Berkshire.

“How cruel of you to send Ellie away!” sobbed Tom. “However, I will find

her again, if I go to the world’s end to look for her.”

The fairy did not slap Tom, and tell him to hold his tongue: but she took

him on her lap very kindly, just as her sister would have done; and put

him in mind how it was not her fault, because she was wound up inside,

like watches, and could not help doing things whether she liked or not.

And then she told him how he had been in the nursery long enough, and

must go out now and see the world, if he intended ever to be a man; and

how he must go all alone by himself, as every one else that ever was born

has to go, and see with his own eyes, and smell with his own nose, and

make his own bed and lie on it, and burn his own fingers if he put them

into the fire. And then she told him how many fine things there were to

be seen in the world, and what an odd, curious, pleasant, orderly,

respectable, well-managed, and, on the whole, successful (as, indeed,

might have been expected) sort of a place it was, if people would only be

tolerably brave and honest and good in it; and then she told him not to

be afraid of anything he met, for nothing would harm him if he remembered

all his lessons, and did what he knew was right. And at last she

comforted poor little Tom so much that he was quite eager to go, and

wanted to set out that minute. “Only,” he said, “if I might see Ellie

once before I went!”

“Why do you want that?”

“Because—because I should be so much happier if I thought she had

forgiven me.”

And in the twinkling of an eye there stood Ellie, smiling, and looking so

happy that Tom longed to kiss her; but was still afraid it would not be

respectful, because she was a lady born.

“I am going, Ellie!” said Tom. “I am going, if it is to the world’s end.

But I don’t like going at all, and that’s the truth.”

“Pooh! pooh! pooh!” said the fairy. “You will like it very well indeed,

you little rogue, and you know that at the bottom of your heart. But if

you don’t, I will make you like it. Come here, and see what happens to

people who do only what is pleasant.”

And she took out of one of her cupboards (she had all sorts of mysterious

cupboards in the cracks of the rocks) the most wonderful waterproof book,

full of such photographs as never were seen. For she had found out

photography (and this is a fact) more than 13,598,000 years before

anybody was born; and, what is more, her photographs did not merely

represent light and shade, as ours do, but colour also, and all colours,

as you may see if you look at a black-cock’s tail, or a butterfly’s wing,

or indeed most things that are or can be, so to speak. And therefore her

photographs were very curious and famous, and the children looked with

great delight for the opening of the book.

And on the title-page was written, “The History of the great and famous

nation of the Doasyoulikes, who came away from the country of Hardwork,

because they wanted to play on the Jews’ harp all day long.”

In the first picture they saw these Doasyoulikes living in the land of

Readymade, at the foot of the Happy-go-lucky Mountains, where flapdoodle

grows wild; and if you want to know what that is, you must read Peter

Simple.

They lived very much such a life as those jolly old Greeks in Sicily,

whom you may see painted on the ancient vases, and really there seemed to

be great excuses for them, for they had no need to work.

Instead of houses they lived in the beautiful caves of tufa, and bathed

in the warm springs three times a day; and, as for clothes, it was so

warm there that the gentlemen walked about in little beside a cocked hat

and a pair of straps, or some light summer tackle of that kind; and the

ladies all gathered gossamer in autumn (when they were not too lazy) to

make their winter dresses.

They were very fond of music, but it was too much trouble to learn the

piano or the violin; and as for dancing, that would have been too great

an exertion. So they sat on ant-hills all day long, and played on the

Jews’ harp; and, if the ants bit them, why they just got up and went to

the next ant-hill, till they were bitten there likewise.

[Picture: Woman surrounded by fairies]

And they sat under the flapdoodle-trees, and let the flapdoodle drop into

their mouths; and under the vines, and squeezed the grape-juice down

their throats; and, if any little pigs ran about ready roasted, crying,

“Come and eat me,” as was their fashion in that country, they waited till

the pigs ran against their mouths, and then took a bite, and were

content, just as so many oysters would have been.

