is made by people who, in their beginnings, were bred on the wonder tale.
Whether he will or no, the grown-up author must incorporate into his work
the tendencies, memories, kinds of feeling which were his in childhood.
The literature of maturity is, naturally, permeated by the influence of
the literature of childhood. Sometimes it is apparent merely in the use of
a name, as suggestive of certain kinds of experience; such are the
recurrences of reference to the Cinderella story. Sometimes it is an
allusion which has its strength in long association of certain qualities
with certain characters in fairydom--like the slyness of Brother Fox, and
the cruelty of Brother Wolf. Sometimes the association of ideas lies below
the surface, drawing from the hidden wells of poetic illusion which are
sunk in childhood. The man or woman whose infancy was nourished
exclusively on tales adapted from science-made-easy, or from biographies
of good men and great, must remain blind to these beauties of literature.
He may look up the allusion, or identify the reference, but when that is
done he is but richer by a fact or two; there is no remembered thrill in
it for him, no savour in his memory, no suggestion to his imagination; and
these are precisely the things which really count. Leaving out the fairy
element is a loss to literary culture much as would be the omission of the
Bible or of Shakespeare. Just as all adult literature is permeated by the
influence of these, familiar in youth, so in less degree is it transfused
with the subtle reminiscences of childhood's commerce with the wonder
world.

To turn now from the inner to the outer aspects of the old-time tale is to
meet another cause of its value to children. This is the value of its
style. Simplicity, directness, and virility characterise the classic fairy
tales and the most memorable relics of folklore. And these are three of
the very qualities which are most seriously lacking in much of the new
writing for children, and which are always necessary elements in the