FROEBEL'S BIRTHDAY. Nora A. Smith




INTRODUCTION.

Story-telling, like letter-writing, is going out of fashion. There are
no modern Scheherezades, and the Sultans nowadays have to be amused in
a different fashion. But, for that matter, a hundred poetic pastimes
of leisure have fled before the relentless Hurry Demon who governs
this prosaic nineteenth century. The Wandering Minstrel is gone, and
the Troubadour, and the Court of Love, and the King's Fool, and the
Round Table, and with them the Story-Teller.

"Come, tell us a story!" It is the familiar plea of childhood. Unhappy
he who has not been assailed with it again and again. Thrice miserable
she who can be consigned to worse than oblivion by the scathing
criticism, "She doesn't know any stories!" and thrice blessed she who
is recognized at a glance as a person likely to be full to the brim of
them.

There are few preliminaries and no formalities when the Person with a
Story is found. The motherly little sister stands by the side of her
chair, two or three of the smaller fry perch on the arms, and the baby
climbs up into her lap (such a person always has a capacious lap), and
folds his fat hands placidly. Then there is a deep sigh of blissful
expectation and an expressive silence, which means, "Now we are ready,
please; and if you would be kind enough to begin it with 'Once upon a