PREFACE. TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS.

In these little books, I have complied with a request repeatedly expressed to me, to write stories avowedly for the purpose of “pointing a moral.”

Any one who will take the trouble to look over the “Nightcap,” “Mitten,” or “Sock” books, will see that I have tried to remember this duty; although I own to loving children so tenderly, as to administer my pills, sugar-coated.

Even now, I cannot resist employing the whimsical mask of an odd title; but my[10] dear friends, try my pop-guns, and if then you are convinced that I have sincerely endeavored to “shoot folly as it flies,” pray believe also, that Aunt Fanny well knows that stories called “Pop-Guns,” will make quicker and more enduring marks in the loving hearts of her darlings, the children, than twenty folios, written by a thousand times greater authors, with the dry title of “Moral Lessons for the Young.”

New York, May, 1864.

[11]

A POP-GUN LETTER FROM AUNT FANNY.

Darling Children,—

Last summer, when I was in the country, I met a family of six charming children. As soon as they heard who I was, they did not stop one minute to think about it, but just ran up and kissed and hugged me, and told me they loved me dearly.

Oh! how sweet that was to know: but I put on a funny grave face, and said—

“I cannot imagine why you should love such a little brown woman; don’t you think you have made some mistake?”

“No indeed, Aunt Fanny,” they all cried together, “and we are so glad we have found you at last. We are glad you[12] are little, that’s the best of it! and don’t look so very brown. Come, please sit down, and tell us what has become of the Night-cap children, won’t you? Oh, do!”

There was no resisting that “Oh, do!” with six pair of loving bright eyes looking into mine; so I answered—

“Well, let us all get in a corner together, and have a nice long talk.”

At this one of the boys threw up his hands, made a dry dive down on the carpet, and bumped the top of his head, in his joy; another, hopped on one foot till he lost his balance, and had to make a one-sided somerset, to bring himself up on his feet again; the third and smallest laid his curly head lovingly against my dress; while the little girls danced and skipped so lightly around me, that I caught myself wishing for the hundred and fiftieth time that I were a child too.

But never mind. I love children with[13] my whole heart, and that helps to comfort me, when I think what an old “Aunt Fanny” I am getting to be.

So we all sat down in the corner, just as close together as we could get, and I told them how, as they knew already from the “Mitten” books, that George was a captain in the army, and as he had always been a good boy, he was now a noble and good young man; and how Harry had gone to the naval school at Newport, and could run about the rigging of a ship, like any monkey; and Anna was engaged to be married; at which they were greatly surprised.

“Why, Aunt Fanny!” they exclaimed, “is she as old as that?”

“Yes,” I answered, “she would grow up into a lovely young lady, all I could do—and the rest are growing older too, for Clara has left school; little Minnie knows how to make cake; the ‘Tremendous Dog’ has died of old age; and even little[14] Johnny, who packed up his mother’s false hair in an old tin tomato-can, and gave it to the express-man to carry off, is taller than I am.”

“Oh, Aunt Fanny! How old they all are!” cried Sophie, the eldest girl, “they are too old to have any more stories told to them. Oh! Oh!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands, “please tell the next stories to us. Won’t you? Will you?”

Such a shout as the rest of the children gave at this! “Yes! yes! yes!” they all cried. “We’ll be the Night-cap children! we want the next stories! Oh my! How delightful it would be!”

“But let me tell you,” I said, with a serious air, “you would not be the Night-cap children. I have a new idea in my head. I am going to write stories this time, in which I intend to show the evil effects of special faults and bad habits, and the unfailing happiness children will find in being good, and doing good. Yes, I am[15] going to fire guns this time; and then, if the stories are first told to you, what do you think you will be called?”

“W-h-a-t?” cried all the children, with breathless interest.

I put on a monstrous solemn face, and raising my arms as if I was going to shoot, uttered the first four words very slowly, and the last four, very quickly—

“You—will—be—called—The Pop-gun Children—Bang!”

