Old story-books! old story-books! we owe you much, old friends,
Bright-coloured threads in Memory’s warp, of which Death holds the ends.
Who can forget? Who can spurn the ministers of joy
That waited on the lisping girl and petticoated boy?
Talk of your vellum, gold embossed, morocco, roan, and calf;
The blue and yellow wraps of old were prettier by half. | | Eliza Cooke | Their works of amusement, when not laden with more religion than the tale can hold in solution, are often admirable. Quarterly Review, 1843
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