I think there is no doubt that we have made considerable progress in this matter. Not only do we refrain from telling these highly moral (_sic_) stories but we have reached the point of parodying them, in sign of ridicule, as, for instance, in such writing as Belloc's "Cautionary Tales." These would be a trifle too grim for a timid child, but excellent fun for adults. It should be our study today to prove to children that the immediate importance to them is not to think of dying and going to Heaven, but of living and--shall we say?--of going to college, which is a far better preparation for the life to come than the morbid dwelling upon the possibility of an early death. In an article signed "Muriel Harris," I think, from a copy of the _Tribune_, appeared a delightful article on Sunday books, from which I quote the following: "All very good little children died young in the storybooks, so that unusual goodness must have been the source of considerable anxiety to affectionate parents. I came across a little old book the other day called 'Examples for Youth.' On the yellow fly-leaf was written, in childish, carefully-sloping hand: 'Presented to Mary Palmer Junior, by her sister, to be read on Sundays,' and was dated 1828. The accounts are taken from a work on "Piety Promoted," and all of them begin with unusual piety in early youth and end with the death-bed of the little paragon, and his or her dying words." 9. _Stories containing a mixture of fairy tale and science_. By this combination one loses what is essential to each, namely, the fantastic on the one side, and accuracy on the other. The true fairy tale should be unhampered by any compromise of probability even; the scientific representation should be sufficiently marvelous along its own lines to need no supernatural aid. Both appeal to the imagination in different ways. As an exception to this kind of mixture, I should quote "The Honey Bee, and Other Stories," translated from the Danish of Evald by C. G. Moore Smith. There is a certain robustness in these stories dealing with the inexorable laws of Nature. Some of them will appear hard to the child but they will be of interest to all teachers. Perhaps the worst element in the choice of stories is that which insists upon the moral detaching itself and explaining the story. In "Alice in Wonderland" the Duchess says, "'And the moral of _that_ is: Take care of the sense and the sounds will take care of themselves.' "How fond she is of finding morals in things," thought Alice to herself." (This gives the point of view of the child.) The following is a case in point, found in a rare old print in the British Museum: Jane S. came home with her clothes soiled and hands badly torn. "Where have you been?" asked her mother. "I fell down the bank near the mill," said Jane, "and I should have been drowned, if Mr. M. had not seen me and pulled me out." "Why did you go so near the edge of the brink?"