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+Project Gutenberg's Child Stories from the Masters, by Maud Menefee
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Child Stories from the Masters
+       Being a Few Modest Interpretations of Some Phases of the
+       Master Works Done in a Child Way
+
+Author: Maud Menefee
+
+Release Date: June 8, 2007 [EBook #21764]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD STORIES FROM THE MASTERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Mark C. Orton, Thomas Strong, Linda McKeown
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+           CHILD STORIES
+         FROM THE MASTERS
+
+
+               BY
+
+           MAUD MENEFEE
+
+
+BEING A FEW MODEST INTERPRETATIONS
+  OF SOME PHASES OF THE MASTER
+   WORKS DONE IN A CHILD WAY
+
+
+        _ILLUSTRATED_
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+     RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY
+_CHICAGO_    _NEW YORK_    _LONDON_
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Jean François Millet_
+
+THE SPINNER]
+
+
+
+
+     COPYRIGHT, 1899, 1901
+        By MAUD MENEFEE
+
+
+
+
+              TO
+         ANDREA HOFER
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD.
+
+In writing these stories, no attempt has been made to follow the plot or
+problem of the poems, which in almost every case lies beyond the child's
+reach. The simple purpose as found in the whole, or the suggestion of
+only a stanza or scene, has been used as opportunity for picturing and
+reflecting something of the poetry and intention of the originals.
+
+As story-teller to the same circle of children for several years, it
+became necessary to draw upon the great literary fount for suggestion,
+and it was found that "Pippa," the art child of industry, could add a
+poetic impulse toward the handwork of spinning, thread-winding, weaving,
+the making of spinning wheels, winders, and looms, without too great
+violence to the original poem itself.
+
+"Mignon," as the creature of an art that exists for art's sake, was set
+to contrast with Pippa, who through service finds a song to heal and to
+inspire.
+
+"Siegfried" and "Parsifal," as knight stories, were given with their
+musical _motifs_.
+
+The writer hopes for "Child Stories" that it may serve to suggest to
+teachers how they may utilize the great store of poetry and art at hand.
+To do this they are themselves under the joyful necessity of keeping
+close to the great sources. On this last point Mr. Wm. T. Harris says:
+"A view of the world is a perpetual stimulant to thought, always
+prompting one to reflect on the immediate fact or event before him, and
+to discover its relation to the ultimate principle of the universe. It
+is the only antidote for the constant tendency of the teacher to sink
+into a dead formalism, the effect of too much iteration and of the
+practice of adjusting knowledge to the needs of the feeble-minded by
+perpetual explanation of what is already simple _ad nauseam_ for the
+mature intelligence of the teacher. It produces a sort of pedagogical
+cramp in the soul, for which there is no remedy like a philosophical
+view of the world, unless, perhaps, it be the study of the greatest
+poets, Shakespere, Dante, and Homer."
+
+MAUD MENEFEE.
+
+Chicago, August, 1901.
+
+
+
+
+THE TABLE OF CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+
+  PIPPA                        _Robert Browning_                     9
+           From "Pippa Passes."
+
+  MIGNON                       _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_         17
+           From "Wilhelm Meister."
+
+  SIEGFRIED                    _Richard Wagner_                     27
+           From "Niebelungen Ring."
+
+  A FISH AND A BUTTERFLY
+                             _Robert Browning_                      39
+           From "Amphibian."
+
+  HOW MARGARET LED FAUST THROUGH THE PERFECT WORLD
+                             _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_           45
+           From "Faust."
+
+  BEATRICE                     _Dante Alighieri_                    55
+           From "The Inferno."
+
+  PARSIFAL                     _Richard Wagner_                     61
+           From "Parsifal."
+
+  THE ANGELUS                                                       67
+           About the painting by Jean François Millet.
+
+  FRIEDRICH AND HIS CHILD-GARDEN                                    73
+
+  THE HOLY NIGHT                                                    79
+          About the painting by Antonio Allegri da Correggio.
+
+  SAUL AND DAVID               _Robert Browning_                    95
+      From "Saul."
+
+  A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION                                         103
+
+  A WORD LIST                                                      103
+
+
+
+
+A LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS.
+
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+
+  THE SPINNER               _Jean François Millet_      _Frontispiece_
+
+  INNOCENCE                 _Jean Baptiste Greuze_                  10
+
+  MIGNON                    _Paul Kiessling_                        18
+
+  SIEGFRIED                 _F. Leeke_                              28
+
+  "AT THE FARTHEST END
+    OF THE MEADOW"        _Yeend King_                              40
+
+  LISEUSE                   _Jules Le Febvre_                       46
+
+  THE BEATA BEATRICE        _Dante Gabriel Rossetti_                56
+
+  ASPIRATION                _George Frederick Watts_                62
+
+  THE ANGELUS               _Jean François Millet_                  68
+
+  THE HOLY NIGHT            _Antonio Allegri da Correggio_          80
+
+  THE DIVINE SHEPHERD       _Bartolomé Estéban Murillo_             96
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Jean Baptiste Greuze_
+
+INNOCENCE]
+
+
+A SONG.
+
+  The year's at the spring
+  The day's at the morn;
+  Morning's at seven;
+  The hill-side's dew-pearled;
+  The lark's on the wing;
+  The snail's on the thorn:
+  God's in his heaven--
+  All's right with the world!
+
+     --_From Browning's "Pippa Passes."_
+
+
+PIPPA.
+
+
+All the year in the little village of Asola the great wheels of the
+mills went round and round. It seemed to the very little children that
+they never, never stopped, but went on turning and singing, turning and
+singing. No matter where you went in the village, the hum of the wheels
+could always be heard; and though no one could really say what the
+wheels sang, everyone turned gladly to his work or went swiftly on his
+errand when he heard the busy song.
+
+Everyone was proud of the mills in Asola, and the children most of all.
+The very little ones would go to the lowest windows and look into the
+great dim room where the wheels were, and they wondered, as they looked,
+if ever they would grow wise enough to help make silk.
+
+Those children who were older wound thread on the bobbins, or helped at
+the looms. And whenever they saw the bright stuff in shop windows, or a
+beautiful woman passed in silken robes, they looked with shining eyes.
+"See how beautiful!" they would say. "We helped. She needs us; the world
+needs us!" and their hearts were so full of gladness at the thought.
+
+The poet tells us there was a child there whose name was Pippa, and she
+worked all day in this mill, winding silk on the little whirling,
+whirling spools.
+
+Now in the year there was one day they gave her for her own--one perfect
+day when she could walk in the sweet, sweet meadows, or wander toward
+the far, strange hills. And this one precious day was so shining and
+full of joy to Pippa that its light shone all about her until the next,
+making itself into dreams and little songs that she sang to her whirring
+spools.
+
+One night, when the blessed time would be next morning, she said to the
+day:
+
+"Sweet Day, I am Pippa, and have only you for the joy of my whole long
+year; come to me gentle and shining, and I will do whatever loving deed
+you bring me."
+
+And the blessed day broke golden and perfect!
+
+She sprang up singing; she sang to the sunbeams, and to her lily, and to
+the joy in the world; she ran out, and leaped as she went; the grass
+blew in the wind, and the long yellow road rolled away like unwound
+silk.
+
+She sang on and on, hardly knowing. And it was a sweet song no one had
+ever heard. It was what birds sing, only this had words; and this song
+was so full of joy that when a sad poet heard it he stopped the lonely
+tune he piped, and listened till his heart thrilled. And when he could
+no longer hear, he took up the sweet strain and played it so strong and
+clear that it set the whole air a-singing. The children in the street
+began dancing and laughing as he played; the old looked up; a lame man
+felt that he might leap, and the blind who begged at corners forgot they
+did not see, the song was so full of the morning wonder.
+
+But little Pippa did not know this; she had passed on singing.
+
+Out beyond the village there were men who worked, building a lordly
+castle. And there was a youth among them who was a stair-builder, and he
+had a deep sorrow. The dream of the perfect and beautiful work was in
+his life, but it was given to him to build only the stairs men trod on.
+And as he knelt working wearily at his task, from somewhere beyond the
+thicket there came a strange, sweet song, and these were the words:
+
+  "All service ranks the same with God:
+   ... there is no last nor first."
+
+The youth sprang up; the wind lifted his hair, the light leaped into
+his eyes, and he began to do the smallest thing perfectly.
+
+Farther down the road there was a ruined house; a man leaned his head on
+his hand and looked from the window. A great deed that the world needed
+must be done; and the man loved the great deed, but his heart had grown
+faint, and he waited.
+
+And it chanced that Pippa passed, singing, and her song reached the man;
+and it was to him as if God called. He rose up strong and brave, and
+leaping to his horse he rode away to give the great deed to the world.
+
+At night when the tired Pippa lay upon her little bed, she said to the
+day, "Sweet Day, you brought me no loving deed to give in payment for
+the joy you gave."
+
+But the day knew.
+
+And on the morrow, the child Pippa went back to the mill and wound the
+silk bobbins, and she was so full of gladness, she hummed with them all
+day.
+
+
+
+
+  Know'st thou the land where citrons are in bloom,
+  The orange glows amidst a leafy gloom,
+  A gentle breeze from cloudless heaven blows
+  The myrtle still, and high the laurel grows?
+            Know'st thou it well?
+  Ah! there--Ah, there would I fare!
+
+                  --_From Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister."_
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Paul Kiessling_
+
+MIGNON]
+
+
+MIGNON.
+
+
+Once there was a band of people who did nothing but wander about from
+village to village, giving shows in the marketplaces. They had no homes
+or gardens or fields, but the fathers earned the living by doing
+remarkable things.
+
+The little children played in the wagons, and the mothers cooked the
+meals over the camp-fire when they stopped outside the village, and they
+were quite happy after their own fashion. But often, when they passed
+down the streets between the rows of thatched houses with children
+playing in the yards, it all seemed to them something very beautiful
+indeed, and they looked at it as long as it was possible.
+
+The little girl of the strong man, and the little boy whose father
+walked on his hands, often stood a long, long time looking through the
+fence at children who had real hollyhocks in their yards, besides a
+little green tree growing right out of the thatch on the top of the
+roof; and in some of the houses, where the doors stood open, they could
+see the most shining pans and kettles ranged about the chimney.
+
+But whenever they made a beautiful playhouse, with all the leaves
+brushed away and the rooms marked out with little sticks, they had to
+leave it next day. This was very discouraging, of course. Even the
+fathers and mothers grew discouraged sometimes, when they rode through
+the beautiful country. It was so sweet and so fair, and somehow it
+really seemed calling to them in a loving voice. But they always went on
+and on, from place to place, and no one ever knew what the real message
+was. But sometimes, deep in the strong man's heart there grew the
+strangest longing to go into the fields and reap and bind with the
+reapers, so that he too might see the yellow sheaves standing together
+when work was over.
+
+In this circus, where he lifted the heaviest weights, and held the
+little boy and his own little girl straight out with his hands quite a
+long time, it was very wonderful indeed. But there was never anything
+after, to show it had been done, except a great deal of clapping and
+calling from the people. And this was partly for the children, who had
+such round, pleasant faces, and ran away just as soon as the father put
+them down. The strong man was always thinking of this when he walked
+beside the wagon and looked off over the fields where the men were
+working. And it was so with all of them; but as no one spoke of it they
+were thought to be a very gay company, for they laughed quite often. And
+after all, it did seem to them a very grand thing when they entered the
+village. The people ran to the doors and windows, and streamed out of
+the inn; and the children ran after the wagon, looking at them with the
+greatest wonder.
+
+Whatever sadness they may have felt about their life, they forgot it
+entirely when they stood before the people in their spangled suits. Then
+it seemed to them quite the greatest thing to make a whole village
+stare. They walked about very proudly, and talked in very deep tones.
+Sometimes they allowed one or two of the largest boys to help make ready
+for the show. In one of the villages, the shoemaker's lame Charlie had
+helped lay the carpet on which the strong man stood when he did his
+part.
+
+Among these people who went about there was a child. Her name was
+Mignon; and when the tumblers had leaped over the high rods and stood
+upon each other's shoulders for the last time, and the strong man had
+bowed and gone away amid the greatest applause, this Mignon danced for
+the people. When it was very still, and the strange, beautiful music
+had sounded, she would come slowly forward, and placing her hands on her
+breast she would bow very low, and begin to stir and sway in time. How
+beautiful it was! It was like a flower in the wind, and all the people
+stood still and looked with wonder.
+
+Sometimes she sang; it was the strangest song that ever was sung by a
+child. It was always about far-off lands, where it seemed to her the
+real joy was. Tears shone in the eyes of all the people as they
+listened, and when it was over and they were again at their work, a deep
+sadness seemed in everything. They too had begun to think that the real
+joy might be a long, long way off from them.
+
+And Mignon went on from village to village, singing and dancing and
+seeking. Always she was thinking, "Who knows but tomorrow, in the next
+village or the next, I will find the real joy? it will come to me as I
+sing or stir with the beautiful music!"
+
+But, children, Mignon never found it.
+
+The feet that were meant to fly on loving errands only danced, and
+though it was so beautiful it was really nothing, and the real joy was
+not in it.
+
+Do you not know that every little child that comes into the world has a
+blessed deed in its life? But with Mignon it only lay heavy on her
+heart, and she was more weary than any child who serves all day. And
+after awhile this weariness grew as deep as her life, and the poet tells
+us that she died. We read in his strange book that they bore her to the
+dim hall of the Past, and that she lay there white and beautiful. Four
+boys clothed in blue with silver stood beside her, slowly waving white
+plumes. And when the people had come in and stood together very
+silently, the most beautiful singing voices began--
+
+"'Whom bring ye us to the still dwelling?'"
+
+The four boys answered:
+
+"''Tis a tired playmate whom we bring you. Let her rest in your still
+dwelling. Let us weep. Let us remain with her!'"
+
+But the sweet voices rang out,
+
+"'Children, turn back into life! Your tears let the fresh air dry. Haste
+back into life! Let the day give you _labor_ and _joy_, till evening
+bring you rest.'"
+
+And the listening children understood.
+
+
+
+
+SIEGFRIED'S SILVER HORN.
+
+[Music:]
+
+  _Richard Wagner._
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+_By F. Leeke_
+
+SIEGFRIED]
+
+
+THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED.
+
+
+Long, long ago, before the sun learned to shine so brightly, people
+believed very strange things. Why, even the wisest thought storm clouds
+were war-maidens riding, and that a wonderful shining youth brought the
+springtime; and whenever sunlight streamed into the water they said to
+one another, "See, it is some of the shining gold, some of the magic
+Rhine-gold. Ah, if we should find the Rhine-gold we would be masters of
+the world--the whole world;" and they would stretch out their arms and
+look away on every side. Even little children began looking for the
+hidden gold as they played, and they say that Odin, a god who lived in
+the very deepest blue of the sky, came down and lay in the grass to
+watch the place where he thought it was.
+
+Now this gold was hidden in the very deepest rocky gorge, and a dragon
+that everyone feared lay upon it night and day. Almost all the people in
+the world were wanting and seeking this gold; it really seemed sometimes
+that they were forgetting everything else, even the sweet message and
+the deed they had brought the world. Some of them went about dreaming
+and thinking of all the ways there were of finding it. But they seldom
+did anything of all they thought, so they were called the Mist-men. And
+there were others, who worked always, digging in the darkest caverns of
+the mountains, and lived underground and almost forgot the real light,
+watching for the glow of the gold. These were called the Earth-dwarfs,
+for they grew very small and black living away from the light. But there
+were a great many blessed ones who lived quite free and glad in the
+world, loving and serving one another and not thinking very much of the
+gold.
+
+There was a boy whose name was Siegfried, and though he lived with an
+Earth-dwarf in the deep forest, he knew nothing of the magic gold or the
+world. He had never seen a man, and he had not known his mother, even,
+though he often thought of her when he stood still at evening and the
+birds came home. There was one thing she had left him, and that was a
+broken sword. Mimi, the Earth-dwarf, strove night and day to mend it,
+thinking he might slay the dragon. But though he worked always, it was
+never done, for no one who feared anything in the world could weld it,
+because it was an immortal blade. It had a name and a soul.
+
+Each evening when Siegfried thought of his sword he would come bounding
+down the mountains, blowing great horn-blasts. One night he came
+laughing and shouting, and leaped into the cave, driving a bear he had
+bridled, straight on the poor frightened Mimi. He ran round and round,
+and darted here and there, until Siegfried could go no more for
+laughing, and the bear broke from the rope and ran into the woods. When
+Siegfried turned he saw that the poor little dwarf was crouched
+trembling behind the anvil, and he stopped laughing, and looked at him.
+
+"Why do you shake and cry and run?" he asked. The dwarf said nothing,
+but the fire began to glow strangely, and the sword shone.
+
+"Do you not know what fear is?" cried the dwarf at last.
+
+"No," said the boy, and he went over and took up the sword; and lo! the
+blade fell apart in his hand. They stood still and looked at each other.
+"Can a man fear and make swords?" asked the boy. The dwarf said nothing,
+but the forge fire flashed and sparkled, and the broken sword gleamed,
+in the strangest way.
+
+The boy smiled, and gathering up the pieces he ground them to fine
+powder; and when he had done, he placed the precious dust in the forge
+and pulled at the great bellows, so that the fire glowed into such a
+shining that the whole cave was light.
+
+But the dwarf grew blacker and smaller as he watched the boy. When he
+saw him pour the melted steel in the mold and lay it on the fire, and
+heard him singing at his work, he began to rage and cry; but Siegfried
+only laughed and went on singing. When he took out the bar and struck it
+into the water there was a great hissing, and the Mist-men stood there
+with Mimi, and they raged and cried together. But still Siegfried only
+laughed and sang as he pulled at his bellows or swung his hammers. At
+every blow he grew stronger and greater, and the sword bent and quivered
+like a living flame, until at last, with a joyful cry, he lifted it
+above his head with both his hands; it fell with a great blow, and
+behold! the anvil was severed, and lay apart before him.
+
+The joy in Siegfried's heart grew into the most wonderful peace, and
+the forge light seemed to grow into full day. The immortal sword was
+again in the world. But Mimi and the Mist-men were gone.
+
+And the musician shows in wonderful music-pictures how Siegfried went
+out into the early morning, and how the light glittered on the trembling
+leaves and sifted through in little splashes. He stood still, listening
+to the stir of the leaves and the hum of the bees and the chirp of the
+birds. Two birds were singing as they built a nest, and he wondered what
+they said to one another. He cut a reed and tried to mock their words,
+but it was like nothing. He began to wish that he might speak to some
+one like himself, and he wondered about his mother; why had she left
+him? It seemed to him he was the one lone thing in the world. He lifted
+his silver horn and blew a sweet blast, but no friend came. He blew
+again and again, louder and clearer, until suddenly the leaves stirred
+to a great rustling; and the very earth seemed to tremble. He looked,
+and behold! he had waked the dragon that all men feared; and it was
+coming toward him, breathing fire and smoke. But Siegfried did not know
+what fear was; he only laughed and leaped over it, as he plunged; and
+when it reared to spring upon him, he drove the immortal blade straight
+into its heart.
+
+Now when Siegfried plucked out his sword he smeared his finger with the
+blood, and it burned like fire, so that he put it in his mouth to ease
+the pain. Then suddenly the most strange thing happened: he understood
+all the hum and murmur of the woods; and lo! the bird on the very branch
+above was singing of his mother and of him, and of the gold that was his
+if he would give up his sword and would love and serve none in the
+world. And more, she sang on of one who slept upon a lonely mountain: a
+wall of fire burned around, that none could pass but he who knew no
+fear.
+
+Siegfried listened to hear more, but the bird fluttered away before
+him. He saw it going, and he forgot the gold and the whole world, and
+followed it. It led him on and on, to a lonely mountain, where he saw
+light burning; and he climbed up and up, and always the light grew
+brighter. But when he was nearly at the top, and would have bounded on,
+he could not, for Odin stood there with his spear across the way. The
+fire glowed and flashed around them, but the sword gleamed brighter than
+anything that ever shone, as Siegfried cleft the mighty spear and leaped
+into the flame. And there at last, in the great shining, this Siegfried
+beheld a mortal like himself. He stood still in wonder. He saw the light
+glinting on armor, and he thought, "I have found a knight, a friend!"
+And he went over and took the helmet from the head. Long ruddy hair,
+like flame, fell down. Then he raised the shield, and behold! in white
+glistening robes he saw the maid Brunhilde. And she was so beautiful!
+The light glowed into a great shining as he looked, and, hardly
+knowing, he leaned and kissed her, and she awoke.
+
+And it seemed to Siegfried that he had found his mother and the whole
+world.
+
+
+
+
+  Yes! there came floating by
+    Me, who lay floating too.
+  Such a strange butterfly!
+    Creature as dear as new:
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  I never shall join its flight,
+    For, naught buoys flesh in air.
+  If it touch the sea--good night!
+    Death sure and swift waits there.
+
+              --_From Browning's "Amphibian."_
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+By Yeend King
+
+"AT THE FARTHEST END OF THE MEADOW"]
+
+
+A FISH AND A BUTTERFLY.
+
+
+At the very farthest end of the meadow there is water, blue with sky. It
+flows on and on, growing broad and strong farther down, to turn the mill
+wheel. But here in the meadow, you can see far off on the other side,
+and hear the cows ripping off the tender grass, and smell the perfume of
+wild plums.
+
+Boy Blue lay in the long cool grass watching the water. How sleepily it
+moved, and what a pretty song it sang! How clear! he could count the
+pebbles at the bottom; and there, swimming straight toward him, came a
+tiny fish, making little darts from one side to another, and snapping at
+the tadpoles on the way. Then he stopped just in front of him.
+
+"Oh, dear!" said a voice; and the little boy could not tell whether it
+was the fish, or the tomtit scolding on the elder bush. "Dear me!" came
+the voice again; and the little fish sighed, making a bubble on the top
+of the water, and rings that grew and grew till they reached the other
+bank.
+
+"What's the matter?" asked Boy Blue.
+
+"I'd like a new play and new playmates," sighed the fish. "I'm so tired
+of the old ones!"
+
+"Oh," said the boy, and was just about to ask, "Would I do?" when there
+came floating along in the air a beautiful butterfly, floating, floating
+like a ship in full sail.
+
+"Oh!" cried the fish, "how beautiful! how beautiful! Come let us play
+together--let us play."
+
+The butterfly rested on a thistle bloom and stirred her pale wings
+thoughtfully. "Play?" she said.
+
+"Yes, let us play. How beautiful thou art!"
+
+"And thou!" said the butterfly; "all the shine of the sun and sea gleams
+in thy armor. Let us play together."
+
+"Let us play."
+
+"Come then," said the butterfly; "come up into the fresh morning air and
+the sunlight, where everything smiles this sweet May day."
+
+"There?" cried the fish; "I would die there; I would die! There is no
+life for me in your sunshine world. But come with me into this
+glittering stream; here swimming against the swift current is strong
+life. Come, let us play here."
+
+But the butterfly trembled. "There?" she cried; "if I touched one single
+little wave I should be swept out and away forever. There is no life for
+me in the glittering stream."
+
+They looked across at each other.
+
+"But see," said the butterfly, "I will come as near as I dare to your
+water world;" and she spread her beautiful wings and floated down to the
+edge of the water. The fish with a great stroke swam toward her. But
+they could only touch the same bit of earth, and the waves always bore
+him back.
+
+"Ah," he cried at last, "it is useless! we cannot play together."
+
+"Ah," wept the butterfly, "we cannot play together."
+
+"Boy Blue," said the farmer, brushing aside the long grass, "you were
+asleep."
+
+"Asleep!" said the little boy, jumping up; "I couldn't have been. I
+heard every word the fish and the butterfly said."
+
+
+
+
+  The indescribable--
+  Here it is done;
+  The woman soul
+  Leadeth us upward and on.
+
+             --_From Goethe's "Faust."_
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+_By Jules Le Febvre_
+
+LISEUSE]
+
+
+HOW MARGARET LED FAUST THROUGH THE PERFECT WORLD.
+
+
+There was once a very great man who understood all of the most
+mysterious things in the world. He knew quite perfectly how spiders spun
+and how the firefly kept his lantern burning. All of these marvelous
+things were plain to him, for he had read everything that had been
+written in books, and he had spent his whole life searching and peering
+through a strange glass at the most wonderful small things. Always and
+always he was thinking in his heart, "When I know _everything_ then I
+shall be content, surely!"
+
+So he went on searching and looking and reading, night and day, in his
+dim room. Always he was growing older and wearier, but he did not think
+of that; he only knew that the strange longing was growing in his
+heart, and that he was never any happier than before. But he would say
+to himself, "It is because there is something I have not learned. When I
+know everything, then surely the joy will come to me."
+
+One night he shut his book and laid aside the strange glass, and sat
+quite still in the dim room. He had found that there was nothing more to
+be learned; there was nothing of all the mysteries that he did not know
+perfectly.
+
+And behold, the longing was still in his heart, and no gladness came. He
+only felt how weary and old he was. He thought: "There _is_ no joy in
+the world; there is nothing good and perfect in the whole world!" He
+closed his tired eyes and leaned his head back. The lamp burned low, and
+the place was very still for a long time. And then there suddenly broke
+the most beautiful music right under his window; children were singing,
+and men and women, and above it all bells were ringing--wonderful,
+joyous bells.
+
+"Can it be," said the old man--"can it be that anyone is really joyful
+in the world?" He rose up and went to the window, and thrust back the
+great curtain.
+
+And lo! it was morning!
+
+The most beautiful, shining morning; people were pouring out of all the
+houses, smiling and singing, and bowing to one another; little children
+were going together with flowers in their hands, singing, and answering
+the tones of the great bells; and one little child, as it passed, looked
+right up at the great Doctor Faust, and held out its white lily. The
+bells chimed, and the singing grew sweeter and clearer.
+
+"If there is something joyful in the world, surely some one will tell
+me," said the man; and he went out into the morning.
+
+It had rained in the night; there were pools in the street, and the
+leaves glistened. "How bright the light is!" he thought, and "how
+strange the flowers look blooming in the sun!" But the birds flew away
+when he came, and this made the strange longing in the lonely man's
+heart grow into pain. So he stepped back in the shadow and looked into
+all the happy faces as they passed, and listened to the singing.
+
+But no one stopped to tell him anything. They were so full of joy that
+they did not feel his touch, and his words when he spoke were swept
+right up into the song and the pealing of the joy-bells.
+
+Girls in white veils, with stalks of the most beautiful lilies in their
+hands, passed him in a long line, and the boys came after, in new
+clothes, and shoes that squeaked. But he only saw their shining,
+upturned faces. They were so beautiful as they sang, that tears stood in
+the smiling eyes of all the fathers and mothers and neighbors who
+followed after. Little children holding each other's hands went
+together, and one little one had a queer woolly lamb on wheels trundling
+behind him.
+
+"Can it be," said the old man, "that there is a deep joy in the world?
+will no one tell me?" And he turned and went with the people; and after
+awhile he met a young girl.
+
+She was not singing, but the most beautiful light shone from her face;
+so he knew she was thinking of the deep joy, and he asked her what it
+was, and why the people were glad.
+
+She looked at him with loving wonder, and then she told him it was
+Easter morning, when everything in the wide world remembers fully that
+the joy can never die. "It is here always," she told him.
+
+"Always?" said the old man; and he shook his head sadly.
+
+"Always," she said; and she took his hand and led him out of the throng
+into the most beautiful ways. He did not know that in the whole world
+there were such wonderful grassy lanes. Why, there were hedges with
+star-flowers here and there; apple trees were blooming, and between the
+cottages there were gardens where seed had sprung up in rows.
+
+In some of the houses people were going about their homely tasks, and
+they were singing softly, or saying the most gentle words to one another
+as they worked. And before a very humble door, where only one tall lily
+bloomed, there sat a beautiful mother with a baby on her knee and a
+little one beside her; and they were looking straight into her eyes,
+listening to the wonderful story of the Easter morning. The father
+stopped to listen too, and in every single face shone the same holy
+light.
+
+It shone even in the face of the Faust as he passed.
+
+And behold, when Margaret looked at him he had grown young. His hair
+glinted in the sun and the wonder had come back to his eyes. Butterflies
+circled above them, and they went on and on, free and glad together, and
+the holy light was over everything.
+
+But the poet tells us that afterwards Faust traveled into a very
+strange, far world, where there was never any silence or living flowers.
+Nothing was perfect or holy there, and Margaret could not go. But they
+tell us that whenever he looked away from this strange world, he heard
+again the singing, and smelled the faint fragrance of lilies, and it
+seemed to him that he was there again in the light, with the blessed
+Margaret leading him on forever.
+
+
+
+
+      Oh, eternal light!
+  For I therein, methought, in its own hue,
+  Beheld our image painted.
+
+              --_From Dante's "Paradise."_
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+_By Dante Gabriel Rossetti_
+
+THE BEATA BEATRICE]
+
+
+BEATRICE.
+
+
+Dear children, there is a great story of Heaven told by a poet called
+Dante, who dreamed that he was led through Heaven by the beautiful
+Beatrice.
+
+And this is how it was. Dante had come to think so many unloving
+thoughts of all the people, that whenever he went about the streets of
+Florence where he lived, he thought he saw evil marks on all the faces.
+And it seemed to him that everyone in the world was lost from God. And
+the angry sorrow in his heart grew so great that there was not a single
+loving, hopeful thought in it. Then there came to him a wonderful
+vision. It seemed to him that Beatrice, whom he loved, came down from
+God and spoke to him and led him up, and showed him Heaven.
+
+But his eyes were so dim at first, it seemed only the shining of a few
+small stars. But as they journeyed, Beatrice spoke to him of many things
+he had not understood, and while she talked, Heaven grew plainer and he
+saw that the stars were all shining together in a soft radiance, like
+the halos of many saints. And the wisdom of the world began to slip from
+Dante, and he stood there in Heaven as a little child.
+
+Beatrice led him on and on, and whenever she wished him to see Heaven
+more plainly she talked of the world he lived in and the men he hated.
+Now when one who lives with God speaks of hate, it is nothing. And as he
+listened, Dante began to see that Man was in Heaven. When he had learned
+this, they went with a great flight up to God. And behold! it seemed to
+Dante that the higher he went in Heaven the nearer home he came, for all
+around him there were faces that he knew.
+
+And they went on and on to the very highest Heaven, where God and man
+live together, and the angels cannot tell God from man or man from God.
+And Beatrice showed Dante this great mystery. And he stood still,
+looking, with the great light shining into his eyes.
+
+Although he does not tell us what he saw, we know it was Florence, where
+he lived, and that he was looking at all the people with loving eyes,
+and seeing them just as those who live with God see men.
+
+Heaven is here, little children. Let us love one another.
+
+
+
+
+FROM "PARSIFAL."
+
+[Music: By pity 'lightened, the guileless Fool;]
+
+  --_Richard Wagner._
+
+
+[Illustration: _By George Frederick Watts_
+
+ASPIRATION]
+
+
+PARSIFAL.
+
+
+Long, long ago, when the old nations were child-nations, they had the
+most wonderful dreams and stories in their hearts; and they told them
+over so many, many times, with love and wonder, that they grew into
+Art,--poems and songs and pictures. And there is one beautiful story
+which you will find in many songs and poems, for almost every nation has
+told it in its own way. And this is it:
+
+Long, long ago--so long that no one can tell whether it really happened
+or whether the old German folk only dreamed it--there was a band of
+knights who went away and lived together on a beautiful high mountain,
+far above the world, where no evil might ever come to them; and there
+they thought of nothing but pure and holy things. The purest knight was
+chosen king among them, and led them in all high things; and they lived
+so for many years, keeping themselves from wrong and beholding blessed
+wonders that the world had never seen,--miracles of light that sometimes
+passed above them.
+
+But once there came an evil thought to the very king; nothing could put
+it away, and it was like a spear-wound in his side that nothing could
+heal. It was the greatest suffering; it even touched the joy of the
+knights, for they began to think only of what would heal the king. Many
+went far and wide, seeking a cure, while others dropped back to the
+world again; for the pattern of purity was not perfect any longer, and
+they seemed to forget what it had been. All the miracles stopped, and
+the sick king and the knights waited and waited for one who was pure
+enough to show them the perfect pattern again.
+
+And one day a youth passed by who was so innocent that he did not know
+what wrong was. When the knights beheld him they looked in wonder, and
+said: "Is it not he, the innocent one, who will save us?" and they led
+him up to the temple. And behold, it was the time of the holy feast,
+when long ago the light had passed above them. And the youth stood there
+with great wonder and trouble in his heart, for he saw the suffering of
+the king, and how the knights longed and waited; he heard their voices
+in solemn tones, and the mourning voice of the king. And lo, while he
+looked, a wonderful glowing light passed above them. The knights all
+rose up with great joy in their hearts and looked at the boy, for the
+blessed miracle had come again, and it was a sign.
+
+But Parsifal stood still with wonder and trouble in his heart; and when
+they asked if he knew what his eyes had seen, he only shook his head.
+
+So the hope and joy went from the knights, and they led him out and sent
+him on his way.
+
+And the boy Parsifal traveled down into the world. And as he went he met
+many wrongs, and he began to know what evils there were.
