Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 10: The Guide

A. The Plot

In the better stories of greater writers the plot still plays an important part, but while it sustains interest unflaggingly, it carries with it other things which are of vastly greater importance. In such stories the persons are living, breathing realities, and the reader feels that he has added permanently to his list of tried and true friends. Tom Brown and Tiny Tim, who live only in stories, are as much our friends as Henry Thompson and Rudolph De Peyster who live in the next block. The great writer, moreover, takes us with him into new places, among new scenes, so that Rugby becomes for a time our own school, and from Tim’s poor hearth there enters a warm Christmas glow into our doubting hearts. Although the plot is important, yet all stories that enthral the mind with exciting incidents must be regarded with suspicion until they prove their right to be considered real literature by furnishing higher interests or greater inspiration.

To analyze the plot of a story, however, is always helpful; to arrange the incidents in order, to determine which are necessary to the development of the story, and which are merely contributory to the general interest, is an interesting and stimulating thing. The plot of short stories may quite often be told in few words, and unless very complicated, the plot of a novel may be given in a few sentences. In some stories, however, the plot is so loosely constructed and of so little real importance that it is hardly more than a train of apparently equally important incidents. Again, the plot is oftentimes so complicated by secondary plots and incidents that even a careful reader becomes confused and loses his interest.

Let us consider the plot in such a story as Cinderella (Volume I, page 224). The main incidents of the plot arrange themselves as follows:

4. The king’s son gives a great ball to which he invites Cinderella’s stepsisters.

5. The stepsisters require Cinderella to assist them to dress, and abuse her shamefully.

6. The sisters go to the ball, and Cinderella sits by the kitchen fire wishing she might accompany them.

7. Her fairy godmother appears and sends her to the ball in fine style.

8. Cinderella, beautiful as a picture, dances with the prince, who falls in love with her.

9. The clock strikes twelve, and Cinderella goes back to the kitchen.

10. The stepsisters again mistreat Cinderella.

11. She goes to the ball the second day.

12. She forgets her godmother’s warning, and after midnight rushes back home, leaving a single slipper behind her.

13. The prince finds the slipper and searches for its owner.

14. The sisters fail in trying on the slipper, which is then fitted to Cinderella’s foot.

15. The fairy godmother restores to Cinderella the appearance of a princess.

16. The prince marries Cinderella, and she forgives her stepsisters.

A summary of these main incidents may be given in a few words, which will contain the skeleton of the plot. To say that a certain little girl who is shamefully treated by her stepsisters is aided by her fairy godmother to attend a ball given by a prince, who finally marries the little drudge, is to give the plot and really to tell all that the lax and superficial reader gets from the story he peruses.

There are in this little story, however, a large number of minor incidents which contribute to the interest, and if sought and placed in their relation to the main events will be found to have added materially to the charm of the narrative.

For instance, when the fairy godmother sends Cinderella to the ball for the first time, children are led to a vivid interest in the event by a series of fascinating incidents, as follows:

1. The fairy sends her into the garden for a pumpkin.

2. The godmother, scooping out the inside of the pumpkin, leaves the rind, which she taps three times, and immediately it becomes a golden coach.

3. The fairy spies six mice alive in a trap.

4. Cinderella lets the mice out gently, and as the fairy touches them with her wand, each becomes a fine, dapple-gray horse.

5. Cinderella brings the rats, the largest of which the fairy converts into a handsome postilion with a fine pair of whiskers.

6. Cinderella finds the six lizards behind the watering pot, which become the six sedate and dignified footmen clothed in livery.

7. Cinderella’s rags are changed to wonderful clothing bedecked with costly jewels.

8. The beautiful glass slippers are provided.

How real these incidents all seem! What art is shown in bringing in real things to give food to the imagination and to stimulate the interest that carries the little reader away from herself where she may riot in the wonders her active mind can so readily conceive. Some time when she has grown much older, and cares have wrinkled her smooth cheeks, she may see that the only fairy godmother who can clothe a Cinderella is hard work, and that mice become dapple-grays, and footmen are made from lizards behind watering pots only when she has earned the right to them herself. Just now it is enough for her to see that fairy godmothers come to good children only, and that good princes do not care if their wives have worked in the cinders, provided they are beautiful in gentleness and service to others.

Children like to understand what they read, and are never so happy as when talking over their favorite stories with those of their elders who have the power to enter sympathetically into the child world. By no means do all boys and girls like to be taught; in fact there are not many more certain ways of prejudicing a child against anything than by making it the subject of a formal lesson. Still, every child loves to learn, and is seeking at every moment to add to his information and to exercise his mind. Yet he must do it in his own way and with the things in which he is interested. If those facts are borne in mind, no parent will have difficulty in interesting his child or in leading the juvenile mind where it ought to go.

To apply these ideas to teaching the plot of such a story as Cinderella, let the parent who loves his children, and who wishes to be no stranger to their interests, joys and sorrows, seat himself among them some time and begin to read to them. Pausing now and then to explain some word whose meaning may be obscure to them, or to comment on some phase of the story that may be of special interest, let him read on to the end without attempting to do much more than to make the story a vivid tale where the interest centers in the incident.

