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diff --git a/old/66831-0.txt b/old/66831-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b7b6d06..0000000 --- a/old/66831-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14079 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Modern Essays and Stories, by Frederick Houk -Law - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Modern Essays and Stories - -Author: Frederick Houk Law - -Release Date: November 27, 2021 [eBook #66831] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Andrés V. Galia and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN ESSAYS AND STORIES *** - - - TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES - - -In the plain text version words in Italics are denoted by _underscores_ -and bold text like =this=. - -The book cover was modified by the Transcriber and has been added to -the public domain. - -A number of words in this book have both hyphenated and non-hyphenated -variants. For the words with both variants present the one more used -has been kept. - -Obvious punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected. - - - * * * * * - - - [Illustration: =_“Havelok had all he wanted to eat.”_=] - - - - - MODERN ESSAYS - AND STORIES - - A BOOK TO AWAKEN APPRECIATION OF - MODERN PROSE, AND TO DEVELOP - ABILITY AND ORIGINALITY IN WRITING - - EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION, NOTES, SUGGESTIVE - QUESTIONS, SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION, DIRECTIONS - FOR WRITING, AND ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS - - BY - - FREDERICK HOUK LAW, PH.D. - - Head of the Department of English in the Stuyvesant High School, - New York City, Editor of Modern Short Stories, etc. - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - THE CENTURY CO. - - - COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY THE CENTURY CO. - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THE - RIGHT TO REPRODUCE THIS BOOK, OR - PORTIONS THEREOF, IN ANY FORM. 3120 - - - - - PREFACE - - -In all schools pupils are expected to write “essays” but, curiously -enough, essay-reading and essay-writing are taught but little. In spite -of that neglect, the essay is so altogether natural and spontaneous -in spirit, so intensely personal in expression, and so demanding of -excellence of prose style, that it is _the_ form, _par excellence_, for -consideration in school if teachers are to show pupils much concerning -the art of writing well. The essay is to prose what the lyric is to -poetry--complete, genuine and beautiful self-expression, or better -still, self-revelation. - -Most of the writing done in schools is straightforward narration of -events, without much, if any, attempt to show personal reactions -on those events--mere diary-like accounts, at best; mechanical -descriptions that aim to present exterior appearance without attempting -to reveal inner meanings or to show awakened emotions; and stereotyped -explanations and arguments drawn, for the most part, from books of -reference or from slight observation. - -Beyond all this mechanical work lies a field of throbbing personal -life, of joyous reactions on all the myriads of interests that lie -close at hand, of meditations on the wonders of plant and animal life, -of humorous or philosophic comments on human nature, and of all manner -of vague dreams and aspirations aroused by - - “Such sights as youthful poets dream - On summer eves by haunted stream.” - -Without the slightest question, it is the duty of the school, and of -the teacher in particular, to lead pupils to appreciate honesty and -originality in unapplied, unpragmatic self-expression, and to show -pupils how they themselves may gain the very real pleasure of putting -down on paper permanent records of their own intimate thinking. - -Joseph Addison's _The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers_ and Washington -Irving's _Sketch Book_ have for many years made valiant but -unsuccessful efforts to fill the places that should be filled by more -modern representatives of the essay. Macaulay's _Essay on Johnson_ is -a biographical article for an encyclopedia; his essays on Clive and on -Hastings are polemics; and Carlyle's _Essay on Burns_ is a critical -disquisition. With the exception of _The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers_, -all these so-called essays are of considerable length and are unfitted -to serve as the best examples of the essay form;--for the essay, like -the lyric, demands brevity: it is, after all, only a quick flash of -self-revelation,--not a sustained effort. - -Then again, who would wish to learn to write like Addison, like -Washington Irving, like Macaulay, or like Carlyle! Those great writers -couched their thoughts in the language-fashions of their days, just as -they clothed their bodies in the garments of their times. To imitate -either their style of expression or their costumes would be to make -one's self ridiculous, or to take part in a species of masquerade. - -The extremely Latinized vocabulary of 1711, or the resonant periods and -marked antitheses of 1850, are as old-fashioned to-day as are the once -highly respected periwigs, great-coats and silver shoe buckles of the -past. - -The thoughts of yesterday are not the thoughts of to-day. There is, -in serious reality, such a thing as “an old-fashioned point of view.” -With all due reverence for the past, the best teachers of to-day -believe that it is just as necessary for students to use present-day -methods of expression and to cultivate present-day interests as it is -to take advantage of the railroad, the telegraph, the telephone, the -automobile, and the thousand other mechanical contrivances that aid -life to-day, but which were unknown in 1711 or in 1850. - -The type of essay that should be studied in school should concern -modern interests; represent the modern point of view; discuss subjects -in which young students are interested; be expressed in present-day -language and, in general, should set forward an example that pupils -may directly and successfully imitate. - -In order to do all this to the best advantage the essays chosen for -study should be exceedingly short. To a young student essays of -any considerable length, unless the subject matter is of unusually -intensive interest, present insuperable difficulties. Short essays, -on the other hand, appear to him exactly what they are,--charmingly -delightful expressions of personal opinion. - -The essays in this book, instead of telling about coffee houses or -stage coaches, Scotch peasants or literary circles in London or -Edinburgh, tell about such subjects as Christmas crowds, church bells, -walking, dogs, the wind, children, the streets of New York, school -experiences, and various modern ideals in work, in literature, and in -life. Most of the essays are exceedingly short, only one or two being -more than a few pages in length. - -The essays here given represent various types, including not only the -chatty, familiar essay but also informational essays, critical essays, -biographical essays, story essays, and one or two examples of highly -poetic prose. - -An informal introduction, paving the way to a sympathetic -understanding, precedes every essay. Notes below the pages of text -explain immediately all the literary or historical allusions with which -a young reader might not be familiar, their close position to the text -making it unnecessary for a student to hunt for an explanation. - -Suggestive questions given immediately after every essay make it -possible for the teacher to assign lessons quickly; they also enable -the student to study by himself and to feel assured that he will not -miss any important point. - -Twenty subjects, suitable as subjects for essays to be written by the -student in direct imitation of the essay that immediately precedes -them, follow every selection. In addition to this great number of -appropriate modern subjects, more than 500 in number, on which young -students can express their real selves, there are given, in connection -with every list of subjects, directions for writing,--such as a -teacher might give a class when assigning written work. - -The subject-lists and the directions for writing give the teacher a -remarkable opportunity to stimulate a class as never before; to awaken -a spirit of genuine self-expression; and to teach English composition -in a way that he can not possibly do through the medium of any of our -present-day rhetorics. - - * * * * * - -For the advantage of those teachers who wish to combine the teaching -of the essay and of the short story, and who may not have at hand -any suitable collection of short stories, the book includes not only -introductory material concerning the nature of the short story and -the development of the short story form, but also a series of stories -of unusual interest for young readers, so chosen and so arranged that -they represent the development of the short story through the legendary -tale, the historical story, and the romantic story of adventure, to -the story of realism and of character. In every case the story chosen -is one that any student will enjoy and will understand immediately, as -well as one that he can imitate both with pleasure and with success. - -Introductions, foot notes, suggestive questions, subjects for written -imitation, and directions for writing, follow every story. - - * * * * * - -If the book is used both as a means of awakening literary -appreciation and developing honesty, originality, and power in written -self-expression it will give pleasure to teachers and students alike. - - - - - INTRODUCTION - - - I - THE WRITING OF ESSAYS - - - “The plowman, near at hand, - Whistles o'er the furrowed land, - And the milkmaid singeth blithe....” - - -Why? Simply because they are happy; because they are healthy and -vigorous, and at work; because they are doing something that interests -them; because their hearty enjoyment in life must express itself in -some other way than in work alone: in fact, they whistle and sing just -for the doing of it,--not that they wish any other person to hear them, -and not that they wish to teach anything to anyone. Their whistling and -singing are spontaneous, and for the sake of expression alone. - -Many of the best English essays were written just for the joy of -self-expression. Serious workers in life, in their leisure moments, -have let their pens move, as it were, automatically, in a sort of frank -and full expression somewhat akin to the plowman's whistling and the -milkmaid's singing. - -Certainly in that joyous spirit Michel de Montaigne, in the sixteenth -century, wrote the delightfully familiar essays that have charmed -readers for over three hundred years, and that established the essay as -a literary type. In a like vein, frankly and personally, Charles Lamb, -who died in the first half of the nineteenth century, wrote intimate -confessions of his thoughts,--his memories of schooldays and of early -companionships and familiar places,--writing with all the warmth and -color of affectionate regard. Happily, and because he was glad to be -alive, Robert Louis Stevenson, almost in our own days, wrote of his -love of the good outdoor world with its brooks and trees and stars, -of his love of books and high thought, and his admiration of a manly -attitude toward life. - -For such people writing for the sake of expression was just as pure joy -as the plowman's whistling and the milkmaid's singing. - -Ordinary people write at least the beginnings of essays when they write -letters,--not business letters in which they order yards of cloth, or -complain that goods have not been delivered,--not letters that convey -any of the business of life,--but rambling, gossipy, self-revealing -letters, so illuminated with personality that they carry the very -spirit of the writers. - -Everyone, at times, talks or writes in a gossipy way of the things that -interest him. He likes to escape from the world of daily tasks, of -orders, directions, explanations and arguments, and to talk or write -almost without purpose and just for the sake of saying something. In -that sense everyone is a natural essayist. - -The true essayist, like the pleasant conversationalist, expresses -himself because it gives him pleasure. Out of his rich experience and -wide observation he speaks wisely and kindly. He has no one story to -tell and no one picture to present. He follows no rules and he aims -at no very serious purpose. He does not desire to instruct nor to -convince. Like the conversationalist, he is ready to leave some things -half-said and to emphasize some subjects, not because it is logical to -do so but because he happens to like them. He is ready at any moment to -tell an anecdote, to introduce humor or pathos, or to describe a scene -or a person--if so doing fits his mood. In general, the true essayist -is like the musician who improvises: he - - “Lets his fingers wander as they list, - And builds a bridge from dreamland.” - -Of all possible kinds of prose writing, the essay, therefore, gives the -greatest freedom. The essayist may reveal himself completely and in -any manner that he pleases. He may tell of his delight in wandering by -mountain streams, or in mingling with the crowds in city streets; he -may tell of his thoughts as he meditated by ancient buildings or in the -solemn half-darkness of age-old churches; he may dream of a long-gone -childhood or look ahead into a roseate future; he may talk of people -whom he has known, of books that he has read, or of the ideals of life. -Any subject is his, and any method of treatment is his,--just so long -as his first thought is the frank and full expression of himself. - -To write an essay,--even though it be only a paragraph,--is to gain -the pleasure of putting at least a little of one's real self down on -paper--just because to do so is pleasure. - - - II - THE NATURE OF THE ESSAY - -The essay, then, instead of being a formal composition, is -characterized by a lack of formality. It is a species of very -friendly and familiar writing. Like good conversation, it turns in -any direction, and drops now and then into interesting anecdotes -or pleasant descriptions, but never makes any attempt to go to the -heart of a subject. However serious an essay may be it never becomes -extremely formal or all-inclusive. - -A chapter in a textbook includes all that the subject demands and -all that the scope of treatment permits. It presents well-organized -information in clear, logical form. It aims definitely to explain or -to instruct. It may reveal nothing whatever concerning its writer. An -essay, on the other hand, includes only those parts of the subject that -interest the writer; it avoids logical form, and is just as chatty, -wandering, anecdotal and aimless as is familiar talk. It focuses -attention, not on subject-matter but on the personality of the writer. - -The essay does not reveal a subject: it reveals personal interests in -a subject. It touches instead of analyzing. It comments instead of -classifying. - -Truth may sparkle in an essay as gold sparkles in the sand of an -Alaskan river, but the presentation of the truth in a scientific -sense is no more the purpose of the essay than is the presentation -of the gold the purpose of the river. In the eighteenth century, -essayists like Joseph Addison, Richard Steele, Oliver Goldsmith and -Samuel Johnson, commented freely upon eighteenth century manners and -customs, but they made no attempt to present a careful survey of the -subject. Every writer wrote of what happened to interest him. To-day it -is possible to draw from the great body of eighteenth century essays -material for an almost complete survey of manners and customs in that -period--but that result is only an accident. The writers did not intend -it. - -The essayist is not concerned with giving accurate and -logically-arranged information. He thinks only of telling how his -subject appeals to him, of telling whether or not he likes it, and -why. The more personally he writes, the better we like his work. In -his revelation of himself we find a sort of revelation of ourselves as -well,--and we like his work in proportion to that revelation. - -Naturally, a good essay is short; for self-revelation is given in -flashes, as it were,--in sparkles of thought that gleam only for a -moment. Many so-called essays of great length are either only partly -essays, or else are made up of a number of essays put together. -Stevenson's _An Inland Voyage_ is partly a straightforward story of a -canoe trip, and partly a series of essays on subjects suggested by the -trip. It is possible to draw from a self-revealing book of considerable -length a great number of essays on a wide variety of subjects. The -essays gleam in the pages of ordinary material as diamonds gleam in -their settings of gold. - -The essay, as a literary type, is written comment upon any subject, -highly informal in nature, extremely personal in character, and brief -in expression. It is also usually marked by a notable beauty of style. - - - III - TYPES OF THE ESSAY - -Just as there are many kinds of houses and many kinds of boats so -there are many kinds of essays. Some essays tend to emphasize the -giving of information, lean very strongly toward formality, and place -comparatively little weight on personality,--and yet even such essays, -as compared with other and more serious writings, are discursive and -personal. They are like some people who seem to favor extreme formality -without ever quite attaining it. - -Other essays are critical. They point out the good and the bad, and -they set forward ideals that should be reached. The criticism they give -is not measured and accurate like the criticism a cabinet-maker might -make concerning the construction of a desk. It is more or less personal -and haphazard like the remarks of one who knows what he likes and what -he does not like but who does not wish to bother himself by going into -minute details. - -Many essays tell stories, but never for the sake of the stories alone. -They use the stories as frameworks on which to hang thought, or as -illustrations to emphasize thought. The essays hold beyond and above -everything the personality of the one who writes. - -Almost all essays are in some sense biographical, but they reveal -stories of lives, instead of telling the stories in organized form. -The little of biography that essays tell is just enough to permit the -writers to recall the memories of childhood, and the varied affections -and interests of life. For real biography one must go elsewhere than to -essays. - -Some essays lift one into a fine and close communion with their -writers, and give intimate companionship with a human soul. They are -the best of all essays. Such essays are always extremely familiar, and -deeply personal, like the essays of Michel de Montaigne and Charles -Lamb. About such essays is an aroma, a fascination, a delight, that -makes them a joy forever. As one reads such essays he feels that he is -walking and talking with the writers, and that he hears them express -noble and uplifting thoughts. - -The terse style of Francis Bacon; the magical phrases of Sir Thomas -Browne; the well-rounded sentences of Joseph Addison, Sir Richard -Steele and Oliver Goldsmith; the poetic prose of Thomas de Quincey; the -charm of the pages of Charles Lamb and Robert Louis Stevenson,--all -this is in no sense accidental. The intimate revelation of self, such -as is always made by the best essayists, creates the most pleasing -style. Genuine self-expression, whether it be the fervor of an -impassioned orator, the ardor of a lyric poet, or the meditative mood -of the essayist, always tends to embody itself in an appropriate style. -For that reason much of the best prose of the language is to be found -in the works of the great essayists. - -Some writers, like Thomas de Quincey, have so felt the significance -of beauty of style, and have so appreciated its relationship to the -revelation of mood and personality, that they seem, in some cases, to -have written for style alone. Their essays are unsurpassed tissues of -prose and poetry. - - - IV - THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ESSAY - -Through the medium of spoken or written meditations men have always -expressed their personalities, and thereby have approached the -writing of essays. Many sections of the Bible are practically essays, -especially those passages in Ecclesiastes that speak concerning -friendship, wisdom, pride, gossip, vengeance, punishment and topics of -similar type. In the ancient Greek and Roman orations are essay-like -sections in which the speakers paused for a moment to express their -innermost thoughts about life, patriotism, duty, or the great fact of -death. Cicero, one of the most remarkable Romans, wrote admirably and -with a spirit of familiarity and frankness, on friendship, old age, and -immortality. In all ages, in speeches, in letters, and in longer works, -essay-like productions appeared. - -The invention of the modern essay,--that is, of the extremely informal, -intimate and personal meditation,--came in 1571, in France. The -inventor of the new type of literature was Michel de Montaigne, a -retired scholar, counsellor and courtier, who found a studious refuge -in the old tower of Montaigne, where he meditated and wrote for -nine years. His essays, which were first published in 1580, are so -delightfully informal, so frankly personal, so clever and well-aimed in -humor, and so wise, that they are almost without parallel. In 1601 an -Italian, Giovanni Florio, translated Montaigne's essays into English. -Immediately the essays became popular and they have deeply influenced -the writing of essays in English. In 1597 Francis Bacon published the -first of his essays, but he did not write with the familiarity that -characterized Montaigne. Nevertheless, his work, together with that -of Montaigne, is to be regarded as representing the beginning of the -modern essay. - -It was not until the development of the newspaper in the eighteenth -century that the essay found its real period of growth as a literary -type. In the first half of the eighteenth century _The Tatler_ and -_The Spectator_, and similar periodicals, gave an opportunity for the -publication of short prose compositions of a popular nature. Joseph -Addison and Richard Steele, writing with kindly humor on the foibles -of the day, did much to establish the popularity of the essay. Samuel -Johnson, Oliver Goldsmith and other writers, in other periodicals, -continued the writing of essays, and made the power of the essay known. - -Until the time of Charles Lamb, in the first half of the nineteenth -century, no English writer had even approached the familiar charm -of Montaigne. Bacon had written in a formal manner; his followers -had held before them the thought of teaching rather than the thought -of self-revelation; the eighteenth century writers had delighted in -character studies and in observations on social life and customs. Lamb, -on the other hand, wrote not to instruct but to communicate; not about -the world but about himself. He restored the essay to its position as a -means of self-revelation. The most notable fact about Lamb's essays is -that they reveal him to us as one of the persons whom we know best. At -the same time humor, pathos and beauty of expression are so remarkable -in Lamb's essays that they alone give them permanent value. - -Other writers of the essay, like Leigh Hunt, Sydney Smith, William -Hazlitt, and Francis Jeffrey, wrote powerfully but none of them with -a charm equal to that of Lamb. Thomas de Quincey, writing in a highly -poetic style, did much to stimulate poetic prose. Lord Macaulay, -in a number of critical and biographical essays, wrote forcefully, -logically, and with a high degree of mastery of style but he paid -slight attention to self-revelation. - -It is evident, then, that there are two marked types of the -essay,--one, the formal, purposive composition; and the other informal -and intensely personal in nature. Ralph Waldo Emerson, Matthew Arnold, -John Ruskin, and James Russell Lowell represent the first type. Many -excellent articles in periodicals, and many of the best of editorial -articles in newspapers are in reality essays of the formal kind. -Washington Irving, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Henry D. Thoreau, George -William Curtis and many others represent the second type. - -In modern times the world has been blessed by the writing of a number -of essays of the charming, familiar type. John Burroughs has revealed -his love for the world of nature; Henry Van Dyke has taken us among -the mountains and along the rivers; and Gilbert K. Chesterton, Arnold -Bennett, Samuel M. Crothers, Charles Dudley Warner, Hamilton Wright -Mabie, Brander Matthews, Agnes Repplier and a host of others have -written on many and varied subjects. - -Great essayists, like great novelists or great poets or great -dramatists, are rare. It is only now and then that a Montaigne, a -Charles Lamb, or a Robert Louis Stevenson appears. It is to the glory -of literature, however, that there are so many who write in the field -of the essay, and who approach true greatness, even if they do not -attain it. - - - V - ESSAYS WELL WORTH READING - - Joseph Addison │ - │─> The Spectator - Sir Richard Steele │ - - - Apochrypha, The Ecclesiasticus - - Arnold, Matthew Culture and Anarchy - - Bacon, Francis Essays - - Bennett, Arnold How to Live on 24 Hours a Day - - Browne, Sir Thomas Religio Medici - - Bible, The Holy Ecclesiastes - - Burroughs, John Birds and Bees - - ” ” Locusts and Wild Honey - - ” ” Wake Robin - - ” ” Winter Sunshine - - ” ” Accepting the Universe - - Carlyle, Thomas Heroes and Hero Worship - - Curtis, George William Prue and I - - Chesterfield, Lord Letters to His Son - - Crothers, Samuel M. The Gentle Reader - - Emerson, Ralph Waldo Essays - - Goldsmith, Oliver The Citizen of the World - - Grayson, David Adventures in Contentment - - Harrison, Frederic The Choice of Books - - Hearn, Lafcadio Out of the East - - Holmes, Oliver Wendell The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table - - ” ” ” The Professor at the BreakfastTable - - ” ” ” The Poet at the Breakfast Table - - ” ” ” Over the Teacups - - Irving, Washington The Sketch Book - - Johnson, Samuel The Idler - - ” ” The Rambler - - Lamb, Charles Essays - - Lowell, James Russell Among My Books - - Matthews, Brander Aspects of Fiction - - Mabie, Hamilton Wright Essays on Nature and Culture - - Macaulay, Thomas Babington Milton - - Maeterlinck, Maurice Field Flowers - - ” ” News of the Spring - - ” ” Old Fashioned Flowers - - Mitchell, Donald G. Reveries of a Bachelor - - ” ” ” Dream Life - - Montaigne, Michel de Essays - - Pater, Walter Appreciations - - De Quincey, Thomas Vision of Sudden Death - - ” ” Dream Fugue - - Repplier, Agnes In Our Convent Days - - Ruskin, John Sesame and Lilies - - Roosevelt, Theodore The Strenuous Life - - Ross, E. A. Sin and Society - - Shairp, John Campbell Studies in Poetry and Philosophy - - Stevenson, Robert Louis Inland Voyage - - ” ” ” Travels with a Donkey - - ” ” ” Virginibus Puerisque - - ” ” ” Memories and Portraits - - ” ” ” Later Essays - - Thoreau, Henry David A Week on the Concord and Merrimac - Rivers - - ” ” ” Walden - - ” ” ” The Maine Woods - - ” ” ” Cape Cod - - Van Dyke, Henry Little Rivers - - ” ” ” Fisherman's Luck - - Wagner, Charles The Simple Life - - White, Gilbert The Natural History and Antiquities - of Selborne - - - - - VI - THE WRITING OF SHORT STORIES - -You cross a street and narrowly escape being run over by an -automobile; or you go on a picnic and have delightful experiences; -or you return from travel, with the memory of happy adventures--at -once an uncontrollable impulse besets you to tell some one what you -experienced. That desire to interest some one else in the series of -actions that interested you, is the basis of all story-telling. - -In one of its simplest forms story-telling is personal and concerns -events that actually occurred to the story-teller. Such narration -uses the words “I,” “me” and “mine,” seeks no development, aims at no -climax, and strikes at interest only through telling of the unusual. - -When you stand before an abandoned farm-house and see its half-fallen -chimney, its decayed boards, its gaping windows, and the wild vines -that clamber into what was once a home your imagination takes fire, -and you think of happier days that the house has seen. You imagine the -man and woman who built it; the children who played in its doorways; -and the happy gatherings or sad scenes that marked its story. That -quick imagination of the _might-be_ and the _might-have-been_ is the -beginning both of realism and of romance. The story you would tell -would use the third person, in all probability; would seek an orderly -development, and would aim at climax. - -When you stand in your window on a winter day and watch thousands of -snow-flakes float down from the sky, circling in fantastic whirls, -you see them as so many white fairies led by a master spirit in revel -and dance. You are ready to tell, with whatever degree of fancy -and skill you can command, the story of the-world-as-it-is-not and -as-it-never-will-be. A story of that kind is pure romance. - -Whenever you tell what happened to you or to some one else; or what -might have been or might be; or of what could not possibly be, your -object is to interest some one else in what interests you. You use many -expedients to capture and to hold interest: you make a quick beginning, -or careful preparation for the climax; you make your story as real or -as striking as you can make it; you cut it short or you tell it at -length; or you hold the reader's attention on some point of interest -that you do not reveal in full until the last. Whatever you do to -capture and to hold interest makes for art in story-telling. - -When an airplane descends unexpectedly in a country town every one in -the place wishes, as soon as possible, to learn whence the aviator came -and what experiences he had. Human curiosity is insatiable, and for -that reason people love to hear stories as well as to tell them. - -In fact, people gain distinct advantages by reading stories. They -become acquainted with many types of character; they see all sorts of -interesting events that they could never see in reality; they see what -happens under certain circumstances, and thereby they gain practical -lessons. Through their reading they gain such vivid experiences that -they are likely to have a larger outlook upon life. - - - VII - NATURE OF THE SHORT STORY - -Brevity is the first essential of a short story, and yet under the -term, “brief,” may be included a story that is told in one or two -paragraphs, and a story that is told in many pages. A story that is so -long that it cannot be read easily at a single sitting is not a short -story. - -To make one strong impression on the mind of the reader, and to make -that impression so powerfully that it will leave the reader pleased, -convinced and emotionally moved is the principal aim of a good -short story. To the production of that one effect everything in the -story,--characters, action, description, and exposition,--points with -the definiteness of an established purpose. All else is omitted, and -thus all the parts of the story are both necessary and harmonious. - -Centralizing everything on the production of one effect makes every -short story complete in itself. The purpose having been accomplished -there is nothing more to be said. The end is the end. - -A convincing sense of reality characterizes every excellent short -story. The author himself appears only as one who narrates truth, not -at all as one who has moved the puppets of imagination. The story -seems a transcript from real experience. The characters,--not the -author,--make the plot. Their personalities reveal themselves in -action. The entire story is founded substantially upon life and appears -as a photographic glimpse of reality. - -As in all other writing, the greater the art of the writer in adapting -style to thought, in using language effectively, the better production. -Word-choice, power of phrasing, and skill in artistic construction -count for as much in the short story as in any other type of literature. - - - VIII - TYPES OF THE SHORT STORY - -Since the short story represents life, it has as many types as there -are interests in life. It may confine itself to the ordinary events -of life in city or country, at home or abroad; it may concern past -events in various regions; or it may look with a prophetic glance into -the distant future. It may concern nothing but verifiable truth or be -highly imaginative, delicately fanciful, or notably grotesque. It may -draw interest from quaint places and odd characters, or it may appeal -through vividness of action. It may aim to do nothing more than to -arouse interest and to give pleasure for a moment, or it may endeavor -to teach a truth. - -Among the many types of the short story, a few are especially worthy of -note. - -Folk-lore stories are stories that have been told by common people for -ages. They come direct from the experience and the common sense of -ordinary people. They represent the interests, the faith and the ideals -of the race from which they come. - -Fables are very short stories that point out virtues and defects in -human character presented in the guise of animal life. - -Legends are stories that have come down to us from a time beyond our -own. They are less simple and direct than the ordinary folk-lore story. -Undoubtedly founded on actual occurrences they have tinged fact with a -poetic beauty that ennobles them and often gives them highly ethical -values. - -Stories of adventure emphasize startling events rather than character. - -Love stories emphasize courtship and the episodes of romantic love. - -Local color stories reveal marked characteristics of custom and -language, and the oddities of life notable in a particular locality. - -Dialect stories make use of the language peculiarities found in common -use by a particular type of people. - -Stories of the supernatural deal with ghostly characters and uncanny -forces. - -Stories of mystery present puzzling problems, and slowly, step by step, -lead the readers to satisfactory solutions. - -Animal stories, whether realistic or romantic, concern the lives of -animals. - -Stories of allegory, through symbolic characters and events, reveal -moral truths. - -Stories of satire, by ridiculing types of character, social customs, or -methods of action, tend to awaken a spirit of reform. - -Stories of science present narratives based upon the exposition and the -actual use of scientific facts. - -Stories of character emphasize notable personalities, place stress upon -motive and the inner nature rather than upon outer action, and clarify -the reader's understanding of human character. - - - IX - THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE SHORT STORY - -Although the beginnings of the short story existed in the past, and -although tales were told in all ages, the short story, in its present -form, is a comparatively new type of literature. The short, complete, -realistic narrative designed to produce a single strong impression, -came into being in the first half of the nineteenth century. The first -writer to point out and to exemplify the principles of the modern short -story was Edgar Allan Poe, 1809-1849. - -As early as 4000 B.C. the Egyptians composed the _Tales of the -Magicians_, and in the pre-Christian eras the Greeks and other peoples -wrote short prose narratives. Folk-lore tales go back to very early -times. The celebrated _Gesta Romanorum_ is a collection of anecdotes -and tales drawn from many ages and peoples, including the Greeks, the -Egyptians and the peoples of Asia. In the early periods of the history -of Europe and of England many narratives centered around the supposed -exploits of romantic characters like the ancient Greeks and Trojans, -Alexander the Great, Charlemagne and King Arthur. - -In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries the Italians became -skilful in the telling of tales called _novelle_. Giovanni Boccaccio, -1313-1375, brought together from wide and varied sources a collection -of one hundred such tales in a volume called _Il Decamerone_. He -united the tales by imagining that seven ladies and three gentlemen -who had fled from Florence to avoid the plague, pass their time in -story-telling. His work had the deepest influence on many later -writers, including particularly the English poet, Geoffrey Chaucer, -1340-1400, whose _Canterbury Tales_ re-tell some of Boccaccio's -stories. Chaucer imagines that a number of people, representing all -the types of English life, tell stories as they journey slowly to the -shrine of Thomas à Becket at Canterbury. His stories intimately reveal -the actual England of his day. He is the first great realist. - -In the sixteenth century many writers, particularly in Italy, France -and Spain, told ingenious stories that developed new interest in -story-telling and story-reading. - -The writing of character studies and the development of periodicals -led, in the eighteenth century, to such essays as _The Sir Roger de -Coverley Papers_, written for _The Spectator_ by Joseph Addison, -1672-1719, and Sir Richard Steele, 1672-1729. The doings of Sir Roger -de Coverley are told so realistically and so entertainingly that it was -evident that such material could be used not only to illustrate the -thought of an essayist but also for its own sake in stories founded on -character. - -About the beginning of the nineteenth century stories of an uncanny -nature,--of ghosts and strange events,--the so-called “Gothic” -stories,--became widely popular. Two German writers, E. T. A. Hoffmann, -1776-1822, and Ludwig Tieck, 1773-1853, wrote with such peculiar power -that they led other writers to imitate them. Among the followers of -Tieck and Hoffmann the most notable name is that of Edgar Allan Poe. - -Poe's contemporaries, Washington Irving, 1783-1859, and Nathaniel -Hawthorne, 1804-1864, likewise showed the influence of the “Gothic” -school of writing. Irving turned the ghostly into humor, as in _The -Legend of Sleepy Hollow_; Hawthorne wrote of the mysterious in terms -of fancy and allegory, as in _Ethan Brand_, _The Birth Mark_, and -_Rappaccini's Daughter_; Poe directed all his energy to the production -of single effect,--frequently the effect of horror, as in _The Cask of -Amontillado_, _The Black Cat_ and _The Pit and the Pendulum_. Poe's -natural ability as a constructive artist, and his genuine interest in -story-telling, led him to formulate the five principles of the short -story:--brevity, single effect, verisimilitude, the omission of the -non-essential, and finality. - -From the time when Poe pointed the way the short story has had an -unparalleled development. French writers like Guy de Maupassant; -British writers like Rudyard Kipling; Russian writers like Count Leo -Tolstoi, and American writers like O. Henry, Richard Harding Davis, -Frank R. Stockton, Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, F. -Hopkinson Smith, Jack London, and a thousand others, have carried on -the great tradition. - - - X - AUTHORS OF SHORT STORIES WELL WORTH READING - -Volumes containing short stories by the following writers will be found -in any public library. Any one who wishes to gain an understanding of -the principles of the short story should read a number of stories by -every writer named in the list. - - Thomas Bailey Aldrich Washington Irving - - Hans Christian Andersen Myra Kelly - - James Matthew Barrie Rudyard Kipling - - Alice Brown Jack London - - Henry Cuyler Bunner Brander Matthews - - Richard Harding Davis Ian Maclaren - - Margaret Deland Fiona McLeod - - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Edgar Allan Poe - - Eugene Field Thomas Nelson Page - - Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Ernest Thompson Seton - - Hamlin Garland F. Hopkinson Smith - - Nathaniel Hawthorne Frank R. Stockton - - Joel Chandler Harris Robert Louis Stevenson - - O. Henry Ruth McEnery Stuart - - Bret Harte Henry Van Dyke - - - - - CONTENTS - - PAGE - - PREFACE v - - INTRODUCTION ix - - I THE WRITING OF ESSAYS ix - - II NATURE OF THE ESSAY xi - - III TYPES OF THE ESSAY xii - - IV THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ESSAY xiv - - V ESSAYS WELL WORTH READING xvi - - VI THE WRITING OF SHORT STORIES xviii - - VII NATURE OF THE SHORT STORY xix - - VIII TYPES OF THE SHORT STORY xx - - IX THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE SHORT STORY xxii - - X AUTHORS OF SHORT STORIES WELL WORTH READING xxiv - - THE FAMILIAR ESSAY - - THE PUP-DOG _Robert Palfrey Utter_ 3 - - CHEWING GUM _Charles Dudley Warner_ 11 - - THE MYSTERY OF AH SING _Robert L. Duffus_ 16 - - OLD DOC _Opie Read_ 19 - - CHRISTMAS SHOPPING _Helen Davenport_ 26 - - SUNDAY BELLS _Gertrude Henderson_ 28 - - DISCOVERY _Georges Duhamel_ 31 - - THE FURROWS _Gilbert K. Chesterton_ 36 - - MEDITATION AND IMAGINATION _Hamilton Wright Mabie_ 40 - - WHO OWNS THE MOUNTAINS? _Henry Van Dyke_ 49 - - THE LEGENDARY STORY - - RUNNING WOLF _Algernon Blackwood_ 55 - - THE BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAY - - HOW I FOUND AMERICA _Anzia Yezierska_ 77 - - MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD _William Henry Shelton_ 94 - - A VISIT TO JOHN BURROUGHS _Sadakichi Hartmann_ 100 - - WASHINGTON ON HORSEBACK _H. A. Ogden_ 108 - - THE HISTORICAL STORY - - HAVELOK THE DANE _George Philip Krapp_ 118 - - THE STORY ESSAY - - POLITICS UP TO DATE _Frederick Lewis Allen_ 136 - - FREE! _Charles Hanson Towne_ 143 - - THE STORY OF ADVENTURE - - PRUNIER TELLS A STORY _T. Morris Longstreth_ 148 - - THE DIDACTIC ESSAY - - THE AMERICAN BOY _Theodore Roosevelt_ 168 - - THE SPIRIT OF ADVENTURE _Hildegarde Hawthorne_ 176 - - VANISHING NEW YORK _Robert and Elizabeth Shackleton_ 184 - - THE SONGS OF THE CIVIL WAR _Brander Matthews_ 203 - - LOCOMOTION IN THE TWENTIETH CENTURY _H. G. Wells_ 210 - - THE WRITING OF ESSAYS _Charles S. Brooks_ 219 - - THE RHYTHM OF PROSE _Abram Lipsky_ 225 - - THE REALISTIC STORY - - THE CHINAMAN'S HEAD _William Rose Benét_ 230 - - GETTING UP TO DATE _Roberta Wayne_ 239 - - THE LION AND THE MOUSE _Joseph B. Ames_ 253 - - THE CRITICAL ESSAY - - CODDLING IN EDUCATION _Henry Seidel Canby_ 267 - - A SUCCESSFUL FAILURE _Glenn Frank_ 271 - - THE DROLLERIES OF CLOTHES _Agnes Repplier_ 278 - - POETIC PROSE - - CHILDREN _Yukio Ozaki_ 284 - - SHIPS THAT LIFT TALL SPIRES OF CANVAS _Ralph D. Paine_ 287 - - PERSONALITY IN CORRESPONDENCE - - THE STATUE OF GENERAL SHERMAN _Theodore Roosevelt_ 291 - - THE ROOSEVELT SAINT-GAUDENS CORRESPONDENCE CONCERNING - COINAGE _Theodore Roosevelt and Augustus Saint-Gaudens_ 292 - - THE SYMBOLIC STORY - - HI-BRASIL _Ralph Durand_ 300 - - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - FACING - PAGE - - “Havelok had all he wanted to eat.” _Frontispiece_ - - The feeling stole over him without the slightest warning. - He was not alone 60 - - My great-grandmother 96 - - Colonel Humphreys landed in the ditch 116 - - “You made a fine signal” 164 - - It has been called the oldest building in New York 188 - - “A-ah, mystery!” said Mrs. Revis, clasping her beautiful hands - and gazing upward. “I adore mystery!” 236 - - “Isn't this great! They're here, every one of them! You're - awfully good to let us use the phonograph” 248 - - At the very take-off, a gasp of horror was jolted from - his lips 264 - - The fluctuations of fashion are alternately a grievance and a - solace 280 - - Its humming shrouds were vibrant with the eternal call of - the sea 288 - - Designing the ten- and twenty-dollar gold pieces 292 - - - - - MODERN ESSAYS - AND STORIES - - - - - THE FAMILIAR ESSAY - - - - - THE PUP-DOG - By ROBERT PALFREY UTTER - - _(1875--). Associate Professor of English in the University of - California. He taught for a time at Harvard and also at Amherst. - He is a delightful essayist, and contributes frequently to various - magazines._ - - =The writer of a familiar essay selects any subject in which he is - interested. Sometimes the more trifling the subject seems to be, - the more delightful is the essay. Trifles, in fact, make up life, - and around them center many of our deepest interests. The very - charm of the familiar essay lies in its ability to call attention - to the value of trifles,--to the little things in life, to little - events, and to all the odds and ends of human interests.= - - =The familiar essay is nothing more than happy talk that gives us, - as it were, a walk or a chat with one who has a keen mind, a ready - wit, and a pleasant spirit.= - - =_The Pup-Dog_ is an unusually excellent illustration of the - familiar essay. We all love him,--the pup-dog,--the good friend - about whom Mr. Utter has written so amusingly, so understandingly, - and so sympathetically. As we read we can see the dog jumping and - hear him barking; we laugh at his antics; we are, in fact, taking a - walk with Mr. Utter while he talks to us about his dog,--or our dog.= - - -Any dog is a pup-dog so long as he prefers a rat, dead or alive, to -chocolate fudge, a moldy bone to sponge cake, a fight with a woodchuck -to hanging round the tea-table for sweet biscuit. Of course he will -show traits of age as years advance, but usually they are physical -traits, not emotional. For the most part dogs’ affections burn warmly, -and their love of life and experience brightly, while life lasts. They -remain young, as poets do. Every dog is a pup-dog, but some are more so -than others. - -Most so of all is the Irish terrier. To me he stands as the archetype -of the dog, and the doggier a dog is, the better I like him. I love -the collie; none better. I have lived with him, and ranged the hills -with him in every kind of weather, and you can hardly tell me a story -of his loyalty and intelligence that I cannot go you one better. But -the collie is a gentleman. He has risen from the ranks, to be sure, but -he is every inch the gentleman, and just now I am speaking of dogs. -The terrier is every inch a dog, and the Irish is the terrier _par -excellence_. - -The man who mistakes him for an Airedale, as many do, is one who does -not know an Irishman from a Scot. The Airedale has a touch of the -national dourness; I believe that he is a Calvinist at heart, with a -severe sense of personal responsibility. The Irish terrier can atone -vicariously or not at all for his light-hearted sins. The Airedale -takes his romance and his fighting as seriously as an _Alan Breck_. The -Irish terrier has all the imagination and humor of his race; he has a -rollicking air; he is whimsical, warm-hearted, jaunty, and has the gift -of blarney. He loves a scrimmage better than his dinner, but he bears -no malice. - - His fellest earthly foes, - Cats, he does but affect to hate. - -The terrier family is primarily a jolly, good-natured crowd whose -business it is to dig into the lairs of burrowing creatures and fight -them at narrow quarters. The signal for the fight is the attack on -the intrusive nose. You can read this family history in the pup-dog's -treatment of the cat. The cat of his own household with whom he is -brought up he rallies with good-humored banter, but he is less likely -to hurt her than she him. He will take her with him on his morning -round of neighborhood garbage-pails, and even warm her kittens on -his back as he lies in the square of sunshine on the kitchen floor, -till they begin to knead their tiny claws into him in a futile search -for nourishment; then he shakes them patiently off and seeks rest -elsewhere. He will chase any cat as long as she will run; if she -refuses to run, he will dance round her and bark, trying to get up a -game. “Be a sport!” he taunts her. “Take a chance!” But if she claws -his nose, she treads on the tail of his coat, and no Irish gentleman -will stand for that. - -Similar are his tactics with human creatures. First he tries a small -bluff to see if he can start anything. If his victim shows signs of -fear, he redoubles his effort, his tail the while signaling huge -delight at his success. If the victim shows fight, he may develop the -attack in earnest. The victim who shows either fear or fight betrays -complete ignorance of dog nature, for the initial bluff is always -naïvely transparent; the pup-dog may have a poker face, but his tail -is a rank traitor. A nest of yellow-jackets in a hole in the ground -challenges his every instinct. He cocks his ear at the subterranean -buzzing, tries a little tentative excavation with cautious paw. Soon -one of the inmates scores on the tip of his nose, and war is declared -in earnest. There are leaping attacks with clashing of teeth, and -wildly gyrating rear-guard actions. Custom cannot stale the charm of -the spot; all summer, so long as there is a wing stirring, hornets -shall be hot i' the mouth. - -The degree of youth which the pup-dog attains and holds is that of the -human male of eleven or twelve years. He nurses an inextinguishable -quarrel with the hair-brush. His hatred of the formal bath is chronic, -but he will paddle delightedly in any casual water out of doors, -regardless of temperatures and seasons. At home he will sometimes scoff -at plain, wholesome food, but to the public he gives the impression -that his family systematically starve him, and his dietetic experiments -often have weird and disastrous results. You can never count on his -behavior except on formal occasions, when you know to a certainty that -he will disgrace you. His curiosity is equaled only by his adroitness -in getting out of awkward situations into which it plunges him. His -love of play is unquenchable by weariness or hunger; there is no time -when the sight of a ball will not rouse him to clamorous activity. - -For fine clothes he has a satiric contempt, and will almost invariably -manage to land a dirty footprint on white waist-coat or “ice-cream -pants” in the first five minutes of their immaculacy. He is one hundred -per cent. motor-minded; when he is “stung with the splendor of a sudden -thought,” he springs to immediate action. In the absence of any ideas -he relaxes and sleeps with the abandon of a jute door-mat. - -Dog meets dog as boy meets boy, with assertions of superiority, -challenge, perhaps fight, followed by friendship and play. No wonder -that with pup-boys the pup-dog is so completely at one; his code -is their code, and whither they go he goes--except to school. With -September come the dull days for him. No more the hordes of pirates -and bandits with bandanas and peaked hats, belts stuck full of dirks -and “ottermaticks,” sweep up and down the sidewalk on bicycles in open -defiance of the law, raiding lawns and gardens, scattering shrieking -tea-parties of little girls and dolls, haling them aboard the lugger -in the next lot and holding them for fabulous ransom. There is always -some one who will pay it with an imposing check signed “Theodore Wilson -Roosevelt Woodrow Rockefeller.” He prances with flopping ears beside -the flying wheels, crouches in ambush, gives tongue in the raid, flies -at the victims and tears their frocks, mounts guard in the cave, and -shares the bandits' last cookie. - -But when the pirates become orderly citizens, his day begins after -school and ends with supper. With his paws on the window-sill, his nose -making misty spots on the glass, he watches them as they march away in -the morning, then he makes a perfunctory round of the neighborhood, -inspecting garbage-pails and unwary cats. After that there is nothing -to do but relax in the September sunshine and exist in a coma till -the pirates return and resume their normal functions, except for his -routine attempt to intimidate the postman and the iceman. Perhaps he -might succeed some happy day; who knows? - -The pup-dog in the open is the best of companions; his exuberant -vitality and unquenchable zest for things in general give him endless -variety. There are times, perhaps, when you see little of him; he uses -you as a mobile base of operations, and runs an epicycloidal course -with you as moving center, showing only a flash of his tail on one -horizon or the flop of his ears on the other. You hear his wild cries -of excitement when he starts a squirrel or a rabbit. By rare luck you -may be called in time to referee a fight with a woodchuck, or once in a -happy dog's age you may see him, a khaki streak through the underbrush, -in pursuit of a fox. - -At last you hear the drumming of his feet on the road behind you; he -shoots past before he can shift gears, wheels, and lands a running jump -on your diaphragm by way of reporting present for duty. Thereafter -he sticks a little closer, popping out into the road or showing his -tousled face through the leaves at intervals of two or three hundred -yards to make sure that you are still on the planet. Then you may -enjoy his indefatigable industry in counting with his nose, his tail -quivering with delight, the chinks of old stone walls. You may light -your pipe and sit by for an hour as he energetically follows his family -tradition in digging under an old stump, shooting the sand out behind -with kangaroo strokes, tugging at the roots with his teeth, and pausing -from time to time to grin at you with a yard of pink tongue completely -surrounded by leaf mold. You may admire his zeal as inspector of -chipmunks, mice, frogs, grasshoppers, crickets, and such small deer. -Anything that lives and tries to get away from him is fair game -except chickens. If round the turn of the road he plumps into a hen -convention, memories of bitter humiliations surge up within him, and he -blushes, and turns his face aside. Other dogs he meets with tentative -growling, bristling, and tail-wagging, by way of asserting that he will -take them on any terms they like; fight or frolic, it is all one to him. - -You cannot win his allegiance by feeding him, though he always has his -bit of blarney ready for the cook. He loves all members of the family -with nice discrimination for their weaknesses: the pup-boy who cannot -resist an invitation to romp; the pup-girl who cannot withstand begging -blandishments of nose and paw, but will subvert discipline and share -food with him whenever and wherever she has it. He will welcome with -leapings and gyrations any one of them after a day's absence or an -hour's, but his whole-souled allegiance is to the head of the house; -his is the one voice that speaks with authority; his the first welcome -always when the family returns in a group. That loyalty, burning bright -and true to the last spark of life, that unfailing welcome on which a -man can count more surely than on any human love--indeed, there is no -secret in a man's love for a dog, however we may wonder at the dog's -love for the man. Let Argos and Ulysses[1] stand as the type of it, -though to me it lacks something of the ideal, not in the image of the -dog, but in the conduct of the man. Were I disguised for peril of my -life, and my dog, after the wanderings and dangers of many years, -lifted his head and knew me and then died, I think no craft could -withhold my feelings from betraying me. - -“Dogs know their friends,” we say, as if there were mystery in the -knowledge. The password of the fraternity is not hidden; you may hear -it anywhere. It was spoken at my own hearth when the pup-dog, wet -with autumn rain, thrust himself between my guest and the andirons -and began to steam. My guest checked my remonstrance. “Don't disturb -him on my account, you know. I rather like the smell of a wet dog,” -he added apologetically. The word revealed a background that made the -speaker at once and forever my guest-friend. In it I saw boy and dog in -rain and snow on wet trails, their camp in narrow shelter, where they -snuggle together with all in common that they have of food and warmth. -He who shared his boyhood with a pup-dog will always share whatever -is his with members of the fraternity. He will value the wagging of -a stubby tail above all dog-show points and parlor tricks. He will -not be rash to chide affectionate importunity, nor to set for his dog -higher standards than he upholds for himself. Do you never nurse a -grouch and express it in appropriate language? Do you never take direct -action when your feelings get away with you? When the like befalls the -pup-dog, have ready for him such sympathy as he has always ready for -you in your moods. Treat him as an equal, and you will get from him -human and imperfect results. - -You will never know exactly what your pup-dog gets from you; he tries -wistfully to tell you, but leaves you still wondering. But you may have -from him a share of his perennial puphood, and you do well to accept -it gratefully whenever he offers it. Take it when it comes, though the -moment seem inopportune. You may be roused just as you settle for a -nap by a moist nose thrust into your hand, two rough brown paws on the -edge of your bunk, a pair of bright eyes peering through a jute fringe. -Up he comes, steps over you, and settles down between you and the -wall with a sigh. Then, if you shut your eyes, you will find that you -are not far from that place up on the hill--the big rock and the two -oaks--where the pup-boy that used to be you used to snuggle down with -that first old pup-dog you ever had. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What is the effect of the title? - - 2. How does Mr. Utter make us love the dog? - - 3. What knowledge of dog life does the writer show? - - 4. Point out words or expressions that are usually applied only to - human beings, that are here applied to dogs. - - 5. Point out adjective effects. - - 6. How does the writer make the dog seem amusing? - - 7. How does the writer make the dog seem admirable? - - 8. What human characteristics are attributed to the dog? - - 9. Point out noteworthy examples of humor. - - 10. Show how the writer employs detail as a means of emphasis. - - 11. Point out examples of especially effective metaphor. - - 12. What is said concerning the pup-boy and the pup-girl? - - 13. How does the essay make us feel toward dogs? - - 14. What is the effect of the closing sentences? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. My Dog 11. Cats - 2. Lap Dogs 12. Kittens - 3. Police Dogs 13. Rabbits - 4. Hounds 14. Mice - 5. Shepherd Dogs 15. Squirrels - 6. Boston Bulls 16. Horses - 7. Great Danes 17. Robins - 8. Newfoundland Dogs 18. Sea Gulls - 9. Greyhounds 19. Cows - 10. Stray Dogs 20. Fish - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Select for your subject some animal with which you are intimately -familiar, and in which you are especially and sympathetically -interested. Write about that animal in such a way that you will -bring to the surface its most humorous qualities and its most -admirable qualities. Give a great number of details concerning the -animal's habits, but give those details in a gossipy manner. Use -quotations, if you can, or make allusions to books. Make all your work -emphasize goodness. Make your closing paragraph your most effective -paragraph,--one that will appeal to sentiment. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[1] According to Homer's _Odyssey_ when Ulysses returned after many -years of wandering, his old dog “Argos” recognized him, even in -disguise. - - - - - CHEWING GUM[2] - By CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER - - - _(1829-1900). A celebrated American essayist and editor. For many - years he wrote brilliant papers for_ Harper's Magazine _in the - departments called “The Editor's Drawer” and “The Editor's Study.” - He became the first President of the National Institute of Arts - and Letters. He was a great influence for good. Among his books - are_ My Summer in a Garden; Back-Log Studies; In the Wilderness; - The Relation of Literature to Life; As We Were Saying; Their - Pilgrimage. _He edited the valuable “American Men of Letters - Series,” and the remarkable work called_ Library of the World's - Best Literature, _a collection of extracts from the world's - literature, with which every student should be acquainted._ - - =The familiar essay takes for its subject anything that awakens the - interest of the essayist. Charles Dudley Warner wrote with freedom - and humor on a great number of subjects that in themselves suggest - light and humorous treatment rather than serious thinking. Among - his many informal essays is the one that follows, entitled _Chewing - Gum_.= - - =What Mr. Warner says in the essay is by no means serious. It is - like the spoken reflections of an amused observer who has had his - attention attracted to the common American habit of chewing gum in - public. At the same time, under the kindly and facetious remarks, - is an undercurrent of satire--and satire means criticism.= - - -In language that is unfortunately understood by the greater portion -of the people who speak English, thousands are saying on the first -of January, a far-off date that it is wonderful any one has lived to -see--“Let us have a new deal!” It is a natural exclamation, and does -not necessarily mean any change of purpose. It always seems to a man -that if he could shuffle the cards he could increase his advantages in -the game of life, and, to continue the figure which needs so little -explanation, it usually appears to him that he could play anybody -else's hand better than his own. In all the good resolutions of -the new year, then, it happens that perhaps the most sincere is the -determination to get a better hand. Many mistake this for repentance -and an intention to reform, when generally it is only the desire for -a new shuffle of the cards. Let us have a fresh pack and a new deal, -and start fair. It seems idle, therefore, for the moralist to indulge -in a homily about annual good intentions, and habits that ought to be -dropped or acquired, on the first of January. He can do little more -than comment on the passing show. - -It will be admitted that if the world at this date is not socially -reformed it is not the fault of the Drawer,[3] and for the reason that -it has been not so much a critic as an explainer and encourager. It -is in the latter character that it undertakes to defend and justify -a national industry that has become very important within the past -ten years. A great deal of capital is invested in it, and millions of -people are actively employed in it. The varieties of chewing gum that -are manufactured would be a matter of surprise to those who have paid -no attention to the subject, and who may suppose that the millions of -mouths they see engaged in its mastication have a common and vulgar -taste. From the fact that it can be obtained at the apothecary's, an -impression has got abroad that it is medicinal. This is not true. -The medical profession do not use it, and what distinguishes it -from drugs--that they also do not use--is the fact that they do not -prescribe it. It is neither a narcotic nor a stimulant. It cannot -strictly be said to soothe or to excite. The habit of using it differs -totally from that of the chewing of tobacco or the dipping of snuff. -It might, by a purely mechanical operation, keep a person awake, but -no one could go to sleep chewing gum. It is in itself neither tonic -nor sedative. It is to be noticed also that the gum habit differs -from the tobacco habit in that the aromatic and elastic substance is -masticated, while the tobacco never is, and that the mastication leads -to nothing except more mastication. The task is one that can never be -finished. The amount of energy expended in this process if capitalized -or conserved would produce great results. Of course the individual does -little, but if the power evolved by the practice in a district school -could be utilized, it would suffice to run the kindergarten department. -The writer has seen a railway car--say in the West--filled with young -women, nearly every one of whose jaws and pretty mouths was engaged -in this pleasing occupation; and so much power was generated that it -would, if applied, have kept the car in motion if the steam had been -shut off--at least it would have furnished the motive for illuminating -the car by electricity. - -This national industry is the subject of constant detraction, satire, -and ridicule by the newspaper press. This is because it is not -understood, and it may be because it is mainly a female accomplishment: -the few men who chew gum may be supposed to do so by reason of -gallantry. There might be no more sympathy with it in the press if -the real reason for the practice were understood, but it would be -treated more respectfully. Some have said that the practice arises from -nervousness--the idle desire to be busy without doing anything--and -because it fills up the pauses of vacuity in conversation. But this -would not fully account for the practice of it in solitude. Some -have regarded it as in obedience to the feminine instinct for the -cultivation of patience and self-denial--patience in a fruitless -activity, and self-denial in the eternal act of mastication without -swallowing. It is no more related to these virtues than it is to the -habit of the reflective cow in chewing her cud. The cow would never -chew gum. The explanation is a more philosophical one, and relates -to a great modern social movement. It is to strengthen and develop -and make more masculine the lower jaw. The critic who says that this -is needless, that the inclination in women to talk would adequately -develop this, misses the point altogether. Even if it could be proved -that women are greater chatterers than men, the critic would gain -nothing. Women have talked freely since creation, but it remains -true that a heavy, strong lower jaw is a distinctively masculine -characteristic. It is remarked that if a woman has a strong lower jaw -she is like a man. Conversation does not create this difference, nor -remove it; for the development of the lower jaw in women constant -mechanical exercise of the muscles is needed. Now, a spirit of -emancipation, of emulation, is abroad, as it ought to be, for the -regeneration of the world. It is sometimes called the coming to the -front of woman in every act and occupation that used to belong almost -exclusively to man. It is not necessary to say a word to justify this. -But it is often accompanied by a misconception, namely, that it is -necessary for woman to be like man, not only in habits, but in certain -physical characteristics. No woman desires a beard, because a beard -means care and trouble, and would detract from feminine beauty, but to -have a strong and, in appearance, a resolute underjaw may be considered -a desirable note of masculinity, and of masculine power and privilege, -in the good time coming. Hence the cultivation of it by the chewing of -gum is a recognizable and reasonable instinct, and the practice can -be defended as neither a whim nor a vain waste of energy and nervous -force. In a generation or two it may be laid aside as no longer -necessary, or men may be compelled to resort to it to preserve their -supremacy. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Why does the writer make use of some very colloquial - expressions? - - 2. Why did he use a number of long and somewhat formal words? - - 3. In what sense is the essay a New Year's essay? - - 4. Show how the author produces humor. - - 5. Show how the author avoids harshness of criticism. - - 6. What makes the essay forceful? - - 7. In what respects is the essay fantastic? - - 8. What advantage does the writer gain by appearing to support the - habit of chewing gum? - - 9. Point out examples of kindly satire. - - 10. What is the author's purpose? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Whistling 11. Teasing - 2. Lateness 12. Crowding - 3. Whispering 13. Rudeness - 4. Giggling 14. Inquisitiveness - 5. Writing notes 15. Untidiness - 6. Complaining 16. Forgetfulness - 7. Hurrying 17. Conceit - 8. Carelessness 18. Obstinacy - 9. Making excuses 19. Vanity - 10. Borrowing 20. Impatience - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -You are to write of some habit that is common and that is more -or less annoying to well-bred people. Make your words, in mock -seriousness, appear to defend the habit that you ridicule. Make -your style of writing somewhat ponderous, as though you were -writing with the utmost gravity, but be sure to write in such a way -that your essay will convey your sense of the ridiculous. Let your -whole essay so ridicule the annoying habit that you will tend to -destroy it. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[2] From _As We Were Saying_, by Charles Dudley Warner. Copyright by -Harper and Brothers. - -[3] Drawer. The _Editor's Drawer_ of _Harper's Magazine_ for which Mr. -Warner wrote many of his best essays. - - - - - THE MYSTERY OF AH SING - By ROBERT L. DUFFUS - - - _An editorial writer for the New York Globe, to which, on October - 5, 1921, he contributed the following humorous editorial article._ - - =As we go about in daily life various people attract our attention; - their peculiarities amuse us, and we make semi-humorous but kindly - remarks concerning them. Such remarks are the germs of essays like - the following.= - - =In the essay, _The Mystery of Ah Sing_, there is humor but not a - single unkind word. The essay makes us smile, but with sympathy and - understanding. Such essays, trivial as they may be, are restful and - pleasing.= - - -Ah Sing comes on Tuesdays to get the washing and on Saturdays to bring -it back. He is an urbane, smiling person, who appears to view life -impersonally and dispassionately. One would say that he realized that -the career of Ah Sing was not of prime importance in a population so -numerous and a universe so extensive. He loves to ask questions. How -old is the mistress of the house? Where did she come from? How much -does the master of the house earn? What does he do? Why haven't they -any children? Where did they get all the books and pictures? - -Ah Sing always wants to know about the vacations, both before and -after taking, and looks intelligent when places like Nantucket and the -Thousand Islands are mentioned. He follows the family fortunes like an -old retainer, and seems to possess a kind of feudal loyalty. It would -be morally impossible, not to say physically, to give the washing to -any one but Ah Sing. He would come for it, and the mistress of the -house would sink through the floor with contrition and embarrassment. -He may die out of his job, or go back to China out of it, there to live -like a mandarin, but he will not be fired out of it. Never will he join -the army of unemployed; never will he stand humbly asking work. He is -a monopoly, an institution, a friend. - -So far one gets with Ah Sing. To lose him would be like losing a -beloved pipe or a comfortable pair of slippers. He belongs amid the -furniture of living, and is as simple, homely, and admirable as -grandpa's picture on the wall. But what is Ah Sing thinking about? What -is going on across that gulf which separates him from us? How many -transmigrations must we all go through before we could know Ah Sing as -well as we know the family from Indiana which moved in next door last -week? How shall we penetrate to the soul of Ah Sing? - -If we could answer these questions we could present ourselves forthwith -at Washington with the solution of the world's most vexatious problem. -But the answers are dark, Ah Sing is remote, and the East and the West -have not yet met. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. In what respects is Ah Sing a mystery? - - 2. Why did the author write about Ah Sing? - - 3. What are Ah Sing's amusing characteristics? - - 4. What are Ah Sing's best characteristics? - - 5. Show that the author's language is original. - - 6. Show that the essay increases in effect toward the end. - - 7. How does the author avoid unkindness or satire? - - 8. How does the essay affect the reader? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. The Janitor 11. Grandmother - 2. The Peanut Man 12. The Milk Man - 3. The Auctioneer 13. The Small Boy - 4. The Blind Man 14. The Newspaper Man - 5. The Tramp 15. The Usher - 6. The Old Soldier 16. The Policeman - 7. The Violin Player 17. The Street Sweeper - 8. The Dancing Teacher 18. Mother - 9. The Scrub Woman 19. The Neighbors - 10. The Baby 20. Relatives - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Write, with all kindness, about some one who amuses you. Do not include -in your essay anything that will be in the nature of fault-finding or -complaint. Point out, in a humorous way, the admirable and praiseworthy -characteristics of the person about whom you write. Instead of writing -a list of characteristics use original expressions that will indicate -the real spirit of the character. - - - - - OLD DOC - By OPIE READ - - - _(1852--). An American journalist, noted for his work as Editor of_ - The Arkansas Traveller. _Among his books, most of which concern - life in Arkansas, are_: Len Gansett; My Young Master; An Arkansas - Planter; Up Terrapin River; A Kentucky Colonel; On the Suwanee - River; Miss Polly Lop; The Captain's Romance; The Jucklins. - - =The character sketch is interesting for the same reason that gossip - is interesting: we notice our neighbors and are curious to learn - more about them. We are all sharp observers of our fellows. We see - their oddities, their cranks, and their amusing habits just as - clearly as we see their virtues. We laugh and we admire--in much - the same spirit that a mother laughs at her baby, however much she - loves it.= - - =Character sketches have been popular for many centuries. Chaucer's - _Prologue_ to _The Canterbury Tales_ is really a series of - shrewdly-true character sketches keenly tipped with humor, and full - of genuine respect for goodness. Sir Thomas Overbury (1581-1613) - wrote a number of strongly pointed sketches of character. A hundred - years later Joseph Addison and Sir Richard Steele conceived the - whimsical, good-hearted Sir Roger de Coverley and his company of - associates.= - - =Out of such work grew not only the character sketch of to-day but - also material for the short story and the novel.= - - =Mr. Read's presentation of the country doctor of the Old South is a - striking example of the character sketch. Following the example set - by Addison in 1711 Mr. Read first describes the character and then - tells an anecdote that reveals personality. The entire sketch is - redolent with good-humor.= - - -His house was old, with cedar-trees about it, a big yard, and in the -corner a small office. In this professional hut there was only one -window, the glass of which was dim with dust blown from the road. In -the gentle breeze the lilacs and the roses swopped their perfume, while -the guinea-hen arose from her cool nest, dug beneath the dahlias, -to chase a katydid along the fence, and then with raucous cry to -shatter the silence. The furnishings of the office were less than -modest. In one corner a swayed bed threatened to fall, in another a -wash-stand stood epileptic on three legs. Nailed against the wall -was a protruding cabinet, giving off sick-room memories. The village -druggist, compounder of the essences of strange and peculiar “yarbs,” -might have bitter and pungent medicines, but Old Doc, himself an -extractor of wild juices, had discovered the secret of the swamp. To go -into his office and to come forth with no sign was a confession of the -loss of smell. Sheep-shearing fills the nostrils with woolly dullness, -but sheep-shearers could scent Old Doc as he drove along the road. - -In every country the rural doctor is a natural sprout from the soil. -His profession is almost as old as the daybreak of time. He bled -the ancient Egyptian, blistered the knight of the Middle Ages, and -poisoned the arrow of the Iroquois. He has been preserved in fiction, -pickled in the drama, spiced in romance, and peppered in satire; but -nowhere was he so pronounced a character as in America, in the South. -He knew politics, but was not a politician. He looked upon man as a -machinist viewing an engine, but was not an atheist. He cautioned -health and flattered sickness. He listened with more patience to an -old woman harping on her trouble than to a man in his prime relating -his experience. His books were few, and the only medical journal found -in his office was a sample copy. When his gathered lore failed him, he -was wise in silence. To confess to any sort of ignorance would have -crippled his trade. It was an art to keep loose things from rattling -in his head when he shook it, and of this art he was a perfect master. -In raiment he was not over-adorned, but near him you felt that you -were in the presence of clothes. Philosophy's trousers might bag at -the knees, theology's black vestment might be shy a button, art might -wear a burr entangled in its tresses, and even the majesty of the law -might go forth in slippers gnawed by a playful puppy; but old doc's -“duds,” strong as they were in nostril penetration, must hug the image -of neatness. He was usually four years behind the city's fashion, but -this was shrewdly studied, for to dress too much after the manner of -the flowing present would have branded him a foppish follower. The men -might carp at his clean shirt every day, but it won favor with the -women; and while robust medicine may steal secret delight from seeing -two maul-fisted men punch each other in a ring, it must openly profess -a preference for the scandals that shock society. - -At no place along the numerous roads traversed by old doc was there a -sign-post with a finger pointing toward the attainment of an ultimate -ambition. No senate house, no woolsack of greatness, waited for him. -The chill of foul weather was his most natural atmosphere; and should -the dark night turn from rain to sleet, it was then that he heard a -knock and a “Hello!” at his door. Down through the miry bottom-land -and up the flint hillside flashed the light of his gig-lamp, striking -responsive shine from the eye of the fascinated wolf. The farther he -had to travel, the less likely was he to collect his bill. Usury might -sell the widow's cow, for no one expected business to have a daintiness -of touch; but if Doc sued for his fee, he was met even by the court -with a sour look. - -A summons to court as an expert witness in a murder trial gold-starred -the banner of his career. It was then that he turned back to his -heavy book, used mainly to prop the door open. Out of this lexicon -he dug up words to confound the wise lawyer. It was in vain that the -judge commanded him to talk not like the man in the moon, but like a -man of this earth; he was not to be shaken from a pedestal that had -cost him sweat to mount. The jury sat amazed at his learning. Asked -to explain the meaning of a term, he would proceed to heap upon it a -pile of incomprehensible jargon. It was like cracking the bones of the -skeleton that stood behind his door, and giving to each splinter a -sesquipedalian name. When told that he might “stand down,” he walked -off to enjoy his victory. At the tavern, in the evening, he might be -invited to sit in the game, done with the hesitating timidity of awed -respect; but at cards it was discovered that he was an easy dabbler in -common talk, not to say the profanity of the flat-boatmen. - -Out of this atmosphere there arises the vision of old Doctor Rickney of -Mississippi. He had appeared in court as an expert witness, and the -county newspaper had given him a column of monstrous words, written -by the doctor himself. He had examined the judge for life insurance, -and it was hinted that he had been invited to attend a meeting of the -medical convention, away off in Philadelphia. His professional cup was -now about to foam over, when there fell an evil time. - -Bill Saunders, down with a sort of swamp fever, was told by Dr. Rickney -that his recovery was impossible. Bill was stubborn, and declined to -accept Doc's verdict. - -“Why, you poor old sot,” said Doc, “you must be nearer the end than I -thought, since you have so little mind as to doubt my word. Here's your -fever so high that it has almost melted my thermometer, and yet you -question my professional forecast. And, besides, don't you know that -you have ruined your constitution with liquor?” - -Bill blew a hot breath. - -“I don't know nothin' about constitutions nur the statuary of -limitations, but I'm snickered if I'm goin' to die to please you nur -nobody. All I need right now is possum baked along with about a peck of -yams.” - -“Possum! Why, by eleven-thirty to-night you'll be as dead as any -possum.” - -Bill drew another hot breath, and the leaves on a branch of honeysuckle -peeping in at the open window were seen to wither with heat. - -“I've got a hoss out thar in the stable, Doc, an' he's jes as good as -any hoss you ever rid. An' I tell you whut I'll do: I'll bet him ag'in -yo' hoss that I'll be up an' around in five weeks.” - -Doc gave him a pitying look. - -“All right; I'll just take that bet.” - -Doc told it about the neighborhood, and along toward midnight, sitting -in the rear room of a drug-store, he took out his watch, looked at it, -and remarked: - -“Well, by this time Bill Saunders is dead, and his horse belongs to me.” - -The druggist spoke. - -“I know the horse, and would like to have him. What'll you take for -him, Doc?” - -“Take for him! That horse is worth a hundred and fifty of as bright -gold dollars as was ever dug out of the earth. Take for him!” says he. -“Ain't he worth it, Nick?” - -Nick, a yellowish lout, was sitting on the floor, with his back -against the wall. For the most part his requirement of society was a -mouthful of tobacco and a place to spit, and of the latter he was not -over-careful. He added no more to civilization than worm-blight adds to -a grape-vine, but without him no native drama could have been written. -He was as native to the neighborhood as a wrinkle is to a ram's horn. -In the absence of all other wit, he knew where his interest lay. -Therefore he haggled not to respond to Doc's appeal. Doc had steadied -his wife down from the high shakes of ague, had time and again reminded -Nick of that fact, but had not yet received the five bushels of corn -and the four pumpkins of average size, the physician's legitimate levy. -Here was a chance on Nick's part to throw off at least two bushels. He -arose, and dusted the seat of his brown jeans. - -“Doc,” said he, “nobody don't know no mo' about nobody's hoss nur I do. -An' I'm sayin' it without the fear of bein' kotch in a lie that Bill's -hoss is wuth two hundred an' seventy-fi' dollars of as good money as -ever built a church.” - -“You've heard him,” was Doc's triumphant turn to the druggist. “But let -me tell you. About a half-hour from now I've got to catch the _Lady -Blanche_ for Memphis, on my way to attend the medical convention in -Philadelphia. I've got to read a paper on snake-bite.” - -Nick broke in upon him. - -“I'll bet it's the Guv'ment that is a axin' you to do it.” - -“Well, we won't discuss that,” was Doc's dismissal of the subject. Then -he turned again to the druggist. “Got to get to that convention; and as -I'll have a good deal of entertaining to do, I'll need a hundred extra. -So you just give me a hundred dollars and take the horse. But you'll -have to be quick about it, for I just heard the _Lady Blanche_ blowing -around the bend.” - -The druggist snatched at the knob or his safe, swung the door open, and -seized a hundred dollars. - -One afternoon, five weeks later, when the _Lady Blanche_ touched the -shore on her way down, Old Doc stepped off. There on a bale of cotton, -smoking a cob pipe, sat Bill Saunders. - -“W'y, hello, Doc!” - -Doc dropped his carpet-bag, caught up the tail of his coat, and with it -blotted the sweat on his brow. - -“Fine day,” said Bill. “'Lowed we'd have a little rain, but the cloud -looked like it had business summers else. An' by the way, Doc, up whar -you been what's that liquor as distroys the constitution wuth by the -gallon?” - -Doc reached down and took up his carpet-bag. - -“Bill Saunders, sir, I don't want anything to do with you. I gave you -my confidence, but you have deceived me. And now, sir, your lack of -integrity----” - -“Gives me a hoss,” Bill interrupted. “An' say, Doc, I seed the druggist -man jest now, an' he said suthin' about a hundred dollars you owed him.” - -Doc walked up to the cotton-bale and placed his carpet-bag on it, close -beside Bill. - -“Saunders,” said he, “in this thing is a pistol nearly a foot and a -half long. Now I'll give you my horse all right, even if you are the -most unreliable man I ever saw, and I'll pay the druggist his hundred; -but if you go around the neighborhood boasting that you got well after -I gave you up, something is going to flash, and it won't be out of a -black bottle, either, but right out of Old Miss Betsy, here in this -carpet-bag. I don't blame you for getting well, as a sort of a lark, -you understand; but when you make a serious affair of it, you hurt my -professional pride. Old Miss Betsy is right in here. Do you gather me?” - -“I pick up yo' threads putty well, Doc, I think.” - -“All right; and see that with them threads you sew up your mouth. -You may be proof against the pizen of the swamp, but you ain't proof -against the jolt of a lead-mine. That's all.” - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. How does the description of the doctor's home emphasize - character? - - 2. What was the doctor's ability? - - 3. How does the writer make the doctor a universal character as - well as a local character? - - 4. How does the writer produce humor? - - 5. How does the writer arouse our respect for the doctor? - - 6. How does the writer arouse our sympathy? - - 7. What character trait does the anecdote reveal? - - 8. Why does the writer use so much conversation in telling the - anecdote? - - 9. What advantage does the writer gain by ending the sketch so - abruptly? - - 10. How does the sketch affect the reader? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. The Druggist 11. The Teacher - 2. A Borrowing Neighbor 12. The Minister - 3. The Natural Leader 13. The Policeman - 4. The Peanut Man 14. The Expressman - 5. The Milkman 15. The Freshman - 6. The Iceman 16. The Senior - 7. The Conductor 17. The College Student - 8. The Clerk 18. The Elevator Boy - 9. The Postman 19. The Farmer - 10. The Lawyer 20. The Grocer - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Select for your subject a person in whom you see many laughable traits, -but whom you really admire. Sum up his characteristics briefly and -suggestively. Make your humor the kind that will awaken smiles but not -ridicule. Use exaggeration in moderation. Be particularly careful to -select words that will convey the half-humorous, half-serious thought -that you wish to communicate. End your sketch by telling an anecdote -that will emphasize one or more of the characteristics that you have -mentioned. Tell the anecdote in a “snappy” way, with crisp dialogue. - - - - - CHRISTMAS SHOPPING - By HELEN DAVENPORT - - - _(1882--). Mrs. Helen Davenport Gibbons is a graduate of Bryn Mawr. - Her literary work appears in various publications. Among her books - are_ The Red Rugs of Tarsus; Les Turcs ont Passe Là!; A Little Gray - Home in France; Paris Vistas. - - =A good essay is much like part of a conversation,--the part spoken - by an interesting speaker. It is breezy, unconventional, and free - in its use of familiar terms. How well all this is brought out in - the following extract from an essay on Christmas.= - - -My husband and I would not miss that day-before-Christmas last-minute -rush for anything. And even if I risk seeming to talk against the -sane and humane “shop-early-for-Christmas” propaganda, I am going to -say that the fun and joy of Christmas shopping is doing it on the -twenty-fourth. Avoid the crowds? I don't want to! I want to get right -in the middle of them. I want to shove my way up to counters. I want -to buy things that catch my eye and that I never thought of buying -and wouldn't buy on any day in the year but December twenty-fourth. -I want to spend more money than I can afford. I want to experience -that panicky feeling that I really haven't enough things, and to worry -over whether my purchases can be divided fairly among my quartet. I -want to go home after dark, reveling in the flare of lamps lighting -up mistletoe, holly wreaths, and Christmas-trees on hawkers' carts, -stopping here and there to buy another pound of candy or a box of dates -or a foolish bauble for the tree. I want to shove bundle after bundle -into the arms of my protesting husband and remind him that Christmas -comes but once a year until he becomes profane. And, once home, on what -other winter evening would you find pleasure in dumping the whole lot -on your bed, adding to the jumble of toys and books already purchased -or sent by friends, and, all other thoughts banished, calmly making the -children's piles despite aching back and legs, impatient husband, cross -servants, and a dozen dinner-guests waiting in the drawing-room? - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. By what rhetorical means does the writer communicate her emotion? - - 2. Show how the writer makes detail contribute to effect. - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Christmas Gifts 11. Making Gifts for Friends - 2. Giving a Party 12. Collecting - 3. New Year's Day 13. Going to Games - 4. Fourth of July 14. Buying a Hat - 5. Memorial Day 15. Crowds - 6. Family Reunions 16. Spending Money - 7. Answering Letters 17. Hurrying - 8. Holidays 18. Christmas Trees - 9. Vacation Days 19. School Celebrations - 10. Callers 20. Just Foolishness! - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Write on a subject in which you think you are, perhaps, excusably -foolish. Be frankly honest and genuinely enthusiastic. Write in -such a way that you will make your readers sympathize with you -in your “foolishness.” - - - - - SUNDAY BELLS - By GERTRUDE HENDERSON - - - _At different times Miss Henderson has lived in Indiana, California - and New York. During the World War she gave active patriotic - service. She contributes to various publications._ - - =The bells of Sunday have given subjects to many poets and to many - essayists. Their sound is full of suggestions of peace, calm and - the solemnity of worship.= - - =The writer of the following essay expresses, as she says, the - emotions of many people. It is that seizing upon what is, at the - same time, intensely personal and yet universal that gives the - essay its power.= - - =Although the essay is written in a gossipy style it has a quiet - spirit entirely in harmony with its subject.= - - -Are all of us potentially devotees, I wonder. When the bells ring and -I look up to the aspiring steeples against the sky in the middle of -a Sunday morning, or when I hear them sounding upon the quiet of the -Sunday evening dusk or sending their clear-toned invitation out through -the secular bustle of the mid-week streets and in at doors and windows, -summoning, summoning, there is that in me that hears them and starts -up and would obey. It must be something my grandmothers left there--my -long line of untraceable grandmothers back, back through the hundreds -of years. I wonder if in all the other people of this questioning -generation whose thoughts have separated them from the firm, sustaining -certainties of the past the same ghostly allegiance rises, the same -vague emotions stir and quiver at the evoking of the Sunday bells. -I should think it altogether likely, for I have never found that in -anything very real in me I am at all different from everybody else I -meet. - -The Sunday bells! I sit in the morning quiet and I hear them ringing -near. They are not so golden-voiced, those first bells, as if they -had been more lately made; but I think it may be they go the deeper -into my feelings for that. Some people pass, leisurely at first, -starting early and strolling at ease through the peaceful Sunday -morning on the way to church, talking together as they go: ladies, -middle-aged and elderly, the black-dressed Sunday ladies whose serene -wontedness suggests that they have passed this very way to that very -goal one morning in seven since their lives began; a father with his -boy and girl; three frolicsome youngsters together in their Sunday -clothes loitering through the sunny square with many divagations, -and chattering happily as they go,--I am not so sure their blithe -steps will end at the church door,--but yet they may; a young girl, -fluttering pink ruffles and hurrying. I think she is going to sing in -the choir and must be there early. She has the manner of one who fears -she is already the least moment late for flawless earliness. Other -young girls with their young men are walking consciously together in -tempered Sunday sweethearting. And so on and on till the bell has rung -a last summons, and the music has risen, and given way to silence, and -the last belated comers have hurried by, looking at accusing watches, -and gone within, to lose their consciousness of guilt in that cool -interior whose concern is with eternity, not time. Along all the other -streets of the diverse town I fancy them streaming, gathering in at -the various doors on one business bent, obeying one impulse in their -many ways, one common, deep-planted instinct that not one of them can -philosophize back to its ultimate, sure source, though it masters -them all--the source that is deeper than lifelong habit or childhood -teaching or the tradition of the race; the source out of which all -these came in their dim beginnings. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. How does the writer show that her subject has universal appeal? - - 2. Why does she describe people on their way to church? - - 3. What types of people does she mention? - - 4. How does the writer give the essay a quiet spirit? - - 5. Point out examples of repetition. - - 6. What is the effect of the last sentence? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Organ Music 11. Church Interiors - 2. The Violin 12. Store Windows - 3. An Orchestra 13. Sympathy with Sorrow - 4. A Brass Band 14. Weddings - 5. Patriotic Songs 15. Receptions - 6. Singing in Chorus 16. The Dance - 7. A Procession 17. Evening - 8. Going to Church 18. A Stormy Night - 9. Marching 19. Solitude - 10. Team Work 20. Whistling - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Show that your subject is one that appeals to almost every person, -and that it appeals to you in particular. Show the connection -between your subject and various types of people. Give your essay -a serious note, especially at the close. - - - - - DISCOVERY - By GEORGES DUHAMEL - - - _(1884--). A surgeon in the service of the French army during - the World War. He turned to authorship as a means of distraction - from the horrors of war. His work entitled_ Civilization _won the - Goncourt Prize for Fiction. Among his other works are_ The New Book - of Martyrs; Combat; Heart's Domain. - - =An open eye and an attentive ear do much to make life - enjoyable,--that is the thought of Georges Duhamel's essay on - _Discovery_. It is evident that the writer deeply appreciates the - pleasure of exploration, even though the exploration be among the - humblest and least-noticed objects. Perhaps some recent experience - turned his attention to the thought, “Discovery is delightful.” At - any rate, he has seized upon the idea,--as though it were one of - the things that he has discovered,--and writes his meditation on - it with the easy interest with which he observes the gravel in a - bubbling brook or a lily floating on the surface of the water.= - - -Discovery! It seems as if this word were one of a cluster of magic -keys--one of those keys that make all doors open before our feet. -We know that to possess is to understand, to comprehend. That, in a -supreme sense, is what discovery means. - -To understand the world can well be compared to the peaceful, enduring -wealth of the great landowner; to make discoveries is, in addition to -this, to come into sudden, overflowing riches, to have one of these -sudden strokes of fortune which double a man's capital by a windfall -that seems like an inspiration. - -The life of a child who grows up unconstrainedly is a chain of -discoveries, an enriching of each moment, a succession of dazzling -surprises. - -I cannot go on without thinking of the beautiful letter I received -to-day about my little boy. It said: - - Your son knows how to find extraordinary riches, inexhaustible - treasures, even in the barrenest fields, and when I set him on the - grass, I cannot guess the things he is going to bring out of it. - He has an admirable appreciation of the different kinds of soil; - if he finds sand, he rolls in it, buries himself in it, grabs up - handfuls, and flings them delightedly over his hair. Yesterday he - discovered a mole-hole, and you cannot imagine all the pleasure he - took in it. He also knows the joys of a slope which one can descend - on one's feet or head over heels, or by rolling, and which is also - splendid for somersaults. Every rise of ground interests him, and - I wish you could see him pushing his cart up them. There is a - little ditch where on the edge he likes to lie with his feet at - the bottom and his body pressed tight against the slope. He played - interminably the other day on top of a big stone. He kept stroking - it; he had truly found a new pleasure there. And as for me, I find - my wealth in watching him discover all these things. - -It is thus a child of fifteen months gives man lessons in appreciation. - -Unfortunately, most systems of education do their best to substitute -hackneyed phrases for the sense of discovery. A series of conventions -are imposed on the child; he ceases to discover and experience the -objects in the world in pinning them down with dry, formal labels by -the help of which he can recognize them. He reduces his moral life -little by little to the dull routine of classifying pins and pegs and -in this fashion begins the journey to maturity. - -Discover! You must discover in order to be rich. You must not be -satisfied to accept the night good humoredly, to go to sleep after a -day empty of all discovery. There are no small victories, no negligible -discoveries; if you bring back from your day's journey the memory of -the white cloud of pollen the ripe plantain lets fall in May at the -stroke of your switch, it may be little, but your day is not lost. If -you have only encountered on the road the tiny urn of jade which the -moss delightedly balances at the end of its frail stem, it may seem -little, but be patient. To-morrow will perhaps be more fruitful. If for -the first time you have seen a swarm of bees go by in search of a hive, -or heard the snapping pods of the broom scattering its seeds in the -heat, you have nothing to complain of, and life ought to seem beautiful -to you. If, on that same day, you have also enriched your collection of -humanity with a beautiful or an interesting face, confess that you will -go to sleep upon a treasure. - -There will be days when you will be like a peaceful sovereign seated -under a tree: the whole world will come to render homage to you and -bring you tribute. Those will be your days of contemplation. - -There will be days when you will have to take your staff and wallet -and go and seek your living along the highways. On these days you must -be contented with what you gain from observing, from hunting. Have no -fear: it will be beautiful. - -It is sweet to receive; it is thrilling to take. You must by turns -charm and compel the universe. When you have gazed long at the tawny -rock, with its lichens, its velvety mosses, it is most amusing to -lift it up. Then you will discover its weight and the little nest of -orange-bellied salamanders that live there in the cool. - -You have only to lie among the hairy mints and the horse-tails to -admire the religious dance of the dragon-fly going to lay its eggs -in the brook, or to hear in early June the clamorous orgy of the -tree-toads, drunk with love; and it is very pleasant, too, to dip one's -hands in the water, to stir the gravel at the bottom, whence bubble up -a thousand tiny, agile existences or to pick the fleshy stalk of the -water-lily that lifts its tall head out of the depths. - -There are people who have passed a plant a thousand times without -ever thinking of picking one of its leaves and rubbing it between -their fingers. Do this always, and you will discover hundreds of new -perfumes. Each of these perfumes may seem quite insignificant, and yet -when you have breathed it once, you wish to breathe it again; you think -of it often, and something has been added to you. - -It is an unending game, and it resembles love, this possession of a -world that now yields itself, now conceals itself. It is a serious, -divine game. - -Marcus Aurelius,[4] whose philosophy cannot be called futile, does -not hesitate, amid many austere counsels, to urge his friends to the -contemplation of those natural spectacles that are always rich in -meaning and suggestion. He writes: - - Everything that comes forth from the works of nature has its grace - and beauty. The face wrinkles in middle age, the very ripe olive - is almost decomposed, but the fruit has, for all that, a unique - beauty. The bending of the corn toward the earth, the bushy brows - of the lion, the foam that drips from the mouth of the wild boar - and many other things, considered by themselves, are far from being - beautiful; nevertheless, since they are accessory to the works of - nature, they embellish them and add a certain charm. Thus a man - who has a sensitive soul, and who is capable of deep reflection, - will see in whatever exists in the world hardly anything that is - not pleasant in his eyes, since it is related in some way to the - totality of things. - -This philosopher is right, as the poets are right. As our days permit -us, let us reflect and observe; let us never cease to see in each -fragment of the great whole a pure source of happiness. Like children -drawn into a marvelous dance, let us not relax our hold upon the hand -that sustains us and directs us. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Point out examples of figurative language. - - 2. Define what the writer means by “discovery.” - - 3. What is the value of discovery? - - 4. What joy does a child possess that many grown people do not have? - - 5. What criticism of modern education does the writer make? - - 6. What is the writer's ideal of education? - - 7. What sort of discoveries does the writer wish people to make? - - 8. What powers does the writer wish people to cultivate? - - 9. What sort of life does the writer admire? - - 10. What is the advantage of quoting from Marcus Aurelius? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - - 1. Experimenting 11. Study - 2. Travel 12. Collecting - 3. Work 13. Science - 4. Play 14. Astronomy - 5. Recreation 15. The Weather - 6. Exercise 16. The Stars - 7. Walking 17. Clouds - 8. Contests 18. Bees - 9. Religion 19. Cats - 10. Sympathy 20. Houses - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Think of something you do that gives you real pleasure: that -is your subject. Your object is to lead other people to share in -what pleases you. - -Intimate, as the author does, what various thrills may be experienced. -Write enthusiastically, and, if possible, with charm. Do not command -your reader, but entice him into the joys that you possess. Give a -supporting quotation from some one whose words will be respected. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[4] Marcus Aurelius (121-180). A Roman emperor and soldier, author of -_The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius_, a book of such wise and kindly -philosophy that it is still widely popular. - - - - - THE FURROWS[5] - By GILBERT K. CHESTERTON - - - _(1874). One of the greatest of living English essayists. He is - notable for originality of thought and expression. His habit of - turning ideas, as it were, “upside-down,” makes his work peculiarly - challenging. He has written under many types of literature. - Among his books are_ Robert Browning; Charles Dickens; Heretics; - Tremendous Trifles; Alarms and Discursions; The Victorian Age in - Literature. - - =Many essays are like poems: from some subject that lies well within - common experience they spring to a height of emotion. Such is the - case with the essay that follows. Mr. Chesterton looked upon an - ordinary plowed field. At once his imagination took fire and he saw - in the field a significance, a beauty, that the everyday observer - might not note. It is the interpretation of what Carlyle calls “the - ideal in the actual” that makes Mr. Chesterton's essay so appealing.= - - -As I see the corn grow green all about my neighborhood, there rushes on -me for no reason in particular a memory of the winter. I say “rushes,” -for that is the very word for the old sweeping lines of the plowed -fields. From some accidental turn of a train-journey or a walking tour, -I saw suddenly the fierce rush of the furrows. The furrows are like -arrows; they fly along an arc of sky. They are like leaping animals; -they vault an inviolable hill and roll down the other side. They are -like battering battalions; they rush over a hill with flying squadrons -and carry it with a cavalry charge. They have all the air of Arabs -sweeping a desert, of rockets sweeping the sky, of torrents sweeping -a watercourse. Nothing ever seemed so living as those brown lines as -they shot sheer from the height of a ridge down to their still whirl -of the valley. They were swifter than arrows, fiercer than Arabs, -more riotous and rejoicing than rockets. And yet they were only thin -straight lines drawn with difficulty, like a diagram, by painful and -patient men. The men that plowed tried to plow straight; they had no -notion of giving great sweeps and swirls to the eye. Those cataracts of -cloven earth; they were done by the grace of God. I had always rejoiced -in them; but I had never found any reason for my joy. There are some -very clever people who cannot enjoy the joy unless they understand it. -There are other and even cleverer people who say that they lose the joy -the moment they do understand it. Thank God I was never clever, and -could always enjoy things when I understood them and when I didn't. I -can enjoy the orthodox Tory, though I could never understand him. I can -also enjoy the orthodox Liberal, though I understand him only too well. - - * * * * * - -But the splendor of furrowed fields is this: that like all brave -things they are made straight, and therefore they bend. In everything -that bows gracefully there must be an effort at stiffness. Bows are -beautiful when they bend only because they try to remain rigid; and -sword-blades can curl like silver ribbons only because they are certain -to spring straight again. But the same is true of every tough curve -of the tree-trunk, of every strong-backed bend of the bough; there is -hardly any such thing in Nature as a mere droop of weakness. Rigidity -yielding a little, like justice swayed by mercy, is the whole beauty of -the earth. The cosmos is a diagram just bent beautifully out of shape. -Everything tries to be straight; and everything just fortunately fails. - -The foil may curve in the lunge; but there is nothing beautiful about -beginning the battle with a crooked foil. So the strict aim, the strong -doctrine, may give a little in the actual fight with facts; but that -is no reason for beginning with a weak doctrine or a twisted aim. Do -not be an opportunist; try to be theoretic at all the opportunities; -fate can be trusted to do all the opportunist part of it. Do not try to -bend, any more than the trees try to bend. Try to grow straight, and -life will bend you. - -Alas! I am giving the moral before the fable; and yet I hardly think -that otherwise you could see all that I mean in that enormous vision -of the plowed hills. These great furrowed slopes are the oldest -architecture of man; the oldest astronomy was his guide, the oldest -botany his object. And for geometry, the mere word proves my case. - - * * * * * - -But when I looked at those torrents of plowed parallels, that great -rush of rigid lines, I seemed to see the whole huge achievement of -democracy. Here was more equality; but equality seen in bulk is more -superb than any supremacy. Equality free and flying, equality rushing -over hill and dale, equality charging the world--that was the meaning -of those military furrows, military in their identity, military in -their energy. They sculptured hill and dale with strong curves merely -because they did not mean to curve at all. They made the strong lines -of landscape with their stiffly driven swords of the soil. It is not -only nonsense, but blasphemy, to say that man has spoilt the country. -Man has created the country; it was his business, as the image of God. -No hill, covered with common scrub or patches of purple heath, could -have been so sublimely hilly as that ridge up to which the ranked -furrows rose like aspiring angels. No valley, confused with needless -cottages and towns, can have been so utterly valleyish as that abyss -into which the down-rushing furrows raged like demons into the swirling -pit. - -It is the hard lines of discipline and equality that mark out a -landscape and give it all its mold and meaning. It is just because the -lines of the furrow are ugly and even that the landscape is living and -superb. As I think I have remarked before, the Republic is founded on -the plow. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Explain the figures of speech that occur in the essay. - - 2. Why did Mr. Chesterton use so many figures of speech? - - 3. How can you account for his poetic language? - - 4. What leads him to think the furrows beautiful? - - 5. What meaning does the writer find in the plowed field? - - 6. Explain in full the last paragraph of the essay. - - 7. In what respect is the Republic, “founded on the plow”? - - 8. What does the essay show concerning Mr. Chesterton's - personality? - - 9. In what respects is his style original? - - 10. By what means does he gain emphasis? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. A River 11. A House - 2. A Road 12. A Book - 3. A Cloud 13. A Bridge - 4. The Sunshine 14. A Railroad Track - 5. A Stone Wall 15. An Airplane - 6. A Horse 16. A Flag - 7. A Tree 17. A Pen - 8. A Garden 18. A Valley - 9. A Mountain 19. A High Building - 10. The Wind 20. A Telescope - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Take for your subject anything that is extremely familiar. Show -your reader both the physical beauty that any one may observe and -also the inner beauty that the average person is not so likely to -note. Write in such a way that you will show your real emotions -towards your subject. Make your essay rise steadily in power -and let your last paragraph present the thought that you wish to -leave with your reader. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[5] From “Alarms and Discursions,” by Gilbert K. Chesterton. Copyright, -1911, by Dodd, Mead and Company. - - - - - MEDITATION AND IMAGINATION[6] - By HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE - - - _(1846-1916). An American essayist and journalist, for many years - editor of The Outlook. His literary work was so important that he - was made a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters. - Among his books are_ Nature in New England; My Study Fire; Short - Studies in Literature; Essays on Books and Culture; The Life of the - Spirit; Japan To-day and To-morrow. - - =Essayists are natural lovers of books. In the records of human - experience they find subjects that stimulate the imagination, - arouse the sentiments, and lead to meditation.= - - =Almost every essayist draws largely, for the better illustration of - his thought, from the field of literature. To him the characters - of history or of fiction are almost as real as those of to-day. In - the realm of books the essayist sees an expansion of the world in - which he lives. In addition, he makes the acquaintance of others - who have meditated on the many interests of life. He looks upon - authors, living or dead, as upon a company of friends. In their - companionship he gains unceasing delight.= - - =Mr. Hamilton Wright Mabie sets forward very pleasingly the way in - which a reader may gain the most from books.= - - -There is a book in the British Museum which would have, for many -people, a greater value than any other single volume in the world; -it is a copy of Florio's translation of Montaigne,[7] and it bears -Shakespeare's autograph on a flyleaf. There are other books which -must have had the same ownership; among them were Holinshed's -“Chronicles,”[8] and North 's translation of Plutarch.[9] Shakespeare -would have laid posterity under still greater obligations, if that were -possible, if in some autobiographic mood he had told us how he read -these books; for never, surely, were books read with greater insight -and with more complete absorption. Indeed, the fruits of this reading -were so rich and ripe that the books from which their juices came -seem but dry husks and shells in comparison. The reader drained the -writer dry of every particle of suggestiveness, and then recreated the -material in new and imperishable forms. The process of reproduction was -individual, and is not to be shared by others; it was the expression -of that rare and inexplicable personal energy which we call genius; -but the process of absorption may be shared by all who care to submit -to the discipline which it involves. It is clear that Shakespeare read -in such a way as to possess what he read; he not only remembered it, -but he incorporated it into himself. No other kind of reading could -have brought the East out of its grave, with its rich and languorous -atmosphere steeping the senses in the charm of Cleopatra, or recalled -the massive and powerfully organized life of Rome about the person -of the great Cæsar. Shakespeare read his books with such insight and -imagination that they became part of himself; and so far as this -process is concerned, the reader of to-day can follow in his steps. - -The majority of people have not learned this secret; they read for -information or for refreshment; they do not read for enrichment. -Feeding one's nature at all the sources of life, browsing at will -on all the uplands of knowledge and thought, do not bear the fruit -of acquirement only; they put us into personal possession of the -vitality, the truth, and the beauty about us. A man may know the plays -of Shakespeare accurately as regards their order, form, construction, -and language, and yet remain almost without knowledge of what -Shakespeare was at heart, and of his significance in the history of the -human soul. It is this deeper knowledge, however, which is essential -for culture; for culture is such an appropriation of knowledge that it -becomes a part of ourselves. It is no longer something added by the -memory; it is something possessed by the soul. A pedant is formed by -his memory; a man of culture is formed by the habit of meditation, and -by the constant use of the imagination. An alert and curious man goes -through the world taking note of all that passes under his eyes, and -collects a great mass of information, which is in no sense incorporated -into his own mind, but remains a definite territory outside his own -nature, which he has annexed. A man of receptive mind and heart, on -the other hand, meditating on what he sees, and getting at its meaning -by the divining-rod of the imagination, discovers the law behind the -phenomena, the truth behind the fact, the vital force which flows -through all things, and gives them their significance. The first man -gains information; the second gains culture. The pedant pours out an -endless succession of facts with a monotonous uniformity of emphasis, -and exhausts while he instructs; the man of culture gives us a few -facts, luminous in their relation to one another, and freshens and -stimulates by bringing us into contact with ideas and with life. - -To get at the heart of books we must live with and in them; we must -make them our constant companions; we must turn them over and over -in thought, slowly penetrating their innermost meaning; and when -we possess their thought we must work it into our own thought. The -reading of a real book ought to be an event in one's history; it ought -to enlarge the vision, deepen the base of conviction, and add to the -reader whatever knowledge, insight, beauty, and power it contains. It -is possible to spend years of study on what may be called the externals -of the “Divine Comedy,” and remain unaffected in nature by this -contact with one of the masterpieces of the spirit of man as well as -of the art of literature. It is also possible to so absorb Dante's[10] -thought and so saturate one's self with the life of the poem as to add -to one's individual capital of thought and experience all that the poet -discerned in that deep heart of his and wrought out of that intense and -tragic experience. But this permanent and personal possession can be -acquired by those alone who brood over the poem and recreate it within -themselves by the play of the imagination upon it. A visitor was shown -into Mr. Lowell's[11] room one evening not many years ago, and found -him barricaded behind rows of open books; they covered the table and -were spread out on the floor in an irregular but magic circle. “Still -studying Dante?” said the intruder into the workshop of as true a man -of culture as we have known on this continent. “Yes,” was the prompt -reply; “always studying Dante.” - -A man's intellectual character is determined by what he habitually -thinks about. The mind cannot always be consciously directed to -definite ends; it has hours of relaxation. There are many hours in -the life of the most strenuous and arduous man when the mind goes -its own way and thinks its own thoughts. These times of relaxation, -when the mind follows its own bent, are perhaps the most fruitful and -significant periods in a rich and noble intellectual life. The real -nature, the deeper instincts of the man, come out in these moments, as -essential refinement and genuine breeding are revealed when the man -is off guard and acts and speaks instinctively. It is possible to be -mentally active and intellectually poor and sterile; to drive the mind -along certain courses of work, but to have no deep life of thought -behind these calculated activities. The life of the mind is rich and -fruitful only when thought, released from specific tasks, flies at -once to great themes as its natural objects of interest and love, its -natural sources of refreshment and strength. Under all our definite -activities there runs a stream of meditation; and the character of that -meditation determines our wealth or our poverty, our productiveness or -our sterility. - -This instinctive action of the mind, although largely unconscious, is -by no means irresponsible; it may be directed and controlled; it may -be turned, by such control, into a Pactolian stream,[12] enriching -us while we rest and ennobling us while we play. For the mind may be -trained to meditate on great themes instead of giving itself up to idle -reverie; when it is released from work it may concern itself with the -highest things as readily as with those which are insignificant and -paltry. Whoever can command his meditations in the streets, along the -country roads, on the train, in the hours of relaxation, can enrich -himself for all time without effort or fatigue; for it is as easy and -restful to think about great things as about small ones. A certain -lover of books made this discovery years ago, and has turned it to -account with great profit to himself. He thought he discovered in the -faces of certain great writers a meditative quality full of repose and -suggestive of a constant companionship with the highest themes. It -seemed to him that these thinkers, who had done so much to liberate -his own thought, must have dwelt habitually with noble ideas; that in -every leisure hour they must have turned instinctively to those deep -things which concern most closely the life of men. The vast majority -of men are so absorbed in dealing with material that they appear to be -untouched by the general questions of life; but these general questions -are the habitual concern of the men who think. In such men the mind, -released from specific tasks, turns at once and by preference to these -great themes, and by quiet meditation feeds and enriches the very -soul of the thinker. And the quality of this meditation determines -whether the nature shall be productive or sterile; whether a man shall -be merely a logician, or a creative force in the world. Following -this hint, this lover of books persistently trained himself, in his -leisure hours, to think over the books he was reading; to meditate -on particular passages, and, in the case of dramas and novels, to -look at characters from different sides. It was not easy at first, -and it was distinctively work; but it became instinctive at last, and -consequently it became play. The stream of thought, once set in a given -direction, flows now of its own gravitation; and reverie, instead -of being idle and meaningless, has become rich and fruitful. If one -subjects “The Tempest,”[13] for instance, to this process, he soon -learns it by heart; first he feels its beauty; then he gets whatever -definite information there is in it; as he reflects, its constructive -unity grows clear to him, and he sees its quality as a piece of art; -and finally its rich and noble disclosure of the poet's conception of -life grows upon him until the play belongs to him almost as much as it -belonged to Shakespeare. This process of meditation habitually brought -to bear on one's reading lays bare the very heart of the book in hand, -and puts one in complete possession of it. - -This process of meditation, if it is to bear its richest fruit, must -be accompanied by a constant play of the imagination, than which there -is no faculty more readily cultivated or more constantly neglected. -Some readers see only a flat surface as they read; others find the -book a door into a real world, and forget that they are dealing with -a book. The real readers get beyond the book, into the life which it -describes. They see the island in “The Tempest”; they hear the tumult -of the storm; they mingle with the little company who, on that magical -stage, reflect all the passions of men and are brought under the spell -of the highest powers of man's spirit. It is a significant fact that in -the lives of men of genius the reading of two or three books has often -provoked an immediate and striking expansion of thought and power. -Samuel Johnson,[14] a clumsy boy in his father's book-shop, searching -for apples, came upon Petrarch,[15] and was destined henceforth to be -a man of letters. John Keats,[16] apprenticed to an apothecary, read -Spenser's “Epithalamium”[17] one golden afternoon in company with his -friend, Cowden Clarke,[18] and from that hour was a poet by the grace -of God. In both cases the readers read with the imagination, or their -own natures would not have kindled with so sudden a flash. The torch -is passed on to those only whose hands are outstretched to receive it. -To read with the imagination, one must take time to let the figures -reform in his own mind; he must see them with great distinctness and -realize them with great definiteness. Benjamin Franklin[19] tells us, -in that “Autobiography” which was one of our earliest and remains one -of our most genuine pieces of writing, that when he discovered his -need of a larger vocabulary he took some of the tales which he found -in an odd volume of the “Spectator”[20] and turned them into verse; -“and after a time, when I had pretty well forgotten the prose, turned -them back again. I also sometimes jumbled my collections of hints into -confusion, and after some weeks endeavoured to reduce them into the -best order before I began to form the full sentences and compleat the -paper.” Such a patient recasting of material for the ends of verbal -exactness and accuracy suggests ways in which the imagination may deal -with characters and scenes in order to stimulate and foster its own -activity. It is well to recall at frequent intervals the story we read -in some dramatist, poet, or novelist, in order that the imagination may -set it before us again in all its rich vitality. It is well also as we -read to insist on seeing the picture as well as the words. - -It is as easy to see the bloodless duke before the portrait of “My -Last Duchess,” in Browning's[21] little masterpiece, to take in all the -accessories and carry away with us a vivid and lasting impression, as -it is to follow with the eye the succession of words. In this way we -possess the poem, and make it serve the ends of culture. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What did Shakespeare gain from the reading of books? - - 2. What wrong ways of reading does Mr. Mabie point out? - - 3. What is the difference between a pedant and a man of culture? - - 4. What does Mr. Mabie mean by the expression, “To get at the heart - of books”? - - 5. What should a book do for a reader? - - 6. Why does Mr. Mabie tell the anecdote of Mr. Lowell? - - 7. Explain the difference between helpful meditation and idle - reverie. - - 8. What characteristics may be gained from great writers? - - 9. What does Mr. Mabie mean by saying that one should read - imaginatively? - - 10. What does the essay show concerning the personality of Mr. - Mabie? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Study and “Cramming” 11. Leisure and Hurry - 2. Fair Play and Trickery 12. Thrift and Waste - 3. Selfishness and Unselfishness 13. Courage and Cowardice - 4. School Spirit and Lack of 14. Persistence - School Spirit - 5. Reasons for Success and 15. Ambition - for Failure - 6. The Gentleman and the Boor 16. Thoughtfulness - 7. Kindness and Brutality 17. Loyalty - 8. Care and Carelessness 18. Will Power - 9. Promptness and Tardiness 19. Honor - 10. Respect and Insolence 20. The Kindly Life - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -You have noticed that Mr. Mabie began his essay by telling about -Shakespeare's reading. He then set forward the ideal that Shakespeare's -method of reading represents. You must follow the same plan. Begin -your essay by telling of some one person who represents in some way -the ideal of which you write. That very specific example will lead -your reader into the thought that you wish to emphasize,--that there -is, in connection with your subject, an ideal method of proceeding, -and a method that is less ideal. After you have made this specific -introduction, set forward your own ideas. Do as Mr. Mabie did, and give -many specific examples that will make your thought clear and emphatic. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[6] From “Books and Culture” by Hamilton Wright Mabie. Copyright by -Dodd, Mead and Co. - -[7] Florio's Montaigne. John Florio (1553-1625). A teacher of French -and Italian in Oxford University, who in 1603 translated the essays of -Montaigne, one copy of which, autographed by Shakespeare, is in the -British Museum in London. From him Shakespeare perhaps learned French -and Italian. In all probability many of the passages of wit and wisdom -in plays like _Hamlet_ and _The Tempest_, as well as in other plays, -were suggested by Florio's translation of Montaigne. - -[8] Holinshed's _Chronicles_. Ralph Holinshed (?-1580?). Author of -_Chronicles of Englande, Scotlande, and Irelande_, a book published in -1577, from which Shakespeare drew material for many of his historical -plays. - -[9] North's Plutarch. Sir Thomas North (1535?-1601?), translated from -the French Plutarch's _Lives_, originally written in Greek in the first -century A.D. From these remarkable biographies Shakespeare learned the -stories that he embodied in such plays as _Antony and Cleopatra_ and -_Coriolanus_. - -[10] Dante Alighieri (1265-1321), an Italian poet, author of _The -Divine Comedy_, a work of such surpassing merit that its author is -regarded as one of the five greatest writers of all time. - -[11] James Russell Lowell (1819-1891). An American poet and essayist, -noted for his love of books. - -[12] Pactolian Stream, a river in Asia Minor in which gold was found. - -[13] The Tempest, one of Shakespeare's most poetic comedies, written -about 1611. - -[14] Samuel Johnson (1709-1784), the great literary leader of the -eighteenth century, noted for his work as an essayist. - -[15] Francesco Petrarch (1304-1374), one of the most noted Italian -poets. - -[16] John Keats (1795-1821), an English poet especially noted for the -rich beauty of his style. - -[17] Edmund Spenser (1552?-1599), the celebrated author of _The Faërie -Queen_ and of other poems noted for rich imaginative power. His -_Epithalamium_, perhaps his best poem, was written in honor of his -marriage to Elizabeth Boyle. - -[18] Cowden Clarke (1787-1877), an English publisher and Shakespearian -scholar, a friend of John Keats. - -[19] Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790), a great American philosopher and -patriot whose life story is told in his _Autobiography_. - -[20] The Spectator, a daily paper published by Joseph Addison, Sir -Richard Steele and others from March 1, 1711, to December 6, 1712. - -[21] Robert Browning (1812-1889). One of the greatest of English poets. -_My Last Duchess_ is one of his many powerful dramatic monologues. - - - - - WHO OWNS THE MOUNTAINS?[22] - By HENRY VAN DYKE - - - _(1852--). One of the most popular American essayists. After many - years of service as a Presbyterian minister he became Professor - of English Literature in Princeton University. During the early - part of the World War he was U. S. Minister to the Netherlands - and Luxembourg, where his services were notably patriotic. His - poems, essays and short stories have won wide and well-deserved - popularity. Among them are_ The Poetry of Tennyson; The Other Wise - Man; The First Christmas Tree; Fisherman's Luck; The Blue Flower; - Out of Doors in the Holy Land; The Unknown Quantity; Collected - Poems. _Dr. Van Dyke was at one time President of the National - Institute of Arts and Letters._ - - =Something of the spirit of sunset and of the quietness of the woods - and mountains has crept into Dr. Van Dyke's essay. We sit with him - and look off at the ridges and hollows of forest. We find our own - thoughts about the beauty of earth expressed as we can not express - them. We are lifted in meditation as Dr. Van Dyke was lifted when - he looked off at the great hills.= - - =Power to reveal inner meanings in the world of outdoors and of man, - and to ennoble the soul, is one of the reasons why the essay has - such a high place in the affections of those who love literature.= - - =_Who Owns the Mountains?_ shows both the felicity of Dr. Van Dyke's - style and the nobility of his thought.