+
+Now whenever one crossed his way, he went to it and handled it. But
+behold his mind was so pure and godlike that whenever he touched evil to
+learn what it was, it grew into some gentle thing in his hand. He went
+throughout the whole world seeking to know what evil was, but he was so
+mild and beautiful that wrongs fell away before him, or were healed as
+he passed. And he went on and on to the very kingdom of Evil, at last,
+and when its king saw him, he cried out with a great cry, and hurled his
+spear; but it only floated above the head of Parsifal, and when he
+seized it in his hand the whole kingdom melted away. And Parsifal found
+he was standing in a sunny meadow not far from the holy mountain; and he
+went up to the knights and stood with them in the temple, and his face
+was like the face of an angel. They say the king was healed as he
+looked, and that the wonderful light shone above them and was with them
+always,--forever.
+
+
+
+
+  Where the quiet colored end of evening smiles,
+      Miles and miles.
+
+            --_Robert Browning._
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Jean François Millet_
+
+THE ANGELUS]
+
+
+THE ANGELUS.
+
+
+Every evening after sunset, when the most wonderful soft light is in the
+sky and it is very still everywhere, the old bell in the steeple chimes
+out over the village and the fields around. No one quite knows what the
+evening bell sings, but the tone is so beautiful that everyone stands
+still and listens.
+
+Ever since the oldest grandfather can remember, the dear bell has sung
+at evening and everyone has listened, and listened, for the message.
+
+A great many people said there was really no message at all, and one
+very learned man wrote a whole book to show that the song of the evening
+bell was nothing but the clanging of brass and iron; and almost everyone
+who read it believed it. But there were many who were not wise enough to
+read, so they listened to the sweet tone just as lovingly as they had
+listened when they were little children.
+
+Sometimes when the sweet song pealed out, the old shoemaker would forget
+and leave his thread half drawn, and while he listened a wonderful
+smiling light shone in his face. But whenever the little grandson asked
+him what the bell said to him, the old man only shook his head and
+pulled the stitch through and sewed on and on, until there was not any
+more light; and for this reason the little boy began to think that the
+bell was singing something about work. He thought of it very often when
+he sat on his grandfather's step listening to the song and watching the
+people. Sometimes those who had read the learned book spoke together and
+laughed quite loudly, to show that they were not paying any attention to
+the bell; and there were others who seemed not to hear it at all. But
+there were some who listened just as the old grandfather had listened,
+and many who stopped and bowed their heads and stood quite still for a
+long, long while. But the strangest was, that no one ever could tell the
+other what the bell had sung to him. It was really a very deep mystery.
+
+Now there was a painter who had such loving eyes that even when he
+looked on homely, lowly things, he saw wonder that no one else could
+see. He loved all the sweet mysteries that are in the world, and he
+loved the bell's song; he wondered about it just as the little boy had
+done.
+
+One evening, I think, he went alone beyond the village and through the
+wide brown fields; he saw the light in the sky, and the birds going
+home, and the steeple far off. It was all very still and wonderful, and
+as he looked away on every side, thinking many holy thoughts, he saw a
+man and a woman working together in the dim light. They were digging
+potatoes; there was a wheelbarrow beside them, and a basket. Sometimes
+they moved about slowly, or stooped with their hands in the brown earth.
+And while they worked, the sound of the evening bell came faintly to
+them. When they heard it they rose up. The mother folded her hands on
+her breast and said the words of a prayer, and thought of her little
+ones. The father just held his hat in his hand and looked down at their
+work. And the painter forgot all the wonder of the sky and the wide
+field as he looked at them, for there was a deeper mystery. And it was
+plain to him.
+
+But the man and the woman stood there listening; they did not know that
+the bell was singing to them of their very own work, of every loving
+service and lowly task of the day.
+
+The bell sang on and on, and the peace of the song seemed to fill the
+whole day.
+
+
+
+
+  Come, let us with the children live.
+
+                   --_Friedrich Froebel_
+
+
+FRIEDRICH AND HIS CHILD-GARDEN.
+
+
+Friedrich Froebel--"Little Friedrich," they called him long ago. Is it
+not strange to think that the great men who bring the beautiful deeds to
+the world were once little children? Do you know how these children grow
+so great and strong that they can do a loving deed for the whole world
+at last? They do little loving deeds every day.
+
+This gentle Friedrich loved more and more things every day that he
+lived. But when he was a little boy he was very lonely sometimes,
+because he had no playmates except the flowers in the old garden. It
+seemed to him these flowers were always playing plays together. The
+little pink and white ones on the border of the beds seemed always
+circling round the sweet tall rose, and laughing and swaying in the
+wind. It was so gay sometimes that he laughed aloud to see them all
+nodding and bowing, and the rose bowing too.
+
+Friedrich was so gentle that his doves would flutter around his head and
+settle on his outstretched arms, and even the little mother bird, with
+her nest in the hedge, would let him stand near when she told little
+stories to her babies. Friedrich had no dear mother, but he had a tall,
+strong brother who would sometimes take him to the sweet wide meadows
+and tell him beautiful stories about the strange little bugs and busy
+bees, and stones and flowers.
+
+But after awhile Friedrich's father thought he was growing too old to
+play all day long. So he said to him one day, "Friedrich, you must begin
+to learn." When Friedrich heard this he was glad, because he wanted to
+know about all the wonderful things in the world. But when he had to
+sit still for long hours and learn out of large books that hadn't a
+single picture, it was very hard. "But there is no other way, little
+Friedrich," his teachers told him.
+
+As the time went on he grew as tall and strong as his brother. And then
+what do you think happened? Just the same thing that happened to our
+America when George Washington led out all the brave men. Friedrich's
+dear Germany was in great trouble, and she called to all her brave men
+to come and save her. And Friedrich marched away with all the
+others--marching, marching, with the drums beating and the flags flying.
+
+Then after a long while, when peace had come back and all was quiet and
+joyful again, there came to Friedrich a sweet thought that grew and
+grew. Can you think what it was? It was half about his old garden and
+the playing flowers, and half about little children. Whenever he saw a
+child tear a flower or stone a bird he felt sad, and this thought would
+grow stronger in his heart.
+
+Sometimes he would gather up all the children and take them to the
+meadow, and teach them about the leaves and stones, the flowers and
+birds and ants, as his brother used to teach him, and then they would
+play the very plays the wind and flowers and birds had played. So he
+called it his kindergarten,--his child-garden,--and he began to show to
+the whole world that little children must learn and grow in the same
+sweet way that flowers do.
+
+And he worked years and years, teaching and working out this wonderful
+message that had come to him. He loved God and children and this shining
+thought better than himself, and he wore poor clothes and gave up
+things, that the beautiful deed might live in the world.
+
+
+
+
+The true light, which lighteth every man that cometh
+  into the world.
+       --_St. John._
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Antonio Allegri da Correggio_
+
+THE HOLY NIGHT]
+
+
+THE HOLY NIGHT.
+
+
+In the far-off places of the world where men do not pass often, it is
+nothing to be poor. Little Hansei and his mother were poor, but that was
+nothing to him. They lived on the side of a great hill, where, save
+their small black hut with its little gauzy curl of smoke, there was no
+sign of life as far as eye could reach. And it seemed to Hansei that the
+whole world was theirs, and they were the whole world. Yet on fair days,
+far below, the misty towers and steeples of a city showed. But this was
+as unreal and unreachable as dreams and clouds to Hansei; the only
+difference was, a yellow road wound down to it, and if one went far
+enough he might some day reach that strange, misty place. But
+dreams--they always went at morning; and clouds--if he climbed to the
+highest point of the hill he could never reach them!
+
+Sometimes people had passed that way. Once a man had gone bearing a
+burden. Another time, as Hansei and his mother gathered up their fagots
+at evening, a man and woman passed together; the sunset light was on the
+woman, and she sang as she went. Again, men in dark robes and hoods
+passed by; some had ridden on mules, some were grave and walked, reading
+from small books, others laughed. And these were all (except a peddler
+who had lost his way) that Hansei had ever seen go by.
+
+People seldom went that way; the road was steep, and there was an easier
+way down at the other side, his mother said.
+
+Once Hansei asked her if those who had passed were all the people there
+were besides themselves. His mother said, "There are others off there,"
+pointing to the city.
+
+Every morning before it was light Hansei's mother went away to the other
+side of the hills somewhere.
+
+The first time he awoke and found the black loaf and water waiting and
+his mother gone, he had cried and searched and called her over and over.
+"Mother! Mother!" he had cried as loud as he could call down the yellow
+road.
+
+"Mother! Mother!" had come a strange voice from beyond the hills; and
+Hansei's heart had leaped with a new joy. He cried back wildly, "Where
+are you?"
+
+"Where are you?" cried the voice again.
+
+"I am here!"
+
+"I am here!"
+
+"Come to me!"
+
+"Come to me!"
+
+All day Hansei and the strange voice from beyond the hills called and
+cried to each other. Hansei thought: "It is true there are others off
+there, and some one is calling to me."
+
+At night the mother came back. Hansei asked: "Where have you been?" and
+put up his arms. His mother said: "At the other side of the hill," and
+touched his head gently.
+
+"What did you do so long?"
+
+"I made lace."
+
+"What is lace?"
+
+"It is like that a little," and she pointed to a cobweb stretching from
+a dead twig to a weed. Hansei looked and slowly put his foot through it.
+
+"Must you go tomorrow and next day?" he asked.
+
+"Next day and always," said the mother, looking off down the yellow
+road.
+
+Hansei cried: "Let me go too; let me go!"
+
+"Hush, no; it is dark where I go."
+
+"Is there no sun at the other side of the hill?"
+
+"Yes, yes; but we who make lace sit in darkness."
+
+Hansei asked: "Why must there be lace?"
+
+The mother stared into the dusk. "Because," she said slowly, "there are
+princesses and great ladies down there who must be beautiful."
+
+"What is beautiful?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+Always through the dusky summer evenings they sat together on the
+doorstep, the mother with her bent head resting on her hand, and Hansei
+staring up at the great sky and clouds and stars above him. Sometimes
+the mother told strange stories, but oftener they sat silent.
+
+When winter came it seemed to Hansei that half of all the joy and light
+and life went out of the world. There were no birds nor bugs nor bees
+left; the flowers were gone, and the days were short and gray. It was
+cold, and he could only stay in the dim little house, playing with small
+sticks and stones, or tracing the frostwork on the one little window.
+Frost was like lace, his mother had told him.
+
+Sometimes, too, he would try to sing as the woman had sung who passed
+that summer time.
+
+One evening in the middle of winter Hansei and his mother started out to
+a bit of woods skirting the other side of the yellow road. Hansei sang
+as they went; it was half what the woman had sung and half like nothing
+that was ever heard. Sometimes this tune made his mother smile a little,
+but oftener she did not hear it.
+
+As they crossed the yellow road his mother stopped and looked, as she
+always did.
+
+"Hark!" she said, hushing the singing with her hand. Hansei stood still
+and listened. Yes, yes, they were coming--"the others." It sounded again
+as it had the day the men had ridden by, only more--more; and they were
+coming nearer. There were voices and the beat of footsteps, and
+sometimes Hansei heard a strange sound that might be singing or wind
+moaning.
+
+Hansei said: "I am so afraid." But his mother did not hear him. He hid
+his face in her gown and waited. They were coming on and on; and they
+were saying something together,--strange words that Hansei had never
+heard. Nearer and nearer! He felt them passing close where he and his
+mother stood; he raised his head and looked.
+
+He saw a long dark line of men, some riding and some walking. Their
+heads were bent, and they said the strange words together. Sometimes
+there was a burst like song, then the words again. There was one torch.
+
+Slowly they made their way down the yellow road. Hansei and his mother
+watched them as they went.
+
+He whispered, "Where are they going?"
+
+"Down there," said the mother softly. "It is the Christ-child's night."
+
+"Why do they go?"
+
+"To pray."
+
+"What will they ask?"
+
+"Light! light!"
+
+"Can all go?"
+
+"Yes, all."
+
+"Let us go, Mother; let us go! There is a voice down there that calls me
+often."
+
+The mother looked back at the little dark house, then down the road
+where the one point of light moved on.
+
+"Come, let us go; let us follow it," she said, taking his hand and
+hurrying down the steep way in the darkness.
+
+Through the long, wild night they toiled on and on. Always the little
+light went before, and always Hansei and his mother followed where it
+led.
+
+Once Hansei cried out: "See, Mother, the torch is the star, and we are
+the shepherds seeking the little Christ-child!" And he laughed.
+
+In the gray dawn they came to the misty city. "How strange! how
+strange!" thought Hansei, as they went down the narrow streets. "How
+many houses, and lights, and people! But the real light, the little
+star, we must not lose it."
+
+Just before them went the dark line of men and the torch. People who met
+them stepped aside and always made strange signs on their breasts.
+Suddenly the light went out, and the men disappeared into what seemed a
+great shadow.
+
+Hansei asked: "What is it?"
+
+His mother said: "A church."
+
+"Let us go in, too; the star went;" and Hansei, with all his strength,
+pushed back the great door.
+
+"People! people!" little Hansei had not dreamed there were so many of
+"the others." There in the dim light they were kneeling, praying for
+"light, light," his mother had told him.
+
+Far beyond there were small lights, like stars shining, and a man in a
+white robe, who said the strange words he had heard on the yellow road.
+Then the kneeling people all said something together. Hansei thought,
+"They are trying to tell him they want the light, and he does not
+understand." Hansei's mother knelt where she stood, and he crept down
+beside her. He heard her saying the words he did not know. He only said
+softly: "Light, light for them all!"
+
+An old woman knelt near him; not far off a lame boy and a mother with a
+sleeping child in her arms knelt also, and there beyond, a woman. Ah, he
+knew what "beautiful" was now! He looked to see if she wore lace like
+cobwebs and frost. She did not pray; she only knelt there. Tears were in
+her eyes. "Light for her and all," whispered Hansei over and over.
+
+Then it was as if a dream came true. Some one that had stood near
+stepped back, and there, there beyond, appeared the little Christ-child,
+just as his mother had told him. There was the beautiful mother, the
+wise men and angels, the youth, the maiden, and the light shining from
+the child and touching them all, all, even the poor little beasts off
+there!
+
+Hansei cried: "Look, look, Mother! the Christ-child!"
+
+His mother said, "Hush-hsh! It is not the real Christ-child, but a
+picture."
+
+Hansei looked back. "Not the real Christ-child? But, Mother, the star
+stopped here! Then the real Christ-child is here somewhere, I know."
+
+He looked about, but he saw only the old woman, the lame boy, the mother
+with her child, and the beautiful woman who could not pray. He turned
+back to the painted child and the light, and looked, and looked; he
+stared his eyes blind; at last he could not see; all seemed to fade, to
+go. The tired eyelids fell; his head drooped down on his mother's arm,
+and he slept.
+
+But his eyes still held the light, and he dreamed.
+
+It seemed to him that the beautiful pictured light grew and broadened
+into a great shining. "Surely," thought the little boy, "the real
+Christ-child is near! but where? not here; here is only the old woman
+and the lame boy and the others praying. But the great light--shining
+over all, above every head, in shining rings! how beautiful!"
+
+And he thought he cried out, "See, you have the light, all of you! Do
+not pray, but be glad!" They did not hear, and prayed on.
+
+"But the Christ-child--where is the real Christ-child?" he wondered. He
+thought he stood up and strained his eyes over the bent heads of the
+praying people, and while he looked he saw myriad circles of light begin
+to glow; and lo! there, near--so near--was the real Christ-child,--only
+it was the old woman. Dreams are strange!
+
+Her bent, trembling body seemed going, fading, and there knelt a shining
+being,--the real Christ-child; yet it was the old woman. And the lame
+boy, the hurt creature, as he looked, melted into the shadow of his
+radiant, perfect self, and shined too. The mother with her child grew
+bright, bright; and each of the kneeling, praying ones was a perfect
+shining child! The light grew into glory; the fullness of joy broke into
+singing; angels, heavenly hosts, singing, "The Christ is here,--here in
+the world!"
+
+But what--? Who--? Why, his mother, to be sure, leaning above him.
+
+"Wake, Hansei; hear the music! See the choir boys in white, like
+angels."
+
+Hansei opened his eyes wide. The glorious Christmas morning was beaming
+full upon him through the great window, and he saw the light of the new
+day touching the bent old woman, the lame boy, the mother with her
+child, the beautiful woman beyond, and the pictured Christ.
+
+He heard clear voices, "Peace on earth!"
+
+But the dream--the dream!
+
+"I have found the real Christ-child," he whispered.
+
+
+
+
+  Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, ... snatch Saul the mistake,
+  Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now,--and bid him awake
+  From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set
+  Clear and safe in new light and new life,--a new harmony, yet
+  To be run, and continued, and ended--who knows?--or endure!
+
+                                  --_From Browning's "Saul."_
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Bartolomé Estéban Murillo_
+
+THE DIVINE SHEPHERD]
+
+
+SAUL AND DAVID.
+
+
+The great King Saul of Israel was sad, and the sorrow grew and grew
+until it spread abroad through the whole nation. Even it came to the
+simple folk who minded sheep and lived in the far hills.
+
+"The mighty king is sad," said one who had come from a journey. And the
+people gathered about him and marveled that a king should sorrow.
+
+"The king is sad," said the one. "He has traveled into the great desert,
+where nothing blooms and there are no rivers."
+
+The people stood still and looked off over their stretching pastures,
+and heard the gush of water brooks.
+
+"He sits alone in a dim tent, with his head in his hands," said the one.
+"His sword rests at his feet. The army goes no more to battle. The
+servants weep and pray, and strain their eyes over the burning sand,
+waiting."
+
+"Waiting?" said the men.
+
+"For one to come," said the other.
+
+"Who shall come?" they asked together.
+
+"The joy-bringer," said the man.
+
+The shepherds looked at one another, and then away; and when they had
+stood awhile in silence, they moved off after their sheep.
+
+The boy David went swiftly. His feet pressed springing grass, he smelt
+the odor of new-turned earth, and the sound of water was in his ears. He
+could not think that there were really deserts. But he thought of the
+sad, lonely king, and wished that he might go to him. He came to where
+his sheep were feeding, and stood among them and heard their bleating;
+but he did not think of them. He was looking into the wide sky, and
+wondering if God would not send his angel to save the king; but there
+was no sign save the peace and wonder that had always shone there. He
+turned and led his flock to the fold, and when he had done so he sat
+down on the hillside and played upon his harp; and the music was as
+beautiful as silence, so that shy creatures did not fear, but crept
+around to listen. The pale moon rose up, and the stars shone down like
+loving, glistening eyes.
+
+Sometimes there had come to David strange longings for far-off things,
+and he too had grown sad like the king. But then would he take his harp
+to the hill and sing of the sweet promise of the perfect gift that was
+to come from God to the world,--to shepherds and kings and all. And when
+he had sung so, behold! the peace was again in his heart, and he wished
+no longer to go seeking, for he knew the gift would surely come.
+
+He thought of the king as he sang. "He has forgot the promise; I must go
+to him and sing," he said.
+
+So he rose up in the night, and woke his brother to give him charge over
+his flock. And when he had plucked long-stemmed, dripping lilies to wind
+through his harp strings, he went away by the same road all other
+travelers had gone.
+
+Day after day he journeyed, passing through sweet fields and pastures.
+He saw men sowing, and others tending their flocks; and there were
+mothers with babes in their arms and children about them. "The gift will
+come to you, and you, and all," he thought, as he passed.
+
+He went through the wilderness, and even through the dry desert; but his
+heart was singing and the thought of the promise was there like living
+water.
+
+Now the king's servants saw him afar off, and they ran out to meet him
+and knelt at his feet; for when they saw the light on his shining hair,
+and the harp with living lilies, they thought, "It is God's angel!"
+
+But he said to them, "I am only a loving boy; I am David, a shepherd,
+and I have come to King Saul." He smiled into the wondering faces, and
+passing among them he came to where the king was, and stood in his very
+presence; and he was not afraid. They say a beautiful light shone from
+his face.
+
+The tent was dim, and the weary king did not stir.
+
+The boy knelt down, and stripping off the lilies, he tuned his harp and
+began to sing. The poet tells how he played for the mighty king; and
+what do you think it was? Just the tune all his sheep knew; always it
+brought them, one after one, to the pen door at evening. It was so
+strange and sweet a tune that quail on the corn lands would each leave
+its mate to fly after the player; and crickets--it made them so wild
+with delight they would fight one another. Then he played what sets the
+field mouse musing, and the cattle to deeper dreaming in the sunny
+meadows.
+
+He sang of green pastures and water brooks, and the morning joy of
+shepherds bounding over wide pastures. The light shines in streams, the
+hungry, happy sheep break out, and the long golden day is to be lived!
+
+Then he sang of the peace that comes to shepherds at evening, when the
+gentle sheep and sleepy, bleating lambs go home across the sweet wide
+meadow, and the stars come out in the serene heavens. Then it is to the
+shepherd as if nature and man and God are all one, and love is all there
+is in the whole world.
+
+At last the boy David sang of the perfect gift that will surely come;
+and he sang until the evil sorrow itself grew into peace.
+
+The king stirred and raised his head. It was to him as if it had rained,
+and flowers had sprung up in the desert.
+
+
+
+
+A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION
+
+
+The diacritical markings in this list agree with the latest edition of
+Webster's International Dictionary, and are as follows:
+
+  ā--_as in_ fāte.
+  ă--_as in_ ădd.
+  [+a]--_as in_ pref´ [+a]ce.
+  ä--_as in_ fär.
+  ȧ--_as in_ grȧss.
+  a̤--_as in_ a̤ll.
+  ē--_as in_ ēve.
+  [+e]--_as in_ [+e]-vent´.
+  ĕ--_as in_ ĕnd.
+  ẽ--_as in_ hẽr.
+  ī--_as in_ īce.
+  ĭ--_as in_ pĭn.
+  ō--_as in_ rōw.
+  [+o]--_as in_ [+o]-bey´.
+  ô--_as in_ lôrd.
+  ŏ--_as in_ nŏt.
+  ö--_similar to_ u _in_ fur.
+  o̅o̅--_as in_ so̅o̅n.
+  ŭ--_as in_ ŭs.
+  [+u]--_as in_ [+u]-nite´.
+  ụ--_as in_ fụll.
+  U--_similar to_ u _in_ fur.
+  y̆--_as in_ pit´ y̆.
+  eû--_as in_ ûs.
+    (_prolonged_).
+  oi--_as in_ oil.
+  ou--_as in_ out.
+
+  K a guttural sound, similar to aspirated _h_.
+
+  N represents the nasal sound in French, as in _ensemble_
+    (äN´ säN´ b'l).
+
+  w̆ similar to _v_.
+
+  Silent letters are italicized. Certain vowels, as _a_ and _e_, when
+  obscured, are also italicized.
+
+
+
+A WORD LIST
+
+  Amphibian (ăm fĭb´ ĭ _a_n)
+  Angelus (ăn´ g[+e] lŭs)
+  Antonio Allegri da Corregio (ăn tō´ nĭ [+o] ăllē´ grĭ
+    dä kŏr ĕd´ jō)
+  applause (ăp pla̤z´)
+  Asola (ä sō´ lä)
+  ăs´ pĭ rā´ tion (shŭn)
+  Bartolomé Estéban Murillo (bär tŏl mā´ ĕstā´ bän
+    mo̅o̅ rē´ lyō)
+  Beatrice (bē´ [+a] trĭs)
+  Brunhilde (bro̅o̅n´ hĭl´ d_e_)
+  buoys (boiz)
+  castle (kăs´ 'l)
+  caverns (kăv´ ẽrnz)
+  citrons (sĭt´ rŭnz)
+  crouched (kroucht)
+  Dante Gabriel Rossetti (dăn´ tĕ gā´ brĭ ĕl rŏssĕt´ tē)
+  Earth-dwarfs (ẽrth´-dwa̤rfs´)
+  fagots (făg´ ŭtz)
+  Faust (foust)
+  Friedrich Frö_e_´ b_e_l (frē´ dr[+e]K)
+  ga̤_u_z´ y̆
+  glē_a_m_e_d
+  glĭn´ tẽr ĭng
+  Goethe (gö´ t_e_h)
+  Hansei (hȧns´ ē)
+  hedge (hĕj)
+  hŏl´ ly̆ hŏ_c_ks
+  indescribable (ĭn´ d[+e] skrīb´ ȧ b'l)
+  Innocence (ĭn´ n[+o] s_e_ns)
+  Israel (ĭz´ r[+a] ĕl)
+  Jean Baptiste Greuze (zhäN bȧ' t[+e]st´ gruz)
+  Jean François Millet (zhäN frŏN´ swä´ m[+e]´ y[+a]´)
+  Jules le Febvre (zho̅o̅l l_e_h f[+a]vr´)
+  kĭn´ dẽr gär´ tĕn
+  knight (nīt)
+  la̤_u_´ rĕl
+  Liseuse (lĭ´ zeûz´)
+  Mignon (m[+e]´ nyôN´)
+  Mimi (mē´ m[+e])
+  miracles (mĭr´ ȧ k'lz)
+  mō_a_n´ ĭng
+  musician (m[+u] zĭsh´ _a_n)
+  myriad (mĭr´ ĭ _a_d)
+  mysterious (mĭs tē´ rĭ ŭs)
+  naught (na̤t)
+  Niebelungen (nē´ bĕ lụng´ _e_n)
+  Odin (ō´ dĭn)
+  Păr´ ȧ dīs_e_
+  Pär´ sĭ fȧl
+  pē_a_l´ ĭng
+  Pĭp´ pȧ
+  prē´ lūd_e_
+  probation (pr[+o] bā´ shŭn)
+  quail (kwāl)
+  quivered (kwĭv´ ẽrd)
+  radiance (rā´ dĭ _a_ns)
+  Rĭch´ _a_rd Wăg´ nẽr
+  Saul (sa̤l)
+  sẽ_a_rch´ ĭng
+  s[+e] rēn_e_´
+  sĕv´ ẽr_e_d
+  sheaves (shēvz)
+  Siegfried (sēg´ frĭd)
+  smē_a_r_e_d
+  tadpoles (tăd´ pōlz)
+  thatched (thătcht)
+  trŭn´ d'lĭng
+  vision (vĭzh´ ŭn)
+  Watts (wŏtz)
+  wearily (wē´ rĭ ly̆)
+  weights (wāts)
+  wĕld
+  Wilhelm Meister (w̆ĭl´ hĕlm mīs´ tẽr)
+
+
+
++---------------------------------------------------------------------+
+| Transcriber's Note:                                                 |
+|                                                                     |
+| The following symbols are used as indicated:                        |
+|                                                                     |
+| [+a], [+e], [+o], [+u] = a, e, o, and u with 'inverted tack' above. |
++---------------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Child Stories from the Masters, by Maud Menefee
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diff --git a/21764-0.zip b/21764-0.zip
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+Project Gutenberg's Child Stories from the Masters, by Maud Menefee
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Child Stories from the Masters
+       Being a Few Modest Interpretations of Some Phases of the
+       Master Works Done in a Child Way
+
+Author: Maud Menefee
+
+Release Date: June 8, 2007 [EBook #21764]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD STORIES FROM THE MASTERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Mark C. Orton, Thomas Strong, Linda McKeown
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+           CHILD STORIES
+         FROM THE MASTERS
+
+
+               BY
+
+           MAUD MENEFEE
+
+
+BEING A FEW MODEST INTERPRETATIONS
+  OF SOME PHASES OF THE MASTER
+   WORKS DONE IN A CHILD WAY
+
+
+        _ILLUSTRATED_
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+     RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY
+_CHICAGO_    _NEW YORK_    _LONDON_
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Jean Fran�ois Millet_
+
+THE SPINNER]
+
+
+
+
+     COPYRIGHT, 1899, 1901
+        By MAUD MENEFEE
+
+
+
+
+              TO
+         ANDREA HOFER
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD.
+
+In writing these stories, no attempt has been made to follow the plot or
+problem of the poems, which in almost every case lies beyond the child's
+reach. The simple purpose as found in the whole, or the suggestion of
+only a stanza or scene, has been used as opportunity for picturing and
+reflecting something of the poetry and intention of the originals.
+
+As story-teller to the same circle of children for several years, it
+became necessary to draw upon the great literary fount for suggestion,
+and it was found that "Pippa," the art child of industry, could add a
+poetic impulse toward the handwork of spinning, thread-winding, weaving,
+the making of spinning wheels, winders, and looms, without too great
+violence to the original poem itself.
+
+"Mignon," as the creature of an art that exists for art's sake, was set
+to contrast with Pippa, who through service finds a song to heal and to
+inspire.
+
+"Siegfried" and "Parsifal," as knight stories, were given with their
+musical _motifs_.
+
+The writer hopes for "Child Stories" that it may serve to suggest to
+teachers how they may utilize the great store of poetry and art at hand.
+To do this they are themselves under the joyful necessity of keeping
+close to the great sources. On this last point Mr. Wm. T. Harris says:
+"A view of the world is a perpetual stimulant to thought, always
+prompting one to reflect on the immediate fact or event before him, and
+to discover its relation to the ultimate principle of the universe. It
+is the only antidote for the constant tendency of the teacher to sink
+into a dead formalism, the effect of too much iteration and of the
+practice of adjusting knowledge to the needs of the feeble-minded by
+perpetual explanation of what is already simple _ad nauseam_ for the
+mature intelligence of the teacher. It produces a sort of pedagogical
+cramp in the soul, for which there is no remedy like a philosophical
+view of the world, unless, perhaps, it be the study of the greatest
+poets, Shakespere, Dante, and Homer."
+
+MAUD MENEFEE.
+
+Chicago, August, 1901.
+
+
+
+
+THE TABLE OF CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+
+  PIPPA                        _Robert Browning_                     9
+           From "Pippa Passes."
+
+  MIGNON                       _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_         17
+           From "Wilhelm Meister."
+
+  SIEGFRIED                    _Richard Wagner_                     27
+           From "Niebelungen Ring."
+
+  A FISH AND A BUTTERFLY
+                             _Robert Browning_                      39
+           From "Amphibian."
+
+  HOW MARGARET LED FAUST THROUGH THE PERFECT WORLD
+                             _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_           45
+           From "Faust."
+
+  BEATRICE                     _Dante Alighieri_                    55
+           From "The Inferno."
+
+  PARSIFAL                     _Richard Wagner_                     61
+           From "Parsifal."
+
+  THE ANGELUS                                                       67
+           About the painting by Jean Fran�ois Millet.
+
+  FRIEDRICH AND HIS CHILD-GARDEN                                    73
+
+  THE HOLY NIGHT                                                    79
+          About the painting by Antonio Allegri da Correggio.
+
+  SAUL AND DAVID               _Robert Browning_                    95
+      From "Saul."
+
+  A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION                                         103
+
+  A WORD LIST                                                      103
+
+
+
+
+A LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS.
+
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+
+  THE SPINNER               _Jean Fran�ois Millet_      _Frontispiece_
+
+  INNOCENCE                 _Jean Baptiste Greuze_                  10
+
+  MIGNON                    _Paul Kiessling_                        18
+
+  SIEGFRIED                 _F. Leeke_                              28
+
+  "AT THE FARTHEST END
+    OF THE MEADOW"        _Yeend King_                              40
+
+  LISEUSE                   _Jules Le Febvre_                       46
+
+  THE BEATA BEATRICE        _Dante Gabriel Rossetti_                56
+
+  ASPIRATION                _George Frederick Watts_                62
+
+  THE ANGELUS               _Jean Fran�ois Millet_                  68
+
+  THE HOLY NIGHT            _Antonio Allegri da Correggio_          80
+
+  THE DIVINE SHEPHERD       _Bartolom� Est�ban Murillo_             96
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Jean Baptiste Greuze_
+
+INNOCENCE]
+
+
+A SONG.
+
+  The year's at the spring
+  The day's at the morn;
+  Morning's at seven;
+  The hill-side's dew-pearled;
+  The lark's on the wing;
+  The snail's on the thorn:
+  God's in his heaven--
+  All's right with the world!
+
+     --_From Browning's "Pippa Passes."_
+
+
+PIPPA.
+
+
+All the year in the little village of Asola the great wheels of the
+mills went round and round. It seemed to the very little children that
+they never, never stopped, but went on turning and singing, turning and
+singing. No matter where you went in the village, the hum of the wheels
+could always be heard; and though no one could really say what the
+wheels sang, everyone turned gladly to his work or went swiftly on his
+errand when he heard the busy song.
+
+Everyone was proud of the mills in Asola, and the children most of all.
+The very little ones would go to the lowest windows and look into the
+great dim room where the wheels were, and they wondered, as they looked,
+if ever they would grow wise enough to help make silk.
+
+Those children who were older wound thread on the bobbins, or helped at
+the looms. And whenever they saw the bright stuff in shop windows, or a
+beautiful woman passed in silken robes, they looked with shining eyes.
+"See how beautiful!" they would say. "We helped. She needs us; the world
+needs us!" and their hearts were so full of gladness at the thought.
+
+The poet tells us there was a child there whose name was Pippa, and she
+worked all day in this mill, winding silk on the little whirling,
+whirling spools.
+
+Now in the year there was one day they gave her for her own--one perfect
+day when she could walk in the sweet, sweet meadows, or wander toward
+the far, strange hills. And this one precious day was so shining and
+full of joy to Pippa that its light shone all about her until the next,
+making itself into dreams and little songs that she sang to her whirring
+spools.