When the story has ended, the pleasure has but just begun. Children like to ask questions, but they are no less ready to answer them if the questions are on things of interest, are related to the things which children know and are put in such a way that the genuine interest of the questioner is always evident. The I-know-it-all-and-you-know-nothing style of questioning; the I’m-the-master-and-you’re-the-pupil style; the because-I-ask-you-must-answer style are all fatal to interest, and will soon prevent that hearty sympathy and living spirit of coöperation that the parent wishes to secure.

If we suppose it is Cinderella that has been read, we may begin our questioning in this manner:

“That’s a good story. I like it, don’t you?—It is rather long, though; I’ve almost forgotten how it began.—O, was that the first thing that happened?—Was the father a rich man?—Did the story say he was rich or did you just think he was?—If he had not married a widow could things have happened as they did?—How did the widow and her daughters treat Cinderella?—If Cinderella had not been mistreated would her fairy godmother have come to her aid?—If the fairy had not appeared could the story have been the same?—How did the fairy make the golden coach?—Could she have made it out of anything else?—If she had made one just as good out of something else, could Cinderella have gone to the ball just as well?—If Cinderella went to the ball in good style did it matter how she went?—If Cinderella had not gone to the ball, could she have met the prince?—Was it as important then that she should have a coach made from a pumpkin as that she should go to the ball and meet the prince?—Can you think of something else just as necessary to make the story come out right as that Cinderella should go to the ball?—Can you think of other things that must have happened just as they did to make the story come out right and just as it did?—Can you think of some things that might have happened differently and still not have hurt the story at all?—Let us put together all the things that must have happened to make the story right and leave out the things that could be changed. Now, what are they?—Now let us find a few things we could leave out or change. What are some of them?—If we left them out the story would come out the same, but would it be as good, as interesting?—Would you like Cinderella as well if these little things had been left out?—Would you think as much of the prince if he had found Cinderella right away as you do when he has to do so many hard things before he finds her?”

Every one must realize the impossibility of providing a scheme of questioning that would fit exactly any given case, but will not the above suggest a method that may lead to many a happy and profitable evening at the family round table? Even if there are older children in the group they will renew their interest in the old stories and get more good from them when it is seen that father and mother do not deem it beneath their dignity, nor outside the range of their interests, to read and study a fairy tale.

In Journeys Through Bookland are here and there outlines and questions designed to lead the children to see for themselves what it is hoped others will take pleasure in showing them. Examples of the selections which contain outlines, questions and comments designed to help in the study of the plot may be found as follows:

B. The Persons

Every author tries to make his heroes and heroines speak and act like real human beings and show their characters by their actions and their words. Sometimes, however, he tells the reader just how his people look, feel and think, and describes their characters to give an interest in what happens to them. A more interesting method and a more artistic one is to leave the persons to disclose themselves as the story progresses, making them show by the way they act and by what they say under certain circumstances the strong and weak qualities in their natures. Nothing is more interesting than to watch the development of character in the hero of a story, particularly when it is accomplished under conditions which are themselves interesting.

In studying the persons in a story, then, the chief things to keep in mind are the following:

1. The principal person, or hero—the one, or perhaps the ones, in whose fortunes the reader is most vitally interested.

2. The secondary persons who are introduced merely to add variety or to throw light upon the character of the hero, or to assist to bring about the events which center about him.

3. The appearance, dress and manners of the persons.

4. The ways in which the author makes his persons lifelike and shows the reader what they really are.

5. The characters of the persons as they appear or as they are developed in the progress of the story. This is the really important part of the study, the one which becomes increasingly interesting as readers grow older and the stories they study become more and more complex and difficult. The study of the characters of Shakespeare’s heroes and heroines is more than interesting pastime for men and women—it is good, hard work.

For a simple example of what is meant, let us undertake briefly the study of The Hardy Tin Soldier (Volume I, page 148).

1. 1. The hero is the Hardy Tin Soldier himself.
2. 2. Persons of secondary importance are:
3. a. The twenty-four brothers.
4. b. The little boy.
5. c. The Dancing Lady.
6. d. The Goblin.
7. e. The servant-maid.
8. f. The two street boys.
9. g. The Water Rat.
10. h. The fish.
11. i. The cook.

Of these the Dancing Lady is second only to the lame Soldier; the Goblin, the two street boys, the little boy and the Water Rat are given considerable prominence, while the twenty-four brothers, the servant-maid, the fish and the cook are introduced merely to effect a certain incident or to give an air of truthfulness to the events. This is a fairy tale, and in it we must be faithful to our juvenile friends, considering the Goblin, the Water Rat and the fish as real persons, and the Tin Soldier as a very human being.

3. In appearance the Tin Soldier was tall and erect, but alas! he had only one leg! His uniform was red and blue and very splendid. He carried his musket across his shoulder as a marching soldier should, kept his eyes straight to the front, and stood very firmly upon his one foot. In the fire he lost the tinsel and the color from his uniform, and when the Dancer joined him he melted into a little tin heart.

4. While Andersen tells outright some of the characteristics of the little Soldier, he leaves others to be inferred from acts. The Soldier thinks, and sometimes the reader is told just what he thinks, but never once does he speak—to him silence is golden. Yet not once do we miss his voice, and it is only when we have finished that we suddenly think what a silent little body he is. That is part of the author’s art. The Soldier never once moves his eyes, or changes his attitude; the author never forgets that he is a tin soldier, but makes his every act consistent with his stiffness and rigidity. That is more of the author’s skill. There were other soldiers, twenty-four of them, and all were brothers. A less skilful author would have stopped in the telling of the fact, but Andersen adds in his whimsical, charming manner, “for they were all born of one tin spoon.” All the other brothers were perfect; our Soldier had but one leg, yet “it was just this soldier who became remarkable.” Even the missing leg creates an interest, and Andersen uses it to center our attention upon his little hero.

