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Updated: August 12, 2024
This pleased her, won her confidence if, already, that had not been done by his frank face, in spite of his fancy clothes and her assumption that he was a namby-pamby weakling. "Oh if you would!" she said, so eagerly that it seemed to him most pitiful.
He is not a philosopher, but a sophist, a misanthrope in verse; a namby-pamby Mandeville, a Malthus turned metrical romancer. He professes historical fidelity; but his vein is not dramatic; nor does he give us the pros and cons of that versatile gipsey, Nature.
"I merely thought he would be more apt to be like your oldest sister, whom I admire tremendously, as everyone knows." Patricia could scarcely wait till Miss Leighton was out of earshot. "What in the world made you so disagreeable?" she demanded of the unconcerned Judith. "Any blind bat could see that you wanted to be nasty, in spite of your namby-pamby airs."
I haven't seen him since yesterday." Elsa dropped her book petulantly. "I am weary of these namby-pamby stories." "Why, I thought you admired that author." "Not to-day at any rate. Silly twaddle." Martha's eyes had a hopeless look in them as she asked: "Elsa, what is the matter?" "I don't know, Martha. I believe I should like to lose my temper utterly. It might be a great relief."
Tombs in his sing-song namby-pamby University voice was concerned to get information. He asked endless questions, chiefly of Gilkison, who was the only one who really understood his language. I thought I had never seen anyone quite so fluent and so futile, and yet there was a kind of feeble violence in him like a demented sheep.
"Who is she?" asked Middleton. He felt that this was the one. She was so exactly the sort Miss Willoughby would object to. "Jane Brown," snapped Miss Willoughby. "A little, namby-pamby, mush-and-milk creature, afraid of her own shadow."
The wonderful Affliction of Margaret does not draw its power from the neglect of poetic diction, but from the intensity of emotion which would carry off almost any diction, simple or affected; while on the other hand such pieces as "We are Seven," as the "Anecdote for Fathers," and as "Alice Fell," not to mention "Betty Foy" and others, which specially infuriated Wordsworth's own contemporaries, certainly gain nothing from their namby-pamby dialect, and sometimes go near to losing the beauty that really is in them by dint of it.
By and by, we have a piece of namby-pamby "to the Small Celandine," which we should almost have taken for a professed imitation of one of Mr. Phillips's prettyisms.... Further on, we find an "Ode to Duty," in which the lofty vein is very unsuccessfully attempted. This is the concluding stanza.
I was seventeen, if I remember rightly, when I became worried, not over my heavenly estate now, but my earthly one. I must have a career, of course. No namby-pamby everyday living of dishes and dusting and meals and babies for me. It was all very well, of course, for some people. Such things had to be. But for me I could write, of course; but I was not sure but that I preferred the stage.
As a matter of experience, the reader of the namby-pamby does not acquire an appetite for anything more virile, and the reader of the sensational requires constantly more highly flavored viands. Nor is it reasonable to expect good taste to be recovered by an indulgence in bad taste. What, then, does the common school usually do for literary taste? Generally there is no thought about it.
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