+
+One night, when the blessed time would be next morning, she said to the
+day:
+
+"Sweet Day, I am Pippa, and have only you for the joy of my whole long
+year; come to me gentle and shining, and I will do whatever loving deed
+you bring me."
+
+And the blessed day broke golden and perfect!
+
+She sprang up singing; she sang to the sunbeams, and to her lily, and to
+the joy in the world; she ran out, and leaped as she went; the grass
+blew in the wind, and the long yellow road rolled away like unwound
+silk.
+
+She sang on and on, hardly knowing. And it was a sweet song no one had
+ever heard. It was what birds sing, only this had words; and this song
+was so full of joy that when a sad poet heard it he stopped the lonely
+tune he piped, and listened till his heart thrilled. And when he could
+no longer hear, he took up the sweet strain and played it so strong and
+clear that it set the whole air a-singing. The children in the street
+began dancing and laughing as he played; the old looked up; a lame man
+felt that he might leap, and the blind who begged at corners forgot they
+did not see, the song was so full of the morning wonder.
+
+But little Pippa did not know this; she had passed on singing.
+
+Out beyond the village there were men who worked, building a lordly
+castle. And there was a youth among them who was a stair-builder, and he
+had a deep sorrow. The dream of the perfect and beautiful work was in
+his life, but it was given to him to build only the stairs men trod on.
+And as he knelt working wearily at his task, from somewhere beyond the
+thicket there came a strange, sweet song, and these were the words:
+
+  "All service ranks the same with God:
+   ... there is no last nor first."
+
+The youth sprang up; the wind lifted his hair, the light leaped into
+his eyes, and he began to do the smallest thing perfectly.
+
+Farther down the road there was a ruined house; a man leaned his head on
+his hand and looked from the window. A great deed that the world needed
+must be done; and the man loved the great deed, but his heart had grown
+faint, and he waited.
+
+And it chanced that Pippa passed, singing, and her song reached the man;
+and it was to him as if God called. He rose up strong and brave, and
+leaping to his horse he rode away to give the great deed to the world.
+
+At night when the tired Pippa lay upon her little bed, she said to the
+day, "Sweet Day, you brought me no loving deed to give in payment for
+the joy you gave."
+
+But the day knew.
+
+And on the morrow, the child Pippa went back to the mill and wound the
+silk bobbins, and she was so full of gladness, she hummed with them all
+day.
+
+
+
+
+  Know'st thou the land where citrons are in bloom,
+  The orange glows amidst a leafy gloom,
+  A gentle breeze from cloudless heaven blows
+  The myrtle still, and high the laurel grows?
+            Know'st thou it well?
+  Ah! there--Ah, there would I fare!
+
+                  --_From Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister."_
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Paul Kiessling_
+
+MIGNON]
+
+
+MIGNON.
+
+
+Once there was a band of people who did nothing but wander about from
+village to village, giving shows in the marketplaces. They had no homes
+or gardens or fields, but the fathers earned the living by doing
+remarkable things.
+
+The little children played in the wagons, and the mothers cooked the
+meals over the camp-fire when they stopped outside the village, and they
+were quite happy after their own fashion. But often, when they passed
+down the streets between the rows of thatched houses with children
+playing in the yards, it all seemed to them something very beautiful
+indeed, and they looked at it as long as it was possible.
+
+The little girl of the strong man, and the little boy whose father
+walked on his hands, often stood a long, long time looking through the
+fence at children who had real hollyhocks in their yards, besides a
+little green tree growing right out of the thatch on the top of the
+roof; and in some of the houses, where the doors stood open, they could
+see the most shining pans and kettles ranged about the chimney.
+
+But whenever they made a beautiful playhouse, with all the leaves
+brushed away and the rooms marked out with little sticks, they had to
+leave it next day. This was very discouraging, of course. Even the
+fathers and mothers grew discouraged sometimes, when they rode through
+the beautiful country. It was so sweet and so fair, and somehow it
+really seemed calling to them in a loving voice. But they always went on
+and on, from place to place, and no one ever knew what the real message
+was. But sometimes, deep in the strong man's heart there grew the
+strangest longing to go into the fields and reap and bind with the
+reapers, so that he too might see the yellow sheaves standing together
+when work was over.
+
+In this circus, where he lifted the heaviest weights, and held the
+little boy and his own little girl straight out with his hands quite a
+long time, it was very wonderful indeed. But there was never anything
+after, to show it had been done, except a great deal of clapping and
+calling from the people. And this was partly for the children, who had
+such round, pleasant faces, and ran away just as soon as the father put
+them down. The strong man was always thinking of this when he walked
+beside the wagon and looked off over the fields where the men were
+working. And it was so with all of them; but as no one spoke of it they
+were thought to be a very gay company, for they laughed quite often. And
+after all, it did seem to them a very grand thing when they entered the
+village. The people ran to the doors and windows, and streamed out of
+the inn; and the children ran after the wagon, looking at them with the
+greatest wonder.
+
+Whatever sadness they may have felt about their life, they forgot it
+entirely when they stood before the people in their spangled suits. Then
+it seemed to them quite the greatest thing to make a whole village
+stare. They walked about very proudly, and talked in very deep tones.
+Sometimes they allowed one or two of the largest boys to help make ready
+for the show. In one of the villages, the shoemaker's lame Charlie had
+helped lay the carpet on which the strong man stood when he did his
+part.
+
+Among these people who went about there was a child. Her name was
+Mignon; and when the tumblers had leaped over the high rods and stood
+upon each other's shoulders for the last time, and the strong man had
+bowed and gone away amid the greatest applause, this Mignon danced for
+the people. When it was very still, and the strange, beautiful music
+had sounded, she would come slowly forward, and placing her hands on her
+breast she would bow very low, and begin to stir and sway in time. How
+beautiful it was! It was like a flower in the wind, and all the people
+stood still and looked with wonder.
+
+Sometimes she sang; it was the strangest song that ever was sung by a
+child. It was always about far-off lands, where it seemed to her the
+real joy was. Tears shone in the eyes of all the people as they
+listened, and when it was over and they were again at their work, a deep
+sadness seemed in everything. They too had begun to think that the real
+joy might be a long, long way off from them.
+
+And Mignon went on from village to village, singing and dancing and
+seeking. Always she was thinking, "Who knows but tomorrow, in the next
+village or the next, I will find the real joy? it will come to me as I
+sing or stir with the beautiful music!"
+
+But, children, Mignon never found it.
+
+The feet that were meant to fly on loving errands only danced, and
+though it was so beautiful it was really nothing, and the real joy was
+not in it.
+
+Do you not know that every little child that comes into the world has a
+blessed deed in its life? But with Mignon it only lay heavy on her
+heart, and she was more weary than any child who serves all day. And
+after awhile this weariness grew as deep as her life, and the poet tells
+us that she died. We read in his strange book that they bore her to the
+dim hall of the Past, and that she lay there white and beautiful. Four
+boys clothed in blue with silver stood beside her, slowly waving white
+plumes. And when the people had come in and stood together very
+silently, the most beautiful singing voices began--
+
+"'Whom bring ye us to the still dwelling?'"
+
+The four boys answered:
+
+"''Tis a tired playmate whom we bring you. Let her rest in your still
+dwelling. Let us weep. Let us remain with her!'"
+
+But the sweet voices rang out,
+
+"'Children, turn back into life! Your tears let the fresh air dry. Haste
+back into life! Let the day give you _labor_ and _joy_, till evening
+bring you rest.'"
+
+And the listening children understood.
+
+
+
+
+SIEGFRIED'S SILVER HORN.
+
+[Music:]
+
+  _Richard Wagner._
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+_By F. Leeke_
+
+SIEGFRIED]
+
+
+THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED.
+
+
+Long, long ago, before the sun learned to shine so brightly, people
+believed very strange things. Why, even the wisest thought storm clouds
+were war-maidens riding, and that a wonderful shining youth brought the
+springtime; and whenever sunlight streamed into the water they said to
+one another, "See, it is some of the shining gold, some of the magic
+Rhine-gold. Ah, if we should find the Rhine-gold we would be masters of
+the world--the whole world;" and they would stretch out their arms and
+look away on every side. Even little children began looking for the
+hidden gold as they played, and they say that Odin, a god who lived in
+the very deepest blue of the sky, came down and lay in the grass to
+watch the place where he thought it was.
+
+Now this gold was hidden in the very deepest rocky gorge, and a dragon
+that everyone feared lay upon it night and day. Almost all the people in
+the world were wanting and seeking this gold; it really seemed sometimes
+that they were forgetting everything else, even the sweet message and
+the deed they had brought the world. Some of them went about dreaming
+and thinking of all the ways there were of finding it. But they seldom
+did anything of all they thought, so they were called the Mist-men. And
+there were others, who worked always, digging in the darkest caverns of
+the mountains, and lived underground and almost forgot the real light,
+watching for the glow of the gold. These were called the Earth-dwarfs,
+for they grew very small and black living away from the light. But there
+were a great many blessed ones who lived quite free and glad in the
+world, loving and serving one another and not thinking very much of the
+gold.
+
+There was a boy whose name was Siegfried, and though he lived with an
+Earth-dwarf in the deep forest, he knew nothing of the magic gold or the
+world. He had never seen a man, and he had not known his mother, even,
+though he often thought of her when he stood still at evening and the
+birds came home. There was one thing she had left him, and that was a
+broken sword. Mimi, the Earth-dwarf, strove night and day to mend it,
+thinking he might slay the dragon. But though he worked always, it was
+never done, for no one who feared anything in the world could weld it,
+because it was an immortal blade. It had a name and a soul.
+
+Each evening when Siegfried thought of his sword he would come bounding
+down the mountains, blowing great horn-blasts. One night he came
+laughing and shouting, and leaped into the cave, driving a bear he had
+bridled, straight on the poor frightened Mimi. He ran round and round,
+and darted here and there, until Siegfried could go no more for
+laughing, and the bear broke from the rope and ran into the woods. When
+Siegfried turned he saw that the poor little dwarf was crouched
+trembling behind the anvil, and he stopped laughing, and looked at him.
+
+"Why do you shake and cry and run?" he asked. The dwarf said nothing,
+but the fire began to glow strangely, and the sword shone.
+
+"Do you not know what fear is?" cried the dwarf at last.
+
+"No," said the boy, and he went over and took up the sword; and lo! the
+blade fell apart in his hand. They stood still and looked at each other.
+"Can a man fear and make swords?" asked the boy. The dwarf said nothing,
+but the forge fire flashed and sparkled, and the broken sword gleamed,
+in the strangest way.
+
+The boy smiled, and gathering up the pieces he ground them to fine
+powder; and when he had done, he placed the precious dust in the forge
+and pulled at the great bellows, so that the fire glowed into such a
+shining that the whole cave was light.
+
+But the dwarf grew blacker and smaller as he watched the boy. When he
+saw him pour the melted steel in the mold and lay it on the fire, and
+heard him singing at his work, he began to rage and cry; but Siegfried
+only laughed and went on singing. When he took out the bar and struck it
+into the water there was a great hissing, and the Mist-men stood there
+with Mimi, and they raged and cried together. But still Siegfried only
+laughed and sang as he pulled at his bellows or swung his hammers. At
+every blow he grew stronger and greater, and the sword bent and quivered
+like a living flame, until at last, with a joyful cry, he lifted it
+above his head with both his hands; it fell with a great blow, and
+behold! the anvil was severed, and lay apart before him.
+
+The joy in Siegfried's heart grew into the most wonderful peace, and
+the forge light seemed to grow into full day. The immortal sword was
+again in the world. But Mimi and the Mist-men were gone.
+
+And the musician shows in wonderful music-pictures how Siegfried went
+out into the early morning, and how the light glittered on the trembling
+leaves and sifted through in little splashes. He stood still, listening
+to the stir of the leaves and the hum of the bees and the chirp of the
+birds. Two birds were singing as they built a nest, and he wondered what
+they said to one another. He cut a reed and tried to mock their words,
+but it was like nothing. He began to wish that he might speak to some
+one like himself, and he wondered about his mother; why had she left
+him? It seemed to him he was the one lone thing in the world. He lifted
+his silver horn and blew a sweet blast, but no friend came. He blew
+again and again, louder and clearer, until suddenly the leaves stirred
+to a great rustling; and the very earth seemed to tremble. He looked,
+and behold! he had waked the dragon that all men feared; and it was
+coming toward him, breathing fire and smoke. But Siegfried did not know
+what fear was; he only laughed and leaped over it, as he plunged; and
+when it reared to spring upon him, he drove the immortal blade straight
+into its heart.
+
+Now when Siegfried plucked out his sword he smeared his finger with the
+blood, and it burned like fire, so that he put it in his mouth to ease
+the pain. Then suddenly the most strange thing happened: he understood
+all the hum and murmur of the woods; and lo! the bird on the very branch
+above was singing of his mother and of him, and of the gold that was his
+if he would give up his sword and would love and serve none in the
+world. And more, she sang on of one who slept upon a lonely mountain: a
+wall of fire burned around, that none could pass but he who knew no
+fear.
+
+Siegfried listened to hear more, but the bird fluttered away before
+him. He saw it going, and he forgot the gold and the whole world, and
+followed it. It led him on and on, to a lonely mountain, where he saw
+light burning; and he climbed up and up, and always the light grew
+brighter. But when he was nearly at the top, and would have bounded on,
+he could not, for Odin stood there with his spear across the way. The
+fire glowed and flashed around them, but the sword gleamed brighter than
+anything that ever shone, as Siegfried cleft the mighty spear and leaped
+into the flame. And there at last, in the great shining, this Siegfried
+beheld a mortal like himself. He stood still in wonder. He saw the light
+glinting on armor, and he thought, "I have found a knight, a friend!"
+And he went over and took the helmet from the head. Long ruddy hair,
+like flame, fell down. Then he raised the shield, and behold! in white
+glistening robes he saw the maid Brunhilde. And she was so beautiful!
+The light glowed into a great shining as he looked, and, hardly
+knowing, he leaned and kissed her, and she awoke.
+
+And it seemed to Siegfried that he had found his mother and the whole
+world.
+
+
+
+
+  Yes! there came floating by
+    Me, who lay floating too.
+  Such a strange butterfly!
+    Creature as dear as new:
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  I never shall join its flight,
+    For, naught buoys flesh in air.
+  If it touch the sea--good night!
+    Death sure and swift waits there.
+
+              --_From Browning's "Amphibian."_
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+By Yeend King
+
+"AT THE FARTHEST END OF THE MEADOW"]
+
+
+A FISH AND A BUTTERFLY.
+
+
+At the very farthest end of the meadow there is water, blue with sky. It
+flows on and on, growing broad and strong farther down, to turn the mill
+wheel. But here in the meadow, you can see far off on the other side,
+and hear the cows ripping off the tender grass, and smell the perfume of
+wild plums.
+
+Boy Blue lay in the long cool grass watching the water. How sleepily it
+moved, and what a pretty song it sang! How clear! he could count the
+pebbles at the bottom; and there, swimming straight toward him, came a
+tiny fish, making little darts from one side to another, and snapping at
+the tadpoles on the way. Then he stopped just in front of him.
+
+"Oh, dear!" said a voice; and the little boy could not tell whether it
+was the fish, or the tomtit scolding on the elder bush. "Dear me!" came
+the voice again; and the little fish sighed, making a bubble on the top
+of the water, and rings that grew and grew till they reached the other
+bank.
+
+"What's the matter?" asked Boy Blue.
+
+"I'd like a new play and new playmates," sighed the fish. "I'm so tired
+of the old ones!"
+
+"Oh," said the boy, and was just about to ask, "Would I do?" when there
+came floating along in the air a beautiful butterfly, floating, floating
+like a ship in full sail.
+
+"Oh!" cried the fish, "how beautiful! how beautiful! Come let us play
+together--let us play."
+
+The butterfly rested on a thistle bloom and stirred her pale wings
+thoughtfully. "Play?" she said.
+
+"Yes, let us play. How beautiful thou art!"
+
+"And thou!" said the butterfly; "all the shine of the sun and sea gleams
+in thy armor. Let us play together."
+
+"Let us play."
+
+"Come then," said the butterfly; "come up into the fresh morning air and
+the sunlight, where everything smiles this sweet May day."
+
+"There?" cried the fish; "I would die there; I would die! There is no
+life for me in your sunshine world. But come with me into this
+glittering stream; here swimming against the swift current is strong
+life. Come, let us play here."
+
+But the butterfly trembled. "There?" she cried; "if I touched one single
+little wave I should be swept out and away forever. There is no life for
+me in the glittering stream."
+
+They looked across at each other.
+
+"But see," said the butterfly, "I will come as near as I dare to your
+water world;" and she spread her beautiful wings and floated down to the
+edge of the water. The fish with a great stroke swam toward her. But
+they could only touch the same bit of earth, and the waves always bore
+him back.
+
+"Ah," he cried at last, "it is useless! we cannot play together."
+
+"Ah," wept the butterfly, "we cannot play together."
+
+"Boy Blue," said the farmer, brushing aside the long grass, "you were
+asleep."
+
+"Asleep!" said the little boy, jumping up; "I couldn't have been. I
+heard every word the fish and the butterfly said."
+
+
+
+
+  The indescribable--
+  Here it is done;
+  The woman soul
+  Leadeth us upward and on.
+
+             --_From Goethe's "Faust."_
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+_By Jules Le Febvre_
+
+LISEUSE]
+
+
+HOW MARGARET LED FAUST THROUGH THE PERFECT WORLD.
+
+
+There was once a very great man who understood all of the most
+mysterious things in the world. He knew quite perfectly how spiders spun
+and how the firefly kept his lantern burning. All of these marvelous
+things were plain to him, for he had read everything that had been
+written in books, and he had spent his whole life searching and peering
+through a strange glass at the most wonderful small things. Always and
+always he was thinking in his heart, "When I know _everything_ then I
+shall be content, surely!"
+
+So he went on searching and looking and reading, night and day, in his
+dim room. Always he was growing older and wearier, but he did not think
+of that; he only knew that the strange longing was growing in his
+heart, and that he was never any happier than before. But he would say
+to himself, "It is because there is something I have not learned. When I
+know everything, then surely the joy will come to me."
+
+One night he shut his book and laid aside the strange glass, and sat
+quite still in the dim room. He had found that there was nothing more to
+be learned; there was nothing of all the mysteries that he did not know
+perfectly.
+
+And behold, the longing was still in his heart, and no gladness came. He
+only felt how weary and old he was. He thought: "There _is_ no joy in
+the world; there is nothing good and perfect in the whole world!" He
+closed his tired eyes and leaned his head back. The lamp burned low, and
+the place was very still for a long time. And then there suddenly broke
+the most beautiful music right under his window; children were singing,
+and men and women, and above it all bells were ringing--wonderful,
+joyous bells.
+
+"Can it be," said the old man--"can it be that anyone is really joyful
+in the world?" He rose up and went to the window, and thrust back the
+great curtain.
+
+And lo! it was morning!
+
+The most beautiful, shining morning; people were pouring out of all the
+houses, smiling and singing, and bowing to one another; little children
+were going together with flowers in their hands, singing, and answering
+the tones of the great bells; and one little child, as it passed, looked
+right up at the great Doctor Faust, and held out its white lily. The
+bells chimed, and the singing grew sweeter and clearer.
+
+"If there is something joyful in the world, surely some one will tell
+me," said the man; and he went out into the morning.
+
+It had rained in the night; there were pools in the street, and the
+leaves glistened. "How bright the light is!" he thought, and "how
+strange the flowers look blooming in the sun!" But the birds flew away
+when he came, and this made the strange longing in the lonely man's
+heart grow into pain. So he stepped back in the shadow and looked into
+all the happy faces as they passed, and listened to the singing.
+
+But no one stopped to tell him anything. They were so full of joy that
+they did not feel his touch, and his words when he spoke were swept
+right up into the song and the pealing of the joy-bells.
+
+Girls in white veils, with stalks of the most beautiful lilies in their
+hands, passed him in a long line, and the boys came after, in new
+clothes, and shoes that squeaked. But he only saw their shining,
+upturned faces. They were so beautiful as they sang, that tears stood in
+the smiling eyes of all the fathers and mothers and neighbors who
+followed after. Little children holding each other's hands went
+together, and one little one had a queer woolly lamb on wheels trundling
+behind him.
+
+"Can it be," said the old man, "that there is a deep joy in the world?
+will no one tell me?" And he turned and went with the people; and after
+awhile he met a young girl.
+
+She was not singing, but the most beautiful light shone from her face;
+so he knew she was thinking of the deep joy, and he asked her what it
+was, and why the people were glad.
+
+She looked at him with loving wonder, and then she told him it was
+Easter morning, when everything in the wide world remembers fully that
+the joy can never die. "It is here always," she told him.
+
+"Always?" said the old man; and he shook his head sadly.
+
+"Always," she said; and she took his hand and led him out of the throng
+into the most beautiful ways. He did not know that in the whole world
+there were such wonderful grassy lanes. Why, there were hedges with
+star-flowers here and there; apple trees were blooming, and between the
+cottages there were gardens where seed had sprung up in rows.
+
+In some of the houses people were going about their homely tasks, and
+they were singing softly, or saying the most gentle words to one another
+as they worked. And before a very humble door, where only one tall lily
+bloomed, there sat a beautiful mother with a baby on her knee and a
+little one beside her; and they were looking straight into her eyes,
+listening to the wonderful story of the Easter morning. The father
+stopped to listen too, and in every single face shone the same holy
+light.
+
+It shone even in the face of the Faust as he passed.
+
+And behold, when Margaret looked at him he had grown young. His hair
+glinted in the sun and the wonder had come back to his eyes. Butterflies
+circled above them, and they went on and on, free and glad together, and
+the holy light was over everything.
+
+But the poet tells us that afterwards Faust traveled into a very
+strange, far world, where there was never any silence or living flowers.
+Nothing was perfect or holy there, and Margaret could not go. But they
+tell us that whenever he looked away from this strange world, he heard
+again the singing, and smelled the faint fragrance of lilies, and it
+seemed to him that he was there again in the light, with the blessed
+Margaret leading him on forever.
+
+
+
+
+      Oh, eternal light!
+  For I therein, methought, in its own hue,
+  Beheld our image painted.
+
+              --_From Dante's "Paradise."_
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+_By Dante Gabriel Rossetti_
+
+THE BEATA BEATRICE]
+
+
+BEATRICE.
+
+
+Dear children, there is a great story of Heaven told by a poet called
+Dante, who dreamed that he was led through Heaven by the beautiful
+Beatrice.
+
+And this is how it was. Dante had come to think so many unloving
+thoughts of all the people, that whenever he went about the streets of
+Florence where he lived, he thought he saw evil marks on all the faces.
+And it seemed to him that everyone in the world was lost from God. And
+the angry sorrow in his heart grew so great that there was not a single
+loving, hopeful thought in it. Then there came to him a wonderful
+vision. It seemed to him that Beatrice, whom he loved, came down from
+God and spoke to him and led him up, and showed him Heaven.
+
+But his eyes were so dim at first, it seemed only the shining of a few
+small stars. But as they journeyed, Beatrice spoke to him of many things
+he had not understood, and while she talked, Heaven grew plainer and he
+saw that the stars were all shining together in a soft radiance, like
+the halos of many saints. And the wisdom of the world began to slip from
+Dante, and he stood there in Heaven as a little child.
+
+Beatrice led him on and on, and whenever she wished him to see Heaven
+more plainly she talked of the world he lived in and the men he hated.
+Now when one who lives with God speaks of hate, it is nothing. And as he
+listened, Dante began to see that Man was in Heaven. When he had learned
+this, they went with a great flight up to God. And behold! it seemed to
+Dante that the higher he went in Heaven the nearer home he came, for all
+around him there were faces that he knew.
+
+And they went on and on to the very highest Heaven, where God and man
+live together, and the angels cannot tell God from man or man from God.
+And Beatrice showed Dante this great mystery. And he stood still,
+looking, with the great light shining into his eyes.
+
+Although he does not tell us what he saw, we know it was Florence, where
+he lived, and that he was looking at all the people with loving eyes,
+and seeing them just as those who live with God see men.
+
+Heaven is here, little children. Let us love one another.
+
+
+
+
+FROM "PARSIFAL."
+
+[Music: By pity 'lightened, the guileless Fool;]
+
+  --_Richard Wagner._
+
+
+[Illustration: _By George Frederick Watts_
+
+ASPIRATION]
+
+
+PARSIFAL.
+
+
+Long, long ago, when the old nations were child-nations, they had the
+most wonderful dreams and stories in their hearts; and they told them
+over so many, many times, with love and wonder, that they grew into
+Art,--poems and songs and pictures. And there is one beautiful story
+which you will find in many songs and poems, for almost every nation has
+told it in its own way. And this is it:
+
+Long, long ago--so long that no one can tell whether it really happened
+or whether the old German folk only dreamed it--there was a band of
+knights who went away and lived together on a beautiful high mountain,
+far above the world, where no evil might ever come to them; and there
+they thought of nothing but pure and holy things. The purest knight was
+chosen king among them, and led them in all high things; and they lived
+so for many years, keeping themselves from wrong and beholding blessed
+wonders that the world had never seen,--miracles of light that sometimes
+passed above them.
+
+But once there came an evil thought to the very king; nothing could put
+it away, and it was like a spear-wound in his side that nothing could
+heal. It was the greatest suffering; it even touched the joy of the
+knights, for they began to think only of what would heal the king. Many
+went far and wide, seeking a cure, while others dropped back to the
+world again; for the pattern of purity was not perfect any longer, and
+they seemed to forget what it had been. All the miracles stopped, and
+the sick king and the knights waited and waited for one who was pure
+enough to show them the perfect pattern again.
+
+And one day a youth passed by who was so innocent that he did not know
+what wrong was. When the knights beheld him they looked in wonder, and
+said: "Is it not he, the innocent one, who will save us?" and they led
+him up to the temple. And behold, it was the time of the holy feast,
+when long ago the light had passed above them. And the youth stood there
+with great wonder and trouble in his heart, for he saw the suffering of
+the king, and how the knights longed and waited; he heard their voices
+in solemn tones, and the mourning voice of the king. And lo, while he
+looked, a wonderful glowing light passed above them. The knights all
+rose up with great joy in their hearts and looked at the boy, for the
+blessed miracle had come again, and it was a sign.
+
+But Parsifal stood still with wonder and trouble in his heart; and when
+they asked if he knew what his eyes had seen, he only shook his head.
+
+So the hope and joy went from the knights, and they led him out and sent
+him on his way.
+
+And the boy Parsifal traveled down into the world. And as he went he met
+many wrongs, and he began to know what evils there were.
+
+Now whenever one crossed his way, he went to it and handled it. But
+behold his mind was so pure and godlike that whenever he touched evil to
+learn what it was, it grew into some gentle thing in his hand. He went
+throughout the whole world seeking to know what evil was, but he was so
+mild and beautiful that wrongs fell away before him, or were healed as
+he passed. And he went on and on to the very kingdom of Evil, at last,
+and when its king saw him, he cried out with a great cry, and hurled his
+spear; but it only floated above the head of Parsifal, and when he
+seized it in his hand the whole kingdom melted away. And Parsifal found
+he was standing in a sunny meadow not far from the holy mountain; and he
+went up to the knights and stood with them in the temple, and his face
+was like the face of an angel. They say the king was healed as he
+looked, and that the wonderful light shone above them and was with them
+always,--forever.
+
+
+
+
+  Where the quiet colored end of evening smiles,
+      Miles and miles.
+
+            --_Robert Browning._
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Jean Fran�ois Millet_
+
+THE ANGELUS]
+
+
+THE ANGELUS.
+
+
+Every evening after sunset, when the most wonderful soft light is in the
+sky and it is very still everywhere, the old bell in the steeple chimes
+out over the village and the fields around. No one quite knows what the
+evening bell sings, but the tone is so beautiful that everyone stands
+still and listens.
+
+Ever since the oldest grandfather can remember, the dear bell has sung
+at evening and everyone has listened, and listened, for the message.
+
+A great many people said there was really no message at all, and one
+very learned man wrote a whole book to show that the song of the evening
+bell was nothing but the clanging of brass and iron; and almost everyone
+who read it believed it. But there were many who were not wise enough to
+read, so they listened to the sweet tone just as lovingly as they had
+listened when they were little children.
+
+Sometimes when the sweet song pealed out, the old shoemaker would forget
+and leave his thread half drawn, and while he listened a wonderful
+smiling light shone in his face. But whenever the little grandson asked
+him what the bell said to him, the old man only shook his head and
+pulled the stitch through and sewed on and on, until there was not any
+more light; and for this reason the little boy began to think that the
+bell was singing something about work. He thought of it very often when
+he sat on his grandfather's step listening to the song and watching the
+people. Sometimes those who had read the learned book spoke together and
+laughed quite loudly, to show that they were not paying any attention to
+the bell; and there were others who seemed not to hear it at all. But
+there were some who listened just as the old grandfather had listened,
+and many who stopped and bowed their heads and stood quite still for a
+long, long while. But the strangest was, that no one ever could tell the
+other what the bell had sung to him. It was really a very deep mystery.
+
+Now there was a painter who had such loving eyes that even when he
+looked on homely, lowly things, he saw wonder that no one else could
+see. He loved all the sweet mysteries that are in the world, and he
+loved the bell's song; he wondered about it just as the little boy had
+done.
+
+One evening, I think, he went alone beyond the village and through the
+wide brown fields; he saw the light in the sky, and the birds going
+home, and the steeple far off. It was all very still and wonderful, and
+as he looked away on every side, thinking many holy thoughts, he saw a
+man and a woman working together in the dim light. They were digging
+potatoes; there was a wheelbarrow beside them, and a basket. Sometimes
+they moved about slowly, or stooped with their hands in the brown earth.
+And while they worked, the sound of the evening bell came faintly to
+them. When they heard it they rose up. The mother folded her hands on
+her breast and said the words of a prayer, and thought of her little
+ones. The father just held his hat in his hand and looked down at their
+work. And the painter forgot all the wonder of the sky and the wide
+field as he looked at them, for there was a deeper mystery. And it was
+plain to him.
+
+But the man and the woman stood there listening; they did not know that
+the bell was singing to them of their very own work, of every loving
+service and lowly task of the day.
+
+The bell sang on and on, and the peace of the song seemed to fill the
+whole day.
+
+
+
+
+  Come, let us with the children live.
+
+                   --_Friedrich Froebel_
+
+
+FRIEDRICH AND HIS CHILD-GARDEN.
+
+
+Friedrich Froebel--"Little Friedrich," they called him long ago. Is it
+not strange to think that the great men who bring the beautiful deeds to
+the world were once little children? Do you know how these children grow
+so great and strong that they can do a loving deed for the whole world
+at last? They do little loving deeds every day.
+
+This gentle Friedrich loved more and more things every day that he
+lived. But when he was a little boy he was very lonely sometimes,
+because he had no playmates except the flowers in the old garden. It
+seemed to him these flowers were always playing plays together. The
+little pink and white ones on the border of the beds seemed always
+circling round the sweet tall rose, and laughing and swaying in the
+wind. It was so gay sometimes that he laughed aloud to see them all
+nodding and bowing, and the rose bowing too.
+
+Friedrich was so gentle that his doves would flutter around his head and
+settle on his outstretched arms, and even the little mother bird, with
+her nest in the hedge, would let him stand near when she told little
+stories to her babies. Friedrich had no dear mother, but he had a tall,
+strong brother who would sometimes take him to the sweet wide meadows
+and tell him beautiful stories about the strange little bugs and busy
+bees, and stones and flowers.
+
+But after awhile Friedrich's father thought he was growing too old to
+play all day long. So he said to him one day, "Friedrich, you must begin
+to learn." When Friedrich heard this he was glad, because he wanted to
+know about all the wonderful things in the world. But when he had to
+sit still for long hours and learn out of large books that hadn't a
+single picture, it was very hard. "But there is no other way, little
+Friedrich," his teachers told him.
+
+As the time went on he grew as tall and strong as his brother. And then
+what do you think happened? Just the same thing that happened to our
+America when George Washington led out all the brave men. Friedrich's
+dear Germany was in great trouble, and she called to all her brave men
+to come and save her. And Friedrich marched away with all the
+others--marching, marching, with the drums beating and the flags flying.
+
+Then after a long while, when peace had come back and all was quiet and
+joyful again, there came to Friedrich a sweet thought that grew and
+grew. Can you think what it was? It was half about his old garden and
+the playing flowers, and half about little children. Whenever he saw a
+child tear a flower or stone a bird he felt sad, and this thought would
+grow stronger in his heart.
+
+Sometimes he would gather up all the children and take them to the
+meadow, and teach them about the leaves and stones, the flowers and
+birds and ants, as his brother used to teach him, and then they would
+play the very plays the wind and flowers and birds had played. So he
+called it his kindergarten,--his child-garden,--and he began to show to
+the whole world that little children must learn and grow in the same
+sweet way that flowers do.
+
+And he worked years and years, teaching and working out this wonderful
+message that had come to him. He loved God and children and this shining
+thought better than himself, and he wore poor clothes and gave up
+things, that the beautiful deed might live in the world.
+
+
+
+
+The true light, which lighteth every man that cometh
+  into the world.