But I could not help a merry twinkle in my eyes, and the children saw it; so after the first instant of surprise at their new and queer title, they burst out into hearty chuckling laughter, exclaiming, “Oh, what fun! We are to be the ‘Pop-gun Children!’ Shoot away, Aunt Fanny. Make ready! Take aim! Fire! Bang! bang! bang!” and they commenced to shoot each other with their fore-fingers, and made such a terrible racket, that two very grave and very prim old ladies, who were knitting[16] stockings on the other side of the room, looked at us so severely through their big round spectacles, that I had a great mind to tell the children to take hold of hands, and we would all march up in one long row, and with a One, two, three! fall down plump on our fourteen knees, and say we were sorry for being happy so loud.

But the next moment, I thought, that perhaps these poor old souls had no children in their own homes, and were not used to so much noise—perhaps they had only cats and parrots to love them—and then I felt sorry for them in earnest, and whispered to the children, “Come, let us go out under the trees, and finish our talk.”

It would have made you smile, if you could have seen how they tried to get the dimples out of their faces, as they walked past the two old ladies. They puckered their mouths into button-holes, and seemed[17] to be stepping on eggs, but the very instant they got outside the front door I really thought they had wings all at once, for they seemed to fly under a great oak-tree, where there was a large rustic seat, and tumbling down pell-mell upon it, Fred, the eldest boy, cried out, “Walk up, ladies and gentlemen! Here you will see the celebrated Pop-Gun Children, each a head and five pair of shoulders taller than anybody else, because they have got Aunt Fanny all to themselves: ten cents each, and children half-price, and we intend to give the money to the insanitary commission.”

This made me laugh so, that I did not perceive that a lady and gentleman who had been sitting reading under another tree a little way off, had left their seats, and were standing close to us smiling, until Sophie said, “Dear mamma and papa, this is ‘Aunt Fanny.’”

I tried to look grave, as I shook hands[18] with “mamma and papa,” and heard their kind words of welcome: words so kind, that I do not like to tell them—and then all the children speaking at once, told about their new funny name, and my new stories, at which mamma and papa seemed very much delighted.

“But when will they begin?” asked the children; “to-morrow?”

“Not till next October.”

“O——h!” now came, in one long wail of disappointment.

“Why, my darlings,” I said, “I want to rest here in this lovely country place, and laugh and frolic with you, and climb over ninety-nine fences, and eat apples, and drink milk, and hear the birds sing, and watch the dimples of sunlight peeping through the leaves of the trees, and feed the chickens, and ride on the top of a load of hay, with forty thousand grasshoppers in it, and sail or row on that beautiful little lake in front of us, and forget all about the hard brick and stone city, until the sweet summer is over.”

“We all got into the boat.”

[19]

“Oh! Will you do all that with us, dear Aunt Fanny? then we will wait as long as you like. When will you begin to climb the fences and row on the pond? Let’s have a row now.”

“With all my heart,” I said, and we jumped up and ran down to the water’s edge; at least the children ran, and I tried to, and we got into a beautiful little boat, and had such a nice row, with the cool soft wind blowing in our faces, and the air full of golden light. Oh! it did me more good than a thousand doses of Epsom salts.

The very minute we were on dry land again, Peter said, with a hop, skip, and jump, “Now, Aunt Fanny, when shall we begin to climb the fences?”

“At five o’clock this afternoon,” I answered, laughing, “we will all go out, for a nice long walk, and you shall hunt up[20] the fences, and that little pug-nosed dog, with no tail to speak of, shall go with us.”

“Why, that’s our dog!” cried the children.

“Is it? what is his name?”

“Something short.”

“Short? Is it Tip?”

“No, Aunt Fanny; something short.”

“Nip? Bip? Rip? Sap? Top?”

How they laughed as they said again, “Something short.”

Then I began to suspect the joke, and said, “Very well. I’ll fire one of my pop-guns at Mr. Something Short, the very first time I catch him chasing a cat, or rushing at cows’ noses to bite them.”

“Yes do, Aunt Fanny!” they answered. Then I got a good kiss and hug from each, and went back into the house.

And here, my darling children who are out in the world, are the stories I gave, one by one, to Sophie, Kitty, and Lou;[21] Fred, the diver; Peter, the hopper; and Bob. You have them printed in books; but, oh dear! I cannot see you as I did the others, and watch your sweet faces, to know if you like them. I only wish I could get hold of you all, and give you one good kiss apiece. I often have my parlors filled with lovely children, who wish to see “Aunt Fanny.” It makes me feel very, very happy; but I keep wanting more to come all the time.