5. Andersen tells us the following things about the Tin Soldier’s character:

a. He stood firmly even with but one leg to balance himself upon.

b. He thought his box was not a place for a lady-wife who lived in a castle. This showed his humility.

c. Yet he was very human—“I must make her acquaintance.”

d. When he fell from the window, he put his leg straight up, stuck his helmet downward and his bayonet between the paving stones.

e. He would not call loudly to the servant-maid because he was in the uniform of a soldier.

f. While in the boat rushing down the gutter, he trembled, but he never changed countenance, and still looked straight before him.

g. He sighed for the little Lady’s company, while passing through the drain.

h. He would not answer the Water Rat.

i. He stiffened himself and would not move an eyelid when the paper boat sank.

j. He lay unmoved even in the darkness of the fish’s body.

k. He was not at all proud when he was rescued.

l. When he saw the Dancer again he very nearly wept tin tears, but he thought how improper that would be, and kept them back.

m. He stood firm and shouldered his musket although the fire, or grief, made all the colors leave him.

n. When the Dancer joined him in the flames he melted into a heart-shaped lump of tin.

What a fine little Tin Soldier he proves to be! Could any one be more loyal to his profession? Body erect, eyes to the front, musket shouldered, every muscle at attention all the time, no matter if he had but one leg to stand upon. He was brave as a lion, although once in the presence of the direst danger he trembled a little, but he drove every sign of fear from his face and stood his ground manfully. After he had once seen the Dancer and realized how similar her trials must be to his, how constant he was in his devotion! At his death what could be more fitting than to see him melt into a little heart-shaped mass, the symbol of his courage and constancy! Why should we call him the hardy Tin Soldier; would it not have been better if the translator had called him the constant Tin Soldier?

Now, when we give the hero of this pretty little story so much attention, does it not seem worth while? Will not we, grown men and women, find so much in the hero that we may gather our young friends about us and lead them to see how admirable a character he has and how beautifully Andersen has shown it? If we talk not to the boys and girls, but with them, if we invite their questions as to the Tin Soldier’s character, and by our informal questions lead them to appreciate the strength, courage, and devotion of the little toy, will they not get some taste for a good story well written, and perhaps, learn some little lessons that will help them to be better men and women?

Journeys furnishes you with many another fine story, equally interesting. There are a number of the tales, too, which may call for your own best efforts in the study of character, and from which even you may derive some genuine help in the heavy problems life thrusts upon you.

In many places, too, the present writer has appended outlines and questions which the young people themselves may like to pore over and which may assist the inquiring parent even more than the brief study above. The following are particularly suggestive:

C. The Scenes

There are people of such literal minds that descriptive writing fails to appeal to them. It is their misfortune. To others every word brings a picture that appears almost as vivid and as full of detail as those upon which the material eye gazes. Like any other power of the mind, this may be cultivated, even among the mature. Children are highly gifted with this power, to begin with, and only a little training is necessary to make them use the faculty freely for their own delight. Suggest to them the outlines of a picture, and see how rapidly they will fill in the details.

No two can see precisely the same imaginary picture; in fact, no two people looking at the same landscape will see precisely the same things, and if they are asked to describe what they see, it will appear that things which are most vivid to one may have made little impression upon the other. It is not to be expected, then, that two children reading a description of some scene will get the same picture of it. Each will color his own from the previous impressions and experiences he has had. Yet to each the picture may be very real and very pleasing. Good teachers of reading spend much time and effort in teaching the young to visualize the scenes of which they read, not only because of the pleasure it will afford the young when they are mature, but because the power to see vividly is of greatest assistance in every department of study.

In some stories little attention is given to the scene; in fact, the persons might appear anywhere and not be in the least affected by their surroundings, and the events might have happened in China as well as in England. Even then, however, there will be found mention of many things that seem to give locality to the story. At the other extreme are writers who lose themselves in descriptive flights and pause to describe a sunset while the heroine is perishing, and the hero must stand helpless until the author has painted the last color in the sky. In the best literature for children, description is so mingled with narrative that while there are fine pictures to see, they do not fall in the way of the events which the young reader follows with such breathless interest. In fact, the pictures aid the narrative.

There is of course in every story much descriptive writing that does not apply to the scenes among which the plot is laid, yet it is well to make a study of description from the scenes, for it is here that the author has his greatest opportunity for pictorial writing.

