I

Limby lumpy was the only son of his mother. His father was called the “Pavior’s Assistant,” for he was so large and heavy that, when he used to walk through the streets, the men who were ramming the stones down with a large wooden rammer would say, “Please to walk over these stones, sir,” and then the men would get a rest.

Limby was born on April 1 I do not know how long ago; but before he came into the world such preparations were made! There was a beautiful cradle, and a bunch of coral with bells on it, and lots of little caps, and a fine satin hat, and tops and bottoms for pap, and two nurses to take care of him. He was, too, to have a little chaise, when he grew big enough; after that, he was to have a donkey, and then a pony. In short, he was to have the moon for a plaything, if it could be got; and, as to the stars, he would have had them, if they had not been too high to reach.

Limby made a rare to-do when he was a little baby. But he never was a little baby he was always a big baby; nay, he was a big baby till the day of his death.

“Baby Big,” his mother used to call him; he was “a noble baby,” said his aunt; he was “a sweet baby,” said old Mrs. Tomkins, the nurse; he was “a dear baby,” said his papa and so he was, for he cost a good deal. He was “a darling baby,” said his aunt, by the mother’s side; “there never was such a fine child,” said everybody, before the parents; when they were at another place they called him, “a great, ugly fat child.”

Limby was almost as broad as he was long. He had what some people called an open countenance that is, one as broad as a full moon. He had what his mother called beautiful auburn locks, but what other people said were carroty not before the mother, of course.

Limby had a flattish nose and a widish mouth, and his eyes were a little out of the right line. Poor little dear, he could not help that and therefore it was not right to laugh at him.

Everybody, however, laughed to see him eat his pap, for he would not be fed with the patent silver pap-spoon which his father bought him, but used to lay himself flat on his back, and seize the pap-boat with both hands, and never let go of it till its contents were fairly in his dear little stomach.

So Limby grew bigger and bigger every day, till at last he could scarcely draw his breath, and was very ill; so his mother sent for three apothecaries and two physicians, who looked at him, and told his mother there were no hopes: the poor child was dying of overfeeding. The physicians, however, prescribed for him a dose of castor-oil.

His mother attempted to give him the castor-oil, but Limby, although he liked tops and bottoms, and cordial, and pap, and sweetbread, and oysters, and other things nicely dished up, had no fancy for castor-oil, and struggled and kicked and fought every time his nurse or mother attempted to give it him.

“Limby, my darling boy,” said his mother, “my sweet cherub, my only dearest, do take its oily-poily, there’s a ducky-deary, and it shall ride in a coachy-poachy.”

“Oh, the dear baby!” said the nurse; “take it for nursey. It will take it for nursey, that it will.”

The nurse had got the oil in a silver medicine-spoon, so contrived that, if you could get it into the child’s mouth, the medicine must go down. Limby, however, took care that no spoon should go into his mouth, and when the nurse tried the experiment for the nineteenth time, gave a plunge and a kick, and sent the spoon up to the ceiling, knocked off the nurse’s spectacles, upset the table on which all the bottles and glasses were, and came down whack on the floor.

His mother picked him up, clasped him to her breast, and almost smothered him with kisses.

“Oh, my dear boy!” said she; “it shan’t take the nasty oil! it won’t take it, the darling! Naughty nurse to hurt baby! It shall not take nasty physic!”

And then she kissed him again.

Poor Limby, although only two years old, knew what he was at he was trying to be the master of his mother. He felt he had gained his point, and gave another kick and a squall, at the same time planting a blow on his mother’s eye.

“Dear little creature!” said she; “he is in a state of high convulsions and fever. He will never recover!”

But Limby did recover, and in a few days was running about the house, and the master of it. There was nobody to be considered, nobody to be consulted, nobody to be attended to, but Limby Lumpy.

II

Limby grew up big and strong; he had everything his own way. One day, when he was at dinner with his father and mother, perched upon a double chair, with his silver knife and fork, and silver mug to drink from, he amused himself by playing drums on his plate with the mug.