+       --_St. John._
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Antonio Allegri da Correggio_
+
+THE HOLY NIGHT]
+
+
+THE HOLY NIGHT.
+
+
+In the far-off places of the world where men do not pass often, it is
+nothing to be poor. Little Hansei and his mother were poor, but that was
+nothing to him. They lived on the side of a great hill, where, save
+their small black hut with its little gauzy curl of smoke, there was no
+sign of life as far as eye could reach. And it seemed to Hansei that the
+whole world was theirs, and they were the whole world. Yet on fair days,
+far below, the misty towers and steeples of a city showed. But this was
+as unreal and unreachable as dreams and clouds to Hansei; the only
+difference was, a yellow road wound down to it, and if one went far
+enough he might some day reach that strange, misty place. But
+dreams--they always went at morning; and clouds--if he climbed to the
+highest point of the hill he could never reach them!
+
+Sometimes people had passed that way. Once a man had gone bearing a
+burden. Another time, as Hansei and his mother gathered up their fagots
+at evening, a man and woman passed together; the sunset light was on the
+woman, and she sang as she went. Again, men in dark robes and hoods
+passed by; some had ridden on mules, some were grave and walked, reading
+from small books, others laughed. And these were all (except a peddler
+who had lost his way) that Hansei had ever seen go by.
+
+People seldom went that way; the road was steep, and there was an easier
+way down at the other side, his mother said.
+
+Once Hansei asked her if those who had passed were all the people there
+were besides themselves. His mother said, "There are others off there,"
+pointing to the city.
+
+Every morning before it was light Hansei's mother went away to the other
+side of the hills somewhere.
+
+The first time he awoke and found the black loaf and water waiting and
+his mother gone, he had cried and searched and called her over and over.
+"Mother! Mother!" he had cried as loud as he could call down the yellow
+road.
+
+"Mother! Mother!" had come a strange voice from beyond the hills; and
+Hansei's heart had leaped with a new joy. He cried back wildly, "Where
+are you?"
+
+"Where are you?" cried the voice again.
+
+"I am here!"
+
+"I am here!"
+
+"Come to me!"
+
+"Come to me!"
+
+All day Hansei and the strange voice from beyond the hills called and
+cried to each other. Hansei thought: "It is true there are others off
+there, and some one is calling to me."
+
+At night the mother came back. Hansei asked: "Where have you been?" and
+put up his arms. His mother said: "At the other side of the hill," and
+touched his head gently.
+
+"What did you do so long?"
+
+"I made lace."
+
+"What is lace?"
+
+"It is like that a little," and she pointed to a cobweb stretching from
+a dead twig to a weed. Hansei looked and slowly put his foot through it.
+
+"Must you go tomorrow and next day?" he asked.
+
+"Next day and always," said the mother, looking off down the yellow
+road.
+
+Hansei cried: "Let me go too; let me go!"
+
+"Hush, no; it is dark where I go."
+
+"Is there no sun at the other side of the hill?"
+
+"Yes, yes; but we who make lace sit in darkness."
+
+Hansei asked: "Why must there be lace?"
+
+The mother stared into the dusk. "Because," she said slowly, "there are
+princesses and great ladies down there who must be beautiful."
+
+"What is beautiful?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+Always through the dusky summer evenings they sat together on the
+doorstep, the mother with her bent head resting on her hand, and Hansei
+staring up at the great sky and clouds and stars above him. Sometimes
+the mother told strange stories, but oftener they sat silent.
+
+When winter came it seemed to Hansei that half of all the joy and light
+and life went out of the world. There were no birds nor bugs nor bees
+left; the flowers were gone, and the days were short and gray. It was
+cold, and he could only stay in the dim little house, playing with small
+sticks and stones, or tracing the frostwork on the one little window.
+Frost was like lace, his mother had told him.
+
+Sometimes, too, he would try to sing as the woman had sung who passed
+that summer time.
+
+One evening in the middle of winter Hansei and his mother started out to
+a bit of woods skirting the other side of the yellow road. Hansei sang
+as they went; it was half what the woman had sung and half like nothing
+that was ever heard. Sometimes this tune made his mother smile a little,
+but oftener she did not hear it.
+
+As they crossed the yellow road his mother stopped and looked, as she
+always did.
+
+"Hark!" she said, hushing the singing with her hand. Hansei stood still
+and listened. Yes, yes, they were coming--"the others." It sounded again
+as it had the day the men had ridden by, only more--more; and they were
+coming nearer. There were voices and the beat of footsteps, and
+sometimes Hansei heard a strange sound that might be singing or wind
+moaning.
+
+Hansei said: "I am so afraid." But his mother did not hear him. He hid
+his face in her gown and waited. They were coming on and on; and they
+were saying something together,--strange words that Hansei had never
+heard. Nearer and nearer! He felt them passing close where he and his
+mother stood; he raised his head and looked.
+
+He saw a long dark line of men, some riding and some walking. Their
+heads were bent, and they said the strange words together. Sometimes
+there was a burst like song, then the words again. There was one torch.
+
+Slowly they made their way down the yellow road. Hansei and his mother
+watched them as they went.
+
+He whispered, "Where are they going?"
+
+"Down there," said the mother softly. "It is the Christ-child's night."
+
+"Why do they go?"
+
+"To pray."
+
+"What will they ask?"
+
+"Light! light!"
+
+"Can all go?"
+
+"Yes, all."
+
+"Let us go, Mother; let us go! There is a voice down there that calls me
+often."
+
+The mother looked back at the little dark house, then down the road
+where the one point of light moved on.
+
+"Come, let us go; let us follow it," she said, taking his hand and
+hurrying down the steep way in the darkness.
+
+Through the long, wild night they toiled on and on. Always the little
+light went before, and always Hansei and his mother followed where it
+led.
+
+Once Hansei cried out: "See, Mother, the torch is the star, and we are
+the shepherds seeking the little Christ-child!" And he laughed.
+
+In the gray dawn they came to the misty city. "How strange! how
+strange!" thought Hansei, as they went down the narrow streets. "How
+many houses, and lights, and people! But the real light, the little
+star, we must not lose it."
+
+Just before them went the dark line of men and the torch. People who met
+them stepped aside and always made strange signs on their breasts.
+Suddenly the light went out, and the men disappeared into what seemed a
+great shadow.
+
+Hansei asked: "What is it?"
+
+His mother said: "A church."
+
+"Let us go in, too; the star went;" and Hansei, with all his strength,
+pushed back the great door.
+
+"People! people!" little Hansei had not dreamed there were so many of
+"the others." There in the dim light they were kneeling, praying for
+"light, light," his mother had told him.
+
+Far beyond there were small lights, like stars shining, and a man in a
+white robe, who said the strange words he had heard on the yellow road.
+Then the kneeling people all said something together. Hansei thought,
+"They are trying to tell him they want the light, and he does not
+understand." Hansei's mother knelt where she stood, and he crept down
+beside her. He heard her saying the words he did not know. He only said
+softly: "Light, light for them all!"
+
+An old woman knelt near him; not far off a lame boy and a mother with a
+sleeping child in her arms knelt also, and there beyond, a woman. Ah, he
+knew what "beautiful" was now! He looked to see if she wore lace like
+cobwebs and frost. She did not pray; she only knelt there. Tears were in
+her eyes. "Light for her and all," whispered Hansei over and over.
+
+Then it was as if a dream came true. Some one that had stood near
+stepped back, and there, there beyond, appeared the little Christ-child,
+just as his mother had told him. There was the beautiful mother, the
+wise men and angels, the youth, the maiden, and the light shining from
+the child and touching them all, all, even the poor little beasts off
+there!
+
+Hansei cried: "Look, look, Mother! the Christ-child!"
+
+His mother said, "Hush-hsh! It is not the real Christ-child, but a
+picture."
+
+Hansei looked back. "Not the real Christ-child? But, Mother, the star
+stopped here! Then the real Christ-child is here somewhere, I know."
+
+He looked about, but he saw only the old woman, the lame boy, the mother
+with her child, and the beautiful woman who could not pray. He turned
+back to the painted child and the light, and looked, and looked; he
+stared his eyes blind; at last he could not see; all seemed to fade, to
+go. The tired eyelids fell; his head drooped down on his mother's arm,
+and he slept.
+
+But his eyes still held the light, and he dreamed.
+
+It seemed to him that the beautiful pictured light grew and broadened
+into a great shining. "Surely," thought the little boy, "the real
+Christ-child is near! but where? not here; here is only the old woman
+and the lame boy and the others praying. But the great light--shining
+over all, above every head, in shining rings! how beautiful!"
+
+And he thought he cried out, "See, you have the light, all of you! Do
+not pray, but be glad!" They did not hear, and prayed on.
+
+"But the Christ-child--where is the real Christ-child?" he wondered. He
+thought he stood up and strained his eyes over the bent heads of the
+praying people, and while he looked he saw myriad circles of light begin
+to glow; and lo! there, near--so near--was the real Christ-child,--only
+it was the old woman. Dreams are strange!
+
+Her bent, trembling body seemed going, fading, and there knelt a shining
+being,--the real Christ-child; yet it was the old woman. And the lame
+boy, the hurt creature, as he looked, melted into the shadow of his
+radiant, perfect self, and shined too. The mother with her child grew
+bright, bright; and each of the kneeling, praying ones was a perfect
+shining child! The light grew into glory; the fullness of joy broke into
+singing; angels, heavenly hosts, singing, "The Christ is here,--here in
+the world!"
+
+But what--? Who--? Why, his mother, to be sure, leaning above him.
+
+"Wake, Hansei; hear the music! See the choir boys in white, like
+angels."
+
+Hansei opened his eyes wide. The glorious Christmas morning was beaming
+full upon him through the great window, and he saw the light of the new
+day touching the bent old woman, the lame boy, the mother with her
+child, the beautiful woman beyond, and the pictured Christ.
+
+He heard clear voices, "Peace on earth!"
+
+But the dream--the dream!
+
+"I have found the real Christ-child," he whispered.
+
+
+
+
+  Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, ... snatch Saul the mistake,
+  Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now,--and bid him awake
+  From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set
+  Clear and safe in new light and new life,--a new harmony, yet
+  To be run, and continued, and ended--who knows?--or endure!
+
+                                  --_From Browning's "Saul."_
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Bartolom� Est�ban Murillo_
+
+THE DIVINE SHEPHERD]
+
+
+SAUL AND DAVID.
+
+
+The great King Saul of Israel was sad, and the sorrow grew and grew
+until it spread abroad through the whole nation. Even it came to the
+simple folk who minded sheep and lived in the far hills.
+
+"The mighty king is sad," said one who had come from a journey. And the
+people gathered about him and marveled that a king should sorrow.
+
+"The king is sad," said the one. "He has traveled into the great desert,
+where nothing blooms and there are no rivers."
+
+The people stood still and looked off over their stretching pastures,
+and heard the gush of water brooks.
+
+"He sits alone in a dim tent, with his head in his hands," said the one.
+"His sword rests at his feet. The army goes no more to battle. The
+servants weep and pray, and strain their eyes over the burning sand,
+waiting."
+
+"Waiting?" said the men.
+
+"For one to come," said the other.
+
+"Who shall come?" they asked together.
+
+"The joy-bringer," said the man.
+
+The shepherds looked at one another, and then away; and when they had
+stood awhile in silence, they moved off after their sheep.
+
+The boy David went swiftly. His feet pressed springing grass, he smelt
+the odor of new-turned earth, and the sound of water was in his ears. He
+could not think that there were really deserts. But he thought of the
+sad, lonely king, and wished that he might go to him. He came to where
+his sheep were feeding, and stood among them and heard their bleating;
+but he did not think of them. He was looking into the wide sky, and
+wondering if God would not send his angel to save the king; but there
+was no sign save the peace and wonder that had always shone there. He
+turned and led his flock to the fold, and when he had done so he sat
+down on the hillside and played upon his harp; and the music was as
+beautiful as silence, so that shy creatures did not fear, but crept
+around to listen. The pale moon rose up, and the stars shone down like
+loving, glistening eyes.
+
+Sometimes there had come to David strange longings for far-off things,
+and he too had grown sad like the king. But then would he take his harp
+to the hill and sing of the sweet promise of the perfect gift that was
+to come from God to the world,--to shepherds and kings and all. And when
+he had sung so, behold! the peace was again in his heart, and he wished
+no longer to go seeking, for he knew the gift would surely come.
+
+He thought of the king as he sang. "He has forgot the promise; I must go
+to him and sing," he said.
+
+So he rose up in the night, and woke his brother to give him charge over
+his flock. And when he had plucked long-stemmed, dripping lilies to wind
+through his harp strings, he went away by the same road all other
+travelers had gone.
+
+Day after day he journeyed, passing through sweet fields and pastures.
+He saw men sowing, and others tending their flocks; and there were
+mothers with babes in their arms and children about them. "The gift will
+come to you, and you, and all," he thought, as he passed.
+
+He went through the wilderness, and even through the dry desert; but his
+heart was singing and the thought of the promise was there like living
+water.
+
+Now the king's servants saw him afar off, and they ran out to meet him
+and knelt at his feet; for when they saw the light on his shining hair,
+and the harp with living lilies, they thought, "It is God's angel!"
+
+But he said to them, "I am only a loving boy; I am David, a shepherd,
+and I have come to King Saul." He smiled into the wondering faces, and
+passing among them he came to where the king was, and stood in his very
+presence; and he was not afraid. They say a beautiful light shone from
+his face.
+
+The tent was dim, and the weary king did not stir.
+
+The boy knelt down, and stripping off the lilies, he tuned his harp and
+began to sing. The poet tells how he played for the mighty king; and
+what do you think it was? Just the tune all his sheep knew; always it
+brought them, one after one, to the pen door at evening. It was so
+strange and sweet a tune that quail on the corn lands would each leave
+its mate to fly after the player; and crickets--it made them so wild
+with delight they would fight one another. Then he played what sets the
+field mouse musing, and the cattle to deeper dreaming in the sunny
+meadows.
+
+He sang of green pastures and water brooks, and the morning joy of
+shepherds bounding over wide pastures. The light shines in streams, the
+hungry, happy sheep break out, and the long golden day is to be lived!
+
+Then he sang of the peace that comes to shepherds at evening, when the
+gentle sheep and sleepy, bleating lambs go home across the sweet wide
+meadow, and the stars come out in the serene heavens. Then it is to the
+shepherd as if nature and man and God are all one, and love is all there
+is in the whole world.
+
+At last the boy David sang of the perfect gift that will surely come;
+and he sang until the evil sorrow itself grew into peace.
+
+The king stirred and raised his head. It was to him as if it had rained,
+and flowers had sprung up in the desert.
+
+
+
+
+A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION
+
+
+The diacritical markings in this list agree with the latest edition of
+Webster's International Dictionary, and are as follows:
+
+  [=a]--_as in_ f[=a]te.
+  [)a]--_as in_ [)a]dd.
+  [+a]--_as in_ pref' [+a]ce.
+  [:a]--_as in_ f[:a]r.
+  [.a]--_as in_ gr[.a]ss.
+  [a:]--_as in_ [a:]ll.
+  [=e]--_as in_ [=e]ve.
+  [+e]--_as in_ [+e]-vent'.
+  [)e]--_as in_ [)e]nd.
+  [~e]--_as in_ h[~e]r.
+  [=i]--_as in_ [=i]ce.
+  [)i]--_as in_ p[)i]n.
+  [=o]--_as in_ r[=o]w.
+  [+o]--_as in_ [+o]-bey'.
+  �--_as in_ l�rd.
+  [)o]--_as in_ n[)o]t.
+  �--_similar to_ u _in_ fur.
+  [=oo]--_as in_ s[=oo]n.
+  [)u]--_as in_ [)u]s.
+  [+u]--_as in_ [+u]-nite'.
+  [u.]--_as in_ f[u.]ll.
+  U--_similar to_ u _in_ fur.
+  [)y]--_as in_ pit' [)y].
+  e[�]--_as in_ [�]s.
+    (_prolonged_).
+  oi--_as in_ oil.
+  ou--_as in_ out.
+
+  K a guttural sound, similar to aspirated _h_.
+
+  N represents the nasal sound in French, as in _ensemble_
+    ([:a]N' s[:a]N' b'l).
+
+  [)w] similar to _v_.
+
+  Silent letters are italicized. Certain vowels, as _a_ and _e_, when
+  obscured, are also italicized.
+
+
+
+A WORD LIST
+
+  Amphibian ([)a]m f[)i]b' [)i] _a_n)
+  Angelus ([)a]n' g[+e] l[)u]s)
+  Antonio Allegri da Corregio ([)a]n t[=o]' n[)i] [+o]
+    [)a]ll[=e]' gr[)i] d[:a] k[)o]r [)e]d' j[=o])
+  applause ([)a]p pl[a:]z')
+  Asola ([:a] s[=o]' l[:a])
+  [)a]s' p[)i] r[=a]' tion (sh[)u]n)
+  Bartolom� Est�ban Murillo (b[:a]r t[)o]l m[=a]' [)e]st[=a]' b[:a]n
+    m[=oo] r[=e]' ly[=o])
+  Beatrice (b[=e]' [+a] tr[)i]s)
+  Brunhilde (br[=oo]n' h[)i]l' d_e_)
+  buoys (boiz)
+  castle (k[)a]s' 'l)
+  caverns (k[)a]v' [~e]rnz)
+  citrons (s[)i]t' r[)u]nz)
+  crouched (kroucht)
+  Dante Gabriel Rossetti (d[)a]n' t[)e] g[=a]' br[)i] [)e]l
+    r[)o]ss[)e]t' t[=e])
+  Earth-dwarfs ([e]rth'-dw[a:]rfs')
+  fagots (f[)a]g' [)u]tz)
+  Faust (foust)
+  Friedrich Fr�]_e_' b_e_l (fr[=e]' dr[+e]K)
+  g[a:]_u_z' [)y]
+  gl[=e]_a_m_e_d
+  gl[)i]n' t[~e]r [)i]ng
+  Goethe (g�' t_e_h)
+  Hansei (h[.a]ns' [=e])
+  hedge (h[)e]j)
+  h[)o]l' l[)y] h[)o]_c_ks
+  indescribable ([)i]n' d[+e] skr[=i]b' [.a] b'l)
+  Innocence ([)i]n' n[+o] s_e_ns)
+  Israel ([)i]z' r[+a] [)e]l)
+  Jean Baptiste Greuze (zh[:a]N b[.a]' t[+e]st' gruz)
+  Jean Fran�ois Millet (zh[:a]N fr[)o]N' sw[:a]' m[+e]' y[+a]')
+  Jules le Febvre (zh[=oo]l l_e_h f[+a]vr')
+  k[)i]n' d[~e]r g[:a]r' t[)e]n
+  knight (n[=i]t)
+  l[a:]_u_' r[)e]l
+  Liseuse (l[)i]' ze�z')
+  Mignon (m[+e]' ny�N')
+  Mimi (m[=e]' m[+e])
+  miracles (m[)i]r' [.a] k'lz)
+  m[=o]_a_n' [)i]ng
+  musician (m[+u] z[)i]sh' _a_n)
+  myriad (m[)i]r' [)i] _a_d)
+  mysterious (m[)i]s t[=e]' r[)i] [)u]s)
+  naught (n[a:]t)
+  Niebelungen (n[=e]' b[)e] l[u.]ng' _e_n)
+  Odin ([=o]' d[)i]n)
+  P[)a]r' [.a] d[=i]s_e_
+  P{:a]r' s[)i] f[.a]l
+  p[=e]_a_l' [)i]ng
+  P[)i]p' p[.a]
+  pr[=e]' l[=u]d_e_
+  probation (pr[+o] b[=a]' sh[)u]n)
+  quail (kw[=a]l)
+  quivered (kw[)i]v' [~e]rd)
+  radiance (r[=a]' d[)i] _a_ns)
+  R[)i]ch' _a_rd W[)a]g' n[~e]r
+  Saul (s[a:]l)
+  s[~e]_a_rch' [)i]ng
+  s[+e] r[=e]n_e_'
+  s[)e]v' [~e]r_e_d
+  sheaves (sh[=e]vz)
+  Siegfried (s[=e]g' fr[)i]d)
+  sm[=e]_a_r_e_d
+  tadpoles (t[)a]d' p[=o]lz)
+  thatched (th[)a]tcht)
+  tr[)u]n' d'l[)i]ng
+  vision (v[)i]zh' [)u]n)
+  Watts (w[)o]tz)
+  wearily (w[=e]' r[)i] l[)y])
+  weights (w[=a]ts)
+  w[)e]ld
+  Wilhelm Meister ([)w][)i]l' h[)e]lm m[=i]s' t[~e]r)
+
+
+
++---------------------------------------------------------------------+
+| Transcriber's Note:                                                 |
+|                                                                     |
+| The following symbols are used as indicated:                        |
+|                                                                     |
+| [+a], [+e], [+o], [+u] = a, e, o, and u with 'inverted tack' above; |
+| [.a] = a with 'dot' above;                                          |
+| [)a] = a with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [=a] = a with 'macron' above;                                       |
+| [a:] = a with 'umlaut' below;                                       |
+| [~e] = e with 'tilde' above;                                        |
+| [=e] = e with 'macron' above;                                       |
+| [)e] = e with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [)i] = i with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [=i] = i with 'macron' above;                                       |
+| [=o] = o with 'macron' above;                                       |
+| [=oo] = oo with 'macron' above;                                     |
+| [)u] = u with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [u.] = u with 'dot' below;                                          |
+| [)u] = u with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [)w] = w with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [)y] = y with 'breve' above.                                        |
++---------------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Child Stories from the Masters, by Maud Menefee
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD STORIES FROM THE MASTERS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 21764-8.txt or 21764-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
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+
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+
+
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+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's Child Stories from the Masters, by Maud Menefee
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Child Stories from the Masters
+       Being a Few Modest Interpretations of Some Phases of the
+              Master Works Done in a Child Way
+
+Author: Maud Menefee
+
+Release Date: June 8, 2007 [EBook #21764]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD STORIES FROM THE MASTERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Mark C. Orton, Thomas Strong, Linda McKeown
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="bbox">
+<p class="center"><ins class="translit" title="Diacritcal marks and special characters">Underlined letters</ins><br /> indicate diacritical marks and special characters that may not be  visible in all browsers. The following symbols are used as indicated:<br />
+<ins class="translit" title="a with inverted tack above">[+a]</ins>, <ins class="translit" title="e with inverted tack above">[+e]</ins>, <ins class="translit" title="o with inverted tack above">[+o]</ins>, <ins class="translit" title="u with inverted tack above">[+u]</ins> = a, e, o, and u with 'inverted tack' above.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="center"><a name="image-1" id="image-1"><!-- Image 1 --></a>
+<img src="images/covers.jpg" class="jpg" height="513" width="400" alt="Book Cover" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="cover" id="cover" href="images/coverx.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a><span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h1 class="space">CHILD STORIES</h1>
+<h2>FROM THE MASTERS</h2>
+<br />
+<h4>BY</h4>
+<br />
+<h2>MAUD MENEFEE</h2>
+<br />
+<p class="center">BEING A FEW MODEST INTERPRETATIONS<br />
+OF SOME PHASES OF THE MASTER<br />
+WORKS DONE IN A CHILD WAY</p>
+<br />
+<h4><i>ILLUSTRATED</i></h4>
+<br />
+
+<p class="center"><a name="image-2" id="image-2"><!-- Image 2 --></a>
+<img src="images/deco-001x.jpg" height="121" width="400" alt="Decorative Art" /></p>
+<br />
+
+<h4>RAND, McNALLY &amp; COMPANY</h4>
+
+<h5><i>CHICAGO</i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>NEW YORK</i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>LONDON</i></h5>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg&nbsp;1]</a></span></p>
+
+<a name="Spin" id="Spin"></a>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-3" id="image-3"><!-- Image 3 --></a>
+<img src="images/frontispieces.jpg" class="jpg" height="494" width="400" alt="The Spinner" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="spinner" id="spinner" href="images/frontispiecex.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="credit"><i>By Jean Fran&ccedil;ois Millet</i></span></p>
+<p class="center">THE SPINNER</p>
+
+<br />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg&nbsp;2]</a></span></p>
+
+<h6>COPYRIGHT, 1899, 1901</h6>
+<h5>By MAUD MENEFEE</h5>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg&nbsp;3]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">TO<br /><br />
+ANDREA HOFER</p>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg&nbsp;4]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2 class="space">FOREWORD.</h2>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg&nbsp;5]</a></span>In writing these stories, no attempt has
+been made to follow the plot or problem
+of the poems, which in almost every case
+lies beyond the child's reach. The simple
+purpose as found in the whole, or the suggestion
+of only a stanza or scene, has been
+used as opportunity for picturing and reflecting
+something of the poetry and intention
+of the originals.</p>
+
+<p>As story-teller to the same circle of
+children for several years, it became necessary
+to draw upon the great literary fount for
+suggestion, and it was found that "Pippa,"
+the art child of industry, could add a poetic
+impulse toward the handwork of spinning,
+thread-winding, weaving, the making of spinning
+wheels, winders, and looms, without too
+great violence to the original poem itself.</p>
+
+<p>"Mignon," as the creature of an art that
+exists for art's sake, was set to contrast with
+Pippa, who through service finds a song to
+heal and to inspire.</p>
+
+<p>"Siegfried" and "Parsifal," as knight
+stories, were given with their musical <i>motifs</i>.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg&nbsp;6]</a></span>The writer hopes for "Child Stories"
+that it may serve to suggest to teachers
+how they may utilize the great store of
+poetry and art at hand. To do this they
+are themselves under the joyful necessity of
+keeping close to the great sources. On this
+last point Mr. Wm. T. Harris says: "A
+view of the world is a perpetual stimulant
+to thought, always prompting one to reflect
+on the immediate fact or event before him,
+and to discover its relation to the ultimate
+principle of the universe. It is the only
+antidote for the constant tendency of the
+teacher to sink into a dead formalism, the
+effect of too much iteration and of the practice
+of adjusting knowledge to the needs of
+the feeble-minded by perpetual explanation
+of what is already simple <i>ad nauseam</i> for
+the mature intelligence of the teacher. It
+produces a sort of pedagogical cramp in the
+soul, for which there is no remedy like a
+philosophical view of the world, unless, perhaps,
+it be the study of the greatest poets,
+Shakespere, Dante, and Homer."</p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 30em;"><span class="smcap">Maud Menefee.</span></p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chicago, August, 1901.</span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg&nbsp;7]</a></span></p>
+
+<a name="toc" id="toc"></a>
+<h2 class="space">THE TABLE OF CONTENTS.</h2>
+<hr class="short2" />
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents" style="width: 100%;">
+<tr>
+<td align="right" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Pippa</span></td>
+<td><i>Robert Browning</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Pippa">9</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span style="margin-left: 4em; font-size: small;">From "Pippa Passes."</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Mignon</span></td>
+<td><i>Johann Wolfgang von Goethe</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Mignon">17</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span style="margin-left: 4em; font-size: small;">From "Wilhelm Meister."</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Siegfried</span></td>
+<td><i>Richard Wagner</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Siegfried">27</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span style="margin-left: 4em; font-size: small;">From "Niebelungen Ring."</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">A Fish and a Butterfly</span></td>
+<td><i>Robert Browning</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Fish">39</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span style="margin-left: 4em; font-size: small;">From "Amphibian."</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">How Margaret Led Faust through</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;" class="smcap">the Perfect World</span></td>
+<td><i>Johann Wolfgang von Goethe</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Maggie">45</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span style="margin-left: 4em; font-size: small;">From "Faust."</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Beatrice</span></td>
+<td><i>Dante Alighieri</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Bea">55</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span style="margin-left: 4em; font-size: small;">From "The Inferno."</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Parsifal</span></td>
+<td><i>Richard Wagner</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Parsi">61</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span style="margin-left: 4em; font-size: small;">From "Parsifal."</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Angelus</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Angel">67</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span style="margin-left: 4em; font-size: small;">"About the painting by Jean Fran&ccedil;ois Millet."</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Friedrich and His Child-Garden</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Fred">73</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Holy Night</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Holy">79</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span style="margin-left: 4em; font-size: small;">"About the painting by Antonio Allegri da Correggio."</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Saul and David</span></td>
+<td><i>Robert Browning</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Saul">95</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span style="margin-left: 4em; font-size: small;">From "Saul."</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">A Guide to Pronunciation</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Pronunciation">103</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">A Word List</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#WORD_LIST">103</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg&nbsp;8]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 class="space">A LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2>
+<hr class="short2" />
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="List of Illustrations" style="width: 100%;">
+<tr>
+<td align="right" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">The Spinner</span></td>
+<td><i>Jean Fran&ccedil;ois Millet</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Spin"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Innocence</span></td>
+<td><i>Jean Baptiste Greuze</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Inno">10</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Mignon</span></td>
+<td><i>Paul Kiessling</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Mig">18</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Siegfried</span></td>
+<td><i>F. Leeke</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Sig">28</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">"At the Farthest End<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Meadow"</span></td>
+<td><i>Yeend King</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Far">40</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Liseuse</span></td>
+<td><i>Jules Le Febvre</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Lis">46</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Beata Beatrice</span></td>
+<td><i>Dante Gabriel Rossetti</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Beat">56</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">Aspiration</span></td>
+<td><i>George Frederick Watts</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#image-12">62</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">The Angelus</span></td>
+<td><i>Jean Fran&ccedil;ois Millet</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Angelus">68</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">The Holy Night</span></td>
+<td><i>Antonio Allegri da Correggio</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Night">80</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><span class="smcap">The Divine Shepherd</span></td>
+<td><i>Bartolom&eacute; Est&eacute;ban Murillo</i></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#Shep">96</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<a name="Pippa" id="Pippa"></a>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg&nbsp;9]</a></span></p>
+<a name="Inno" id="Inno"></a>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-4" id="image-4"><!-- Image 4 --></a>
+<img src="images/illus-010s.jpg" class="jpg" height="498" width="400" alt="Innocence" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="cense" id="cense" href="images/illus-010x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="credit"><i>By Jean Baptiste Greuze</i></span></p>
+<p class="center">INNOCENCE</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg&nbsp;10]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">A SONG.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i11">The year's at the spring<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">The day's at the morn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">Morning's at seven;<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">The hill-side's dew-pearled;<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">The lark's on the wing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">The snail's on the thorn:<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">God's in his heaven&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">All's right with the world!<br /></span>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i13">&mdash;<i>From Browning's "Pippa Passes."</i><br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h2 class="space">PIPPA.</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg&nbsp;11]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>All the year in the little village of
+Asola the great wheels of the mills
+went round and round. It seemed to the very
+little children that they never, never stopped,
+but went on turning and singing, turning and
+singing. No matter where you went in the
+village, the hum of the wheels could always
+be heard; and though no one could really say
+what the wheels sang, everyone turned gladly
+to his work or went swiftly on his errand
+when he heard the busy song.</p>
+
+<p>Everyone was proud of the mills in Asola,
+and the children most of all. The very little
+ones would go to the lowest windows and
+look into the great dim room where the
+wheels were, and they wondered, as they
+looked, if ever they would grow wise enough
+to help make silk.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg&nbsp;12]</a></span>Those children who were older wound
+thread on the bobbins, or helped at the looms.
+And whenever they saw the bright stuff in
+shop windows, or a beautiful woman passed in
+silken robes, they looked with shining eyes.
+"See how beautiful!" they would say. "We
+helped. She needs us; the world needs us!"
+and their hearts were so full of gladness at
+the thought.</p>
+
+<p>The poet tells us there was a child there
+whose name was Pippa, and she worked all
+day in this mill, winding silk on the little
+whirling, whirling spools.</p>
+
+<p>Now in the year there was one day they
+gave her for her own&mdash;one perfect day when
+she could walk in the sweet, sweet meadows,
+or wander toward the far, strange hills. And
+this one precious day was so shining and full
+of joy to Pippa that its light shone all about
+her until the next, making itself into dreams
+and little songs that she sang to her whirring
+spools.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg&nbsp;13]</a></span>One night, when the blessed time would
+be next morning, she said to the day:</p>
+
+<p>"Sweet Day, I am Pippa, and have only
+you for the joy of my whole long year; come
+to me gentle and shining, and I will do whatever
+loving deed you bring me."</p>
+
+<p>And the blessed day broke golden and
+perfect!</p>
+
+<p>She sprang up singing; she sang to the
+sunbeams, and to her lily, and to the joy in
+the world; she ran out, and leaped as she
+went; the grass blew in the wind, and the long
+yellow road rolled away like unwound silk.</p>
+
+<p>She sang on and on, hardly knowing.
