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year to children； their likeness is so rife among annuals。 For man
and woman we are naturally accustomed to a longer rhythm； their
metre is so obviously their own； and of but a single stanza； without
repetition； without renewel； without refrain。 But it is by an
intelligible illusion that we look for a quick waxing and waning in
the lives of young childrenfor a waxing that shall come again
another time； and for a waning that shall not be final； shall not be
fatal。 But every winter shows us how human they are； and how they
are little pilgrims and visitants among the things that look like
their kin。 For every winter shows them free from the east wind；
more perfectly than their elders； they enclose the climate of life。
And； moreover； with them the climate of life is the climate of the
spring of life； the climate of a human March that is sure to make a
constant progress； and of a human April that never hesitates。 The
child 〃breathes April and May〃an inner April and his own May。
The winter child looks so much the more beautiful for the season as
his most brilliant uncles and aunts look less well。 He is tender
and gay in the east wind。 Now more than ever must the lover beware
of making a comparison between the beauty of the admired woman and
the beauty of a child。 He is indeed too wary ever to make it。 So
is the poet。 As comparisons are necessary to him； he will pay a
frankly impossible homage； and compare a woman's face to something
too fine； to something it never could emulate。 The Elizabethan
lyrist is safe among lilies and cherries； roses； pearls； and snow。
He undertakes the beautiful office of flattery； and flatters with
courage。 There is no hidden reproach in the praise。 Pearls and
snow suffer； in a sham fight； a mimic defeat that does them no harm；
and no harm comes to the lady's beauty from a competition so
impossible。 She never wore a lily or a coral in the colours of her
face； and their beauty is not hers。 But here is the secret： she is
compared with a flower because she could not endure to be compared
with a child。 That would touch her too nearly。 There would be the
human texture and the life like hers； but immeasurably more lovely。
No colour； no surface； no eyes of woman have ever been comparable
with the colour； the surface； and the eyes of childhood。 And no
poet has ever run the risk of such a defeat。 Why； it is defeat
enough for a woman to have her face； however well…favoured； close to
a child's； even if there is no one by who should be rash enough to
approach them still nearer by a comparison。
This； needless to say； is true of no other kind of beauty than that
beauty of light； colour； and surface to which the Elizabethans
referred； and which suggested their flatteries in disfavour of the
lily。 There are； indeed； other adult beauties； but those are such
as make no allusions to the garden。 What is here affirmed is that
the beautiful woman who is widely and wisely likened to the flowers；
which are inaccessibly more beautiful； must not； for her own sake；
be likened to the always accessible child。
Besides light and colour； children have a beauty of finish which is
much beyond that of more finished years。 This gratuitous addition；
this completeness； is one of their unexpected advantages。 Their
beauty of finish is the peculiarity of their first childhood； and
loses； as years are added； that little extra character and that
surprise of perfection。 A bloom disappears； for instance。 In some
little children the whole face； and especially all the space between
the growth of the eyebrows and the growth of the hair； is covered
with hardly perceptible down as soft as bloom。 Look then at the
eyebrows themselves。 Their line is as definite as in later life；
but there is in the child the flush given by the exceeding fineness
of the delicate hairs。 Moreover； what becomes； afterwards； of the
length and the curl of the eyelash？ What is there in growing up
that is destructive of a finish so charming as this？
Queen Elizabeth forbade any light to visit her face 〃from the right
or from the left〃 when her portrait was a…painting。 She was an
observant woman； and liked to be lighted from the front。 It is a
light from the right or from the left that marks an elderly face
with minute shadows。 And you must place a child in such a light； in
order to see the finishing and parting caress that infancy has given
to his face。 The down will then be found even on the thinnest and
clearest skin of the middle red of his cheek。 His hair； too； is
imponderably fine； and his nails are not much harder than petals。
To return to the child in January。 It is his month for the laying
up of dreams。 No one can tell whether it is so with all children；
or even with a majority； but with some children； of passionate
fancy； there occurs now and then a children's dance； or a party of
any kind； which has a charm and glory mingled with uncertain dreams。
Never forgotten； and yet never certainly remembered as a fact of
this life； is such an evening。 When many and many a later pleasure；
about the reality of which there never was any kind of doubt； has
been long forgotten； that eveningas to which all is doubtis
impossible to forget。 In a few years it has become so remote that
the history of Greece derives antiquity from it。 In later years it
is still doubtful； still a legend。
The child never asked how much was fact。 It was always so
immeasurably long ago that the sweet party happenedif indeed it
happened。 It had so long taken its place in that past wherein lurks
all the antiquity of the world。 No one would know； no one could
tell him； precisely what occurred。 And who can know whetherif it
be indeed a dreamhe has dreamt it often； or has dreamt once that
he had dreamt it often？ That dubious night is entangled in repeated
visions during the lonely life a child lives in sleep； it is
intricate with illusions。 It becomes the most mysterious and the
least worldly of all memories； a spiritual past。 The word pleasure
is too trivial for such a remembrance。 A midwinter long gone by
contained the suggestion of such dreams； and the midwinter of this
year must doubtless be preparing for the heart of many an ardent
young child a like legend and a like antiquity。 For the old it is a
mere present。
THAT PRETTY PERSON
During the many years in which 〃evolution〃 was the favourite word；
one significant lessonso it seemswas learnt； which has outlived
controversy； and has remained longer than the questions at issuean
interesting and unnoticed thing cast up by the storm of thoughts。
This is a disposition； a general consent； to find the use and the
value of process； and even to understand a kind of repose in the
very wayfaring of progress。 With this is a resignation to change；
and something more than resignationa delight in those qualities
that could not be but for their transitoriness。
What； then； is this but the admiration； at last confessed by the
world； for childhood？ Time was when childhood was but borne with；
and that for the sake of its mere promise of manhood。 We do not now
hold； perhaps； that promise so high。 Even； nev