If the story is brief there may be but one scene. Everything may happen in one place, and none of the surroundings may change. For instance, in the fable of The Dog and His Shadow (Volume I, page 63) there is but one incident, which happens in one place. Such a simple story, however, furnishes the material for a good picture, and in bringing it out to a child who reads or hears the fable for the first time, the parent is giving good service that will lead to keener appreciation and higher power of interpretation in his child’s later years. What can be made out of this picture, and how should it be done? Let us see:

The fable is told in simple words, and only plain facts are stated. What are the elements of our picture? We can find only six, viz.: a big dog; a big piece of meat; day; a river; a narrow bridge; the dog’s image. Now if we were to draw a picture to illustrate this fable we would begin with a general sketch. Should we show a level country, or are there hills about? Is it barren and desolate, or are there trees? Are there houses near? Where did the dog get his meat? Is it a large river, or only a small one? The bridge is narrow; has it a railing along the side? Would the dog be liable to see his image if it was a wagon bridge? Was it then a mere foot bridge? Would a single plank across a small stream answer the purpose? The dog is big; is it a dog that knows and likes the water? Would you think it could be a Newfoundland dog? What kind of a dog is it? It is day time; is the sun shining? Do you imagine it is morning or noon, or that it is toward evening? In making your pictures would you draw the trees to show the leaves blown by the wind? If the dog sees his image, is the water smooth or rough? Is the stream rapid and rough, or smooth and placid?

While such questioning is going on both speaker and listener are seeing more clearly every minute. Besides, in order to see accurately they are drawing on their own previous knowledge and experience, and are reasoning just as truly as though they were solving a problem in arithmetic.

In every picture we form in our reading there are certain elements that we must accept and include because the writer gives them to us. Other elements suggest themselves, and we accept them and put them in place or reject them entirely. In the fable just discussed we are told that the dog is big, the piece of meat is big, and the bridge is narrow. We may not see a small dog with a little piece of meat on a big, wide bridge. Houses, trees, sedges on the river bank, children playing by the side of the path, spring, summer or autumn foliage, or even snowclad shores with black water between—any of these we may put into our picture, for the fable is silent on these points. We must be accurate, and the parent can do no better service in reading than to make his child see accurately whatever he sees at all.

The artist studies the selection he means to illustrate in just this way, and then draws his picture. When we see his picture we may accept it as good and true to the conditions, or call it poor and inapplicable. We should not be hasty, but should try to get his point of view before we criticise. If he violates any of the fixed conditions of the story his work is bad; if he gives us his interpretation and violates no fixed conditions, his work may be good or bad according to the standards we set up: are we always certain that our standards are correct?

In the fable The Fox and the Stork (Volume I, page 73) the artist has given us two beautiful pictures which in themselves tell almost the entire story, and his pictures are almost wholly from his own imagination, for there was given him to work with very little more than a fox, a stork, a wide dish and a vase. Such a pictorial imagination as he possessed is what should be cultivated in children. If they can be encouraged to draw what they see, they not only fix their own impressions, but they learn to see more vividly and more accurately.

In long stories there are many scenes; it may be that no two incidents happen in the same place. In the drama, which contains all the elements of the story, the scenes are limited in number, are fixed and unchanging and after the reader has arranged his scenery he may give his attention exclusively to the dialogue because he knows there will be no change in the scene. In the story the reader may need to be constantly alert, as when his hero takes a long and perilous journey the scenes may change with the quickness of a kaleidoscope, and yet all be important to the narrative. The more complex the story, the greater the variety in scene, and consequently the greater the opportunities for study. It is interesting work for children to pick out the scenes, to count them and then to compare them. Some of them are more vividly portrayed than others. Why? Some are more important as descriptions, and some because of the incidents occurring in them.

Sometimes, especially in speaking of the drama, the word scene is applied not only in its literal sense, but also to include not merely the place but the incidents that happen in the place, as well.

For instance, we may say, “The quarrel between Brutus and Cassius is a wonderful scene in Julius Cæsar.” Again, the word is used sometimes to mark the division of a play, as when we speak of the second scene in the first act of Macbeth. For our purposes, however, in our early reading with children, let us use it to signify only the place where events happen.

An author may tell us at the beginning of a story that the scene is laid in London, or in Calcutta, or in the Black Forest; but unless he employs some method of giving a vivid impression of the setting of the story, we soon lose sight of locality. Sometimes, of course, it is not necessary that we should remember the place—the story moves on independent of scene; but other stories depend in part for their interest and even for their plot upon their setting. In such cases, the author, by reference to the natural features characteristic of a region, or to the peculiar traits or mannerisms or turns of speech of his characters, keeps before us the place in which the scene is laid. Such peculiarities of a place or its inhabitants, when introduced into a story, are given the name of local coloring.

In A Christmas Carol (Volume VI, page 244), Dickens meant that we should be conscious throughout not only of a Christmas atmosphere, but of an English Christmas atmosphere. The references to the Christmas feeling are too obvious to require pointing out, but the methods by which the author makes us conscious that we are in London do not show so clearly at first sight. By a study of the paragraph which begins in the middle of page 253, and of the one immediately following it, we may get some idea of these methods.

Now-a-days we all know what English plum pudding is—it is served at many American tables on Christmas day. But nothing is more characteristically English, unless, indeed, it is the roast beef, not turkey, which the tailor was planning to have for his Christmas dinner.

Probably no one but an English writer, writing of an English subject, would refer in Dickens’s off-hand manner to Dunstan, the English statesman and archbishop who accomplished so much for religion that he came to be known as Saint Dunstan.

One of the most characteristically English touches in the two paragraphs is the reference to the carol sung by the boy at Scrooge’s keyhole. Other countries have Christmas carols, but the custom of singing them before people’s houses is peculiarly common in England. The carol of which the first two lines are quoted is perhaps the one most frequently sung.