+And it was a sweet song no one had ever
+heard. It was what birds sing, only this had
+words; and this song was so full of joy that
+when a sad poet heard it he stopped the lonely
+tune he piped, and listened till his heart
+thrilled. And when he could no longer hear,
+he took up the sweet strain and played it so
+strong and clear that it set the whole air<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg&nbsp;14]</a></span>
+a-singing. The children in the street began
+dancing and laughing as he played; the old
+looked up; a lame man felt that he might
+leap, and the blind who begged at corners forgot
+they did not see, the song was so full of
+the morning wonder.</p>
+
+<p>But little Pippa did not know this; she
+had passed on singing.</p>
+
+<p>Out beyond the village there were men
+who worked, building a lordly castle. And
+there was a youth among them who was a
+stair-builder, and he had a deep sorrow. The
+dream of the perfect and beautiful work was
+in his life, but it was given to him to build
+only the stairs men trod on. And as he knelt
+working wearily at his task, from somewhere
+beyond the thicket there came a strange,
+sweet song, and these were the words:</p>
+
+<p class="center">All service ranks the same with God:<br />
+... there is no last nor first."</p>
+
+<p>The youth sprang up; the wind lifted his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg&nbsp;15]</a></span>
+hair, the light leaped into his eyes, and he began
+to do the smallest thing perfectly.</p>
+
+<p>Farther down the road there was a ruined
+house; a man leaned his head on his
+hand and looked from the window. A great
+deed that the world needed must be done;
+and the man loved the great deed, but his
+heart had grown faint, and he waited.</p>
+
+<p>And it chanced that Pippa passed, singing,
+and her song reached the man; and it
+was to him as if God called. He rose up
+strong and brave, and leaping to his horse he
+rode away to give the great deed to the world.</p>
+
+<p>At night when the tired Pippa lay upon
+her little bed, she said to the day, "Sweet
+Day, you brought me no loving deed to give
+in payment for the joy you gave."</p>
+
+<p>But the day knew.</p>
+
+<p>And on the morrow, the child Pippa went
+back to the mill and wound the silk bobbins,
+and she was so full of gladness, she hummed
+with them all day.<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p><br />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg&nbsp;16]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<a name="Mignon" id="Mignon"></a>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg&nbsp;17]</a></span></p>
+<p style="margin-left: 10em;">Know'st thou the land where citrons are in bloom,<br />
+The orange glows amidst a leafy gloom,<br />
+A gentle breeze from cloudless heaven blows<br />
+The myrtle still, and high the laurel grows?<br />
+Know'st thou it well?<br />
+Ah! there&mdash;Ah, there would I fare!</p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 14em;">&mdash;<i>From Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister."</i></span></p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg&nbsp;18]</a></span></p>
+
+<a name="Mig" id="Mig"></a>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-5" id="image-5"><!-- Image 5 --></a>
+<img src="images/illus-019s.jpg" class="jpg" height="506" width="400" alt="Mignon" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="non" id="non" href="images/illus-019x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="credit"><i>By Paul Kiessling</i></span></p>
+<p class="center">MIGNON</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h2 class="space">MIGNON.</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg&nbsp;19]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Once there was a band of people who
+did nothing but wander about from
+village to village, giving shows in the marketplaces.
+They had no homes or gardens or
+fields, but the fathers earned the living by
+doing remarkable things.</p>
+
+<p>The little children played in the wagons,
+and the mothers cooked the meals over the
+camp-fire when they stopped outside the village,
+and they were quite happy after their
+own fashion. But often, when they passed
+down the streets between the rows of thatched
+houses with children playing in the yards, it
+all seemed to them something very beautiful
+indeed, and they looked at it as long as it was
+possible.</p>
+
+<p>The little girl of the strong man, and the
+little boy whose father walked on his hands,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg&nbsp;20]</a></span>
+often stood a long, long time looking through
+the fence at children who had real hollyhocks
+in their yards, besides a little green
+tree growing right out of the thatch on the
+top of the roof; and in some of the houses,
+where the doors stood open, they could see
+the most shining pans and kettles ranged
+about the chimney.</p>
+
+<p>But whenever they made a beautiful playhouse,
+with all the leaves brushed away and
+the rooms marked out with little sticks, they
+had to leave it next day. This was very discouraging,
+of course. Even the fathers and
+mothers grew discouraged sometimes, when
+they rode through the beautiful country. It
+was so sweet and so fair, and somehow it
+really seemed calling to them in a loving
+voice. But they always went on and on, from
+place to place, and no one ever knew what
+the real message was. But sometimes, deep
+in the strong man's heart there grew the
+strangest longing to go into the fields and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg&nbsp;21]</a></span>
+reap and bind with the reapers, so that he too
+might see the yellow sheaves standing together
+when work was over.</p>
+
+<p>In this circus, where he lifted the heaviest
+weights, and held the little boy and his own
+little girl straight out with his hands quite a
+long time, it was very wonderful indeed. But
+there was never anything after, to show it had
+been done, except a great deal of clapping
+and calling from the people. And this was
+partly for the children, who had such round,
+pleasant faces, and ran away just as soon as
+the father put them down. The strong man
+was always thinking of this when he walked
+beside the wagon and looked off over the
+fields where the men were working. And it
+was so with all of them; but as no one spoke
+of it they were thought to be a very gay company,
+for they laughed quite often. And after
+all, it did seem to them a very grand thing
+when they entered the village. The people
+ran to the doors and windows, and streamed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg&nbsp;22]</a></span>
+out of the inn; and the children ran after the
+wagon, looking at them with the greatest
+wonder.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever sadness they may have felt
+about their life, they forgot it entirely when
+they stood before the people in their spangled
+suits. Then it seemed to them quite the
+greatest thing to make a whole village stare.
+They walked about very proudly, and talked
+in very deep tones. Sometimes they allowed
+one or two of the largest boys to help make
+ready for the show. In one of the villages,
+the shoemaker's lame Charlie had helped lay
+the carpet on which the strong man stood
+when he did his part.</p>
+
+<p>Among these people who went about
+there was a child. Her name was Mignon;
+and when the tumblers had leaped over the
+high rods and stood upon each other's shoulders
+for the last time, and the strong man had
+bowed and gone away amid the greatest applause,
+this Mignon danced for the people.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg&nbsp;23]</a></span>
+When it was very still, and the strange, beautiful
+music had sounded, she would come
+slowly forward, and placing her hands on her
+breast she would bow very low, and begin to
+stir and sway in time. How beautiful it was!
+It was like a flower in the wind, and all the
+people stood still and looked with wonder.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes she sang; it was the strangest
+song that ever was sung by a child. It was
+always about far-off lands, where it seemed to
+her the real joy was. Tears shone in the eyes
+of all the people as they listened, and when it
+was over and they were again at their work,
+a deep sadness seemed in everything. They
+too had begun to think that the real joy might
+be a long, long way off from them.</p>
+
+<p>And Mignon went on from village to village,
+singing and dancing and seeking. Always
+she was thinking, "Who knows but tomorrow,
+in the next village or the next, I will
+find the real joy? it will come to me as I sing
+or stir with the beautiful music!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg&nbsp;24]</a></span>But, children, Mignon never found it.</p>
+
+<p>The feet that were meant to fly on loving
+errands only danced, and though it was so
+beautiful it was really nothing, and the real
+joy was not in it.</p>
+
+<p>Do you not know that every little child
+that comes into the world has a blessed deed
+in its life? But with Mignon it only lay heavy
+on her heart, and she was more weary than
+any child who serves all day. And after
+awhile this weariness grew as deep as her life,
+and the poet tells us that she died. We read
+in his strange book that they bore her to the
+dim hall of the Past, and that she lay there
+white and beautiful. Four boys clothed in
+blue with silver stood beside her, slowly waving
+white plumes. And when the people had
+come in and stood together very silently, the
+most beautiful singing voices began&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"'Whom bring ye us to the still dwelling?'"</p>
+
+<p>The four boys answered:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg&nbsp;25]</a></span>"'Tis a tired playmate whom we bring
+you. Let her rest in your still dwelling. Let
+us weep. Let us remain with her!'"</p>
+
+<p>But the sweet voices rang out,</p>
+
+<p>"'Children, turn back into life! Your tears
+let the fresh air dry. Haste back into life!
+Let the day give you <i>labor</i> and <i>joy</i>, till evening
+bring you rest.'"</p>
+
+<p>And the listening children understood.<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+<br />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg&nbsp;26]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<a name="Siegfried" id="Siegfried"></a>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg&nbsp;27]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center">SIEGFRIED'S SILVER HORN.</p>
+<a name="Sig" id="Sig"></a>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-6" id="image-6"><!-- Image 6 --></a>
+<img src="images/music-28s.jpg" class="jpg" height="82" width="400" alt="MUSIC" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="silver" id="silver" href="images/music-28x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left:30em;"><i>Richard Wagner.</i></span></p>
+
+<p style="text-align: center"><a href="music/sig.midi">[Listen]</a></p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg&nbsp;28]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-7" id="image-7"><!-- Image 7 --></a>
+<img src="images/illus-029s.jpg" class="jpg" height="418" width="600" alt="Siegfried" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="horn" id="horn" href="images/illus-029x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="credit"><i>By F. Leeke</i></span></p>
+<p class="center">SIEGFRIED</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+
+<h2 class="space">THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED.</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg&nbsp;29]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Long, long ago, before the sun learned to
+shine so brightly, people believed very
+strange things. Why, even the wisest thought
+storm clouds were war-maidens riding, and
+that a wonderful shining youth brought the
+springtime; and whenever sunlight streamed
+into the water they said to one another, "See,
+it is some of the shining gold, some of the
+magic Rhine-gold. Ah, if we should find the
+Rhine-gold we would be masters of the world&mdash;the
+whole world;" and they would stretch
+out their arms and look away on every side.
+Even little children began looking for the
+hidden gold as they played, and they say that
+Odin, a god who lived in the very deepest
+blue of the sky, came down and lay in the
+grass to watch the place where he thought it
+was.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg&nbsp;30]</a></span>Now this gold was hidden in the very
+deepest rocky gorge, and a dragon that everyone
+feared lay upon it night and day. Almost
+all the people in the world were wanting and
+seeking this gold; it really seemed sometimes
+that they were forgetting everything else,
+even the sweet message and the deed they
+had brought the world. Some of them went
+about dreaming and thinking of all the ways
+there were of finding it. But they seldom did
+anything of all they thought, so they were
+called the Mist-men. And there were others,
+who worked always, digging in the darkest
+caverns of the mountains, and lived underground
+and almost forgot the real light, watching
+for the glow of the gold. These were
+called the Earth-dwarfs, for they grew very
+small and black living away from the light.
+But there were a great many blessed ones who
+lived quite free and glad in the world, loving
+and serving one another and not thinking very
+much of the gold.</p>
+
+<p>T<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg&nbsp;31]</a></span>here was a boy whose name was Siegfried,
+and though he lived with an Earth-dwarf
+in the deep forest, he knew nothing of the
+magic gold or the world. He had never seen
+a man, and he had not known his mother,
+even, though he often thought of her when
+he stood still at evening and the birds came
+home. There was one thing she had left him,
+and that was a broken sword. Mimi, the Earth-dwarf,
+strove night and day to mend it, thinking
+he might slay the dragon. But though he
+worked always, it was never done, for no one
+who feared anything in the world could weld
+it, because it was an immortal blade. It had
+a name and a soul.</p>
+
+<p>Each evening when Siegfried thought of
+his sword he would come bounding down the
+mountains, blowing great horn-blasts. One
+night he came laughing and shouting, and
+leaped into the cave, driving a bear he had
+bridled, straight on the poor frightened Mimi.
+He ran round and round, and darted here<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg&nbsp;32]</a></span>
+and there, until Siegfried could go no more
+for laughing, and the bear broke from the
+rope and ran into the woods. When Siegfried
+turned he saw that the poor little dwarf
+was crouched trembling behind the anvil, and
+he stopped laughing, and looked at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you shake and cry and run?" he
+asked. The dwarf said nothing, but the fire
+began to glow strangely, and the sword shone.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you not know what fear is?" cried
+the dwarf at last.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said the boy, and he went over and
+took up the sword; and lo! the blade fell
+apart in his hand. They stood still and looked
+at each other. "Can a man fear and make
+swords?" asked the boy. The dwarf said
+nothing, but the forge fire flashed and sparkled,
+and the broken sword gleamed, in the
+strangest way.</p>
+
+<p>The boy smiled, and gathering up the
+pieces he ground them to fine powder; and
+when he had done, he placed the precious dust<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg&nbsp;33]</a></span>
+in the forge and pulled at the great bellows,
+so that the fire glowed into such a shining that
+the whole cave was light.</p>
+
+<p>But the dwarf grew blacker and smaller
+as he watched the boy. When he saw him
+pour the melted steel in the mold and lay it
+on the fire, and heard him singing at his work,
+he began to rage and cry; but Siegfried only
+laughed and went on singing. When he took
+out the bar and struck it into the water there
+was a great hissing, and the Mist-men stood
+there with Mimi, and they raged and cried
+together. But still Siegfried only laughed and
+sang as he pulled at his bellows or swung his
+hammers. At every blow he grew stronger
+and greater, and the sword bent and quivered
+like a living flame, until at last, with a joyful
+cry, he lifted it above his head with both his
+hands; it fell with a great blow, and behold!
+the anvil was severed, and lay apart before
+him.</p>
+
+<p>The joy in Siegfried's heart grew into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg&nbsp;34]</a></span>
+most wonderful peace, and the forge light
+seemed to grow into full day. The immortal
+sword was again in the world. But Mimi and
+the Mist-men were gone.</p>
+
+<p>And the musician shows in wonderful music-pictures
+how Siegfried went out into the
+early morning, and how the light glittered on
+the trembling leaves and sifted through in little
+splashes. He stood still, listening to the stir
+of the leaves and the hum of the bees and the
+chirp of the birds. Two birds were singing as
+they built a nest, and he wondered what they
+said to one another. He cut a reed and tried
+to mock their words, but it was like nothing.
+He began to wish that he might speak to some
+one like himself, and he wondered about his
+mother; why had she left him? It seemed to
+him he was the one lone thing in the world.
+He lifted his silver horn and blew a sweet
+blast, but no friend came. He blew again and
+again, louder and clearer, until suddenly the
+leaves stirred to a great rustling; and the very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg&nbsp;35]</a></span>
+earth seemed to tremble. He looked, and behold!
+he had waked the dragon that all men
+feared; and it was coming toward him, breathing
+fire and smoke. But Siegfried did not
+know what fear was; he only laughed and
+leaped over it, as he plunged; and when it
+reared to spring upon him, he drove the immortal
+blade straight into its heart.</p>
+
+<p>Now when Siegfried plucked out his sword
+he smeared his finger with the blood, and it
+burned like fire, so that he put it in his mouth
+to ease the pain. Then suddenly the most
+strange thing happened: he understood all
+the hum and murmur of the woods; and lo!
+the bird on the very branch above was singing
+of his mother and of him, and of the gold that
+was his if he would give up his sword and
+would love and serve none in the world. And
+more, she sang on of one who slept upon a
+lonely mountain: a wall of fire burned around,
+that none could pass but he who knew no fear.</p>
+
+<p>Siegfried listened to hear more, but the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg&nbsp;36]</a></span>
+bird fluttered away before him. He saw it
+going, and he forgot the gold and the whole
+world, and followed it. It led him on and on,
+to a lonely mountain, where he saw light
+burning; and he climbed up and up, and always
+the light grew brighter. But when he
+was nearly at the top, and would have bounded
+on, he could not, for Odin stood there with
+his spear across the way. The fire glowed
+and flashed around them, but the sword
+gleamed brighter than anything that ever
+shone, as Siegfried cleft the mighty spear and
+leaped into the flame. And there at last, in
+the great shining, this Siegfried beheld a mortal
+like himself. He stood still in wonder.
+He saw the light glinting on armor, and he
+thought, "I have found a knight, a friend!"
+And he went over and took the helmet from
+the head. Long ruddy hair, like flame, fell
+down. Then he raised the shield, and behold!
+in white glistening robes he saw the maid
+Brunhilde. And she was so beautiful! The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg&nbsp;37]</a></span>
+light glowed into a great shining as he looked,
+and, hardly knowing, he leaned and kissed
+her, and she awoke.</p>
+
+<p>And it seemed to Siegfried that he had
+found his mother and the whole world.<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+<br />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg&nbsp;38]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<a name="Fish" id="Fish"></a>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg&nbsp;39]</a></span></p>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 13em;">Yes! there came floating by<br />
+Me, who lay floating too.<br />
+Such a strange butterfly!<br />
+Creature as dear as new:</p>
+<hr class="short2" />
+<p style="margin-left: 13em;">I never shall join its flight,<br />
+For, nought buoys flesh in air.<br />
+If it touch the sea&mdash;good night!<br />
+Death sure and swift waits there.</p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 16em;">&mdash;<i>From Browning's "Amphibian."</i></span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg&nbsp;40]</a></span></p>
+
+<a name="Far" id="Far"></a>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-8" id="image-8"><!-- Image 8 --></a>
+<img src="images/illus-041s.jpg" class="jpg" height="421" width="600" alt="The Farthest End of the Meadow" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="end" id="end" href="images/illus-041x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="credit"><i>By Yeend King</i></span></p>
+<p class="center">"AT THE FARTHEST END OF THE MEADOW"</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h2 class="space">A FISH AND A BUTTERFLY.</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg&nbsp;41]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At the very farthest end of the meadow
+there is water, blue with sky. It flows
+on and on, growing broad and strong farther
+down, to turn the mill wheel. But here in the
+meadow, you can see far off on the other
+side, and hear the cows ripping off the tender
+grass, and smell the perfume of wild plums.</p>
+
+<p>Boy Blue lay in the long cool grass watching
+the water. How sleepily it moved, and
+what a pretty song it sang! How clear! he
+could count the pebbles at the bottom; and
+there, swimming straight toward him, came a
+tiny fish, making little darts from one side to
+another, and snapping at the tadpoles on the
+way. Then he stopped just in front of him.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear!" said a voice; and the little
+boy could not tell whether it was the fish, or
+the tomtit scolding on the elder bush. "Dear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg&nbsp;42]</a></span>
+me!" came the voice again; and the little fish
+sighed, making a bubble on the top of the
+water, and rings that grew and grew till they
+reached the other bank.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?" asked Boy Blue.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like a new play and new playmates,"
+sighed the fish. "I'm so tired of the old
+ones!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said the boy, and was just about to
+ask, "Would I do?" when there came floating
+along in the air a beautiful butterfly, floating,
+floating like a ship in full sail.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" cried the fish, "how beautiful! how
+beautiful! Come let us play together&mdash;let us
+play."</p>
+
+<p>The butterfly rested on a thistle bloom
+and stirred her pale wings thoughtfully.
+"Play?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, let us play. How beautiful thou art!"</p>
+
+<p>"And thou!" said the butterfly; "all the
+shine of the sun and sea gleams in thy armor.
+Let us play together."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg&nbsp;43]</a></span>"Let us play."</p>
+
+<p>"Come then," said the butterfly; "come
+up into the fresh morning air and the sunlight,
+where everything smiles this sweet May day."</p>
+
+<p>"There?" cried the fish; "I would die
+there; I would die! There is no life for me
+in your sunshine world. But come with me
+into this glittering stream; here swimming
+against the swift current is strong life. Come,
+let us play here."</p>
+
+<p>But the butterfly trembled. "There?" she
+cried; "if I touched one single little wave I
+should be swept out and away forever. There
+is no life for me in the glittering stream."</p>
+
+<p>They looked across at each other.</p>
+
+<p>"But see," said the butterfly, "I will come
+as near as I dare to your water world;" and
+she spread her beautiful wings and floated
+down to the edge of the water. The fish with
+a great stroke swam toward her. But they
+could only touch the same bit of earth, and
+the waves always bore him back.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg&nbsp;44]</a></span>"Ah," he cried at last, "it is useless! we
+cannot play together."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," wept the butterfly, "we cannot play
+together."</p>
+
+<p>"Boy Blue," said the farmer, brushing
+aside the long grass, "you were asleep."</p>
+
+<p>"Asleep!" said the little boy, jumping up;
+"I couldn't have been. I heard every word
+the fish and the butterfly said."<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+<br />
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg&nbsp;45]</a></span></p>
+
+<a name="Maggie" id="Maggie"></a>
+<p style="margin-left: 14em;">The indescribable&mdash;<br />
+Here it is done;<br />
+The woman soul<br />
+Leadeth us upward and on.</p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 20em;">&mdash;<i>From Goethe's "Faust."</i></span></p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg&nbsp;46]</a></span>
+<a name="Lis" id="Lis"></a>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-9" id="image-9"><!-- Image 9 --></a>
+<img src="images/illus-047s.jpg" class="jpg" height="517" width="400" alt="Liseuse" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="use" id="use" href="images/illus-047x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="credit"><i>By Jules Le Febvre</i></span></p>
+<p class="center">LISEUSE</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h2 class="space">HOW MARGARET LED FAUST THROUGH<br />
+THE PERFECT WORLD.</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg&nbsp;47]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There was once a very great man who
+understood all of the most mysterious
+things in the world. He knew quite perfectly
+how spiders spun and how the firefly
+kept his lantern burning. All of these marvelous
+things were plain to him, for he had
+read everything that had been written in
+books, and he had spent his whole life searching
+and peering through a strange glass at the
+most wonderful small things. Always and
+always he was thinking in his heart, "When
+I know <i>everything</i> then I shall be content,
+surely!"</p>
+
+<p>So he went on searching and looking and
+reading, night and day, in his dim room. Always
+he was growing older and wearier, but
+he did not think of that; he only knew that
+the strange longing was growing in his heart,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg&nbsp;48]</a></span>
+and that he was never any happier than before.
+But he would say to himself, "It is because
+there is something I have not learned.
+When I know everything, then surely the joy
+will come to me."</p>
+
+<p>One night he shut his book and laid aside
+the strange glass, and sat quite still in the dim
+room. He had found that there was nothing
+more to be learned; there was nothing of all
+the mysteries that he did not know perfectly.</p>
+
+<p>And behold, the longing was still in his
+heart, and no gladness came. He only felt
+how weary and old he was. He thought:
+"There <i>is</i> no joy in the world; there is nothing
+good and perfect in the whole world!"
+He closed his tired eyes and leaned his head
+back. The lamp burned low, and the place
+was very still for a long time. And then there
+suddenly broke the most beautiful music right
+under his window; children were singing, and
+men and women, and above it all bells were
+ringing&mdash;wonderful, joyous bells.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg&nbsp;49]</a></span>"Can it be," said the old man&mdash;"can it
+be that anyone is really joyful in the world?"
+He rose up and went to the window, and
+thrust back the great curtain.</p>
+
+<p>And lo! it was morning!</p>
+
+<p>The most beautiful, shining morning; people
+were pouring out of all the houses, smiling
+and singing, and bowing to one another; little
+children were going together with flowers in
+their hands, singing, and answering the tones
+of the great bells; and one little child, as it
+passed, looked right up at the great Doctor
+Faust, and held out its white lily. The bells
+chimed, and the singing grew sweeter and
+clearer.</p>
+
+<p>"If there is something joyful in the world,
+surely some one will tell me," said the man;
+and he went out into the morning.</p>
+
+<p>It had rained in the night; there were
+pools in the street, and the leaves glistened.
+"How bright the light is!" he thought, and
+"how strange the flowers look blooming in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg&nbsp;50]</a></span>
+the sun!" But the birds flew away when he
+came, and this made the strange longing in
+the lonely man's heart grow into pain. So he
+stepped back in the shadow and looked into
+all the happy faces as they passed, and listened
+to the singing.</p>
+
+<p>But no one stopped to tell him anything.
+They were so full of joy that they did not feel
+his touch, and his words when he spoke were
+swept right up into the song and the pealing
+of the joy-bells.</p>
+
+<p>Girls in white veils, with stalks of the
+most beautiful lilies in their hands, passed him
+in a long line, and the boys came after, in new
+clothes, and shoes that squeaked. But he
+only saw their shining, upturned faces. They
+were so beautiful as they sang, that tears
+stood in the smiling eyes of all the fathers and
+mothers and neighbors who followed after.
+Little children holding each other's hands
+went together, and one little one had a queer
+woolly lamb on wheels trundling behind him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg&nbsp;51]</a></span>"Can it be," said the old man, "that there
+is a deep joy in the world? will no one tell
+me?" And he turned and went with the people;
+and after awhile he met a young girl.</p>
+
+<p>She was not singing, but the most beautiful
+light shone from her face; so he knew she
+was thinking of the deep joy, and he asked
+her what it was, and why the people were
+glad.</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him with loving wonder,
+and then she told him it was Easter morning,
+when everything in the wide world remembers
+fully that the joy can never die. "It is here
+always," she told him.</p>
+
+<p>"Always?" said the old man; and he shook
+his head sadly.</p>
+
+<p>"Always," she said; and she took his
+hand and led him out of the throng into the
+most beautiful ways. He did not know that
+in the whole world there were such wonderful
+grassy lanes. Why, there were hedges with
+star-flowers here and there; apple trees were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg&nbsp;52]</a></span>
+blooming, and between the cottages there were
+gardens where seed had sprung up in rows.</p>
+
+<p>In some of the houses people were going
+about their homely tasks, and they were singing
+softly, or saying the most gentle words to
+one another as they worked. And before a
+very humble door, where only one tall lily
+bloomed, there sat a beautiful mother with a
+baby on her knee and a little one beside her;
+and they were looking straight into her eyes,
+listening to the wonderful story of the Easter
+morning. The father stopped to listen too,
+and in every single face shone the same holy
+light.</p>
+
+<p>It shone even in the face of the Faust as
+he passed.</p>
+
+<p>And behold, when Margaret looked at
+him he had grown young. His hair glinted
+in the sun and the wonder had come back to
+his eyes. Butterflies circled above them, and
+they went on and on, free and glad together,
+and the holy light was over everything.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg&nbsp;53]</a></span>But the poet tells us that afterwards Faust
+traveled into a very strange, far world, where
+there was never any silence or living flowers.
+Nothing was perfect or holy there, and Margaret
+could not go. But they tell us that
+whenever he looked away from this strange
+world, he heard again the singing, and smelled
+the faint fragrance of lilies, and it seemed to
+him that he was there again in the light, with
+the blessed Margaret leading him on forever.<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+<br />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg&nbsp;54]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<a name="Bea" id="Bea"></a>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg&nbsp;55]</a></span></p>
+<p style="margin-left: 14em;"><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Oh, eternal light!</span><br />
+For I therein, methought, in its own hue,<br />
+Beheld our image painted.</p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">&mdash;<i>From Dante's "Paradise."</i><br /></span></p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg&nbsp;56]</a></span></p>
+<a name="Beat" id="Beat"></a>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-10" id="image-10"><!-- Image 10 --></a>
+<img src="images/illus-057s.jpg" class="jpg" height="517" width="400" alt="THE BEATA BEATRICE" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="rice" id="rice" href="images/illus-057x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="credit"><i>By Dante Gabriel Rossetti</i></span></p>
+<p class="center">THE BEATA BEATRICE</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h2 class="space">BEATRICE.</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg&nbsp;57]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Dear children, there is a great story of
+Heaven told by a poet called Dante,
+who dreamed that he was led through Heaven
+by the beautiful Beatrice.</p>
+
+<p>And this is how it was. Dante had come
+to think so many unloving thoughts of all the
+people, that whenever he went about the
+streets of Florence where he lived, he thought
+he saw evil marks on all the faces. And it
+seemed to him that everyone in the world was
+lost from God. And the angry sorrow in his
+heart grew so great that there was not a single
+loving, hopeful thought in it. Then there
+came to him a wonderful vision. It seemed
+to him that Beatrice, whom he loved, came
+down from God and spoke to him and led
+him up, and showed him Heaven.</p>
+
+<p>But his eyes were so dim at first, it seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg&nbsp;58]</a></span>
+only the shining of a few small stars. But as
+they journeyed, Beatrice spoke to him of many
+things he had not understood, and while she
+talked, Heaven grew plainer and he saw that
+the stars were all shining together in a soft
+radiance, like the halos of many saints. And
+the wisdom of the world began to slip from
+Dante, and he stood there in Heaven as a little
+child.</p>
+
+<p>Beatrice led him on and on, and whenever
+she wished him to see Heaven more plainly
+she talked of the world he lived in and the
+men he hated. Now when one who lives with
+God speaks of hate, it is nothing. And as he
+listened, Dante began to see that Man was in
+Heaven. When he had learned this, they
+went with a great flight up to God. And behold!
+it seemed to Dante that the higher he
+went in Heaven the nearer home he came, for
+all around him there were faces that he knew.</p>
+
+<p>And they went on and on to the very
+highest Heaven, where God and man live to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg&nbsp;59]</a></span>gether,
+and the angels cannot tell God from
+man or man from God. And Beatrice showed
+Dante this great mystery. And he stood still,
+looking, with the great light shining into his
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Although he does not tell us what he saw,
+we know it was Florence, where he lived, and
+that he was looking at all the people with loving
+eyes, and seeing them just as those who
+live with God see men.</p>
+
+<p>Heaven is here, little children. Let us
+love one another.<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg&nbsp;60]</a></span>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg&nbsp;61]</a></span></p>
+
+<a name="Parsi" id="Parsi"></a>
+<p class="center">FROM "PARSIFAL."</p>
+
+<a name="Asp" id="Asp"></a>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-11" id="image-11"><!-- Image 11 --></a>
+<img src="images/music-62s.jpg" class="jpg" height="142" width="400" alt="From Parsifal" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="pars" id="pars" href="images/music-62x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="credit">By pity 'lightened, the guileless Fool;</span></p>
+
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 30em;">&mdash;<i>Richard Wagner.</i></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg&nbsp;62]</a></span></p>
+
+<p style="text-align: center"><a href="music/parsi.midi">[Listen]</a></p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p class="center"><a name="image-12" id="image-12"><!-- Image 12 --></a>
+<img src="images/illus-063s.jpg" class="jpg" height="526" width="400" alt="ASPIRATION" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="ation" id="ation" href="images/illus-063x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="credit"><i>By George Frederick Watts</i></span></p>
+<p class="center">ASPIRATION</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h2 class="space">PARSIFAL.</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg&nbsp;63]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Long, long ago, when the old nations were
+child-nations, they had the most wonderful
+dreams and stories in their hearts; and
+they told them over so many, many times, with
+love and wonder, that they grew into Art,&mdash;poems
+and songs and pictures. And there is
+one beautiful story which you will find in
+many songs and poems, for almost every nation
+has told it in its own way. And this is it:</p>
+
+<p>Long, long ago&mdash;so long that no one can
+tell whether it really happened or whether
+the old German folk only dreamed it&mdash;there
+was a band of knights who went away and
+lived together on a beautiful high mountain,
+far above the world, where no evil might ever
+come to them; and there they thought of
+nothing but pure and holy things. The purest
+knight was chosen king among them, and
+led them in all high things; and they lived so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg&nbsp;64]</a></span>
+for many years, keeping themselves from
+wrong and beholding blessed wonders that the
+world had never seen,&mdash;miracles of light that
+sometimes passed above them.</p>
+
+<p>But once there came an evil thought to
+the very king; nothing could put it away, and
+it was like a spear-wound in his side that
+nothing could heal. It was the greatest suffering;
+it even touched the joy of the knights,
+for they began to think only of what would
+heal the king. Many went far and wide, seeking
+a cure, while others dropped back to the
+world again; for the pattern of purity was not
+perfect any longer, and they seemed to forget
+what it had been. All the miracles stopped,
+and the sick king and the knights waited and
+waited for one who was pure enough to show
+them the perfect pattern again.</p>
+
+<p>And one day a youth passed by who was
+so innocent that he did not know what wrong
+was. When the knights beheld him they
+looked in wonder, and said: "Is it not he, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg&nbsp;65]</a></span>
+innocent one, who will save us?" and they led
+him up to the temple. And behold, it was the
+time of the holy feast, when long ago the
+light had passed above them. And the youth
+stood there with great wonder and trouble in
+his heart, for he saw the suffering of the king,
+and how the knights longed and waited; he
+heard their voices in solemn tones, and the
+mourning voice of the king. And lo, while
+he looked, a wonderful glowing light passed
+above them. The knights all rose up with
+great joy in their hearts and looked at the
+boy, for the blessed miracle had come again,
+and it was a sign.</p>
+
+<p>But Parsifal stood still with wonder and
+trouble in his heart; and when they asked if
+he knew what his eyes had seen, he only
+shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>So the hope and joy went from the
+knights, and they led him out and sent him
+on his way.</p>
+
+<p>And the boy Parsifal traveled down into
+the world. And as he went he met many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg&nbsp;66]</a></span>
+wrongs, and he began to know what evils
+there were.</p>
+
+<p>Now whenever one crossed his way, he
+went to it and handled it. But behold his
+mind was so pure and godlike that whenever
+he touched evil to learn what it was, it grew
+into some gentle thing in his hand. He went
+throughout the whole world seeking to know
+what evil was, but he was so mild and beautiful
+that wrongs fell away before him, or were
+healed as he passed. And he went on and on
+to the very kingdom of Evil, at last, and
+when its king saw him, he cried out with a
+great cry, and hurled his spear; but it only
+floated above the head of Parsifal, and when
+he seized it in his hand the whole kingdom
+melted away. And Parsifal found he was
+standing in a sunny meadow not far from the
+holy mountain; and he went up to the knights
+and stood with them in the temple, and his
+face was like the face of an angel. They say
+the king was healed as he looked, and that the
+wonderful light shone above them and was
+with them always,&mdash;forever.<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg&nbsp;67]</a></span></p>
+
+<a name="Angel" id="Angel"></a>
+<p class="center">Where the quiet colored end of evening smiles,<br />
+Miles and miles.</p>
+
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;">&mdash;<i>Robert Browning.</i></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg&nbsp;68]</a></span></p>
+<a name="Angelus" id="Angelus"></a>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-13" id="image-13"><!-- Image 13 --></a>
+<img src="images/illus-069s.jpg" class="jpg" height="475" width="600" alt="THE ANGELUS" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="lus" id="lus" href="images/illus-069x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="credit"><i>By Jean Fran&ccedil;ois Millet</i></span></p>
+<p class="center">THE ANGELUS</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h2 class="space">THE ANGELUS.</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg&nbsp;69]</a></span>
+
+<p>Every evening after sunset, when the
+most wonderful soft light is in the sky
+and it is very still everywhere, the old bell in
+the steeple chimes out over the village and
+the fields around. No one quite knows what
+the evening bell sings, but the tone is so beautiful
+that everyone stands still and listens.</p>
+
+<p>Ever since the oldest grandfather can remember,
+the dear bell has sung at evening and
+everyone has listened, and listened, for the
+message.</p>
+
+<p>A great many people said there was really
+no message at all, and one very learned man
+wrote a whole book to show that the song of
+the evening bell was nothing but the clanging
+of brass and iron; and almost everyone who
+read it believed it. But there were many who
+were not wise enough to read, so they lis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg&nbsp;70]</a></span>tened
+to the sweet tone just as lovingly as
+they had listened when they were little children.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes when the sweet song pealed
+out, the old shoemaker would forget and leave
+his thread half drawn, and while he listened a
+wonderful smiling light shone in his face.
