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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.”

“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 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; 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 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 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.