They needed no weapons, for no enemies ever came near their land; and no

tools, for everything was readymade to their hand; and the stern old

fairy Necessity never came near them to hunt them up, and make them use

their wits, or die.

And so on, and so on, and so on, till there were never such comfortable,

easy-going, happy-go-lucky people in the world.

“Well, that is a jolly life,” said Tom.

“You think so?” said the fairy. “Do you see that great peaked mountain

there behind,” said the fairy, “with smoke coming out of its top?”

“Yes.”

“And do you see all those ashes, and slag, and cinders lying about?”

“Yes.”

“Then turn over the next five hundred years, and you will see what

happens next.”

And behold the mountain had blown up like a barrel of gunpowder, and then

boiled over like a kettle; whereby one-third of the Doasyoulikes were

blown into the air, and another third were smothered in ashes; so that

there was only one-third left.

“You see,” said the fairy, “what comes of living on a burning mountain.”

“Oh, why did you not warn them?” said little Ellie.

“I did warn them all that I could. I let the smoke come out of the

mountain; and wherever there is smoke there is fire. And I laid the

ashes and cinders all about; and wherever there are cinders, cinders may

be again. But they did not like to face facts, my dears, as very few

people do; and so they invented a cock-and-bull story, which, I am sure,

I never told them, that the smoke was the breath of a giant, whom some

gods or other had buried under the mountain; and that the cinders were

what the dwarfs roasted the little pigs whole with; and other nonsense of

that kind. And, when folks are in that humour, I cannot teach them, save

by the good old birch-rod.”

And then she turned over the next five hundred years: and there were the

remnant of the Doasyoulikes, doing as they liked, as before. They were

too lazy to move away from the mountain; so they said, If it has blown up

once, that is all the more reason that it should not blow up again. And

they were few in number: but they only said, The more the merrier, but

the fewer the better fare. However, that was not quite true; for all the

flapdoodle-trees were killed by the volcano, and they had eaten all the

roast pigs, who, of course, could not be expected to have little ones.

So they had to live very hard, on nuts and roots which they scratched out

of the ground with sticks. Some of them talked of sowing corn, as their

ancestors used to do, before they came into the land of Readymade; but

they had forgotten how to make ploughs (they had forgotten even how to

make Jews’ harps by this time), and had eaten all the seed-corn which

they brought out of the land of Hardwork years since; and of course it

was too much trouble to go away and find more. So they lived miserably

on roots and nuts, and all the weakly little children had great stomachs,

and then died.

“Why,” said Tom, “they are growing no better than savages.”

“And look how ugly they are all getting,” said Ellie.

“Yes; when people live on poor vegetables instead of roast beef and

plum-pudding, their jaws grow large, and their lips grow coarse, like the

poor Paddies who eat potatoes.”

And she turned over the next five hundred years. And there they were all

living up in trees, and making nests to keep off the rain. And

underneath the trees lions were prowling about.

“Why,” said Ellie, “the lions seem to have eaten a good many of them, for

there are very few left now.”

“Yes,” said the fairy; “you see it was only the strongest and most active

ones who could climb the trees, and so escape.”

“But what great, hulking, broad-shouldered chaps they are,” said Tom;

“they are a rough lot as ever I saw.”

“Yes, they are getting very strong now; for the ladies will not marry any

but the very strongest and fiercest gentlemen, who can help them up the

trees out of the lions’ way.”

And she turned over the next five hundred years. And in that they were

fewer still, and stronger, and fiercer; but their feet had changed shape

very oddly, for they laid hold of the branches with their great toes, as

if they had been thumbs, just as a Hindoo tailor uses his toes to thread

his needle.

The children were very much surprised, and asked the fairy whether that

was her doing.

“Yes, and no,” she said, smiling. “It was only those who could use their

feet as well as their hands who could get a good living: or, indeed, get

married; so that they got the best of everything, and starved out all the

rest; and those who are left keep up a regular breed of toe-thumb-men, as

a breed of short-horns, or are skye-terriers, or fancy pigeons is kept

up.”