+But whenever the little grandson asked him
+what the bell said to him, the old man only
+shook his head and pulled the stitch through
+and sewed on and on, until there was not any
+more light; and for this reason the little boy
+began to think that the bell was singing something
+about work. He thought of it very often
+when he sat on his grandfather's step listening
+to the song and watching the people.
+Sometimes those who had read the learned
+book spoke together and laughed quite loudly,
+to show that they were not paying any attention
+to the bell; and there were others who
+seemed not to hear it at all. But there were
+some who listened just as the old grandfather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg&nbsp;71]</a></span>
+had listened, and many who stopped and
+bowed their heads and stood quite still for a
+long, long while. But the strangest was, that
+no one ever could tell the other what the bell
+had sung to him. It was really a very deep
+mystery.</p>
+
+<p>Now there was a painter who had such
+loving eyes that even when he looked on
+homely, lowly things, he saw wonder that no
+one else could see. He loved all the sweet
+mysteries that are in the world, and he loved
+the bell's song; he wondered about it just as
+the little boy had done.</p>
+
+<p>One evening, I think, he went alone beyond
+the village and through the wide brown
+fields; he saw the light in the sky, and the
+birds going home, and the steeple far off. It
+was all very still and wonderful, and as he
+looked away on every side, thinking many
+holy thoughts, he saw a man and a woman
+working together in the dim light. They were
+digging potatoes; there was a wheelbarrow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg&nbsp;72]</a></span>
+beside them, and a basket. Sometimes they
+moved about slowly, or stooped with their
+hands in the brown earth. And while they
+worked, the sound of the evening bell came
+faintly to them. When they heard it they
+rose up. The mother folded her hands on
+her breast and said the words of a prayer,
+and thought of her little ones. The father
+just held his hat in his hand and looked down
+at their work. And the painter forgot all
+the wonder of the sky and the wide field as
+he looked at them, for there was a deeper
+mystery. And it was plain to him.</p>
+
+<p>But the man and the woman stood there
+listening; they did not know that the bell was
+singing to them of their very own work, of
+every loving service and lowly task of the day.</p>
+
+<p>The bell sang on and on, and the peace
+of the song seemed to fill the whole day.<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg&nbsp;73]</a></span></p>
+
+<a name="Fred" id="Fred"></a>
+<p class="center">Come, let us with the children live.</p>
+
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;">&mdash;<i>Friedrich Froebel</i></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg&nbsp;74]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 class="space">FRIEDRICH AND HIS CHILD-GARDEN.</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg&nbsp;75]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Friedrich Froebel&mdash;"Little Friedrich,"
+they called him long ago. Is it
+not strange to think that the great men
+who bring the beautiful deeds to the world
+were once little children? Do you know how
+these children grow so great and strong that
+they can do a loving deed for the whole world
+at last? They do little loving deeds every
+day.</p>
+
+<p>This gentle Friedrich loved more and
+more things every day that he lived. But
+when he was a little boy he was very lonely
+sometimes, because he had no playmates except
+the flowers in the old garden. It seemed
+to him these flowers were always playing
+plays together. The little pink and white
+ones on the border of the beds seemed always
+circling round the sweet tall rose, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg&nbsp;76]</a></span>
+laughing and swaying in the wind. It was so
+gay sometimes that he laughed aloud to see
+them all nodding and bowing, and the rose
+bowing too.</p>
+
+<p>Friedrich was so gentle that his doves
+would flutter around his head and settle on
+his outstretched arms, and even the little
+mother bird, with her nest in the hedge,
+would let him stand near when she told little
+stories to her babies. Friedrich had no dear
+mother, but he had a tall, strong brother who
+would sometimes take him to the sweet wide
+meadows and tell him beautiful stories about
+the strange little bugs and busy bees, and
+stones and flowers.</p>
+
+<p>But after awhile Friedrich's father
+thought he was growing too old to play all
+day long. So he said to him one day, "Friedrich,
+you must begin to learn." When Friedrich
+heard this he was glad, because he
+wanted to know about all the wonderful
+things in the world. But when he had to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg&nbsp;77]</a></span>
+sit still for long hours and learn out of large
+books that hadn't a single picture, it was very
+hard. "But there is no other way, little
+Friedrich," his teachers told him.</p>
+
+<p>As the time went on he grew as tall and
+strong as his brother. And then what do you
+think happened? Just the same thing that
+happened to our America when George
+Washington led out all the brave men.
+Friedrich's dear Germany was in great
+trouble, and she called to all her brave men
+to come and save her. And Friedrich
+marched away with all the others&mdash;marching,
+marching, with the drums beating and the
+flags flying.</p>
+
+<p>Then after a long while, when peace had
+come back and all was quiet and joyful again,
+there came to Friedrich a sweet thought that
+grew and grew. Can you think what it was?
+It was half about his old garden and the playing
+flowers, and half about little children.
+Whenever he saw a child tear a flower or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg&nbsp;78]</a></span>
+stone a bird he felt sad, and this thought
+would grow stronger in his heart.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes he would gather up all the
+children and take them to the meadow, and
+teach them about the leaves and stones, the
+flowers and birds and ants, as his brother
+used to teach him, and then they would play
+the very plays the wind and flowers and birds
+had played. So he called it his kindergarten,&mdash;his
+child-garden,&mdash;and he began to
+show to the whole world that little children
+must learn and grow in the same sweet way
+that flowers do.</p>
+
+<p>And he worked years and years, teaching
+and working out this wonderful message that
+had come to him. He loved God and children
+and this shining thought better than
+himself, and he wore poor clothes and gave
+up things, that the beautiful deed might live
+in the world.<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg&nbsp;79]</a></span></p>
+
+<a name="Holy" id="Holy"></a>
+<p class="center">The true light, which lighteth every man that cometh<br />
+into the world.</p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 20em;">&mdash;<i>St. John.</i></span></p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg&nbsp;80]</a></span></p>
+<a name="Night" id="Night"></a>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-14" id="image-14"><!-- Image 14 --></a>
+<img src="images/illus-081s.jpg" class="jpg" height="534" width="400" alt="THE HOLY NIGHT" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="the" id="the" href="images/illus-081x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="credit"><i>By Antonio Allegri da Correggio</i></span></p>
+<p class="center">THE HOLY NIGHT</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h2 class="space">THE HOLY NIGHT.</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg&nbsp;81]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>In the far-off places of the world where men
+do not pass often, it is nothing to be poor.
+Little Hansei and his mother were poor, but
+that was nothing to him. They lived on the
+side of a great hill, where, save their small
+black hut with its little gauzy curl of smoke,
+there was no sign of life as far as eye could
+reach. And it seemed to Hansei that the
+whole world was theirs, and they were the
+whole world. Yet on fair days, far below, the
+misty towers and steeples of a city showed.
+But this was as unreal and unreachable as
+dreams and clouds to Hansei; the only difference
+was, a yellow road wound down to it, and
+if one went far enough he might some day
+reach that strange, misty place. But dreams&mdash;they
+always went at morning; and clouds&mdash;if
+he climbed to the highest point of the hill
+he could never reach them!</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg&nbsp;82]</a></span>Sometimes people had passed that way.
+Once a man had gone bearing a burden. Another
+time, as Hansei and his mother gathered
+up their fagots at evening, a man and woman
+passed together; the sunset light was on the
+woman, and she sang as she went. Again,
+men in dark robes and hoods passed by; some
+had ridden on mules, some were grave and
+walked, reading from small books, others
+laughed. And these were all (except a peddler
+who had lost his way) that Hansei had
+ever seen go by.</p>
+
+<p>People seldom went that way; the road
+was steep, and there was an easier way down
+at the other side, his mother said.</p>
+
+<p>Once Hansei asked her if those who had
+passed were all the people there were besides
+themselves. His mother said, "There are
+others off there," pointing to the city.</p>
+
+<p>Every morning before it was light Hansei's
+mother went away to the other side of
+the hills somewhere.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg&nbsp;83]</a></span>The first time he awoke and found the
+black loaf and water waiting and his mother
+gone, he had cried and searched and called
+her over and over. "Mother! Mother!" he
+had cried as loud as he could call down the
+yellow road.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother! Mother!" had come a strange
+voice from beyond the hills; and Hansei's
+heart had leaped with a new joy. He cried
+back wildly, "Where are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you?" cried the voice again.</p>
+
+<p>"I am here!"</p>
+
+<p>"I am here!"</p>
+
+<p>"Come to me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Come to me!"</p>
+
+<p>All day Hansei and the strange voice from
+beyond the hills called and cried to each other.
+Hansei thought: "It is true there are others
+off there, and some one is calling to me."</p>
+
+<p>At night the mother came back. Hansei
+asked: "Where have you been?" and put up
+his arms. His mother said: "At the other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg&nbsp;84]</a></span>
+side of the hill," and touched his head gently.</p>
+
+<p>"What did you do so long?"</p>
+
+<p>"I made lace."</p>
+
+<p>"What is lace?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is like that a little," and she pointed
+to a cobweb stretching from a dead twig to
+a weed. Hansei looked and slowly put his
+foot through it.</p>
+
+<p>"Must you go tomorrow and next day?"
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Next day and always," said the mother,
+looking off down the yellow road.</p>
+
+<p>Hansei cried: "Let me go too; let me
+go!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, no; it is dark where I go."</p>
+
+<p>"Is there no sun at the other side of the
+hill?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes; but we who make lace sit in
+darkness."</p>
+
+<p>Hansei asked: "Why must there be lace?"</p>
+
+<p>The mother stared into the dusk. "Because,"
+she said slowly, "there are princesses<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg&nbsp;85]</a></span>
+and great ladies down there who must be
+beautiful."</p>
+
+<p>"What is beautiful?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>Always through the dusky summer evenings
+they sat together on the doorstep, the
+mother with her bent head resting on her
+hand, and Hansei staring up at the great sky
+and clouds and stars above him. Sometimes
+the mother told strange stories, but oftener
+they sat silent.</p>
+
+<p>When winter came it seemed to Hansei
+that half of all the joy and light and life went
+out of the world. There were no birds nor
+bugs nor bees left; the flowers were gone, and
+the days were short and gray. It was cold,
+and he could only stay in the dim little house,
+playing with small sticks and stones, or tracing
+the frostwork on the one little window. Frost
+was like lace, his mother had told him.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes, too, he would try to sing as the
+woman had sung who passed that summer time.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg&nbsp;86]</a></span>One evening in the middle of winter Hansei
+and his mother started out to a bit of
+woods skirting the other side of the yellow
+road. Hansei sang as they went; it was half
+what the woman had sung and half like nothing
+that was ever heard. Sometimes this tune
+made his mother smile a little, but oftener she
+did not hear it.</p>
+
+<p>As they crossed the yellow road his mother
+stopped and looked, as she always did.</p>
+
+<p>"Hark!" she said, hushing the singing
+with her hand. Hansei stood still and listened.
+Yes, yes, they were coming&mdash;"the others." It
+sounded again as it had the day the men had
+ridden by, only more&mdash;more; and they were
+coming nearer. There were voices and the
+beat of footsteps, and sometimes Hansei heard
+a strange sound that might be singing or wind
+moaning.</p>
+
+<p>Hansei said: "I am so afraid." But his
+mother did not hear him. He hid his face in
+her gown and waited. They were coming on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg&nbsp;87]</a></span>
+and on; and they were saying something together,&mdash;strange
+words that Hansei had never
+heard. Nearer and nearer! He felt them
+passing close where he and his mother stood;
+he raised his head and looked.</p>
+
+<p>He saw a long dark line of men, some
+riding and some walking. Their heads were
+bent, and they said the strange words together.
+Sometimes there was a burst like song, then
+the words again. There was one torch.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly they made their way down the yellow
+road. Hansei and his mother watched
+them as they went.</p>
+
+<p>He whispered, "Where are they going?"</p>
+
+<p>"Down there," said the mother softly.
+"It is the Christ-child's night."</p>
+
+<p>"Why do they go?"</p>
+
+<p>"To pray."</p>
+
+<p>"What will they ask?"</p>
+
+<p>"Light! light!"</p>
+
+<p>"Can all go?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, all."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg&nbsp;88]</a></span>"Let us go, Mother; let us go! There is
+a voice down there that calls me often."</p>
+
+<p>The mother looked back at the little dark
+house, then down the road where the one
+point of light moved on.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, let us go; let us follow it," she
+said, taking his hand and hurrying down the
+steep way in the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>Through the long, wild night they toiled
+on and on. Always the little light went before,
+and always Hansei and his mother followed
+where it led.</p>
+
+<p>Once Hansei cried out: "See, Mother, the
+torch is the star, and we are the shepherds
+seeking the little Christ-child!" And he
+laughed.</p>
+
+<p>In the gray dawn they came to the misty
+city. "How strange! how strange!" thought
+Hansei, as they went down the narrow streets.
+"How many houses, and lights, and people!
+But the real light, the little star, we must not
+lose it."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg&nbsp;89]</a></span>Just before them went the dark line of
+men and the torch. People who met them
+stepped aside and always made strange signs
+on their breasts. Suddenly the light went out,
+and the men disappeared into what seemed a
+great shadow.</p>
+
+<p>Hansei asked: "What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>His mother said: "A church."</p>
+
+<p>"Let us go in, too; the star went;" and
+Hansei, with all his strength, pushed back the
+great door.</p>
+
+<p>"People! people!" little Hansei had not
+dreamed there were so many of "the others."
+There in the dim light they were kneeling,
+praying for "light, light," his mother had told
+him.</p>
+
+<p>Far beyond there were small lights, like
+stars shining, and a man in a white robe, who
+said the strange words he had heard on the
+yellow road. Then the kneeling people all
+said something together. Hansei thought,
+"They are trying to tell him they want the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg&nbsp;90]</a></span>
+light, and he does not understand." Hansei's
+mother knelt where she stood, and he crept
+down beside her. He heard her saying the
+words he did not know. He only said softly:
+"Light, light for them all!"</p>
+
+<p>An old woman knelt near him; not far
+off a lame boy and a mother with a sleeping
+child in her arms knelt also, and there beyond,
+a woman. Ah, he knew what "beautiful" was
+now! He looked to see if she wore lace like
+cobwebs and frost. She did not pray; she only
+knelt there. Tears were in her eyes. "Light
+for her and all," whispered Hansei over and
+over.</p>
+
+<p>Then it was as if a dream came true.
+Some one that had stood near stepped back,
+and there, there beyond, appeared the little
+Christ-child, just as his mother had told him.
+There was the beautiful mother, the wise men
+and angels, the youth, the maiden, and the
+light shining from the child and touching them
+all, all, even the poor little beasts off there!</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg&nbsp;91]</a></span>Hansei cried: "Look, look, Mother! the
+Christ-child!"</p>
+
+<p>His mother said, "Hush-hsh! It is not
+the real Christ-child, but a picture."</p>
+
+<p>Hansei looked back. "Not the real Christ-child?
+But, Mother, the star stopped here!
+Then the real Christ-child is here somewhere,
+I know."</p>
+
+<p>He looked about, but he saw only the old
+woman, the lame boy, the mother with her
+child, and the beautiful woman who could not
+pray. He turned back to the painted child
+and the light, and looked, and looked; he
+stared his eyes blind; at last he could not see;
+all seemed to fade, to go. The tired eyelids
+fell; his head drooped down on his mother's
+arm, and he slept.</p>
+
+<p>But his eyes still held the light, and he
+dreamed.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to him that the beautiful pictured
+light grew and broadened into a great
+shining. "Surely," thought the little boy, "the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg&nbsp;92]</a></span>
+real Christ-child is near! but where? not here;
+here is only the old woman and the lame boy
+and the others praying. But the great light&mdash;shining
+over all, above every head, in shining
+rings! how beautiful!"</p>
+
+<p>And he thought he cried out, "See, you
+have the light, all of you! Do not pray, but
+be glad!" They did not hear, and prayed on.</p>
+
+<p>"But the Christ-child&mdash;where is the real
+Christ-child?" he wondered. He thought he
+stood up and strained his eyes over the bent
+heads of the praying people, and while he
+looked he saw myriad circles of light begin
+to glow; and lo! there, near&mdash;so near&mdash;was
+the real Christ-child,&mdash;only it was the old
+woman. Dreams are strange!</p>
+
+<p>Her bent, trembling body seemed going,
+fading, and there knelt a shining being,&mdash;the
+real Christ-child; yet it was the old woman.
+And the lame boy, the hurt creature, as he
+looked, melted into the shadow of his radiant,
+perfect self, and shined too. The mother with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg&nbsp;93]</a></span>
+her child grew bright, bright; and each of the
+kneeling, praying ones was a perfect shining
+child! The light grew into glory; the fullness
+of joy broke into singing; angels, heavenly
+hosts, singing, "The Christ is here,&mdash;here in
+the world!"</p>
+
+<p>But what&mdash;? Who&mdash;? Why, his mother,
+to be sure, leaning above him.</p>
+
+<p>"Wake, Hansei; hear the music! See the
+choir boys in white, like angels."</p>
+
+<p>Hansei opened his eyes wide. The glorious
+Christmas morning was beaming full
+upon him through the great window, and he
+saw the light of the new day touching the bent
+old woman, the lame boy, the mother with her
+child, the beautiful woman beyond, and the
+pictured Christ.</p>
+
+<p>He heard clear voices, "Peace on earth!"</p>
+
+<p>But the dream&mdash;the dream!</p>
+
+<p>"I have found the real Christ-child," he
+whispered.<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+<br />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg&nbsp;94]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg&nbsp;95]</a></span></p>
+
+<a name="Saul" id="Saul"></a>
+<p style="margin-left: 7em;">Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, ... snatch Saul the mistake,<br />
+Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now,&mdash;and bid him awake<br />
+From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set<br />
+Clear and safe in new light and new life,&mdash;a new harmony, yet<br />
+To be run, and continued, and ended&mdash;who knows?&mdash;or endure!</p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 20em;">&mdash;<i>From Browning's "Saul."</i></span></p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg&nbsp;96]</a></span></p>
+<a name="Shep" id="Shep"></a>
+<p class="center"><a name="image-15" id="image-15"><!-- Image 15 --></a>
+<img src="images/illus-097s.jpg" class="jpg" height="527" width="400" alt="THE DIVINE SHEPHERD" /></p>
+<p class="image"><a name="divine" id="divine" href="images/illus-097x.jpg" class="image">
+View larger image</a></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="credit"><i>By Bartolom&eacute; Est&eacute;ban Murillo</i></span></p>
+<p class="center">THE DIVINE SHEPHERD</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h2 class="space">SAUL AND DAVID.</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg&nbsp;97]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The great King Saul of Israel was sad,
+and the sorrow grew and grew until it
+spread abroad through the whole nation.
+Even it came to the simple folk who minded
+sheep and lived in the far hills.</p>
+
+<p>"The mighty king is sad," said one who
+had come from a journey. And the people
+gathered about him and marveled that a king
+should sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>"The king is sad," said the one. "He has
+traveled into the great desert, where nothing
+blooms and there are no rivers."</p>
+
+<p>The people stood still and looked off over
+their stretching pastures, and heard the gush
+of water brooks.</p>
+
+<p>"He sits alone in a dim tent, with his
+head in his hands," said the one. "His sword
+rests at his feet. The army goes no more to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg&nbsp;98]</a></span>
+battle. The servants weep and pray, and
+strain their eyes over the burning sand, waiting."</p>
+
+<p>"Waiting?" said the men.</p>
+
+<p>"For one to come," said the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Who shall come?" they asked together.</p>
+
+<p>"The joy-bringer," said the man.</p>
+
+<p>The shepherds looked at one another,
+and then away; and when they had stood
+awhile in silence, they moved off after their
+sheep.</p>
+
+<p>The boy David went swiftly. His feet
+pressed springing grass, he smelt the odor of
+new-turned earth, and the sound of water was
+in his ears. He could not think that there
+were really deserts. But he thought of the
+sad, lonely king, and wished that he might go
+to him. He came to where his sheep were
+feeding, and stood among them and heard
+their bleating; but he did not think of them.
+He was looking into the wide sky, and wondering
+if God would not send his angel to
+save the king; but there was no sign save the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg&nbsp;99]</a></span>
+peace and wonder that had always shone
+there. He turned and led his flock to the
+fold, and when he had done so he sat down
+on the hillside and played upon his harp; and
+the music was as beautiful as silence, so that
+shy creatures did not fear, but crept around
+to listen. The pale moon rose up, and the
+stars shone down like loving, glistening eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes there had come to David
+strange longings for far-off things, and he too
+had grown sad like the king. But then would
+he take his harp to the hill and sing of the
+sweet promise of the perfect gift that was to
+come from God to the world,&mdash;to shepherds
+and kings and all. And when he had sung so,
+behold! the peace was again in his heart, and
+he wished no longer to go seeking, for he
+knew the gift would surely come.</p>
+
+<p>He thought of the king as he sang. "He
+has forgot the promise; I must go to him and
+sing," he said.</p>
+
+<p>So he rose up in the night, and woke his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg&nbsp;100]</a></span>
+brother to give him charge over his flock.
+And when he had plucked long-stemmed, dripping
+lilies to wind through his harp strings,
+he went away by the same road all other travelers
+had gone.</p>
+
+<p>Day after day he journeyed, passing
+through sweet fields and pastures. He saw
+men sowing, and others tending their flocks;
+and there were mothers with babes in their
+arms and children about them. "The gift
+will come to you, and you, and all," he
+thought, as he passed.</p>
+
+<p>He went through the wilderness, and even
+through the dry desert; but his heart was singing
+and the thought of the promise was there
+like living water.</p>
+
+<p>Now the king's servants saw him afar off,
+and they ran out to meet him and knelt at his
+feet; for when they saw the light on his shining
+hair, and the harp with living lilies, they
+thought, "It is God's angel!"</p>
+
+<p>But he said to them, "I am only a loving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg&nbsp;101]</a></span>
+boy; I am David, a shepherd, and I have
+come to King Saul." He smiled into the wondering
+faces, and passing among them he
+came to where the king was, and stood in his
+very presence; and he was not afraid. They
+say a beautiful light shone from his face.</p>
+
+<p>The tent was dim, and the weary king did
+not stir.</p>
+
+<p>The boy knelt down, and stripping off the
+lilies, he tuned his harp and began to sing.
+The poet tells how he played for the mighty
+king; and what do you think it was? Just the
+tune all his sheep knew; always it brought
+them, one after one, to the pen door at evening.
+It was so strange and sweet a tune that
+quail on the corn lands would each leave its
+mate to fly after the player; and crickets&mdash;it
+made them so wild with delight they would
+fight one another. Then he played what sets
+the field mouse musing, and the cattle to
+deeper dreaming in the sunny meadows.</p>
+
+<p>He sang of green pastures and water<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg&nbsp;102]</a></span>
+brooks, and the morning joy of shepherds
+bounding over wide pastures. The light
+shines in streams, the hungry, happy sheep
+break out, and the long golden day is to be
+lived!</p>
+
+<p>Then he sang of the peace that comes to
+shepherds at evening, when the gentle sheep
+and sleepy, bleating lambs go home across the
+sweet wide meadow, and the stars come out
+in the serene heavens. Then it is to the
+shepherd as if nature and man and God are
+all one, and love is all there is in the whole
+world.</p>
+
+<p>At last the boy David sang of the perfect
+gift that will surely come; and he sang until
+the evil sorrow itself grew into peace.</p>
+
+<p>The king stirred and raised his head. It
+was to him as if it had rained, and flowers
+had sprung up in the desert.<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h4 class="space"><a name="Pronunciation" id="Pronunciation">A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION</a></h4>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg&nbsp;103]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The diacritical markings in this list agree with the latest edition of
+Webster's International Dictionary, and are as follows:</p>
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Pronunciation Guide" style="width: 80%;">
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="a with macron above">&#257;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> f<ins class="translit" title="a with macron above">&#257;</ins>te.</td>
+<td>&ocirc;&mdash;<i>as in</i> l&ocirc;rd.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> <ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>dd.</td>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="o with breve above">&#335;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> n<ins class="translit" title="o with breve above">&#335;</ins>t.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="a with inverted tack above">[+a]</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> pref&acute; <ins class="translit" title="a with inverted tack above">[+a]</ins>ce.</td>
+<td>&ouml;&mdash;<i>similar to</i> u <i>in</i> fur.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&auml;&mdash;<i>as in</i> f&auml;r.</td>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="oo with macron above">o&#773;o&#773;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> s<ins class="translit" title="oo with macron above">o&#773;o&#773;</ins>n</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="a with dot above">a&#775;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> gr<ins class="translit" title="a with dot above">a&#775;</ins>ss.</td>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#365;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> <ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#365;</ins>s.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="a with umlaut below">a&#804;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> <ins class="translit" title="a with umlaut below">a&#804;</ins>ll.</td>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="u with inverted tack above">[+u]</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> <ins class="translit" title="u with inverted tack above">[+u]</ins>-nite&acute;.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> <ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>ve.</td>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="u with dot below">u&#803;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> f<ins class="translit" title="u with dot below">u&#803;</ins>ll.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="e with inverted tack above">[+e]</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> <ins class="translit" title="e with inverted tack above">[+e]</ins>-vent&acute;.</td>
+<td><span class="smcap">u</span>&mdash;<i>similar to</i> u <i>in</i> fur.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> <ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>nd.</td>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="y with breve above">y&#774;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> pit&acute; <ins class="translit" title="y with breve above">y&#774;</ins>.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="e with tilde above">e&#771;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> h<ins class="translit" title="e with tilde above">e&#771;</ins>r.</td>
+<td>e&ucirc;&mdash;<i>as in</i> &ucirc;s.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="i with macron above">&#299;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> <ins class="translit" title="i with macron above">&#299;</ins>ce.</td>
+<td><span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>prolonged</i>).</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="i with a breve above">&#301;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> p<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>n.</td>
+<td>oi&mdash;<i>as in</i> oil.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="o with macron above">&#333;</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> r<ins class="translit" title="o with macron above">&#333;</ins>w.</td>
+<td >ou&mdash;<i>as in</i> out.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td rowspan="2"><ins class="translit" title="o with inverted tack above">[+o]</ins>&mdash;<i>as in</i> <ins class="translit" title="o with inverted tack above">[+o]</ins>-bey&acute;.</td>
+</tr>
+</table></div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">k</span> a guttural sound, similar to aspirated <i>h</i>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">n</span> represents the nasal sound in French, as in
+<i>ensemble</i> (&auml;<span class="smcap">n</span>&acute; s&auml;<span class="smcap">n</span>&acute; b'l).</p>
+
+<p><ins class="translit" title="w with breve above">w&#774;</ins> similar to <i>v</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Silent letters are italicized. Certain vowels, as
+<i>a</i> and <i>e</i>, when obscured, are also italicized.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h4 class="space"><a name="WORD_LIST" id="WORD_LIST"></a>A WORD LIST</h4>
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Pronunciation Guide" style="width: 100%;">
+<colgroup span="2">
+<col width="65%"></col>
+<col width="35%"></col>
+</colgroup>
+<tr>
+<td>Amphibian (<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>m f<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>b&acute; <ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins> <i>a</i>n)</td>
+<td>l<ins class="translit" title="a with umlaut below">a&#804;</ins><i>u</i>&acute; r<ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>l</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Angelus (<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>n&acute; g<ins class="translit" title="e with inverted tack above">[+e]</ins> l<ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#365;</ins>s)</td>
+<td>Liseuse (l<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>&acute; ze&ucirc;z&acute;)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Antonio Allegri da Corregio</td>
+<td>Mignon (m<ins class="translit" title="e with inverted tack above">[+e]</ins>&acute; ny&ocirc;<span class="smcap">n</span>&acute;)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>n t<ins class="translit" title="o with macron above">&#333;</ins>&acute; n<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins> <ins class="translit" title="o with inverted tack above">[+o]</ins> <ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>ll<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>&acute; gr<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins> d&auml; k<ins class="translit" title="o with breve above">&#335;</ins>r <ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>d&acute; j<ins class="translit" title="o with macron above">&#333;</ins>)</td>
+<td>Mimi (m<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>&acute; m<ins class="translit" title="e with inverted tack above">[+e]</ins>)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>applause (<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>p pl<ins class="translit" title="a with umlaut below">a&#804;</ins>z&acute;)</td>
+<td>miracles (m<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>r&acute; <ins class="translit" title="a with dot above">a&#775;</ins> k'lz)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Asola (&auml; s<ins class="translit" title="o with macron above">&#333;</ins>&acute; l&auml;)</td>
+<td>m<ins class="translit" title="o with macron above">&#333;</ins><i>a</i>n&acute; <ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>ng</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>s&acute; p<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins> r<ins class="translit" title="a with macron above">&#257;</ins>&acute; tion (sh<ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#365;</ins>n)</td>
+<td>musician (m<ins class="translit" title="u with inverted tack above">[+u]</ins> z<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>sh&acute; <i>a</i>n)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Bartolom&eacute; Est&eacute;ban Murillo</td>
+<td>myriad (m<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>r&acute; <ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins> <i>a</i>d)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (b&auml;r t<ins class="translit" title="o with breve above">&#335;</ins>l m<ins class="translit" title="a with macron above">&#257;</ins>&acute; <ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>st<ins class="translit" title="a with macron above">&#257;</ins>&acute; b&auml;n m<ins class="translit" title="oo with macron above">o&#773;o&#773;</ins> r<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>&acute; ly<ins class="translit" title="o with macron above">&#333;</ins>)</td>
+<td>mysterious (m<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>s t<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>&acute; r<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins> <ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#365;</ins>s)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Beatrice (b<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>&acute; <ins class="translit" title="a with inverted tack above">[+a]</ins> tr<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>s)</td>
+<td>naught (n<ins class="translit" title="a with umlaut below">a&#804;</ins>t)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Brunhilde (br<ins class="translit" title="oo with macron above">o&#773;o&#773;</ins>n&acute; h<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>l&acute; d<i>e</i>)</td>
+<td>Niebelungen (n<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>&acute; b<ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins> l<ins class="translit" title="u with dot below">u&#803;</ins>ng&acute; <i>e</i>n)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>buoys (boiz)</td>
+<td>Odin (<ins class="translit" title="o with macron above">&#333;</ins>&acute; d<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>n)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>castle (k<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>s&acute; 'l)</td>
+<td>P<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>r&acute; <ins class="translit" title="a with dot above">a&#775;</ins> d<ins class="translit" title="i with macron above">&#299;</ins>s<i>e</i></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>caverns (k<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>v&acute; <ins class="translit" title="e with tilde above">e&#771;</ins>rnz)</td>
+<td>P&auml;r&acute; s&#301; f<ins class="translit" title="a with dot above">a&#775;</ins>l</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>citrons (s<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>t&acute; r<ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#365;</ins>nz)</td>
+<td>p<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins><i>a</i>l&acute; <ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>ng</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>crouched (kroucht)</td>
+<td>P<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>p&acute; p<ins class="translit" title="a with dot above">a&#775;</ins></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Dante Gabriel Rossetti</td>
+<td>pr<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>&acute; l<ins class="translit" title="u with macron above">&#363;</ins>d<i>e</i></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (d<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>n&acute; t<ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins> g<ins class="translit" title="a with macron above">&#257;</ins>&acute; br<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins> <ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>l r<ins class="translit" title="o with breve above">&#335;</ins>ss<ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>t&acute; t<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>)</td>
+<td>probation (pr<ins class="translit" title="o with inverted tack above">[+o]</ins> b<ins class="translit" title="a with macron above">&#257;</ins>&acute; sh<ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#365;</ins>n)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Earth-dwarfs (<ins class="translit" title="e with tilde above">e&#771;</ins>rth&acute;-dw<ins class="translit" title="a with umlaut below">a&#804;</ins>rfs&acute;)</td>
+<td>quail (kw<ins class="translit" title="a with macron above">&#257;</ins>l)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>fagots (f<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>g&acute; <ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#365;</ins>tz)</td>
+<td>quivered (kw<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>v&acute; <ins class="translit" title="e with tilde above">e&#771;</ins>rd)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Faust (foust)</td>
+<td>radiance (r<ins class="translit" title="a with macron above">&#257;</ins>&acute; d<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins> <i>a</i>ns)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Friedrich Fr&ouml;<i>e</i>&acute; b<i>e</i>l (fr<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>&acute; dr<ins class="translit" title="e with inverted tack above">[+e]</ins><span class="smcap">k</span>)</td>
+<td>R<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>ch&acute; <i>a</i>rd W<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>g&acute; n<ins class="translit" title="e with tilde above">e&#771;</ins>r</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>g<ins class="translit" title="a with umlaut below">a&#804;</ins><i>u</i>z&acute; <ins class="translit" title="y with breve above">y&#774;</ins></td>
+<td>Saul (s<ins class="translit" title="a with umlaut below">a&#804;</ins>l)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>gl<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins><i>a</i>m<i>e</i>d</td>
+<td>s<ins class="translit" title="e with tilde above">e&#771;</ins><i>a</i>rch&acute; <ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>ng</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>gl<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>n&acute; t<ins class="translit" title="e with tilde above">e&#771;</ins>r <ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>ng</td>
+<td>s<ins class="translit" title="e with inverted tack above">[+e]</ins> r<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>n<i>e</i>&acute;</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Goethe (g&ouml;&acute; t<i>e</i>h)</td>
+<td>s<ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>v&acute; <ins class="translit" title="e with tilde above">e&#771;</ins>r<i>e</i>d</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Hansei (h<ins class="translit" title="a with dot above">a&#775;</ins>ns&acute; <ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>)</td>
+<td>sheaves (sh<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>vz)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>hedge (h<ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>j)</td>
+<td>Siegfried (s<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>g&acute; fr<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>d)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>h<ins class="translit" title="o with breve above">&#335;</ins>l&acute; l<ins class="translit" title="y with breve above">y&#774;</ins> h<ins class="translit" title="o with breve above">&#335;</ins><i>c</i>ks</td>
+<td>sm<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins><i>a</i>r<i>e</i>d</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>indescribable (<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>n&acute; d<ins class="translit" title="e with inverted tack above">[+e]</ins> skr<ins class="translit" title="i with macron above">&#299;</ins>b&acute; <ins class="translit" title="a with dot above">a&#775;</ins> b'l)</td>
+<td>tadpoles (t<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>d&acute; p<ins class="translit" title="o with macron above">&#333;</ins>lz)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Innocence (<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>n&acute; n<ins class="translit" title="o with inverted tack above">[+o]</ins> s<i>e</i>ns)</td>
+<td>thatched (th<ins class="translit" title="a with breve above">&#259;</ins>tcht)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Israel (<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>z&acute; r<ins class="translit" title="a with inverted tack above">[+a]</ins> <ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>l)</td>
+<td>tr<ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#365;</ins>n&acute; d'l<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>ng</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Jean Baptiste Greuze</td>
+<td>vision (v<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>zh&acute; <ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#365;</ins>n)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (zh&auml;<span class="smcap">n</span> b<ins class="translit" title="a with dot above">a&#775;</ins>' t<ins class="translit" title="e with inverted tack above">[+e]</ins>st&acute; gruz)</td>
+<td>Watts (w<ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#335;</ins>tz)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Jean Fran&ccedil;ois Millet</td>
+<td>wearily (w<ins class="translit" title="e with macron above">&#275;</ins>&acute; r<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins> l<ins class="translit" title="y with breve above">y&#774;</ins>)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (zh&auml;<span class="smcap">n</span> fr<ins class="translit" title="o with breve above">&#335;</ins><span class="smcap">n</span>&acute; sw&auml;&acute; m<ins class="translit" title="e with inverted tack above">[+e]</ins>&acute; y<ins class="translit" title="o with inverted tack above">[+a]</ins>&acute;)</td>
+<td>weights (w<ins class="translit" title="a with macron above">&#257;</ins>ts)</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>Jules le Febvre (zh<ins class="translit" title="oo with macron above">o&#773;o&#773;</ins>l l<i>e</i>h f<ins class="translit" title="a with inverted tack above">[+a]</ins>vr&acute;)</td>
+<td>w<ins class="translit" title="u with breve above">&#277;</ins>ld</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>k<ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>n&acute; d<ins class="translit" title="e with tilde above">e&#771;</ins>r g&auml;r&acute; t<ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>n</td>
+<td>Wilhelm Meister</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>knight (n<ins class="translit" title="i with macron above">&#299;</ins>t)</td>
+<td style="margin-left: 2em.">(<ins class="translit" title="w with breve above">w&#774;</ins><ins class="translit" title="i with breve above">&#301;</ins>l&acute; h<ins class="translit" title="e with breve above">&#277;</ins>lm m<ins class="translit" title="i with macron above">&#299;</ins>s&acute; t<ins class="translit" title="e with tilde above">e&#771;</ins>r)</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<p><span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Contents</a></span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Child Stories from the Masters, by Maud Menefee
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+</body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg's Child Stories from the Masters, by Maud Menefee
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Child Stories from the Masters
+       Being a Few Modest Interpretations of Some Phases of the
+       Master Works Done in a Child Way
+
+Author: Maud Menefee
+
+Release Date: June 8, 2007 [EBook #21764]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD STORIES FROM THE MASTERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Mark C. Orton, Thomas Strong, Linda McKeown
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+           CHILD STORIES
+         FROM THE MASTERS
+
+
+               BY
+
+           MAUD MENEFEE
+
+
+BEING A FEW MODEST INTERPRETATIONS
+  OF SOME PHASES OF THE MASTER
+   WORKS DONE IN A CHILD WAY
+
+
+        _ILLUSTRATED_
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+     RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY
+_CHICAGO_    _NEW YORK_    _LONDON_
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Jean Francois Millet_
+
+THE SPINNER]
+
+
+
+
+     COPYRIGHT, 1899, 1901
+        By MAUD MENEFEE
+
+
+
+
+              TO
+         ANDREA HOFER
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD.