These instances will give some idea of what is meant by local color, and of the methods used in securing it. It will be an interesting study to find other words and phrases in the remainder of the story which strengthen our feeling of the “Englishness” of A Christmas Carol.

Journeys Through Bookland furnishes an abundance of good stories of fine descriptive power. A few of the best are the following:

D and E. The Lesson and the Author’s Purpose

The purpose of the author is always a subject of interesting inquiry, and whenever it appears a serious one it is worthy our careful study. The novel is often the medium of conveying the results of deep study into human character, and a few of the greatest stories have been epoch-making in their effect upon the human race.

As the fiction which children read has a profound influence in the formation of character, it should always be examined with greatest care to see that the author’s purpose is a laudable one and that he carries it out in such a way that the lesson is wholesome and salutary. Some stories may be entertaining merely—they are for the play-spells of the imagination; others should be instructive—they are for hours of study and reflection; a third class should be invigorating and inspiring, full of good lessons of high moral import—they are for times of stress, or the still hours when character is made.

If, however, the purpose of the author is too evident, if his lesson is too obvious, none are so quick to catch the fact as wide-awake childish readers. The author who lugs instruction and information into his stories will find the boys and girls skipping all that he values, or laying down his books with laughter and derision. The writer who moralizes may find his work to be immoral in its effect on his juvenile readers, or may see his stories relegated to the overloaded bargain counters.

In the same sense, it is often unwise to dwell long upon the moral of a story or even to point it out if it be at all evident. There is no phase of teaching reading that requires such careful thought or such fine discrimination from the parent as that which relates to the lesson of the story. It is often better to let the selection do its own work than to try to elaborate its purpose. Yet a skilful and sympathetic leader, one quick to read the feelings of his young listeners, may often render his greatest service in free conversations about what the story teaches. It would seem that no one could do this quite as well as the parent who has known his boys and girls from infancy and can see in his offspring those very traits of character which have been to his own advantage or detriment.

More will be accomplished by questioning with occasional comments than by preaching, more by showing the help the story gives to the questioner than by trying to foist its assistance upon the hearer. “Now there is a fine lesson for you, my boy. I want you to remember it,” is not half so effective as “That idea seems good to me. I’ve often thought about it but never seemed to realize it so much. I shall try to remember it.” Wouldn’t you, dear parent, rather learn with your friend than to have him always instructing you? “What do you think of that, John?” is much more apt to help the boy than “You must see it this way, John.” Are you not, dear parent, rather proud of your own judgment, and do you not suppose your son has inherited your feeling to some extent at least?

We heard the old fables in our babyhood and read them in Latin as we grew older, and we still are fond of them, though the “morals” have long since been forgotten. Those wise lessons so graphically presented have helped to form our characters, but not through the formal “moral” at the end. Beware of “Haec fabula docet.”189-1

As a further suggestion of method we may consider for a few moments that beautiful but sad little story of Andersen’s, The Fir Tree (Volume II, page 68). Every good story is worth reading more than once, and every good method of teaching involves more than one reading. In this instance as children read or listen, they are first interested in the story as a story; that is, in the plot. They enjoy the adventures of the Fir Tree and may feel for it in its misfortunes, but their interest is in the tale. When they have read to the end, however, they will be interested in the appearance of the tree, their hero, and in the other characters which give vitality to the story. Then the scenes may be talked over, and varied enough they are to excite real interest as the story is read now with the definite purpose of seeing the pictures Andersen has sketched. With all this in mind the children are ready to think over it again and learn the lesson the great prose-poet meant to give. If the character of the Fir Tree is well understood, the lesson almost tells itself, for ambition, arrogance and discontent are seen as the traits that make for unhappiness. The Fir Tree might have been happy many times if it had only been content. At the worst it gave happiness to others, and therein, perhaps, filled its place in the world. Human beings must often find their pleasure in giving happiness to others and must be content to know that they are of service to others. Some of the lessons of The Fir Tree are rather hard for little folks to understand, and there is something in the charming story for those older readers that have hearts young enough to see the meaning.

Study the purpose in the following:

F. The Method and Style of the Author

Small children are not interested in considering the way in which an author tells his story, nor the methods he employs to secure attention and excite interest. Yet there comes a time when such a study is highly pleasing to inquiring youth. It is desirable always that children should early begin to appreciate the difference in the way plots are handled, to discriminate between a tale that is well told and one that is poorly told. At an early age boys delight in stories that are full of the excitement of adventure, conflict and mystery. Their craving is natural enough and must be satisfied. At such time they will read little or nothing else unless they are driven to it, and to compel them to read what they do not want is to make them hate reading for the time being and perhaps permanently. In time they will outgrow the taste—it is nothing to be feared if properly guided. The danger lies in the fact that they may find the excitement they wish in stories that are really immoral, or that are so poorly written that they destroy all taste for fine literature. The right course is to supply plenty of reading in which excitement abounds, where Indians stalk the woods, pirates rove the seas, and knights fight for their lady-loves, but always in stories that are so well told that the taste for good reading is cultivated unconsciously as the boy reads. Treasure Island is bloody enough for the most exacting boy, and it bears many a reading, for it is so charmingly told that long after the cry, “Pieces of eight, pieces of eight,” has ceased to make the welcome chills run up and down the boy’s back, he returns to the story for the pleasure he finds in the style of Stevenson. In later years the boy will write better and speak better for having read the story.