= - - -It was the little lad that asked the question; and the answer also, as -you will see, was mainly his. - -We had been keeping Sunday afternoon together in our favorite -fashion, following out that pleasant text which tells us to “behold -the fowls of the air.” There is no injunction of Holy Writ less -burdensome in acceptance, or more profitable in obedience, than this -easy out-of-doors commandment. For several hours we walked in the -way of this precept, through the untangled woods that lie behind -the Forest Hills Lodge,[23] where a pair of pigeon-hawks had their -nest; and around the brambly shores of the small pond, where Maryland -yellow-throats and song-sparrows were settled; and under the lofty -hemlocks of the fragment of forest across the road, where rare warblers -flitted silently among the tree-tops. The light beneath the evergreens -was growing dim as we came out from their shadow into the widespread -glow of the sunset, on the edge of a grassy hill, overlooking the long -valley of the Gale River, and uplooking to the Franconia Mountains. - -It was the benediction hour. The placid air of the day shed a new -tranquillity over the consoling landscape. The heart of the earth -seemed to taste a repose more perfect than that of common days. A -hermit-thrush, far up the vale, sang his vesper hymn; while the -swallows, seeking their evening meal, circled above the riverfields -without an effort, twittering softly, now and then, as if they must -give thanks. Slight and indefinable touches in the scene, perhaps -the mere absence of the tiny human figures passing along the road or -laboring in the distant meadows, perhaps the blue curls of smoke rising -lazily from the farm-house chimneys, or the family groups sitting under -the maple-trees before the door, diffused a sabbath atmosphere over the -world. - -Then said the lad, lying on the grass beside me, “Father, who owns the -mountains?” - -I happened to have heard, the day before, of two or three lumber -companies that had bought some of the woodland slopes; so I told him -their names, adding that there were probably a good many different -owners, whose claims taken all together would cover the whole Franconia -range of hills. - -“Well,” answered the lad, after a moment of silence, “I don't see what -difference that makes. Everybody can look at them.” - -They lay stretched out before us in the level sunlight, the sharp peaks -outlined against the sky, the vast ridges of forest sinking smoothly -towards the valleys, the deep hollows gathering purple shadows -in their bosoms, and the little foothills standing out in rounded -promontories of brighter green from the darker mass behind them. - -Far to the east, the long comb of Twin Mountain extended itself back -into the untrodden wilderness. Mount Garfield lifted a clear-cut -pyramid through the translucent air. The huge bulk of Lafayette -ascended majestically in front of us, crowned with a rosy diadem of -rocks. Eagle Cliff and Bald Mountain stretched their line of scalloped -peaks across the entrance to the Notch. Beyond that shadowy vale, the -swelling summits of Cannon Mountain rolled away to meet the tumbling -waves of Kinsman, dominated by one loftier crested billow that seemed -almost ready to curl and break out of green silence into snowy foam. -Far down the sleeping Landaff valley the undulating dome of Moosilauke -trembled in the distant blue. - -They were all ours, from crested cliff to wooded base. The solemn -groves of firs and spruces, the plumed sierras of lofty pines, the -stately pillared forests of birch and beech, the wild ravines, the -tremulous thickets of silvery poplar, the bare peaks with their wide -outlooks, and the cool vales resounding with the ceaseless song of -little rivers,--we knew and loved them all; they ministered peace and -joy to us; they were all ours, though we held no title deeds and our -ownership had never been recorded. - -What is property, after all? The law says there are two kinds, real and -personal. But it seems to me that the only real property is that which -is truly personal, that which we take into our inner life and make our -own forever by understanding and admiration and sympathy and love. This -is the only kind of possession that is worth anything. - -A gallery of great paintings adorns the house of the Honorable Midas -Bond,[24] and every year adds a new treasure to his collection. He -knows how much they cost him, and he keeps the run of the quotations -at the auction sales, congratulating himself as the price of the -works of his well-chosen artists rises in the scale, and the value of -his art treasures is enhanced. But why should he call them his? He -is only their custodian. He keeps them well varnished, and framed in -gilt. But he never passes through those gilded frames into the world -of beauty that lies behind the painted canvas. He knows nothing of -those lovely places from which the artist's soul and hand have drawn -their inspiration. They are closed and barred to him. He has bought -the pictures, but he cannot buy the key. The poor art student who -wanders through his gallery, lingering with awe and love before the -masterpieces, owns them far more truly than Midas does. - -Pomposus Silverman[25] purchased a rich library a few years ago. The -books were rare and costly. That was the reason why Pomposus bought -them. He was proud to feel that he was the possessor of literary -treasures which were not to be found in the houses of his wealthiest -acquaintances. But the threadbare Bücherfreund,[26] who was engaged at -a slender salary to catalogue the library and take care of it, became -the real proprietor. Pomposus paid for the books, but Bücherfreund -enjoyed them. - -I do not mean to say that the possession of much money is always a -barrier to real wealth of mind and heart. Nor would I maintain that -all the poor of this world are rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom. -But some of them are. And if some of the rich of this world (through -the grace of Him with whom all things are possible) are also modest in -their tastes, and gentle in their hearts, and open in their minds, and -ready to be pleased with unbought pleasures, they simply share in the -best things which are provided for all. - -I speak not now of the strife that men wage over the definition and the -laws of property. Doubtless there is much here that needs to be set -right. There are men and women in the world who are shut out from the -right to earn a living, so poor that they must perish for want of daily -bread, so full of misery that there is no room for the tiniest seed -of joy in their lives. This is the lingering shame of civilization. -Some day, perhaps, we shall find the way to banish it. Some day, every -man shall have his title to a share in the world's great work and the -world's large joy. - -But meantime it is certain that, where there are a hundred poor bodies -who suffer from physical privation, there are a thousand poor souls who -suffer from spiritual poverty. To relieve this greater suffering there -needs no change of laws, only a change of heart. - -What does it profit a man to be the landed proprietor of countless -acres unless he can reap the harvest of delight that blooms from every -rood of God's earth for the seeing eye and the loving spirit? And who -can reap that harvest so closely that there shall not be abundant -gleaning left for all mankind? The most that a wide principality can -yield to its legal owner is a living. But the real owner can gather -from a field of goldenrod, shining in the August sunlight, an unearned -increment of delight. - -We measure success by accumulation. The measure is false. The true -measure is appreciation. He who loves most has most. - -How foolishly we train ourselves for the work of life! We give our most -arduous and eager efforts to the cultivation of those faculties which -will serve us in the competitions of the forum and the market-place. -But if we were wise, we should care infinitely more for the unfolding -of those inward, secret, spiritual powers by which alone we can -become the owners of anything that is worth having. Surely God is the -great proprietor. Yet all His works He has given away. He holds no -title-deeds. The one thing that is His, is the perfect understanding, -the perfect joy, the perfect love, of all things that He has made. To -a share in this high ownership He welcomes all who are poor in spirit. -This is the earth which the meek inherit. This is the patrimony of the -saints in light. - -“Come, laddie,” I said to my comrade, “let us go home. You and I are -very rich. We own the mountains. But we can never sell them, and we -don't want to.” - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. In what does real ownership consist? - - 2. Why is it wrong to “measure success by accumulation”? - - 3. What is “spiritual poverty”? - - 4. How may you truly own a book? - - 5. How may you truly own a beautiful scene? - - 6. How may you become a really rich person? - - 7. How may you truly own a beautiful picture? - - 8. How does Dr. Van Dyke introduce his principal thought? - - 9. What is the spirit of the essay? - - 10. Make a list of the most beautiful sentences. - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. The Fountain of Youth 11. Spendthrifts - 2. The Place of Happiness 12. Hidden Treasures - 3. A Wise Person 13. Angels in Reality - 4. Successful People 14. Real Strength - 5. A Truly Useful Life 15. My Own City - 6. A Wide Traveler 16. A Master of Men - 7. Comfort 17. Having One's Way - 8. The Best Medicine 18. A Wise Reader - 9. An Explorer in Daily Life 19. Heroism at Home - 10. Investing for the Future 20. Sunshine All the Time - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Show, in your essay, that all people have at their command some -wealth, or some wonderful power, that they little suspect. Show -how they may make use of the opportunity that lies before them. -In order to do this, lead into your thought as naturally as Dr. Van -Dyke leads into his. You will write more wisely and more sincerely -if you set your thoughts in motion from some real experience,--from -some time when you were genuinely impressed and uplifted in -spirit. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[22] From “Fisherman's Luck,” by Henry Van Dyke. Copyright, 1905, by -Charles Scribner's Sons. - -[23] The scene mentioned in the essay is in the White Mountain region -in New Hampshire, one of the most beautiful regions in the United -States. - -[24] Midas Bond. Greek legend tells of Midas, king of Phrygia, who had -the power of turning into gold everything that he touched. “Bond” is of -course, a modern synonym for wealth. - -[25] Pomposus Silverman. Another combination of a classical and a -modern expression,--a haughty lord of silver. - -[26] Bücherfreund. Lover of books. - - - - - THE LEGENDARY STORY - - - - - RUNNING WOLF - By ALGERNON BLACKWOOD - - _(1869--). An English author and journalist. He is a graduate of - the University of Edinburgh. For a time he was on the staff of - the_ New York Sun, _and of the_ New York Times. _He is the author - of_ The Lost Valley; Paris Garden; A Prisoner in Fairyland; The - Starlight Express. _He writes with strongly suggestive power._ - - =The legend and its origin and development, are well illustrated in - the story of _Running Wolf_. Some hundred years before the story - begins, so the author says, certain tragic events had occurred in - the Canadian backwoods. From those events had grown beliefs held by - all who lived within the region. The author very cleverly makes his - story a continuation of the legend.= - - =_Running Wolf_ deals not only with the beliefs of a primitive - people but also with the supernatural. It suggests an unhappy, - wandering spirit unable to escape from the chains of earth. In its - treatment of the supernatural the story is surpassingly powerful. - It gains every effect through the power of suggestion. At no time - does the story, in so many words, say that the supernatural is - present. Instead, it places the reader in a position where it is - natural to infer something beyond the ordinary. In other words, the - story does what life does: it presents facts and leaves people to - draw their own conclusions.= - - =Over the entire story hangs an atmosphere entirely in keeping with - the events narrated. The reader feels drawn into the solemn silence - of the vast forest; he knows the loneliness of little-visited - lakes, and the black terror that surrounds a wilderness camp-fire - at night.= - - =The story is rich with foreshadowing, sentence after sentence - pointing toward the climax and emphasizing the single effect that - is produced.= - - =Because of its hauntingly suggestive power _Running Wolf_ is a - remarkable story of the supernatural.= - - =“Loneliness in a backwoods camp brings charm, pleasure, and a - happy sense of calm until, and unless, it comes too near. Once it - has crept within short distance, however, it may easily cross the - narrow line between comfort and discomfort.”= - - -The man who enjoys an adventure outside the general experience of the -race, and imparts it to others, must not be surprised if he is taken -for either a liar or a fool, as Malcolm Hyde, hotel clerk on a holiday, -discovered in due course. Nor is “enjoy” the right word to use in -describing his emotions; the word he chose was probably “survive.” - -When he first set eyes on Medicine Lake he was struck by its still, -sparkling beauty, lying there in the vast Canadian backwoods; next, by -its extreme loneliness; and, lastly--a good deal later, this--by its -combination of beauty, loneliness, and singular atmosphere, due to the -fact that it was the scene of his adventure. - -“It 's fairly stiff with big fish,” said Morton of the Montreal -Sporting Club. “Spend your holiday there--up Mattawa way, some fifteen -miles west of Stony Creek. You'll have it all to yourself except for -an old Indian who's got a shack there. Camp on the east side--if -you'll take a tip from me.” He then talked for half an hour about the -wonderful sport; yet he was not otherwise very communicative, and did -not suffer questions gladly, Hyde noticed. Nor had he stayed there very -long himself. If it was such a paradise as Morton, its discoverer and -the most experienced rod in the province, claimed, why had he himself -spent only three days there? - -“Ran short of grub,” was the explanation offered; but to another -friend he had mentioned briefly, “flies,” and to a third, so Hyde -learned later, he gave the excuse that his half-breed “took sick,” -necessitating a quick return to civilization. - -Hyde, however, cared little for the explanations; his interest in these -came later. “Stiff with fish” was the phrase he liked. He took the -Canadian Pacific train to Mattawa, laid in his outfit at Stony Creek, -and set off thence for the fifteen-mile canoe-trip without a care in -the world. - -Traveling light, the portages did not trouble him; the water was swift -and easy, the rapids negotiable; everything came his way, as the saying -is. Occasionally he saw big fish making for the deeper pools, and was -sorely tempted to stop; but he resisted. He pushed on between the -immense world of forests that stretched for hundreds of miles, known to -deer, bear, moose, and wolf, but strange to any echo of human tread, -a deserted and primeval wilderness. The autumn day was calm, the water -sang and sparkled, the blue sky hung cloudless over all, ablaze with -light. Toward evening he passed an old beaver-dam, rounded a little -point, and had his first sight of Medicine Lake. He lifted his dripping -paddle; the canoe shot with silent glide into calm water. He gave an -exclamation of delight, for the loveliness caught his breath away. - -Though primarily a sportsman, he was not insensible to beauty. The -lake formed a crescent, perhaps four miles long, its width between a -mile and half a mile. The slanting gold of sunset flooded it. No wind -stirred its crystal surface. Here it had lain since the red-skin's god -first made it; here it would lie until he dried it up again. Towering -spruce and hemlock trooped to its very edge, majestic cedars leaned -down as if to drink, crimson sumachs shone in fiery patches, and maples -gleamed orange and red beyond belief. The air was like wine, with the -silence of a dream. - -It was here the red men formerly “made medicine,” with all the wild -ritual and tribal ceremony of an ancient day. But it was of Morton, -rather than of Indians, that Hyde thought. If this lonely, hidden -paradise was really stiff with big fish, he owed a lot to Morton for -the information. Peace invaded him, but the excitement of the hunter -lay below. - -He looked about him with quick, practised eye for a camping-place -before the sun sank below the forests and the half-lights came. The -Indian's shack, lying in full sunshine on the eastern shore, he found -at once; but the trees lay too thick about it for comfort, nor did he -wish to be so close to its inhabitant. Upon the opposite side, however, -an ideal clearing offered. This lay already in shadow, the huge forest -darkening it toward evening; but the open space attracted. He paddled -over quickly and examined it. The ground was hard and dry, he found, -and a little brook ran tinkling down one side of it into the lake. This -outfall, too, would be a good fishing spot. Also it was sheltered. A -few low willows marked the mouth. - -An experienced camper soon makes up his mind. It was a perfect site, -and some charred logs, with traces of former fires, proved that he -was not the first to think so. Hyde was delighted. Then, suddenly, -disappointment came to tinge his pleasure. His kit was landed, and -preparations for putting up the tent were begun, when he recalled -a detail that excitement had so far kept in the background of his -mind--Morton's advice. But not Morton's only, for the storekeeper at -Stony Creek had reinforced it. The big fellow with straggling mustache -and stooping shoulders, dressed in shirt and trousers, had handed him -out a final sentence with the bacon, flour, condensed milk, and sugar. -He had repeated Morton's half-forgotten words: - -“Put yer tent on the east shore. I should,” he had said at parting. - -He remembered Morton, too, apparently. “A shortish fellow, brown as -an Indian and fairly smelling of the woods. Traveling with Jake, the -half-breed.” That assuredly was Morton. “Didn't stay long, now, did -he?” he added in a reflective tone. - -“Going Windy Lake way, are yer? Or Ten Mile Water, maybe?” he had first -inquired of Hyde. - -“Medicine Lake.” - -“Is that so?” the man said, as though he doubted it for some obscure -reason. He pulled at his ragged mustache a moment. “Is that so, now?” -he repeated. And the final words followed him down-stream after a -considerable pause--the advice about the best shore on which to put his -tent. - -All this now suddenly flashed back upon Hyde's mind with a tinge of -disappointment and annoyance, for when two experienced men agreed, -their opinion was not to be lightly disregarded. He wished he had asked -the storekeeper for more details. He looked about him, he reflected, -he hesitated. His ideal camping-ground lay certainly on the forbidden -shore. What in the world, he wondered, could be the objection to it? - -But the light was fading; he must decide quickly one way or the other. -After staring at his unpacked dunnage and the tent, already half -erected, he made up his mind with a muttered expression that consigned -both Morton and the storekeeper to less pleasant places. “They must -have some reason,” he growled to himself; “fellows like that usually -know what they're talking about. I guess I'd better shift over to the -other side--for to-night, at any rate.” - -He glanced across the water before actually reloading. No smoke rose -from the Indian's shack. He had seen no sign of a canoe. The man, he -decided, was away. Reluctantly, then, he left the good camping-ground -and paddled across the lake, and half an hour later his tent was up, -firewood collected, and two small trout were already caught for supper. -But the bigger fish, he knew, lay waiting for him on the other side by -the little outfall, and he fell asleep at length on his bed of balsam -boughs, annoyed and disappointed, yet wondering how a mere sentence -could have persuaded him so easily against his own better judgment. He -slept like the dead; the sun was well up before he stirred. - -But his morning mood was a very different one. The brilliant light, -the peace, the intoxicating air, all this was too exhilarating for the -mind to harbor foolish fancies, and he marveled that he could have -been so weak the night before. No hesitation lay in him anywhere. He -struck camp immediately after breakfast, paddled back across the strip -of shining water, and quickly settled in upon the forbidden shore, as -he now called it, with a contemptuous grin. And the more he saw of the -spot, the better he liked it. There was plenty of wood, running water -to drink, an open space about the tent, and there were no flies. The -fishing, moreover, was magnificent; Morton's description was fully -justified, and “stiff with big fish” for once was not an exaggeration. - -The useless hours of the early afternoon he passed dozing in the sun, -or wandering through the underbrush beyond the camp. He found no sign -of anything unusual. He bathed in a cool, deep pool; he reveled in the -lonely little paradise. Lonely it certainly was, but the loneliness was -part of its charm; the stillness, the peace, the isolation of this -beautiful backwoods lake delighted him. The silence was divine. He was -entirely satisfied. - -After a brew of tea, he strolled toward evening along the shore, -looking for the first sign of a rising fish. A faint ripple on the -water, with the lengthening shadows, made good conditions. _Plop_ -followed _plop_, as the big fellows rose, snatched at their food, and -vanished into the depths. He hurried back. Ten minutes later he had -taken his rods and was gliding cautiously in the canoe through the -quiet water. - -So good was the sport, indeed, and so quickly did the big trout pile up -in the bottom of the canoe that, despite the growing lateness, he found -it hard to tear himself away. “One more,” he said, “and then I really -will go.” He landed that “one more,” and was in the act of taking -it off the hook, when the deep silence of the evening was curiously -disturbed. He became abruptly aware that some one watched him. A -pair of eyes, it seemed, were fixed upon him from some point in the -surrounding shadows. - -Thus, at least, he interpreted the odd disturbance in his happy mood; -for thus he felt it. The feeling stole over him without the slightest -warning. He was not alone. The slippery big trout dripped from his -fingers. He sat motionless, and stared about him. - -Nothing stirred; the ripple on the lake had died away; there was no -wind; the forest lay a single purple mass of shadow; the yellow sky, -fast fading, threw reflections that troubled the eye and made distances -uncertain. But there was no sound, no movement; he saw no figure -anywhere. Yet he knew that some one watched him, and a wave of quite -unreasoning terror gripped him. The nose of the canoe was against the -bank. In a moment, and instinctively, he shoved it off and paddled into -deeper water. The watcher, it came to him also instinctively, was quite -close to him upon that bank. But where? And who? Was it the Indian? - -Here, in deeper water, and some twenty yards from the shore, he paused -and strained both sight and hearing to find some possible clue. He felt -half ashamed, now that the first strange feeling passed a little. But - - [Illustration: =“The feeling stole over him without the slightest - warning. He was not alone.”=] (_page 60_) - -the certainty remained. Absurd as it was, he felt positive that some -one watched him with concentrated and intent regard. Every fiber in -his being told him so; and though he could discover no figure, no new -outline on the shore, he could even have sworn in which clump of willow -bushes the hidden person crouched and stared. His attention seemed -drawn to that particular clump. - -The water dripped slowly from his paddle, now lying across the thwarts. -There was no other sound. The canvas of his tent gleamed dimly. A star -or two were out. He waited. Nothing happened. - -Then, as suddenly as it had come, the feeling passed, and he knew that -the person who had been watching him intently had gone. It was as -if a current had been turned off; the normal world flowed back; the -landscape emptied as if some one had left a room. The disagreeable -feeling left him at the same time, so that he instantly turned the -canoe in to the shore again, landed, and, paddle in hand, went over -to examine the clump of willows he had singled out as the place of -concealment. There was no one there, of course, or any trace of recent -human occupancy. No leaves, no branches stirred, nor was a single twig -displaced; his keen and practised sight detected no sign of tracks upon -the ground. Yet, for all that, he felt positive that a little time -ago some one had crouched among these very leaves and watched him. -He remained absolutely convinced of it. The watcher, whether Indian, -hunter, stray lumberman, or wandering half-breed, had now withdrawn, -a search was useless, and dusk was falling. He returned to his little -camp, more disturbed perhaps than he cared to acknowledge. He cooked -his supper, hung up his catch on a string, so that no prowling animal -could get at it during the night, and prepared to make himself -comfortable until bed-time. Unconsciously, he built a bigger fire than -usual, and found himself peering over his pipe into the deep shadows -beyond the firelight, straining his ears to catch the slightest sound. -He remained generally on the alert in a way that was new to him. - -A man under such conditions and in such a place need not know -discomfort until the sense of loneliness strikes him as too vivid a -reality. Loneliness in a backwoods camp brings charm, pleasure, and a -happy sense of calm until, and unless, it comes too near. It should -remain an ingredient only among other conditions; it should not be -directly, vividly noticed. Once it has crept within short range, -however, it may easily cross the narrow line between comfort and -discomfort, and darkness is an undesirable time for the transition. A -curious dread may easily follow--the dread lest the loneliness suddenly -be disturbed, and the solitary human feel himself open to attack. - -For Hyde, now, this transition had been already accomplished; the too -intimate sense of his loneliness had shifted abruptly into the worse -condition of no longer being quite alone. It was an awkward moment, and -the hotel clerk realized his position exactly. He did not quite like -it. He sat there, with his back to the blazing logs, a very visible -object in the light, while all about him the darkness of the forest lay -like an impenetrable wall. He could not see a foot beyond the small -circle of his camp-fire; the silence about him was like the silence of -the dead. No leaf rustled, no wave lapped; he himself sat motionless as -a log. - -Then again he became suddenly aware that the person who watched him -had returned, and that same intent and concentrated gaze as before was -fixed upon him where he lay. There was no warning; he heard no stealthy -tread or snapping of dry twigs, yet the owner of those steady eyes -was very close to him, probably not a dozen feet away. This sense of -proximity was overwhelming. - -It is unquestionable that a shiver ran down his spine. This time, -moreover, he felt positive that the man crouched just beyond the -firelight, the distance he himself could see being nicely calculated, -and straight in front of him. For some minutes he sat without stirring -a single muscle, yet with each muscle ready and alert, straining his -eyes in vain to pierce the darkness, but only succeeding in dazzling -his sight with the reflected light. Then, as he shifted his position -slowly, cautiously, to obtain another angle of vision, his heart gave -two big thumps against his ribs and the hair seemed to rise on his -scalp with the sense of cold that shot horribly up his spine. In the -darkness facing him he saw two small and greenish circles that were -certainly a pair of eyes, yet not the eyes of Indian, hunter, or of any -human being. It was a pair of animal eyes that stared so fixedly at -him out of the night. And this certainty had an immediate and natural -effect upon him. - -For, at the menace of those eyes, the fears of millions of long dead -hunters since the dawn of time woke in him. Hotel clerk though he was, -heredity surged through him in an automatic wave of instinct. His hand -groped for a weapon. His fingers fell on the iron head of his small -camp ax, and at once he was himself again. Confidence returned; the -vague, superstitious dread was gone. This was a bear or wolf that -smelt his catch and came to steal it. With beings of that sort he knew -instinctively how to deal, yet admitting, by this very instinct, that -his original dread had been of quite another kind. - -“I'll damned quick find out what it is,” he exclaimed aloud, and -snatching a burning brand from the fire, he hurled it with good aim -straight at the eyes of the beast before him. - -The bit of pitch-pine fell in a shower of sparks that lit the dry grass -this side of the animal, flared up a moment, then died quickly down -again. But in that instant of bright illumination he saw clearly what -his unwelcome visitor was. A big timber wolf sat on its hindquarters, -staring steadily at him through the firelight. He saw its legs and -shoulders, he saw its hair, he saw also the big hemlock trunks lit -up behind it, and the willow scrub on each side. It formed a vivid, -clear-cut picture shown in clear detail by the momentary blaze. To -his amazement, however, the wolf did not turn and bolt away from the -burning log, but withdrew a few yards only, and sat there again on -its haunches, staring, staring as before. Heavens, how it stared! He -“shoed” it, but without effect; it did not budge. He did not waste -another good log on it, for his fear was dissipated now, and a timber -wolf was a timber wolf, and it might sit there as long as it pleased, -provided it did not try to steal his catch. No alarm was in him any -more. He knew that wolves were harmless in the summer and autumn, and -even when “packed” in the winter, they would attack a man only when -suffering desperate hunger. So he lay and watched the beast, threw bits -of stick in its direction, even talked to it, wondering only that it -never moved. “You can stay there forever, if you like,” he remarked to -it aloud, “for you cannot get at my fish, and the rest of the grub I -shall take into the tent with me.” - -The creature blinked its bright green eyes, but made no move. - -Why, then, if his fear was gone, did he think of certain things as he -rolled himself in the Hudson Bay blankets before going to sleep? The -immobility of the animal was strange, its refusal to turn and bolt was -still stranger. Never before had he known a wild creature that was not -afraid of fire. Why did it sit and watch him, as with purpose in its -dreadful eyes? How had he felt its presence earlier and instantly? A -timber wolf, especially a solitary timber wolf, was a timid thing, yet -this one feared neither man nor fire. Now as he lay there wrapped in -his blankets inside the cozy tent, it sat outside beneath the stars, -beside the fading embers, the wind chilly in its fur, the ground -cooling beneath its planted paws, watching him, steadily watching him, -perhaps until the dawn. - -It was unusual, it was strange. Having neither imagination nor -tradition, he called upon no store of racial visions. Matter of fact, a -hotel clerk on a fishing holiday, he lay there in his blankets, merely -wondering and puzzled. A timber wolf was a timber wolf and nothing -more. Yet this timber wolf--the idea haunted him--was different. In a -word, the deeper part of his original uneasiness remained. He tossed -about, he shivered sometimes in his broken sleep, he did not go out to -see, but he woke early and unrefreshed. - -Again, with the sunshine and the morning wind, however, the incident of -the night before was forgotten, almost unreal. His hunting zeal was -uppermost. The tea and fish were delicious, his pipe had never tasted -so good, the glory of this lonely lake amid primeval forests went to -his head a little; he was a hunter before the Lord,[27] and nothing -else. He tried the edge of the lake, and in the excitement of playing -a big fish, knew suddenly that _it_, the wolf, was there. He paused -with the rod, exactly as if struck. He looked about him, he looked in a -definite direction. The brilliant sunshine made every smallest detail -clear and sharp--boulders of granite, burned stems, crimson sumach, -pebbles along the shore in neat, separate detail--without revealing -where the watcher hid. Then, his sight wandering farther inshore -among the tangled undergrowth, he suddenly picked up the familiar, -half-expected outline. The wolf was lying behind a granite boulder, so -that only the head, the muzzle, and the eyes were visible. It merged -in its background. Had he not known it was a wolf, he could never have -separated it from the landscape. The eyes shone in the sunlight. - -There it lay. He looked straight at it. Their eyes, in fact, actually -met full and square. “Great Scot!” he exclaimed aloud, “why, it's -like looking at a human being!” And from that moment, unwittingly, -he established a singular personal relation with the beast. And what -followed confirmed this undesirable impression, for the animal rose -instantly and came down in leisurely fashion to the shore, where it -stood looking back at him. It stood and stared into his eyes like some -great wild dog, so that he was aware of a new and almost incredible -sensation--that it courted recognition. - -“Well! well!” he exclaimed again, relieving his feelings by addressing -it aloud, “if this doesn't beat everything I ever saw! What d' you -want, anyway?” - -He examined it now more carefully. He had never seen a wolf so big -before; it was a tremendous beast, a nasty customer to tackle, he -reflected, if it ever came to that. It stood there absolutely fearless -and full of confidence. In the clear sunlight he took in every detail -of it--a huge, shaggy, lean-flanked timber wolf, its wicked eyes -staring straight into his own, almost with a kind of purpose in them. -He saw its great jaws, its teeth, and its tongue, hung out, dropping -saliva a little. And yet the idea of its savagery, its fierceness, was -very little in him. - -He was amazed and puzzled beyond belief. He wished the Indian would -come back. He did not understand this strange behavior in an animal. -Its eyes, the odd expression in them, gave him a queer, unusual, -difficult feeling. Had his nerves gone wrong? he almost wondered. - -The beast stood on the shore and looked at him. He wished for the first -time that he had brought a rifle. With a resounding smack he brought -his paddle down flat upon the water, using all his strength, till the -echoes rang as from a pistol-shot that was audible from one end of the -lake to the other. The wolf never stirred. He shouted, but the beast -remained unmoved. He blinked his eyes, speaking as to a dog, a domestic -animal, a creature accustomed to human ways. It blinked its eyes in -return. - -At length, increasing his distance from the shore, he continued -fishing, and the excitement of the marvelous sport held his -attention--his surface attention, at any rate. At times he almost -forgot the attendant beast; yet whenever he looked up, he saw it there. -And worse; when he slowly paddled home again, he observed it trotting -along the shore as though to keep him company. Crossing a little bay, -he spurted, hoping to reach the other point before his undesired and -undesirable attendant. Instantly the brute broke into that rapid, -tireless lope that, except on ice, can run down anything on four legs -in the woods. When he reached the distant point, the wolf was waiting -for him. He raised his paddle from the water, pausing a moment for -reflection; for this very close attention--there were dusk and night -yet to come--he certainly did not relish. His camp was near; he had -to land; he felt uncomfortable even in the sunshine of broad day, -when, to his keen relief, about half a mile from the tent, he saw the -creature suddenly stop and sit down in the open. He waited a moment, -then paddled on. It did not follow. There was no attempt to move; it -merely sat and watched him. After a few hundred yards, he looked back. -It was still sitting where he left it. And the absurd, yet significant, -feeling came to him that the beast divined his thought, his anxiety, -his dread, and was now showing him, as well as it could, that it -entertained no hostile feeling and did not meditate attack. - -He turned the canoe toward the shore; he landed; he cooked his supper -in the dusk; the animal made no sign. Not far away it certainly lay -and watched, but it did not advance. And to Hyde, observant now in -a new way, came one sharp, vivid reminder of the strange atmosphere -into which his commonplace personality had strayed: he suddenly -recalled that his relations with the beast, already established, had -progressed distinctly a stage further. This startled him, yet without -the accompanying alarm he must certainly have felt twenty-four hours -before. He had an understanding with the wolf. He was aware of friendly -thoughts toward it. He even went so far as to set out a few big fish on -the spot where he had first seen it sitting the previous night. “If he -comes,” he thought, “he is welcome to them. I've got plenty, anyway.” -He thought of it now as “he.” - -Yet the wolf made no appearance until he was in the act of entering -his tent a good deal later. It was close on ten o'clock, whereas nine -was his hour, and late at that, for turning in. He had, therefore, -unconsciously been waiting for him. Then, as he was closing the flap, -he saw the eyes close to where he had placed the fish. He waited, -hiding himself, and expecting to hear sounds of munching jaws; but all -was silence. Only the eyes glowed steadily out of the background of -pitch darkness. He closed the flap. He had no slightest fear. In ten -minutes he was sound asleep. - -He could not have slept very long, for when he woke up he could see -the shine of a faint red light through the canvas, and the fire had -not died down completely. He rose and cautiously peeped out. The air -was very cold; he saw his breath. But he also saw the wolf, for it had -come in, and was sitting by the dying embers, not two yards away from -where he crouched behind the flap. And this time, at these very close -quarters, there was something in the attitude of the big wild thing -that caught his attention with a vivid thrill of startled surprise and -a sudden shock of cold that held him spellbound. He stared, unable to -believe his eyes; for the wolf's attitude conveyed to him something -familiar that at first he was unable to explain. Its pose reached him -in the terms of another thing with which he was entirely at home. What -was it? Did his senses betray him? Was he still asleep and dreaming? - -Then, suddenly, with a start of uncanny recognition, he knew. Its -attitude was that of a dog. Having found the clue, his mind then made -an awful leap. For it was, after all, no dog its appearance aped, but -something nearer to himself, and more familiar still. Good heavens! -It sat there with the pose, the attitude, the gesture in repose of -something almost human. And then, with a second shock of biting wonder, -it came to him like a revelation. The wolf sat beside that camp-fire as -a man might sit. - -Before he could weigh his extraordinary discovery, before he could -examine it in detail or with care, the animal, sitting in this -ghastly fashion, seemed to feel his eyes fixed on it. It slowly -turned and looked him in the face, and for the first time Hyde felt a -full-blooded, superstitious fear flood through his entire being. He -seemed transfixed with that nameless terror that is said to attack -human beings who suddenly face the dead, finding themselves bereft of -speech and movement. This moment of paralysis certainly occurred. Its -passing, however, was as singular as its advent. For almost at once he -was aware of something beyond and above this mockery of human attitude -and pose, something that ran along unaccustomed nerves and reached -his feeling, even perhaps his heart. The revulsion was extraordinary, -its result still more extraordinary and unexpected. Yet the fact -remains. He was aware of another thing that had the effect of stilling -his terror as soon as it was born. He was aware of appeal, silent, -half-expressed, yet vastly pathetic. He saw in the savage eyes a -beseeching, even a yearning, expression that changed his mood as by -magic from dread to natural sympathy. The great gray brute, symbol of -cruel ferocity, sat there beside his dying fire and appealed for help. - -This gulf betwixt animal and human seemed in that instant bridged. It -was, of course, incredible. Hyde, sleep still possibly clinging to his -inner being with the shades and half-shapes of dream yet about his -soul, acknowledged, how he knew not, the amazing fact. He found himself -nodding to the brute in half-consent, and instantly, without more ado, -the lean gray shape rose like a wraith and trotted off swiftly, but -with stealthy tread into the background of the night. - -When Hyde woke in the morning his first impression was that he must -have dreamed the entire incident. His practical nature asserted itself. -There was a bite in the fresh autumn air; the bright sun allowed no -half-lights anywhere; he felt brisk in mind and body. Reviewing what -had happened, he came to the conclusion that it was utterly vain to -speculate; no possible explanation of the animal's behavior occurred to -him: he was dealing with something entirely outside his experience. His -fear, however, had completely left him. The odd sense of friendliness -remained. The beast had a definite purpose, and he himself was included -in that purpose. His sympathy held good. - -But with the sympathy there was also an intense curiosity. “If it shows -itself again,” he told himself, “I'll go up close and find out what it -wants.” The fish laid out the night before had not been touched. - -It must have been a full hour after breakfast when he next saw the -brute; it was standing on the edge of the clearing, looking at him -in the way now become familiar. Hyde immediately picked up his ax -and advanced toward it boldly, keeping his eyes fixed straight upon -its own. There was nervousness in him, but kept well under; nothing -betrayed it; step by step he drew nearer until some ten yards separated -them. The wolf had not stirred a muscle as yet. Its jaws hung open, its -eyes observed him intently; it allowed him to approach without a sign -of what its mood might be. Then, with these ten yards between them, -it turned abruptly and moved slowly off, looking back first over one -shoulder and then over the other, exactly as a dog might do, to see if -he was following. - -A singular journey it was they then made together, animal and man. The -trees surrounded them at once, for they left the lake behind them, -entering the tangled bush beyond. The beast, Hyde noticed, obviously -picked the easiest track for him to follow; for obstacles that meant -nothing to the four-legged expert, yet were difficult for a man, were -carefully avoided with an almost uncanny skill, while yet the general -direction was accurately kept. Occasionally there were windfalls to be -surmounted; but though the wolf bounded over these with ease, it was -always waiting for the man on the other side after he had laboriously -climbed over. Deeper and deeper into the heart of the lonely forest -they penetrated in this singular fashion, cutting across the arc of -the lake's crescent, it seemed to Hyde; for after two miles or so, he -recognized the big rocky bluff that overhung the water at its northern -end. This outstanding bluff he had seen from his camp, one side of it -falling sheer into the water; it was probably the spot, he imagined, -where the Indians held their medicine-making ceremonies, for it stood -out in isolated fashion, and its top formed a private plateau not easy -of access. And it was here, close to a big spruce at the foot of the -bluff upon the forest side, that the wolf stopped suddenly and for -the first time since its appearance gave audible expression to its -feelings. It sat down on its haunches, lifted its muzzle with open -jaws, and gave vent to a subdued and long-drawn howl that was more like -the wail of a dog than the fierce barking cry associated with a wolf. - -By this time Hyde had lost not only fear, but caution, too; nor, oddly -enough, did this warning howl revive a sign of unwelcome emotion in -him. In that curious sound he detected the same message that the eyes -conveyed--appeal for help. He paused, nevertheless, a little startled, -and while the wolf sat waiting for him, he looked about him quickly. -There was young timber here; it had once been a small clearing, -evidently. Ax and fire had done their work, but there was evidence to -an experienced eye that it was Indians and not white men who had once -been busy here. Some part of the medicine ritual, doubtless, took place -in the little clearing, thought the man, as he advanced again toward -his patient leader. The end of their queer journey, he felt, was close -at hand. - -He had not taken two steps before the animal got up and moved very -slowly in the direction of some low bushes that formed a clump just -beyond. It entered these, first looking back to make sure that its -companion watched. The bushes hid it; a moment later it emerged again. -Twice it performed this pantomime, each time, as it reappeared, -standing still and staring at the man with as distinct an expression of -appeal in the eyes as an animal may compass, probably. Its excitement, -meanwhile, certainly increased, and this excitement was, with equal -certainty, communicated to the man. Hyde made up his mind quickly. -Gripping his ax tightly, and ready to use it at the first hint of -malice, he moved slowly nearer to the bushes, wondering with something -of a tremor what would happen. - -If he expected to be startled, his expectation was at once fulfilled; -but it was the behavior of the beast that made him jump. It positively -frisked about him like a happy dog. It frisked for joy. Its excitement -was intense, yet from its open mouth no sound was audible. With a -sudden leap, then, it bounded past him into the clump of bushes, -against whose very edge he stood and began scraping vigorously at the -ground. Hyde stood and stared, amazement and interest now banishing all -his nervousness, even when the beast, in its violent scraping, actually -touched his body with its own. He had, perhaps, the feeling that he was -in a dream, one of those fantastic dreams in which things may happen -without involving an adequate surprise; for otherwise the manner of -scraping and scratching at the ground must have seemed an impossible -phenomenon. No wolf, no dog certainly, used its paws in the way those -paws were working. Hyde had the odd, distressing sensation that it was -hands, not paws, he watched. And yet, somehow, the natural, adequate -surprise he should have felt, was absent. The strange action seemed not -entirely unnatural. In his heart some deep hidden spring of sympathy -and pity stirred instead. He was aware of pathos. - -The wolf stopped in its task and looked up into his face. Hyde acted -without hesitation then. Afterward he was wholly at a loss to explain -his own conduct. It seemed he knew what to do, divined what was asked, -expected of him. Between his mind and the dumb desire yearning through -the savage animal there was intelligent and intelligible communication. -He cut a stake and sharpened it, for the stones would blunt his -ax-edge. He entered the clump of bushes to complete the digging his -four-legged companion had begun. And while he worked, though he did not -forget the close proximity of the wolf, he paid no attention to it; -often his back was turned as he stooped over the laborious clearing -away of the hard earth; no uneasiness or sense of danger was in him -any more. The wolf sat outside the clump and watched the operations. -Its concentrated attention, its patience, its intense eagerness, the -gentleness and docility of the gray, fierce, and probably hungry brute, -its obvious pleasure and satisfaction, too, at having won the human to -its mysterious purpose--these were colors in the strange picture that -Hyde thought of later when dealing with the human herd in his hotel -again. At the moment he was aware chiefly of pathos and affection. The -whole business was, of course, not to be believed, but that discovery -came later, too, when telling it to others. - -The digging continued for fully half an hour before his labor was -rewarded by the discovery of a small whitish object. He picked it up -and examined it--the finger-bone of a man. Other discoveries then -followed quickly and in quantity. The cache was laid bare. He collected -nearly the complete skeleton. The skull, however, he found last, and -might not have found at all but for the guidance of his strangely -alert companion. It lay some few yards away from the central hole -now dug, and the wolf stood nuzzling the ground with its nose before -Hyde understood that he was meant to dig exactly in that spot for it. -Between the beast's very paws his stake struck hard upon it. He scraped -the earth from the bone and examined it carefully. It was perfect, -save for the fact that some wild animal had gnawed it, the teeth-marks -being still plainly visible. Close beside it lay the rusty iron head of -a tomahawk. This and the smallness of the bones confirmed him in his -judgment that it was the skeleton not of a white man, but of an Indian. - -During the excitement of the discovery of the bones one by one, and -finally of the skull, but, more especially, during the period of -intense interest while Hyde was examining them, he had paid little, -if any, attention to the wolf. He was aware that it sat and watched -him, never moving its keen eyes for a single moment from the actual -operations, but of sign or movement it made none at all. He knew that -it was pleased and satisfied, he knew also that he had now fulfilled -its purpose in a great measure. The further intuition that now came to -him, derived, he felt positive, from his companion's dumb desire, was -perhaps the cream of the entire experience to him. Gathering the bones -together in his coat, he carried them, together with the tomahawk, to -the foot of the big spruce where the animal had first stopped. His leg -actually touched the creature's muzzle as he passed. It turned its -head to watch, but did not follow, nor did it move a muscle while he -prepared the platform of boughs upon which he then laid the poor worn -bones of an Indian who had been killed, doubtless, in sudden attack or -ambush, and to whose remains had been denied the last grace of proper -tribal burial. He wrapped the bones in bark; he laid the tomahawk -beside the skull; he lit the circular fire round the pyre, and the blue -smoke rose upward into the clear bright sunshine of the Canadian autumn -morning till it was lost among the mighty trees far overhead. - -In the moment before actually lighting the little fire he had turned -to note what his companion did. It sat five wards away, he saw, gazing -intently, and one of its front paws was raised a little from the -ground. It made no sign of any kind. He finished the work, becoming -so absorbed in it that he had eyes for nothing but the tending and -guarding of his careful ceremonial fire. It was only when the platform -of boughs collapsed, laying their charred burden gently on the -fragrant earth among the soft wood ashes, that he turned again, as -though to show the wolf what he had done, and seek, perhaps, some look -of satisfaction in its curiously expressive eyes. But the place he -searched was empty. The wolf had gone. - -He did not see it again; it gave no sign of its presence anywhere; he -was not watched. He fished as before, wandered through the bush about -his camp, sat smoking round his fire after dark, and slept peacefully -in his cozy little tent. He was not disturbed. No howl was ever audible -in the distant forest, no twig snapped beneath a stealthy tread, he saw -no eyes. The wolf that behaved like a man had gone forever. - -It was the day before he left that Hyde, noticing smoke rising from -the shack across the lake, paddled over to exchange a word or two with -the Indian, who had evidently now returned. The redskin came down to -meet him as he landed, but it was soon plain that he spoke very little -English. He emitted the familiar grunts at first; then bit by bit Hyde -stirred his limited vocabulary into action. The net result, however, -was slight enough, though it was certainly direct: - -“You camp there?” the man asked, pointing to the other side. - -“Yes.” - -“Wolf come?” - -“Yes.” - -“You see wolf?” - -“Yes.” - -The Indian stared at him fixedly a moment, a keen, wondering look upon -his coppery, creased face. - -“You 'fraid wolf?” he asked after a moment's pause. - -“No,” replied Hyde, truthfully. He knew it was useless to ask questions -of his own, though he was eager for information. The other would have -told him nothing. It was sheer luck that the man had touched on the -subject at all, and Hyde realized that his own best rôle was merely -to answer, but to ask no questions. Then, suddenly, the Indian became -comparatively voluble. There was awe in his voice and manner. - -“Him no wolf. Him big medicine wolf. Him spirit wolf.” - -Whereupon he drank the tea the other had brewed for him, closed his -lips tightly, and said no more. His outline was discernible on the -shore, rigid and motionless, an hour later, when Hyde's canoe turned -the corner of the lake three miles away, and landed to make the -portages up the first rapid of his homeward stream. - -It was Morton who, after some persuasion, supplied further details -of what he called the legend. Some hundred years before, the tribe -that lived in the territory beyond the lake began their annual -medicine-making ceremonies on the big rocky bluff at the northern end; -but no medicine could be made. The spirits, declared the chief medicine -man, would not answer. They were offended. An investigation followed. -It was discovered that a young brave had recently killed a wolf, a -thing strictly forbidden, since the wolf was the totem animal of the -tribe. To make matters worse, the name of the guilty man was Running -Wolf. The offense being unpardonable, the man was cursed and driven -from the tribe: - -“Go out. Wander alone among the woods, and if we see you, we slay you. -Your bones shall be scattered in the forest, and your spirit shall not -enter the Happy Hunting Grounds till one of another race shall find and -bury them.” - -“Which meant,” explained Morton, laconically, his only comment on the -story, “probably forever.” - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Show that the suggestions of the supernatural rise with - cumulative power. - - 2. How does the author make the setting contribute to the effect of - the story? - - 3. What is the character of the hero? - - 4. Why did the author make the hero a solitary character? - - 5. Why is the author so slow in introducing the wolf? - - 6. What is the hero's attitude toward the supernatural? - - 7. How does the hero's attitude toward the supernatural affect the - reader? - - 8. Point out the various means by which the author makes the story - seem true. - - 9. What is the character of the wolf? - - 10. Why does the author hold the story of the legend until the last? - - 11. Did Hyde believe the wolf was a “spirit-wolf”? - - 12. Divide the story into a series of important incidents. - - 13. Show how style contributes to effect. - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. The Haunted House 11. The Dancing Squirrels - 2. Mysterious Footprints 12. Footsteps at Night - 3. A Strange Echo 13. The Lost Cemetery - 4. Warned in Time 14. The Woman in Black - 5. A Haunting Dream 15. The Dead Patriot - 6. My Great-Grandfather 16. The Cat That Came Back - 7. The Old Grave 17. The Church Bell - 8. The Ruined Church 18. The Old Battlefield - 9. Tap! Tap! Tap! 19. The Indians' Camp - 10. Prophetic Birds 20. The Hessian's Grave - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -If you are to imitate _Running Wolf_ successfully you must first -think of a story of the supernatural, a simple, easily-understood -story that will have a foundation of fact, and that will appear to be -reasonable in its use of the supernatural. Then, without introducing -your story immediately, show how a person who knows nothing of -it takes part in a series of events that lead him to understand the -story. - -Make the setting of your story one that will contribute strongly to the -central effect. Do not give any definite explanation of the events that -you narrate. Give your reader such an abundance of suggestion that he -will be led to infer a supernatural explanation. - -Hold until the last the basic story on which you found your entire -narration. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[27] A reference to Genesis 10:9, where Nimrod is called “a mighty -hunter before the Lord.” - - - - - THE BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAY - - - - - HOW I FOUND AMERICA - By ANZIA YEZIERSKA - - _In 1896 Miss Yezierska came from Plotzk in Russian Poland, where - she was born. After hard experiences in a “sweat shop” she became - a teacher of cooking. She is the author of_ Hungry Hearts. _Her - dialect stories, strongly realistic and touching, appear in many - magazines._ - - =An autobiography is a straightforward story of the life of the - writer. An autobiographical essay is a meditation on the events in - one's own life.= - - =_How I Found America_ is an autobiographical essay. It does - not tell the story of the writer's life: it tells the writer's - thoughts preceding and after her arrival in America. As in all - good essays, the subject is much greater than the writer. The - meditation is purely personal, but it stirs a response in every - thoughtful reader. It asks and answers the questions: “What do - oppressed foreigners think America to be?” “What do immigrants find - America to be?” “How can we make immigrants into the most helpful - Americans?”= - - =The anecdotes that make the parts of the essay are as graphic as - so many bold drawings. The principal sections of the essay are - as distinct as the chapters of a book. At all times this essay - concerns the question, “What is it to be an American?”= - - =In some respects this particular essay is like a musical - composition; for it begins with a sort of prelude, rises through - a series of movements, and culminates in a triumphant close, - the whole composition being marked by the presence of a strong - motif--the exaltation of the true spirit of America.= - - -Every breath I drew was a breath of fear, every shadow a stifling -shock, every footfall struck on my heart like the heavy boot of the -Cossack. On a low stool in the middle of the only room in our mud hut -sat my father, his red beard falling over the Book of Isaiah, open -before him. On the tile stove, on the benches that were our beds, even -on the earthen floor, sat the neighbors' children, learning from him -the ancient poetry of the Hebrew race. As he chanted, the children -repeated: - - The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, - Prepare ye the way of the Lord. - Make straight in the desert a highway for our God. - - Every valley shall be exalted, - And every mountain and hill shall be made low, - And the crooked shall be made straight, - And the rough places plain, - And the glory of God shall be revealed, - And all flesh shall see it together. - -Undisturbed by the swaying and chanting of teacher and pupils, old -Kakah, our speckled hen, with her brood of chicks, strutted and pecked -at the potato-peelings that fell from my mother's lap as she prepared -our noon meal. - -I stood at the window watching the road, lest the Cossack come upon us -unawares to enforce the ukase of the czar, which would tear the last -bread from our mouths: “No _chadir_ [Hebrew school] shall be held in a -room used for cooking and sleeping.” - -With one eye I watched ravenously my mother cutting chunks of black -bread. At last the potatoes were ready. She poured them out of an iron -pot into a wooden bowl and placed them in the center of the table. - -Instantly the swaying and chanting ceased. The children rushed forward. -The fear of the Cossack was swept away from my heart by the fear that -the children would get my potato, and deserting my post, with a shout -of joy I seized my portion and bit a huge mouthful of mealy delight. - -At that moment the door was driven open by the blow of an iron heel. -The Cossack's whip swished through the air. Screaming, we scattered. -The children ran out--our livelihood with them. - -“_Oi weh!_” wailed my mother, clutching at her breast, “is there a God -over us and sees all this?” - -With grief-glazed eyes my father muttered a broken prayer as the -Cossack thundered the ukase: “A thousand-ruble fine, or a year in -prison, if you are ever found again teaching children where you're -eating and sleeping.” - -“_Gottunieu!_” then pleaded my mother, “would you tear the last skin -from our bones? Where else should we be eating and sleeping? Or -should we keep _chadir_ in the middle of the road? Have we houses with -separate rooms like the czar?” - -Ignoring my mother's protests, the Cossack strode out of the hut. My -father sank into a chair, his head bowed in the silent grief of the -helpless. - -My mother wrung her hands. - -“God from the world, is there no end to our troubles? When will the -earth cover me and my woes?” - -I watched the Cossack disappear down the road. All at once I saw the -whole village running toward us. I dragged my mother to the window to -see the approaching crowd. - -“_Gevalt!_ what more is falling over our heads?” she cried in alarm. - -Masheh Mindel, the water-carrier's wife, headed a wild procession. -The baker, the butcher, the shoemaker, the tailor, the goatherd, the -workers in the fields, with their wives and children pressed toward us -through a cloud of dust. - -Masheh Mindel, almost fainting, fell in front of the doorway. - -“A letter from America!” she gasped. - -“A letter from America!” echoed the crowd as they snatched the letter -from her and thrust it into my father's hands. - -“Read, read!” they shouted tumultuously. - -My father looked through the letter, his lips uttering no sound. In -breathless suspense the crowd gazed at him. Their eyes shone with -wonder and reverence for the only man in the village who could read. -Masheh Mindel crouched at his feet, her neck stretched toward him to -catch each precious word of the letter. - - To my worthy wife, Masheh Mindel, and to my loving son, Sushkah - Feivel, and to my darling daughter, the apple of my eye, the pride - of my life, Tzipkeleh! - - Long years and good luck on you! May the blessings from heaven fall - over your beloved heads and save you from all harm! - - First I come to tell you that I am well and in good health. May I - hear the same from you! - - Secondly, I am telling you that my sun is beginning to shine - in America. I am becoming a person--a business man. I have for - myself a stand in the most crowded part of America, where people - are as thick as flies and every day is like market-day at a fair. - My business is from bananas and apples. The day begins with my - push-cart full of fruit, and the day never ends before I can - count up at least two dollars' profit. That means four rubles. - Stand before your eyes, I, Gedalyah Mindel, four rubles a day; - twenty-four rubles a week! - -“Gedalyah Mindel, the water-carrier, twenty-four rubles a week!” The -words leaped like fire in the air. - -We gazed at his wife, Masheh Mindel, a dried-out bone of a woman. - -“Masheh Mindel, with a husband in America, Masheh Mindel the wife of a -man earning twenty-four rubles a week! The sky is falling to the earth!” - -We looked at her with new reverence. Already she was a being from -another world. The dead, sunken eyes became alive with light. The worry -for bread that had tightened the skin of her cheek-bones was gone. The -sudden surge of happiness filled out her features, flushing her face -as with wine. The two starved children clinging to her skirts, dazed -with excitement, only dimly realized their good fortune in the envious -glances of the others. But the letter went on: - - Thirdly, I come to tell you, white bread and meat I eat every day, - just like the millionaires. Fourthly, I have to tell you that I am - no more Gedalyah Mindel. _Mister_ Mindel they call me in America. - Fifthly, Masheh Mindel and my dear children, in America there are - no mud huts where cows and chickens and people live all together. - I have for myself a separate room, with a closed door, and before - any one can come to me, he must knock, and I can say, “Come in,” or - “Stay out,” like a king in a palace. Lastly, my darling family and - people of the village of Sukovoly, there is no czar in America. - -My father paused. The hush was stifling. “No czar--no czar in America!” -Even the little babies repeated the chant, “No czar in America!” - - In America they ask everybody who should be the President. And I, - Gedalyah Mindel, when I take out my citizen's papers, will have as - much to say who shall be our next President as Mr. Rockefeller, - the greatest millionaire. Fifty rubles I am sending you for your - ship-ticket to America. And may all Jews who suffer in Golluth - from ukases and pogroms live yet to lift up their heads like me, - Gedalyah Mindel, in America. - -Fifty rubles! A ship-ticket to America! That so much good luck should -fall on one head! A savage envy bit us. Gloomy darts from narrowed -eyes stabbed Masheh Mindel. Why should not we, too, have a chance to -get away from this dark land! Has not every heart the same hunger for -America, the same longing to live and laugh and breathe like a free -human being? America is for all. Why should only Masheh Mindel and her -children have a chance to the New World? - -Murmuring and gesticulating, the crowd dispersed. Every one knew every -one else's thought--how to get to America. What could they pawn? From -where could they borrow for a ship-ticket? - -Silently, we followed my father back into the hut from which the -Cossack had driven us a while before. We children looked from mother to -father and from father to mother. - -“_Gottunieu!_ the czar himself is pushing us to America by this last -ukase.” My mother's face lighted up the hut like a lamp. - -“_Meshugeneh Yideneh!_” admonished my father. “Always your head in -the air. What--where--America? With what money? Can dead people lift -themselves up to dance?” - -“Dance?” The samovar and the brass pots reëchoed my mother's laughter. -“I could dance myself over the waves of the ocean to America.” - -In amazed delight at my mother's joy, we children rippled and chuckled -with her. My father paced the room, his face dark with dread for the -morrow. - -“Empty hands, empty pockets; yet it dreams itself in you--America,” he -said. - -“Who is poor who has hopes on America?” flaunted my mother. - -“Sell my red-quilted petticoat that grandmother left for my dowry,” I -urged in excitement. - -“Sell the feather-beds, sell the samovar,” chorused the children. - -“Sure, we can sell everything--the goat and all the winter things,” -added my mother. “It must be always summer in America.” - -I flung my arms around my brother, and he seized Bessie by the curls, -and we danced about the room, crazy with joy. - -“Beggars!” said my laughing mother. “Why are you so happy with -yourselves? How will you go to America without a shirt on your back, -without shoes on your feet?” - -But we ran out into the road, shouting and singing: - -“We'll sell everything we got; we're going to America. White bread and -meat we'll eat every day in America, in America!” - -That very evening we brought Berel Zalman, the usurer, and showed him -all our treasures, piled up in the middle of the hut. - -“Look! All these fine feather-beds, Berel Zalman!” urged my mother. -“This grand fur coat came from Nijny[28] itself. My grandfather bought -it at the fair.” - -I held up my red-quilted petticoat, the supreme sacrifice of my -ten-year-old life. Even my father shyly pushed forward the samovar. - -“It can hold enough tea for the whole village,” he declared. - -“Only a hundred rubles for them all!” pleaded my mother, “only enough -to lift us to America! Only one hundred little rubles!” - -“A hundred rubles! _Pfui!