+
+In writing these stories, no attempt has been made to follow the plot or
+problem of the poems, which in almost every case lies beyond the child's
+reach. The simple purpose as found in the whole, or the suggestion of
+only a stanza or scene, has been used as opportunity for picturing and
+reflecting something of the poetry and intention of the originals.
+
+As story-teller to the same circle of children for several years, it
+became necessary to draw upon the great literary fount for suggestion,
+and it was found that "Pippa," the art child of industry, could add a
+poetic impulse toward the handwork of spinning, thread-winding, weaving,
+the making of spinning wheels, winders, and looms, without too great
+violence to the original poem itself.
+
+"Mignon," as the creature of an art that exists for art's sake, was set
+to contrast with Pippa, who through service finds a song to heal and to
+inspire.
+
+"Siegfried" and "Parsifal," as knight stories, were given with their
+musical _motifs_.
+
+The writer hopes for "Child Stories" that it may serve to suggest to
+teachers how they may utilize the great store of poetry and art at hand.
+To do this they are themselves under the joyful necessity of keeping
+close to the great sources. On this last point Mr. Wm. T. Harris says:
+"A view of the world is a perpetual stimulant to thought, always
+prompting one to reflect on the immediate fact or event before him, and
+to discover its relation to the ultimate principle of the universe. It
+is the only antidote for the constant tendency of the teacher to sink
+into a dead formalism, the effect of too much iteration and of the
+practice of adjusting knowledge to the needs of the feeble-minded by
+perpetual explanation of what is already simple _ad nauseam_ for the
+mature intelligence of the teacher. It produces a sort of pedagogical
+cramp in the soul, for which there is no remedy like a philosophical
+view of the world, unless, perhaps, it be the study of the greatest
+poets, Shakespere, Dante, and Homer."
+
+MAUD MENEFEE.
+
+Chicago, August, 1901.
+
+
+
+
+THE TABLE OF CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+
+  PIPPA                        _Robert Browning_                     9
+           From "Pippa Passes."
+
+  MIGNON                       _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_         17
+           From "Wilhelm Meister."
+
+  SIEGFRIED                    _Richard Wagner_                     27
+           From "Niebelungen Ring."
+
+  A FISH AND A BUTTERFLY
+                             _Robert Browning_                      39
+           From "Amphibian."
+
+  HOW MARGARET LED FAUST THROUGH THE PERFECT WORLD
+                             _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_           45
+           From "Faust."
+
+  BEATRICE                     _Dante Alighieri_                    55
+           From "The Inferno."
+
+  PARSIFAL                     _Richard Wagner_                     61
+           From "Parsifal."
+
+  THE ANGELUS                                                       67
+           About the painting by Jean Francois Millet.
+
+  FRIEDRICH AND HIS CHILD-GARDEN                                    73
+
+  THE HOLY NIGHT                                                    79
+          About the painting by Antonio Allegri da Correggio.
+
+  SAUL AND DAVID               _Robert Browning_                    95
+      From "Saul."
+
+  A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION                                         103
+
+  A WORD LIST                                                      103
+
+
+
+
+A LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS.
+
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+
+  THE SPINNER               _Jean Francois Millet_      _Frontispiece_
+
+  INNOCENCE                 _Jean Baptiste Greuze_                  10
+
+  MIGNON                    _Paul Kiessling_                        18
+
+  SIEGFRIED                 _F. Leeke_                              28
+
+  "AT THE FARTHEST END
+    OF THE MEADOW"        _Yeend King_                              40
+
+  LISEUSE                   _Jules Le Febvre_                       46
+
+  THE BEATA BEATRICE        _Dante Gabriel Rossetti_                56
+
+  ASPIRATION                _George Frederick Watts_                62
+
+  THE ANGELUS               _Jean Francois Millet_                  68
+
+  THE HOLY NIGHT            _Antonio Allegri da Correggio_          80
+
+  THE DIVINE SHEPHERD       _Bartolome Esteban Murillo_             96
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Jean Baptiste Greuze_
+
+INNOCENCE]
+
+
+A SONG.
+
+  The year's at the spring
+  The day's at the morn;
+  Morning's at seven;
+  The hill-side's dew-pearled;
+  The lark's on the wing;
+  The snail's on the thorn:
+  God's in his heaven--
+  All's right with the world!
+
+     --_From Browning's "Pippa Passes."_
+
+
+PIPPA.
+
+
+All the year in the little village of Asola the great wheels of the
+mills went round and round. It seemed to the very little children that
+they never, never stopped, but went on turning and singing, turning and
+singing. No matter where you went in the village, the hum of the wheels
+could always be heard; and though no one could really say what the
+wheels sang, everyone turned gladly to his work or went swiftly on his
+errand when he heard the busy song.
+
+Everyone was proud of the mills in Asola, and the children most of all.
+The very little ones would go to the lowest windows and look into the
+great dim room where the wheels were, and they wondered, as they looked,
+if ever they would grow wise enough to help make silk.
+
+Those children who were older wound thread on the bobbins, or helped at
+the looms. And whenever they saw the bright stuff in shop windows, or a
+beautiful woman passed in silken robes, they looked with shining eyes.
+"See how beautiful!" they would say. "We helped. She needs us; the world
+needs us!" and their hearts were so full of gladness at the thought.
+
+The poet tells us there was a child there whose name was Pippa, and she
+worked all day in this mill, winding silk on the little whirling,
+whirling spools.
+
+Now in the year there was one day they gave her for her own--one perfect
+day when she could walk in the sweet, sweet meadows, or wander toward
+the far, strange hills. And this one precious day was so shining and
+full of joy to Pippa that its light shone all about her until the next,
+making itself into dreams and little songs that she sang to her whirring
+spools.
+
+One night, when the blessed time would be next morning, she said to the
+day:
+
+"Sweet Day, I am Pippa, and have only you for the joy of my whole long
+year; come to me gentle and shining, and I will do whatever loving deed
+you bring me."
+
+And the blessed day broke golden and perfect!
+
+She sprang up singing; she sang to the sunbeams, and to her lily, and to
+the joy in the world; she ran out, and leaped as she went; the grass
+blew in the wind, and the long yellow road rolled away like unwound
+silk.
+
+She sang on and on, hardly knowing. And it was a sweet song no one had
+ever heard. It was what birds sing, only this had words; and this song
+was so full of joy that when a sad poet heard it he stopped the lonely
+tune he piped, and listened till his heart thrilled. And when he could
+no longer hear, he took up the sweet strain and played it so strong and
+clear that it set the whole air a-singing. The children in the street
+began dancing and laughing as he played; the old looked up; a lame man
+felt that he might leap, and the blind who begged at corners forgot they
+did not see, the song was so full of the morning wonder.
+
+But little Pippa did not know this; she had passed on singing.
+
+Out beyond the village there were men who worked, building a lordly
+castle. And there was a youth among them who was a stair-builder, and he
+had a deep sorrow. The dream of the perfect and beautiful work was in
+his life, but it was given to him to build only the stairs men trod on.
+And as he knelt working wearily at his task, from somewhere beyond the
+thicket there came a strange, sweet song, and these were the words:
+
+  "All service ranks the same with God:
+   ... there is no last nor first."
+
+The youth sprang up; the wind lifted his hair, the light leaped into
+his eyes, and he began to do the smallest thing perfectly.
+
+Farther down the road there was a ruined house; a man leaned his head on
+his hand and looked from the window. A great deed that the world needed
+must be done; and the man loved the great deed, but his heart had grown
+faint, and he waited.
+
+And it chanced that Pippa passed, singing, and her song reached the man;
+and it was to him as if God called. He rose up strong and brave, and
+leaping to his horse he rode away to give the great deed to the world.
+
+At night when the tired Pippa lay upon her little bed, she said to the
+day, "Sweet Day, you brought me no loving deed to give in payment for
+the joy you gave."
+
+But the day knew.
+
+And on the morrow, the child Pippa went back to the mill and wound the
+silk bobbins, and she was so full of gladness, she hummed with them all
+day.
+
+
+
+
+  Know'st thou the land where citrons are in bloom,
+  The orange glows amidst a leafy gloom,
+  A gentle breeze from cloudless heaven blows
+  The myrtle still, and high the laurel grows?
+            Know'st thou it well?
+  Ah! there--Ah, there would I fare!
+
+                  --_From Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister."_
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Paul Kiessling_
+
+MIGNON]
+
+
+MIGNON.
+
+
+Once there was a band of people who did nothing but wander about from
+village to village, giving shows in the marketplaces. They had no homes
+or gardens or fields, but the fathers earned the living by doing
+remarkable things.
+
+The little children played in the wagons, and the mothers cooked the
+meals over the camp-fire when they stopped outside the village, and they
+were quite happy after their own fashion. But often, when they passed
+down the streets between the rows of thatched houses with children
+playing in the yards, it all seemed to them something very beautiful
+indeed, and they looked at it as long as it was possible.
+
+The little girl of the strong man, and the little boy whose father
+walked on his hands, often stood a long, long time looking through the
+fence at children who had real hollyhocks in their yards, besides a
+little green tree growing right out of the thatch on the top of the
+roof; and in some of the houses, where the doors stood open, they could
+see the most shining pans and kettles ranged about the chimney.
+
+But whenever they made a beautiful playhouse, with all the leaves
+brushed away and the rooms marked out with little sticks, they had to
+leave it next day. This was very discouraging, of course. Even the
+fathers and mothers grew discouraged sometimes, when they rode through
+the beautiful country. It was so sweet and so fair, and somehow it
+really seemed calling to them in a loving voice. But they always went on
+and on, from place to place, and no one ever knew what the real message
+was. But sometimes, deep in the strong man's heart there grew the
+strangest longing to go into the fields and reap and bind with the
+reapers, so that he too might see the yellow sheaves standing together
+when work was over.
+
+In this circus, where he lifted the heaviest weights, and held the
+little boy and his own little girl straight out with his hands quite a
+long time, it was very wonderful indeed. But there was never anything
+after, to show it had been done, except a great deal of clapping and
+calling from the people. And this was partly for the children, who had
+such round, pleasant faces, and ran away just as soon as the father put
+them down. The strong man was always thinking of this when he walked
+beside the wagon and looked off over the fields where the men were
+working. And it was so with all of them; but as no one spoke of it they
+were thought to be a very gay company, for they laughed quite often. And
+after all, it did seem to them a very grand thing when they entered the
+village. The people ran to the doors and windows, and streamed out of
+the inn; and the children ran after the wagon, looking at them with the
+greatest wonder.
+
+Whatever sadness they may have felt about their life, they forgot it
+entirely when they stood before the people in their spangled suits. Then
+it seemed to them quite the greatest thing to make a whole village
+stare. They walked about very proudly, and talked in very deep tones.
+Sometimes they allowed one or two of the largest boys to help make ready
+for the show. In one of the villages, the shoemaker's lame Charlie had
+helped lay the carpet on which the strong man stood when he did his
+part.
+
+Among these people who went about there was a child. Her name was
+Mignon; and when the tumblers had leaped over the high rods and stood
+upon each other's shoulders for the last time, and the strong man had
+bowed and gone away amid the greatest applause, this Mignon danced for
+the people. When it was very still, and the strange, beautiful music
+had sounded, she would come slowly forward, and placing her hands on her
+breast she would bow very low, and begin to stir and sway in time. How
+beautiful it was! It was like a flower in the wind, and all the people
+stood still and looked with wonder.
+
+Sometimes she sang; it was the strangest song that ever was sung by a
+child. It was always about far-off lands, where it seemed to her the
+real joy was. Tears shone in the eyes of all the people as they
+listened, and when it was over and they were again at their work, a deep
+sadness seemed in everything. They too had begun to think that the real
+joy might be a long, long way off from them.
+
+And Mignon went on from village to village, singing and dancing and
+seeking. Always she was thinking, "Who knows but tomorrow, in the next
+village or the next, I will find the real joy? it will come to me as I
+sing or stir with the beautiful music!"
+
+But, children, Mignon never found it.
+
+The feet that were meant to fly on loving errands only danced, and
+though it was so beautiful it was really nothing, and the real joy was
+not in it.
+
+Do you not know that every little child that comes into the world has a
+blessed deed in its life? But with Mignon it only lay heavy on her
+heart, and she was more weary than any child who serves all day. And
+after awhile this weariness grew as deep as her life, and the poet tells
+us that she died. We read in his strange book that they bore her to the
+dim hall of the Past, and that she lay there white and beautiful. Four
+boys clothed in blue with silver stood beside her, slowly waving white
+plumes. And when the people had come in and stood together very
+silently, the most beautiful singing voices began--
+
+"'Whom bring ye us to the still dwelling?'"
+
+The four boys answered:
+
+"''Tis a tired playmate whom we bring you. Let her rest in your still
+dwelling. Let us weep. Let us remain with her!'"
+
+But the sweet voices rang out,
+
+"'Children, turn back into life! Your tears let the fresh air dry. Haste
+back into life! Let the day give you _labor_ and _joy_, till evening
+bring you rest.'"
+
+And the listening children understood.
+
+
+
+
+SIEGFRIED'S SILVER HORN.
+
+[Music:]
+
+  _Richard Wagner._
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+_By F. Leeke_
+
+SIEGFRIED]
+
+
+THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED.
+
+
+Long, long ago, before the sun learned to shine so brightly, people
+believed very strange things. Why, even the wisest thought storm clouds
+were war-maidens riding, and that a wonderful shining youth brought the
+springtime; and whenever sunlight streamed into the water they said to
+one another, "See, it is some of the shining gold, some of the magic
+Rhine-gold. Ah, if we should find the Rhine-gold we would be masters of
+the world--the whole world;" and they would stretch out their arms and
+look away on every side. Even little children began looking for the
+hidden gold as they played, and they say that Odin, a god who lived in
+the very deepest blue of the sky, came down and lay in the grass to
+watch the place where he thought it was.
+
+Now this gold was hidden in the very deepest rocky gorge, and a dragon
+that everyone feared lay upon it night and day. Almost all the people in
+the world were wanting and seeking this gold; it really seemed sometimes
+that they were forgetting everything else, even the sweet message and
+the deed they had brought the world. Some of them went about dreaming
+and thinking of all the ways there were of finding it. But they seldom
+did anything of all they thought, so they were called the Mist-men. And
+there were others, who worked always, digging in the darkest caverns of
+the mountains, and lived underground and almost forgot the real light,
+watching for the glow of the gold. These were called the Earth-dwarfs,
+for they grew very small and black living away from the light. But there
+were a great many blessed ones who lived quite free and glad in the
+world, loving and serving one another and not thinking very much of the
+gold.
+
+There was a boy whose name was Siegfried, and though he lived with an
+Earth-dwarf in the deep forest, he knew nothing of the magic gold or the
+world. He had never seen a man, and he had not known his mother, even,
+though he often thought of her when he stood still at evening and the
+birds came home. There was one thing she had left him, and that was a
+broken sword. Mimi, the Earth-dwarf, strove night and day to mend it,
+thinking he might slay the dragon. But though he worked always, it was
+never done, for no one who feared anything in the world could weld it,
+because it was an immortal blade. It had a name and a soul.
+
+Each evening when Siegfried thought of his sword he would come bounding
+down the mountains, blowing great horn-blasts. One night he came
+laughing and shouting, and leaped into the cave, driving a bear he had
+bridled, straight on the poor frightened Mimi. He ran round and round,
+and darted here and there, until Siegfried could go no more for
+laughing, and the bear broke from the rope and ran into the woods. When
+Siegfried turned he saw that the poor little dwarf was crouched
+trembling behind the anvil, and he stopped laughing, and looked at him.
+
+"Why do you shake and cry and run?" he asked. The dwarf said nothing,
+but the fire began to glow strangely, and the sword shone.
+
+"Do you not know what fear is?" cried the dwarf at last.
+
+"No," said the boy, and he went over and took up the sword; and lo! the
+blade fell apart in his hand. They stood still and looked at each other.
+"Can a man fear and make swords?" asked the boy. The dwarf said nothing,
+but the forge fire flashed and sparkled, and the broken sword gleamed,
+in the strangest way.
+
+The boy smiled, and gathering up the pieces he ground them to fine
+powder; and when he had done, he placed the precious dust in the forge
+and pulled at the great bellows, so that the fire glowed into such a
+shining that the whole cave was light.
+
+But the dwarf grew blacker and smaller as he watched the boy. When he
+saw him pour the melted steel in the mold and lay it on the fire, and
+heard him singing at his work, he began to rage and cry; but Siegfried
+only laughed and went on singing. When he took out the bar and struck it
+into the water there was a great hissing, and the Mist-men stood there
+with Mimi, and they raged and cried together. But still Siegfried only
+laughed and sang as he pulled at his bellows or swung his hammers. At
+every blow he grew stronger and greater, and the sword bent and quivered
+like a living flame, until at last, with a joyful cry, he lifted it
+above his head with both his hands; it fell with a great blow, and
+behold! the anvil was severed, and lay apart before him.
+
+The joy in Siegfried's heart grew into the most wonderful peace, and
+the forge light seemed to grow into full day. The immortal sword was
+again in the world. But Mimi and the Mist-men were gone.
+
+And the musician shows in wonderful music-pictures how Siegfried went
+out into the early morning, and how the light glittered on the trembling
+leaves and sifted through in little splashes. He stood still, listening
+to the stir of the leaves and the hum of the bees and the chirp of the
+birds. Two birds were singing as they built a nest, and he wondered what
+they said to one another. He cut a reed and tried to mock their words,
+but it was like nothing. He began to wish that he might speak to some
+one like himself, and he wondered about his mother; why had she left
+him? It seemed to him he was the one lone thing in the world. He lifted
+his silver horn and blew a sweet blast, but no friend came. He blew
+again and again, louder and clearer, until suddenly the leaves stirred
+to a great rustling; and the very earth seemed to tremble. He looked,
+and behold! he had waked the dragon that all men feared; and it was
+coming toward him, breathing fire and smoke. But Siegfried did not know
+what fear was; he only laughed and leaped over it, as he plunged; and
+when it reared to spring upon him, he drove the immortal blade straight
+into its heart.
+
+Now when Siegfried plucked out his sword he smeared his finger with the
+blood, and it burned like fire, so that he put it in his mouth to ease
+the pain. Then suddenly the most strange thing happened: he understood
+all the hum and murmur of the woods; and lo! the bird on the very branch
+above was singing of his mother and of him, and of the gold that was his
+if he would give up his sword and would love and serve none in the
+world. And more, she sang on of one who slept upon a lonely mountain: a
+wall of fire burned around, that none could pass but he who knew no
+fear.
+
+Siegfried listened to hear more, but the bird fluttered away before
+him. He saw it going, and he forgot the gold and the whole world, and
+followed it. It led him on and on, to a lonely mountain, where he saw
+light burning; and he climbed up and up, and always the light grew
+brighter. But when he was nearly at the top, and would have bounded on,
+he could not, for Odin stood there with his spear across the way. The
+fire glowed and flashed around them, but the sword gleamed brighter than
+anything that ever shone, as Siegfried cleft the mighty spear and leaped
+into the flame. And there at last, in the great shining, this Siegfried
+beheld a mortal like himself. He stood still in wonder. He saw the light
+glinting on armor, and he thought, "I have found a knight, a friend!"
+And he went over and took the helmet from the head. Long ruddy hair,
+like flame, fell down. Then he raised the shield, and behold! in white
+glistening robes he saw the maid Brunhilde. And she was so beautiful!
+The light glowed into a great shining as he looked, and, hardly
+knowing, he leaned and kissed her, and she awoke.
+
+And it seemed to Siegfried that he had found his mother and the whole
+world.
+
+
+
+
+  Yes! there came floating by
+    Me, who lay floating too.
+  Such a strange butterfly!
+    Creature as dear as new:
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  I never shall join its flight,
+    For, naught buoys flesh in air.
+  If it touch the sea--good night!
+    Death sure and swift waits there.
+
+              --_From Browning's "Amphibian."_
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+By Yeend King
+
+"AT THE FARTHEST END OF THE MEADOW"]
+
+
+A FISH AND A BUTTERFLY.
+
+
+At the very farthest end of the meadow there is water, blue with sky. It
+flows on and on, growing broad and strong farther down, to turn the mill
+wheel. But here in the meadow, you can see far off on the other side,
+and hear the cows ripping off the tender grass, and smell the perfume of
+wild plums.
+
+Boy Blue lay in the long cool grass watching the water. How sleepily it
+moved, and what a pretty song it sang! How clear! he could count the
+pebbles at the bottom; and there, swimming straight toward him, came a
+tiny fish, making little darts from one side to another, and snapping at
+the tadpoles on the way. Then he stopped just in front of him.
+
+"Oh, dear!" said a voice; and the little boy could not tell whether it
+was the fish, or the tomtit scolding on the elder bush. "Dear me!" came
+the voice again; and the little fish sighed, making a bubble on the top
+of the water, and rings that grew and grew till they reached the other
+bank.
+
+"What's the matter?" asked Boy Blue.
+
+"I'd like a new play and new playmates," sighed the fish. "I'm so tired
+of the old ones!"
+
+"Oh," said the boy, and was just about to ask, "Would I do?" when there
+came floating along in the air a beautiful butterfly, floating, floating
+like a ship in full sail.
+
+"Oh!" cried the fish, "how beautiful! how beautiful! Come let us play
+together--let us play."
+
+The butterfly rested on a thistle bloom and stirred her pale wings
+thoughtfully. "Play?" she said.
+
+"Yes, let us play. How beautiful thou art!"
+
+"And thou!" said the butterfly; "all the shine of the sun and sea gleams
+in thy armor. Let us play together."
+
+"Let us play."
+
+"Come then," said the butterfly; "come up into the fresh morning air and
+the sunlight, where everything smiles this sweet May day."
+
+"There?" cried the fish; "I would die there; I would die! There is no
+life for me in your sunshine world. But come with me into this
+glittering stream; here swimming against the swift current is strong
+life. Come, let us play here."
+
+But the butterfly trembled. "There?" she cried; "if I touched one single
+little wave I should be swept out and away forever. There is no life for
+me in the glittering stream."
+
+They looked across at each other.
+
+"But see," said the butterfly, "I will come as near as I dare to your
+water world;" and she spread her beautiful wings and floated down to the
+edge of the water. The fish with a great stroke swam toward her. But
+they could only touch the same bit of earth, and the waves always bore
+him back.
+
+"Ah," he cried at last, "it is useless! we cannot play together."
+
+"Ah," wept the butterfly, "we cannot play together."
+
+"Boy Blue," said the farmer, brushing aside the long grass, "you were
+asleep."
+
+"Asleep!" said the little boy, jumping up; "I couldn't have been. I
+heard every word the fish and the butterfly said."
+
+
+
+
+  The indescribable--
+  Here it is done;
+  The woman soul
+  Leadeth us upward and on.
+
+             --_From Goethe's "Faust."_
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+_By Jules Le Febvre_
+
+LISEUSE]
+
+
+HOW MARGARET LED FAUST THROUGH THE PERFECT WORLD.
+
+
+There was once a very great man who understood all of the most
+mysterious things in the world. He knew quite perfectly how spiders spun
+and how the firefly kept his lantern burning. All of these marvelous
+things were plain to him, for he had read everything that had been
+written in books, and he had spent his whole life searching and peering
+through a strange glass at the most wonderful small things. Always and
+always he was thinking in his heart, "When I know _everything_ then I
+shall be content, surely!"
+
+So he went on searching and looking and reading, night and day, in his
+dim room. Always he was growing older and wearier, but he did not think
+of that; he only knew that the strange longing was growing in his
+heart, and that he was never any happier than before. But he would say
+to himself, "It is because there is something I have not learned. When I
+know everything, then surely the joy will come to me."
+
+One night he shut his book and laid aside the strange glass, and sat
+quite still in the dim room. He had found that there was nothing more to
+be learned; there was nothing of all the mysteries that he did not know
+perfectly.
+
+And behold, the longing was still in his heart, and no gladness came. He
+only felt how weary and old he was. He thought: "There _is_ no joy in
+the world; there is nothing good and perfect in the whole world!" He
+closed his tired eyes and leaned his head back. The lamp burned low, and
+the place was very still for a long time. And then there suddenly broke
+the most beautiful music right under his window; children were singing,
+and men and women, and above it all bells were ringing--wonderful,
+joyous bells.
+
+"Can it be," said the old man--"can it be that anyone is really joyful
+in the world?" He rose up and went to the window, and thrust back the
+great curtain.
+
+And lo! it was morning!
+
+The most beautiful, shining morning; people were pouring out of all the
+houses, smiling and singing, and bowing to one another; little children
+were going together with flowers in their hands, singing, and answering
+the tones of the great bells; and one little child, as it passed, looked
+right up at the great Doctor Faust, and held out its white lily. The
+bells chimed, and the singing grew sweeter and clearer.
+
+"If there is something joyful in the world, surely some one will tell
+me," said the man; and he went out into the morning.
+
+It had rained in the night; there were pools in the street, and the
+leaves glistened. "How bright the light is!" he thought, and "how
+strange the flowers look blooming in the sun!" But the birds flew away
+when he came, and this made the strange longing in the lonely man's
+heart grow into pain. So he stepped back in the shadow and looked into
+all the happy faces as they passed, and listened to the singing.
+
+But no one stopped to tell him anything. They were so full of joy that
+they did not feel his touch, and his words when he spoke were swept
+right up into the song and the pealing of the joy-bells.
+
+Girls in white veils, with stalks of the most beautiful lilies in their
+hands, passed him in a long line, and the boys came after, in new
+clothes, and shoes that squeaked. But he only saw their shining,
+upturned faces. They were so beautiful as they sang, that tears stood in
+the smiling eyes of all the fathers and mothers and neighbors who
+followed after. Little children holding each other's hands went
+together, and one little one had a queer woolly lamb on wheels trundling
+behind him.
+
+"Can it be," said the old man, "that there is a deep joy in the world?
+will no one tell me?" And he turned and went with the people; and after
+awhile he met a young girl.
+
+She was not singing, but the most beautiful light shone from her face;
+so he knew she was thinking of the deep joy, and he asked her what it
+was, and why the people were glad.
+
+She looked at him with loving wonder, and then she told him it was
+Easter morning, when everything in the wide world remembers fully that
+the joy can never die. "It is here always," she told him.
+
+"Always?" said the old man; and he shook his head sadly.
+
+"Always," she said; and she took his hand and led him out of the throng
+into the most beautiful ways. He did not know that in the whole world
+there were such wonderful grassy lanes. Why, there were hedges with
+star-flowers here and there; apple trees were blooming, and between the
+cottages there were gardens where seed had sprung up in rows.
+
+In some of the houses people were going about their homely tasks, and
+they were singing softly, or saying the most gentle words to one another
+as they worked. And before a very humble door, where only one tall lily
+bloomed, there sat a beautiful mother with a baby on her knee and a
+little one beside her; and they were looking straight into her eyes,
+listening to the wonderful story of the Easter morning. The father
+stopped to listen too, and in every single face shone the same holy
+light.
+
+It shone even in the face of the Faust as he passed.
+
+And behold, when Margaret looked at him he had grown young. His hair
+glinted in the sun and the wonder had come back to his eyes. Butterflies
+circled above them, and they went on and on, free and glad together, and
+the holy light was over everything.