My Pop-gun children seemed really to know “Night-caps,” “Mittens,” “Socks,” and the “Pet-Books” by heart; and I do hope that both they and you who will read these new stories, will make an earnest resolution to profit by the good examples I shall give, and avoid all that you will find to be evil. I don’t mean it all for fun. No indeed! To be sure I have given a funny title to the books, and shall try to tell some funny stories; but beneath this fun I want you to feel that I am also trying[22] to show you how the cultivation of high and generous qualities, and noble and right principles, is the only way by which you may reap real and steadfast happiness—the only way to win the love and respect of all around you.

You know Solomon says, “Even a child is known by his doings—whether his work be pure, and whether it be right;” and you will be more laughing and merry—more full of fun and frolic at the right times—more the pictures of almost perfect happiness—the more earnestly you endeavor to obey your parents, study your Bible, learn your lessons, and, above all, the more faithfully you say your prayers. Never, never forget your prayers, my own darlings; then you will be certain, if the good God spares your lives, to grow up good and useful men and women.

Forgive me for this grave little lecture. It all came out of LOVE—that best love[23] which seeks your good. If you love me, I know you will understand this.

And now here are the Pop-gun Stories, which I send with a—Take aim! fire! bang!! and on top of all a kiss and a blessing, from your loving

Aunt Fanny.

[24]

ABOUT THE CHILDREN.

One clear soft autumn evening, in the beginning of October, just after dinner, Aunt Fanny went up into her bedroom, and put on her bonnet and sack. They were both black, and trimmed with crape, for she had lately lost a relative she dearly loved. Then opening a drawer in her precious little library-table, upon which she wrote all her stories, she took out a manuscript, and tried to get it into her pocket.

But it was written on such wide paper that the end would stick out, so she had to return to the dining-room with a quarter of the roll in full view.

“Why, mamma!” exclaimed Alice, “where are you going? and what is that sticking out of your pocket?”

[25]

“I am going to see my new children, and this is the but-end of a pop-gun.”

“Oh, mamma, take me! I want to go.”

“But, darling, I thought Lizzie Lyman was coming to help you make a new Spanish waist for Ginevra.”

“So she is; I forgot;” and Alice pulled out Miss Ginevra, who was a lovely little porcelain doll, and who lived in the top of her own trunk, and kissed her fondly.

So Aunt Fanny and her tall husband, after a dozen kisses or so from Sarah and Alice, trotted off.

If you will promise never to tell, I will mention that the new children lived in Twenty-third street, in the very middle of a long row of brown-stone houses. It was not a very long walk, and soon Aunt Fanny had pulled the bell, which was one of those funny spring bells which give one loud “tching,” as if they had jumped out of their skins with a jerk and a scream; and jumped in again with another, the[26] next time anybody pulled them. As the door was opened, she saw a bright little face peeping from the dining-room, and the very next instant she heard the joyous exclamation, “If it isn’t Aunt Fanny!”—and then came a rushing, and a tumbling, and a racing, and a laughing! and all the six children fell lovingly upon her, and knocked down—not Aunt Fanny, not a bit of it, or of her, but two hats, three umbrellas, a great-coat, a whisk-broom, and a paper parcel marked “From A. T. Stewart,”—all of which had been peacefully hanging or resting upon the hat-stand; and when papa and mamma came out to see who was creating such a riot, there

was Aunt Fanny with the whisk-broom perched like a flower on top of her bonnet, Peter and Fred rushing after the hats which had rolled off in different corners; all the rest of the articles scattered on the floor; Bob and the three little girls jumping straight up and down, kissing Aunt[27] Fanny, and begging pardon for upsetting so many things over her; while the waiter and Aunt Fanny’s husband were standing near, laughing as hard as ever they could at the fun.

They got into the parlor at last, and sat down—the children with their bright eyes fastened upon their welcome guest, who, trying to look grave, asked, the very first thing, if the children had had any dinner that day.

“Why yes, plenty, Aunt Fanny; dessert too—flower-pot pudding.”

“Flower-pot pudding! who ever heard of such a pudding! Is it any thing like dirt-pies?”