However, the parent may do much to help his child along by calling attention to vivid figures of speech, to happy expressions of all kinds, and to those graceful touches of humor and pathos that are so characteristic of Andersen, Stevenson, Ruskin, Kingsley, and other great writers for boys and girls. No child who can read well for himself is too young to appreciate a good figure of speech if the comparison is based upon something falling within his own experience. Who is so young, or so old, for that matter, that he will not thrill a little at Longfellow’s lines:

“Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.”

What does the poet say? “The stars appeared in the sky.” In saying it what does he make us feel? As we repeat the lines we see the immense expanse of the heavens, and as we gaze, the sparkling dots of light appear silently, slowly, one after another, just as beautiful flowers appear as the early morning light gilds the green meadows. We think, too, in the poet’s fanciful way, that these are no common flowers, but exquisite tokens of the loving care the angels have over us, and a gentle reminder that always should we trust in them.

Often the highest sentiment is clothed in lines whose figures, most beautiful in themselves, exalt the spirit as ordinary expressions could never do. At the close of The Chambered Nautilus, Oliver Wendell Holmes sings:

“Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from Heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea!”

Is it not well for the parent to lead his child to see such things in literature, to search for them, and when they are found to treasure them and bring them for mutual enjoyment into the family circle?

G. Emotional Power

Fiction appeals strongly to feeling and stimulates the growth of that series of great emotions that make so large a part of character. It may excite ambition and a thirst for power or wealth or give an impulse to labor and self-denial; it may teach us sympathy and love for our fellow-men, or arouse anger, hatred and defiance; it may give us a keener discrimination of right from wrong and lead us far on our search for truth, even into the calm of religious beliefs.

We see the play of emotions in the imaginary persons that pass before us, and as we learn to love our new friends, their influence passes out to us through the words of the gifted author. Bob Cratchit’s tender love (Volume VI, page 304) makes us more considerate of the sick and helpless; Tom Brown’s manly defense of his praying schoolboy friend (Volume V, page 472) leads us to new respect and admiration for the boy who lives up to his principles, and drives us, perhaps, to begin again upon the duties we have neglected.

By studying with the children the feelings the characters in a story exhibit, the parent may give the best of moral lessons without the appearance of so doing and more effectively than by countless reprimands and formal orders.

As a suggestion of method we offer an outline based upon Rab and His Friends (Volume VI, page 99), one of the most touching stories ever written, a series of incidents that appeal to every holy emotion.

The story has been read through; we have followed the simple incidents to their pathetic climax; we have learned to know Rab by sight and to recognize his sterling character; James the honest, tender-hearted carrier, and gentle, suffering Ailie, his wife, have taken their places among the dear friends our imagination has created; we have noted the power of the author, his humor, his scholarly English and his sympathetic touch. We may have read the story more than once—at any rate we have read portions of it several times, so we can trace the emotions that are felt by the noble dog.

Page 100: When the little white bull terrier fastens himself upon Rab’s throat and the strong muzzle prevents the big fellow from defending himself, “his whole frame stiffens with indignation and surprise.” “He looked a statue of anger and astonishment.”

After Rab had been released from his muzzle and had killed the little terrier, “he looked down at his victim appeased, ashamed and amazed.”

Page 103: When his master aimed a kick at him, he “drew cringing up” and “slunk dismayed under the cart.”

When his master spoke kindly, “‘Rab, ma man, puir Rabbie,’” “the stump of a tail rose up, the ears were cocked, the eyes filled, and were comforted”; Rab showed pride and happiness again.

Page 104: He was pleased when the medical student scratched his huge head, and anxious, when no notice was taken of him.

When he first came to the hospital he felt pride and condescension, “like the Duke of Wellington entering a subdued city.”

Page 106: When James handed Ailie from the cart, “Rab looked on concerned and puzzled.”

Page 106: In the consulting room Rab was filled with suspicion and uneasiness; he was “grim and comic,” and eyed all three.

When Ailie was put to bed and Rab was permitted to enter the room he “slunk in,” half-ashamed, but fully determined.

Page 107: Rab valued himself highly, but felt no conceit: he “had the dignity and simplicity of great size,” and the “gravity of all great fighters.”

Page 109: Rab felt perplexity and anger, “forever cocking his ear and dropping it as fast,” when Ailie entered the operating room.

During the operation he felt sympathy for the suffering of his mistress, anger and revengefulness at her tormentors; “his ragged ear was up, and importunate; he growled and gave now and then a sharp, impatient yelp; he would have liked to have done something to that man.”

Afterward in Ailie’s room he felt fear, anxiety and a desire to help, and showed “how meek and gentle he could be, occasionally, in his sleep, letting us know he was demolishing some adversary.”

Page 110: Rab continued to feel a sense of depression, sadness and anxiety; during his walks with the medical student he was “sombre and mild; declined doing battle—submitted to sundry indignities.”

While Ailie seemed to be recovering Rab felt kindliness and subdued joy, though resentment lay close beneath the surface; he was “reconciled, and even cordial,” had “made up his mind that as yet nobody required worrying,” but was always prepared for it.

Page 111: As Ailie grew worse, grief and fear began to take possession of Rab; he “subsided under the table into a dark place, and was motionless.”