+
+But the poet tells us that afterwards Faust traveled into a very
+strange, far world, where there was never any silence or living flowers.
+Nothing was perfect or holy there, and Margaret could not go. But they
+tell us that whenever he looked away from this strange world, he heard
+again the singing, and smelled the faint fragrance of lilies, and it
+seemed to him that he was there again in the light, with the blessed
+Margaret leading him on forever.
+
+
+
+
+      Oh, eternal light!
+  For I therein, methought, in its own hue,
+  Beheld our image painted.
+
+              --_From Dante's "Paradise."_
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+_By Dante Gabriel Rossetti_
+
+THE BEATA BEATRICE]
+
+
+BEATRICE.
+
+
+Dear children, there is a great story of Heaven told by a poet called
+Dante, who dreamed that he was led through Heaven by the beautiful
+Beatrice.
+
+And this is how it was. Dante had come to think so many unloving
+thoughts of all the people, that whenever he went about the streets of
+Florence where he lived, he thought he saw evil marks on all the faces.
+And it seemed to him that everyone in the world was lost from God. And
+the angry sorrow in his heart grew so great that there was not a single
+loving, hopeful thought in it. Then there came to him a wonderful
+vision. It seemed to him that Beatrice, whom he loved, came down from
+God and spoke to him and led him up, and showed him Heaven.
+
+But his eyes were so dim at first, it seemed only the shining of a few
+small stars. But as they journeyed, Beatrice spoke to him of many things
+he had not understood, and while she talked, Heaven grew plainer and he
+saw that the stars were all shining together in a soft radiance, like
+the halos of many saints. And the wisdom of the world began to slip from
+Dante, and he stood there in Heaven as a little child.
+
+Beatrice led him on and on, and whenever she wished him to see Heaven
+more plainly she talked of the world he lived in and the men he hated.
+Now when one who lives with God speaks of hate, it is nothing. And as he
+listened, Dante began to see that Man was in Heaven. When he had learned
+this, they went with a great flight up to God. And behold! it seemed to
+Dante that the higher he went in Heaven the nearer home he came, for all
+around him there were faces that he knew.
+
+And they went on and on to the very highest Heaven, where God and man
+live together, and the angels cannot tell God from man or man from God.
+And Beatrice showed Dante this great mystery. And he stood still,
+looking, with the great light shining into his eyes.
+
+Although he does not tell us what he saw, we know it was Florence, where
+he lived, and that he was looking at all the people with loving eyes,
+and seeing them just as those who live with God see men.
+
+Heaven is here, little children. Let us love one another.
+
+
+
+
+FROM "PARSIFAL."
+
+[Music: By pity 'lightened, the guileless Fool;]
+
+  --_Richard Wagner._
+
+
+[Illustration: _By George Frederick Watts_
+
+ASPIRATION]
+
+
+PARSIFAL.
+
+
+Long, long ago, when the old nations were child-nations, they had the
+most wonderful dreams and stories in their hearts; and they told them
+over so many, many times, with love and wonder, that they grew into
+Art,--poems and songs and pictures. And there is one beautiful story
+which you will find in many songs and poems, for almost every nation has
+told it in its own way. And this is it:
+
+Long, long ago--so long that no one can tell whether it really happened
+or whether the old German folk only dreamed it--there was a band of
+knights who went away and lived together on a beautiful high mountain,
+far above the world, where no evil might ever come to them; and there
+they thought of nothing but pure and holy things. The purest knight was
+chosen king among them, and led them in all high things; and they lived
+so for many years, keeping themselves from wrong and beholding blessed
+wonders that the world had never seen,--miracles of light that sometimes
+passed above them.
+
+But once there came an evil thought to the very king; nothing could put
+it away, and it was like a spear-wound in his side that nothing could
+heal. It was the greatest suffering; it even touched the joy of the
+knights, for they began to think only of what would heal the king. Many
+went far and wide, seeking a cure, while others dropped back to the
+world again; for the pattern of purity was not perfect any longer, and
+they seemed to forget what it had been. All the miracles stopped, and
+the sick king and the knights waited and waited for one who was pure
+enough to show them the perfect pattern again.
+
+And one day a youth passed by who was so innocent that he did not know
+what wrong was. When the knights beheld him they looked in wonder, and
+said: "Is it not he, the innocent one, who will save us?" and they led
+him up to the temple. And behold, it was the time of the holy feast,
+when long ago the light had passed above them. And the youth stood there
+with great wonder and trouble in his heart, for he saw the suffering of
+the king, and how the knights longed and waited; he heard their voices
+in solemn tones, and the mourning voice of the king. And lo, while he
+looked, a wonderful glowing light passed above them. The knights all
+rose up with great joy in their hearts and looked at the boy, for the
+blessed miracle had come again, and it was a sign.
+
+But Parsifal stood still with wonder and trouble in his heart; and when
+they asked if he knew what his eyes had seen, he only shook his head.
+
+So the hope and joy went from the knights, and they led him out and sent
+him on his way.
+
+And the boy Parsifal traveled down into the world. And as he went he met
+many wrongs, and he began to know what evils there were.
+
+Now whenever one crossed his way, he went to it and handled it. But
+behold his mind was so pure and godlike that whenever he touched evil to
+learn what it was, it grew into some gentle thing in his hand. He went
+throughout the whole world seeking to know what evil was, but he was so
+mild and beautiful that wrongs fell away before him, or were healed as
+he passed. And he went on and on to the very kingdom of Evil, at last,
+and when its king saw him, he cried out with a great cry, and hurled his
+spear; but it only floated above the head of Parsifal, and when he
+seized it in his hand the whole kingdom melted away. And Parsifal found
+he was standing in a sunny meadow not far from the holy mountain; and he
+went up to the knights and stood with them in the temple, and his face
+was like the face of an angel. They say the king was healed as he
+looked, and that the wonderful light shone above them and was with them
+always,--forever.
+
+
+
+
+  Where the quiet colored end of evening smiles,
+      Miles and miles.
+
+            --_Robert Browning._
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Jean Francois Millet_
+
+THE ANGELUS]
+
+
+THE ANGELUS.
+
+
+Every evening after sunset, when the most wonderful soft light is in the
+sky and it is very still everywhere, the old bell in the steeple chimes
+out over the village and the fields around. No one quite knows what the
+evening bell sings, but the tone is so beautiful that everyone stands
+still and listens.
+
+Ever since the oldest grandfather can remember, the dear bell has sung
+at evening and everyone has listened, and listened, for the message.
+
+A great many people said there was really no message at all, and one
+very learned man wrote a whole book to show that the song of the evening
+bell was nothing but the clanging of brass and iron; and almost everyone
+who read it believed it. But there were many who were not wise enough to
+read, so they listened to the sweet tone just as lovingly as they had
+listened when they were little children.
+
+Sometimes when the sweet song pealed out, the old shoemaker would forget
+and leave his thread half drawn, and while he listened a wonderful
+smiling light shone in his face. But whenever the little grandson asked
+him what the bell said to him, the old man only shook his head and
+pulled the stitch through and sewed on and on, until there was not any
+more light; and for this reason the little boy began to think that the
+bell was singing something about work. He thought of it very often when
+he sat on his grandfather's step listening to the song and watching the
+people. Sometimes those who had read the learned book spoke together and
+laughed quite loudly, to show that they were not paying any attention to
+the bell; and there were others who seemed not to hear it at all. But
+there were some who listened just as the old grandfather had listened,
+and many who stopped and bowed their heads and stood quite still for a
+long, long while. But the strangest was, that no one ever could tell the
+other what the bell had sung to him. It was really a very deep mystery.
+
+Now there was a painter who had such loving eyes that even when he
+looked on homely, lowly things, he saw wonder that no one else could
+see. He loved all the sweet mysteries that are in the world, and he
+loved the bell's song; he wondered about it just as the little boy had
+done.
+
+One evening, I think, he went alone beyond the village and through the
+wide brown fields; he saw the light in the sky, and the birds going
+home, and the steeple far off. It was all very still and wonderful, and
+as he looked away on every side, thinking many holy thoughts, he saw a
+man and a woman working together in the dim light. They were digging
+potatoes; there was a wheelbarrow beside them, and a basket. Sometimes
+they moved about slowly, or stooped with their hands in the brown earth.
+And while they worked, the sound of the evening bell came faintly to
+them. When they heard it they rose up. The mother folded her hands on
+her breast and said the words of a prayer, and thought of her little
+ones. The father just held his hat in his hand and looked down at their
+work. And the painter forgot all the wonder of the sky and the wide
+field as he looked at them, for there was a deeper mystery. And it was
+plain to him.
+
+But the man and the woman stood there listening; they did not know that
+the bell was singing to them of their very own work, of every loving
+service and lowly task of the day.
+
+The bell sang on and on, and the peace of the song seemed to fill the
+whole day.
+
+
+
+
+  Come, let us with the children live.
+
+                   --_Friedrich Froebel_
+
+
+FRIEDRICH AND HIS CHILD-GARDEN.
+
+
+Friedrich Froebel--"Little Friedrich," they called him long ago. Is it
+not strange to think that the great men who bring the beautiful deeds to
+the world were once little children? Do you know how these children grow
+so great and strong that they can do a loving deed for the whole world
+at last? They do little loving deeds every day.
+
+This gentle Friedrich loved more and more things every day that he
+lived. But when he was a little boy he was very lonely sometimes,
+because he had no playmates except the flowers in the old garden. It
+seemed to him these flowers were always playing plays together. The
+little pink and white ones on the border of the beds seemed always
+circling round the sweet tall rose, and laughing and swaying in the
+wind. It was so gay sometimes that he laughed aloud to see them all
+nodding and bowing, and the rose bowing too.
+
+Friedrich was so gentle that his doves would flutter around his head and
+settle on his outstretched arms, and even the little mother bird, with
+her nest in the hedge, would let him stand near when she told little
+stories to her babies. Friedrich had no dear mother, but he had a tall,
+strong brother who would sometimes take him to the sweet wide meadows
+and tell him beautiful stories about the strange little bugs and busy
+bees, and stones and flowers.
+
+But after awhile Friedrich's father thought he was growing too old to
+play all day long. So he said to him one day, "Friedrich, you must begin
+to learn." When Friedrich heard this he was glad, because he wanted to
+know about all the wonderful things in the world. But when he had to
+sit still for long hours and learn out of large books that hadn't a
+single picture, it was very hard. "But there is no other way, little
+Friedrich," his teachers told him.
+
+As the time went on he grew as tall and strong as his brother. And then
+what do you think happened? Just the same thing that happened to our
+America when George Washington led out all the brave men. Friedrich's
+dear Germany was in great trouble, and she called to all her brave men
+to come and save her. And Friedrich marched away with all the
+others--marching, marching, with the drums beating and the flags flying.
+
+Then after a long while, when peace had come back and all was quiet and
+joyful again, there came to Friedrich a sweet thought that grew and
+grew. Can you think what it was? It was half about his old garden and
+the playing flowers, and half about little children. Whenever he saw a
+child tear a flower or stone a bird he felt sad, and this thought would
+grow stronger in his heart.
+
+Sometimes he would gather up all the children and take them to the
+meadow, and teach them about the leaves and stones, the flowers and
+birds and ants, as his brother used to teach him, and then they would
+play the very plays the wind and flowers and birds had played. So he
+called it his kindergarten,--his child-garden,--and he began to show to
+the whole world that little children must learn and grow in the same
+sweet way that flowers do.
+
+And he worked years and years, teaching and working out this wonderful
+message that had come to him. He loved God and children and this shining
+thought better than himself, and he wore poor clothes and gave up
+things, that the beautiful deed might live in the world.
+
+
+
+
+The true light, which lighteth every man that cometh
+  into the world.
+       --_St. John._
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Antonio Allegri da Correggio_
+
+THE HOLY NIGHT]
+
+
+THE HOLY NIGHT.
+
+
+In the far-off places of the world where men do not pass often, it is
+nothing to be poor. Little Hansei and his mother were poor, but that was
+nothing to him. They lived on the side of a great hill, where, save
+their small black hut with its little gauzy curl of smoke, there was no
+sign of life as far as eye could reach. And it seemed to Hansei that the
+whole world was theirs, and they were the whole world. Yet on fair days,
+far below, the misty towers and steeples of a city showed. But this was
+as unreal and unreachable as dreams and clouds to Hansei; the only
+difference was, a yellow road wound down to it, and if one went far
+enough he might some day reach that strange, misty place. But
+dreams--they always went at morning; and clouds--if he climbed to the
+highest point of the hill he could never reach them!
+
+Sometimes people had passed that way. Once a man had gone bearing a
+burden. Another time, as Hansei and his mother gathered up their fagots
+at evening, a man and woman passed together; the sunset light was on the
+woman, and she sang as she went. Again, men in dark robes and hoods
+passed by; some had ridden on mules, some were grave and walked, reading
+from small books, others laughed. And these were all (except a peddler
+who had lost his way) that Hansei had ever seen go by.
+
+People seldom went that way; the road was steep, and there was an easier
+way down at the other side, his mother said.
+
+Once Hansei asked her if those who had passed were all the people there
+were besides themselves. His mother said, "There are others off there,"
+pointing to the city.
+
+Every morning before it was light Hansei's mother went away to the other
+side of the hills somewhere.
+
+The first time he awoke and found the black loaf and water waiting and
+his mother gone, he had cried and searched and called her over and over.
+"Mother! Mother!" he had cried as loud as he could call down the yellow
+road.
+
+"Mother! Mother!" had come a strange voice from beyond the hills; and
+Hansei's heart had leaped with a new joy. He cried back wildly, "Where
+are you?"
+
+"Where are you?" cried the voice again.
+
+"I am here!"
+
+"I am here!"
+
+"Come to me!"
+
+"Come to me!"
+
+All day Hansei and the strange voice from beyond the hills called and
+cried to each other. Hansei thought: "It is true there are others off
+there, and some one is calling to me."
+
+At night the mother came back. Hansei asked: "Where have you been?" and
+put up his arms. His mother said: "At the other side of the hill," and
+touched his head gently.
+
+"What did you do so long?"
+
+"I made lace."
+
+"What is lace?"
+
+"It is like that a little," and she pointed to a cobweb stretching from
+a dead twig to a weed. Hansei looked and slowly put his foot through it.
+
+"Must you go tomorrow and next day?" he asked.
+
+"Next day and always," said the mother, looking off down the yellow
+road.
+
+Hansei cried: "Let me go too; let me go!"
+
+"Hush, no; it is dark where I go."
+
+"Is there no sun at the other side of the hill?"
+
+"Yes, yes; but we who make lace sit in darkness."
+
+Hansei asked: "Why must there be lace?"
+
+The mother stared into the dusk. "Because," she said slowly, "there are
+princesses and great ladies down there who must be beautiful."
+
+"What is beautiful?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+Always through the dusky summer evenings they sat together on the
+doorstep, the mother with her bent head resting on her hand, and Hansei
+staring up at the great sky and clouds and stars above him. Sometimes
+the mother told strange stories, but oftener they sat silent.
+
+When winter came it seemed to Hansei that half of all the joy and light
+and life went out of the world. There were no birds nor bugs nor bees
+left; the flowers were gone, and the days were short and gray. It was
+cold, and he could only stay in the dim little house, playing with small
+sticks and stones, or tracing the frostwork on the one little window.
+Frost was like lace, his mother had told him.
+
+Sometimes, too, he would try to sing as the woman had sung who passed
+that summer time.
+
+One evening in the middle of winter Hansei and his mother started out to
+a bit of woods skirting the other side of the yellow road. Hansei sang
+as they went; it was half what the woman had sung and half like nothing
+that was ever heard. Sometimes this tune made his mother smile a little,
+but oftener she did not hear it.
+
+As they crossed the yellow road his mother stopped and looked, as she
+always did.
+
+"Hark!" she said, hushing the singing with her hand. Hansei stood still
+and listened. Yes, yes, they were coming--"the others." It sounded again
+as it had the day the men had ridden by, only more--more; and they were
+coming nearer. There were voices and the beat of footsteps, and
+sometimes Hansei heard a strange sound that might be singing or wind
+moaning.
+
+Hansei said: "I am so afraid." But his mother did not hear him. He hid
+his face in her gown and waited. They were coming on and on; and they
+were saying something together,--strange words that Hansei had never
+heard. Nearer and nearer! He felt them passing close where he and his
+mother stood; he raised his head and looked.
+
+He saw a long dark line of men, some riding and some walking. Their
+heads were bent, and they said the strange words together. Sometimes
+there was a burst like song, then the words again. There was one torch.
+
+Slowly they made their way down the yellow road. Hansei and his mother
+watched them as they went.
+
+He whispered, "Where are they going?"
+
+"Down there," said the mother softly. "It is the Christ-child's night."
+
+"Why do they go?"
+
+"To pray."
+
+"What will they ask?"
+
+"Light! light!"
+
+"Can all go?"
+
+"Yes, all."
+
+"Let us go, Mother; let us go! There is a voice down there that calls me
+often."
+
+The mother looked back at the little dark house, then down the road
+where the one point of light moved on.
+
+"Come, let us go; let us follow it," she said, taking his hand and
+hurrying down the steep way in the darkness.
+
+Through the long, wild night they toiled on and on. Always the little
+light went before, and always Hansei and his mother followed where it
+led.
+
+Once Hansei cried out: "See, Mother, the torch is the star, and we are
+the shepherds seeking the little Christ-child!" And he laughed.
+
+In the gray dawn they came to the misty city. "How strange! how
+strange!" thought Hansei, as they went down the narrow streets. "How
+many houses, and lights, and people! But the real light, the little
+star, we must not lose it."
+
+Just before them went the dark line of men and the torch. People who met
+them stepped aside and always made strange signs on their breasts.
+Suddenly the light went out, and the men disappeared into what seemed a
+great shadow.
+
+Hansei asked: "What is it?"
+
+His mother said: "A church."
+
+"Let us go in, too; the star went;" and Hansei, with all his strength,
+pushed back the great door.
+
+"People! people!" little Hansei had not dreamed there were so many of
+"the others." There in the dim light they were kneeling, praying for
+"light, light," his mother had told him.
+
+Far beyond there were small lights, like stars shining, and a man in a
+white robe, who said the strange words he had heard on the yellow road.
+Then the kneeling people all said something together. Hansei thought,
+"They are trying to tell him they want the light, and he does not
+understand." Hansei's mother knelt where she stood, and he crept down
+beside her. He heard her saying the words he did not know. He only said
+softly: "Light, light for them all!"
+
+An old woman knelt near him; not far off a lame boy and a mother with a
+sleeping child in her arms knelt also, and there beyond, a woman. Ah, he
+knew what "beautiful" was now! He looked to see if she wore lace like
+cobwebs and frost. She did not pray; she only knelt there. Tears were in
+her eyes. "Light for her and all," whispered Hansei over and over.
+
+Then it was as if a dream came true. Some one that had stood near
+stepped back, and there, there beyond, appeared the little Christ-child,
+just as his mother had told him. There was the beautiful mother, the
+wise men and angels, the youth, the maiden, and the light shining from
+the child and touching them all, all, even the poor little beasts off
+there!
+
+Hansei cried: "Look, look, Mother! the Christ-child!"
+
+His mother said, "Hush-hsh! It is not the real Christ-child, but a
+picture."
+
+Hansei looked back. "Not the real Christ-child? But, Mother, the star
+stopped here! Then the real Christ-child is here somewhere, I know."
+
+He looked about, but he saw only the old woman, the lame boy, the mother
+with her child, and the beautiful woman who could not pray. He turned
+back to the painted child and the light, and looked, and looked; he
+stared his eyes blind; at last he could not see; all seemed to fade, to
+go. The tired eyelids fell; his head drooped down on his mother's arm,
+and he slept.
+
+But his eyes still held the light, and he dreamed.
+
+It seemed to him that the beautiful pictured light grew and broadened
+into a great shining. "Surely," thought the little boy, "the real
+Christ-child is near! but where? not here; here is only the old woman
+and the lame boy and the others praying. But the great light--shining
+over all, above every head, in shining rings! how beautiful!"
+
+And he thought he cried out, "See, you have the light, all of you! Do
+not pray, but be glad!" They did not hear, and prayed on.
+
+"But the Christ-child--where is the real Christ-child?" he wondered. He
+thought he stood up and strained his eyes over the bent heads of the
+praying people, and while he looked he saw myriad circles of light begin
+to glow; and lo! there, near--so near--was the real Christ-child,--only
+it was the old woman. Dreams are strange!
+
+Her bent, trembling body seemed going, fading, and there knelt a shining
+being,--the real Christ-child; yet it was the old woman. And the lame
+boy, the hurt creature, as he looked, melted into the shadow of his
+radiant, perfect self, and shined too. The mother with her child grew
+bright, bright; and each of the kneeling, praying ones was a perfect
+shining child! The light grew into glory; the fullness of joy broke into
+singing; angels, heavenly hosts, singing, "The Christ is here,--here in
+the world!"
+
+But what--? Who--? Why, his mother, to be sure, leaning above him.
+
+"Wake, Hansei; hear the music! See the choir boys in white, like
+angels."
+
+Hansei opened his eyes wide. The glorious Christmas morning was beaming
+full upon him through the great window, and he saw the light of the new
+day touching the bent old woman, the lame boy, the mother with her
+child, the beautiful woman beyond, and the pictured Christ.
+
+He heard clear voices, "Peace on earth!"
+
+But the dream--the dream!
+
+"I have found the real Christ-child," he whispered.
+
+
+
+
+  Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, ... snatch Saul the mistake,
+  Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now,--and bid him awake
+  From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set
+  Clear and safe in new light and new life,--a new harmony, yet
+  To be run, and continued, and ended--who knows?--or endure!
+
+                                  --_From Browning's "Saul."_
+
+
+[Illustration: _By Bartolome Esteban Murillo_
+
+THE DIVINE SHEPHERD]
+
+
+SAUL AND DAVID.
+
+
+The great King Saul of Israel was sad, and the sorrow grew and grew
+until it spread abroad through the whole nation. Even it came to the
+simple folk who minded sheep and lived in the far hills.
+
+"The mighty king is sad," said one who had come from a journey. And the
+people gathered about him and marveled that a king should sorrow.
+
+"The king is sad," said the one. "He has traveled into the great desert,
+where nothing blooms and there are no rivers."
+
+The people stood still and looked off over their stretching pastures,
+and heard the gush of water brooks.
+
+"He sits alone in a dim tent, with his head in his hands," said the one.
+"His sword rests at his feet. The army goes no more to battle. The
+servants weep and pray, and strain their eyes over the burning sand,
+waiting."
+
+"Waiting?" said the men.
+
+"For one to come," said the other.
+
+"Who shall come?" they asked together.
+
+"The joy-bringer," said the man.
+
+The shepherds looked at one another, and then away; and when they had
+stood awhile in silence, they moved off after their sheep.
+
+The boy David went swiftly. His feet pressed springing grass, he smelt
+the odor of new-turned earth, and the sound of water was in his ears. He
+could not think that there were really deserts. But he thought of the
+sad, lonely king, and wished that he might go to him. He came to where
+his sheep were feeding, and stood among them and heard their bleating;
+but he did not think of them. He was looking into the wide sky, and
+wondering if God would not send his angel to save the king; but there
+was no sign save the peace and wonder that had always shone there. He
+turned and led his flock to the fold, and when he had done so he sat
+down on the hillside and played upon his harp; and the music was as
+beautiful as silence, so that shy creatures did not fear, but crept
+around to listen. The pale moon rose up, and the stars shone down like
+loving, glistening eyes.
+
+Sometimes there had come to David strange longings for far-off things,
+and he too had grown sad like the king. But then would he take his harp
+to the hill and sing of the sweet promise of the perfect gift that was
+to come from God to the world,--to shepherds and kings and all. And when
+he had sung so, behold! the peace was again in his heart, and he wished
+no longer to go seeking, for he knew the gift would surely come.
+
+He thought of the king as he sang. "He has forgot the promise; I must go
+to him and sing," he said.
+
+So he rose up in the night, and woke his brother to give him charge over
+his flock. And when he had plucked long-stemmed, dripping lilies to wind
+through his harp strings, he went away by the same road all other
+travelers had gone.
+
+Day after day he journeyed, passing through sweet fields and pastures.
+He saw men sowing, and others tending their flocks; and there were
+mothers with babes in their arms and children about them. "The gift will
+come to you, and you, and all," he thought, as he passed.
+
+He went through the wilderness, and even through the dry desert; but his
+heart was singing and the thought of the promise was there like living
+water.
+
+Now the king's servants saw him afar off, and they ran out to meet him
+and knelt at his feet; for when they saw the light on his shining hair,
+and the harp with living lilies, they thought, "It is God's angel!"
+
+But he said to them, "I am only a loving boy; I am David, a shepherd,
+and I have come to King Saul." He smiled into the wondering faces, and
+passing among them he came to where the king was, and stood in his very
+presence; and he was not afraid. They say a beautiful light shone from
+his face.
+
+The tent was dim, and the weary king did not stir.
+
+The boy knelt down, and stripping off the lilies, he tuned his harp and
+began to sing. The poet tells how he played for the mighty king; and
+what do you think it was? Just the tune all his sheep knew; always it
+brought them, one after one, to the pen door at evening. It was so
+strange and sweet a tune that quail on the corn lands would each leave
+its mate to fly after the player; and crickets--it made them so wild
+with delight they would fight one another. Then he played what sets the
+field mouse musing, and the cattle to deeper dreaming in the sunny
+meadows.
+
+He sang of green pastures and water brooks, and the morning joy of
+shepherds bounding over wide pastures. The light shines in streams, the
+hungry, happy sheep break out, and the long golden day is to be lived!
+
+Then he sang of the peace that comes to shepherds at evening, when the
+gentle sheep and sleepy, bleating lambs go home across the sweet wide
+meadow, and the stars come out in the serene heavens. Then it is to the
+shepherd as if nature and man and God are all one, and love is all there
+is in the whole world.
+
+At last the boy David sang of the perfect gift that will surely come;
+and he sang until the evil sorrow itself grew into peace.
+
+The king stirred and raised his head. It was to him as if it had rained,
+and flowers had sprung up in the desert.
+
+
+
+
+A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION
+
+
+The diacritical markings in this list agree with the latest edition of
+Webster's International Dictionary, and are as follows:
+
+  [=a]--_as in_ f[=a]te.
+  [)a]--_as in_ [)a]dd.
+  [+a]--_as in_ pref' [+a]ce.
+  [:a]--_as in_ f[:a]r.
+  [.a]--_as in_ gr[.a]ss.
+  [a:]--_as in_ [a:]ll.
+  [=e]--_as in_ [=e]ve.
+  [+e]--_as in_ [+e]-vent'.
+  [)e]--_as in_ [)e]nd.
+  [~e]--_as in_ h[~e]r.
+  [=i]--_as in_ [=i]ce.
+  [)i]--_as in_ p[)i]n.
+  [=o]--_as in_ r[=o]w.
+  [+o]--_as in_ [+o]-bey'.
+  o--_as in_ lord.
+  [)o]--_as in_ n[)o]t.
+  oe--_similar to_ u _in_ fur.
+  [=oo]--_as in_ s[=oo]n.
+  [)u]--_as in_ [)u]s.
+  [+u]--_as in_ [+u]-nite'.
+  [u.]--_as in_ f[u.]ll.
+  U--_similar to_ u _in_ fur.
+  [)y]--_as in_ pit' [)y].
+  e[u]--_as in_ [u]s.
+    (_prolonged_).
+  oi--_as in_ oil.
+  ou--_as in_ out.
+
+  K a guttural sound, similar to aspirated _h_.
+
+  N represents the nasal sound in French, as in _ensemble_
+    ([:a]N' s[:a]N' b'l).
+
+  [)w] similar to _v_.
+
+  Silent letters are italicized. Certain vowels, as _a_ and _e_, when
+  obscured, are also italicized.
+
+
+
+A WORD LIST
+
+  Amphibian ([)a]m f[)i]b' [)i] _a_n)
+  Angelus ([)a]n' g[+e] l[)u]s)
+  Antonio Allegri da Corregio ([)a]n t[=o]' n[)i] [+o]
+    [)a]ll[=e]' gr[)i] d[:a] k[)o]r [)e]d' j[=o])
+  applause ([)a]p pl[a:]z')
+  Asola ([:a] s[=o]' l[:a])
+  [)a]s' p[)i] r[=a]' tion (sh[)u]n)
+  Bartolome Esteban Murillo (b[:a]r t[)o]l m[=a]' [)e]st[=a]' b[:a]n
+    m[=oo] r[=e]' ly[=o])
+  Beatrice (b[=e]' [+a] tr[)i]s)
+  Brunhilde (br[=oo]n' h[)i]l' d_e_)
+  buoys (boiz)
+  castle (k[)a]s' 'l)
+  caverns (k[)a]v' [~e]rnz)
+  citrons (s[)i]t' r[)u]nz)
+  crouched (kroucht)
+  Dante Gabriel Rossetti (d[)a]n' t[)e] g[=a]' br[)i] [)e]l
+    r[)o]ss[)e]t' t[=e])
+  Earth-dwarfs ([e]rth'-dw[a:]rfs')
+  fagots (f[)a]g' [)u]tz)
+  Faust (foust)
+  Friedrich Froe]_e_' b_e_l (fr[=e]' dr[+e]K)
+  g[a:]_u_z' [)y]
+  gl[=e]_a_m_e_d
+  gl[)i]n' t[~e]r [)i]ng
+  Goethe (goe' t_e_h)
+  Hansei (h[.a]ns' [=e])
+  hedge (h[)e]j)
+  h[)o]l' l[)y] h[)o]_c_ks
+  indescribable ([)i]n' d[+e] skr[=i]b' [.a] b'l)
+  Innocence ([)i]n' n[+o] s_e_ns)
+  Israel ([)i]z' r[+a] [)e]l)
+  Jean Baptiste Greuze (zh[:a]N b[.a]' t[+e]st' gruz)
+  Jean Francois Millet (zh[:a]N fr[)o]N' sw[:a]' m[+e]' y[+a]')
+  Jules le Febvre (zh[=oo]l l_e_h f[+a]vr')
+  k[)i]n' d[~e]r g[:a]r' t[)e]n
+  knight (n[=i]t)
+  l[a:]_u_' r[)e]l
+  Liseuse (l[)i]' zeuz')
+  Mignon (m[+e]' nyoN')
+  Mimi (m[=e]' m[+e])
+  miracles (m[)i]r' [.a] k'lz)
+  m[=o]_a_n' [)i]ng
+  musician (m[+u] z[)i]sh' _a_n)
+  myriad (m[)i]r' [)i] _a_d)
+  mysterious (m[)i]s t[=e]' r[)i] [)u]s)
+  naught (n[a:]t)
+  Niebelungen (n[=e]' b[)e] l[u.]ng' _e_n)
+  Odin ([=o]' d[)i]n)
+  P[)a]r' [.a] d[=i]s_e_
+  P{:a]r' s[)i] f[.a]l
+  p[=e]_a_l' [)i]ng
+  P[)i]p' p[.a]
+  pr[=e]' l[=u]d_e_
+  probation (pr[+o] b[=a]' sh[)u]n)
+  quail (kw[=a]l)
+  quivered (kw[)i]v' [~e]rd)
+  radiance (r[=a]' d[)i] _a_ns)
+  R[)i]ch' _a_rd W[)a]g' n[~e]r
+  Saul (s[a:]l)
+  s[~e]_a_rch' [)i]ng
+  s[+e] r[=e]n_e_'
+  s[)e]v' [~e]r_e_d
+  sheaves (sh[=e]vz)
+  Siegfried (s[=e]g' fr[)i]d)
+  sm[=e]_a_r_e_d
+  tadpoles (t[)a]d' p[=o]lz)
+  thatched (th[)a]tcht)
+  tr[)u]n' d'l[)i]ng
+  vision (v[)i]zh' [)u]n)
+  Watts (w[)o]tz)
+  wearily (w[=e]' r[)i] l[)y])
+  weights (w[=a]ts)
+  w[)e]ld
+  Wilhelm Meister ([)w][)i]l' h[)e]lm m[=i]s' t[~e]r)
+
+
+
++---------------------------------------------------------------------+
+| Transcriber's Note:                                                 |
+|                                                                     |
+| The following symbols are used as indicated:                        |
+|                                                                     |
+| [+a], [+e], [+o], [+u] = a, e, o, and u with 'inverted tack' above; |
+| [.a] = a with 'dot' above;                                          |
+| [)a] = a with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [=a] = a with 'macron' above;                                       |
+| [a:] = a with 'umlaut' below;                                       |
+| [~e] = e with 'tilde' above;                                        |
+| [=e] = e with 'macron' above;                                       |
+| [)e] = e with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [)i] = i with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [=i] = i with 'macron' above;                                       |
+| [=o] = o with 'macron' above;                                       |
+| [=oo] = oo with 'macron' above;                                     |
+| [)u] = u with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [u.] = u with 'dot' below;                                          |
+| [)u] = u with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [)w] = w with 'breve' above;                                        |
+| [)y] = y with 'breve' above.                                        |
++---------------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+
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author	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 01:45:51 -0700
committer	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 01:45:51 -0700
commit	7d70ace13a64f482917d62cdf88902a43934e441 (patch)
tree	624f2a17751ee7f45962ea0f47c53faf4f270748