“Why no, Aunt Fanny!” cried all the children; “it is cooked in flower-pots; at any rate, we call them so; but there are no holes in the bottoms of them. Mamma brought ever so many of these funny little brown earthen pots from Boston. The cook puts them in the oven only half full[28] of the pudding, but when they come out, oh my! how funny they look! for each one has swelled up twice as high as the pot, and some of them hang over on one side, as if they were perfectly tipsy; and when you come to cut them, pop! goes the knife into a great hole inside, and there’s where you must put the sauce, and that makes them taste so nice! but—why do you ask?”

Aunt Fanny laughed, and said—

“When you came at me so furiously, I thought you might have been living on a slice or two of buttered paper and a teacup or so of sunbeams to-day, and meant to eat me up for supper.”

“Oh, Aunt Fanny! we love you dearly, but we wouldn’t eat you up for all the world.”

“But what’s that sticking out of your pocket?” asked Sophie, spying the end of the roll of manuscript, for the first time.

“A Pop-gun. Bang!” she answered,[29] pulling it out and pointing it at them. “Come, sit down, for I have brought it on purpose to read to you.”

With a great many “hushes,” and flourishes, and skirmishes, to get the seats on either side of her, Aunt Fanny unrolled her story, and began as follows:

[30]

HOW PHILIP BADBOY BECAME PHILIP WISEMAN.

Be GOOD if you wish to be HAPPY.

Once upon a time not so very long ago, there lived a stupid, heavy looking boy, named Philip, who bore any thing but an agreeable character; for he was naughty, lazy, greedy, and impudent. His companions[31] all hated him, for when he appeared among them after school hours, he was sure to kick their marbles into the middle of the street, knock the little boys’ caps over their eyes, twitch balls and kites out of their hands, and set them all fighting and quarrelling.

One amusement in particular gave him great delight. This was to tie a knot in the end of his handkerchief and snap with it at the little boys’ legs. I really hope no one reading this has ever made a “snapper.” If he has, and if he has gone round snapping other boys’ legs, I am sure his face has turned as red as a stick of sealing-wax when he reads these lines, and knows that I call him a cowardly tormentor; and no better than Philip.

His whole name was Philip Wiseman, but his companions changed it to Philip Badboy.

His parents tried long and faithfully to improve their wayward child; but nothing[32] altered him for the better—indeed, whippings, and locking him up, only seemed to make him worse.

Do not imagine for a moment that he was happy. No indeed! He was discontented, fretful, forever wishing that dinner was ready, and oftentimes hating the sight of every thing and everybody.

At last, quite wearied out, his father put him at a celebrated boarding-school in Sing Sing; but they might better perhaps have put him in the famous prison at the same place, for not a single button did Philip care for lessons or punishment.

At this same school was a bright little fellow, as full of good-nature, fun, and mischief as he could hold. He did not always know his lessons, and there really seemed no end to the monkey tricks he was constantly playing upon his school-fellows; but somehow, when he said he was sorry for his idleness, and his capers, in his coaxing voice, and trying to keep[33] back two dimples that would come in his cheeks, neither teachers nor comrades could help forgiving him immediately. Everybody loved little Kriss Luff.

He even tried to make friends with Philip; and one bright summer morning resolved to get him up in time for prayers. When the first bell rang, Kriss went to the sleeping boy’s bed, and shaking him well, shouted out: “Come, Lazybones, it’s time for you to be learning your A, B, C; Get up! get up!”

Philip only snored louder, and gave a kick with one of his legs, whereupon the little fellow, with a tremendous push, tilted him suddenly out on the floor, and then had to run for his life, or he would have got a good thrashing from the angry boy.

Thanks to the upset, Philip was down this morning in time for prayers; but went sound asleep again while on his knees, and his neighbors had to poke and pinch[34] him well, to get him upon his feet, when the morning service was ended.

But you may be certain he managed to keep awake at the breakfast table, where he made up for having a head as empty as a drum, by filling his stomach till he could scarcely breathe. He never stopped for salt or pepper; he did not waste his time talking; and was always the very last one at the table, getting up with his cheeks sticking out like a balloon, from thrusting into his mouth every thing he could catch in a hurry.

During school hours, Master Philip went to sleep again—and the master coming up rapped so loudly and suddenly on the desk, that he jumped half a yard high, exclaiming: “Dear me, how could you frighten me so!” while all the boys shouted with laughter.