Other tales seem invented only for the purpose of forcing religious sentiment, or pointing a moral in inverse proportion to the size of the reader. Their authors seem sometimes to have reached Mark Twain's conclusion that "every one being born with an equal amount of original sin, the pressure on the square inch must needs be greater in a baby." "Pixie and Elaine stories," by Carrie E. Morrison, is a mixture of fairy tale and religious story. The author speaks in her preface of the stories having been carefully pruned. One shudders at thinking what they must have been before, with such chapters as "The Elaines' picture of heaven," and "The pixie transforms an Elaine" left in. "New book of the fairies," by Beatrice Harraden, is marred by the suggestion of cruelty to animals. In one story, in place of rubbing the Aladdin lamp, that what one wishes may happen, one must pull the black cat's tail. It is gratifying to reflect that black cats have their own peculiar method of retaliation for such experiments. _Burlesque fairy tales._ Burlesque fairy tales are the most atrocious of all. They are apt to be broad in their humor, full of _fin de siècle_ jokes or puns, and modern allusions which mar the poetry of the tale if there is any in it, and create an appetite for facetiousness in books. "Lips wagging, and never a wise word," one is tempted to say with Ben Jonson.... Copyright fees should be trebled on this class of books. Under this head come: "The book of dragons," by E. Nesbit. "Here they are!" by James F. Sullivan; full of modern allusions and puns. "The pink hen," by Cuthbert Sterling; a sort of "continuous performance." The pink hen is hatched from a forgotten Easter egg, is driven from the barnyard by her associates and forced to seek her fortune. She links her fate with that of a little girl who has escaped from an ogre, and together they redeem a prince from the curses of bad fairies. The pink hen is continually punning, and the prince while still in the cradle is addicted to smoking. It is hard to tell how the author of Jewett's "More bunny stories" would classify them. We hope not as fairy tales. They are poor from any point of view. The bunnies might as well be ordinary children as anything. They go to lawn parties, play golf, dance the Virginia reel, go to West Point, tell folk-lore stories, repeat Bible verses and say their prayers. We are sometimes asked for a Sunday book. For one who must have a special book for that day, this might possibly answer; it is certainly full of moral reflections and pious sentiment; but there is no reason at all for reading it on Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday. The story closes with a wedding where the happy bunnies are united under a bridal bell, while the strains of the march from "Lohengrin" float in the air.