“But there is a hairy one among them,” said Ellie.

“Ah!” said the fairy, “that will be a great man in his time, and chief of

all the tribe.”

And, when she turned over the next five hundred years, it was true.

For this hairy chief had had hairy children, and they hairier children

still; and every one wished to marry hairy husbands, and have hairy

children too; for the climate was growing so damp that none but the hairy

ones could live: all the rest coughed and sneezed, and had sore throats,

and went into consumptions, before they could grow up to be men and

women.

Then the fairy turned over the next five hundred years. And they were

fewer still.

“Why, there is one on the ground picking up roots,” said Ellie, “and he

cannot walk upright.”

No more he could; for in the same way that the shape of their feet had

altered, the shape of their backs had altered also.

“Why,” cried Tom, “I declare they are all apes.”

“Something fearfully like it, poor foolish creatures,” said the fairy.

“They are grown so stupid now, that they can hardly think: for none of

them have used their wits for many hundred years. They have almost

forgotten, too, how to talk. For each stupid child forgot some of the

words it heard from its stupid parents, and had not wits enough to make

fresh words for itself. Beside, they are grown so fierce and suspicious

and brutal that they keep out of each other’s way, and mope and sulk in

the dark forests, never hearing each other’s voice, till they have

forgotten almost what speech is like. I am afraid they will all be apes

very soon, and all by doing only what they liked.”

And in the next five hundred years they were all dead and gone, by bad

food and wild beasts and hunters; all except one tremendous old fellow

with jaws like a jack, who stood full seven feet high; and M. Du Chaillu

came up to him, and shot him, as he stood roaring and thumping his

breast. And he remembered that his ancestors had once been men, and

tried to say, “Am I not a man and a brother?” but had forgotten how to

use his tongue; and then he had tried to call for a doctor, but he had

forgotten the word for one. So all he said was “Ubboboo!” and died.

[Picture: Ape]

And that was the end of the great and jolly nation of the Doasyoulikes.

And, when Tom and Ellie came to the end of the book, they looked very sad

and solemn; and they had good reason so to do, for they really fancied

that the men were apes, and never thought, in their simplicity, of asking

whether the creatures had hippopotamus majors in their brains or not; in

which case, as you have been told already, they could not possibly have

been apes, though they were more apish than the apes of all aperies.

“But could you not have saved them from becoming apes?” said little

Ellie, at last.

“At first, my dear; if only they would have behaved like men, and set to

work to do what they did not like. But the longer they waited, and

behaved like the dumb beasts, who only do what they like, the stupider

and clumsier they grew; till at last they were past all cure, for they

had thrown their own wits away. It is such things as this that help to

make me so ugly, that I know not when I shall grow fair.”

“And where are they all now?” asked Ellie.

“Exactly where they ought to be, my dear.”

“Yes!” said the fairy, solemnly, half to herself, as she closed the

wonderful book. “Folks say now that I can make beasts into men, by

circumstance, and selection, and competition, and so forth. Well,

perhaps they are right; and perhaps, again, they are wrong. That is one

of the seven things which I am forbidden to tell, till the coming of the

Cocqcigrues; and, at all events, it is no concern of theirs. Whatever

their ancestors were, men they are; and I advise them to behave as such,

and act accordingly. But let them recollect this, that there are two

sides to every question, and a downhill as well as an uphill road; and,

if I can turn beasts into men, I can, by the same laws of circumstance,

and selection, and competition, turn men into beasts. You were very near

being turned into a beast once or twice, little Tom. Indeed, if you had

not made up your mind to go on this journey, and see the world, like an

Englishman, I am not sure but that you would have ended as an eft in a

pond.”

“Oh, dear me!” said Tom; “sooner than that, and be all over slime, I’ll

go this minute, if it is to the world’s end.”

[Picture: Newt]