Children's Literature: A Textbook of Sources for Teachers and Teacher-Training Classes

The Story

The book unfolds as a structured journey through the literary landscape, beginning with the rhythmic, primal simplicity of Mother Goose jingles and nursery rhymes. These early entries serve as the heartbeat of the collection, establishing a cadence that defines the oral tradition. From the brief, nonsensical charm of "Hickory, dickory, dock" to the structured narrative of "The Courtship, Merry Marriage, and Picnic Dinner of Cock Robin and Jenny Wren," the progression moves from mere sound to the beginnings of story. The editors frame these rhymes not just as amusements but as the initial, vital connection between the child’s ear and the wider world of legend.

From the safety of the nursery, the text moves into the more complex, often darker waters of folk and fairy tales. Here, the reader encounters the resilience of Dick Whittington, whose journey from a starving, ragged boy at a merchant’s door to a figure of success serves as a prototype for the rags-to-riches narrative. This is followed by the sharp, cautionary drama of the Billy Goats Gruff, where the bridge acts as a threshold between the hungry and the satisfied, and the "droll" tales like The Husband Who Was to Mind the House, which employ satire to expose the friction of domestic life. These stories bridge the gap between simple rhyme and the more formal, moralistic architecture of literary tradition.

The arc continues into the realm of the heroic and the mythical, where figures like Connla of the Fiery Hair are drawn away from the mundane world into the "Plains of the Ever Living." This transition marks the introduction of profound longing and the supernatural. The collection does not shy away from the somber, as seen in the fate of the Tin Soldier, whose final transformation into a tin heart in the embers of a stove provides a poignant, melancholic reflection on devotion and loss. Similarly, the tale of the Ugly Duckling is presented as a mirror for the author’s own life, using the satire of barnyard animals to critique human vanity and the narrow judgment of the world.

As the text progresses, the narratives become more grounded in character and ethical dilemmas, such as the fables of the Jataka tales. In The Ass in the Lion’s Skin, the text strips away the ornate to focus on the core moral, while Nathaniel Hawthorne’s retelling of the Baucis and Philemon myth elevates the theme of hospitality to a sacred duty. The book then expands into the epic, featuring the wedding of Frey and Gerda, a scene characterized by the frantic, light-hearted industry of elves and the cosmic significance of mythological gifts. This section marks the height of the imaginative scope, showing how cultural heritage is woven into tales that survive the passing of ages.

In the latter portions, the narrative focus shifts toward more modern, human-centric experiences of duty and growth. Jackanapes, a tale of a boy’s sacrifice, brings a sharp, emotional finality to the discussion of character, highlighting how the death of a hero can be both a sorrow and a source of collective pride. This is balanced by the story of Pasha, a horse who displays human-like devotion, bridging the divide between the animal world and the human battlefield. The text concludes by grounding these flights of fancy back in the reality of human industry and travel, as in the account of a young man’s journey to Philadelphia, where the serendipity of inns, odd acquaintances, and the necessity of work paint a portrait of life’s unpredictable, practical nature.

The closing sections synthesize these disparate threads, reinforcing the idea that literature is not merely a collection of books, but a living, breathing history of human aspiration, folly, and resilience. Whether through the lens of a satirical dwarf in the woods or the quiet dignity of an old couple in a cottage, the book leaves the reader with a panoramic view of the stories that have, for centuries, formed the backbone of the literary training of the young.

The People

• Dick Whittington: A destitute, starving boy who represents the archetype of the underdog. His path from the streets to a merchant’s house serves as a case study in how adversity and a bit of fortune can reshape a character’s destiny.
• Connla: The son of a king who is tempted by a fairy maiden to leave his earthly life for a world of eternal youth. He embodies the tension between the call of the mundane, duty-bound world and the irresistible pull of the impossible.
• The Big Billy-Goat Gruff: A forceful, assertive figure who stands in the way of a troll’s malice. He is defined by his willingness to confront danger head-on, proving that strength and resolve are necessary to clear the path for others.
• Pasha: A horse who, through instinct and loyalty, saves his rider’s life during the chaos of war. He represents the silent, steadfast devotion that often goes unheralded in human histories, showing that "human" qualities are not the exclusive province of people.
• Old Pipes: A man who experiences the rejuvenation of his mother through the magic of a Dryad. He is a figure of love and regret, illustrating the human desire to reverse the ravages of time and the complications that arise when one meddles with the natural order.