“Don’t make that noise, Limby, my dear,” said his father.

“Dear little lamb!” said his mother; “let him amuse himself. Limby, have some pudding?”

“No, Limby no pudding!”

Drum! drum! drum!

A piece of pudding was, however, put on Limby’s plate, but he kept on drumming as before. At last he drummed the bottom of the mug into the soft pudding, to which it stuck, and by which means it was scattered all over the carpet.

“Limby, my darling!” said his mother; and the servant was called to wipe Limby’s mug and pick the pudding up from the floor.

Limby would not have his mug wiped, and floundered about, and upset the cruet-stand and the mustard on the table-cloth.

“Oh, Limby Lumpy naughty boy!” said his father.

“Don’t speak so cross to the child: he is but a child,” said his mother. “I don’t like to hear you speak so cross to the child.”

“I tell you what it is,” said his father, “I think the boy does as he likes. But I don’t want to interfere.”

Limby now sat still, resolving what to do next. He was not hungry, having been stuffed with a large piece of pound-cake about an hour before dinner; but he wanted something to do, and could not sit still.

Presently a saddle of mutton was brought on the table. When Limby saw this he set up a crow of delight.

“Limby ride,” said he “Limby ride!” and rose up in his chair, as if to reach the dish.

“Yes, my ducky, it shall have some mutton,” said his mother, and immediately gave him a slice, cut up into small morsels.

That was not it. Limby pushed that on the floor, and cried out: “Limby on meat! Limby on meat!”

His mother could not think what he meant. At last, however, his father recollected that he had been in the habit of giving him a ride occasionally, first on his foot, sometimes on the scroll end of the sofa, at other times on the top of the easy chair. Once he put him on a dog, and more than once on the saddle; in short, he had been in the habit of perching him on various things, and now Limby, hearing this was a saddle of mutton, wanted to take a ride on it.

“Limby on! Limby ride on bone!” said the child in a whimper.

“Did you ever hear?” said the father.

“What an extraordinary child!” said the mother. “How clever to know it was like a saddle, the little dear! No, no, Limby; grease frock, Limby.”

But Limby cared nothing about a greasy frock, not he he was used enough to that and therefore roared out more lustily for a ride on the mutton.

“Did you ever know such a child? What a dear, determined spirit!”

“He is a child of an uncommon mind,” said his mother. “Limby, dear Limby, dear, silence! silence!”

The truth was, Limby made such a roaring that neither father nor mother could get their dinners, and scarcely knew whether they were eating beef or mutton.

“It is impossible to let him ride on the mutton,” said his father “quite impossible!”

“Well, but you might just put him astride the dish, just to satisfy him. You can take care his legs or clothes do not go into the gravy.”

“Anything for a quiet life,” said the father. “What does Limby want? Limby ride?”

“Limby on bone! Limby on meat!”

“Shall I put him across?” said Mr. Lumpy.

“Just for one moment,” said his mother; “it won’t hurt the mutton.”

The father rose, and took Limby from his chair, and, with the greatest caution, held his son’s legs astride, so that they might hang on each side of the dish without touching it “just to satisfy him,” as he said, “that they might dine in quiet ” and was about to withdraw him from it immediately.

But Limby was not to be cheated in that way. He wished to feel the saddle under him, and accordingly forced himself down upon it; but feeling it rather warmer than was agreeable, started, and lost his balance, and fell down among the dishes, soused in melted butter, cauliflower, and gravy, floundering, and kicking, and screaming, to the detriment of glasses, jugs, dishes, and everything else on the table.

“My child! my child!” said his mother. “Oh, save my child!”

She snatched him up, and pressed his begreased garments close to the bosom of her best silk gown.

Neither father nor mother wanted any more dinner after this. As to Limby, he was as frisky afterwards as if nothing had happened, and about half an hour from the time of this disaster cried for his dinner.