Page 112: When Ailie called in delirium, her strained voice filled Rab with surprise, astonishment and a sense of guilt; he started up “surprised, and slinking off as if he were to blame somehow, or had been dreaming he heard.”

Page 114: At Ailie’s death Rab was overwhelmed with grief; he licked her hand which was hanging down “all over carefully, looked at her, and returned to his place under the table.”

The dog’s feeling of duty, obligation and devotion was shown when he leaped upon the bottom of the bed “and settled himself, his head and eye to the dead face.”

Page 115: Rab remained in statu quo till the carrier returned; love and devotion filled his heart.

Page 115: His grief wholly absorbed him; he did not notice his medical friend when the cart left the hospital.

Page 117: After the carrier’s death, grief wore down the dog’s brave spirit; he became discouraged, impatient, resentful; “he was aye gur gurrin’, and grup gruppin’.” Yet he was faithful to his trust, for he was only impatient and resentful when a stranger came and interfered in the business of the dead carrier.

It is evident that the study of emotions is to a great extent a study of character, and that in this instance, we have given a tabulation of Rab’s traits of character. It is through the showing of his feelings that Rab influences us. A little introspection shows that we are feeling just what the dog feels, or that some emotion is aroused in us that responds to the feeling of the dog. We are not exactly surprised when the bulldog grips Rab, but we are indignant that he should have no chance to defend himself—we would be among the first to slit the muzzle. We may not be pleased that Rab killed the bulldog, but we are glad that Rab defended himself. We realize the strength of the mastiff’s powerful jaws, and are not amazed at what he did—we are now rather inclined to feel sympathy for the helpless little terrier.

So we might go on incident by incident and compare our feelings with those of Rab, but that would require much space and perhaps it would not be of great benefit to the reader, for our feelings may not be his feelings, and the things which arouse him may have little effect upon another. It is sufficient to call attention to the value of analysis, and show that self-study is a valuable adjunct to reading.

It is well that most children are not likely to indulge to any great extent in introspection, for too much is injurious. However, it can do the young no harm for them to study the feelings of others, and now and then examine their own emotions. By so doing, they may learn that some reading, which is destructive to peace and productive of unpleasant or evil feelings, should be avoided.

General Principles and Reflections

The studies so far given are comprehensive, and are suited to all forms of fictitious narrative. Most of the illustrations have been drawn from the simpler tales in the earlier volumes, but the studies are equally applicable to the more difficult selections of the later volumes, and may be easily adapted by the parent to children of any age. The restrictions of space have compelled us to offer but one set of studies here, but there are many simpler and many more difficult ones scattered through the books where the juvenile readers will find them, and it is hoped become interested in them. In another place we have shown parents how these may be found easily and used consecutively if they wish so to use them.

The studies here given serve to systematize the work and enable parents to see the logic of the plans. Children are not interested in the studies as such, nor in the plan, and, in fact, are liable to be repelled if the machinery of instruction is evident.

Fortunately, children like to read many times the things they enjoy, and should always be encouraged to do so. But they are likely to read stories over and over again, for the plot only, and to become so fascinated by it as never to notice the more valuable and intrinsically more interesting things the narrative contains.

Yet every person who reads or tells stories to young children has without doubt often noticed how insistent they are upon verbal accuracy. The story must be told the third time just as it was the first and second times. This means that they are sensitive to the thing as a perfect whole, and feel that any change mars the beauty of the story as a scratch mars the face of a favorite doll, or a broken seat spoils the toy buggy.

There comes a time when, if you give a boy a mechanical toy, he is more interested in how it is made than in the running of it. He wants to “take to pieces” everything he has. Then he will enjoy analytical work on a story if he is led to it intelligently. Then the old stories come in for new readings, “to see how they are made,” to find something in them that he never found before.

The style of reading which a child does when he is “looking for something” is very different from his reading when he is absorbed in the story. Suppose he is trying to find out what kind of a man is James, in Rab and His Friends. He forgets for a time the story, and reads rapidly along, merely running his eye over the pages, watching intently for the word James, or the word carrier. When either of the words appears he stops to read carefully. He may have to go back a few words, perhaps to the beginning of a paragraph, all the time with his attention fixed exclusively upon what is said about James. When he has read it on the first page, he skims along to the next one and stops again. This is reading intelligently for a purpose, and is really one of the most valuable kinds of reading, the kind he will use most frequently when he is a man, the one that will save time for him when in later years he most needs it. It is the style of reading, too, that is much neglected in the schools.

To analyze the character of the hero of a story is as practical a lesson in life as any child can gain. In trying to discern the springs of action, in seeing how words and acts show character, and how dress and appearance indicate what a person really is, he is learning to understand his acquaintances and to judge whether they merit his trust and confidence, or are to be regarded with suspicion and disdain. This is the practical wisdom without which many a man has found himself the victim of misplaced confidence, or allowed himself to be led into temptations he could not resist by those who professed friendship for him.

Again, when studying the scenes, a child is learning to picture vividly and exactly, and is training his mind to close discrimination. He is training himself to avoid the mistakes that the careless reader makes. Many a man has found himself paying for careless reading, because he did not see a thing exactly as it was described to him.

