are too sophisticated to thrill properly when they come to Friday's
footsteps in the sand. Think of it, my contemporaries: think of
substituting for that intense moment some of the modern "tuppenny"
climaxes!

I do not wish to drift into a cheap cynicism, and apotheosize the old
days at the expense of the new. We are often inclined to paint the
Past with a halo round its head which it never wore when it was the
Present. We can reproduce neither the children nor the conditions of
fifty or even twenty-five years ago. To-day's children must be fitted
for to-day's tasks, educated to answer to-day's questions, equipped
to solve to-day's problems; but are we helping them to do this in
absolutely the best way? At all events, it is difficult to join in the
paean of gratitude for the tons of children's books that are turned
out yearly by parental publishers. If the children of the past did not
have quite enough deference paid to their individuality, their likes
and dislikes, and if their needs were too often left until the needs
of everybody else had been considered,--on the other hand, they were
not surfeited with well-meant but ill-directed attentions. If the hay
was thrown so high in the rack that they could not pluck a single
straw without stretching up for it, why, the hay was generally worth
stretching for, and was, perhaps, quite as healthful as the sweet and
easily digested nursery porridge which some people adopt as exclusive
diet for their darlings nowadays.

Let us look a little at some of the famous children's books of a past
generation, and see what was their general style and purpose. Take,
for instance, those of Mrs. Barbauld, who may be included in that
group of men and women who completely altered the style of teaching
and writing for children--Rousseau, de Genlis, the Edgeworths,