_” sniffed the pawnbroker. “Forty is overpaid. -Not even thirty is it worth.” - -But, coaxing and cajoling, my mother got a hundred rubles out of him. - - * * * * * - -Steerage, dirty bundles, foul odors, seasick humanity; but I saw and -heard nothing of the foulness and ugliness about me. I floated in -showers of sunshine; visions upon visions of the New World opened -before me. From lip to lip flowed the golden legend of the golden -country: - -“In America you can say what you feel, you can voice your thoughts in -the open streets without fear of a Cossack.” - -“In America is a home for everybody. The land is your land, not, as in -Russia, where you feel yourself a stranger in the village where you -were born and reared, the village in which your father and grandfather -lie buried.” - -“Everybody is with everybody alike in America. Christians and Jews are -brothers together.” - -“An end to the worry for bread, an end to the fear of the bosses over -you. Everybody can do what he wants with his life in America.” - -“There are no high or low in America. Even the President holds hands -with Gedalyah Mindel.” - -“Plenty for all. Learning flows free, like milk and honey.” - -“Learning flows free.” The words painted pictures in my mind. I saw -before me free schools, free colleges, free libraries, where I could -learn and learn and keep on learning. In our village was a school, but -only for Christian children. In the schools of America I'd lift up my -head and laugh and dance, a child with other children. Like a bird in -the air, from sky to sky, from star to star, I'd soar and soar. - -“Land! land!” came the joyous shout. All crowded and pushed on deck. -They strained and stretched to get the first glimpse of the “golden -country,” lifting their children on their shoulders that they might see -beyond them. Men fell on their knees to pray. Women hugged their babies -and wept. Children danced. Strangers embraced and kissed like old -friends. Old men and old women had in their eyes a look of young people -in love. Age-old visions sang themselves in me, songs of freedom of an -oppressed people. America! America! - -Between buildings that loomed like mountains we struggled with our -bundles, spreading around us the smell of the steerage. Up Broadway, -under the bridge, and through the swarming streets of the Ghetto, we -followed Gedalyah Mindel. - -I looked about the narrow streets of squeezed-in stores and houses, -ragged clothes, dirty bedding oozing out of the windows, ash-cans and -garbage-cans cluttering the sidewalks. A vague sadness pressed down my -heart, the first doubt of America. - -“Where are the green fields and open spaces in America?” cried my -heart. “Where is the golden country of my dreams?” A loneliness for the -fragrant silence of the woods that lay beyond our mud hut welled up -in my heart, a longing for the soft, responsive earth of our village -streets. All about me was the hardness of brick and stone, the smells -of crowded poverty. - -“Here's your house, with separate rooms like a palace,” said Gedalyah -Mindel, and flung open the door of a dingy, airless flat. - -“_Oi weh!_” cried my mother in dismay. “Where's the sunshine in -America?” She went to the window and looked out at the blank wall of -the next house. “_Gottunieu!_ Like in a grave so dark!” - -“It ain't so dark; it's only a little shady,” said Gedalyah Mindel, -and lighted the gas. “Look only!”--he pointed with pride to the dim -gas-light--“No candles, no kerosene lamps, in America. You turn on a -screw, and put to it a match, and you got it light like with sunshine.” - -Again the shadow fell over me, again the doubt of America. In America -were rooms without sunlight; rooms to sleep in, to eat in, to cook -in, but without sunshine, and Gedalyah Mindel was happy. Could I be -satisfied with just a place to sleep in and eat in, and a door to shut -people out, to take the place of sunlight? Or would I always need the -sunlight to be happy? And where was there a place in America for me to -play? I looked out into the alley below, and saw pale-faced children -scrambling in the gutter. “Where is America?” cried my heart. - -My eyes were shutting themselves with sleep. Blindly I felt for the -buttons on my dress; and buttoning, I sank back in sleep again--the -dead-weight sleep of utter exhaustion. - -“Heart of mine,” my mother's voice moaned above me, “father is already -gone an hour. You know how they'll squeeze from you a nickel for every -minute you're late. Quick only!” - -I seized my bread and herring and tumbled down the stairs and out -into the street. I ate running, blindly pressing through the hurrying -throngs of workers, my haste and fear choking every mouthful. I felt -a strangling in my throat as I neared the sweat-shop prison; all my -nerves screwed together into iron hardness to endure the day's torture. - -For an instant I hesitated as I faced the grated windows of the old -building. Dirt and decay cried out from every crumbling brick. In the -maw of the shop raged around me the roar and the clatter, the merciless -grind, of the pounding machines. Half-maddened, half-deadened, I -struggled to think, to feel, to remember. What am I? Who am I? Why am I -here? I struggled in vain, bewildered and lost in a whirlpool of noise. -“America--America, where was America?” it cried in my heart. - -Then came the factory whistle, the slowing down of the machines, -the shout of release hailing the noon hour. I woke as from a tense -nightmare, a weary waking to pain. In the dark chaos of my brain reason -began to dawn. In my stifled heart feelings began to pulse. The wound -of my wasted life began to throb and ache. With my childhood choked -with drudgery, must my youth, too, die unlived? - -Here were the odor of herring and garlic, the ravenous munching -of food, laughter and loud, vulgar jokes. Was it only I who was -so wretched? I looked at those around me. Were they happy or only -insensible to their slavery? How could they laugh and joke? Why were -they not torn with rebellion against this galling grind, the crushing, -deadening movements of the body, where only hands live, and hearts and -brains must die? - -I felt a touch on my shoulder and looked up. It was Yetta Solomon, from -the machine next to mine. - -“Here's your tea.” - -I stared at her, half-hearing. - -“Ain't you going to eat nothing?” - -“_Oi weh_, Yetta! I can't stand it!” The cry broke from me. “I didn't -come to America to turn into a machine. I came to America to make from -myself a person. Does America want only my hands, only the strength of -my body, not my heart, not my feelings, my thoughts?” - -“Our heads ain't smart enough,” said Yetta, practically. “We ain't been -to school, like the American-born.” - -“What for did I come to America but to go to school, to learn, to -think, to make something beautiful from my life?” - -“'Sh! 'Sh! The boss! the boss!” came the warning whisper. - -A sudden hush fell over the shop as the boss entered. He raised his -hand. There was breathless silence. The hard, red face with the pig's -eyes held us under its sickening spell. Again I saw the Cossack and -heard him thunder the ukase. Prepared for disaster, the girls paled as -they cast at one another sidelong, frightened glances. - -“Hands,” he addressed us, fingering the gold watch-chain that spread -across his fat stomach, “it's slack in the other trades, and I can get -plenty girls begging themselves to work for half what you're getting; -only I ain't a skinner. I always give my hands a show to earn their -bread. From now on I'll give you fifty cents a dozen shirts instead -of seventy-five, but I'll give you night-work, so you needn't lose -nothing.” And he was gone. - -The stillness of death filled the shop. Every one felt the heart of -the other bleed with her own helplessness. A sudden sound broke the -silence. A woman sobbed chokingly. It was Balah Rifkin, a widow with -three children. - -“_Oi weh!_”--she tore at her scrawny neck,--“the bloodsucker! the -thief! How will I give them to eat, my babies, my hungry little lambs!” - -“Why do we let him choke us?” - -“Twenty-five cents less on a dozen--how will we be able to live?” - -“He tears the last skin from our bones.” - -“Why didn't nobody speak up to him?” - -Something in me forced me forward. I forgot for the moment how my whole -family depended on my job. I forgot that my father was out of work and -we had received a notice to move for unpaid rent. The helplessness of -the girls around me drove me to strength. - -“I'll go to the boss,” I cried, my nerves quivering with fierce -excitement. “I'll tell him Balah Rifkin has three hungry mouths to -feed.” - -Pale, hungry faces thrust themselves toward me, thin, knotted hands -reached out, starved bodies pressed close about me. - -“Long years on you!” cried Balah Rifkin, drying her eyes with a corner -of her shawl. - -“Tell him about my old father and me, his only bread-giver,” came from -Bessie Sopolsky, a gaunt-faced girl with a hacking cough. - -“And I got no father or mother, and four of them younger than me -hanging on my neck.” Jennie Feist's beautiful young face was already -scarred with the gray worries of age. - -America, as the oppressed of all lands have dreamed America to be, and -America as it is, flashed before me, a banner of fire. Behind me I felt -masses pressing, thousands of immigrants; thousands upon thousands -crushed by injustice, lifted me as on wings. - -I entered the boss's office without a shadow of fear. I was not I; the -wrongs of my people burned through me till I felt the very flesh of my -body a living flame of rebellion. I faced the boss. - -“We can't stand it,” I cried. “Even as it is we're hungry. Fifty cents -a dozen would starve us. Can you, a Jew, tear the bread from another -Jew's mouth?” - -“You fresh mouth, you! Who are you to learn me my business?” - -“Weren't you yourself once a machine slave, your life in the hands of -your boss?” - -“You loafer! Money for nothing you want! The minute they begin to -talk English they get flies in their nose. A black year on you, -trouble-maker! I'll have no smart heads in my shop! Such freshness! Out -you get! Out from my shop!” - -Stunned and hopeless, the wings of my courage broken, I groped my way -back to them--back to the eager, waiting faces, back to the crushed -hearts aching with mine. - -As I opened the door, they read our defeat in my face. - -“Girls,”--I held out my hands--“he's fired me.” My voice died in the -silence. Not a girl stirred. Their heads only bent closer over their -machines. - -“Here, you, get yourself out of here!” the boss thundered at me. -“Bessie Sopolsky and you, Balah Rifkin, take out her machine into the -hall. I want no big-mounted _Americanerins_ in my shop.” - -Bessie Sopolsky and Balah Rifkin, their eyes black with tragedy, -carried out my machine. Not a hand was held out to me, not a face met -mine. I felt them shrink from me as I passed them on my way out. - -In the street I found I was crying. The new hope that had flowed in me -so strongly bled out of my veins. A moment before, our unity had made -me believe us so strong, and now I saw each alone, crushed, broken. -What were they all but crawling worms, servile grubbers for bread? - -And then in the very bitterness of my resentment the hardness broke -in me. I saw the girls through their own eyes, as if I were inside of -them. What else could they have done? Was not an immediate crust of -bread for Balah Rifkin's children more urgent than truth, more vital -than honor? Could it be that they ever had dreamed of America as I had -dreamed? Had their faith in America wholly died in them? Could my faith -be killed as theirs had been? - -Gasping from running, Yetta Solomon flung her arms around me. - -“You golden heart! I sneaked myself out from the shop only to tell you -I'll come to see you to-night. I'd give the blood from under my nails -for you, only I got to run back. I got to hold my job. My mother--” - -I hardly saw or heard her. My senses were stunned with my defeat. I -walked on in a blind daze, feeling that any moment I would drop in the -middle of the street from sheer exhaustion. Every hope I had clung to, -every human stay, every reality, was torn from under me. Was it then -only a dream, a mirage of the hungry-hearted people in the desert lands -of oppression, this age-old faith in America? - -Again I saw the mob of dusty villagers crowding about my father as he -read the letter from America, their eager faces thrust out, their eyes -blazing with the same hope, the same faith, that had driven me on. Had -the starved villagers of Sukovoly lifted above their sorrows a mere -rainbow vision that led them--where? Where? To the stifling submission -of the sweat-shop or the desperation of the streets! - -“God! God!” My eyes sought the sky, praying, “where--where is America?” - - * * * * * - -Times changed. The sweat-shop conditions that I had lived through had -become a relic of the past. Wages had doubled, tripled; they went up -higher and higher, and the working-day became shorter and shorter. I -began to earn enough to move my family uptown into a sunny, airy flat -with electricity and telephone service. I even saved up enough to buy a -phonograph and a piano. - -My knotted nerves relaxed. At last I had become free from the worry -for bread and rent, but I was not happy. A more restless discontent -than ever before ate out my heart. Freedom from stomach needs only -intensified the needs of my soul. - -I ached and clamored for America. Higher wages and shorter hours of -work, mere physical comfort, were not yet America. I had dreamed -that America was a place where the heart could grow big with giving. -Though outwardly I had become prosperous, life still forced me into an -existence of mere getting and getting. - -_Ach!_ how I longed for a friend, a real American friend, some one to -whom I could express the thoughts and feelings that choked me! In the -Bronx, the uptown Ghetto, I felt myself farther away from the spirit -of America than ever before. In the East Side the people had yet -alive in their eyes the old, old dreams of America, the America that -would release the age-old hunger to give; but in the prosperous Bronx -good eating and good sleeping replaced the spiritual need for giving. -The chase for dollars and diamonds deadened the dreams that had once -brought them to America. - -More and more the all-consuming need for a friend possessed me. In the -street, in the cars, in the subways, I was always seeking, ceaselessly -seeking for eyes, a face, the flash of a smile that would be light in -my darkness. - -I felt sometimes that I was only burning out my heart for a shadow, an -echo, a wild dream, but I couldn't help it. Nothing was real to me but -my hope of finding a friend. America was not America to me unless I -could find an American that would make America real. - -The hunger of my heart drove me to the night-school. Again my dream -flamed. Again America beckoned. In the school there would be education, -air, life for my cramped-in spirit. I would learn to think, to form -the thoughts that surged formless in me. I would find the teacher that -would make me articulate. - -I joined the literature class. They were reading “The De Coverley -Papers.” Filled with insatiate thirst, I drank in every line with -the feeling that any moment I would get to the fountain-heart of -revelation. Night after night I read with tireless devotion. But of -what? The manners and customs of the eighteenth century, of people two -hundred years dead. - -One evening, after a month's attendance, when the class had dwindled -from fifty to four, and the teacher began scolding us who were present -for those who were absent, my bitterness broke. - -“Do you know why all the girls are dropping away from the class? It's -because they have too much sense than to waste themselves on 'The De -Coverley Papers.' Us four girls are four fools. We could learn more -in the streets. It's dirty and wrong, but it's life. What are 'The De -Coverley Papers'? Dry dust fit for the ash-can.” - -“Perhaps you had better tell the principal your ideas of the standard -classics,” she scoffed, white with rage. - -“All right,” I snapped, and hurried down to the principal's office. - -I swung open the door. - -“I just want to tell you why I'm leaving. I--” - -“Won't you come in?” The principal rose and placed a chair for me -near her desk. “Now tell me all.” She leaned forward with an inviting -interest. - -I looked up, and met the steady gaze of eyes shining with light. In a -moment all my anger fled. “The De Coverley Papers” were forgotten. The -warm friendliness of her face held me like a familiar dream. I couldn't -speak. It was as if the sky suddenly opened in my heart. - -“Do go on,” she said, and gave me a quick nod. “I want to hear.” - -The repression of centuries rushed out of my heart. I told her -everything--of the mud hut in Sukovoly where I was born, of the czar's -pogroms, of the constant fear of the Cossack, of Gedalyah Mindel's -letter, of our hopes in coming to America, and my search for an -American who would make America real. - -“I am so glad you came to me,” she said. And after a pause, “You can -help me.” - -“Help you?” I cried. It was the first time that an American suggested -that I could help her. - -“Yes, indeed. I have always wanted to know more of that mysterious, -vibrant life--the immigrant. You can help me know my girls. You have so -much to give--” - -“Give--that's what I was hungering and thirsting all these years--to -give out what's in me. I was dying in the unused riches of my soul.” - -“I know; I know just what you mean,” she said, putting her hand on -mine. - -My whole being seemed to change in the warmth of her comprehension. “I -have a friend,” it sang itself in me. “I have a friend!” - -“And you are a born American?” I asked. There was none of that sure, -all-right look of the Americans about her. - -“Yes, indeed. My mother, like so many mothers,”--and her eyebrows -lifted humorously whimsical,--“claims we're descendants of the Pilgrim -Fathers, and that one of our lineal ancestors came over in the -_Mayflower_.” - -“For all your mother's pride in the Pilgrim Fathers, you yourself are -as plain from the heart as an immigrant.” - -“Weren't the Pilgrim Fathers immigrants two hundred years ago?” - -She took from her desk a book and read to me. - -Then she opened her arms to me, and breathlessly I felt myself drawn to -her. Bonds seemed to burst. A suffusion of light filled my being. Great -choirings lifted me in space. I walked out unseeingly. - -All the way home the words she read flamed before me: “We go forth all -to seek America. And in the seeking we create her. In the quality of -our search shall be the nature of the America that we create.” - -So all those lonely years of seeking and praying were not in vain. -How glad I was that I had not stopped at the husk, a good job, a good -living! Through my inarticulate groping and reaching out I had found -the soul, the spirit of America. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What is the effect of the abrupt beginning? Where else in the - essay is abruptness made a means of producing literary effect? - - 2. Point out excellent use of local color. - - 3. Divide the essay into its principal parts. - - 4. Show that the essay rises in power. - - 5. How does the writer arouse the reader's sympathy for the - characters? - - 6. How does the writer awaken the reader's patriotism? - - 7. What opinion of America do oppressed foreigners have? To what - extent is their opinion well founded? To what extent is their - opinion not well founded? - - 8. What impressions does a sea-coast city make upon immigrants? - - 9. What sort of people oppress the immigrants after arrival in - America? - - 10. To what false beliefs is such oppression due? - - 11. What opportunities does America present? - - 12. What spirit should meet the aspirations of immigrants? - - 13. What will do most to make immigrants into good Americans? - - 14. Explain how the _Sir Roger de Coverley Papers_ may be taught so - that they will apply to the present as well as to the past. - - 15. How may we help immigrants to do work that will make them into - good Americans? - - 16. Show that the conclusion of the essay emphasizes its entire - thought. - - 17. Show what rhetorical methods are employed in the essay. - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. How I Became a Good American 11. Modernizing the De - Coverley Papers - 2. An Immigrant's Experience 12. The Value of Sympathy - 3. The Meaning of Freedom 13. The Spirit of America - 4. The Land of Opportunity 14. Showing the Way - 5. Making Good Americans 15. First Experiences in America - 6. The School and the Immigrant 16. Letters from People - in Other Lands - - 7. My Coming to America 17. Being a Good American - 8. Life in the Crowded Sections 18. Enemies of America - 9. Sweat Shop Experiences 19. Uplifting the Foreign-Born - 10. My Various Homes 20. The America I Love - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Write down some worthy thought that you have concerning America. -Then write a series of extremely personal incidents that will -show graphically how you arrived at the thought you have in mind. -Make the incidents short, condensed, and highly emphatic. Employ -realistic characters, and give realistic quotations from their speech. -Use the incorrect grammar, the slang, and the foreign words that -the characters employ daily. Arrange the incidents so that they -will rise more and more to your principal thought. Make your last -incident reveal that thought. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[28] Nijny-Novgorood. A Russian city on the Volga, the scene of a great -annual fair. - - - - - MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD - By WILLIAM HENRY SHELTON - - _(1840-). An American patriot and author. He served in many battles - in the Civil War, and had thrilling experiences as a prisoner of - war, escaping no less than four times. He is author of_ A Man - Without a Memory; The Last Three Soldiers; The Three Prisoners. - - =Every one has happy memories of childhood. He loves to conjure up - the old familiar scenes, the kindly people, and the days that were - days of wonder.= - - =The two sketches by Mr. Shelton are extracts from a long essay - called _Our Village_, in which he recalls delightfully all his - early surroundings and all his old companionships.= - - =In these extracts, as in the entire essay, Mr. Shelton avoids - formal autobiography. He merely recalls the things that impressed - him most. As far as possible he lifts himself back into the spirit - of the past, and sees once again, but with added love, the things - that have gone forever.= - - - MY FIRST SCHOOL - -One day in the summer when I was four years old I was taken to the -village school at the foot of the hill below the tavern. I have no -recollection of how I got there, but my return to my grandmother's -was so dramatic that it has impressed itself indelibly on my memory. -Perhaps I was taken to school by the sentimental schoolmistress -herself, who was a girl of sixteen and an intimate friend of my aunt, -to whom, in after years, when she became a famous novelist, she used -to send her books. Her maiden name was Mary Jane Hawes, but there was -a red-haired, freckle-faced boy in one of the pretty houses facing the -side of the church, who went to Yale College and gave her another name. - -The school-house consisted of one room, with an entry without any floor -where the wood was cut and stored. The school-room was square, with a -box-stove in the center. A form against the wall extended around three -sides of the room, affording seats for the larger pupils, and in front -of these a row of oak desks for slates and books was fantastically -carved by generations of jack-knives, and made against the backs of a -second row of desks was a low front form for the A-B-C children. On -the fourth side, flanking the door, were a blackboard on one hand and -on the other the schoolma'am's desk, usually decorated with a bunch of -wild flowers or a red apple, either the gifts of a sincere admirer or -the would-be bribe of some trembling delinquent. - -On the occasion of my first visit to the school I wore a blue-and-white -dress of muslin-de-laine that was afterward made into a cushion for a -rocking-chair in my mother's parlor. I was evidently dressed in my very -best in honor of the occasion, and all went well until recess came. -There was a rumble of thunder, and the sky had been growing dark with -portent of storm, and the leaves and dust were flying on the wind when -the children were released for play. I wanted to do everything that -the other boys did, and so, when they scampered out with a rush, I -followed without fear. Just as we came into the open the thunder-storm -burst upon us. The wind blew off one boy's hat and whirled it in the -direction of the village, and all the other boys joined in the chase. -As I started to follow them a gust of wind and rain beat me to the -ground, and drenched my dress with mud and water. - -I was promptly rescued by the schoolma'am and taken into the entry, -where she undressed me on the wood-pile and wrapped me in her own -woolen shawl, which was a black-and-red pattern of very large -squares. Thus bundled up and rendered quite helpless except as to -my lungs, I was laid on the floor near the stove, where I remained -for the amusement of the children until the shower was over, when a -bushel-basket was sent for to the nearest house, which was the house of -shoemaker Talmadge. Into this basket, commonly used for potatoes and -corn, I was put, wrapped in the black-and-red shawl and packed around -with my soiled clothes, and two of the big boys, John Pierpont and -John Talmadge, carried me up the hill and through the village to my -grandmother's house. - -In the summer following I went to school again, and again to the -sentimental schoolma'am, who loved to teach, but abhorred to punish. -Her gentle punishments rarely frightened the youngest children. - -She would say, “Henry, you have disobeyed me, and I shall have to cut -off your ear,” and with these ominous words she would draw the back of -her penknife across the threatened ear. I must have been very small, -for on one occasion she threatened to shut me up in one of the school -desks. - -Our mad recreation out of school was “playing horse.” We drove each -other singly and in pairs by means of wooden bits and reins of -sheep-twine, and some prancing horses were led, chewing one end of a -twine string, and neighing and prancing almost beyond the control of -the infant groom. - -In the congressman's woods, close by the school-house, we built -stalls and mangers against logs and in fence corners, and gathered -horse-sorrel and sheep-sorrel for hay. The stalls were bedded with -grass and protected from the sun by a roof of green boughs, and the -horses were watered and curried and groomed in imitation of that -service at the stage stables, and the steeds themselves kicked and bit -like the vicious leaders. - -Other teachers followed the young and sentimental one, and the surplus -of the dinner-baskets, thrown out of the window or cast upon the -wood-pile, bred a colony of gray rats that lived under the school-house -and came out to take the air in the quiet period after the door was -padlocked at night and even ventured to come up into the school-room -and look over the books and otherwise nibble at learning. When I had -advanced to the dignity of pictorial geography, as set forth in a thin, -square-built, dog-eared volume, which not having been opened for a -whole day by a certain prancing horse, he was left to learn his lesson -while the teacher went to tea at the house below the tavern, and the -wheat stubble under the window was soon alive with gray rodents that -looked like the colony of seals in the geography. - -About this time the rats, having taken formal possession of the old -school-house, a new school-house was built in our village just beyond -my grandmother's house and facing her orchard. - - [Illustration: =“My great-grandmother.”=] (_page 97_) - - - MY GREAT-GRANDMOTHER - -My great-grandmother was the widow of an Episcopal clergyman, the Rev. -Titus Welton, whose son was the first rector of the village church. -My only acquaintance with my great-grandfather was connected with the -white headstone that bore his name in the graveyard. With the exception -of a quaint water-color portrait in profile of my grandmother in a -mob-cap bound with a black ribbon, which was equally a portrait of -the flowered back of the rocking-chair in which she sat, she survives -in my memory in a series of pictures. I see her sitting before the -open fire, knitting, with one steel needle held in a knitting-sheath -pinned to her left side, or taking snuff from a flat, round box that -contained a vanilla bean to perfume the snuff. Her hands were twisted -with rheumatism, and she walked with a cane. On one occasion I trotted -by her side to church and carried her tin foot-stove, warm with glowing -coals. - -She slept in a high post bed in her particular room over the -sitting-room, which was warmed in winter by a sheet-iron drum connected -with the stove below, and in one corner was a copper warming-pan with a -long handle. When I sat at table in my high-chair eating apple-pie in a -bowl of milk, she sat on the side nearest the fire eating dipped toast -with a two-tined fork. The fork may have had three tines, but silver -forks had not yet made their appearance. - -My great-grandmother lived just long enough to have her picture -taken on a plate of silvered copper by the wonderful process of -Daguerre,[29] a process so like something diabolical that she protected -her soul from evil, as all sitters in that part of the country did, -by resting her hand on a great Bible, the back turned to the front, -so that the letters “Holy Bible” could be read, proving that the -great book was not a profane dictionary. The operator who took her -daguerreotype traveled from town to town, hiring a room in the village -tavern furnished with a chair, a stand on tripod legs, a brown linen -table-cloth, and the aforesaid Bible, and when such of the people as -had the fee to spare, the courage to submit to a new-fangled idea, and -no fear that the face on the magical plate would fade away like any -other spirit face when they opened the stamped-leather case with the -red plush lining after it had lain overnight in the darkened parlor, he -moved on like the cracker baker or any other itinerant showman. - -My great-grandmother had never sent or received a message by telegraph -or ridden in a railway-carriage, and died in peace just before those -portentous inventions came to destroy forever the small community life -in which she had lived. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Why does the writer employ such simple language? - - 2. What sort of events does he narrate? - - 3. Why does he give so few details concerning his early schooldays? - - 4. How does he look upon his early misfortunes? - - 5. Why does he do little more than present the picture of his - great-grandmother? - - 6. Point out examples of gentle humor. - - 7. What do the sketches reveal concerning life in the past? - - 8. What spirit characterizes both sketches? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - 1. My First Schooldays 11. Punishments I Remember - 2. My Grandparents 12. Queer Old Customs - 3. An Early Misfortune 13. My First Superstitions - 4. Some Vanished Friends 14. A Wonderful Day - 5. My Old Home 15. Gifts - 6. Playmates 16. My First School-books - 7. Old Toys 17. Pictures of Childhood - 8. My First Games 18. My Relatives - 9. A First Visit 19. A Great Event - 10. My First Costumes 20. Relics of the Past - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Throw yourself back into the past. Conjure up the people with -whom you used to associate. See once again the places where you -played and where you lived. Think how happy it all was, and how -good it is to look at it once more. Then put down on paper the -things that you remember with the greatest interest. Write in such -a way that you will give the reader the very spirit that you have. -Remember: you are not to communicate facts; you are to communicate -emotion. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[29] Louis Daguerre (1789-1859). A French painter who perfected one of -the earliest methods of photography. - - - - - A VISIT TO JOHN BURROUGHS - By SADAKICHI HARTMANN - - _Author of the first_ History of American Art, _and also of a_ - History of Japanese Art. _His poems, short stories, and essays - appear in many magazines_. - - =John Burroughs was a delightful essayist and a delightful man. - Although he preferred to live the most simple of lives and to spend - his time in meditation on the beauties of natural scenery, and the - wonders of animal life, he attracted to himself the companionship - of some of the greatest in the land, and the love of all people. To - visit him would, indeed, have been a delight.= - - =_A Visit to John Burroughs_ is not a dull narrative of the - events of a visit, nor is it the report of an interview with the - nature-lover. It is an article that admits one into the charm of - Burroughs' spirit. We are with the man in his simple, book-filled - home; we learn his love for pasture and mountain-side, for birds - and for gardening; and we gain some of that spirit of contentment - and peace that made him, in his gray old age, appear like a prophet - in the midst of an over-hurrying generation.= - - -In some places time passes without making any change. The little -village on the Hudson where John Burroughs made his home half a century -ago has shown no ambition of expansion. There is no building activity, -and the number of inhabitants has scarcely increased. The little church -stands drowsily on the hill, and the same old homesteads grace the -road. More freight-trains may rattle by, and more automobiles pass on -the main road, but the physiognomy of the town has remained unchanged. -It is as if time had stood still. The mist shuts out the rest of the -world, river and hills disappear, the stems of the grape-vines look -like a host of goblins, and the wet trees make darker silhouettes than -usual. - -I knocked at a door and entered, and there sat John Burroughs stretched -at full length in a Morris chair before some glowing beech-sticks in -the open fireplace. There was not much conversation. What is most -interesting in an author's life he expresses in his books, and so we -indulged only in an exchange of phrases about his health, of the -flight of time, and a few favored authors. The questioning of the -interviewer can produce only forced results, and in particular when the -interviewed person has reached an age when taciturnity becomes natural, -and one prefers to gaze at the dying embers and listen to the drip of -the rain outside. That his interest in literature did not lag was shown -by a set of Fabre,[30] whom he pronounced the most wonderful exponent -in his special line. - -A quaint interior was this quiet little room. Conspicuous were the -portraits of Whitman,[31] Carlyle,[32] Tolstoy,[33] Roosevelt,[34] and -Father Brown of the Holy Order of the Cross, men who in one way or -another must have meant something to his life. On the mantelpiece stood -another portrait of Whitman and a reproduction of “Mona Lisa.”[35] -There were windows on every side, and the rest of the walls consisted -of shelves filled with nature books. One shelf displayed the more -scientific works, and one was devoted entirely to his own writings. It -was the same room in which several years ago, on a summer day in the -vagrom days of youth, I had read for the first time “Wake Robin,”[36] -that classic of out-of-door literature, and “The Flight of the Eagle,” -an appreciation of Walt Whitman. - -John Burroughs was fifty then, and had just settled down seriously to -his literary pursuits. He had risen brilliantly from youthful penury -to be the owner of a large estate. His latest achievement was “Signs -and Seasons”; “Riverby,” a number of essays of out-of-door observations -around his stone house by the Hudson, was in the making. - -There is a wonderful fascination in these books. They reveal a man who -has lived widely and intimately, who has made nature his real home. All -day long he is mingled with the heart of things; every walk along the -river, into the woods, or up the hills is an adventure. He exploits the -teachings of experience rather than of books. His essays are always -fused with actions of the open. One feels exhilaration in making the -acquaintance of a man with an unnarrowed soul who has burst free from -the shackles of intellectual authority, who joyfully and buoyantly -interprets the beauties about him, shunning no such pleasures as -jumping a fence, wading a brook, or climbing a tree or mountain-side. - -American literature has always abounded with nature speculation and -research. Bryant[37] was a true poet of nature; he loved woods, -mountain, and river, and his “To the Yellow Wood Violet,” and “The -Blue Gentian” are gems of pictorial nature-writing. Whittier[38] -transfigured the beauty of New England life in one poem “Snowbound,” -and in his “Autumn Walk” leisurely strolled to the portals of -immortality. Whitman stalked about on the open road like a -pantheist.[39] - -Yet none had the faculties of discovery and interpretation like -John Burroughs, the intimate knowledge, the warm vision, to which a -wood-pile can become a matter of contemplation, and a back yard or a -garden patch become as interesting as any scenery in the world. None -of them could have lectured on apple-trees or gray squirrels with such -intimacy as Burroughs. Burroughs has never any sympathy with the -“pathetic fallacy of endowing inanimate objects with human attributes,” -nor would he indorse Machin's propaganda idea of the antagonism of -animals against their human masters. - -A trout leaping in a mountain stream, the lively whistle of a bird -high in the upper air, a bird's nest in an old fence post--these are -some of the topics nearest his heart. No nature-writer has ever shown -such diversity of interest. Even _Rip Van Winkle_ did not know the -mountains as well as does this camper and tramper for a lifetime on -the same familiar grounds; over and over again he makes the round from -Riverby to Slabsides, to Roxbury in the western Catskills, and back -again to the rustic studio near the river. He knows every pasture, -mountain-side, and valley of his chosen land. He even named some of -the hills. One of them, much frequented by bees, he named “Mount -Hymettus,”[40] because there “from out the garden hives, the humming -cyclone of humming bees” liked to congregate. - -But is his minute observation of weed seeds in the open field or insect -eggs on tree-trunks not disastrous to literary expression? Can this -style of writing soar above straightforward nature-writing of men like -Wilson,[41] Muir,[42] White,[43] and Chapman?[44] Burroughs is capable -of making a long-winded analysis of the downward perch of the head of -the nut-hatch, but he is no Audubon.[45] As a literary man he is an -essayist who etches little vignettes, one after the other, with rare -precision. How fine is his sentence about the unmusical song of the -blackbirds! “The air is filled with crackling, splintering, spurting, -semi-musical sounds which are like salt and pepper to the ear.” -Here the poetic temperament finds an utterance far beyond the broad -knowledge of nature. - -And there is his fine appreciation of Walt Whitman, his grasp of -literary values despite working in a comparatively smaller field of -activity. John Burroughs has a good deal of Whitman about him, whom he -called “the one mountain in our literary landscape.” The man of Riverby -is not large of stature, but has the same nonchalance of deportment, -the flowing beard, and the ruddy face, a few shades darker than that -of the good gray poet; for Whitman was, after all, a city man, while -Burroughs always lived his life out of doors. - -We talked about the looks of Whitman, whom he had known in Washington -in the sixties. - -“Yes, he had a decided vitality, although he was already gray and bent -at that time. Yes, he would talk if one could draw him out.” - -“I believe he talked only for Traubel,”[46] I dryly remarked, at which -Burroughs was greatly amused. - -Emerson[47] was the god of Burroughs's youth, but Whitman undoubtedly -exercised the more lasting influence. This, however, never touched -Burroughs's own peculiar nature-fresh-and-homespun style. It lingered -only as a vague inspiration in the under rhythm of his work. Whitman -had the macrocosmic vision,[48] while Burroughs is an adherent of -microcosm. Few can combine both qualities. - -Burroughs is an amateur farmer and gardener. He prunes his cherrytrees, -cures hay, and thinks of new methods of mowing grain. He experimented -with grape-vines, a rather futile occupation at this period of social -evolution. He has been a great cherry-picker all his life, and I -remember with keen pleasure how delicious those wild raspberries -tasted that I shared with him one summer day. He has a celery farm -at Roxbury, his birthplace, and when I was last at Slabsides, his -bungalow in the hills near West Park, I saw nothing but beets for -cattle. I was astonished at this peculiar, indeed, prosaic pastime. And -still more so that he had chosen for residence a site in a hollow of -the mountain-side, while only a few steps above one can enjoy a most -gorgeous view of the surrounding country. Did he make the selection -because the place is more sheltered? No, I believe he chose the place -intuitively, because it expresses his particular point of view of -life. The keen breeze and the wide view serve only for occasional -inspiration; but the undergrowth vegetation, the crust of soil, the hum -of insects, the little flowers--these are the true stimulants of his -eloquent simplicity of style. - -Burroughs professed to have a great admiration for Turguenieff's[49] -“Diary of a Sportsman.” These exquisite prose poems represent nature -at its best, but they are purely poetic, pictorial, with a big cosmic -swing to them. This is out of the reach of Burroughs, and he never -attempted it. His poems contain, as he says himself, more science and -observation than poetry. A few beautiful lines everybody can learn to -write, and unless they are fragments of a torso of the most intricate -and beautiful construction, they will drop like the slanting rain into -the dark wastes of oblivion. - -His lessons of nature, accepted as text-books in the public schools, -have a true message to convey. They represent the socialization of -science. He loves the birds and learned their ways; he could run his -course aright, as he has placed his goal rightly. He stirred the earth -about the roots of his knowledge deeply, and thereby entered a new -field of thought. He became interested in final causes, design in -nature. - -The transcendentalist[50] of the Emersonian period at last came to -his own. There is something of the bigness of Thoreau[51] in his -recent writings, Thoreau who in his “Concord and Merrimac River” had a -mystical vision, a grip on religious thought, and who, like a craftsman -in cloisonné, hammered his philosophic speculations upon the frugal -shapes of his observations. In “Ways of Nature” and “Leaf and Tendril” -Burroughs has reached out as far as it is possible for a nature -writer without becoming a philosopher. He now no longer contemplates -the outward appearance of things, but their organic structure, the -geological formation of the earth's crust, and the evolution of life. -And some ledge of rock will now give him the prophetic gaze into the -past and into the future. - -And so John Burroughs at eighty-five, still chopping the wood for -his own fireside, writing, lecturing, giving advice about phases of -farm-work, strolling over the ground, still interested in literature, -can serenely fold his hands and wait. - -Indeed, this white-bearded man, in his bark-covered study amidst veiled -heights and blurred river scenes, furnishes a wonderful intimate -picture which will linger in American literature and in the minds of -all who yearn for a more intimate knowledge of nature, unaffectedly -told, like the song of the robin of his first love, “a harbinger of -spring thoughts carrying with it the fragrance of the first flowers and -the improving verdure of the fields.” - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. How does the first paragraph indicate the key-note of the - article? - - 2. What do Burroughs' pictures and books show concerning his - character? - - 3. What sort of life did Burroughs lead? - - 4. What is meant by “exploiting the teaching of experience rather - than of books”? - - 5. How did Burroughs find happiness? - - 6. What is said concerning Burroughs' faculties of discovery and - interpretation? - - 7. What diversity of interests did Burroughs show? - - 8. What is said concerning Burroughs' work as an essayist? - - 9. Why was Burroughs fond of Walt Whitman? - - 10. How did Burroughs gain literary style? - - 11. What is meant by the “socialization of science”? - - 12. What makes Burroughs such a charming person? - - 13. Into what sections may the article be divided? - - 14. What does the article reveal concerning its author? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. A Visit with My Teacher 11. Our Unusual Caller - 2. A Call on an Interesting Person 12. A Talk with a Tramp - 3. In the Office of the Principal 13. The Beggar's Life - 4. Visiting My Relatives 14. My Cousin - 5. A Visit to Another School 15. A Talk with an Expert - than My Own - 6. A Talk with a Fireman 16. My Friend, the Carpenter - 7. A Talk with a Policeman 17. Interviewing a Peddler - 8. An Interview with a Stranger 18. Talking with a Missionary - 9. The Man in the Office 19. In the Printer's Office - 10. The Busy Clerk 20. The Railroad Conductor - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Write about an actual visit or interview. In all your work pay most -attention to presenting the spirit of the person whom you talk with. -The events of your visit, and the remarks that are made, are of less -importance than the things that reveal spirit,--the surroundings, the -costume, the habits, the work done and the various things that show -character. The essay is in no sense to be the story of a visit; it is -to give an intimate picture of the person in whom you are interested. -Your object is to show character. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[30] Jean Henri Fabre (1823-1915). A French entomologist who wrote many -volumes on insect life, among them being _The Life and Love of the -Insects_; _The Life of the Spider_; _The Life of the Fly_. - -[31] Walt Whitman (1819-1892). An American poet, noted for highly -original poems marked by absence of rhyme and metre. Whitman loved the -outdoor world, and had great philosophic insight. - -[32] Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881). A brilliant English essayist and -historian, strikingly original and unconventional, and a firm upholder -of stalwart manhood. - -[33] Count Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910). A great Russian novelist, reformer -and philosopher,--a bold and original thinker. - -[34] Theodore Roosevelt (1858-1919). Ranchman, author, soldier, -explorer, and President of the United States, a man of sterling manhood -and great personal fearlessness. - -[35] Mona Lisa. A picture of a lady of Florence, painted about 1504 -by Leonardo da Vinci, an Italian painter. The face has a peculiarly -tantalizing expression. - -[36] _Wake Robin._ One of John Burroughs' delightful outdoor books, -written in 1870. - -[37] William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878). The first great American poet; -author of _Thanatopsis_; noted for his love of nature. - -[38] John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892). An American poet who wrote -lovingly of New England life and scenery. He is noted for his poems -against slavery. - -[39] Pantheist. One who sees God in everything that exists. - -[40] Mount Hymettus. A mountain in Greece from which most excellent -honey was obtained in classic times. - -[41] Alexander Wilson (1766-1813). Born in Scotland and died in -Philadelphia; author of a remarkable study of American birds, published -in nine volumes. - -[42] John Muir (1838-1914). An American naturalist and explorer of the -west and of Alaska. - -[43] Gilbert White (1720-1793). An English naturalist, noted for his -_Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne_. - -[44] Frank M. Chapman (1864--). An American writer on bird life. He is -especially noted for excellent work in photographing birds. - -[45] John James Audubon (1780-1851). A great American student of birds; -noted for his exact drawings of birds. - -[46] Horace Traubel (1858-1919). An American editor who was the -literary executor of Walt Whitman. - -[47] Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882). An American poet and philosopher; -a man of marked individuality and power. - -[48] Macrocosmic. The sentence means that Whitman looked upon the world -and upon the universe as a whole, while Burroughs studied little or -individual things in order to understand the whole. - -[49] Ivan Turguenieff (1818-1883). A Russian novelist whose _Diary of a -Sportsman_ aided in bringing about the freeing of Russian serfs. - -[50] Transcendentalist. One who believes in principles that can not be -proved by experiment. - -[51] Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862). An American essayist, naturalist -and philosopher. - - - - - WASHINGTON ON HORSEBACK - By H. A. OGDEN - - (_1856_--). _An illustrator, particularly of American historical - subjects, on which he is an authority. His most noted work is 71 - color plates of uniforms of the U. S. Army, 1775-1906. He made the - original cartoons for the Washington memorial window in the Valley - Forge memorial. He is the author and illustrator of_ The Boys Book - of Famous Regiments; Our Flag and Our Songs; The Voyage of the - Mayflower; Our Army for Our Boys _(joint author); and numerous - magazine articles of a historical nature._ - - =The ordinary magazine article, lacking the personal note, is not an - essay. As a rule, such an article endeavors to present a subject in - its entirety, to follow a strictly logical order, and to avoid any - expression of personal reaction on the part of the writer.= - - =Some magazine articles, however, are written in such an easy, - chatty style, without any hint of attempt to cover a subject either - completely or logically, that they approach the essay form.= - - =_Washington on Horseback_ is an article that closely resembles an - essay. It is discursive, anecdotal, wandering and is much like a - pleasant talk about Washington and his love of horses. Although the - writer keeps himself entirely behind the scenes it is evident that - he is a man who admires horses as well as manliness and courage.= - - -“The best horseman of his age, and the most graceful figure that -could be seen on horseback,” was Thomas Jefferson's opinion of his -great fellow-Virginian, George Washington. From his early boyhood, a -passionate fondness for the horse was a strong and lasting trait of our -foremost American. - -When a little boy of eight, he was given his first riding-lessons on -his pony Hero by Uncle Ben, an old servant (perhaps a slave) of his -father's. - -On one occasion, when under the paternal eye, he tried over and over -again to leap his pony. When he finally succeeded in doing so, both -rider and pony fell; but jumping up, the boy was quickly in the saddle -again, his father, a masterful man who hated defeat, exclaiming, “That -was ill ridden; try it again!” This happening near their home, his -mother rushed out, greatly alarmed, and begged them to stop. Finding -her entreaties were unheeded, she returned to the house protesting that -her boy would “surely be murdered!” And during all of her long life -this dread of the dangers her son incurred was one of her striking -characteristics. - -This early training in riding, however, was greatly to the boy's -advantage; for his satisfaction in conquering horses and training them -made him a fine horseman and prepared him for the coming years when he -was to be so much in the saddle. - -A notable instance of early intrepidity in the tall and athletic boy, -in his early teens, in mastering a wild, unmanageable colt is related -by G. W. P. Custis,[52] Washington's adopted son. The story goes that -this colt, a thoroughbred sorrel, was a favorite of Washington's -mother, her husband having been much attached to him. Of a vicious -nature, no one had thus far ventured to ride him; so before breakfast -one morning, George, aided by some of his companions, corraled the -animal and succeeded in getting bit and bridle in place. - -Leaping on his back, the venturesome youth was soon tearing around the -enclosure at breakneck speed, keeping his seat firmly and managing his -mount with a skill that surprised and relieved the fears of the other -boys. An unlooked-for end to the struggle came, however, when, with a -mighty effort, the horse reared and plunged with such violence that he -burst a blood-vessel and in a moment was dead. - -Looking at the fallen steed, the boys asked “What's to be done? Who -will tell the tale?” The answer soon had to be given; for when they -went in to the morning meal, Mrs. Washington asked if they had seen her -favorite horse. Noting their embarrassment, she repeated the question; -when George spoke up and told the whole story of the misadventure. -“George, I forgive you, because you have had the courage to tell the -truth at once,” was her characteristic reply. - -Upon their father's death, his accomplished brother Lawrence took an -active interest in George's education and development. The boy had -taken a strong hold on Lawrence's affection, which the younger brother -returned by a devoted attachment. Among other accomplishments, George -was encouraged to perfect his horsemanship by the promise of a horse, -together with some riding clothes from London--especially a red coat -and a pair of spurs, sure to appeal to the spirit and daring of the -youth. - -His first hunting venture, as told by Dr. Weir Mitchell[53] in “The -Youth of Washington,” occurred on a Saturday morning,--a school -holiday even in those days,--when, there being none to hinder, George -having persuaded an old groom to saddle a hunter, he galloped off to -a fox-hunting “meet” four miles away. Greatly amused, the assembled -huntsmen asked if he could stay on, and if the horse knew he had a -rider? To which George replied that the big sorrel he rode knew his -business; and he was in at the kill of two foxes. On the way back -the horse went lame, and on arriving at the stable the rider saw an -overseer about to punish Sampson, the groom, for letting the boy take -a horse that was about to be sold. He quickly dismounted and snatched -the whip from the overseer's hand, exclaiming that he was to blame and -should be whipped first. The man answered that his mother would decide -what to do; but the boy never heard of the matter again. The anger he -showed on this occasion caused old Sampson to admonish him never to -“get angry with a horse.” - -When about sixteen, George lived a great part of the time at Mount -Vernon, Lawrence's home, where he made many friends among the “Old -Dominion” gentry, the most prominent of them being Thomas, Lord -Fairfax, an eccentric old bachelor, residing with his kindred at -Belvoir, an adjoining estate on the Potomac. As this had been the -home of Anne Fairfax, Lawrence's wife, the brothers were ever welcome -guests. Attracted to each other by the fact that both were bold and -skilful riders and by their love of horses, a lifelong friendship was -formed between the tall Virginian, a stripling in his teens, and the -elderly English nobleman, and many a hard ride they took together, with -a pack of hounds, over the rough country, chasing the gray foxes of -that locality. - -Settled at Mount Vernon, in the years following his marriage and up -to the beginning of the War for Independence, Washington found great -pleasure in his active, out-of-door life, his greatest amusement being -the hunt, which gratified to the full his fondness for horses and dogs. - -His stables were full, numbering at one time one hundred and forty -horses, among them some of the finest animals in Virginia. Magnolia, -an Arabian, was a favorite riding-horse; while Chinkling, Valiant, -Ajax, and Blue-skin were also high-bred hunters. His pack of hounds was -splendidly trained, and “meets” were held three times a week in the -hunting season. - -After breakfasting by candle-light, a start was made at daybreak. -Splendidly mounted, and dressed in a blue coat, scarlet vest, buckskin -breeches, and velvet cap, and in the lead,--for it was Washington's -habit to stay close up with the hounds,--the excitement of the chase -possessed a strong fascination for him. - -These hunting parties are mentioned in many brief entries in his -diaries. In 1768, he writes: “Mr. Bryan Fairfax, Mr. Grayson, and Phil -Alexander came home by sunrise. Hunted and catched a fox with these: -Lord Fairfax, his brother, and Colonel Fairfax and his brother; all of -whom with Mr. Fairfax and Mr. Wilson of England dined here.” Again, on -November 26 and 29: “Hunted again with the same party.” 1768,--January -8: “Hunting again with the same company--started a fox and run him four -hours.” Thus we learn from his own pen how frequently this manly sport, -that kept him young and strong, was followed by the boldest rider in -all Virginia. - -A seven-years absence during the war caused the hunting establishment -of Mount Vernon to run down considerably; but on returning in 1783, -after peace came, the sport was renewed vigorously for a time. - -Blue-skin, an iron-gray horse of great endurance in a long run, was -the general's favorite mount during those days. With Billy Lee, the -huntsman, blowing the big French horn, a present from Lafayette,--the -fox was chased at full speed over the rough fields and through such -tangled woods and thickets as would greatly astonish the huntsmen of -to-day. - -What with private affairs, official visits, and the crowd of guests at -his home, Washington felt obliged to give up this sport he so loved, -for his last hunt with the hounds is said to have been in 1785. - -To return to his youthful days. At sixteen he was commissioned to -survey Lord Fairfax's vast estates, and soon after was appointed -a public surveyor. The three years of rough toil necessitated by -his calling were spent continually in the saddle. Those youthful -surveys, being made with George's characteristic thoroughness, stand -unquestioned to this day. - -The beginning of his active military career started with a long, -difficult journey of five hundred miles to the French fort on the Ohio, -most of which was made in the saddle. It was hard traveling for the -young adjutant general of twenty-one accompanied by a small escort. -On the return journey, the horses were abandoned, and it was when -traveling on foot that his miraculous escapes from a shot fired by a -treacherous Indian guide and from drowning, occurred. - -When, in 1755, the British expedition against the French fort on -the Monongahela, commanded by General Braddock, started out from -Alexandria, Washington, acting as one of the general's aides, was -too ill to start with it; but when the day of action came, the day -that the French and Indians ambushed the “red-coats,” the young -Virginia colonel, although still weak, rode everywhere on the field of -slaughter, striving to rally the panic-stricken regulars; and although -two horses had been shot under him, he was the only mounted officer -left at the end of the fight. - -On the occasion of Washington's first visit to Philadelphia, New -York, and Boston, in 1756, he rode the whole distance, with two aides -and servants, to confer with Governor Shirley of Massachusetts and -settle with him the question of his army rank. He was appropriately -equipped for his mission, and the description of the little cavalcade -is very striking. Washington, in full uniform of a Virginia colonel, a -white-and-scarlet cloak, sword-knot of red and gold, his London-made -holsters and saddle-cloth trimmed with his livery “lace” and the -Washington arms, his aides also in uniform, with the servants in their -white-and-scarlet liveries, their cocked hats edged with silver, -bringing up the rear, attracted universal notice. Everywhere he was -received with enthusiasm, his fame having gone before him. Dined -and fêted in Philadelphia and New York, he spent ten days with the -hospitable royal governor of Massachusetts. The whole journey was a -success, bringing him, as it did, in contact with new scenes and people. - -It seems noteworthy that in accounts of the campaigns and battles of -the Revolution such frequent mention is made of the commander-in-chief -on horseback. From the time he rode from Philadelphia to take command -of the army at Cambridge, in 1775, down to the capitulation of Yorktown -in 1783, his horses were an important factor in his campaigns. Among -many such incidents, a notable one is that which occurred when, after -the defeat of the Americans at Brooklyn and their retreat across the -river to New York, Washington in his report to Congress wrote: “Our -passage across the East River was effected yesterday morning; and for -forty-eight hours preceding that I had hardly been off my horse and -never closed my eyes.” He was, in fact, the last to leave, remaining -until all his troops had been safely ferried across. - -An all-night ride to Princeton, in bitter cold, over frozen roads, and, -when day dawned, riding fearlessly over the field to rally his men, -reining in his charger within thirty yards of the enemy, forms another -well-known incident. - -At the battle of Brandywine an old farmer was pressed into service to -lead the way to where the battle was raging, and he relates that as his -horse took the fences Washington was continually at his side, saying -repeatedly: “Push along, old man; push along!” Shortly after the -defeat at Brandywine, General Howe's advance regiments were attacked -at Germantown; and here, as at Princeton, Washington, in spite of the -protests of his officers, rode recklessly to the front when things were -going wrong. - -After the hard winter at Valley Forge, and when in June of 1778 the -British abandoned Philadelphia he took up the march to Sandy Hook, -Washington resolved to attack them on their route. On crossing the -Delaware in pursuit of the enemy, Governor William Livingston of New -Jersey presented to the commander-in-chief a splendid white horse, upon -which he hastened to the battle-field of Monmouth. - -Mr. Custis in his “Recollections of Washington,” states that on the -morning of the twenty-eighth of June, he rode, and _for that time only_ -during the war, a white charger. Galloping forward, he met General -Charles Lee,[54] with the advanced guard, falling back in confusion. -Indignant at the disobedience of his orders, Washington expressed his -wrath in peremptory language, Lee being ordered to the rear. Riding -back and forth through the fire of the enemy, animating his soldiers, -and recalling them to their duty he reformed the lines and turned the -battle tide by his vigorous measures. From the overpowering heat of -the day, and the deep and sandy soil, his spirited white horse sank -under him and expired. A chestnut mare, of Arabian stock, was quickly -mounted, this beautiful animal being ridden through the rest of the -battle. Lafayette, always an ardent admirer of Washington, told in -later years of Monmouth, where he had commanded a division, and how his -beloved chief, splendidly mounted, cheered on his men. “I thought then -as now,” said the enthusiastic Frenchman, “that never had I beheld so -superb a man.” - -Of all his numerous war-horses, the greatest favorite was Nelson--a -large, light sorrel, with white face and legs, named after the patriot -governor of Virginia. In many battles,--often under fire,--Nelson had -carried his great master and was the favored steed at the crowning -event of the war--the capitulation of Yorktown. - -Living to a good old age, and never ridden after Washington ceased -to mount him, the veteran charger was well taken care of, grazing in -a paddock through the summers. And often, as the retired general and -President made the rounds of his fields, the old war-horse would run -neighing to the fence, to be caressed by the hand of his former master. - -During the eight years of his Presidency, Washington frequently took -exercise on horseback, his stables containing at that time as many as -ten coach- and saddle-horses. - -When in Philadelphia, then the seat of government, the President owned -two pure white saddle-horses, named Prescott and Jackson, the former -being a splendid animal, which, while accustomed to cannon-fire, waving -flags, or martial music, had a bad habit of dancing about and shying -when a coach, especially one containing ladies, would stop to greet the -President. The other white horse, Jackson, was an Arab, with flowing -mane and tail, but, being an impetuous and fretful animal, he was not a -favorite. - -A celebrated riding-teacher used to say that he loved “to see the -general ride; his seat is so firm, his management of his mount so easy -and graceful, that I, who am a professor of horsemanship, would go to -him and _learn to ride_.” - -Since his early boyhood, the only recorded fall from a horse that -Washington had was once on his return to Mount Vernon from Alexandria. -His horse on this occasion, while an easy-gaited one, was scary. When -Washington was about to mount and rise in the stirrup, the animal, -alarmed by the glare of a fire by the roadside, sprang from under his -rider, who fell heavily to the ground. Fearing that he was hurt, his -companions rushed to his assistance, but the vigorous old gentleman, -getting quickly on his feet, assured them that, though his tumble was -complete, he was unhurt. Having been only poised in his stirrup and not -yet in the saddle, he had a fall no horseman could prevent when a scary -animal sprang from under him. Vicious propensities in horses never -troubled Washington; he only required them to go along. - -An amusing anecdote is told of one of Washington's secretaries, -Colonel David Humphreys. The colonel was a lively companion and a -great favorite, and on one of their rides together he challenged his -chief to jump a hedge. Always ready to accept a challenge of this -sort, Washington told him to “go ahead,” whereupon Humphreys cleared -the hedge, but landed in the ditch on the other side up to his -saddle-girth. Riding up and smiling at his mud-bespattered friend, -Washington observed, “Ah, Colonel, you are too deep for me!” - -On the Mount Vernon estates, during the years of retirement from all -public office, his rides of inspection were from twelve to fourteen -miles a day, usually at a moderate pace; but being the most punctual -of men, he would, if delayed, display the horsemanship of earlier days -by a hard gallop so as to be in time for the first dinner-bell at a -quarter of three. - -A last glimpse of this great man in the saddle, is as an old gentleman, -in plain drab clothes, a broad-brimmed white hat, carrying a hickory -switch, with a long-handled umbrella hung at his saddle-bow--such was -the description given of him by Mr. Custis to an elderly inquirer who -was in search of the general on a matter of business. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What is the effect of the opening quotation? - - 2. Point out all the ways in which the article resembles an essay. - - 3. Show that the article does not follow a strictly logical plan. - - 4. Show in what respects the article differs from ordinary magazine - articles. - - 5. What characterizes the style of the article? - - 6. How does the writer make the article interesting? - - 7. What hints of the writer's personality does the article give? - - 8. What does the article say concerning the character of - Washington? - - 9. Summarize what is said concerning Washington as a horseman. - - 10. How much is said about the biography of Washington? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. U. S. Grant as a Horseman 11. William Morris as a - Workman - 2. Alexander the Great 12. Charles Dickens as - as a Horseman a Humanitarian - 3. Napoleon as a Horseman 13. Shakespeare as a Punster - Story Teller - 4. Abraham Lincoln as a 14. Milton as a Husband - 5. Longfellow as a Lover of 15. Robert Louis Stevenson - Children as a Traveler - 6. Ralph Waldo Emerson as a 16. Samuel Johnson - Neighbor as a Friend - 7. Henry David Thoreau 17. Jack London as a Wanderer - as an Explorer - 8. Benjamin Franklin as an 18. Theodore Roosevelt - Originator as a Fighter - 9. Charles Lamb as a Brother 19. Mark Twain as a Humorist - 10. Queen Elizabeth as a Woman 20. Edison as an Inventor - - - [Illustration: =Colonel Humphreys landed in the ditch.=] (_page 116_) - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Select both a subject and a theme in which you are interested. Take -your note-book and consult encyclopedias, histories, and books of -biography, noting down everything that has relation to your particular -subject and theme. Hunt especially for interesting anecdotes; if they -are humorous,--so much the better. - -You will do well to introduce your article with an appropriate -quotation. Make your writing as conversational and as anecdotal as -possible. Don't be in the least bit encyclopedic. Be gossipy. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[52] George Washington Parke Custis (1781-1857). The adopted son of -George Washington. - -[53] Dr. S. Weir Mitchell (1829-1914). An American physician and -novelist. His novel, _Hugh Wynne_, concerns the life of Washington. - -[54] General Charles Lee (1731-1782). An American Revolutionary General -court-martialed for disobedience at the battle of Monmouth, 1778. - - - - - THE HISTORICAL STORY - - - - - HAVELOK THE DANE - By GEORGE PHILIP KRAPP - - _(1872--). Professor of English in Columbia University. He is - a member of many scholarly societies, and has written much on - English. Among his books are_ The Elements of English Grammar; In - Oldest England; The Rise of English Literary Prose. - - =The story of _Havelok the Dane_ is one of the oldest of English - stories; for the story that is here told is only a re-telling - of a narrative that originated nearly a thousand years ago. The - first story of Havelok was probably written in Anglo-Saxon in the - eleventh century or in the first half of the twelfth century. It - was told in French about 1150, and re-told in English about 1300. - Some critics find close relation between the story of Havelok and - the story of Hamlet.= - - =In all probability there was a real Havelok who may have lived in - the latter part of the tenth century, and who may have participated - in events like those told in the story. It is probable that as - stories of his romantic career were repeated they increased,--just - as gossip increases. The facts became lost in a body of romantic - events. The Havelok of the story is therefore a character of - fiction.= - - =The story is interesting in many ways. First of all, it is a - remarkably good story, very human and capable of awakening - sympathy, full of quick event, centered around the fascinating - subjects of youth, adventure and love, and picturesque in its - details and episodes. Then it is an old story,--ten centuries - old,--and is interesting as a relic of the past. In addition, it - shows remarkably well what sort of stories preceded the short - stories and the novels of to-day, and how the old stories sometimes - grew from a mingling of fact and imagination.= - - =In reading the story of _Havelok the Dane_ we stand, as it were, - in the presence of one of the story tellers of the extreme past. - Around us we feel castle walls and the presence of rough fighting - men. The flames of the great fireplace flare on our faces, and we - listen with childlike interest.= - - -Many years ago, in the days of the Angles and Saxons, there was once a -king of England whose name was Athelwold. In that time a traveler might -bear fifty pounds of good red gold on his back throughout the length -and breadth of England, and no one would dare molest him. Robbers and -thieves were afraid to ply their calling, and all wrong-doers were -careful to keep out of the way of King Athelwold's officers. That was a -king worth while. - -Now this good King Athelwold had no heir to his throne but one young -daughter, and Goldborough was her name. Unhappily, when she was just -old enough to walk, a heavy sickness fell upon King Athelwold, and he -saw that his days were numbered. He grieved greatly that his daughter -was not old enough to rule and to become queen of England after him, -and called all the lords and barons of England to come to him at -Winchester to consult concerning the welfare of his kingdom and of his -daughter. - -Finally it was decided that Godrich, Earl of Cornwall, who was one -of the bravest, and, everybody said, one of the truest, men in all -England, should take charge of the child Goldborough and rule the -kingdom for her until she was old enough to be made queen. On the -Holy Book, Earl Godrich swore to be true to this trust which he had -undertaken, and he also swore, as the king commanded, that when -Goldborough reached the proper age, he would marry her to the highest, -the fairest, and the strongest man in the kingdom. When all this was -done, the king's mind was at rest, for he had the greatest faith in the -honor of Earl Godrich. It was not long thereafter that the end came. -There was great grief at the death of the good king, but Godrich ruled -in his stead and was the richest and most powerful of all the earls in -England. We shall say no more about him while Goldborough is growing -older, and in the end we shall see whether Earl Godrich was true to his -trust and to the promises he had given to Goldborough's father. - -Now it happened, at this same time, that there was a king in Denmark -whose name was Birkabeyn. Three children he had, who were as dear -to him as life itself. One of these was a son of five years, and he -was called Havelok. The other two were daughters, and one was named -Swanborough and the other Elflad. Now when King Birkabeyn most wished -to live, the hand of death was suddenly laid upon him. As soon as he -realized that his days in this life were over, he looked about for some -one to take care of his three young children, and no one seemed so fit -for this office as the Earl Godard. To Godard, therefore, he intrusted -the care of his three children, and Godard faithfully promised to guard -them until the boy Havelok was old enough to become king of Denmark. - -Scarcely, however, was the body of King Birkabeyn laid away in -the grave, before the faithless Godard began to plot evil, and he -determined to be himself king of Denmark. So he took Havelok and his -two sisters and cast them into prison in a great stone castle. - -In this prison the poor little children almost perished from cold and -hunger, but they little knew that still worse misfortune was in store -for them. For one day Earl Godard went to the castle where they were -imprisoned, and Havelok and his sisters fell on their knees before him -and begged for mercy. “What do you want?” said Godard. “Why all this -weeping and howling?” And the children said they were very hungry. “No -one comes to give us of food and drink the half part that we need. We -are so hungry that we are well nigh dead.” - -When Godard heard this, his heart was not touched, but, on the -contrary, it grew harder within him. He led the two little girls away -with him, and took away the lives of these innocent children; and he -intended to do the same with young Havelok. But the terrified boy again -fell on his knees before Godard and cried: “Have pity upon me, Earl -Godard! Here I offer homage to you. All Denmark I will give to you if -you will but let me live. I will be your man, and against you never -raise spear nor shield.” - -Now when Godard heard this and when he looked down at young Havelok, -the rightful heir to the throne of Denmark, his arm grew weak, though -his heart was as hard as ever. He knew that if he was ever to become -king, Havelok must die; but he could not bring himself to the point of -taking the life of his lawful sovereign. - -So he cast about in his mind for some other way to get rid of him. He -sent for a poor fisherman whose name was Grim. Now Grim was Godard's -thrall, or slave, and was bound to do whatever Godard asked of him. -When Grim had come to him, Godard said: “Thou knowest, Grim, thou art -my thrall, and must do whatever I bid thee. To-morrow thou shalt be -free and a rich man if thou wilt take this boy that I give thee and -sink him to-night deep down in the sea. All the sin I will take upon -myself.” - -Grim was not a bad man, but the promise of his freedom was a sore -temptation, and besides, Godard, his master, had said that he would be -responsible for the deed. So Grim took Havelok, not knowing, of course, -who he was, and put him in a sack and carried him off to his little -cottage by the seashore, intending that night to row out to deep water -and throw him overboard. - -Now when it came midnight, Grim got up from his bed, and bade his wife, -Dame Leve, bring a light for he must go out and keep his promise to -Earl Godard. But when Leve went into the other room, where Havelok was -lying bound and gagged, what was her surprise to see that there was -already a light in the room. Right over Havelok's head it seemed to -stand; but where it came from, she could not guess. - -“Stir up, Grim,” she cried, “and see what this light is here in our -cot!” - -And Grim came running in, and he too saw the strange light and was as -surprised as Leve had been. Then he uncovered Havelok, and there on his -right shoulder he saw a birthmark, bright and fair, and knew from this, -right away, that this boy was Havelok, the son of King Birkabeyn. When -Grim realized this, he fell on his knees before Havelok and said, “Have -mercy on me and on Leve, my wife, here by me! For thou art our rightful -king and therefore in everything we should serve thee.” Then when Grim -had unbound him and had taken the gag out of his mouth, Havelok was a -happy boy again; and the first thing he asked for was something to eat. -And Dame Leve brought bread and cheese, and butter and milk and cookies -and cakes, and for the first time in many a long day Havelok had all he -wanted to eat. Then when Havelok had satisfied his hunger, Grim made a -good bed for him and told him to go to sleep and to fear nothing. - -Now the next morning, Grim went to the wicked traitor Godard and -claimed his reward. But little he knew the faithlessness of Godard. - -“What!” cried Godard, “wilt thou now be an earl? Go home, and be as -thou wert before, a thrall and a churl. If I ever hear of this again, -I will have thee led to the gallows, for thou hast done a wicked deed. -Home with you, and keep out of my way, if you know what is good for -you!” - -When Grim saw this new proof of the wickedness of Earl Godard, he -ran home as fast as he could. He knew that his life was not safe in -Godard's hands, especially if the earl should ever find out that -Havelok was still alive. Grim had hoped to get money from Earl Godard -with which to escape to some other country, but now he saw that he -would have to depend on his own means. Secretly he sold all that he had -and when he had got the ready money for it, he bought him a ship and -painted it with tar and pitch, and fitted it out with cables and oars -and a mast and sail. Not a nail was lacking that a good ship should -have. Last of all Grim put in this ship his good wife Dame Leve, and -his three sons and two daughters and Havelok, and off they sailed to -the open ocean. They had not been sailing very long, however, before a -wind came out of the north and drove them toward England. At the river -Humber they finally reached land, and there on the sand near Lindesey, -Grim drew his ship up on the shore. A little cot he straightway built -for his family; and since this was Grim's home, the town that gradually -grew up there in later days came to be named Grimsby, and if you will -look on the map, you will find that so it is called to this very day. - -Now Grim was a very good fisherman, and he decided to make his living -here in England by fishing. Many a good fish he took from the sea, with -net and spear and hook. He had four large baskets made, one for himself -and one for each of his three sons, and when they had caught their -fish, off they carried them to the people in the towns and country, -to sell them. Sometimes they went as far inland as the good town of -Lincoln. - -Thus they lived peacefully and happily for ten years or more, and -by this time Havelok was become a youth full grown. But Grim never -told Havelok who he was, nor did he tell any of his three sons or two -daughters. And Havelok soon entirely forgot all about what had happened -to him in Denmark. And so he grew up, happy as the days were long, -and astonishingly healthy and strong. He was big of bone and broad of -shoulder and the equal of a man in strength. - -Now after a time, Havelok began to think to himself that Grim was -working very hard to make a living, while he was amusing himself in -ease and idleness. “Surely,” said he to himself, “I am no longer a -boy. I am big and strong, and alone I eat more than Grim and his five -children. It's high time for me to bear baskets and work for my living. -No longer will I stay at home, but to-morrow I too shall go forth and -sell fish.” And so in the morning, as soon as it was light of day, he -put a basket on his back, as the others did, piled high with fish, as -much as a good strong man might carry. But Havelok bore the burden -well, and he sold the fish well, and the money he brought back home -to Grim, every penny of it. Thus Havelok became a fisherman; he went -forth every day with his basket on his back and sold fish, and was the -tallest and strongest monger of them all. - - * * * * * - -Now it happened after a time that Grim fared not so well With his -fishing. The fish would not come to his nets, and with no fish in the -nets, there was none for the baskets and for market. To make matters -worse, at this same time there was a great famine in the land, and poor -people suffered greatly from lack of food to eat. These were hard times -for Grim and his houseful of children. Yet less for his own did Grim -grieve than for the sturdy Havelok. Moreover, Grim had long thought -that this work of fishing and fish-selling, though good enough for -himself and his three sons, was hardly the right life for Havelok, who, -though he knew nothing about it, was nevertheless a king's son. - -“Havelok, my boy,” said he, at length, “it is not well for thee to -dwell here too long with us. Though it will grieve us sorely to have -thee go, out into the world thou must venture, and perhaps there -thou shalt make thy fortune. Here thou seest we are but miserable -fisher-folk; but at Lincoln, the fine city, there thou mayst find some -great man whom thou canst serve. But, alas!” he added, “so poor are we -that thou hast not even a coat wherein to go.” - -Then Grim took down the shears from the nail and made Havelok a coat -out of the sail to his boat, and this was Grim's last gift to Havelok. -No hose and no shoes had Havelok to wear, but barefoot and naked, -except for his long coat of sail-cloth, he left his good friends Grim -and Dame Leve and their five children and set out for the town of -Lincoln. - -When Havelok reached Lincoln, he wandered about bewildered in the -streets of the city. But nobody seemed to have any use for him; nobody -wanted to exchange the strength of his powerful arms for food to eat. -As he wandered from one street to another, Havelok grew hungrier and -hungrier. By great good chance, however, he passed by the bridge where -the market was, and there stood a great earl's cook, who was buying -fish and meat and other food for the earl's table. Now he had just -finished buying when Havelok happened along, and the cook shouted, -“Porter, porter!” for somebody to come to carry his marketing home. -Instantly ten or a dozen jumped for the chance, for there were plenty -of men looking for work in Lincoln. But Havelok got ahead of them all; -he pushed them this way and that and sent them sprawling head over -heels, and seized hold of the cook's baskets, without so much as a “By -your leave.” Rough and ready was the young Havelok, as strong as a bear -and as hungry as a savage. He made quick time of the journey to the -cook's kitchen, and there he was well fed as pay for his labor. - -By the next day, however, Havelok's stomach was again empty. But he -knew the time at which the earl's cook came to the market, and he -waited there for him. Again when the cook had finished buying, he -called out “Porter, porter!” and again the husky Havelok shoved the -rest right and left and carried off the cook's baskets. He spared -neither toes nor heels until he came to the earl's castle and had put -down his burden in the kitchen. - -Then the cook, whose name was Bertram, stood there and looked at -Havelok and laughed. “This is certainly a stalwart fellow enough,” he -thought. “Will you stay with me?” he said finally to Havelok. “I will -feed you well, and well you seem to be able to pay for your feeding.” - -And Havelok was glad enough to take the offer. “Give me but enough to -eat,” he answered, “and I will build your fires and carry your water, -and I can make split sticks to skin eels with, and cut wood and wash -dishes, and do anything you want me to do.” - -The cook told Havelok to sit down and eat as much as he wanted, and you -can be sure Havelok was not slow in accepting this invitation. When -he had satisfied his hunger, Havelok went out and filled a large tub -of water for the kitchen, and, to the cook's great astonishment, he -carried it in, without any help, in his own two hands. Such a cook's -knave had never been seen in that kitchen before! - -So Havelok became a kitchen-boy in a great earl's castle. He was always -gay and laughing, blithe of speech and obliging, for he was young and -thoughtless and healthy, and happy so long as he had something to put -into his stomach. He played with the children and they all loved him, -for, with all his great strength and stature, he was as gentle as the -gentlest child among them. And Bertram, the cook, seeing that Havelok -had nothing to wear except his old sail-cloth coat that Grim had made -for him, bought Havelok a brand-new coat and hose and shoes; and when -Havelok was dressed up in his new clothes, there was not a finer fellow -in the whole country. He stood head and shoulders above the rest when -the youths came together for their games at Lincoln, and no one ever -tried a round at wrestling with Havelok without being thrown almost -before he knew it. He was the tallest and strongest man in all that -region, and, what was better, he was as good and gentle as he was -strong. - -Now, as it happened, the earl in whose kitchen Havelok served as -kitchen-boy to Bertram the cook was that very Earl Godrich to whom old -King Athelwold had entrusted his daughter, Goldborough, for protection. -Goldborough was now a beautiful young princess, and Godrich realized -that something must soon be done for her. But Godrich had become the -strongest baron in all England; and though he had not forgotten his -promises to Athelwold, little did he think to let the power, to which -he had grown so accustomed, pass into the hands of another. For though -the beautiful Goldborough was now old enough to be made queen, the -traitorous Godrich had decided in his heart that queen she should never -be, but that when he died, his son should be made king after him. - -Just about this time it happened that Earl Godrich summoned a great -parliament of all the nobles of England to meet at Lincoln. When the -parliament met, there was a great throng of people there from all over -England, and the bustling city was very gay and lively. Many young men -came thither with their elders, bent on having a good time, strong -lads fond of wrestling and other such games. Now these young men were -amusing themselves one day in one way and another, and finally they -began to “put the stone.” The stone was big and heavy, and it was not -every man who could lift it even as high as his knees. But these strong -fellows who had come to Lincoln in the train of the mighty barons could -lift it up and put it a dozen or more feet in front of them; and the -one who put it the farthest, if it was only an inch ahead of the rest, -he was counted the champion at putting the stone. - -Now these stout lads were standing around and boasting about the best -throws, and Havelok stood by listening. He knew nothing about putting -the stone, for he had never done it or seen it done before. But his -master, Bertram the cook, was also there, and he insisted that Havelok -should have a try at it. So Havelok took up the great stone, and at the -first throw, he put it a foot and more beyond the best throw of the -others. - -The news of Havelok's record throw in some way spread abroad, how he -had beaten all these strong lads, and how tall and powerful he was. And -finally the knights in the great hall of the castle began speaking of -it, and Earl Godrich listened, for he had suddenly thought of a way to -keep his promise. In a word, it was this: King Athelwold had made him -swear on the Holy Book that he would give his daughter in marriage to -the highest and strongest in the realm of England. Now where could he -find a higher and stronger than this Havelok? He would marry the king's -daughter to this kitchen-boy, and thus, though in a way that the old -king never dreamed of, he would keep his promise and still leave the -road free for himself and his son after him. - -Godrich straightway sent for Goldborough, and told her that he had -found a husband for her, the tallest and fairest man in all England. -And Goldborough answered that no man should wed her unless he was a -king or a king's heir. - -At this Godrich grew very angry. “Thou shalt marry whom I please!” -he commanded. “Dost thou think thou shalt be queen and lady over me? -I will choose a husband for thee. To-morrow shalt thou wed my cook's -kitchen-boy and none other, and he shall be lord over thee.” - -Goldborough wept and prayed; but she could not turn Godrich from his -shameful purpose. - -Then Godrich sent for Havelok, and when he had come before him, he -said, “Fellow, do you want a wife?” - -“Nay, truly,” said Havelok, “no wife for me! What should I do with a -wife? I have neither clothing nor shoes nor food for her, neither house -nor home to put her in. I own not a stick in the world, and even the -coat I bear on my back belongs to Bertram the cook.” - -But Godrich told Havelok he must marry the wife he had chosen for him, -willy-nilly, or he should suffer for it. And finally Havelok, for -fear of his life, consented, and Goldborough was sent for, and the -Archbishop of York came, and soon they were married, one as unwilling -as the other. - -But when the wedding was over, and gifts had been given to Goldborough, -rich and plenty, Havelok was perplexed. He beheld the beauty of -Goldborough and was afraid to remain at Godrich's castle for fear of -treachery that might befall her. For Goldborough now had only Havelok -to protect her, since the kitchen-boy had become her lord and master, -and Havelok, with a man's courage, determined to defend her to the best -of his ability. The first thing to do, as it seemed to him, was to go -back to Grim's cottage, there to think over the matter carefully before -acting further. And straightway, in company with Goldborough, he set -out secretly for the little cot by the seashore. - - * * * * * - -When Havelok and Goldborough came to Grim's house, he found that -there had been many sad changes during the time he had been living -in Lincoln. In the first place, the good Grim had died, and also his -wife, Dame Leve. But the three sons of Grim and his two daughters were -still living at Grimsby, and they still caught the fish of the sea and -carried them about in baskets to sell them. The oldest of these sons -was called Robert the Red, and, of the remaining two, one was named -William Wendout, and Hugh the Raven the other. They were filled with -joy when they found that their foster-brother, Havelok, had come back -to them, and they prepared a fine dinner for him and Goldborough. And -Robert the Red begged Havelok now to stay with them at Grimsby and be -their chief and leader. They promised to serve him faithfully, and -their two sisters were eager to care for all the needs of Goldborough, -his wife. But for the time being, Havelok put them off, for he had not -yet decided what would be the best course for him to follow. - -Now that night, as Goldborough lay awake, sad and sorrowful, she was -suddenly aware of a bright light, surrounding, as it seemed, the head -of the sleeping Havelok. Then at the same time, there came a voice, she -could not tell whence, which said to her: “Goldborough, be no longer -sorrowful, for Havelok, who hath wedded thee, is a king's son and heir. -Upon his shoulder he bears a royal birthmark to prove it. The day shall -come when he will be king both in Denmark and in England, and thou -shalt be of both realms queen and lady.” - -Now just at this same time, Havelok dreamed a strange dream; and when -he awoke, he told his dream to Goldborough. He dreamed that he was -sitting on a high hill in Denmark, and when he stretched out his arms, -they were so long that they reached to the farthest limits of the -land; and when he drew his arms together to his breast, everything in -Denmark, all the towns, and the country, and the lordly castles, all -cleaved to his arms and were drawn into his embrace. Then he dreamed -that he passed over the salt sea with a great host of Danish warriors -to England, and that all England likewise came into his power. - -When Goldborough heard this dream, she thought straightway of the -strange light she had seen over Havelok's head and the voice that she -had heard, and she interpreted it to mean that Havelok should be king -over Denmark and afterward over England. - -She knew not how this should come to pass, but unhesitatingly advised -Havelok to prepare to set sail for Denmark. Her plan was this: that -they should buy a ship, and take Grim's three sons, Robert the Red, -William Wendout, and Hugh the Raven, with them, and, when they came to -Denmark, pretend that they were merchants until they could find out -what course to follow. And when this plan was told to the three sons -of Grim, they immediately agreed to it, for they were ready to follow -Havelok wherever he went. And now, also, Havelok for the first time -learned who his father was, and that he was really heir to the throne -of Denmark. For Grim, before he left Denmark, had told all of Havelok's -story to a cousin of his, and she now, for she was still alive and had -come to stay with Grim's family at Grimsby, told Havelok all about Earl -Godard's treachery. Happy indeed was Goldborough when she heard this -story, and they were all more anxious than ever to set out for Denmark. -They got a good ship ready, and it was not long before all were well on -their way. - -When the ship reached Denmark, they all went up on land and journeyed -forth until they came to the castle of the great Danish baron, Earl -Ubbe. Now Ubbe had been a good friend of Havelok's father, the former -King Birkabeyn, and a good man and true was he. When they reached -Ubbe's castle, Havelok sent word that they were merchants, come to -trade in Ubbe's country, and, as a present, he sent in to Ubbe a gold -ring with a precious stone in the setting. - -When Ubbe had received this generous gift, he sent for Havelok to -come to see him. When the young man came, Ubbe was greatly struck by -Havelok's broad shoulders and sturdy frame, and he said to himself: -“What a pity that this chapman is not a knight! He seems better -fitted to wear a helmet on his head and bear a shield and spear than -to buy and sell wares.” But he said nothing of this to Havelok, and -only invited him to come and dine in the castle and to bring his -wife, Goldborough, with him. And Ubbe promised that no dishonor -should be done either to one or the other, and pledged himself as -their protector. And when the dinner was over, Ubbe, who had taken a -great liking to both Havelok and Goldborough, entrusted them to the -safe-keeping of one of his retainers, a stout and doughty warrior whose -name was Bernard the Brown. To Bernard's house, therefore, Havelok and -Goldborough went, and there too were lodged Robert the Red and William -Wendout and Hugh the Raven. - -Now when they had reached Bernard's house, and Bernard and Havelok and -Goldborough were sitting there peacefully at supper, the house was -suddenly attacked by a band of fierce robbers. Travelers were not as -safe in Denmark as they were in England in the days of the strong King -Athelwold, and these robbers, thinking that Havelok must be a very -rich man, since he had given so valuable a ring to the Earl Ubbe, were -come now, a greedy gang, to see if they could get hold of some of his -treasure. Before Bernard and his guests were aware of them, the robbers -had reached the door, and they shouted to Bernard to let them in or -they would kill him. But the valiant Bernard recalled that his guests -were in his safe-keeping; and shouting back that the robbers would -have to get in before they could kill him, he jumped up and put on his -coat of mail and seized an ax and leaped to the doorway. Already the -robbers were battering at the door, and they took a huge boulder and -let it fly against the door, so that it shivered to splinters. Then -Havelok mixed in the fray. He seized a heavy wooden door-tree, which -was used to bar the door, and when the robbers tried to break through -the door, he laid on right and left. It was not long before Robert and -William and Hugh, in the other part of the house, heard the din and -came rushing up; and then the fight was on, fast and furious. Robert -seized an oar and William and Hugh had great clubs, and these, with -Bernard's ax and Havelok's door-tree, made it lively enough for the -robbers. But especially Havelok and his door-tree made themselves felt -there. The robbers, for all they were well armed with shields and good -long swords, were compelled to give way before the flail-like strokes -of Havelok's door-tree. When they saw their comrades falling right and -left, those that were still able to do so took to their legs and ran -away. Some harm they did, however, while the fray lasted, for Havelok -had a severe sword-wound in his side, and from several other gashes the -blood was flowing freely. - -In the morning, when Bernard the Brown told Ubbe of the attacks of the -robbers, Ubbe swore that he would bring them to punishment; and he also -took further measures to protect Havelok. When he heard that Havelok -was wounded, he had him brought to his own castle and gave him a room -right next to his own. - -Now that night, when Havelok lay asleep in his room and Ubbe in the -room next to it, about the middle of the night Ubbe was awakened, and -thought he saw a light on the other side of the door. “What's this?” he -said to himself. “What mischief are they up to in there?” And he got up -to see if everything was all right with his new friend the chapman. - -Now when Ubbe peeped through a crack in the door, he saw a strange -sight. For there was Havelok peacefully sleeping, and over his head -there gleamed the miraculous light that Goldborough had seen and that -had caused Grim to spare his life when he was a little child. And -looking closer, Ubbe saw something more. For the cover was thrown -back, and he saw on Havelok's shoulder the royal birthmark, and he -knew immediately that this was the son of his old friend and king, -Birkabeyn, and the rightful heir to the throne of Denmark. Eagerly he -broke open the door and ran in and fell on his knees beside Havelok, -acknowledging him as his lawful lord. - -As soon as Havelok realized that he was not dreaming, he saw that good -fortune had at last put him in the way of winning back his rights. - -And it had indeed, for Ubbe immediately set to work getting together -an army for Havelok. It was not long before Havelok had a fine body of -fighters ready to follow wherever he led them, and then he thought it -was time to seek out his old enemy, Earl Godard. Before this, however, -there was another thing to be done, and that was to make knights of -Robert and William and Hugh. They were given the stroke on the shoulder -with the flat of the sword by Earl Ubbe and thus were dubbed knights. -They were granted land and other fee, and they became as brave and -powerful barons as any in Denmark. - -When Havelok had his plans all made, he set out to find Earl Godard. It -was Robert the Red who had the good fortune first to meet with him. But -Godard was no coward, and was not to be taken without struggle for his -freedom. He defended himself as best he could, but his followers soon -became frightened and took to their heels, leaving the wretched Godard -a helpless prisoner in the hands of Robert. Havelok was glad enough -to have Godard in his power at last, but he made no effort to punish -Godard for the injuries he had done to him personally. It was as a -traitor to his king and his country that Godard was now held prisoner. -When the time of the trial came, by the judgment of his peers, Godard -was convicted of treason and sentence of death was passed upon him. - -When peace had again been restored throughout Denmark, then the -people all joyfully accepted Havelok as their king and the beautiful -Goldborough as their queen. - -One thing still remained for Havelok to do in England after affairs had -all been settled in Denmark--there still remained an accounting with -Earl Godrich. And so, as soon as he had got his army together, Havelok -and Goldborough went on board ship and sailed over the sea, and soon -they were again back at Grimsby. The earl was ready for him, too, for -he had heard of Havelok's arrival in England, and he thought he could -make quick work of his former kitchen-boy. But Havelok the man, with -a Danish army at his back, was a quite different person from Havelok -the boy, who carried the cook's baskets from market and distinguished -himself only by his record at putting the stone. And this difference -Earl Godrich was soon to discover. - -It was Ubbe, this time, who had the first meeting with Godrich. Ubbe -claimed Godrich as his prisoner, but Godrich immediately drew his -sword in self-defense. They fought long and fiercely, and Godrich was -decidedly getting the better of it, when Havelok fortunately appeared -upon the scene. Havelok demanded that Godrich should yield himself as -his prisoner, but for answer Godrich only rushed at Havelok all the -more fiercely with his drawn sword, and so violent was his attack, that -he succeeded in wounding Havelok. At this, Havelok's patience gave out, -and exerting all his powerful strength, in a short time he overcame -Godrich and disarmed him and bound him hand and foot. Then Havelok had -Godrich carried before a jury of his peers in England, where he was -made to answer to the charge of treason, just as Godard had been made -to do in Denmark. - -All the English barons acknowledged that Goldborough was their true -queen, and that Godrich was a tyrant and usurper. And since not only -plain justice, but also the welfare of the kingdom, demanded it, the -barons passed the sentence of death upon the traitorous Earl Godrich. -With much feasting and celebration, Havelok and Goldborough were taken -in triumph to London, and there were crowned king and queen of England. -Thus Goldborough's dream had come to pass, for she was now queen and -lady and Havelok was lord and king over both Denmark and England. - -But since Havelok could not be in both countries at one time, and -since his Danish friends were eager to get back again to Denmark, now -that their work in England was finished, Havelok made Ubbe ruler over -Denmark in his place, and he remained in England. Moreover there were -other old friends who were also richly deserving of reward. Of these, -one was Bertram the cook, Havelok's former master, who had fed him when -he was starving. Bertram was made a rich baron, and he was married to -one of Grim's daughters, who were still living at Grimsby, but who, of -course, had now become great ladies. The other daughter was married to -Reynes, Earl of Chester, who was a brave young bachelor and glad enough -to get so beautiful and so highly favored a wife as Havelok gave him. -Robert the Red and William Wendout and Hugh the Raven all remained -in England, where they married rich and beautiful wives, and became -Havelok's right-hand men in the good government of the country. - -And you can be sure the country was now again well governed. As in -the days of the good King Athelwold, a traveler might bear a bag full -of red gold on his shoulder from one end of England to the other, and -be as safe as though he were guarded by an army of soldiers. Loved -by their subjects and feared by their enemies, thus in peace and -contentment King Havelok and Queen Goldborough dwelt together many a -long year in England, and their children grew up around them. They had -passed through their trials and tribulations, and at last only good -days were in store for them. - -This is the end. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What advantage does the author gain by using a somewhat archaic - style? - - 2. Why does he tell the story with almost the same simplicity that - marks the original story? - - 3. What events show the character of Havelok? - - 4. What is the character of Grim? - - 5. What is the character of Goldborough? - - 6. In what respects are Earl Godrich and Earl Godard alike? - - 7. Show that the story is like some of the familiar nursery - legends. - - 8. Outline the principal events of the narrative. - - 9. Which events are most impressive? - - 10. Point out local allusions in the story. - - 11. In what respects is Havelok truly royal? - - 12. Point out any uses of the supernatural. - - 13. Is Bertram a realistic or a romantic character? - - 14. Point out exceedingly human touches in the story. - - 15. Point out the emphasis of noble characteristics. - - 16. Show how description adds to the effectiveness of the story. - - 17. Show how the story resembles other stories you have read. - - 18. What reasons have made the story live for a thousand years? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Uncle Tom's Cabin 11. Robinson Crusoe - 2. Washington's Boyhood 12. Rip Van Winkle - 3. The Story of Treasure Island 13. The Story of Portia - 4. The Story of Ivanhoe 14. The Story of Rosalind - 5. The Vision of Sir Launfal 15. The Story of Viola - 6. Lancelot and Elaine 16. Silas Marner - 7. Robin Hood and His Men 17. The Ancient Mariner - 8. Huckleberry Finn 18. The Black Knight - 9. Tom Sawyer 19. King Arthur - 10. Ben Hur 20. Joan of Arc - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -You are to re-tell an old story. Select one with which you are -entirely familiar. Tell it very simply and plainly, but try very hard -to give it the quality of human interest. Make your readers sympathize -with your hero and heroine. Tell a number of dramatic -episodes, selecting those that do most to emphasize character. Make -your story move very quickly, and make its action very vivid and -intense. Give emphasis to good characteristics. - - - - - THE STORY ESSAY - - - - - POLITICS UP TO DATE - By FREDERICK LEWIS ALLEN - - _(1890-). A contributor to many magazines. At different times he - served as Instructor in English at Harvard, and as a member of the - editorial staff of_ The Atlantic Monthly, _and of_ The Century. - - =The short story and the essay may be combined in what may be called - the story-essay or the dialogue-essay. Many of Addison's _Sir Roger - de Coverley_ essays illustrate such a combination.= - - =_Politics Up To Date_ is really a critical essay, directed against - certain tendencies in political campaigns in the United States, - but it is presented in the form of a dialogue between a young - politician and an old politician. It is very effective in its - satire.= - - -“So you've come to me for advice, have you?” said the Old Politician to -the Young Politician. “You want to know how to succeed in politics, do -you?” - -The Young Politician inclined his head. - -“I do,” he replied. “Will you tell me?” - -The Old Politician was silent for a moment. - -“Times change,” he said at last, “and I dare say there are new issues -now in politics that there weren't in the good old days. The technic is -somewhat different, too. However, the basic principles remain the same, -and, after all, the issues don't really matter; it's what you say about -them that counts, and I can tell you what to say about them. Very well, -I'll advise you. First of all, if you're running for office in these -days, you must run as a hundred-per-cent. American candidate.” - -The Young Politician's eye clouded with perplexity. - -“What is Americanism,” he asked, “and how does one figure it on a -percentage basis?” - -The Old Politician brought down his fist on the table with a crash. - -“You aspire to political office, and ask questions like that!” he -exclaimed in a voice of wrath. “Never question what hundred-per-cent. -Americanism is, even to yourself. If you do, somebody else will -question, too. Nothing could be more fatal. Don't try to define -it; assert it. Say you're hundred per cent. and your opponent -isn't. Intimate that if George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and -Abraham Lincoln went over your opponent with a slide rule and an -adding-machine, they couldn't make him add up to more than ninety-nine -per cent. If he's out for a seven-cent fare or a new set of municipal -waterworks, tell the people that such things are un-American. Say that -he's dodging the issue, and the issue is Americanism.” He paused. “If -you were my opponent, and asked what Americanism is, I'd double you up. -'Think of it, my fellow-citizens! He doesn't even know what Americanism -is! Is that the kind of man to hold office in the country of Washington -and Lincoln?'” - -The Young Politician looked round uneasily to make sure that they were -indeed alone, for the Old Politician was almost shouting. - -“Please,” said the Young Politician, “not so loud. I won't ask that -question again. I see your point. What else do you advise?” - -“You must learn,” continued the Old Politician, “to be a good -denouncer.” - -“A good what?” - -“Denouncer. Keep your eyes open for objects of popular disapproval, -and when you're sure you've got hold of something that is heartily -disapproved by the great majority of the people, denounce it. At -present I should advise you to denounce the high cost of living, the -profiteers, and the Bolshevists. Next year, of course, the list may be -quite different, but for the present those three are the best objects -of denunciation.” - -“What bothers me,” suggested the Young Politician in a hesitating -voice, “is that it may be rather hard to drag those things into the -campaign. Suppose, for example, I'm pledged to broaden the Main Street -of the city upon my election to the city council. Won't it be rather -hard to tie the Main Street and the Bolshevists together?” - -The Old Politician looked upon the troubled face of the Young -Politician with disgust. - -“You're a great politician, you are,” he said wearily. “Tie them -together? Don't be so ridiculously logical.” He rose to his feet, and -as he did so he smote the table once more with his fist. “Gen-tle-men,” -he cried hoarsely, surveying an imaginary audience with his glittering -eye, “there is a movement on foot in this very county, this very State, -nay, this very city, to undermine our Congress, to topple over the -Constitution, to put a bomb under our President! Confronted by such a -menace to our democratic institutions, what, gentlemen, shall be our -answer? Let us broaden Main Street, as Washington would have broadened -it, as Lincoln would have broadened it, and let us put down the red -flag wherever it shows its head!” - -“Its mast,” corrected the Young Politician, visibly moved. “Thank you -for those courageous, those hundred-per-cent. words. I shall try to -strike that note. But there is something else I want to ask. Suppose -I am elected. What shall I do while I hold office in order that I may -become ultimately eligible for still higher office?” - -“In that case,” replied the old man, who by this time had subsided into -his chair, “you must not merely denounce the high cost of living, the -profiteers, and the Bolshevists; you must campaign against them.” - -“But suppose I am a commissioner of roads or an attorney-general,” -queried the Young Politician. “In that case, clearly such things lie -outside my province. How can I campaign against them?” - -“My dear young man,” said the Old Politician, with a weary smile, -“don't bother about your province, as you call it. Your job will -undoubtedly be uninteresting and the public won't know anything about -it or care anything about it, and the test of your success will be -your ability to conduct campaigns which have nothing to do with your -job, and therefore stand some chance of interesting the public. There -is no reason why even an attorney-general shouldn't campaign against -anything, provided he handle his campaign right. - -“The principal thing to bear in mind is that you must begin your -campaigns noisily and end them so quietly that the sound of their -ending is drowned in the noise of the next campaign's beginning. Let's -say you begin with a campaign against the high cost of living. First -come out with a statement that you, as attorney-general or commissioner -of roads or what not, are going to knock the high cost of living to -bits, and the whole force of the Government will be behind you. That -will put you on the front page once. Then send out telegrams calling -a conference to take steps against the cost of living. That will put -you on the front page again. Then when the conference meets, address -them, and tell them they've got to make conditions better, simply got -to. By the way, you ought to have a couple of able secretaries to help -you with these speeches, or, better still, to do the routine work of -your office so that there will be nothing to divert your mind from your -campaigns. Then, after you have the conference well started, step out. -Don't stay with them; they may begin asking you for constructive ideas. -Step clear of the thing, and start a new campaign. - -“I can't over-emphasize the fact that when the conference is well -started, you must help the public to forget about it, and stir up -interest in something new. Flay the profiteer for a month or two, -and get a conference going on profiteers. Rap the Bolshevists, and -telegraph for a crowd of citizens to come and probe the Bolshevists -while you're deciding what your next campaign shall be. Don't let the -people's minds run back to the high cost of living, or they'll be -likely to notice that it hasn't gone down. Refer constantly to the -success of your own campaigns, and keep the public mind moving.” - -The Young Politician was visibly impressed, but apparently a doubt -still lingered in his mind. - -“There's one thing I'm afraid I don't quite understand,” he said at -last. “All this denouncing and rapping and probing--isn't it likely -to look rather destructive? Will people want to vote for a man whose -pleasantest mood is one of indignation?” - -“My dear young man,” replied the Old Politician, “I fear that you -misunderstood me. A politician must be always pleasant to the people -who are about him, and denounce only persons who are not present. You -should compliment your audience when speaking. Be sure to make the -right speech in the right place; don't get off your profiteer speech to -the Merchants' Association, or they may begin to wonder whether they -agree with you, but draw their hearts to yours with your anti-Bolshevik -speech; assure them that you and they are going to save the nation from -red ruin. Denunciation is pleasant if it's somebody else who is getting -denounced. Tell the merchants or the newspaper publishers or the party -committeemen, or whoever it is that you are addressing, that they are -the most important element in the community and that the war could not -have been won if they had not stepped forward to a man and done their -duty. That's good to hear. - -“Finally, give them a little patriotic rapture. Tell them this is -a new age we're in. Picture to them the capitalist and working-man -walking hand in hand with their eyes on the flag. Make the great heart -of America throb for them. Unpleasant? Why, if you top off with a -heart-throb, you can make the most denunciatory speech delightful for -one and all.” - -The Young Politician rose. - -“I see,” he said. “Thank you. Have you any other advice?” - -“Merely one or two minor hints,” said the Old Politician. “If the -photographers want to take your picture teaching your baby to walk, let -them do it; the public loves the home life of its leader. Always be -affable to the reporters, but never state your views explicitly, or you -may find them embarrassing at some later date. Stick to generalities. -I think that's all.” - -“Thank you again,” said the Young Politician, putting out his hand. -“You are very good. You're--” An idea seemed to seize his mind, and -his bearing perceptibly altered. “You, sir, are a good American. I'm -always delighted to have an evening with a man who is absolutely -one-hundred-per-cent. patriotic American to the core.” - -“Good night,” said the Old Politician. “You're getting it very nicely. -I think you'll do well.” - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What advantage is gained by presenting the thought through the - medium of dialogue? - - 2. What is the character of the Old Politician? - - 3. Explain the writer's satire of the use of “Americanism.” - - 4. What are the Old Politician's principles concerning - denunciation? - - 5. What are the writer's principles? - - 6. In what ways does the writer satirize the American public? - - 7. How does the writer satirize political campaigns? - - 8. How does the writer satirize hypocrisy in political life? - - 9. How would the writer have a political campaign conducted? - - 10. How would the writer have an office holder act? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. The Good American 11. The Right Kind of Leader - 2. Campaign Speaking 12. Testing Political Speeches - 3. Political Beliefs 13. Good Citizens - 4. Honesty in Public Life 14. How to Vote Conscientiously - 5. A Worthy Office Holder 15. A Genuine Statesman - 6. Political Methods 16. Patriotic Speeches - 7. Denunciation 17. Soap-box Orators - 8. A Political Campaign 18. Diverting Attention - 9. Sincerity 19. Public Servants - 10. Deceiving the Public 20. The American People - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Think of a series of principles in which you strongly believe. -Imagine two people who will represent definite attitudes toward the -principles that you have in mind. Write a dialogue between the -two people, presenting your real thought in the disguise of satire. -Let your work represent both the beginning and the ending of the -conversation. As in all other writing, make the ending effective. - - - - - FREE! - By CHARLES HANSON TOWNE - - _(1877--). Managing editor of_ McClure's Magazine. _He has written - many delightful books, among which are:_ The Quiet Singer, and - Other Poems; Jolly Jaunts with Jim; Autumn Loiterers; Shaking Hands - with England. - - =Over two hundred years ago Joseph Addison imagined a character - whom he called “The Spectator” meeting with various friends and - discussing with them the life of the times. Through what was said - by these imaginary beings Addison gave his own shrewd comments on - foibles and follies. Mr. Towne's “young-old philosopher” is a sort - of modern “Spectator.” He talks of the drudgery of work, and the - glowing joy of a holiday, and comes to the sudden realization that - the world is a world of work in which every one must play his part - if he is to have real contentment. The essay is Mr. Towne's comment - both on a life of unvaried drudgery and on a life of idleness.= - - =“I have wondered what it would seem like to be ... jogging along - with nowhere to go save where one pleased.”= - - -The young-old philosopher was speaking. - -“I had a strange experience yesterday. To have spent twenty years or so -at office work, and then suddenly to arrange one's affairs so that a -portion of the week became one's own--that is an experience, isn't it?” - -We admitted that it was an achievement to be envied. - -“How did you manage it?” was the natural question. - -“That is a detail of little importance,” he replied. “Let the fact of -one's sudden liberty be the point dwelt upon. I found myself walking -up the avenue at the miraculous hour of eleven in the morning, and not -going to a desk! I was headed for the park, where I knew the trees had -long since loaded their branches with leaves, and the grass was so -green that it made the heart ache with its loveliness. You know how -perfect yesterday was, a summer day to remember and to be grateful for. - -“To you who have never known what it is to drudge day in and day out, -this may seem a trifling thing to speak of. For myself, a miracle -had happened. I could not believe that this golden hour was mine -completely. I had never seen shop-windows with quite this slant of the -sun on them. Always I had viewed them early or late, or wistfully at -noon, when the streets were so crowded with other escaped office men -that I could take no pleasure in what I beheld. Shop-windows at eleven -in the morning were for the elect of the earth. That hour had always -heretofore meant for me a manuscript to be read or edited, a conference -to be attended, a telephone call to be answered, a visit from some one -seeking advice--something, at any rate, that made it impossible for me -to call it my own. I have looked often from a high window at that hour, -and seen the people in the streets as they trailed like ribbons round -and round the vast city, and I have wondered what it would seem like -to be one of them, not hurrying on some commercial errand, but jogging -along with nowhere to go save where one pleased. - -“At last my dream had come true, and when I found myself projected upon -that thrilling avenue, and realized that I had nothing, absolutely -nothing, to do until luncheon-time, and I could skip that if I wished, -I could scarcely believe that it was I who had thus broken the traces. - -“The green of the park greeted me, and, like Raleigh's cloak,[55] a -gay pattern of flowers was laid at the entrance for even my unworthy -feet metaphorically to tread. And to think that these bright blooms -unfolded here day after day and I had so seldom seen them! An old man -dozed on a bench near at hand, oblivious to the beauty around him; and -a septuagenarian gardener leaned over the circular border, just as -Narcissus[56] looked into the pool. Perhaps he saw some image of his -youth in the uplifted face of a flower. - -“I know that I saw paths and byways everywhere that reminded me of -my vanished boyhood; for I am one of those who have always lived in -Manhattan, and some of the happiest days I ever spent were those in -the park as a child, seeing the menagerie, feeding the squirrels, and -rolling a hoop on a graveled pathway. - -“I remembered Rossetti's line,[57] 'I have been here before,' as I -walked along on this exultant morning; and it indeed seemed as if -in some previous incarnation, and not in this life, I had known my -footsteps to take this perfumed way. For in the hurry of life and -in the rush of our modern days we forget too soon the leisure of -childhood, plunging as we do into the rough-and-tumble of an agonized -manhood. - -“And all this was while the park, like a green island set in a -throbbing sea, had waited for me to come back to it! No lake isle of -Innesfree[58] could have beguiled the poet more. Anchored at a desk, -I had dreamed often of such an hour of freedom; and now that it was -really mine, I determined that I would not analyze it, but that I would -simply drink in its wonder. It would have been as criminal as to pluck -a flower apart. - -“Policemen went their weary rounds, swinging their sticks, and it -suddenly came to me that even in this sylvan retreat there was stern -labor to be done. Just as some one, some time, must sweep out a -shrine,--possibly nowadays with a vacuum-cleaner!--so papers must be -picked from God's grass, and pick-pockets must be diligently looked -for in holiday crowds. Men on high and practical sprinkling-carts must -keep the roadways clean, and emissaries of the law must see to it -that motorists do not speed too fast. You think of ice-cream as being -miraculously made in a park pavilion, and unless you visit the city -woodland at the hour of eleven or so in the morning, you may keep your -dream. But I beheld a common ice-wagon back up to the door of that -cherished house of my childhood, and a strong, rough fellow proved -himself the connecting-link between the waitress and her eager little -customers. - -“At this hour it was as though I had gone behind the scenes of a -theater while the stage-hands were busy about their necessary labors. -Wiring had to be done,--I had forgotten that they have telephones even -in the park,--and a mason was repairing a crumbling wall. How much -better to let it crumble, I thought. But all my practicality, through -my sense of strange freedom, had left me, and I was ardent for a mad, -glad world, where for a long time there would be nothing for anybody -to do. I wanted masons and policemen and icemen and nurse-maids and -electricians and keepers of zoölogical gardens to be as free as I, -forever and ever. - -“You see, my unexpected holiday had gone to my head, and it was a -summer morning, and I felt somehow that I ought to be working rather -than loitering here. - -“I suppose I shall be sane to-morrow, but I wonder if I want to be.” - -And we all wondered if we didn't like him better when he was just this -way, a child with a new toy, or, rather, a child with an old toy that -he had almost but not quite forgotten how to play with. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What advantage does the essayist gain by using characters to - express his own thoughts? - - 2. What made the philosopher's holiday so notable? - - 3. What had been his daily life? - - 4. Comment on the various thoughts and fancies that came to the - philosopher on his holiday. - - 5. What is meant by the expression, “An Agonized Manhood”? - - 6. What joys does the philosopher find? - - 7. Show how his thoughts come back to the idea of work. - - 8. In what did his lack of “sanity” consist? - - 9. Does the expression, “I suppose I shall be sane to-morrow,” mean - that he will wish to work, or wish to have a holiday, or wish - for something else? - - 10. What was the toy that he had almost forgotten how to play with? - - 11. What is the author's purpose? - - 12. What evils in modern life does the essay criticize? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. School Athletics 11. Selfishness - 2. Home Study 12. School Spirit - 3. Exercise 13. Good Manners - 4. Reading 14. Playing Jokes - 5. Writing Letters 15. Carefulness - 6. Aiding Others 16. Honesty in School Work - 7. Politeness 17. Thoughtfulness - 8. Using Reference Books 18. Practising Music Lessons - 9. Going to Bed Early 19. Looking Out for Number One - 10. Obedience 20. “Bluffing” - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -When you have selected a subject that interests you, write out, -in a single sentence, your one most important thought on that subject. -Then plan to write an essay that will embody that thought. - -If you are to imitate Mr. Towne's method you will think of a typical -character who will express your own thought. As soon as you have -introduced your character--notice how quickly Mr. Towne introduced the -“young-old philosopher”--lead him to relate an experience that made him -think about the subject. Write his meditations in such a way that they -will show all view-points. Let the end of your essay indicate, rather -than state, the view-point that you wish to emphasize. - -Mr. Towne gives his essay many elements of originality and much beauty -of thought and expression. Imitate his style as well as you can. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[55] Sir Walter Raleigh is said to have laid his cloak in the mud so -that Queen Elizabeth might pass without soiling her garments. - -[56] Narcissus. A Greek myth tells of a young man named Narcissus who, -leaning over a pool, fell in love with his own reflection, and changed -into a flower. - -[57] Dante Gabriel Rosetti (1828-1882). An English poet of Italian and -English descent. His poems are marked by beauty of form, symbolism and -color. - -[58] Innesfree. The Irish poet, William Butler Yeats (1864--) wrote -_The Lake Isle of Innisfree_ in which he imagines Innisfree as an -island of perfect peace, a place for which he longs when “on the -roadway, or on the pavements gray.” - - - - - THE STORY OF ADVENTURE - - - - - PRUNIER TELLS A STORY - By T. MORRIS LONGSTRETH - - _An American author and lover of natural scenery. His books on_ The - Adirondacks, _and_ The Catskills _are enticements into the mountain - world. He is a writer for many periodicals._ - - =The romantic story of adventure deals with events that are far from - being the events of daily life. Usually such a story has for its - setting an unusual scene.= - - =_Prunier Tells a Story_ deals with events that come into very - few lives; its setting is a region into which very few people - penetrate. The principal character, the French-Canadian Prunier, is - likewise a type of person with whom few are acquainted.= - - =At the same time, the story is told with a degree of naturalness - that makes it seem real. The French-Canadian is brought into touch - with daily life by the presence of his two listeners, who are - people of the ordinary world, and one of whom is a boy.= - - =The story is not told merely for wild event: it hangs upon - character and upon noble purpose. It emphasizes courage, ability, - self-sacrifice and faith.= - - =The setting of the story is so used that it contributes in a marked - degree to the entire effect. As one reads he feels himself in the - icy north, in the grip of cold and darkness where wild events are - altogether probable.