At the risk of repetition we have argued again for the reading of stories in the different ways and for the different purposes suggested, for we know that the parent who will follow these plans will interest his children, will see them improve, and will find them growing nearer to him, while he will be more of a companion, less of a ruler. In so doing he may forget some of the cares of the day and find himself growing younger, more contented and happier as his family reaches the age when it can take care of itself. Then, later, when the long years of old age have come, it may be that the parents will discover that while they read and worked with their children they taught themselves to find in reading a solace for their loneliness.

It is scarcely necessary to say that many of these latter comments and suggestions are as applicable to reading other kinds of literature as they are to the reading of stories, but stories form so large a part of a child’s reading that it has seemed best to place them in this connection. Many essays contain something of narration, and not infrequently an incident forms the basis of a beautiful lyric. In print these studies may appear formal and forbidding, but where they are presented in a conversational manner, they become attractive and inspiring.

Completed Studies

The Hare and the Tortoise

2. The Tortoise. He is a clumsy, short-legged turtle, who carries a heavy box-shell around his body. He cannot jump at all, and he moves very slowly, flat on the ground, even his tail dragging in the dust. But he is wise, steady, not easily discouraged, and sticks to his task till it is done.

3. The Fox. He is a wise old judge, who cannot let the loser go without a word of advice.

C. The Scene. The race takes place along a dusty road on a hot day. There is a big clover patch, where the Hare rests, and at the end of the course is a cool and delightful brook or river.

D. The Author’s Purpose and the Lesson. The author of this old fable intended to teach the lesson that he puts into the last sentence, “Steady-going wins the race.”

E. The Method and Style of the Author. His method is to teach a truth by means of an interesting story. His style is graphic and dramatic. He gives three animals the power to talk, and he makes them talk so that they seem almost like real human beings. At any rate, he makes us see the character of each very clearly.

F. Emotions. We see in the Hare the feelings of conceit, contempt, and laziness; of surprise, fear, and excitement; of chagrin and disappointment. In the Tortoise we see a little of resentment and some self-confidence; then courage, determination, and persistence; at last, calm enjoyment and joy at winning. The Fox looks on as we do, and has confidence in the Tortoise and a little spice of contempt for the Hare. Then he is pleased that the Tortoise should win, and enjoys giving the Hare a stinging bit of advice.

G. Conclusion. It is because the little fable has so much in it that it has lived for centuries, and you have only to speak to any cultivated person about the Hare and the Tortoise to remind him that “Steady-going wins the race.”

The preceding analysis shows what a parent should expect to bring out from a little child, reading the fable for the first time, or from an older boy or girl making a careful study of fables. In both cases, however, the facts should be brought out by questions, with the expectation that the juveniles would not express themselves in anything like the words given above.

The Fox and the Crow

Q. Next?

A. The Fox made up his mind to get the cheese.

Q. What did he do then?

A. He walked to the foot of the tree.

Q. What next did he do?

A. He flattered the Crow and asked her to sing.

Q. What did the Crow do?

A. She cawed and dropped the cheese.

Q. What did the Fox do?

A. He snapped up the cheese and ran off.

Q. Did he do anything more?

A. Yes. He gave the Crow some advice.

Q. Now tell me the story in as few words as possible.

A. A Fox saw a Crow with some cheese in her mouth. He flattered her and asked her to sing. When she cawed she dropped the cheese and the Fox ran away with it.

B. The Persons.

Question. Can a Fox talk, or a Crow sing?

Answer. No.

Q. Do they seem like persons in this story?

A. Yes.

Q. Let us think of them as persons, and see what kind of people they are. We will talk about the Fox, first. What do you think he looked like?

A. Like a saucy little dog with bright eyes, a long sharp nose, and a bushy tail.

Q. When he said, “That’s for me,” what did you learn about him?

A. That he was hungry; that he was greedy; that he meant to get the cheese.

Q. When he began to flatter the Crow, what did you think of him?

A. That he was sharp; that he was trying to fool the Crow.

Q. What did you think of him when he said that her voice was finer than the voices of the other birds, just as her coat was?

A. He was really flattering. Before, he was telling some truth, for her feathers were glossy and her eyes were bright.

Q. Did he really think she could sing?

A. No. He knew she could only caw. He was lying, then.

Q. What did he say after she had dropped the cheese?

A. “That was all I wanted.”

Q. And then?

A. “Do not trust flatterers.”

Q. Did the Fox mean it?

A. Yes. But he was plaguing her, sneering at her. He wasn’t really sincere.

Q. Now tell me what you’ve learned about the Fox.

A. He was a lively animal that looked like a dog, with a long nose and bushy tail. He was smart, wise, knew how to flatter and get what he wanted. But he was a liar and a mean fellow all around.

Q. Now, let us study the Crow. What did she look like?

A. She was a big black bird with glossy feathers and a bright eye. She had a big black bill and black wings.

Q. Did she have a good voice for singing?

A. No. She could only say “caw, caw, caw,” in a hoarse, croaking voice.

Q. Where was she?

A. On the limb of a tree.

Q. Could the Fox reach her?

A. No. She was safe.

Q. What did she think of herself?

A. She thought she was pretty and smart and could sing.

Q. What would you say of her manners?

A. She was proud and conceited and foolish, silly.

Q. Now, tell me what you have learned of the Crow.

A. She was a big black bird with glossy feathers and a bright eye. She thought she could sing, but she was silly and proud and conceited. She was too easily fooled by the lies and flattery of the fox.