The Cowslip; Or, More Cautionary Stories, in Verse — Inside the Classic

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In Category - Fantasy Juvenile Worlds

Authors: Turner, Mrs. (Elizabeth), -1846 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2014 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Children's poetry; Conduct of life -- Juvenile poetry; Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile poetry Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 6,429

Reading time 28 min

Text sections 2

For The Cowslip; Or, More Cautionary Stories, in Verse — Inside the Classic, the stored edition analysis reports 6,429 words, 28 min estimated reading time, and 2 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 23.9 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Children's poetry,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #45275

In thirty cautionary verses, Mrs. Turner's 1820s collection uses a nursery-rhyme meter to dramatize childhood missteps—from truancy to quarreling—while embedding moral lessons through repetitive structure and direct parental address.

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Title & short description10 pts
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Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
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Edition quality

File: pg45275

Read the Text

There was a naughty boy;

Who talk'd and play'd,

And would go home too soon,

And made pretence to cry.

His sister, whom he sadly teas'd,

Was forc'd to take him out;

Papa will be displeas'd,

To hear of this no doubt.

"But I will promise not to tell,

This time, if you'll be good,

And sit quite still."

Ned said, '' I will;"

And Ned has since behaved as well,

As little children should.

|Miss Agnes had two or three dolls, and a box

To hold all their bonnets and tippets and

In a red leather threadcase that snapp'd when it

She had needles to sew with, and scissars to cut;

But Agnes lik'd better to play with rude boys,

Than work with her needle, or play with her toys;

Young ladies should always appear neat and clean,

Yet Agnes was seldom dress'd fit to be seen.

I saw her one morning attempting to throw

A very large stone, when it fell on her toe;

The boys who were present, and saw what-was

Set up a loud laugh, and they call'd it fine fun.

But I took her home and the doctor soon came,

And Agnes I fear will a long time be lame,

And from morning till night, she laments very

That now when she walks, she must lean on a

And she told her dear father, a thousand times

That she never will play with rude boys any more.

|Sammy Smith would drink and eat

From morning unto night;

He fill'd his mouth so full of meat,

It was a shameful sight.

Sometimes he gave a book or toy,

For apple, cake, or plum;

And grudg'd if any other boy

Should taste a single crumb.

Indeed he ate and drank so fast,

And us'd to stuff and cram,

The name they call'd him by at last,

Was often Greedy Sam.

|Mamma shall we visit Miss Hammond to-day?

As seated at breakfast, exclaim'd little Ann:

The morning is fine, and the sun's very bright;

And I hope you will go, dear Mamma, if you can;

For I've felt so much pleasure to think of the play

I shall have at her house all the time that we stay,

That I've scarcely been able to sleep all the night.

So earnest was Ann in her wish to go out,

That when she was silent her looks seem'd to ask;

And to coax her mamma, then she climb'd on

And kiss'd her and promis'd to learn all her task,

They went and Miss Ann was delighted no doubt,

Till she found Mr. Hammond confin'd by the gout,

And his daughter from home, that she wanted to

Now homeward returning Ann said with a sigh,

Mamma, how unlucky our visit to-day;

I expected such pleasure to meet with Annette;

She is always so kind and good humour'd at play,

And I'm so disappointed I'm ready to cry.

Her mamma made a soothing and tender reply,

And taught her to bear what's in vain to regret.

|Miss Lucy Wright, though not so tall,

Was just the age of Sophy Ball;

But I have always understood,

Miss Sophy was not half so good;

For as they both had faded teeth,

Their teacher sent for Doctor Heath;

But Sophy made a dreadful rout,

And would not have hers taken out;

But Lucy Wright endured the pain,

Nor did she ever once complain,

Her teeth return'd quite sound and white,

Whilst Sophy's ach'd both day and night.

XXII. Look at your Copy.

'|When Frances goes to school, to write,

I find, with great concern,

She never takes the least delight

To really strive to learn.

Some lines she makes are much too short,

And some she makes too long;

The copy's seldom where it ought,

Which makes her write quite wrong.

Such negligence I always see

With very great concern;

And think what pleasure there would be

To see her daily learn!