= - - - PART I - THE PILLAR OF CLOUD BY DAY - -It was after supper one November evening, at Wilderness House, with the -sleet dancing on the eaves and the great forest of Wildyrie closing us -about with its dark presence, when Essex Lad and I stumbled by chance -on the fact that we didn't have to read books for adventure, but merely -touch Prunier in some-story-telling place, and then--listen. - -Prunier, you remember, is the blue-shirted, black-hatted -French-Canadian who lives with us and thinks he works. He is a -broad-shouldered, husky, simple-faced man of forty, who never opens his -mouth unless it be to point out a partridge we are overlooking or to -put in his black pipe. He spent his youth in the great Northland, where -adventures are as common as black flies in a swamp, and yet he had -never even explained the scar across his cheek, or the white patch on -his scalp where some other excitement had been registered, until that -evening when I had closed the Bible. - -“Tink dat true?” he had suddenly asked. - -I had been reading them how the Lord God had led Moses and the children -of Israel across that other wilderness by a pillar of cloud by day and -a pillar of fire by night. It had roused him strangely. - -“I know it true,” he said, “for _le bon Dieu_ show me way by pillars -of cloud and fire _aussi_. If you want story, I tole you dat wan, -_moi-même_.” - -It was our turn to be excited. Here was luck--a vacant evening, a -hearth fire, and Prunier promising _une longue histoire_, as he called -it. We formed a semi-circle before the blazing birch, and, with the -dull beat of the sleet above us for accompaniment, listened for the -first word that would launch the black-eyed man upon his tale. It was -long coming. He relit the pipe, recrossed his legs, muttered once “Pore -ole Pierre,” and stopped. We ceased to breathe; for though I could -command him to cut wood and wash dishes, I could not force from him a -syllable about “Pore ole Pierre” until he was good and ready. - -“Monsieur Moses _et moi_, we have purty hard times in wilderness widout -doze pillars,” he said. - -The Lad and I gave a nervous laugh. I could not fancy myself personally -conducting forty thousand Hebrews, even through Wildyrie, without much -assistance. - -“Yaas,” he said, “purty hard. I now begin.” - -And begin he did, slowly and with his quaint talk seasoned with his -habitant French, which I'll have to omit in my retelling. - -“It was a night just like this, in my little cabin on Wolf River. It -had rained and then frozen, and the dark closed in with sleet. A very -good night to be indoors, thought ole Pierre and I. Ole Pierre was my -best friend, an old husky, who had been trapping with me four--five -years. He knew all that men know, I think, as well as all that dogs -understand, and he could smell a werewolf in the twilight.” - -“A werewolf, what's that?” was on the very opening of the Lad's lips, -but he held back the question. - -“A werewolf, you know,” went on Prunier, “is worse than real wolf, for -it is in the air--a ghost-wolf. That is why ole Pierre sometimes howled -in his sleep and kept her from visiting us. That is why I put a candle -in the window every dusk-time. As you shall see, it was lucky habit. - -“_Eh bien_, that night I was sorting over my traps, for I thought it -would turn cold after the storm. Then I would cross Breknek Place and -begin the winter's trapping. - -“Breknek Place is its name, because the sides of Wolf River come very -close together, almost so near a man can jump. Indeed its name is -really because a trapper like me was surprised by the wolves and ran -for it. But he was too scared, and missed. They never got his body, the -wolves, because the river runs so fast down to the Smoky Pool. Smoky -Pool is a warm cove in the St. Lawrence that freezes last, and from -which clouds of vapor rise on still days into the colder air. - -“I never intended to be washed down that way, and in the summer I -felled a tree from bank to bank, a broad hemlock, big enough to run -a sledge over, almost; and that save many miles walking up river to -Portage du Loup. I never intended, either, to be run by the wolves, you -bet! And ole Pierre and I were pretty-very careful to be inside at the -candle-lighting time. - -“That night our cabin was very quiet, like this, for the sleet was a -little pleasant sound, and ole Pierre was dreaming of old hunts, and I -was on the floor with the traps, when both the dog and I were brought -out of our thoughts by a wild cry, very faint and far away, but as -sharp and sudden as a cut of lightning on a summer night. - -“The hair on the back of my neck rises just like ole Pierre's, for I -know it is the werewolf. And he looks at me and whines, for he knows -it, too. I rush and light a second candle, though I have not too many, -and look out the pane. But of course, there is nothing to be seen, -nothing to be heard, except the moaning of wind in the dark. Yet -later I hear a noise, very weak, very unsteady, as if a person was -approaching. - -“Ole Pierre howls low in his throat and scratches on the door. I -reprove him: 'Are you possessed, ole Pierre? There is no soul within -sixty--seventy miles. And you and I have done nothing that should let -the werewolf in.' - -“But it was fearful hearing that stealthy approach, stopping long, then -many steps, and a groan. I get out the Bible and read fast. But there -comes a _tap-tap_ at the door, and I tremble so the book almost falls -from my hand, and ole Pierre, he calls to his saints, too. - -“What is the use of looking out, for who can see a werewolf? - -“Presently there is no noise. The _tap-tap_ stops; and except for a -noise as of a bundle of something dropping against the door, there -is nothing to hear except the dull sleet on the eaves, ole Pierre -crying in his throat, and the _trip-trip_ of my heart that goes like a -werewolf pounding on my ribs. A voice inside me says open the door. But -another voice says 'That is a werewolf trick and you will be carried -away, Prunier.' Twenty times my hand is on the bolt. - -“At last I can stand it no longer,--that voice inside saying to me to -open,--and I rush to it and throw it open before I have time to think, -and a body falls in, against my legs. A long, thin body it is, and I -hesitate to touch it, for a werewolf can take any form. But a groan -comes from it, and I have not the heart to push it out into the dark. I -prop it by the fire and its eyes droop open. 'Food--tie up food.' That -is the first word it says. - -“I push some medicine for weakness into his mouth, and his life comes -back little by little. 'You must take food to her,' he says; and soon -again, 'The ship by Smoky Pool--she starves in it--my sister.' - -“Indeed, I soon saw that he was faint from long travel and no feeding, -and perhaps a sickness past thrown in, for he faints much between -parts of his account. But I gather the news that he had come very far -from some deserted ship in which a sister was starving to death; and -alone, since his three partners had cleared out. He begged of me to -leave him and take food for her. He cried out that he was dying, and -I had to believe him; for death's shadows sat at the entrance to his -eyes. I made him glad by placing bread beside him, and by putting on my -Mackinaw and the pack after it, in which I had put food. - -“A fever of uneasiness stirred him between faints until I had lit a -lantern and called to ole Pierre to follow. Then joy shone in his worn -eyes, and a blessing on us both followed us out into the icy night. - -“With a last look through the window at the stranger, who had now, as -I thought, closed his eyes in surrender to the end, ole Pierre and I -turned into the endless forest on our long trail to the Smoky Pool. -The sleet was freezing as it fell, and the rays of my lantern lit the -woods, which seemed made of marble, the dark trunks glistening, the -laden boughs hanging down like chandeliers in a cathedral, and the -shrubs glittering like ten million candles as we passed. In such a -place, I thought, no werewolf dare attack us. - -“Instead, I thought of the trail ahead, the long miles till we come to -Breknek Place, the long miles after to the ice-locked arm of the St. -Lawrence near by the Smoky Pool. On such an errand we had nothing to -fear, though outside the lantern-shine it was as dark as the one of -Monsieur Moses' bad plagues you have read to the Lad so lately. - -“We had got within three--four miles of Wolf River, ole Pierre -slip-slipping on the ice in front of me, the lantern swinging, my pack -beginning to feel like a rest, when for the second time that night a -cry shivers across the distance, an awful sound for a lonely man to -hear in the night forest. - -“It is a long howl, fierce and almost gladsome, like when the evil one -is clutching a new victim. And it is answered from the other side of -the night by another howl, and then a chorus from both sides at once. -And then the trail turns, and I know the pack of them is not chasing -deer far away, but chasing _me_, _us_. For ole Pierre knows it, too, -and crouches whining at my feet. Ole Pierre knows there is no escape, -like me. - -“Have you ever seen a wolf-pack run down a deer by turns, leap at its -throat, and pull it down? I have once, near _Trois Rivières_, from -a safe place on a mountain. And it was bad enough to be in the safe -place, only watching. But that night how much worse! I pat ole Pierre -on the head and tell him to cheer up, there is no use dying three--four -times ahead of time. And as I say that, I think of that other man -chased by wolves who had tried to leap at Breknek Place. - -“_'Tiens!_ ole Pierre,' I cry, 'let us do better!' And off I start at -a dead run, feet slipping sideways, lantern swinging, pack rising, -falling, like a rabbit's hind leg, with ole Pierre chasing after. It -is less than a mile to the narrow gorge. Could we make that, perhaps I -could throw the big hemlock in and stop them from crossing after us. A -revolver is no good against a pack, and going up a tree is only putting -off till to-morrow their big feast on habitant. - -“The quick motion of our running put courage in our blood, and after -a little while even ole Pierre's brush waves higher in the air, as if -he had remembered some fight of old, and we gallop. We gallop, but the -wolves they gallop too. First on one side far off, then on the other -nearer, and ever as the trail winds in a new direction they sound like -pack on pack of them, although there might have been less than ten. It -is only late in the winter with us, when the snow is deep, that they -gather into big packs to pull down the moose. - -“At length, breathless, very tired, but still ahead of them, ole Pierre -and I come out into the clear space just before the river. It was very -slippery with frozen sleet, and I fall once--twice; and ole Pierre -slide here--there, like a kitten on new ice. Ahead of us roars the -river through the deep gorge. Behind on two sides the howling comes -from the forest, and once, when I look back, I see them. But that can't -be, for it is so dark. Yet I imagine I see them--black, racing forms, -tongues out, muzzles sharp and red, and a green-yellow fire from the -eyes. - -“And it was so. For before we reach the fallen hemlock, our bridge to -safety, two come between us and the river. With a yell, I fire straight -where they were, but it is too dark, too slippery to hit, and they only -circle back to wait till their partners come up. I fling myself down -breathless, weak, for just two seconds' wind. - -“'Cross ole Pierre, cross over, _mon enfant_!' And he trotted to the -long log, but crawled back with his tail dragging, and whined about me. -Black shadows, five, ten, twelve maybe, circled outside the ring of my -lantern-light, and the green-yellow eyes were no imagination now. But -they were quiet, intent on closing in. With the lantern, which was our -only salvation from their fangs, in one hand and my revolver in the -other, I backed to the hemlock, calling to ole Pierre to follow. He is -trembling, and I soon know why; for when I put my foot on our bridge -to safety, it cannot stay, and I nearly plunge headlong into the rocky -stream thirty feet below. The log was slippery with frozen mist. We -were trapped. At our backs, a river not to be crossed; about us, a crew -of wolves getting bolder every minute. - -“'Courage, ole Pierre!' I cried; and I fired once into them. There -was a shrill howl and cry, and several made a rush toward us, instead -of away. I drop the lantern to load my revolver. Ole Pierre brushes -against it, and in a second it starts to glide down the slope on the -sleet-ice. It goes faster, I gaping after it, slips with a flicker over -the edge, and we hear it crash and tinkle on the rocks down there! - -“_Quel horreur!_ It was savage. The kerosene flares up, and for once -I see the whole scene plainly: the gorge, a great leap wide at its -narrowest, spouting light; the ice-silvered hemlock-bridge leading to -safety, but uncrossable except for a circus-dancer; a fringe of bushes, -with the sudden-illuminated forms of strong-shouldered wolves cowering -in their surprise at the light. - -“Ole Pierre and I had three minutes,--I thought the kerosene would last -that long,--then darkness, a rush from the dark, hot fangs feeling for -the throat, and there would be no ole Pierre, no Prunier to rescue the -girl in the ship from starvation. - -“And at the thought of her came the picture of my little cabin, the -fire we had left, the coziness of it. It made me mad--to die! - -“'Quick, ole Pierre,' I say. '_Allons!_ We will crawl over the bridge,' -and I kneel on it. But my knees slip. I sit on it and push myself -along, until I can see the wrecked lantern, going slowly out. I call to -ole Pierre, and he comes out two--three paces, whines, cries, lies down -and trembles. The light is fading and when it goes it is our end. But I -cannot leave ole Pierre. - -“I crawl back and take him in my arms, a very big arm-load. The light -is fading. I cannot see the bushes. And the eyes of the indistinct -brutes again begin to gleam. They approach the end of the tree. Ole -Pierre is too big to carry, and I set him down to fix my cartridges so -that I can get them easily. It is not so long to dawn. If we can hold -them at the end of the bridge till dawn, we might live. - -“Suddenly a fearful thing happens: the kerosene flares up in a dying -leap, then the dark rushes at us, and, with a concert of snarls, the -pack comes with it. Ole Pierre is brave, but, as they reach us, the -rush of them cannot stop on the ice, and I feel the hair of one, I hear -his jaws. I know that they are pushing toward the edge, and in the dark -I have to feel for ole Pierre. - -“There is an awful melée, and I fire. By the flash I see ole Pierre by -the brink, with two big wolves upon him. I drop my revolver to clutch -at him. A dark form leaps at me. I have my knife in my teeth. I drive -it hard and often, sometimes growling like a wolf myself, sometimes -calling to ole Pierre. - -“Once more the lantern flares enough to show the blood on my knife, -the heap of struggling forms flung on my dog, and as it dies for the -last time I fancy them sliding--sliding. I rush to save him, but must -beat back a great hot-breathed creature whose jaws just scrape my -scalp. We are all sliding together now, faster, faster, toward the edge -of the gorge. A dripping muzzle tears my cheek,--it is this scar you -see,--but with both hands I throttle it; and clutching with a sort of -madness, I hold as we go over the edge--down, all together down--Poor -ole Pierre!” - -Prunier stopped. For an hour Essex Lad and I had listened, more and -more intently, until now, when the subdued sound of his slow-speaking -ceased, we were both gripping the edge of our chairs, falling over the -edge of that gorge with him, sympathetically. I could have imagined the -least noise into the click of jaws. - -But there was no noise, the Lad sitting perfectly rigid, speechless, -staring at the man. Presently he put out a hand, slowly, and touched -the guide as if to make sure that the fall had not been fatal. And -still neither of us spoke. Prunier was going to recommence. He opened -his mouth, but it was only to yawn. - -“_Mon Dieu_,” he said, “but I sleep! It ees very late.” And the man -actually rose. - -“But '_mon Dieu_,'” I said, “you can't leave us falling over a -precipice! What happened? Tell us at least what happened. And you -haven't even mentioned the pillar of fire or of smoke.” - -“_C'est une très longue histoire._” [“It is a very long story.”] - -“Poor ole Pierre!” said the Lad, as if coming out of a dream; “did it -kill him?” - -Prunier shook his head, no. “It kill only the wolves we landed -on--_geplump!_ We had stopped on a gravel ledge, with the cold breath -of the river rushing by a foot away. I never lose sense. I begin chuck -wolves into the river. Three--four--five, in they go, my back bending, -my back straightening, and _gesplash!_ another howl down-stream! I -think I never lose sense. But I did.” He stopped again, and rubbed a -slow hand across his summer-tanned brow. “I must have losed sense. In -the morning there are _no_ animals on the ledge.” - -“You mean--” began the Lad, and did not finish. Prunier nodded. - -“But he would not have lived anyway,” I said, to ease the pain in his -memory. “Ole Pierre could not have lived with all the wolf-bites he -must have had.” - -“I hope he know I was not in my sense,” said Prunier. “_Alors_, dawn -came soon, and I cross the stream on big rocks and climb up birch -sapling to the opposite bank. I look back. No sign of wolves. I look -forward, no sign of life to the north pole, no forest even, just -endless plain to the frozen river endless far away. - -“I give a big groan, for there is no strength in my legs, no courage in -my heart, and I feel like falling on my knees and asking _le bon Dieu_ -to show me the way. And it was as if He had heard, for suddenly my eye -is caught by a thin pillar of white ascending into the gray sky. - -“'Courage,' I said, 'it is His sign.' I fixed my torn pack, bound up my -cheek and scalp, and made over the glassy surface of the plain straight -where the pillar led me. On and on I stumbled. I would never have -reached my errand's end but for that pillar of smoke. And if I had not -reached it.--” Again there was a pause. Then, “I will tell some other -time,” he said, “_c'est une longue histoire_.” - -Not another word could we get from him, and we soon turned in. The last -thing I remember was the Lad's voice coming to me from his bed, “Don't -forget, Lucky, we'll get his pillar of fire out of him, too.” - - - PART II - THE PILLAR OF FIRE BY NIGHT - -By next morning our storm of sleet had turned into a half-blizzard -of snow and we put another great birch log on the fire, got out a -new can of Prunier's favorite pipe tobacco, and generally made -ready to extract the rest of his story from him when he had finished -straightening up the kitchen. - -“Yaas,” he said, “the next day to the day I was telling you about was -just such another as this. All that morning I walked toward _le bon -Dieu's_ pillar of smoke, and in the afternoon I reached it, rising from -the great whirling pool of steaming water into the gray sky that was -thickening for a great snow--the real beginning of winter. - -“Not far from the Smoky Pool, just as the dead man had said it would -be, rode the schooner in the ice-locked cove where she had been -wrecked. All was as still as a scared mouse. Behind me rose that white -wavering pillar; and in front the vessel leaned a little, as if to -subside into a wave-trough that would never receive her. But silence -covered all, and I dreaded to enter that ship for fear of what I should -see. - -“But the dead man had been a better brother than he had been a -ship-pilot, for he had left his sister most of the food; and when my -foot-falls sounded uncannily loud upon the deck, she came running out -of the cabin, a thin-cheeked, pale, slim woman. How she smiled! How the -smile died from her face when she saw it was not her brother, but a -stranger, torn, bloody-bandaged, ready to drop for fatigue! - -“'Tell me, tell me quickly, what has happened. Who are you?' She -steadied herself against the cabin doorway. 'Is my brother--not living?' - -“I had not the heart or the words to tell her at that moment that I had -left her brother closing his eyes in death in my little cabin so far -away. I think I asked _le bon Dieu_ to put words in my mouth that would -not cause her to faint. Anyway, the words came from me: 'Your brother -sent me. I left him--happy.' - -“'I knew God would not desert me entirely,' she said. 'When will he -return?' - -“'When _le bon Dieu_ leads the way,' I said, and I told her about the -pillar of cloud which had guided me to her. - -“She pointed aloft, and I saw a lantern tied to the masthead. 'I have -put it there to light every night until he returns,' she said. 'It -will be lit many a night,' said I to myself; and I must have sighed -aloud, for she looked curiously at me. 'I am cruel!' she exclaimed; 'I -must show you your room.' She said it with almost a laugh, for it was -a funny little bunk she led me to. Into it I crawled, and off to sleep -I went, scarcely conscious that she washed the blood from my face and -ministered to my other wounds. When I woke, it was the next day. - -“And such a day as it was! one thick smother of snow coming up the -great valley of the St. Lawrence on a bitter wind. And bitter cold it -was, too, in the little cabin of our schooner, though the fire in the -stove did its best. I was too sick, though, to know much what was going -on. Several times I heard the chopping of a hatchet. Several times she -came to me with hot food. And as the day passed, strength came back -to my blood and I got up. I surprised her lighting the lantern and -taking it out into the wild evening. I tried to stop that, fearing some -accident to her in the roar and rush of the storm, but she said her -brother must be lighted back, and so in the end it was I who had to -haul the swaying lantern to the masthead. - -“For three days the snow flew by and heaped an ever-increasing drift -across the deck, around the cabin door. On the fourth day we looked -out on a scene of desolation. The sun shone dimly in skies of pinching -cold. There was no pillar of smoke, the pool having at last been frozen -over. There was a wide river of ice, piled in fantastic floes, a wider -plain, spotted here and there with thickets. And far off ran the -dark line of forest, inhabited by wolves which would speedily become -fiercer. In the forest far away stood my little cabin with its dead man -keeping guard. It would be long before I should see it, if I ever did. -Without snow-shoes, it would be impossible to cross the forest now; -without food, we could live only a short time longer on the ship. And -then I made the discovery that our stove fire was being maintained by -schooner wood. That had accounted for her chopping and for her grave -face as she carried in the wood. She had been breaking up a part of the -ship each day to keep the fire going! - -“The responsibilities upon me made me forget my sorrows, the death -of ole Pierre, the lost time for trapping, the pinch of hunger. I -made a makeshift pair of skees from two plankings of the schooner, -and journeyed daily to some thicket by the shore wherein I had set my -snares, and we lived on rabbit stew. With much labor I cut a hole in -the ice, through which, with much patience, she fished. But days went -by when it was too stormy either to hunt or to fish, and we sat huddled -about the stove in which we burned as little wood as we could to keep -from freezing. - -“During such times we talked, but not of the future, only of the past. -She told me how they, she and her brother, had set out on a rumor of -gold in the Laurentians; how the crew had deserted in a body with most -of the stores; how she and her brother had been unable to man the ship -sufficiently to keep it from this disaster. A dozen times she described -the scene where he had said farewell to her on the morning of the -day he had found me. A hundred times she asked me to tell her of our -meeting; and a thousand, I may well say, she wondered how soon he would -return. - -“Every evening she had me hang the lantern to the mast to guide him -back. I could not prevent it, except by telling of his death, and that -I could not do. I feared that the news, coupled with our desperate -situation, would end her life. As it was, she was far too weak to -travel now, even if I had had the snow-shoes for her. - -“Thus passed the first days. Then I saw that something must be done or -else we should soon have burned up the house that sheltered us, deck, -mast, and hull, before Christmas. Even then we were beginning on the -walls of the schooner, since she would not let me chop down the mast. - -“'There will be no place to hang the lantern if you destroy that!' she -cried, when she had rushed out on deck one morning, to find me half-way -through the strong oak. - -“'Your brother will not travel by night,' I said. - -“'How do you know?' she asked, a new harshness in her tired voice; -'you, who will tell me so little about my brother!' - -“This was an unkind reproach, for I had indeed stretched the facts too -much already in order to comfort her. - -“'We cannot freeze,' I replied. 'You would not want him to arrive and -find us dead. I have measured out the fuel and know it is unwise not to -begin on these unnecessary parts of the ship first.' - -“'Do you call my signal-mast unnecessary?' she called, her two thin -hands beating upon the wood. 'You are cruel. You would keep my brother -from me.' - -“From that morning there began a sullenness between us, which was -nourished by too little food, and by being shut up in that bit of a -schooner cabin too long together. For relief's sake, when I was not -off snaring rabbits or looking for some stray up-river seal with my -revolver in my hand, I began building an igloo, a hut of snow you know, -not far from the ship. I thought that the time must be prepared for -when we should have chopped up our shelter, and have pushed our home -piecemeal into that devouring stove. - -“She made no comment on my preparations. In fact, we did not talk -now, except to say the most necessary things. I was not sorry, for it -relieved me from telling over and over that impossible story of her -brother's return. I was convinced now that he had died, and my heart -grieved for her final discovery of the news. But the saddest thing was -to see the hunger for him grow daily stronger on her face. And it was -pitiful, too, to watch her light the lantern with hands weak enough to -tremble, to attach it to the signal-rope, and pull it to the masthead. -She would never let me assist her in this act. - -“'To-morrow we must move,' I said one night. 'I have completed the -igloo. It will economize our fuel.' - -“She nodded, weakly, as if she cared little what happened on the morrow. - -“'And unless we catch a seal, we must save oil,' I added. The waste -of burning a lantern to attract a dead man's notice had got upon my -nerves. 'Please do not light it to-night, else we will go into the new -year dark.' - -“'I shall not give up my brother!' she cried, with all her strength, -'for he will not give up me. But why does he not come? Why does he not -come?' - -“It was heart-wringing to see her--to know what was in store. But it -would have been less kind of me to let this deception go on. - -“'He will never come,' I said, as softly as I could; 'there is no use -in the light. Let us save oil.' - -“Her weary, searching eyes questioned my face for the first time in -days, and then she struck a match and applied it to the wick. - -“'He will come,' she said calmly, 'for God will guide him, and I am -helping God.' She went out into the dusk, and I heard the futile -lantern being pulled up to the masthead. I could not bear to interfere. - -“So, since save fuel we must, I began practising deceit by stealing -out the next evening, lowering the signal and extinguishing it, then -hoisting the black lantern into place. But she guessed; and on the -second night, as I had my hand upon the rope to lower it, she grasped -my arm, her eyes flashing, her weak voice vibrant like the storm-wind. - -“'Do you dare?' she said; 'do you dare betray me? You do not _want_ -my brother.' And with fury she grasped the rope and jerked it from my -hand. A sudden anger filled me. - -“'Unreasonable woman,' I cried, 'we must have the mast for firewood; we -must have the oil for light in the igloo! Let me alone.' - -“'Let _me_ alone!' she screamed, struggling for the rope. - -“It must have been insecurely fastened. At any rate, we had not been -contending many seconds in the darkness for the control of the light -above our heads when we heard a rattle and saw it coming down upon us. -I pushed her away just in time. The lantern struck some metal, burst, -and the spattering oil caught fire in the swiftness of a thought. - -“For the first moment we were dumb; in the second, horror-struck. As -a serpent darts its tongue, rills of oil spread down the plank-seams -of the deck; and from each rill, flame leaped and ran about the ship. -With a wild shriek, the woman began to carry snow from a drift on the -prow and sprinkle it on the spreading conflagration. She might as well -have tried to extinguish it with her tears. In two minutes, yellow -tongues were running up the mast--that mast I had hoped would warm our -igloo for a fortnight. In three, there was no hope of a splinter of the -cold-dried boat remaining. I made one plunge into the cabin and grabbed -an arm-load of clothes and food, and ran with them to the igloo. But -when I had returned, there was no chance for a second try. The cabin -was a furnace of eager flame. - -“The woman, the weeping cause of this, and I were beaten back by the -heat, and at the opening of our only refuge now, the hut of snow, we -stood and watched the swift destruction of the schooner's hulk. About -us, the night's darkness was driven to its dusky horizons. Overhead, -the zenith was lit by the up-roaring pillar of fire which had so lately -been a mast, a deck, a ship. We looked in silence, while the tower -of flame rushed into the sky, like a signal to the wilderness. But a -signal of what? Two houseless individuals, robbed of their store of -food, with no means of moving, and nowhere to move.” - -Prunier paused, and Essex Lad drew a long breath. It was his first for -minutes. - -“So that was your pillar of fire?” I said, “It seems to me more like -one of Satan's than the Lord's.” - -Prunier made an expressive gesture with his pipe. “_Le bon Dieu_ does -all things for the best,” he said reverently. “_Alors._ We stood there -watching, the heat reaching us, and even eating maliciously into the -white walls of our last hiding-place. But that did not go on long, for -the ship was pouring its soul too lavishly into that hot pyre to last. - -“'Quick,' I said to my fellow-outcast, 'drink in all the heat you can, -for this is the end.' - -“'And it is my fault!' she said; 'can you forgive me?' - -“'Can _you_?' I asked. 'We must be brave now. Let us warm ourselves -while there are coals to warm us. Let us warm our wits and think, for -before day dawns we must have a plan.' - -“'It is too hard,' she said hopelessly. - -“'Trust God for one night more. Perhaps I can make a sledge and pull -you to my cabin. There is food there.' - -“'You are too weak,' she said. And I knew that she was right. - -“As the pillar of fire died down until it was a mere bright spiral -of gilded smoke, and after the sides of the schooner had burned to -the water-line, leaving great benches of blackened ice about, we drew -nearer and nearer to the lessening warmth. Darkness and cold and the -northern silence shut us in. - -“We spoke in whispers, but hope died in me with the fading fire. What -chance for escape was there with a half-starved woman across a great -snow-plain; and then through forests deep with the first snows and -roamed by wolves, whose savageries I had tasted? - -“Luckily there was no wind. Smaller and smaller was the circle of -light, weaker and weaker the heat. And tireder and more tired grew our -heads that could see no light of safety ahead. - -“I think, sitting close together there, we dozed. Certainly not for -long, however, because the pillar of fire, though now a mere thread, -was still pointing a finger into _le bon Dieu's_ heaven, when I heard a -_crunch_, _crunch_! - -“'Wolves!' I said to myself, coming to my senses with a jerk. I felt -for a revolver, but the only one had been left in the cabin. - -“'Dear Lord,' I prayed, 'spare us this.' - -“But the crunch came nearer, nearer, like the soft foot-falls of many -beasts, yet not quite like them either. I grasped a black-charred -spar; ran it into a heap of red ashes to make it as deadly a weapon as -possible. A little flame sprang from the pile, and in its light I went -to grapple with this new danger. - -“The woman had heard, and, with a little scream, sprang to her feet and - - [Illustration: =“'You made a fine signal'.”=] (_page 165_) - -quickly came up behind me, put her hand upon me, and cried: 'He has -come! It is my brother who has come!' - -“And, as in the Bible, where Monsieur Moses spoke to the rock and the -water gushed from it, so the woman cried into the dark and an answering -voice sprang from it--a voice as from the dead. - -“I stood trembling, too weak to move. - -“'You made a fine signal,' the voice said. 'Thank God for it!' - -“'Yes, thank _le bon Dieu_, for it was His pillar of fire,' I said. -'Who are you?' - -“'The rescued come to rescue,' he replied; 'her brother.' - -“His sister had sunk upon the snow. As he bent to pick her up, I saw -the extra pairs of snow-shoes on his back, I noticed my toboggan that -he was pulling, and the stores of food upon it. - -“'You are strong again,' I said, wishing to pinch him to see whether he -was he, or a trick of some werewolf who was deceiving me. - -“'Thanks to your food,' “'But you have been long coming, brother,' said -she, weakly. 'Why so long?' - -“'All the bays are much alike,' he explained; 'and when the Smoky Pool -was frozen, I lost my only clue. I was getting always farther away on -my hunt, when the Lord turned and led me here by His pillar of fire.' - -“And the three of us, standing there in the dark of earliest dawn -beneath the Great Bear, we keep still and say three--four prayers from -ourselves to that same Jehovah who had guided Monsieur Moses, for the -making of us safe.” - - * * * * * - -Prunier ceased abruptly and knocked out his pipe upon the hearth-side, -then gazed reminiscently out into the falling snow. - -I was busy with the picture in my brain of that blackened hulk, the -frail woman and her almost helpless companion standing there in the -midst of that gray waste of coming dawn. But the Lad's mind had already -gone scouting on before. - -“And were you made safe, Prunier?” he asked. - -“Oh, _certainement_!” said the guide, almost drolly. “_Voyez_, I am -here.” - -“Then tell us--” commanded the insatiable youth. - -“_Mais, cette une longue histoire_,” was all we heard. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What means does the author employ to lead naturally into the - story of romantic adventure? - - 2. What is the advantage of introducing two ordinary people in the - very beginning of the story? - - 3. What is the character of Prunier? - - 4. How do Prunier's peculiar characteristics aid the story? - - 5. How does the author indicate Prunier's way of speaking? - - 6. Why is the entire story not told in dialect? - - 7. How does the author present the setting of the story? - - 8. What part does the dog play in the story? - - 9. What part does superstition play? - - 10. Point out the three or four most exciting parts of the story. - - 11. Explain how the characters are saved from threatening dangers. - - 12. In what respects is the story a narrative of contest? - - 13. Why is the narrative divided into two sections? - - 14. Why are the two ordinary people mentioned throughout the story? - - 15. What part does religious faith play? - - 16. In what respects is the second part of the story more intense - than the first part? - - 17. What is the character of the sister? - - 18. What is the character of the brother? - - 19. How does misfortune turn into blessing? - - 20. How is the climax made emphatic? - - 21. What did Prunier omit? - - 22. Point out the most romantic episodes in the story. - - 23. Point out the most realistic touches in the story. - - 24. What noble qualities does the story emphasize? - - 25. How does the story affect the reader? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Prunier's Return 11. Prunier's First Moose - 2. The Brother's Adventures 12. Why Prunier Lived in - the North - 3. The Story of the Shipwreck 13. The Sister's Return to - Civilization - 4. The Mutiny of the Crew 14. In Prunier's Hut - 5. Prunier's Boyhood 15. The Strange Visitor - 6. How Prunier Obtained Pierre 16. The End of the Wolves - 7. Prunier's Longest Journey 17. Prunier Tells Another Story - 8. Why Prunier Was Superstitious 18. The Sister Tells a Story - 9. The Rescue of Pierre 19. The Fate of the Deserters - 10. How Prunier Lost a Companion 20. Prunier's Last Day - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -In the introduction of your romance use familiar scenes, events or -characters that will lead naturally to a narrative of startling events. -Say enough to indicate the setting of your story and to make it a -vital factor in producing effect but do not write any long-drawn -descriptions or explanations. Let your characters tell the story -and present its setting. - -Make all the action hinge on worthy effort, and contribute to awakening -respect for the characters. Tell a series of most unusual events. In -telling every incident make full use of suspense and of climax. Tell -the incidents in such a way that one will lead naturally to another. - -Your story will produce the most startling effect if you show your hero -apparently defeated but able, at the last moment, to find a means of -escape from danger. - -Keep your story true to human nature, and to the best ideals of human -nature. - - - - - THE DIDACTIC ESSAY - - - - - THE AMERICAN BOY - By THEODORE ROOSEVELT - - - _(1858-1919). Twenty-sixth President of the United States. One of - the most vigorous, courageous and picturesque figures in the public - life of his day. Soon after his graduation from Harvard, and from - Columbia Law School he entered public life, and gave invaluable - service in many positions, becoming President in 1901, and again - in 1904. His work as an organizer of the “Rough Riders,” his skill - in horsemanship, his courage as an explorer and hunter, and his - staunch patriotism and high ideals all made him both interesting - and beloved. His work as an author is alone sufficient to make - him great. Among his many books are_ The Winning of the West; The - Strenuous Life; African Game Trails; True Americanism. - - =_The American Boy_ is a didactic essay,--an essay that expresses - the writer's individuality and opinions and at the same time - conveys instruction in the form of inspiration. Such an essay - approaches the oration and the treatise. It differs from the - oration in being less strongly didactic, and from the treatise in - being less formal and comprehensive.= - - =Mr. Roosevelt's personality is particularly evident in _The - American Boy_. In every paragraph the reader feels the virile - strength, the masterful force, the firm-set manhood, the - broad-minded attitude toward all things that are good, and the - intense hatred of cowardice and evil that always characterized Mr. - Roosevelt. The writer is not so much telling a boy what to do as he - is telling what sort of boy he admires.= - - =The force of such an essay is great. No one, boy or man, can read - _The American Boy_ without being the better for it, without himself - admiring manliness, the right balance between athletics and study, - and the ideals of courage and fair-play.= - - -Of course, what we have a right to expect of the American boy is that -he shall turn out to be a good American man. Now, the chances are -strong that he won't be much of a man unless he is a good deal of a -boy. He must not be a coward or a weakling, a bully, a shirk, or a -prig. He must work hard and play hard. He must be clean-minded and -clean-lived, and able to hold his own under all circumstances and -against all comers. It is only on these conditions that he will grow -into the kind of American man of whom America can be really proud. - -There are always in life countless tendencies for good and for -evil, and each succeeding generation sees some of these tendencies -strengthened and some weakened; nor is it by any means always, -alas! that the tendencies for evil are weakened and those for good -strengthened. But during the last few decades there certainly have -been some notable changes for good in boy life. The great growth in -the love of athletic sports, for instance, while fraught with danger -if it becomes one-sided and unhealthy, has beyond all question had an -excellent effect in in-reared manliness. Forty or fifty years ago the -writer on American morals was sure to deplore the effeminacy and luxury -of young Americans who were born of rich parents. The boy who was well -off then, especially in the big Eastern cities, lived too luxuriously, -took to billiards as his chief innocent recreation, and felt small -shame in his inability to take part in rough pastimes and field sports. -Nowadays, whatever other faults the son of rich parents may tend to -develop, he is at least forced by the opinion of all his associates of -his own age to bear himself well in manly exercises and to develop his -body--and therefore, to a certain extent, his character--in the rough -sports which call for pluck, endurance, and physical address. - -Of course, boys who live under such fortunate conditions that they -have to do either a good deal of outdoor work or a good deal of what -might be called natural outdoor play, do not need this athletic -development. In the Civil War the soldiers who came from the prairie -and the backwoods and the rugged farms where stumps still dotted the -clearings, and who had learned to ride in their infancy, to shoot -as soon as they could handle a rifle, and to camp out whenever they -got the chance, were better fitted for military work than any set -of mere school or college athletes could possibly be. Moreover, to -mis-estimate athletics is equally bad whether their importance is -magnified or minimized. The Greeks were famous athletes, and as long -as their athletic training had a normal place in their lives, it was -a good thing. But it was a very bad thing when they kept up their -athletic games while letting the stern qualities of soldiership and -statesmanship sink into disuse. Some of the boys who read this paper -will certainly sometime read the famous letters of the younger Pliny, -a Roman who wrote, with what seems to us a curiously modern touch, -in the first century of the present era. His correspondence with -the Emperor Trajan is particularly interesting; and not the least -noteworthy thing in it is the tone of contempt with which he speaks -of the Greek athletic sports, treating them as the diversions of an -unwarlike people which it was safe to encourage in order to keep the -Greeks from turning into anything formidable. So at one time the -Persian kings had to forbid polo, because soldiers neglected their -proper duties for the fascinations of the game. To-day, some good -critics have asserted that the reverses suffered by the British at the -hands of the Boers in South Africa are in part due to the fact that -the English officers and soldiers have carried to an unhealthy extreme -the sports and pastimes which would be healthy if indulged in with -moderation, and have neglected to learn as they should the business -of their profession. A soldier needs to know how to shoot and take -cover and shift for himself--not to box or play football. There is, -of course, always the risk of thus mistaking means for ends. English -fox-hunting is a first-class sport; but one of the most absurd things -in real life is to note the bated breath with which certain excellent -Englishmen, otherwise of quite healthy minds, speak of this admirable -but not over-important pastime. They tend to make it almost as much of -a fetish as, in the last century, the French and German nobles made the -chase of the stag, when they carried hunting and game-preserving to a -point which was ruinous to the national life. Fox-hunting is very good -as a pastime, but it is about as poor a business as can be followed by -any man of intelligence. Certain writers about it are fond of quoting -the anecdote of a fox-hunter who, in the days of the English Civil War, -was discovered pursuing his favorite sport just before a great battle -between the Cavaliers and the Puritans, and right between their lines -as they came together. These writers apparently consider it a merit -in this man that when his country was in a death-grapple, instead of -taking arms and hurrying to the defense of the cause he believed right, -he should placidly have gone about his usual sports. Of course, in -reality the chief serious use of fox-hunting is to encourage manliness -and vigor, and keep a man so that in time of need he can show himself -fit to take part in work or strife for his native land. When a man so -far confuses ends and means as to think that fox-hunting, or polo, or -football, or whatever else the sport may be, is to be itself taken as -the end, instead of as the mere means of preparation to do work that -counts when the time arises, when the occasion calls--why, that man had -better abandon sport altogether. - -No boy can afford to neglect his work, and with a boy work, as a rule, -means study. Of course, there are occasionally brilliant successes -in life where the man has been worthless as a student when a boy. To -take these exceptions as examples would be as unsafe as it would be -to advocate blindness because some blind men have won undying honor -by triumphing over their physical infirmity and accomplishing great -results in the world. I am no advocate of senseless and excessive -cramming in studies, but a boy should work, and should work hard, -at his lessons--in the first place, for the sake of what he will -learn, and in the next place, for the sake of the effect upon his own -character of resolutely settling down to learn it. Shiftlessness, -slackness, indifference in studying, are almost certain to mean -inability to get on in other walks of life. Of course, as a boy grows -older it is a good thing if he can shape his studies in the direction -toward which he has a natural bent; but whether he can do this or -not, he must put his whole heart into them. I do not believe in -mischief-doing in school hours, or in the kind of animal spirits that -results in making bad scholars; and I believe that those boys who take -part in rough, hard play outside of school will not find any need for -horse-play in school. While they study they should study just as hard -as they play football in a match game. It is wise to obey the homely -old adage, “Work while you work; play while you play.” - -A boy needs both physical and moral courage. Neither can take the -place of the other. When boys become men they will find out that there -are some soldiers very brave in the field who have proved timid and -worthless as politicians, and some politicians who show an entire -readiness to take chances and assume responsibilities in civil affairs, -but who lack the fighting edge when opposed to physical danger. In each -case, with soldiers and politicians alike, there is but half a virtue. -The possession of the courage of the soldier does not excuse the lack -of courage in the statesman, and even less does the possession of the -courage of the statesman excuse shrinking on the field of battle. -Now, this is all just as true of boys. A coward who will take a blow -without returning it is a contemptible creature; but, after all, he is -hardly as contemptible as the boy who dares not stand up for what he -deems right against the sneers of his companions who are themselves -wrong. Ridicule is one of the favorite weapons of wickedness, and it is -sometimes incomprehensible how good and brave boys will be influenced -for evil by the jeers of associates who have no one quality that calls -for respect, but who affect to laugh at the very traits which ought to -be peculiarly the cause for pride. - -There is no need to be a prig. There is no need for a boy to preach -about his own good conduct and virtue. If he does he will make himself -offensive and ridiculous. But there is urgent need that he should -practise decency; that he should be clean and straight, honest and -truthful, gentle and tender, as well as brave. If he can once get to -a proper understanding of things, he will have a far more hearty -contempt for the boy who has begun a course of feeble dissipation, or -who is untruthful, or mean, or dishonest, or cruel, than this boy and -his fellows can possibly, in return, feel for him. The very fact that -the boy should be manly and able to hold his own, that he should be -ashamed to submit to bullying without instant retaliation, should, in -return, make him abhor any form of bullying, cruelty, or brutality. - -There are two delightful books, Thomas Hughes's “Tom Brown at Rugby,” -and Aldrich's “Story of a Bad Boy,” which I hope every boy still -reads; and I think American boys will always feel more in sympathy -with Aldrich's story, because there is in it none of the fagging, and -the bullying which goes with fagging, the account of which, and the -acceptance of which, always puzzle an American admirer of Tom Brown. - -There is the same contrast between two stories of Kipling's. One, -called “Captains Courageous,” describes in the liveliest way just what -a boy should be and do. The hero is painted in the beginning as the -spoiled, over-indulged child of wealthy parents, of a type which we do -sometimes unfortunately see, and than which there exist few things more -objectionable on the face of the broad earth. This boy is afterward -thrown on his own resources, amid wholesome surroundings, and is forced -to work hard among boys and men who are real boys and real men doing -real work. The effect is invaluable. On the other hand, if one wishes -to find types of boys to be avoided with utter dislike, one will find -them in another story by Kipling, called “Stalky & Co.,” a story which -ought never to have been written, for there is hardly a single form of -meanness which it does not seem to extol, or of school mismanagement -which it does not seem to applaud. Bullies do not make brave men; and -boys or men of foul life cannot become good citizens, good Americans, -until they change; and even after the change scars will be left on -their souls. - -The boy can best become a good man by being a good boy--not a -goody-goody boy, but just a plain good boy. I do not mean that he must -love only the negative virtues; I mean he must love the positive -virtues also. “Good,” in the largest sense, should include whatever -is fine, straightforward, clean, brave, and manly. The best boys I -know--the best men I know--are good at their studies or their business, -fearless and stalwart, hated and feared by all that is wicked and -depraved, incapable of submitting to wrongdoing, and equally incapable -of being aught but tender to the weak and helpless. A healthy-minded -boy should feel hearty contempt for the coward, and even more hearty -indignation for the boy who bullies girls or small boys, or tortures -animals. One prime reason for abhorring cowards is because every good -boy should have it in him to thrash the objectionable boy as the need -arises. - -Of course, the effect that a thoroughly manly, thoroughly straight and -upright boy can have upon the companions of his own age, and upon those -who are younger, is incalculable. If he is not thoroughly manly, then -they will not respect him, and his good qualities will count for but -little; while, of course, if he is mean, cruel, or wicked, then his -physical strength and force of mind merely make him so much the more -objectionable a member of society. He cannot do good work if he is not -strong, and does not try with his whole heart and soul to count in any -contest; and his strength will be a curse to himself and to every one -else if he does not have thorough command over himself and over his -own evil passions, and if he does not use his strength on the side of -decency, justice, and fair dealing. - -In short, in life, as in a football game, the principle to follow is: - -Hit the line hard; don't foul and don't shirk, but hit the line hard! - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. In a single sentence express Mr. Roosevelt's principal thought. - - 2. Point out the subordinate thoughts that aid the development of - the essay. - - 3. Point out examples of antithesis. - - 4. Show how Mr. Roosevelt gains power by the use of short and - common words. - - 5. Describe the sort of boy whom Mr. Roosevelt does not admire. - - 6. Describe the sort of boy whom Mr. Roosevelt does admire. - - 7. What is Mr. Roosevelt's opinion of the value of athletics? - - 8. What is Mr. Roosevelt's opinion of the relative position of - study and of athletics? - - 9. What sort of books for boys does Mr. Roosevelt admire? - - 10. What is the effect of the last sentence? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. The American Girl 11. Fearlessness - 2. The American Man 12. Physical Strength - 3. The American Woman 13. Fair Play - 4. The Good Athlete 14. Energy - 5. The Good Student 15. The Under Dog - 6. The True Aristocrat 16. American Ideals - 7. The Truly Rich 17. Success in Life - 8. The Ideal of Work 18. Skill - 9. Good Reading 19. A Good Time - 10. Good Citizenship 20. Manliness - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Your subject must be one on which you have strong convictions -as the result of personal experience. In a certain sense, your -essay must represent your own life. Try to hold forward no ideals -that you yourself do not uphold. - -Formulate a strong central thought, and two or three subordinate and -supporting thoughts. When you have done this develop your essay step -by step, giving examples drawn from history or from well-known facts. -Mention books that set forward the ideals you wish to emphasize. - -Write in a strong, forceful, almost commanding style, but do not say -“Thus and so shalt thou do.” Speak in strong terms of the principles -that you admire but leave your readers to draw value from the -enthusiasm of your words rather than information from directions given. - - - - - THE SPIRIT OF ADVENTURE - By HILDEGARDE HAWTHORNE - - - _Daughter of Julian Hawthorne, and grand-daughter of Nathaniel - Hawthorne. She writes with rare charm and literary power, and - contributes regularly to many periodicals. Among her books are_: A - Country Interlude; The Lure of the Garden; Old Seaport Towns of New - England; Girls in Bookland. - - =The article that follows is much like an oration or an editorial - article in that it is directed to “you” rather than expressive of - “I”. The true essay is not concerned with “you”: it is concerned - only with “I”.= - - =Both the oration and the editorial article have much in common - with the essay type; for both turn aside frequently into the happy - fields of meditation.= - - =The first three paragraphs of _The Spirit of Adventure_ are purely - personal in nature and therefore wholly in keeping with the spirit - of the essay form. Furthermore, those paragraphs--so reminiscent - of the fancy of the writer's famous grandfather, Nathaniel - Hawthorne,--represent poetic prose. Throughout the article the - personal note mingles with the directing voice of the editorial - article. Indeed, it would be easy to drop from _The Spirit of - Adventure_ everything that is not personal, and thereby to leave - pure essay.= - - =As it stands, _The Spirit of Adventure_ is a didactic essay, brave - and strong in its thought, and poetic in its style.= - - -Wind has always seemed wonderful and beautiful to me. - -Invisible as it is, it pervades the whole world. It has the very -quality of life. Without wind, how dead and still the world would be! -In the autumn, wind shakes the leaves free and sends them flying, gold -and red. It takes the seeds of many plants and sows them over the -land. It blows away mists and sets clouds to voyaging, brings rain -and fair weather the year round, builds up snow in fantastic palaces, -rolls the waves high, murmurs a fairy music in the pines and shouts -aloud in storms. Wind is the great adventurer of nature. Sometimes it -is so fierce and terrible that nothing can stand before it--houses -are torn to shreds, trees are felled, ruin follows where it goes. At -other times, it comes marching wet and salt from the sea, or dry and -keen from the mountains on hot summer days, bringing ease and rest and -health. Keen as a knife, it whips over the frozen ground in winter and -screams wildly round the farm-house, taps the panes with ghost fingers, -and whistles like a sprite in the chimney. It brings sails from land to -land, turns windmills in quaint foreign places, and sets the flags of -all the countries of the world fluttering on their high staffs. - -Wind is nature's spirit of adventure, keeping her world vigorous, -clean, and alive. - -For us, too, the spirit of adventure is the fine wind of life, and -if we have it not, or lose it, either as individual or nation, then -we begin to die, our force and freshness depart, we stop in our -tracks, and joy vanishes. For joy is a thing of movement and energy, -of striving forward, a thing of hope as well as fruition. You must -be thoroughly alive to be truly joyful, and all the great things -accomplished by men and nations have been accomplished by vigorous and -active souls, not content to sit still and hold the past, but eager to -press on and to try undiscovered futures. - -If ever a nation was founded on, and built up by, the spirit of -adventure, that nation is our own. The very finding of it was the -result of a splendid upspring of that spirit. From then on through -centuries it was only men in whom the spirit of adventure was strong as -life itself who reached our shores. Great adventurers, on they came, -borne as they should be, by wind itself! Gallant figures, grim figures, -moved by all sorts of lures and impulses, yet one and all stirred and -led by the call of adventure, that cares nothing for ease of body -or safety, for old, tried rules and set ways and trodden paths, but -passionately for freedom and effort, for what is strange and dangerous -and thrilling, for tasks that call on brain and body for quick, new -decisions and acts. - -The spirit of adventure did not die with the settling of our shores. -Following the sea adventures came those of the land, the pioneers, who -went forward undismayed by the perils and obstacles that appeared quite -as insurmountable as did the uncharted seas to Columbus's men. Think of -the days, when next you ride across our great continent in the comfort -of a Pullman, when it took five months and more to make the same -journey with ox-teams. Think how day followed day for those travelers -across the Great Plains in a sort of changeless spell, where they -topped long slow rise after long slow rise only to see the seemingly -endless panorama stretch on before them. Think how they passed the -ghastly signs of murdered convoys gone before, and yet pressed on. -Think how they settled here and there in new strange places where never -the foot of men like themselves had been set before, and proceeded to -build homes and till the land, rifle in hand; think how their wives -reared their children and kept their homes where never a white child or -a Christian home had been before. - -Where should we be to-day but for such men and women--if this wind of -the spirit had never blown through men's hearts and fired them on to -follow its call, as the wind blows a flame? - -Wherever you look here in America you can see the signs and traces -of this wonderful spirit. In old towns, like Provincetown or -Gloucester,[59] you still hear tales of the whale-fisheries, and still -see boats fare out to catch cod and mackerel on the wild and dangerous -Banks. But in the past, the fishers sailed away for a year or two, -round the globe itself, after their game! You see the spirit's tracks -along the barren banks of the Sacramento,[60] where the gold-seekers -fronted the wilderness after treasure, and in Alaska it walks -incarnate. It is hewing its way in forests and digging it in mines; it -is building bridges and plants in the deserts and the mountains. Out it -goes to the islands of the Pacific, and in Africa it finds a land after -its heart. - -How much of this spirit lives in you? - -I tell you, when I hear a girl or a boy say: “This place is good enough -for me. I can get a good job round the corner! I know all the folks in -town; and I don't see any reason for bothering about how they live in -other places or what they do away from here”; when I hear that sort of -talk from young people, my heart sinks a bit. - -For such boys and girls there is no golden call of adventure, no lure -of wonder by day and night, no desire to measure their strength against -the world, no hope of something finer and more beautiful than what they -have as yet known or seen. - -I like the boy or girl who sighs after a quest more difficult than the -trodden trail, who wants more of life than the assurance of a good job. -I know very well that the home-keeping lad has a stout task to perform -and a good life to live. But I know, too, that if the youth of a nation -loses its love of adventure, if that wild and moving spirit passes from -it, then the nation is close to losing its soul. It has about reached -the limit of its power and growth. - -So much in our daily existence works against this noble spirit, -disapproves it, fears it. People are always ready to prove that there -is neither sense nor profit in it. Why should you sail with Drake[61] -and Frobisher,[62] or march with Fremont[63] or track the forest with -Boone,[64] when it is so much easier and safer and pays better to stay -at home? Why shouldn't you be content to do exactly like the people -about you, and live the life that is already marked out for you to live? - -That is what most of us will do. But that is no reason why the -glorious spirit of adventure should be denied and reviled. It is the -great spirit of creation in our race. If it stirs in you, listen to it, -be glad of it. - -A mere restless impulse to move about, the necessity to change your -environment or else be bored, the dissatisfaction with your condition -that leads to nothing but ill temper or melancholy, these are not part -of the spirit of which I am speaking. You may develop the spirit of -adventure without stirring from home, for it is not ruled by the body -and its movements. Great and high adventure may be yours in the home -where you now live, if you realize that home as a part of the great -world, as a link of the vast chain of life. Two boys can sit side by -side on the same hearth-stone, and in one the spirit of adventure is -living and calling, in the other it is dead. To the first, life will -be an opportunity and a beckoning. He will be ready to give himself -for the better future; he will be ready to strike hands with the fine -thought and generous endeavor of the whole world, bringing to his own -community the fruit of great things, caring little for the ease and -comfort of his body, but much for the possibilities of a finer, truer -realization of man's eternal struggle toward a purer liberty and a -nobler life. The spirit of adventure is a generous spirit, kindling -to great appeals. Of the two boys, sitting there together, the second -may perhaps go round the world, but to him there will be no song and -no wonder. He will not find adventure, because he has it not. The old -phrase, “adventures to the adventurous,” is a true saying. The selfish -and the small of soul know no adventures. - -As I think of America to-day, I say the spirit that found and built her -must maintain her. There are great things to be done for America in -the coming years, in your years. Her boundaries are fixed, but within -those boundaries marvelous development is possible. Her government has -found its form, but there is work for the true adventurer in seeing -that the spirit of that government, in all its endless ramifications -and expressions, fulfils the intention of human liberty and well-being -that lie within that form. Her relations with the world outside of -herself are forming anew, and here too there is labor of the noblest. -The lad who cares only for his own small job and his own small -comforts, who dreads the rough contacts of life and the dangers of -pioneering will not help America much. - -In the older days the Pilgrim Fathers cast aside every comfort of -life to follow the call of liberty, coming to a wilderness so remote, -that for us a voyage to some star would scarcely seem more distant or -strange. None of us will be called upon to do so tremendous a thing as -that act of theirs, so far as the conditions of existence go, since the -telegraph and the aëroplane and turbine knit us close. But there are -adventures quite as magnificent to be achieved. - -The spirit of adventure loves the unknown. And in the unknown we shall -find all the wonders that are waiting for us. Our whole life is lived -on the very border of unknown things, but only the adventurous spirit -reaches out to these and makes them known, and widens the horizons -for humanity. The very essence of the spirit of adventure is in doing -something no one has done before. Every high-road was once a trail, -every trail had its trail-breaker, setting his foot where no man's foot -had gone before through what new forests and over what far plains. - -It is good to ride at ease on the broad highway, with every turning -marked and the rules all kept. But it is not the whole of life. The -savor of lonely dawns, the call of an unknown voice, the need to -establish new frontiers of spirit and action beyond any man has yet -set, these are also part of life. Do not forego them. You are young and -the world is before you. Be among those who perceive all its variety, -its potentialities, who can see good in the new and unknown, and find -joy in hazard and strength in effort. Do not be afraid of strange -manners and customs, nor think a thing is wrong because it is different. - -Throw wide the great gates of adventure in your soul, young America! - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Point out effects that have been gained by the use of figures of - speech. - - 2. What is the relation of the first three paragraphs to the - remainder of the essay? - - 3. Point out the parts of _The Spirit of Adventure_ that depart - from the strict form of the essay. - - 4. Indicate what may be omitted in order to make _The Spirit of - Adventure_ truly an essay. - - 5. How many historical allusions are made in the essay? - - 6. Explain the most important historical allusions. - - 7. What does the writer mean by “the spirit of adventure”? - - 8. What does she say is the importance of such a spirit? - - 9. How can an ordinary person carry out the writer's wishes? - - 10. How does the style of the essay strengthen the presentation of - thought? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Love of Truth 11. The Snow - 2. The Spirit of Fair Play 12. Falling Leaves - 3. The Sense of Honor 13. The Ocean - 4. Stick-to-it-iveness 14. The Storm - 5. Faithfulness 15. Moonlight - 6. School Spirit 16. The Voice of Thunder - 7. Loyalty 17. Flowers - 8. The Scientific Spirit 18. The Friendly Trees - 9. Work 19. Country Brooks - 10. The Spirit of Helpfulness 20. Gentle Rain - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -If you wish to write two or three paragraphs of poetic prose in -imitation of the first three paragraphs of _The Spirit of Adventure_ -choose one of the topics in the second column. Write, first of all, -a sentence that will summarize your principal thought, a sentence -that will correspond with the sentence that forms the third paragraph -of Miss Hawthorne's essay. Then lead up to this sentence by -writing a series of sentences full of fancy. Use figures of speech -freely. Arrange your words, phrases or clauses so that you will -produce both striking effects and also rhythm. - -If you wish to write in imitation of the entire essay choose one of -the topics in the first column. Begin your work by writing a series of -poetic paragraphs that will present the spirit of your essay. Continue -to write in a somewhat poetic style, but make many definite allusions -to history, literature or the facts of life. - -Throughout your work express your own personality as much as you can. -End your essay by making some personal appeal but do not make your work -too didactic. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[59] Provincetown or Gloucester. Famous sea-coast towns on the coast of -Massachusetts. - -[60] Sacramento. A river of California, near which gold was discovered -in 1848. - -[61] Sir Francis Drake (1540-1596). A great English sailor and naval -commander. He was the first Englishman to circumnavigate the earth, and -was one of the commanders in the fight with the Spanish Armada, 1888. - -[62] Sir Martin Frobisher (1535-1594). The discoverer of Frobisher Bay; -one of the leaders against the Spanish Armada. - -[63] John C. Fremont (1813-1890). An American general noted for his -explorations of the West. - -[64] Daniel Boone (1735-1820). An early American explorer, pioneer and -Indian fighter. - - - - - VANISHING NEW YORK - By ROBERT and ELIZABETH SHACKLETON - - - _Robert Shackleton (1860--) and his wife, Elizabeth Shackleton, - have written much in collaboration. Among such works are:_ The - Quest of the Colonial; Adventures in Home Making; The Charm of the - Antique. _Mr. Shackleton was at one time associate editor of_ The - Saturday Evening Post. _He is the author of many books, among which - are_ Touring Great Britain; History of Harper's Magazine, _and_ The - Book of New York. - - =Washington Irving's _Sketch Book_ tells of Irving's delighted - wanderings around old London, and of his interest in streets and - buildings that awoke memories of the past. _Vanishing New York_ - is an essay that corresponds closely with the essays written by - Irving so many years ago. In this modern essay Robert and Elizabeth - Shackleton tell of their wanderings about old New York, of odd - streets, curious buildings, and romantic and historic associations. - The essay gives to New York an interest that makes it, in the eyes - of the reader, as fascinating as Irving's old London.= - - =The writers do more than tell the story of a walk about New York, - and much more than merely name and describe the places they saw. By - a skilful use of adjectives, and by an interested suggestiveness, - they throw over the places they mention an atmosphere of charm. We - feel that we are with them, enjoying and loving the curious old - places that seem so destined to vanish forever.= - - What is left of old New York that is quaint and charming? The New - York of the eighties and earlier, of Henry James,[65] of Gramercy - Park, Washington and Stuyvesant squares, quaint old houses on - curious by-streets? The period of perhaps a more beautiful and - certainly a more leisurely existence? All places of consequence and - interest that remain to-day are herewith described. - - -To one, vanishing New York means a little box garden up in the Bronx, -glimpsed just as the train goes into the subway. To another, it is a -fan-light on Horatio Street; an old cannon, planted muzzle downward at -a curb-edge; a long-watched, ancient mile-stone; a well; a water-tank -bound up in a bank charter; a Bowling Green sycamore; an ailantus -beside the twin French houses of crooked Commerce Street. And what a -pang to find an old landmark gone! To another it is the sad little iron -arch of the gate of old St. John's at the end of the once-while quaint -St. John's Place, all that is now left of the beautiful pillared and -paneled old church and its English-made wrought-iron fence. To many -it is the loss of the New York sky-line, one of the wonders of the -world--lost, for it has vanished from sight. Now the sky-line is to -be seen only from the water, and the city is no longer approached by -water except by a few; but is entered under the rivers on each side, -by tunnels down into which the human currents are plunged. A positive -thrill, a morning-and-evening thrill that was almost a worship of the -noble and the beautiful, used to sweep over the packed thousands on the -ferry-boats as they gazed at the sky-line. - -It is extraordinary how swiftly New York destroys and rebuilds. There -is the story of a distinguished visitor who, driven uptown on the -forenoon of his arrival, was, on his departure in the late afternoon -of the same day, driven downtown over the same route in order that he -might see what changes had meanwhile taken place. The very first vessel -built in New York--it was three hundred years ago--was named in the -very spirit of prophecy, for it was called the _Onrust_ (_Restless_). - -Yet it is astonishing how much of interest remains in this iconoclastic -city, although almost everything remains under constant threat of -destruction. Far over toward the North River is one of the threatened -survivals. It is shabby, ancient; indeed, it has been called the -oldest building in New York, though nothing certain is known beyond -1767. But it is very old, and may easily date much further back. It -is called the Clam Broth House, and is on Weehawken Street, which, -closely paralleling West Street, holds its single block of length -north from Christopher. It is a lost and forgotten street, primitively -cobblestoned with the worst pavement in New York, and it holds several -lost and forlorn old houses--low-built houses, with great broad, -sweeping roofs reaching almost to the ground, houses tremulous with -age. Of these the one now called the Clam Broth House, low, squat, -broad-roofed, is the oldest. In a sense the fronts are on West Street, -but all original characteristics have there been bedizenedly lost, and -the ancient aspect is on Weehawken Street. - -These were fishermen's houses in ancient days, waterside houses; for -West Street is filled-in ground, and the broad expanse of shipping -space out beyond the street is made land. When these houses were -built, the North River reached their doors, and, so tradition has it, -fishermen actually rowed their boats and drew their shad-seines beneath -this Clam Broth House. - -Of a far different order of interest is a demure little church, neat -and trim, on Hudson street. It is built of brick, bright red, with long -red wings stretching oddly away from the rear, with a low, squat tower -of red, and in the midst of gray old houses that hover around in fading -respectability. It is St. Luke's, is a century old, and with it is -connected the most charming custom of New York. - -In 1792 a certain John Leake died, leaving a sum to Trinity Church for -the giving forever, to “such poor as shall appear most deserving,” as -many “six-penny wheaten loaves” as the income would buy, and this sweet -and simple dole has ever since been regularly administered, and it -will go on through the centuries, like the ancient English charity at -Winchester, where for eight hundred years bread and ale have been given. - -But there is one strictly New York feature about this already old Leake -dole that differentiates it from the dole of Winchester, for it is -still at the original wicket that the Winchester dole is given. There -the custom was instituted, and there it has continued through all -these centuries. But in New York the dole began at Trinity, but after -something more than half a century, as population left the neighborhood -of Trinity, the dole was transferred to St. John's, on Varick Street, -once known as “St. John's in the Fields,” and now, after more than -another half-century, there has come still another removal, and the -dole is given at quaint old St. Luke's. Thus it has already had three -homes, and one wonders how many it will have as the decades and the -centuries move on. One pictures it peripatetically proceeding hither -and thither as further changes come upon the city, the dole for the -poor that never vanish. - -A short distance south from St. Luke's, on the opposite side of Hudson -Street, is an open space that is a public playground and a public -garden. It was a graveyard, but a few years ago the city decreed -that it should vanish, with the exception of a monument put up to -commemorate the devotion of firemen who gave their lives for duty in a -fire of the long ago. It was not the graveyard of St. Luke's, although -near, but of farther away St. John's; and it is pleasant to remember -that it was in walking to and fro among the now vanished graves and -tombs that Edgar Allan Poe[66] composed his “Raven.” - -Cheerful in its atmosphere--but perhaps this is largely from its -name--is short little Gay Street, leading from Waverley Place, -just around the corner from Sixth Avenue. Immediately beyond this -point--for much of the unexpected still remains in good old Greenwich -Village--Waverley becomes, by branching, a street with four sidewalks; -for both branches hold the name of Waverley. It is hard for people -of to-day to understand the power of literature in the early half -of the last century, when Washington Irving[67] was among the most -prominent citizens, and James Fenimore Cooper[68] was publicly honored, -and admirers of the Waverley Novels made successful demand on the -aldermen to change the name of Sixth Street, where it left Broadway, -to Waverley Place, and to continue it beyond Sixth Avenue, discarding -another name on the way, and at this forking-point to do away with both -Catharine and Elizabeth streets in order to give Waverley its four -sidewalks. Could this be done in these later days with the names, say -of Howells[69] or of Hopkinson Smith![70] Does any one ever propose to -have an “O” put before Henry Street![71] - -At the forking-point is a triangular building, archaic in aspect, and -very quiet. It is a dispensary, and an ancient jest of the neighborhood -is, when some stranger asks if it has patients, to reply, “It doesn't -need 'em; it's got money.” - -Gay Street is miniature; its length isn't long and its width isn't -wide. It is a street full of the very spirit of old Greenwich, or, -rather, of the old Ninth Ward; for thus the old inhabitants love to -designate the neighborhood, some through not knowing that it was -originally Greenwich Village, and a greater number because they are -not interested in the modern development, poetic, artistic, theatric, -empiric, romantic, sociologic, but are proud of the honored record of -the district as the most American ward of New York City. - -In an apartment overlooking a Gay Street corner there died last year a -man who had rented there for thirty-four years. There loomed practical -difficulties for the final exit, the solution involving window and -fire-escape. But the landlord, himself born there, said, “No; he has -always gone in and out like a gentleman, and he shall still go out, for -the last time, as a gentleman,” thereupon he called in carpenter and -mason to cut the wall. - -Then some old resident will tell you, pointing out house by house and -name by name, where business men, small manufacturers, politicians, and -office-holders dwelt. And, further reminiscent, he will tell of how, -when a boy, at dawn on each Fourth of July, he used to get out his toy - - [Illustration: =“It has been called the oldest building - in New York.”=] (_page 185_) - -cannon and fire it from a cellar entrance (pointing to the entrance), -and how one Fourth the street was suddenly one shattering crash, two -young students from the old university across Washington Square having -experimentally tossed to the pavement from their garret window a stick -of what was then “a new explosive, dynamite.” No sane and safe Fourths -then! - -It is still remembered that some little houses at the farther end -of Gay Street, on Christopher, were occupied by a little colony of -hand-loom weavers from Scotland, who there looked out from these -“windows in Thrums.”[72] - -Around two corners from this spot is a curiously picturesque little -bit caused by the street changes of a century ago. It is Patchin -Place, opening from Tenth Street opposite Jefferson Market. The place -is a cul-de-sac, with a double row of little three-story houses, each -looking just like the other, of yellow-painted brick. Each house -has a little area space, each front door is up two steps from its -narrow sidewalk. Each door is of a futuristic green. Each has its -ailantus-tree, making the little nooked place a delightful bower. - -Immediately around the corner is the still more curious Milligan Place, -a spot more like a bit of old London than any other in New York. It -is a little nestled space, entered by a barely gate-wide opening from -the busy Sixth Avenue sidewalk. Inside it expands a trifle, just -sufficiently to permit the existence of four little houses, built close -against one another. So narrowly does an edge of brick building come -down beside the entrance that it is literally only the width of the end -of the bricks. - -In an instant, going through the entrance that you might pass a -thousand times without noticing, you are miles away, you are decades -away, in a fragment of an old lost lane. - -Near by, where Sixth Avenue begins, there is still projective from an -old-time building the sign of the Golden Swan, a lone survival of long -ago. And this is remindful of the cigar-store Indians. Only yesterday -they were legion, now a vanished race. And the sidewalk clocks that -added such interest to the streets, they, too, have gone, banished by -city ordinance. - -The conjunction of Seventh Avenue and Greenwich Avenue and Eleventh -Street makes a triangle, at the sharp point of which is a small, low, -and ancient building, fittingly given over to that ancient and almost -vanished trade, horseshoeing. A little brick building with outside -wooden stair stands against and above it as the triangle widens, and -then comes an ancient building a little taller still. And this odd -conglomerate building was all, so you will be told, built in the good -old days for animal houses for one of the earliest menageries! Next -came a period of stage-coaches, with horses housed here. And, as -often in New York, a great shabbiness accompanies the old. Within the -triangle, inside of a tall wooden fence, are several ancient ailantus -trees, remindful that long ago New York knew this locality as--name -full of pleasant implications--“Ailanthus Gardens.” And every spring -Ailanthus Gardens, oblivious to forgetfulness and shabbiness, still -bourgeons green and gay. - -An old man, a ghost-of-the-past old man, approached, and, seeing that -we were interested, said abruptly, unexpectedly, “That's Bank Street -over there, where the banks and the bankers came,” thus taking the mind -far back to the time of a yellow-fever flight from what was then the -distant city to what was in reality Greenwich. - -Only a block from here, on Seventh Avenue, is a highly picturesque -survival, a long block of three-story dwellings all so uniformly -balconied, from first floor to roof-line, across the entire fronts, -that you see nothing but balconies, with their three stories fronted -with eyelet-pattern balustrades. In front of all the houses is an open -grassy space, and up the face of the balconies run old wistaria-vines. -Each house, through the crisscrossing of upright and lateral lines, is -fronted with nine open square spaces, like Brobdingnagian pigeon-holes. - -On West Eleventh Street is a row almost identical in appearance. If -you follow Eleventh Street eastward, and find that it does not cut -across Broadway, you will remember that this comes from the efforts -of Brevoort, an early landowner, to save a grand old tree that stood -there. And then Grace Church gained possession, and the street remained -uncut. - -A most striking vanishing hereabouts has been of the hotels. What -an interesting group they were in this part of Broadway! Even the -old Astor, far down town, has gone, only a wrecked and empty remnant -remaining. - -But a neighbor of the Astor House is an old-time building whose -loss, frequently threatened, every one who loves noble and beautiful -architecture would deplore--the more than century-old city hall, which -still dominates its surroundings, as it has always dominated, even -though now the buildings round about are of towering height. - -Time-mellowed, its history has also mellowed, with myriad associations -and happenings and tales. That a man who was to become Mayor of -New York (it was Fernando Wood) made his first entry into the city -as the hind leg of an elephant of a traveling show, and in that -capacity passed for the first time the city hall, is a story that -out-Whittingtons Whittington.[73] - -And noblest and finest of all the associations with the city hall is -one which has to do with a time before the city hall arose; for here, -on the very spot where it stands, George Washington paraded his little -army on a July day in 1776, and with grave solemnity, while they -listened in a solemnity as grave, a document was read to them that had -just been received from Philadelphia and which was forever to be known -as the Declaration of Independence. - -It used to be, three quarters of a century ago, that people could go -northward from the city hall on the New York and Harlem Railway, which -built its tracks far down in this direction. It used the Park Avenue -tunnel, which had been built in 1837 for the first horse-car line in -the world. After the railway made Forty-second Street its terminal, -horse-cars again went soberly through the tunnel. What a pleasure to -remember the tinkle, tinkle as they came jerkily jogging through, from -somewhere up Harlemward, and, with quirky variety as to course, to an -end somewhere near University Place! A most oddly usable line. - -A few minutes' walk from University Place is one of the most -fascinating spots in New York--“St. Mark's in the Bouwerie,” although -it is actually on Second Avenue and Stuyvesant Street. - -The church was built in 1799, but it stands on property that the -mighty Petrus Stuyvesant[74] owned, and on the site of a chapel that -he built, and his tomb is beneath the pavement of the church, and the -tombstone is set in the foundation-wall on the eastern side. There -is an excellent bronze close by, fittingly made in Holland, of this -whimsical, irascible, kind-hearted, clear-headed captain-general and -governor who ruled this New Amsterdam. Nothing else in the city so -gives the smack of age, the relish of the saltness of time, as this old -church built on Stuyvesant's land and holding his bones. For Stuyvesant -was born when Elizabeth reigned in England and when Henry of Navarre, -with his white plume, was King of France. The great New-Yorker was born -in the very year that “Hamlet” was written.[75] - -He loved his city, and lived here after the English came and conquered -him and seized the colony. - -This highly pictorial old church, broad-fronted, pleasant-porticoed, -stands within a great open graveyard space, green with grass and -sweetly shaded, and its aloofness and beauty are markedly enhanced by -its being set high above the level of the streets. - -On Lafayette Street, once Lafayette Place, a quarter of a mile from -St. Mark's, still stands the deserted Astor Library, just bought by -the Y. M. H. A. as a home for immigrants, built three quarters of a -century ago for permanence, but now empty and bare and grim, shorn of -its Rialto-like[76] steps, with closed front, as if harboring secrets -behind its saddening inaccessibility. Once-while stately gate-posts and -gateway, now ruinous, beside the library building, marked the driveway -entrance of a long-vanished Astor home. - -All is dreary, dismal, desolate, and the color of the Venetian-like -building has become a sad combination of chocolate brown and dull red. - -The tens of thousands of books from here, the literature and art of the -Lenox collection, and the fine foundation of Tilden are united at Fifth -Avenue and Forty-second Street. From what differing sources did these -three mighty foundations spring! One from the tireless industry of a -great lawyer;[77] one from a far-flung fur trade that over a century -ago reached through trackless wilderness to the Pacific;[78] one from -a fortune wrung by exactions from American soldiers of the Revolution, -prisoners of war, who paid all they had in the hope of alleviating -their suffering--a fortune inherited by a man who studied to put it -out for the benefit of mankind in broad charity and helpfulness, in -hospitals and colleges, and in his library, left for public use.[79] - -With the old Astor Library so stripped and deserted, one wonders if a -similar fate awaits the stately and palatial building to which it has -gone. Will the new building some day vanish? And similarly the superb -and mighty structures that have in recent years come in connection with -the city's northern sweep? - -A curious fate has attended the Lenox Library property. Given to the -city, land and building and contents, the land and building were sold -into private ownership when the consolidation of libraries was decided -upon. The granite stronghold, built to endure forever, was razed, and -where it had stood arose the most beautiful home in New York, which, -gardened in boxwood, its owner filled with priceless treasures. And now -he is dead, and again the land, a building, and costly contents are -willed to the city. - -Across from the old Astor Library stood Colonnade Row, a long and -superb line of pillar-fronted grandeur; but only a small part now -remains, with only a few of the fluted Corinthian pillars. All is -shabby and forlorn, but noble even in shabbiness. And the remnant, one -thinks, must shortly fall a victim to the destructive threat that hangs -over everything in our city. - -Colonnade Row was built in the eighteen twenties. Washington Irving -lived there. One gathers the impression that Irving, named after -Washington, lived in as many houses as those in which Washington -slept. In the row occurred the wedding of President Tyler,[80] an -event not characterized by modest shrinking from publicity, for after -the ceremony the President and his bride were driven down Broadway in -an open carriage, drawn by four horses, to the Battery, whence a boat -rowed them out to begin their married life on--of all places!--a ship -of war! - -It is interesting to find two Virginia-born Presidents of the United -States coming to Lafayette Street; for here dwelt Monroe,[81] he of -the “Doctrine,” during the latter part of his life, at what is now the -northwest corner of Lafayette Street and Prince; and he died there. -Long since the house fell into sheer dinginess and wreck, and a few -months ago was sold to be demolished; but New York may feel pride in -her connection with the American who, following Washington's example, -declared against “entangling ourselves in the broils of Europe, or -suffering the powers of the old world to interfere with the affairs of -the new.” - -Near this house Monroe was buried, in the Marble Cemetery on Second -Street, beyond Second Avenue, a spot with high open iron fence in -front and high brick wall behind, with an atmosphere of sedateness and -repose, although a tenement district has come round about. Monroe's -body lay here for a quarter of a century, and then Virginia belatedly -carried it to Virginian soil. - -Close by, entered through a narrow tunnel-like entrance at 41-1/2 -Second Avenue, is another Marble Cemetery (the Monroe burying-place -is the New York City Marble Cemetery, and this other is the New -York Marble Cemetery), and this second one is quite hidden away in -inconspicuousness, as befits a place which, according to a now barely -decipherable inscription, was established as “a place of interment for -gentlemen,” surely the last word in exclusiveness! - -Across the street from the entrance to this cemetery for gentlemen is -a church for the common people, one of the pleasant surprises of a -kind which one frequently comes upon in New York--a building really -distinguished in appearance, yet not noticed or known. A broad flight -of steps stretches across the broad church front. There are tall -pillars and pilasters, excellent iron fencing and gateway. The interior -is all of the color of pale ivory, with much of classic detail and with -a “Walls-of-Troy” pattern along the gallery. There were a score of such -classic churches in New York early in the last century. - -Always in finding the unexpected there is charm, as when, the other -day, we came by the merest chance upon “Extra Place”! What a name! -It is a little court nooked out of First Street,--how many New -Yorkers know that there is a First Street in fact and not merely in -theory?--between Second and Third avenues. Extra Place is a stone's -throw in length, a forgotten bit of forlornness, but at its end, -beyond sheds and tall board fencing, are suggestions of pleasant homes -of a distant past, great fireplace chimneys and queer windows, and an -old shade tree, and under the tree a brick-paved walk, formal in its -rectangle, where happy people walked in the long ago, and where once a -garden smiled, but where now no kind of flower grows wild. - -The tree of the New York tenements is the ailantus, palm-like in its -youth, brought originally from China for the gardens of the rich. It -grows in discouraging surroundings, is defiant of smoke, does not even -ask to be planted; for, Topsy-like, it “jest grows.” Cut it down, and -it comes up again. It is said to have no insect enemies. An odd point -in its appearance is that every branch points up. - -The former extraordinary picturesqueness of the waterfront has gone; -but still there is much there that is strange, and a general odor of -oakum and tar remains. And, leading back from the East-Side waterfront, -narrow, ancient lanes have been preserved, and by these one may enter -the old-time warehouse portion of the city, where still the permeative -smell of drugs or leather or spice differentiates district from -district. - -Vanished is many a delightful old name. Pie Woman's Lane became Nassau -Street. Oyster Pasty Alley became Exchange Alley. Clearly, early New -Yorkers were a gustatory folk. - -A notable vanishing has within a few months come to Wall Street -itself--the vanishing of the last outward and visible sign of the feud -of Alexander Hamilton[18] and Aaron Burr.[82] Hamilton was the leading -spirit in establishing one bank in the city, and Burr, through a clause -in a water-company charter, established another, and through all -these decades the banks have been rivals. Now they have united their -financial fortunes and become one bank. - -An interesting rector of Trinity Church, which looks in such -extraordinary fashion into the narrow gorge of Wall Street, became -over a century ago Bishop of New York, Benjamin Moore, and he is -chiefly interesting, after all, through his early connection with -the then distant region still known as Chelsea, in the neighborhood -of Twenty-third Street and the North River, where he acquired great -land-holdings that had been owned by the English naval captain who had -made his home here and given the locality its name. - -Chelsea still holds its own as an interesting neighborhood, mainly -because of its possession of the General Theological Seminary, which -has attracted and held desirable people and given an atmosphere of -quiet seclusion. - -The seminary buildings occupy the entire block between Ninth and Tenth -avenues and Twentieth and Twenty-first streets. They are largely of -English style, and there are long stretches of ten-foot garden wall. -Now and then a mortar-boarded student strides hurriedly across an open -space, and now and then a professor paces portentously. The buildings -are mostly of brick, but the oldest is an odd-looking structure -of silver-gray stone. The varied structures unite in effective -conjunction. It may be mentioned that, owing to a Vanderbilt who looked -about for something which in his opinion would set the seminary in the -front rank, its library possesses more ancient Latin Bibles, so it is -believed, than does even the Bodleian.[83] - -The chapel stands in the middle of the square, and above it rises -a square Magdalen-like tower,[84] softened by ivy; and, following -a beautiful old custom as it has been followed since the tower was -built, capped and gowned students gather at sunrise on Easter morning -on the top of this tall tower and sing ancient chorals to the music of -trombone and horn. - -Chelsea ought to be the most home-like region in New York on account -of its connection with Christmas; for a son of Bishop Moore, Clement -C. Moore,[85] who gave this land to the seminary, and made his own -home in Chelsea, wrote the childhood classic, “'Twas the night before -Christmas.” - -In this old-time neighborhood stand not only houses, but -long-established little shops. One for drugs, for example, is marked -as dating back to 1839. But, after all, that is not so old as a great -Fifth Avenue shop which was established in 1826. However, there is this -difference: the Chelsea shops are likely to be on the very spots where -they were first opened, whereas the great shop of Fifth Avenue has -reached its location by move after move, from its beginning on Grand -Street, when that was the fashionable shopping street of the city. - -In Chelsea are still to be found the old pineapple-topped newel-posts -of wrought iron, like openwork urns; there are old houses hidden -erratically behind those on the street-front. One in particular remains -in mind, a large old-fashioned dwelling, now reached only by a narrow -and built-over passage, a house that looks like a haunted house, from -its desolate disrepair, its lost loneliness of location. - -Chelsea is a region of yellow cats and green shutters, shabby green on -the uncared for and fresh green for the well kept. Old New York used -typically to temper the dog-days behind green slat shutters, or under -shop awnings stretched to the curb, and with brick sidewalks, sprinkled -in the early afternoon from a sprinkling-can in the 'prentice hand. - -One of the admirable old houses of Chelsea is that where dwelt that -unquiet spirit, Edwin Forrest,[86] the actor. It is at 436 West -Twenty-second Street, a substantial-looking, square-fronted house, with -a door of a great single panel. And the interior is notable for the -beautiful spiral stair that figured in court in his marital troubles. - -There are in Chelsea two more than usually delightful residential -survivals, with the positively delightful old names of Chelsea Cottages -and London Terrace. The cottages are on Twenty-fourth Street, and -the Terrace is on Twenty-third, and each is between Ninth and Tenth -avenues, and both were built three quarters of a century ago. - -The cottages are alternating three-story and two-story houses, built -tightly shoulder to shoulder, astonishingly narrow-fronted, each with a -grassy space in front. Taken together, they make one of the last stands -on Manhattan of simple and modest and concerted picturesque living. - -The Terrace is a highly distinguished row of high-pilastered houses, -set behind grassy, deep dooryards. There are precisely eighty-eight -three-and-a-half-story pilasters on the front of this stately row. -The houses have a general composite effect of yellowish gray. They -are built on the London plan of the drawing-room on the second floor, -so that those that live there “go down to dinner.” The drawing-rooms -are of pleasant three-windowed spaciousness, extending across each -house-front. - -The terrace is notable in high-stooped New York in having the -entrance-doors on virtually the sidewalk level. That the familiar -and almost omnipresent high-stooped houses of the nineteenth century -ought all to have been constructed without the long flight of outside -stone steps characteristic of the city is shown by a most interesting -development on East Nineteenth Street, between Third Avenue and -Irving Place. There the houses have been excellently and artistically -remodeled, with highly successful and highly satisfactory results. With -comparatively slight cost, there has been alteration of commonplaceness -into beauty. - -The high front steps have been removed, and the front doors put down -to where they ought to be. Most of the house-fronts have been given a -stucco coat, showing what could be done with myriad commonplace houses -of the city. - -The houses are colorfully painted tawny red or cream or gray or -pale pink or an excellent shade of brown. You think of it as the -happiest-looking street in New York. Solid shutters add their effect, -some the green of bronze patina. There are corbeled gables. Some -of the roofs are red-tiled. Two little two-story stables have been -transformed by little Gothic doors. There are vines. There are -box-bushes. There are flowers in terra-cotta boxes on low area walls. -Here and there is a delightful little iron balcony, here and there a -gargoyle. On one roof two or three storks are gravely standing! There -are charming area-ways, and plane-trees have been planted for the -entire block. And here the vanishing is of the undesirable. - -On Stuyvesant Square, near by, are the Quaker buildings, standing in an -atmosphere of peace which they themselves have largely made--buildings -of red brick with white trimmings, and with a fine air of gentleness -and repose; a little group that, so one hopes, is very far indeed from -the vanishing point. - -And there is fine old Gramercy Park, whose dignified homes in the -past were owned by men of the greatest prominence. Many of the great -homes still remain, and the central space, tall, iron-fenced, is still -exclusively locked from all but the privileged, the dwellers in the -houses on the park. And there, amid the grass and the trees, sedate -little children, with little white or black dogs, play sedately for -hours. - -We went for luncheon, with two recent woman's college graduates, all -familiar with New York, into the club house that was the home of Samuel -J. Tilden. Our companions were unusually excellent examples of the best -that the colleges produce; they were of American ancestry. But any -New-Yorker will feel that much of the spirit of the city has vanished, -that much of the honored and intimate tradition has gone, when we -say that, it being mentioned that this had been the Tilden home, it -developed that neither of them had ever heard of Samuel J. Tilden. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What is the authors' attitude toward the past? - - 2. What does the essay say concerning change? - - 3. In what spirit does the essay mention old buildings? - - 4. What does the essay prophesy for the future? - - 5. Tell the origin of some of the street names in New York City. - - 6. What does the essay say concerning the influence of people who - are now dead? - - 7. Point out examples of pleasant suggestion. - - 8. Show where the writers express originality of thought. - - 9. What is the plan of the essay? - - 10. What advantage does the essay gain by making so frequent - reference to names of people? - - 11. How do the writers gain coherence? - - 12. Point out pleasing allusions. - - 13. What spirit does the essay arouse? - - 14. What do the writers think concerning the present? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Things That Have Vanished 11. A Trip About Town - 2. My Own Town Years Ago 12. Some Curious Buildings - 3. Old Buildings 13. The Highway - 4. The People of a Former Day 14. The Founding of My Town - 5. Legacies 15. Early Settlers - 6. Street Names 16. My Ancestors - 7. The Story of a Street 17. Family Relics - 8. The Story of an Old House 18. A Walk in the Country - 9. The Farm 19. The Making of a City - 10. Eternal Change 20. Main Street - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Your object is not to tell what you do on any walk that you -choose to take, nor is it to tell what you see. You are not to try to -inform people concerning facts. You are to give them pleasing -impressions that come to you as you meditate on something that -has changed. - -In order to do this you must, first of all, have a real experience, -both in visiting a place and in feeling emotion. Then you must make a -plan for your writing, so that you will take your reader just as easily -and just as naturally as possible over the ground that you wish him to -visit in imagination. - -Make many allusions to people, to books, to events, and to anything -else that will bring back the past vividly. Make that past appear in -all its charm. You can do this best if your emotion is real, and if -you pay considerable attention to your style of writing. Use many -adjectives and adjective expressions. Above all, try to find words that -will be highly suggestive. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[65] Henry James (1843-1916). An American novelist noted for strikingly -analytical novels. His boyhood home was on Washington Square. - -[66] Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849). Perhaps the most widely known -American poet and short story writer. _The Raven_ is the best-known -poem by any American poet. Poe wrote the poem while he was living in -New York City. - -[67] Washington Irving (1783-1859). The genial American essayist, -biographer and historian. He spent much of his time in New York City. - -[68] James Fenimore Cooper (1789-1851). The first great American -novelist, best known for his famous “Leatherstocking Tales.” - -[69] William Dean Howells (1837-1920). A celebrated modern novelist, -noted for his realistic pictures of life. - -[70] F. Hopkinson Smith (1838-1915). An American civil engineer, artist -and short story writer. _Colonel Carter of Cartersville_ is one of his -best-known books. - -[71] O. Henry (William Sidney Porter) (1867-1910). A popular American -short story writer, noted for originality of style and treatment. - -[72] “Windows in Thrums”. The title of a novel by James Matthew Barrie -(1860.--) is _A Window in Thrums_, _Thrums_ being an imaginary village -in Scotland, inhabited principally by humble but devout weavers. - -[73] Sir Richard Whittington (1358-1423). Three times Lord Mayor of -London; the hero of the legend of _Whittington and His Cat_. - -[74] Petrus Stuyvesant (1592-1672). The last of the Dutch governors of -New York. In 1664 he surrendered New York to the English. His farm was -called “The Bouwerij”. - -[75] _Hamlet._ While the date of _Hamlet_ can not be told with -certainty it is reasonably sure that Shakespeare wrote his version of -an older play about 1592. - -[76] Rialto. A celebrated bridge in Venice, Italy. It has a series of -steps. - -[77] Samuel J. Tilden (1814-1886). An American lawyer, at one time -Governor of New York. As candidate for the Presidency he won 250,000 -more votes than Rutherford B. Hayes, but lost the election in the -Electoral College. - -[78] John Jacob Astor (1763-1848). A German immigrant who, through the -founding of a great fur business, established the Astor fortune. He -bequeathed $400,000 for the Astor Library. - -[79] James Lenox (1800-1880). An American philanthropist who founded -the great Lenox Library. - -[80] John Tyler (1790-1862). Tenth President of the United States. - -[81] James Monroe (1758-1831). Fifth President of the United States; -originator of the “Monroe Doctrine” policy designed to prevent foreign -interference in affairs in North or South America. - -[82] Alexander Hamilton (1757-1804). A great American statesman and -financier. He was killed in a duel with Aaron Burr (1756-1836), an -American politician. - -[83] The Bodleian Library. The great library of Oxford University, -England, named after Sir Thomas Bodley, one of its founders. - -[84] Magdalen College. One of the colleges of Oxford University, -England. It is noted for an especially beautiful tower. - -[85] Clement C. Moore (1779-1863). A wealthy American scholar and -teacher who wrote the poem, _'Twas the Night Before Christmas_. - -[86] Edwin Forrest (1806-1872). A great American actor, noted for his -rendition of Shakespeare. - - - - - THE SONGS OF THE CIVIL WAR[87] - By BRANDER MATTHEWS - - - _(1852--). One of the most influential American critics and - essayists, Professor of Dramatic Literature in Columbia University. - He was one of the founders of The Authors' Club, and The Players, - and a leader in organizing the American Copyright League. He is - a member of the National Institute of Arts and Letters. He is - the author of works that illustrate many types of literature, - including novels, short stories, essays, poems and plays. Among his - books are:_ A Story of the Sea, and Other Stories; Pen and Ink; - Americanisms and Briticisms; The Story of a Story; Vignettes of - Manhattan; His Father's Son; Aspects of Fiction; Essays in English; - The American of the Future. - - =When companionable people meet in pleasant converse, whether before - the open fire at home, or in chance gatherings at any place, they - tell one another about the interesting experiences that they have - had or the discoveries that they have made. If you could place on - paper what any one of them says, except in narration, and if you - could, at the same time, show the feeling and the spirit of the - speaker,--if you could in some way transfer the personality of the - speaker to the paper,--you would, in all probability, produce an - essay.= - - =The author of _The Songs of the Civil War_ has learned some - interesting facts concerning our national songs. He communicates - those facts as he would to a company of friends, indicating - throughout his remarks his own interests and beliefs. His words - are the pleasant words of friendship,--not the formal giving of - information that characterizes most encyclopedia articles. That - part of his essay which is given here is sufficient to indicate the - charm of his presentation.= - - -A national hymn is one of the things which cannot be made to order. -No man has ever yet sat him down and taken up his pen and said, “I -will write a national hymn,” and composed either words or music which -a nation was willing to take for its own. The making of the song of -the people is a happy accident, not to be accomplished by taking -thought. It must be the result of fiery feeling long confined, and -suddenly finding vent in burning words or moving strains. Sometimes the -heat and the pressure of emotion have been fierce enough and intense -enough to call forth at once both words and music, and to weld them -together indissolubly once and for all. Almost always the maker of the -song does not suspect the abiding value of his work; he has wrought -unconsciously, moved by a power within; he has written for immediate -relief to himself, and with no thought of fame or the future; he has -builded better than he knew. The great national lyric is the result -of the conjunction of the hour and the man. Monarch cannot command -it, and even poets are often powerless to achieve it. No one of the -great national hymns has been written by a great poet. But for his -single immortal lyric, neither the author of the “Marseillaise”[88] -nor the author of the “Wacht am Rhein”[89] would have his line in the -biographical dictionaries. But when a song has once taken root in the -hearts of a people, time itself is powerless against it. The flat and -feeble “Partant pour la Syrie,” which a filial fiat made the hymn of -imperial France, had to give way to the strong and virile notes of -the “Marseillaise,” when need was to arouse the martial spirit of the -French in 1870. The noble measures of “God Save the King,” as simple -and dignified a national hymn as any country can boast, lift up the -hearts of the English people; and the brisk tune of the “British -Grenadiers” has swept away many a man into the ranks of the recruiting -regiment. The English are rich in war tunes and the pathetic “Girl I -Left Behind Me” encourages and sustains both those who go to the front -and those who remain at home. Here in the United States we have no -“Marseillaise,” no “God Save the King,” no “Wacht am Rhein”; we have -but “Yankee Doodle” and the “Star-spangled Banner.” More than one -enterprising poet, and more than one aspiring musician, has volunteered -to take the contract to supply the deficiency; as yet no one has -succeeded. “Yankee Doodle” we got during the revolution, and the -“Star-spangled Banner” was the gift of the War of 1812; from the Civil -War we have received at least two war songs which, as war songs simply, -are stronger and finer than either of these--“John Brown's Body” and -“Marching Through Georgia.” - -Of the lyrical outburst which the war called forth but little trace is -now to be detected in literature except by special students. In most -cases neither words nor music have had vitality enough to survive a -quarter of a century. Chiefly, indeed, two things only survive, one -Southern and the other Northern; one a war-cry in verse, the other -a martial tune: one is the lyric “My Maryland” and the other is the -marching song “John Brown's Body.” The origin and development of the -latter, the rude chant to which a million of the soldiers of the Union -kept time, is uncertain and involved in dispute. The history of the -former may be declared exactly, and by the courtesy of those who did -the deed--for the making of a war song is of a truth a deed at arms--I -am enabled to state fully the circumstances under which it was written, -set to music, and first sung before the soldiers of the South. - -“My Maryland” was written by Mr. James R. Randall, a native of -Baltimore, and now residing in Augusta, Georgia. The poet was a -professor of English literature and the classics in Poydras College -at Pointe Coupee, on the Faussee Riviere, in Louisiana, about seven -miles from the Mississippi; and there in April, 1861, he read in the -New Orleans _Delta_ the news of the attack on the Massachusetts troops -as they passed through Baltimore. “This account excited me greatly,” -Mr. Randall wrote in answer to my request for information; “I had -long been absent from my native city, and the startling event there -inflamed my mind. That night I could not sleep, for my nerves were all -unstrung, and I could not dismiss what I had read in the paper from my -mind. About midnight I rose, lit a candle, and went to my desk. Some -powerful spirit appeared to possess me, and almost involuntarily I -proceeded to write the song of 'My Maryland.' I remember that the idea -appeared to first take shape as music in the brain--some wild air that -I cannot now recall. The whole poem was dashed off rapidly when once -begun. It was not composed in cold blood, but under what may be called -a conflagration of the senses, if not an inspiration of the intellect. -I was stirred to a desire for some way linking my name with that of my -native State, if not 'with my land's language'. But I never expected to -do this with one single, supreme effort, and no one was more surprised -than I was at the widespread and instantaneous popularity of the lyric -I had been so strangely stimulated to write.” Mr. Randall read the poem -the next morning to the college boys, and at their suggestion sent it -to the _Delta_, in which it was first printed, and from which it was -copied into nearly every Southern journal. “I did not concern myself -much about it, but very soon, from all parts of the country, there was -borne to me, in my remote place of residence, evidence that I had made -a great hit, and that, whatever might be the fate of the Confederacy, -the song would survive it.” - -Published in the last days of April, 1861, when every eye was fixed -on the border States, the stirring stanzas of the Tyrtæan bard[90] -appeared in the very nick of time. There is often a feeling afloat -in the minds of men, undefined and vague for want of one to give it -form, and held in solution, as it were, until a chance word dropped -in the ear of a poet suddenly crystallizes this feeling into song, -in which all may see clearly and sharply reflected what in their own -thought was shapeless and hazy. It was Mr. Randall's good fortune to -be the instrument through which the South spoke. By a natural reaction -his burning lines helped to fire the Southern heart. To do their work -well, his words needed to be wedded to music. Unlike the authors of -the “Star-spangled Banner” and the “Marseillaise,” the author of “My -Maryland” had not written it to fit a tune already familiar. It was -left for a lady of Baltimore to lend the lyric the musical wings it -needed to enable it to reach every camp-fire of the Southern armies. To -the courtesy of this lady, then Miss Hetty Cary, and now the wife of -Professor H. Newell Martin, of Johns Hopkins University, I am indebted -for a picturesque description of the marriage of the words to the -music, and of the first singing of the song before the Southern troops. - -The house of Mrs. Martin's father was the headquarters for the Southern -sympathizers of Baltimore. Correspondence, money, clothing, supplies of -all kinds went thence through the lines to the young men of the city -who had joined the Confederate army. “The enthusiasm of the girls who -worked and of the 'boys' who watched for their chance to slip through -the lines to Dixie's land found vent and inspiration in such patriotic -songs as could be made or adapted to suit our needs. The glee club -was to hold its meeting in our parlors one evening early in June, -and my sister, Miss Jenny Cary, being the only musical member of the -family, had charge of the program on the occasion. With a school-girl's -eagerness to score a success, she resolved to secure some new and -ardent expression of feelings that by this time were wrought up to the -point of explosion. In vain she searched through her stock of songs and -airs--nothing seemed intense enough to suit her. Aroused by her tone -of despair, I came to the rescue with the suggestion that she should -adapt the words of 'Maryland, my Maryland,' which had been constantly -on my lips since the appearance of the lyric a few days before in the -South. I produced the paper and began declaiming the verses. 'Lauriger -Horatius!'[91] she exclaimed, and in a flash the immortal song found -voice in the stirring air so perfectly adapted to it. That night, when -her contralto voice rang out the stanzas, the refrain rolled forth from -every throat present without pause or preparation; and the enthusiasm -communicated itself with such effect to a crowd assembled beneath our -open windows as to endanger seriously the liberties of the party.” - -“Lauriger Horatius” had long been a favorite college song, and it had -been introduced into the Cary household by Mr. Burton N. Harrison, -then a Yale student. The air to which it is sung is used also for a -lovely German lyric, “Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,” which Longfellow has -translated “O Hemlock Tree.” The transmigration of tunes is too large -and fertile a subject for me to do more here than refer to it. The -taking of the air of a jovial college song to use as the setting of a -fiery war-lyric may seem strange and curious, but only to those who are -not familiar with the adventures and transformations a tune is often -made to undergo. Hopkinson's[92] “Hail Columbia!” for example, was -written to the tune of the “President's March,” just as Mrs. Howe's[93] -“Battle Hymn of the Republic” was written to “John Brown's Body.” The -“Wearing of the Green,” of the Irishman, is sung to the same air as -the “Benny Havens, O!” of the West-Pointer. The “Star-spangled Banner” -has to make shift with the second-hand music of “Anacreon in Heaven,” -while our other national air, “Yankee Doodle,” uses over the notes of -an old English nursery rhyme, “Lucy Locket,” once a personal lampoon in -the days of the “Beggars' Opera,”[94] and now surviving in the “Baby's -Opera” of Mr. Walter Crane.[95] “My Country, 'tis of Thee,” is set to -the truly British tune of “God Save the King,” the origin of which is -doubtful, as it is claimed by the French and the Germans as well as -the English. In the hour of battle a war-tune is subject to the right -of capture, and, like the cannon taken from the enemy, it is turned -against its maker. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Why cannot a national hymn be made to order? - - 2. Why is it true that the great national hymns have not been - written by great poets? - - 3. What establishes the worth of a national hymn? - - 4. Name the best national hymns of the United States. - - 5. What are some of the best national hymns of other countries? - - 6. What type of music is necessary for a good national hymn? - - 7. Tell the story of the origin of _My Maryland_. - - 8. What sources gave rise to the music of many of our national - hymns? - - 9. Explain the last sentence of the essay. - - 10. Point out the respects in which the essay differs from an - encyclopedia article. - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Popular Songs 11. Games - 2. Popular Music 12. Athletic Sports - 3. Popular Opera 13. Streets - 4. Fashions in Dress 14. Furniture - 5. Every Day Habits 15. Dancing - 6. Hats 16. Mother Goose Rimes - 7. Buttons 17. Favorite Poems - 8. Uniforms 18. Legends - 9. Social Customs 19. _Evangeline_ - 10. Architecture 20. Political Customs - - - DIRECTIONS12277 FOR WRITING - -When you have chosen a subject consult encyclopedias and other works -of reference and find out all you can that is peculiarly interesting -to you. Do not make any attempt to record all the facts that you may -learn. Select those that make some deep appeal to you and that will -be likely to have unusual interest for others. When you write do all -that you can to avoid the encyclopedia method. Write in a pleasantly -familiar manner that will carry your interests and your personality. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[87] From “Pen and Ink” by Brander Matthews. Copyright, 1888, by -Longmans. Printed here by special permission of Professor Matthews. - -[88] Author of the _Marseillaise_. Rouget de Lisle (1760-1836). -An enthusiastic French Captain who composed the _Marseillaise_ at -Strasburg on April 24, 1792, as a song for the Army of the Rhine. - -[89] Author of the _Wacht am Rhein_. Max. Schneckenburger (1819-1849). - -[90] Tyrtæan Bard. Tyrtæus (7th century B.C.) was an unknown crippled -Greek school teacher who wrote songs of such power that they inspired -the Spartans to victory. - -[91] Lauriger Horatius. The first words of a well-known college song -written in Latin. - -[92] Joseph Hopkinson (1770-1842). Author of _Hail Columbia!_ He was -the son of Francis Hopkinson who signed the Declaration of Independence. - -[93] Julia Ward Howe (1819-1910). Author of the _Battle Hymn of the -Republic_, which she wrote in 1861 as the result of a visit to a great -camp near Washington. - -[94] _Beggars' Opera_. An opera written by John Gay (1685-1732). The -songs in the opera made use of well-known Scotch and English tunes. The -opera itself is a satire on dishonesty in public life. - -[95] Walter Crane (1845-1915). An English painter and producer of -children's books. - - - - - LOCOMOTION IN THE TWENTIETH CENTURY[96] - By H. G. WELLS - - - _(1866--). A leading novelist, essayist and historian. Through - his energy and high ability he won his way to a place in the - educational world, and ultimately to a commanding position in the - literary world. He writes with unusual vigor and originality. Some - of his most stimulating books are_ The Time Machine; The War of - the Worlds; When the Sleeper Wakes; Anticipations; Tono Bungay; - The Future of America; Social Forces in England and America; The - History of the World. - - =Some essays go beyond the world of little things and set forward - their writers' meditations on matters of great import. Such essays - look back across the whole field of history or look forward into - the remoteness of the future. In essays of this kind Mr. H. G. - Wells has done much to stimulate thought.= - - =In the selection that follows Mr. Wells traces the development of - locomotion from the days of wagons to the days of steam. At the - close of the selection Mr. Wells suggests to the reader that the - advance to be made in the future may be as great as that which has - been made in the past.= - - -The beginning of this twentieth century happens to coincide with a very -interesting phase in that great development of means of land transit -that has been the distinctive feature (speaking materially) of the -nineteenth century. The nineteenth century, when it takes its place -with the other centuries in the chronological charts of the future, -will, if it needs a symbol, almost inevitably have as that symbol a -steam-engine running upon a railway. This period covers the first -experiments, the first great developments, and the complete elaboration -of that mode of transit, and the determination of nearly all the broad -features of this century's history may be traced directly or indirectly -to that process. And since an interesting light is thrown upon the new -phases in land locomotion that are now beginning, it will be well to -begin this forecast with a retrospect, and to revise very shortly the -history of the addition of steam travel to the resources of mankind. - -A curious and profitable question arises at once. How is it that the -steam locomotive appeared at the time it did, and not earlier in the -history of the world? - -Because it was not invented. But why was it not invented? Not for -want of a crowning intellect, for none of the many minds concerned -in the development strikes one--as the mind of Newton, Shakespeare, -or Darwin[97] strikes one--as being that of an unprecedented man. It -is not that the need for the railway and steam-engine had only just -arisen, and--to use one of the most egregiously wrong and misleading -phrases that ever dropped from the lips of man--the demand created -the supply; it was quite the other way about. There was really no -urgent demand for such things at the time; the current needs of the -European world seem to have been fairly well served by coach and -diligence in 1800, and, on the other hand, every administrator of -intelligence in the Roman and Chinese empires must have felt an urgent -need for more rapid methods of transit than those at his disposal. -Nor was the development of the steam locomotive the result of any -sudden discovery of steam. Steam, and something of the mechanical -possibilities of steam, had been known for two thousand years; it had -been used for pumping water, opening doors, and working toys before -the Christian era. It may be urged that this advance was the outcome -of that new and more systematic handling of knowledge initiated by -Lord Bacon[98] and sustained by the Royal Society;[99] but this does -not appear to have been the case, though no doubt the new habits of -mind that spread outward from that center played their part. The men -whose names are cardinal in the history of this development invented, -for the most part, in a quite empirical way, and Trevithick's[100] -engine was running along its rails and Evans'[101] boat was walloping -up the Hudson a quarter of a century before Carnot[102] expounded his -general proposition. There were no such deductions from principles -to application as occur in the story of electricity to justify our -attribution of the steam-engine to the scientific impulse. Nor does -this particular invention seem to have been directly due to the new -possibilities of reducing, shaping, and casting iron, afforded by -the substitution of coal for wood in iron works, through the greater -temperature afforded by a coal fire. In China coal has been used in the -reduction of iron for many centuries. No doubt these new facilities did -greatly help the steam-engine in its invasion of the field of common -life, but quite certainly they were not sufficient to set it going. It -was, indeed, not one cause, but a very complex and unprecedented series -of causes, set the steam locomotive going. It was indirectly, and in -another way, that the introduction of coal became the decisive factor. -One peculiar condition of its production in England seems to have -supplied just one ingredient that had been missing for two thousand -years in the group of conditions that were necessary before the steam -locomotive could appear. - -This missing ingredient was a demand for some comparatively simple, -profitable machine, upon which the elementary principles of steam -utilization could be worked out. If one studies Stephenson's -“Rocket”[103] in detail, as one realizes its profound complexity, -one begins to understand how impossible it would have been for that -structure to have come into existence _de novo_,[104] however urgently -the world had need of it. But it happened that the coal needed -to replace the dwindling forests of this small and exceptionally -rain-saturated country occurs in low, hollow basins overlying clay, -and not, as in China and the Alleghenies, for example, on high-lying -outcrops, that can be worked as chalk is worked in England. From this -fact it followed that some quite unprecedented pumping appliances -became necessary, and the thoughts of practical men were turned thereby -to the long-neglected possibilities of steam. Wind was extremely -inconvenient for the purpose of pumping, because in these latitudes it -is inconstant: it was costly, too, because at any time the laborers -might be obliged to sit at the pit's mouth for weeks together, -whistling for a gale or waiting for the water to be got under again. -But steam had already been used for pumping upon one or two estates -in England--rather as a toy than in earnest--before the middle of the -seventeenth century, and the attempt to employ it was so obvious as -to be practically unavoidable.[105] The water trickling into the coal -measures[106] acted, therefore, like water trickling upon chemicals -that have long been mixed together, dry and inert. Immediately the -latent reactions were set going. Savery,[11] Newcome,[107] a host of -other workers culminating in Watt,[108] working always by steps that -were at least so nearly obvious as to give rise again and again to -simultaneous discoveries, changed this toy of steam into a real, -a commercial thing, developed a trade in pumping-engines, created -foundries and a new art of engineering, and, almost unconscious -of what they were doing, made the steam locomotive a well-nigh -unavoidable consequence. At last, after a century of improvement on -pumping-engines, there remained nothing but the very obvious stage of -getting the engine that had been developed on wheels and out upon the -ways of the world. - -Ever and ever again during the eighteenth century an engine would be -put upon the roads and pronounced a failure--one monstrous Palæoferric -creature[109] was visible on a French high-road as early as 1769--but -by the dawn of the nineteenth century the problem had very nearly got -itself solved. By 1804 Trevithick had a steam locomotive indisputably -in motion and almost financially possible, and from his hands it -puffed its way, slowly at first, and then, under Stephenson, faster -and faster, to a transitory empire over the earth. It was a steam -locomotive--but for all that it was primarily _a steam-engine for -pumping_ adapted to a new end; it was a steam-engine whose ancestral -stage had developed under conditions that were by no means exacting in -the matter of weight. And from that fact followed a consequence that -has hampered railway travel and transport very greatly, and that is -tolerated nowadays only through a belief in its practical necessity. -The steam locomotive was all too huge and heavy for the high-road--it -had to be put upon rails. And so clearly linked are steam-engines and -railways in our minds, that, in common language now, the latter implies -the former. But, indeed, it is the result of accidental impediments, of -avoidable difficulties, that we travel to-day on rails. - -Railway traveling is at best a compromise. The quite conceivable ideal -of locomotive convenience, so far as travelers are concerned, is surely -a highly mobile conveyance capable of traveling easily and swiftly to -any desired point, traversing, at a reasonably controlled pace, the -ordinary roads and streets, and having access for higher rates of speed -and long-distance traveling to specialized ways restricted to swift -traffic and possibly furnished with guide rails. For the collection -and delivery of all sorts of perishable goods also the same system is -obviously altogether superior to the existing methods. Moreover, such -a system would admit of that secular progress in engines and vehicles -that the stereotyped conditions of the railway have almost completely -arrested, because it would allow almost any new pattern to be put at -once upon the ways without interference with the established traffic. -Had such an ideal been kept in view from the first, the traveler would -now be able to get through his long-distance journeys at a pace of from -seventy miles or more an hour without changing, and without any of the -trouble, waiting, expense, and delay that arise between the household -or hotel and the actual rail. It was an ideal that must have been at -least possible to an intelligent person fifty years ago, and, had it -been resolutely pursued, the world, instead of fumbling from compromise -to compromise as it always has done, and as it will do very probably -for many centuries yet, might have been provided to-day, not only with -an infinitely more practicable method of communication, but with one -capable of a steady and continual evolution from year to year. - -But there was a more obvious path of development and one immediately -cheaper, and along that path went short-sighted Nineteenth -Century Progress, quite heedless of the possibility of ending in -a _cul-de-sac_.