In Its Own Voice

They abide in a realm of their own, in blessed isolation from that world of professional authors and their milk-and-water books "for children."

This line, taken from an essay included in the opening of the text, captures the book's fundamental skepticism toward the commercialization of children’s stories.

"The colors had quite gone off from him; but whether that had happened on the journey, or had been caused by grief, no one could say."

This sentence, found within the story of the Tin Soldier, highlights the book's frequent reliance on ambiguity and emotional resonance rather than simple, tidy explanations.

"I have got besides two curling-stones, And I'll crush you to bits, body and bones."

These verses, shouted by the Big Billy-Goat Gruff, exemplify the book's inclusion of the raw, aggressive, and rhythmic language that defines traditional folk storytelling.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an argument for the intellectual and moral weight of the stories we tell the young. It rejects the notion that literature for children is a "lesser" category, instead positing that these tales—be they nursery rhymes, folk myths, or classic fables—are the foundational building blocks of the human imagination. The text is preoccupied with the idea of "source," suggesting that there is an authoritative version of these stories that teachers should respect, while simultaneously acknowledging that these tales must be made "usable" for the classroom. It is a work about the transmission of culture: how we take the raw, sometimes violent, sometimes nonsensical material of the past and pass it down as a coherent legacy.

The collection is deeply concerned with the tension between the "natural" and the "artificial." It frequently champions the peasant and the nurse as the true narrators of history, contrasting their raw, unpolished storytelling with the "milk-and-water" books produced by the professional writing class. This theme is mirrored in its selection of stories; whether it is the simple, honest virtues of a boy sharing his meal with a dog or the deceptive, satirically complex morality of a Jataka tale, the book seeks to strip away the unnecessary ornamentation of modern literature to find the "sterling qualities of character" beneath.

Furthermore, it asks questions about the role of the teacher as a mediator. It suggests that a child’s education is not just about learning facts, but about encountering the "great art of telling stories" as a practice that is separate from the art of writing. By including pedagogical notes and bibliographies, the book frames itself not just as an anthology, but as an instruction manual for shaping the moral and imaginative development of a student. It asks: how do we present the harsh realities of life—death, hunger, social inequality, and the cruelty of the "troll"—in a way that is both honest and appropriate for the developing mind? The book posits that these stories, with their dark edges and satirical humor, are the best tools we have for helping children navigate the complexities of their own world. It is a defense of the "old" and the "found," a quiet protest against the erasure of folklore in favor of sterilized, modern alternatives.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the history of education or the evolution of the Western literary canon will find this volume particularly rewarding. It feels like stepping into a schoolroom from a century ago, surrounded by the scent of old paper and the earnest, intellectual ambition of a bygone era. It is not a casual read; it is dense with bibliographical data, preface notes, and a wide variety of texts that range from the deeply lyrical to the bluntly moralistic.

Today's reader might struggle with the unapologetic didacticism of some of these tales. Some stories, such as those emphasizing the "natural" virtues of the poor or the rigid hierarchies of the past, carry the period-specific attitudes of the early twentieth century. There is also a certain roughness to the dialect and the direct, often violent conflict in the folk tales—the "sousing" of a beggar with dish water or the crushing of a troll’s bones—which may strike modern readers as jarring or unexpectedly grim. Yet, this is exactly the source of its power. The book makes no effort to sanitize the "nursery lore" it presents.

What stays with you long after closing the book is the sense that these stories are not meant to be read in a vacuum. The inclusion of footnotes and instructions for teachers transforms the reading experience into a scholarly inquiry. It is a reminder that what we feed the imagination of the young has long-term, profound consequences on their understanding of duty, sympathy, and the world at large. For those who enjoy uncovering the roots of modern storytelling and who appreciate the warmth of a text that treats its subject matter with such deep, unwavering seriousness, this book offers an invaluable, if occasionally challenging, perspective on the enduring influence of the stories that have raised humanity for generations.