XXIII. Envy, a Fable.

|A Parrot that liv'd at a gentleman's house,

Could chatter and sometimes lie still as a

He was hung at the door in a cage that was gay,

And treated with plenty one fine sunny day,

When the Cat, thro' mere envy, was thus heard

Pray, sir, do you live on these excellent things,

Because you're a bird, and have feathers and wings?

If a Cat is in want of a dinner that's nice,

She must hunt in the garret or cellar for mice.

The Parrot, observing the Cat in a rage,

Said, pray Mrs. Puss, are you fond of a cage;

Should you like to be kept in a prison like me,

And never permitted your neighbours to see?

Depriv'd of all means of assisting yourself,

Though numberless dainties in sight on the shelf?

Continue Reading →

Mrs. Turner's The Cowslip (c. 1820s) opens with a poem titled “The New Book,” in which a girl who has been given a “neat little Book, full of pictures” immediately offers to lend it to her younger brother. This small gesture establishes a pattern that runs through the collection: each poem presents a child facing a moral choice, and the narrative voice—usually a parent or omniscient speaker—delivers a swift verdict. The verses are short, rarely exceeding twelve lines, and their meter is a steady iambic or anapestic beat, reminiscent of nursery rhymes. The language is plain and direct, with few adjectives beyond “good,” “bad,” “sad,” or “naughty.”

Rhyme as a Moral Compass

The poems in The Cowslip rely on a consistent metrical pattern to reinforce their lessons. In “The Truant,” the speaker warns that children who “delight to ramble, / When it is not holiday” will face “tasks and lessons double” and “proper punishment.” The rhyme scheme—couplets or alternating rhymes—creates a predictable, almost singsong quality that makes the moral easy to remember. Turner often uses the same rhyme for the transgression and its consequence, as in “The Sash,” where Caroline’s cry for a “pretty pink” sash leads to a whipping from Papa, who “heard / Her make the noise and rout.” The verse does not describe the punishment; it simply states it as inevitable. This technique, repeated across the collection, turns each poem into a miniature fable where the form itself becomes a tool of instruction.

Repetition and Variation in Child Characters

Several poems feature children with emblematic names—Headstrong, Joseph West, Charlotte, George—who reappear in different situations. In “Listen to Reason,” Joseph West, “the boy who learnt his lesson best,” accidentally hits Headstrong with a whip; Headstrong refuses to listen and attacks, only to be beaten in return. The poem’s title and the phrase “accidental quite” underscore the lesson: violence born of unreason leads to defeat. Later, in “Quarrelsome Children,” Charlotte and George argue over a butterfly, and their mother separates them, making each “hold a rod in your hand.” The rod is never used; the threat alone prompts them to admit “for brother and sister to quarrel is wrong.” Turner thus varies the severity of consequences—from a beating to a mere corner—while keeping the underlying structure constant: a misdeed, a parental intervention, and a stated moral.

The Natural World as a Moral Mirror

Turner occasionally uses nature to reflect or contrast with human behavior. In “The Daisy,” a boy observes that a daisy can stay in the rain “without in the least being hurt,” while a book would be spoiled. His father replies that the book The Daisy is itself “like the flow'ret it spreads, unambitious of fame.” This meta-reference ties the collection’s title to a lesson in humility. Similarly, in “Quarrelsome Children,” the garden setting—with currants, gooseberries, and strawberries—is described as peaceful until a butterfly triggers discord. The natural details are not decorative; they serve as a backdrop against which childish selfishness stands out. The daisy’s resilience and the garden’s order become implicit models for the self-control the poems advocate.

Readers approaching The Cowslip should note that the poems are best read in sequence, as later verses occasionally reference earlier ones (for instance, “Listen to Reason” mentions “See the Daisy, Story vi”). The collection’s brevity—thirty poems in under 7,000 words—makes it possible to trace how Turner varies a single moral formula across different domestic and outdoor settings. Pay attention to the few moments where the speaker’s tone softens, as in “Filial Love,” where Jane’s quiet tears for her ill mother are described without explicit praise. These departures from the usual brisk judgment offer a glimpse of emotional nuance within the cautionary framework.

I kept thinking about those old verses long after closing them—how they make childhood fears feel so enormous. It reminded me of another quiet collection, Canada and Other Poems — Inside the Classic, which sits with that same tender ache. There’s something about these older poems that stays close, like a hand on your shoulder.