My _first counsel_ is: Tell the story; do not give it to the child to read. There is an obvious practical reason for this. Children are able to benefit by hearing fairy tales before they can read. But that is not the only reason. It is the childhood of the race, as we have seen, that speaks in the fairy story to the child of to-day. It is the voice of an ancient, far-off past that echoes from the lips of the story-teller. The words "once upon a time" open up a vague retrospect into the past, and the child gets its first indistinct notions of history in this way. The stories embody the tradition of the childhood of mankind. They have on this account an authority all their own, not indeed that of literal truth, but one derived from their being types of certain feelings and longings which belong to childhood as such. The child as it listens to the _Maerchen_, looks up with wide-opened eyes to the face of the person who tells the story, and thrills responsive as the touch of the earlier life of the race thus falls upon its own. Such an effect, of course, can not be produced by cold type. Tradition is a living thing, and should use the living voice for its vehicle. My _second counsel_ is also of a practical nature, and I make bold to say quite essential to the successful use of the stories. Do not take the moral plum out of the fairy-tale pudding, but let the child enjoy it as a whole. Do not make the story taper toward a single point, the moral point. You will squeeze all the juice out of it if you try. Do not subordinate the purely fanciful and naturalistic elements of the story, such as the love of mystery, the passion for roving, the sense of fellowship with the animal world, in order to fix attention solely on the moral element. On the contrary, you will gain the best moral effect by proceeding in exactly the opposite way. Treat the moral element as an incident; emphasize, it indeed, but incidentally. Pluck it as a wayside flower. How often does it happen that, having set out on a journey with a distinct object in mind, something occurs on the way which we had not foreseen, but which in the end leaves the deepest impression on the mind. The object which we had in view is long forgotten, but the incident which happened by the way is remembered for years after. So the moral result of the _Maerchen_ will not be less sure because gained incidentally. An illustration will make plain what I mean. In the story of the Frog King we are told that there was once a young princess who was so beautiful that even the Sun, which sees a great many things, had never seen anything so beautiful as she was. A golden ball was her favorite plaything. One day, as she sat by a well under an old linden tree, she tossed the ball into the air and it fell into the well. She was very unhappy, and cried bitterly. Presently a frog put his ugly head out of the water, and offered to dive for the ball, on condition, however, that she would promise to take him for her