[110] The first locomotives, apart from the heavy -tradition of their ancestry, were, like all experimental machinery, -needlessly clumsy and heavy, and their inventors, being men of -insufficient faith, instead of working for lightness and smoothness -of motion, took the easier course of placing them upon the tramways -that were already in existence--chiefly for the transit of heavy goods -over soft roads. And from that followed a very interesting and curious -result. - -These tram-lines very naturally had exactly the width of an ordinary -cart, a width prescribed by the strength of one horse. Few people saw -in the locomotive anything but a cheap substitute for horseflesh, -or found anything incongruous in letting the dimensions of a horse -determine the dimensions of an engine. It mattered nothing that from -the first the passenger was ridiculously cramped, hampered, and -crowded in the carriage. He had always been cramped in a coach, and -it would have seemed “Utopian”[111]--a very dreadful thing indeed -to our grandparents--to propose travel without cramping. By mere -inertia the horse-cart gauge--the 4 foot 8-1/2 inch gauge--_nemine -contradicente_,[112] established itself in the world, and now -everywhere the train is dwarfed to a scale that limits alike its -comfort, power, and speed. Before every engine, as it were, trots the -ghost of a superseded horse, refuses most resolutely to trot faster -than fifty miles an hour, and shies and threatens catastrophe at every -point and curve. That fifty miles an hour, most authorities are agreed, -is the limit of our speed for land travel so far as existing conditions -go.[113] Only a revolutionary reconstruction of the railways or the -development of some new competing method of land travel can carry us -beyond that. - -People of to-day take the railways for granted as they take sea and -sky; they were born in a railway world, and they expect to die in one. -But if only they will strip from their eyes the most blinding of all -influences, acquiescence in the familiar, they will see clearly enough -that this vast and elaborate railway system of ours, by which the whole -world is linked together, is really only a vast system of trains of -horse-wagons and coaches drawn along rails by pumping-engines upon -wheels. Is that, in spite of its present vast extension, likely to -remain the predominant method of land locomotion, even for so short a -period as the next hundred years? - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What, according to Mr. Wells, was the distinctive feature of the - nineteenth century? - - 2. Why did steam locomotion appear when it did? - - 3. How many of the principles of steam locomotion had been known - before the nineteenth century? - - 4. Name all the causes that contributed to the development of steam - locomotion. - - 5. Explain the relation between the mining of coal and steam - locomotion. - - 6. What characteristics of wagons appear in steam locomotives? - - 7. In what ways is modern steam locomotion unsatisfactory? - - 8. What are some of the possibilities for future locomotion? - - 9. On what fields of information is the essay based? - - 10. What are the characteristics of Mr. Wells' style? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. The Development of Steam 11. Steps Toward the Use of - Boats Motor Trucks - 2. The Development of the 12. The Improvement of - Automobile Highways - 3. The Development of the 13. The Evolution of Good - Airplane Sidewalks - 4. The Development of the 14. The Development of - Bicycle the Telephone - 5. The Story of Roller Skates 15. Improved Railway Stations - 6. The Development of Comfort 16. The Use of Voting Machines - in Travel - 7. The Story of the Sleeping Car 17. The Protection of the - Food Supply - 8. The Development of the 18. The Increase of Forest - Dining Car Protection - 9. Comfort in Modern Carriages 19. The Work of the Weather - Bureau - 10. The Development of the Mail 20. The Development of the - System Wireless Telegraph. - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Before you can write upon any such subject as the one upon -which Mr. Wells wrote it will be necessary for you to obtain a wide -amount of information. Go to any encyclopedia and find lines along -which you can investigate further. Then consult special books that -you may obtain in a good library. When you have gained full information -remember that it is your business not to transmit the -information that you have gained, but to put down on paper the -thoughts to which the information has led you. Try to show the -relation between the past and the present, and to indicate some -forecast for the future. Do all this in a pleasantly straightforward -style as though you were talking earnestly. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[96] From “Anticipations” by H. G. Wells. Copyright by the North -American Review Publishing Company, 1901; copyright by Harper and -Brother, 1902. - -[97] Newton, Shakespeare, or Darwin. Sir Isaac Newton (1642-1727). A -great English mathematician, especially noted for his establishment of -knowledge of the law of gravitation. William Shakespeare (1564-1616). -The great English dramatist, regarded as the greatest of English -writers. Charles Darwin (1809-1882). The English naturalist, who -established a theory of evolution. Three of the most intellectual men -of all time. - -[98] Sir Francis Bacon (1561-1626). A great English philosopher, who -established the inductive study of science, that is, study through -investigation and experiment. - -[99] The Royal Society. Established about 1660 in London, England, -for the study of science. It has had a great influence in developing -scientific knowledge. - -[100] Richard Trevithick (1771-1833). An English inventor who did much -to improve the steam engine. In 1801 his locomotive conveyed the first -passengers ever carried by steam. - -[101] Oliver Evans (1755-1819). An American inventor who was one of the -first to use steam at high pressure. - -[102] Sadi Carnot (1796-1832). A French physicist whose “principle” -concerns the development of power through the use of heat. - -[103] Stephenson's Rocket. A locomotive made in 1829 by George -Stephenson (1781-1848), which was so successful that it won a prize of -£500. Stephenson was one of the most potent forces in developing steam -locomotion. - -[104] _De Novo._ As something entirely new. - -[105] It might have been used in the same way in Italy in the first -century, had not the grandiose taste for aqueducts prevailed. - -[106] And also into the Cornwall mines, be it noted. - -[107] Captain Thomas Savery (1650?-1715). An English engineer who made -one of the first steam engines in 1705, working in connection with -Thomas Newcome. - -[108] James Watt (1736-1819). A Scotch inventor who in 1765 perfected -the condensing steam engine. - -[109] Palæoferric creature. Ancient iron creature. - -[110] _Cul-de-sac._ A passage closed at one end. - -[111] Utopian. In 1516 Sir Thomas More (1478-1535) wrote about an -island called Utopia on which was an ideal government. The word -“Utopian” means “ideal beyond hope of attainment”. - -[112] _Nemine contradicente._ No one saying anything against it. - -[113] It might be worse. If the biggest horses had been Shetland -ponies, we should be traveling now in railway carriages to hold two -each side at a maximum speed of perhaps twenty miles an hour. There is -hardly any reason, beyond this tradition of the horse, why the railway -carriage should not be even nine or ten feet wide, the width that is, -of the smallest room in which people can live in comfort, hung on such -springs and wheels as would effectually destroy all vibration, and -furnished with all the equipment of comfortable chambers. - - - - - THE WRITING OF ESSAYS - By CHARLES S. BROOKS - - - _(1878--). After some years of business life, following his - graduation from Yale, Mr. Brooks turned entirely to literary work. - He has written_ A Journey to Bagdad; Three Pippins and Cheese to - Come; Chimney-Pot Papers. _During the World War he served with the - Department of State in Washington._ - - =Here is a delightful, easy-going essay that presents most - effectively the ideals and the methods of essay writing.= - - =An essayist, Mr. Brooks says, has no great literary purpose to - accomplish: he is a reader, a thinker, a person who is interested - in all sorts of subjects just because they are interesting. He - writes of the little things in life because he loves them. He is - essentially a lover of books and of libraries; one who dwells in - the companionship of pleasant thoughts; one who gives us a sort of - happy gossip that comes across the years, redolent with the charm - of personality.= - - -An essayist needs a desk and a library near at hand, because an essay -is a kind of back-stove cookery. A novel needs a hot fire, so to speak. -A dozen chapters bubble in their turn above the reddest coals, while -an essay simmers over a little flame. Pieces of this and that, an -odd carrot, as it were, a left-over potato, a pithy bone, discarded -trifles, are tossed in from time to time to feed the composition. Raw -paragraphs, when they have stewed all night, at last become tender to -the fork. An essay, therefore, cannot be written hurriedly on the knee. -Essayists, as a rule, chew their pencils. Their desks are large and -are always in disorder. There is a stack of books on the clock-shelf; -others are pushed under the bed. Matches, pencils, and bits of paper -mark a hundred references. When an essayist goes out from his lodging -he wears the kind of overcoat that holds a book in every pocket; his -sagging pockets proclaim him. He is a bulging person, so stuffed -even in his dress with the ideas of others that his own leanness -is concealed. An essayist keeps a note-book and he thumbs it for -forgotten thoughts. Nobody is safe from him, for he steals from every -one he meets. Like the man in the old poem, he relies on his memory for -his wit. - -An essayist is not a mighty traveler. He does not run to grapple with -a roaring lion. He desires neither typhoon nor tempest. He is content -in his harbor to listen to the storm upon the rocks, if now and then -by a lucky chance he can shelter some one from the wreck. His hands -are not red with revolt against the world. He has glanced upon the -thoughts of many men, and as opposite philosophies point upon the -truth, he is modest with his own and tolerant of others. He looks at -the stars and, knowing in what a dim immensity we travel, he writes -of little things beyond dispute. There are enough to weep upon the -shadows; he, like a dial, marks the light. The small clatter of the -city beneath his window, the cry of peddlers, children chalking their -games upon the pavement, laundry dancing on the roofs, and smoke in the -winter's wind--these are the things he weaves into the fabric of his -thoughts. Or sheep upon the hillside, if his window is so lucky, or a -sunny meadow is a profitable speculation. And so, while the novelist -is struggling up a dizzy mountain, straining through the tempest to -see the kingdoms of the world, behold the essayist, snug at home, -content with little sights! He is a kind of poet--a poet whose wings -are clipped. He flaps to no great heights, and sees neither the devil -nor the seven oceans nor the twelve apostles. He paints old thoughts in -shiny varnish and, as he is able, he mends small habits here and there. - -And therefore, as essayists stay at home, they are precise, almost -amorous, in the posture and outlook of their writing. Leigh Hunt[114] -wished a great library next his study. “But for the study itself,” -he writes, “give me a small snug place, almost entirely walled with -books. There should be only one window in it, looking on trees.” How -the precious fellow scorns the mountains and the ocean! He has no love, -it seems, for typhoons and roaring lions. “I entrench myself in my -books,” he continues, “equally against sorrow and the weather. If the -wind comes down the passage, I look about to see how I can fence it off -by a better disposition of my movables.” And by movables he means his -books. These were his screen against cold and trouble. But Leigh Hunt -had been in prison for his political beliefs. He had grappled with his -lion. So perhaps, after all, my argument fails. - -Mr. Edmund Gosse[115] had a different method to the same purpose. He -“was so anxious to fly all outward noise” that he wished for a library -apart from the house. Maybe he had had some experience with Annie and -her clattering broomstick. “In my sleep,” he writes, “'when dreams are -multitude,' I sometimes fancy that one day I shall have a library in a -garden. The phrase seems to contain the whole felicity of man.... It -sounds like having a castle in Spain, or a sheep-walk in Arcadia.”[116] - -Montaigne's[117] study was a tower, walled all about with books. At -his table in the midst he was the general focus of their wisdom. -Hazlitt[118] wrote much at an inn at Winterslow, with Salisbury Plain -around the corner of his view. Except for ill health, and a love of the -South Seas (here was the novelist showing itself), Stevenson[119] would -probably have preferred a windy perch overlooking Edinburgh. - -It does seem as if rather a richer flavor were given to a book by -knowing the circumstance of its composition. Consequently readers, as -they grow older, turn more and more to biography. It is not chiefly -the biographies that deal with great crises and events, but rather the -biographies that are concerned with small circumstance and agreeable -gossip. - -Lately in a book-shop at the foot of Cornhill[120] I fell in with an -old scholar who told me that it was his practice to recommend four -books, which, taken end on end, furnished the general history of -English writing from the Restoration[121] to a time within his own -memory. These books were Pepy's “Diary,”[122] Boswell's “Johnson,”[123] -the “Letters and Diaries” of Madame D'Arblay,[124] and the “Diary” of -Crabbe Robinson.[125] - -Beginning almost with the days of Cromwell, here is a chain of pleasant -gossip the space of more than two hundred years. Perhaps at the first -there were old fellows still alive who could remember Shakespeare; who -still sat in chimney-corners and babbled through their toothless gums -of Blackfriars and the Globe.[126] And at the end we find a reference -to President Lincoln and his freeing of the slaves. - -Here are a hundred authors, perhaps a thousand, tucking up their cuffs, -looking out from their familiar windows, scribbling their masterpieces. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Why does the writer of an essay need a desk and a library? - - 2. Explain the figure of speech that compares an essay with - something that cooks slowly. - - 3. Why must essays be written slowly? - - 4. Why does an essayist make great use of books? - - 5. Why does an essayist keep a note-book? - - 6. Why is an essayist “modest with his own thoughts and tolerant of - others”? - - 7. Why does the essayist enjoy the little things of life? - - 8. What is meant by “mending small habits here and there”? - - 9. In what ways are many books of biography like essays? - - 10. Prove that Mr. Brooks' article is an essay. - - 11. Point out unusual expressions, or striking sentences. - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. The Writing of School 11. A Clerk in a Store - Compositions - 2. The Preparation of a Debate 12. A Teacher of Chemistry - 3. The Writing of Letters 13. Preparing an Experiment - 4. A Pupil in School 14. The Work of a Book Agent - 5. The Work of a Blacksmith 15. Buying a Dress - 6. The Leader of an Orchestra 16. Selecting a New Hat - 7. The Cheer-Leader at a Game 17. Being Photographed - 8. Memorizing a Speech 18. The Senior - 9. The Janitor of a School 19. The Freshman - 10. The Editor of a Paper 20. The Alumnus - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Your aim is to write an essay in imitation of the one written by -Mr. Brooks. Read Mr. Brooks' essay so carefully that you will -know just what to imitate. - -Notice how easily and how pleasantly Mr. Brooks writes, and especially -how he makes use of figurative language rather than of direct -statement. Then, too, he uses some very striking expressions, such as -“He desires neither typhoon nor tempest,” and “He paints old thoughts -in shiny varnish.” At the same time he uses common expressions now and -then, as if to give a touch of familiarity or of humor,--“He flaps to -no great heights,” “He mends small habits,” “Who still sat in chimney -corners and babbled through their toothless gums.” With it all, he -gives a clear conception of the essayist and his work. - -Try to imitate all this in your own writing. Avoid being stiff and -formal, and try to write easily, familiarly, originally, and with -dignity. Remember that your aim is to give pleasure rather than -information. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[114] Leigh Hunt (1784-1859). A famous English essayist and poet, noted -for his love of books. When he was imprisoned because of an article -ridiculing the Prince Regent he sent for so many books that he made his -prison a sort of library. - -[115] Edmund Gosse (1849- ). A noted English poet, critic, and student -of literature. Since he based much of his writing on close study he -naturally wished for quiet. - -[116] A castle in Spain, or a sheep-walk in Arcadia. Places of perfect -happiness, where all desired things may be obtained. Arcadia is a -mountain-surrounded section of Greece noted for its happy shepherd life. - -[117] Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592). The great French essayist who -invented the familiar essay. - -[118] William Hazlitt (1778-1830). An English essayist, lecturer, -biographer and critic; a student of literature. - -[119] Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894). A British poet, novelist, -short story writer and essayist, born in Edinburgh, Scotland. At -various times he lived in France, Switzerland, the United States and -the South Sea Islands. He was buried in Samoa. - -[120] Cornhill. A famous street in London. - -[121] The Restoration. The restoration of the English monarchy in 1660 -after its overthrow by the Parliamentary forces under Oliver Cromwell. - -[122] Samuel Pepys (1633-1703). An English business man, office-holder -and lover of books. For nine years he kept a most personal, -self-revealing diary, which he wrote in shorthand. The diary gives an -accurate picture of the age in which he lived. - -[123] James Boswell (1740-1795). A Scotch advocate and author, -noted especially for his _Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D._, a book -that many pronounce the best biography ever written. The work makes -one intimately acquainted with Samuel Johnson (1709-1784), a great -essayist, poet, biographer, play-writer, and author of a famous -dictionary of the English language. Dr. Johnson was a leader of the -learned men of his time. - -[124] Frances Burney D'Arblay (1752-1840). An English novelist, author -of _Evelina_, and a friend of Dr. Samuel Johnson. Her _Letters_ and -_Diary_ give an intimate account of her entire life. - -[125] Henry Crabbe Robinson (1775-1867). An English war-correspondent -and social leader. His _Diary_ gives intimate information concerning -the great men of his time, with nearly all of whom he was personally -acquainted. - -[126] Blackfriars and the Globe. London theaters in which Shakespeare's -plays were first produced. - - - - - THE RHYTHM OF PROSE - By ABRAM LIPSKY - - _(1872- ). A teacher in the high schools of the City of New York. - Among his works is a volume entitled “Old Testament Heroes.” Dr. - Lipsky writes for many publications._ - - =_The Rhythm of Prose_ is a meditation on the music of language, on - the “tune” that accompanies thought. The essay is not severe and - formal,--as it would be if it were a treatise on prose rhythm,--but - is easy-going and almost conversational. It is an interesting - example of the didactic type of essay.= - - =“Good prose is rhythmical because thought is: and thought is - rhythmical because it is always going somewhere, sometimes - strolling, sometimes marching, sometimes dancing.”= - - -The rhythm of prose is inseparable from its sense. This sense-rhythm is -abetted and supported by the mechanical rhythm of syllables, but its -larger outlines are staked out by tones of interrogation, by outcries, -expostulations, threats, entreaties, resolves, by the tones of a -multitude of emotions. These are heard as interior voices, and have -their accompaniment of peculiar bodily motions, such as gritting of -teeth, holding of breath, clenching of fists, tensions, and relaxations -of numberless obscure muscles. All the organs of the body compose the -orchestra that plays the rhythm of prose, which is not only a rhythm, -but a tune. In short, the really important sort of rhythm in prose is -that of phrase, clause, and sentence, and this rhythm is marked not -merely by stresses, but by tones, which are of as great variety as the -modes of putting a proposition, dogmatic, hypothetical, imperative, -persuasive; or as the emotional tone of thought, solemn, jubilant, -placid, mysterious. - -Good prose is rhythmical because thought is; and thought is rhythmical -because it is always going somewhere, sometimes strolling, sometimes -marching, sometimes dancing. Types of thought have their characteristic -rhythms, and a resemblance is discernible between these and types of -dancing. Note, for example, the Oriental undulation of De Quincey,[127] -the sprightly two-stepping of Stevenson,[128] the placid glide of -Howells,[129] the march of Gibbon.[130] A man who wishes to put the -accent of moral authority into his style writes in a sententious, -staccato rhythm. One who would appear profound adopts the voluminous, -long-winded German period. The apocalyptic spirit manifests itself in -a buoyant, shouting, leaping rhythm. Meditative calmness adopts the -gliding movement that suggests the waltz. - -Now, why do we become uneasy the moment we suspect a writer of aiming -at musical effects? It is because we know instinctively that every -thought creates its own rhythm, and that when a writer's attention -is upon his rhythm, he is bent upon something else than his thought -processes. The only way of giving the impression of thought that is not -original or spontaneous is by imitating the rhythm of that thought. For -real meanings cannot be borrowed. They are always new. Real thought is -an action, an original adventure. It pulsates, and the body pulsates -with it. No writer can produce this sense of original adventure in us -unless he has it himself. - -The various classes of writers and talkers whose business it is to -sway the minds of others understand as well as the medicine-man in the -primitive tribe the part that rhythm plays in their work. The rhythm -of each is characteristic. The swelling, pompous senatorial style that -suggests the weight of nations behind the speaker is familiar. - - I admit that there is an ultimate violent remedy, above the - Constitution and in defiance of the Constitution, which may be - resorted to when a revolution is to be justified. But I do not - admit that, under the Constitution and in conformity with it, there - is any mode in which a state government, as a member of the Union, - can interfere and stop the progress of the general Government by - force of her own laws under any circumstances whatever. - -Rhythm of this sort is not a matter of accented and unaccented -syllables, but of length of phrase and suspension of voice as it -gathers volume and momentum to break finally in an overwhelming roar. - -Then there is the suave, insinuating clerical style that lulls -opposition and penetrates the conscience of the listener with its -smooth, unhalting naïveté. - - How many of us feel that those who have committed grave outward - transgressions into which we have not fallen because the motives - to them were not present with us, or because God's grace kept us - hedged round by influences which resisted them--may nevertheless - have had hearts which answered more to God's heart, which entered - far more into the grief and joy of His Spirit, than ours ever did. - -Or, if the preacher is of the apocalyptic variety, we get the explosive -shocks, the hammer-blows, and the thunderous reverberations. - - Ah, no, this deep-hearted son of the wilderness with his burning - black eyes and open, social, deep soul, had other thoughts in him - than ambition.... The great mystery of existence, as I said, glared - in upon him, with its terrors, with its splendors; no hear-says - could hide that unspeakable fact, “Here am I.” - -Editorial omniscience clothes itself in a martial array of unwavering -units. There is no quickening or slackening in their irresistible -advance. There is no weakening in their ranks, nor are they subject -to sudden accessions of strength. All is as it was in the beginning, -perfect wisdom without flaw. - -All this is in prose what conventional meter is in verse. The writer -sets himself a tune, which he follows. The political orator, the -preacher, the editorial writer, the philosopher, the rhapsodist, knows -that his writing acquires prestige from the class wisdom whose rhythm -he chants. The reader who does not examine the thought too critically, -but who recognizes the rhythm, is satisfied with the writer's -credentials and bolts the whole piece. The reverence the average man -has for print is largely due to the hypnotizing effect of its rhythm. - -What we find intolerable is the setting of the tune at the start and -the grinding it out to the end. In revenge the reading world consigns -the much-vaunted Sir Thomas Browne's[131] “Urn Burial,” De Quincey's -“Levana,”[132] and Pater's[133] famous purple patch about Mona Lisa -to the rhetorical museums; but it never ceases to read “Robinson -Crusoe,”[8] “Pilgrim's Progress,”[8] and “Gulliver's Travels,”[134] and -it devours G. B. Shaw[135] with delight. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Explain just how prose rhythms aid in communicating thought. - - 2. Show that it is perfectly natural to adapt prose rhythm to - thought. - - 3. What honesty of style does the writer demand? - - 4. Why is an artificial rhythm unsuccessful? - - 5. Why is a continued rhythm unsuccessful? - - 6. What sort of prose rhythm does Dr. Lipsky advocate? - - 7. Point out figurative language in the essay? Why is it used? What - effect does it produce? - - 8. Point out conversational expressions in the essay. Why are they - used? What effects do they produce? - - 9. What advantage is gained by making references to various - authors? - - 10. Why does the writer quote from several authors? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Public Speaking 11. Stories in School Papers - 2. Tone in Conversation 12. School Editorial Articles - 3. Selling Goods 13. Written Translations - 4. Style in Letter Writing 14. Laboratory Note Books - 5. The Art of Advertising 15. The Sort of Novel I Like - 6. Coaching a Team 16. Good Preaching - 7. Style in Debating 17. Interesting Lectures - 8. The Best Graduation Oration 18. Directions - 9. Newspaper Articles 19. Good Teaching - 10. School Compositions 20. Useful Text Books - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Think of a thesis, or statement, in which you believe strongly. -Explain, first of all, that it is entirely natural for any one to act in -accordance with your thesis. Illustrate your thought by making -definite references to well-known characteristics, and by making apt -quotations. End your work by writing a paragraph that will correspond -with the last paragraph of Dr. Lipsky's essay. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[127] Thomas de Quincey (1785-1859). A celebrated English essayist, -noted for the poetic beauty of his prose style. - -[128] Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894). A great modern novelist and -essayist whose style has both vigor and beauty of rhythm. - -[129] William Dean Howells (1837-1920). A modern realistic novelist and -literary critic who wrote in a serene and quiet style. - -[130] Edward Gibbon (1737-1794). A great English historian, author of -_The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_. His style is stately and -impressive, as befits a great subject. - -[131] Sir Thomas Browne (1605-1682). A writer of essay-like books -that are notable because of unusual beauty of phrasing and rich -suggestiveness of expression. - -[132] _Levana._ One of the most poetic of Thomas De Quincey's essays. - -[133] Walter Pater (1839-1894). An English essayist noted for the -richness of his prose style. - -[134] _Robinson Crusoe_, by Daniel Defoe (1661-1731), and _Pilgrim's -Progress_, by John Bunyan (1628-1688), are both written in plain, -unaffected style. - -[135] George Bernard Shaw (1856--). A present-day dramatist and critic -who adapts his style to his thought. - - - - - THE REALISTIC STORY - - - - - THE CHINAMAN'S HEAD - By WILLIAM ROSE BENÉT - - - _(1886). Formerly with_ Century Magazine, _and at present associate - editor of_ The Literary Review. _Contributor, particularly of - poems and humorous verse, to many magazines. He is the author of_ - Merchants from Cathay; The Falconer of God; The Great White Wall; - The Burglar of the Zodiac; Perpetual Light (_memorial_). - - =Humor depends upon incongruity, exaggeration, misunderstanding, - ignorance, the unexpected, and the use of the absurd in a thousand - different ways. Humor that is spontaneous is always most effective.= - - =A good humorous story is realistic, its humor apparently created - from within, by the characters, rather than from without, by the - author.= - - =_The Chinaman's Head_ is an example of the simple, humorous - story. It gives sufficient character indication to support the - incongruity, the misunderstanding, and the unexpected on which the - humor of the story depends. The brevity of the story contributes to - its effect.= - - -There must be oodles of money in it, I thought, and what a delightful -existence, just one complication after another. I can imagine a -beginning: “As he looked more nearly at the round object in the middle -of the sidewalk, he discovered that it was the completely severed head -of a Chinese laundryman.” There you have it at once--mystery! Gripping! -Big! Large! In fact, immense! Then your story covers twenty-five -chapters, in which you unravel why it was a Chinese laundryman and -whose Chinese laundryman it was. Excellent! I shall write mystery -stories. - -I lit another cigarette and sat thinking of mystery. Did you ever -realize this about mystery? It gets more and more mysterious the more -you think of it. It was getting too mysterious for me already. Just -then my wife called me to lunch. - -“Did you ever think, my dear,” I said affably as I unfolded my napkin -and the roll in it bounced to the floor. They always do with me. It -seems a rather cheap form of amusement, putting rolls in napkins. “Did -you ever think,” I said, recovering the roll. - -“Oh, often,” said my wife. - -This somewhat disconcerted me. - -“I mean,” I said, accidentally ladling the cold consomme into my -tea-cup--“I mean, what would you do if you found a Chinaman's head on -the sidewalk?” - -“Step on it,” said my wife, promptly. - -It was quite unexpected. - -“I mean _seriously_,” I said, handing her my tea-cup, which she refused. - -“I am quite serious,” said my wife; “but I wish you would watch what -you are doing.” - -I spent the next few minutes doing it. - -“I am thinking,” I said gravely over my cutlet, “of writing -mystery-stories.” - -“That will be quite harmless,” returned the woman I once loved with -passion. - -I ignored her tone. - -“The mystery-story,” I said, “is a money-maker. Look at 'Sherlock -Holmes,' and look at--well, look at 'Old and Young King Brady'!” - -“All those dime novels are written by the same man,” said my wife, -unemotionally. - -“_Were_, my dear. I believe that man is dead now.” - -“Then it's his brother,” said my wife. - -“But I am not going to descend to the dime novel,” I went on. “I am -going to write the higher type of mystery-story. My first story will -concern the Oriental of whom I have spoken. It will be called 'The -Chinaman's Head.' Don't you think it a good idea?” - -“But that isn't all of it?” the rainbow fancy of my lost youth -questioned, at the same time making a long arm for the olives. - -“Of course not. There are innumerable complications. They--er--they -complicate--” - -“Such as?” - -“Of course,” I said, “I conceived this idea just before lunch. I have -had no time as yet to work out the mere detail.” - -“Oh,” said my lifelong penance, chewing an end of celery. - -But after lunch I sat down at my desk and began to concentrate upon -my complications. I wrote down some names of characters that occurred -to me, and put them into a hat. Then I took them out of the hat and -wrote after them the type of person that belonged to the name. Then I -put them into the hat again, shook the hat, and drew them out. This is -entirely my own invention in writing a mystery-story. The first name -that came out was that of “Rudolph Habakkuk, soap manufacturer.” - -It was an excellent beginning. I was immediately interested in the -story. I began it at once. - -“'Ha!' exclaimed Rudolph Habakkuk, soap manufacturer, starting -violently at what he saw before him upon the broad pavements of Fifth -Avenue. The round, yellow object glistened in the oblique rays of the -afternoon sun. It was a Chinaman's head!” - -I thought it excellent, pithy, precise. Scene, the whole character of -one of the principal figures in the story, the crux of the mystery--all -at a glance, as it were. And what more revealing than that simple, yet -complete, designation, soap manufacturer! I couldn't resist going into -the next room and reading it to my wife. I said: - -“Doesn't it arouse your curiosity?” - -“Yes,” said my wife, biting off a thread. “But how did it get there?” - -“What? The Chinaman's head? Oh, that is the mystery.” - -“I should say it was,” said my wife to herself. - -I left the begrudging woman and returned to my study. I sat down to -think about how it got there. I thought almost an hour about how it -got there. Do you know, it quite eluded me? I took my hat and overcoat -and went down the street to talk to Theodore Rowe, who is an author of -sorts. - -“Let's hear your plot,” said Theodore, giving me a cigarette and a -cocktail. - -“Well,” I started off immediately, with decision, “you see, this -Rudolph Habakkuk is a wealthy soap manufacturer. On Christmas day, when -he is walking down Fifth Avenue, he is arrested--” - -“Ah,” said Theodore. “Arson, or just for being a soap manufacturer?” - -“I did not think _you_ would interrupt,” I said solemnly. “He is -arrested by a Chinaman's head.” - -“Really,” said Theodore, “don't you think that's drawing the long bow a -bit? Is it 'Alice in Wonderland' or a ghost-story?” - -“He sees it on the pavement,” I pursued as well as I could. “It is -entirely cut off. I mean it is decapitated, you know. The head is -decapitated.” - -“Yes,” answered Theodore, slowly, “I see. It would be, Heads get that -way.” - -“Well,” I said, “what do you think of it?” - -“I haven't heard the story yet,” remarked Theodore. - -“Oh,” I replied a trifle impatiently, I am afraid. “But that is the -idea. The details are to be worked out later. Don't you think it's a -striking idea?” - -“I should say so,” said Theodore, rising; “almost too striking. Have -another cocktail. They're good for what ails you.” - -“Thanks,” I said. “But, you see, the fact is I _have_ got a -bit--er--perplexed about how to explain the appearance of the head. -Possibly you could suggest?” - -“We-ll,” said Theodore, pursing his lips in deep thought, “let me -see. Have you thought of the Chinaman being in a manhole? Only his -head showing, you know.” He turned his back on me and drew out his -handkerchief. He seemed to have a very bad cold. - -“No,” I said emphatically, “this is a severed head.” - -“It might have been dropped from a ballooo--_achoo!_” gargled Theodore, -his back still turned. - -“Really, Theodore,” I said, rising, “thank you for the drinks, but I -must say your mind doesn't seem to fire to a true mystery-story. I -must have something better than that. I shall have to find it.” - -As I was going down the front steps, Theodore opened the door. - -“Oh, Tuffin,” he called after me, “how did he know it was a Chinaman?” - -“By the queue wound round the neck,” I called back. It was rather good -for an impromptu, I think. “The man had been murdered.” - -I then found myself colliding with a policeman. He looked after me -suspiciously. - - * * * * * - -My wife reminded me that we were to dine at the Royles's that night. -As I dressed I was still turning over in my mind the unlimited -possibilities of my first mystery-story. I could see the colored -jackets of the book, the publisher's announcements, other volumes in -the same series, “The Musical Fingerbowls,” “The Pink Emerald,” “The -Green Samovar,” “The Purple Umbrella.” Imagination flamed. My wife said -she had called me three times, but I know it was only once. - -I had expected it to be rather a dull dinner party, but really Mrs. -Revis quite brightened it for me. She was immediately interested in my -becoming an author, and she began to talk about Dostoyevsky. - -“Well, you know--just at first,” I rejoined in modest deprecation of my -own talents. - -“And tell me your first story. What is it to be?” She leaned toward me -with large and shining eyes. I had a moment of wishing the title were -not quite so sensational. - -“It is to be called 'The Chinaman's Head,'” I said, hastening to add, -“You see, it is a very deep mystery-story.” - -“A-ah, mystery!” said Mrs. Revis, clasping her beautiful hands and -gazing upward. “I _adore_ mystery!” - -“The plot is,” I said--“well, you see, there is a soap manufacturer--” - -“A-ah, soup!” softly moaned Mrs. Revis, gazing at hers. - -“No; soap,” I said. “The soap manufacturer is walking along Fifth -Avenue--” - -“They really shouldn't allow them,” exclaimed my confidante. - -“Yes, but he is--and--and he sees a Chinaman's head.” - -“Where?” - -“A-ah,” I said, “that is the touch--a severed head at his feet!” - -Her dismay was pleasing. I had aroused her. She choked over her soup. - -“Tell me more!” she gasped. - -“Certainly,” I said. “The--the way it got there--” - -What an infernal thing a mystery-story is! How should I know how it got -there! Isn't the effect enough? Some day I shall write a story entirely -composed of effects. - -As I drew our Ford up at our door, my wife suddenly turned to me. - -“It isn't late, George, and Sam Lee is just down at the corner. He -should have brought the laundry this afternoon. I entirely forgot about -it, and to-morrow's Sunday.” - -“But surely they close up.” - -“Oh, no; he'll be open. Maida went for it two Saturdays ago at about -this time. They work all night, you know. Please, George!” - -“Oh, all right,” I said resignedly. I jogged and pulled things and -ambled down the block. Sure enough, the laundry was still lighted and -doing business. It always smells of lychee-nuts and bird's nest soup -inside. The black-haired yellow boy grinned at me. “How do!” - -I explained my errand and secured the large parcel. Suddenly a thought -occurred to me. The very thing! These Orientals were full of subtlety. -I would put it to him. - -“John,” I said impressively, “listen!” His name was Sam, but I always -call them John. - -He listened attentively, watching me with beady black eyes. - -“John,” I said, “what would you do if your head--no; I mean--what would -you do if a soap manufacturer--no; perhaps we had better get at it -this way. If a Chinaman's head was cut off--see what I mean?” I leaned -forward and indicated by an appropriate and time-honored gesture the -process of decapitation. John--I mean Sam--took two steps hastily -backward, and his eyes became pin-points. He jabbered something at his -friend in the rear room. - -“Now, John--I mean Sam,” I said mollifyingly, “don't be foolish. Just -come back nearer--” - -“That'll be all of that shenanigan,” said a very Irish voice behind me. -I turned, and saw the policeman with whom I had so nearly collided that -afternoon. - -“That'll be all, I say,” remarked Roundsman Reardon, as I afterward -found his name to be. “Sur-r, ain't yees ashamed of yerself, scarin' -the likes o' these Chinks into the fright o' their shadow?” He leveled -a large, pudgy finger at me. “An' I hear-rd ye this afternoon. I seen -ye an' I hear-rd ye. An' ye may be thankful I know ye by repitation to -be har-rmless. But ye'll come with me quiet, an' I'll escar-rt ye back -to yer own house, an' leave the wife to put ye to bed. Ain't ye ashamed -to be drinkin' this way an' makin' a sneak with the la'ndry without -payin', by hopes of frightenin'--” - -“That is not true,” I answered hotly, for my blood was up. “I intend to -pay. I had forgotten.” - -“Ye had forgotten,” said Reardon, a whit contemptuously. “An' ye was -askin' the China boy how he w'u'd like to be murthered!” - -“I will explain to you, Officer,” I said in the street. “I am writing a -story. I was merely seeking a native impression.” - -“That'll be as it may be,” said Reardon. “Ye give me the impression--” - -“Suppose you had _your_ head cut off--” I began affably enough. But I -got no further. - -“It is as I thought,” said Reardon, gloomily. He got in beside me, -and he helped me out at my own house, though I needed absolutely no -assistance. He seemed to want to give me a bit of advice. - -“Lay off the stuff, sur-r,” he said ponderously. “An' ye wid the fine -wife you have!” He shook his head a number of times, glanced with sad - - [Illustration: =“'A-ah, mystery!'” said Mrs. Revis, clasping her - beautiful hands and gazing upward. “'I adore mystery!'”=] (_page 234_) - -resignation at my wife as she led me in, and departed, still shaking -his head. I can't tell you how all that head-shaking annoyed me. - - * * * * * - -I started awake in the middle of the night. It was unbelievably -excellent. - -“Jane!” I said to my wife, “Jane, it's wonderful. It's come to me!” - -But Jane did not answer. - -“Jane,” I said happily, “you see, the Chinaman's head--” - -“If you say Chinaman to me again,” returned my wife, sleepily, “I'll -leave you. There are six pieces missing from that laundry.” - -And she never knew. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What is the character of the speaker? How does the speaker's - personality contribute to the humor of the story? - - 2. What sort of story did he contemplate writing? - - 3. What is the character of the speaker's wife? How does her - personality contribute to the humor of the story? - - 4. What gives humor to Theodore's remarks? - - 5. Why is the incident of meeting the policeman mentioned early in - the story? - - 6. What gives humor to Mrs. Revis's remarks? - - 7. What misunderstandings give humor to the story? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Adventures of an Amateur 11. Conducting a Meeting - Detective - 2. Going on My Travels 12. Making an Excuse - 3. Reading Aloud at Home 13. Cooking Experiences - 4. A Mysterious Package 14. Housecleaning - 5. The Lost Dog 15. Buying a Dress - 6. My Pet Snakes 16. Speaking a Foreign Language - 7. Writing a Composition 17. My First Speech - 8. Graduation 18. Little Brother - 9. Being an Editor 19. Being Careful - 10. Doing an Errand 20. My Letter Writing - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Found your story on some actual interest that you have. Write -in the first person, as realistically as possible. Do not over-use -exaggeration, but make your story unusual. You will gain the -best effects if you base your humor on natural misunderstanding, -and on remarks or events that are incongruous. Confine your story -to two or three principal incidents, and bring the narrative to a -natural conclusion that will give the effect of climax. - - - - - GETTING UP TO DATE - By ROBERTA WAYNE - - - _An American short story writer and contributor to magazines._ - - =A realistic story differs from a romantic story in that it concerns - the events of ordinary life. Its characters are the people whom - we know,--those who move about us in daily life. Its plot centers - around everyday events. Naturally a realistic story depends largely - upon character interest.= - - =_Getting Up To Date_ concerns such a simple thing as storekeeping, - and the methods of attracting customers. Job Lansing, in the story, - represents the type of person who clings to old ways. His niece, - Ellie, represents the spirit of youth and progress,--the spirit of - adaptability.= - - =The simplicity and familiarity of such a story is just as - interesting as is wild adventure in the most vivid romance.= - - -Old Job Lansing stood, hatchet in hand, and stared down into the big -packing-case that he had just opened. - -“El-lee,” he called, “come here quick.” And as footsteps were heard and -the shutting of a door, he continued: “They've sent the wrong stuff. -This isn't what we ordered!” - -The girl buried her head in the box from which she brought forth bolt -after bolt of dress goods, voiles with gay colors, dainty organdies, -and ginghams in pretty checks and plaids. As she rose, her eyes glowed -and instinctively she straightened her shoulders. “Yes, Uncle, it is -what we ordered. I sent for this!” - -“You _did_!” The old man trembled with rage. - -“But, Uncle, they're so pretty and I think--” - -“You can think and think as much as you please, but those goods will -never sell. They'll just lie on the shelves. _You_ may think they're -pretty, but an Injin won't buy a yard of 'em, and it's Injins we're -trading with.” - -“But there's no reason why the squaws shouldn't buy pretty dresses -instead of ugly calico. There's more money in this, and it's a pleasure -to sell such dainty stuff. Besides, we can sell to the white people. -There's Mrs. Matthews--” - -“I've heard all your arguments before, and I tell you, you'll never -sell it.” - -Old Job had never married. For many years he had lived alone in the -rooms behind his store, and he had become self-centered and a bit fussy -and intolerant. If he had realized how much his life was to be upset, -he could never have brought himself to offer his widowed sister and her -family a home; for he valued his quiet life, and, above all, he wanted -to do things in his own way. - -He was never at ease with the two nephews, who soon left to make their -own way in the world. - -But with Ellie it was different. Her affectionate ways won Job's heart. -They were chums, often going together on long horseback rides to -distant peaks that looked inviting. And as the girl developed, he loved -to have her with him as he worked and he was delighted at her interest -in everything in the little store. She even learned the prices of the -goods and helped him. - -Old Job had kept this store at the “summit” for thirty years, and he -was sure he knew every side of the business. As long as he kept a -good supply of beans and flour, that was all that was necessary. A -good-sized Indian village lay down the creek about a mile, and it was -from this settlement that Job Lansing got most of his trade. - -The old man had come to the age when he lived mostly in the past. He -liked to talk of the “glorious” days. “Things were lively around here -then,” he used to say. “Why, for every dollar's worth I sell now, then -I used to sell fifty dollars. They were the good old times!” - -“But why?” questioned Ellie, bringing him sharply back to the present. -“There are a lot more people here now and we should do better.” Then, -with a gesture of impatience, “Uncle, there's no sense in it. We've got -to get up to date. I don't blame Joe and Glenn for leaving. There's no -future here.” - -“Shucks!” said Job Lansing. “You don't know what you're talking about.” - -But Ellie always managed to have the last word. “I'm going to do -_something_! See if I don't!” - -And she had done it! - -For weeks, now, Job Lansing had been quite pleased with her. She had -never been so reasonable. She had taken a great notion to cleaning up -the store. Not that he approved of her moving the goods around; but -still, it was a woman's way to be everlastingly fussing about with a -dust-cloth. You couldn't change them. - -He had decided that this new interest on Ellie's part came from the -feeling of responsibility he had put upon her two months before when he -had been called to Monmouth. His old mining partner was ill and wanted -to see him. Before he went he gave his niece a few directions and told -her how to make up the order for goods, that had to go out the next -day. He rode away feeling that the business would be all right in her -hands. - -Now, as he stormed around the store, he realized why she had taken such -an interest in the arrangement of the shelf space; why a gap had been -left in a prominent place. It was for this silly stuff that wouldn't -sell! He wanted to send it back, but, as it had been ordered, he would -have to pay express on it both ways. - -Ellie stood her ground, a determined expression in her face. She -unpacked the heavy box and put the gay organdies and voiles in the -places she had arranged for them. One piece, of a delicate gray with -small, bright, magenta flowers in it, she left on the counter; and to -the astonishment of the old man, she let a length of the dainty goods -fall in graceful folds over a box placed beneath it. - -This was one of the notions she had brought back from Phœnix, where -she had gone on a spring shopping trip with Mrs. Matthews, wife of the -superintendent at the Golden Glow mine. How she had enjoyed that day! -Her eager eyes noted every up-to-date detail in the big stores where -they shopped; but to her surprise, Mrs. Matthews had bought only such -things as they might easily have carried in her uncle's store--plain, -but pretty, ginghams for the Matthews' children, a light-blue organdie -for herself, a box of writing-paper, and a string of beads for Julie's -birthday. - -Ellie's pretty little head was at once filled with ideas that coaxed -for a chance to become solid facts. Her uncle's trip to Monmouth gave -her an opportunity, and, after weeks of waiting, the boxes had been -delivered and the storm had broken. - -When they closed the store for the night, Ellie was tired. She was not -so sure of success as she had been. But, at least, she had made an -effort to improve things. How she longed for her mother, absent on a -two months' visit to one of her sons! - -With the morning came new courage, even exhilaration, for unconsciously -she was finding joy in the struggle; not as a diversion in the monotony -and loneliness of her life, for Ellie did not know what monotony meant, -and she felt herself rich in friends. She had two. - -One was Louise Prescott at Skyboro, only ten miles away, daughter of -a wealthy ranchman. They often visited each other, for each had her -own pony and was free to come and go as she wished. And the other was -Juanita Mercy, down the cañon in the opposite direction. Now, for the -last two years, Louise had been away at school. But she was always -thrilled at getting back to the mountains. She had returned the day -before, and Ellie knew that early the next morning she would be loping -her pony over the steep road that led to the little mountain store. - -And it was when Ellie was standing guard over her new goods, fearing -that her uncle might, in a moment of anger, order them to be sent back, -that Louise rode up, and, throwing her reins forward over her pony's -neck, leaped from the saddle and rushed into the store. - -“Oh, Ellie! it's good to get back, and I have four months of vacation. -Won't we have a grand time!--Why, you've been fixing up the store, Mr. -Lansing; and how lovely it looks! I must have Mama come up and see -these pretty summer things.” Turning again to Ellie, she threw her -arms around her and whispered: “Come on out and sit on our dear old -bluff. I just can't get enough of the hills to-day, and I want to talk -and talk and talk.” - -But it was not Louise who did the talking this time. While her eyes -were feasting on the gorgeous scenery before her, the dim trails that -led up and up the steep mountain on the other side of the creek, Ellie -unburdened herself of her troubles. She told how she had ordered the -goods on her own responsibility. - -“Why, Ellie, how could you do it? I'd never have had the courage!” - -“But I just _had_ to, Lou. I don't want to leave the mountains, and I -don't want to be poor all our lives. Uncle's getting old and set in his -ways, and he can't seem to see that things are going behind all the -time. Dear old uncle! He's been so good to us! And now I'd like to help -him. I'm just trying to save him from himself.” - -“And you will. I think it's fine!” - -“Yes, it's fine, if--if--if!” exploded Ellie, who was not quite so -optimistic as she had been in the morning. Several Indian women had -come into the store, and while they stared in astonishment at the -pretty goods displayed on the counter, they had gone out without buying -anything. - -Job Lansing had shrugged his shoulders, and while not a word had -escaped him, his manner had said emphatically, “I told you so!” - -“But where is there any _if_, I'd like to know. You just have to sell -all that stuff as fast as you can, and that will show him.” - -“But if the squaws won't buy? They didn't seem wild about it this -morning.” - -“Well, you're not dependent on the squaws, I should hope. I'm going to -tell Mother, and she'll come up, if I say so, and buy a lot of dresses.” - -“Now, Lou Prescott, don't you dare! That will spoil everything. Uncle -would say it was charity. You see _we_ are trading with squaws. Don't -laugh, Louise! I must make good! I just _must_! But how am I going to -make those squaws buy what I want them to buy? If Uncle would only plan -and work with me, I know we could make a success of it. But he won't!” - -“You should have invested in beads, reds and blues and greens, all -colors, bright as you could get them.” - -“That's a good idea, Lou. I'll do it. But they can't buy a string of -beads without buying a dress to match it! I'll do it, Lou Prescott!” - -An hour later, when they returned to the store, Job Lansing looked -up from the counter, his face wrathful. He had just measured off six -yards of pink organdie and was doing it up in a package for Joe Hoan's -daughter. Job Lansing hated to give in. He had tried to get Lillie -Hoan to wait until Ellie returned, but she had insisted, and so the -old man was the first to sell a piece of the pretty goods. He did it -ungraciously. - -Ellie and Louise stood still and stared at each other. Then Ellie -whispered: “It's a good omen. I'm going to succeed.” - -And that night a second order was dispatched. Job Lansing made no -objection, but he did not ask her what she had sent for. - -The next two days were busy ones for Ellie. Her uncle fretted to -himself, for not once did she come inside the store to help him. Louise -came each day, and the two girls spent their time in Ellie's room, -where the rattling sound of the old sewing-machine could be heard. - -But on the third day Ellie was up early and was already dusting out the -store when her uncle entered. It was Saturday, always a busy day. This -pleased Job Lansing. “That girl has a pile of good sense along with -this other nonsense,” he said to himself as he watched her. - -About nine o'clock Louise arrived and entered quickly, throwing down a -square package. “Here they are, Ell. He brought them last night. I came -right over with them, but I have to hurry back. They are beauties, all -right.” - -The girls disappeared once more into the bedroom, where they could be -heard laughing and exclaiming. - -When Ellie emerged no one would have known her, for the little cowboy -girl was dressed in a dainty voile with pink blossoms in it, and around -her neck was a long string of pink beads that matched perfectly the -flowers in her gown. - -Job Lansing started as if he were going to speak, then suppressed the -words and went on with his work. Ellie tried to act as if everything -was the same as usual. Selecting some blues and pinks and greens among -her ginghams and voiles, she draped them over boxes and tubs. Then -across each piece she laid a string of beads that matched or contrasted -well with the colors in the material, and waited for results. - -And the result was that when Joe Phinney's wife, the squaw who helped -them in the kitchen, came in with the intention of buying beans and -flour, she took a long look, first at Ellie, then at the exhibit, and -without a word turned and left. She did not hurry, but she walked -straight back to the Indian village. - -“Guess she was frightened,” commented Job. - -Ellie was disappointed. She had depended on old Mary, and it was -through her that she hoped to induce the other squaws to come. Some of -them had never been in the store. They were shy, and left their men to -do the buying. - -Their sole visitor for the next hour was Phil Jennings, the -stage-driver, who stopped in for the mail. “Well, well, what's all this -about! Are you trying to outshine the stores in town, Miss Ellie? And -how pretty you look this morning.” - -“Yes, Mr. Jennings. We're going to have a fine store here by this -time next year. Uncle's thinking of enlarging it and putting in an -up-to-date stock. On your way down, you might pass the word along that -our summer goods are in and that I have some beautiful pieces here for -dresses, just as good as can be bought in Tucson or Phœnix. It's easier -than sending away to Chicago.” - -“Well, I sure will, Miss Ellie. Mother was growling the other day -because she would have to go to Monmouth to buy ginghams for the kids.” - -“Please tell her that next week I'm expecting some ready-made clothes -for children, and it will pay her to come up and see them.” - -“I'll tell her,” said Phil Jennings, as he cracked his whip and started -off. All he could talk about that day was “that clever little girl of -Job Lansing's” who was going to make a real store at the summit and -keep the mountain trade where it belonged. - -“Where are you, Uncle?” called Ellie, as she came back into the store. - -“I'm hiding!” said Job. “Ashamed to be seen. Enlarge the store! It's -more than likely I'll have to mortgage it. And you drumming up trade -that way. It isn't ladylike.” - -“Well, it simply has to be done. He'll give us some good advertising -down the road to-day. I wish there was some one I could send down the -creek. I wonder if you couldn't ride down, yourself.” - -But Job Lansing pretended not to hear. - -Ellie did not feel as brave as her words indicated. She knew that -their trade from day to day came from the Indian settlement, and -looked disconsolately out of the window. But in a moment she gave an -exclamation of joy and found herself shaking her uncle's arm. “Here -they come, Uncle, dear! Here they come!” - -“Who? What are you talking about?” - -“The squaws! They're here in full force. Mary, the old darling, she's -brought the whole tribe, I do believe!” - -Ellie busied herself at the counter, trying to appear at ease when -the Indian women filed into the store and stood gazing about them. -She was impatient to know if they were pleased, but their impassive -faces told nothing. She would just have to let them take their time. -So she pretended not to notice them as they drew near to the counter, -fingering the beads and dress-goods. - -“How do you like my new dress, Mary?” Ellie turned on them suddenly. -The squaws approached slowly and began to feel the cloth. Mary took -hold of the beads and said, “Uh!” Then in a moment, “How much?” - -Ellie's impulse was to throw her arms around Mary and hug her, but she -was very dignified and grown-up as she answered calmly: “We don't sell -the beads. They are not for sale!” - -“Well of all things! Not for sale!” muttered Job, as he slipped through -the rear door into the store-room and slammed it vehemently. - -“They are not for sale, but we give a string of them to any one who -buys a dress.” - -Five of the squaws bought dresses, and each time a long string of beads -was passed over. - -In the afternoon, Ellie's watchful eyes caught the first glimpse of -them as the same squaws, accompanied by others, rounded the curve in -the path and came single file up the steep short-cut to the store. - -Ellie counted her profits that night and was satisfied. Still, there -were some twenty or twenty-five squaws in the settlement who had never -been inside the store, and she made up her mind that they must be -persuaded to come. - -The next week a large packing-case arrived. Ellie was the one to wield -the hatchet this time, for her uncle was still in an ungracious mood. -The box was larger than she expected, but this was explained when it -was opened. Two large dolls were inside--one with curly short hair and -boyish face, and the other a real “girly” doll. A letter explained -that with an order for children's ready-to-wear clothes it might be an -advantage to have dolls on which to display them. - -“I wonder!” said Ellie, to herself. “Look here, Uncle,” she called, as -the old man came into the store; “see what they've sent me! Look at -these pink and white dolls, when we're trading with Indians. Isn't it a -joke?” - -“A coat of brown paint is what you want,” said old Job, laughing a -cynical laugh. - -“You've hit it, Uncle! You certainly have dandy ideas! I shouldn't have -thought of it.” - -Then in a moment he heard her at the telephone giving a number. It -was the Prescott ranch. “Hello, is that you, Louise? Can you come up -to-day? I need you. All right. And Lou, bring your oil paints. It's -very important.” - -It was with much giggling and chattering that the two girls began their -transformation of the pink-and-white dolls. Their bisque faces were -given a thin coating of brown paint. The old man watched them from -across the store and almost gasped as he saw them rip off the wigs. -Then they retreated to the kitchen. He was so curious that he made -several trips to the door and peeked through a crack. - -What he saw was the two girls bending over a pot on the stove, which -they were stirring furiously. Once in a while Ellie raised the stick -with something black on the end, and finally the two dripping dolls' -wigs were hung over the stove to dry. Of course the boiling had taken -all the curl out of the hair, but that was what they wanted, for the -two dolls were now brown-faced, dark-haired figures. They were arrayed -in the ready-to-wear clothes, and the girls stood back to survey them. - -“They look fine, Ellie! That is, yours does; but my girl here doesn't -look quite right.” - -Job Lansing was pretending to be busy. He turned and at once broke into -a roar of laughter. “Well, when did you ever see a blue-eyed Injin?” - -“Oh that's it, Ellie. Your doll had brown eyes, but mine are blue. What -shall we do? It looks silly this way.” - -“Paint 'em black!” chuckled the old man. - -“Of course!” said Ellie. Then in a tone loud enough to carry across the -store, “Isn't Uncle quick to notice things?” Ellie meant him to hear -what she said, but she was none the less sincere, for she did have a -high regard for her uncle's ability. She had said to Louise often in -the last few days, “When I get Uncle started, there'll be no stopping -him.” Still, the remark had been sent forth with a purpose. - -Job Lansing gave the girl a quick glance. She was daubing brown paint -on the girl-doll's eyes. He was pleased by her praise and no less by -her readiness to take his advice. - -The little dresses and suits sold quickly. Mrs. Matthews bought a -supply, and told others about them. - -But they were mostly white women who purchased these things; and while -Ellie was glad to get their trade, she still had the fixed idea that - - [Illustration: =“'Isn't this great! They're here, every one of them! - You're awfully good to let us use the phonograph'.”=] (_page 250_) - -she must get the squaws in the habit of coming in to do their own -shopping. - -The quick sale of the new goods made a deep impression on Job Lansing, -and he seemed especially pleased at the sales made to the white women -at the mines. One morning he approached his niece with the suggestion -that she had better keep her eyes open and find out what the women -around the mountains needed. Ellie had been doing this for weeks. She -had a big list made out already, but she saw no need of telling her -uncle. She looked up, her face beaming. - -“That's a capital idea, Uncle. I think we might just as well sell them -all their supplies.” Ellie was exultant. She knew her troubles were -over, that her plan was working out. - -Still, she wasn't quite satisfied. A few of the shy squaws had been -induced to come up and look at things from the outside, peering into -the shop through the door and windows. But there were probably twenty -who had not been in the store. If only she could persuade them to come -once, there would be no more trouble. - -The final stroke which brought the Indians, both men and women, into -the store was a bit of good luck. Ellie called it a miracle. - -It was after a very heavy rain-storm in the mountains that Jennings, -the stage-driver, shouted to her one evening: “Do you mind if I leave -a big box here for young Creighton over at the Scotia mine? The road's -all washed out by Camp 3, and I don't dare take this any farther. It's -one of those phonygrafts that makes music, you know. And say, Miss -Ellie, will you telephone him that it's here?” - -“Yes,” answered Ellie in an absent-minded way. “I'll telephone him. She -was still half dreaming as she heard young Creighton's voice at the -other end of the line, but at once she became eager and alert. “I want -to ask a favor of you, Mr. Creighton? Your phonograph is here. They -can't take it up on account of the washout. May I open it and play on -it. I'll make sure that it is boxed up again carefully.” - -“Why, certainly, Miss Ellie! I'll be glad to have you enjoy the music. -The records and everything are in the box. Perhaps I'll come over and -hear it myself.” - -The next evening, about eight o'clock, Will Creighton arrived on -horseback, and found such a throng of Indians close about the door that -he had to go in by the kitchen. He heard the strains of the phonograph -music and had no need to ask the cause of the excitement. All the -squaws were inside the store. Occasionally one would extend a hand and -touch the case or peer into the dark box, trying to discover where the -sound came from. - -Creighton approached Ellie, who was changing a needle. She turned her -flushed face to him with a smile. “Isn't this great! They're here, -every one of them! You're awfully good to let us use the phonograph. -I've ordered one like it for ourselves. These blessed squaws do enjoy -music so much!” - -Job Lansing was standing near the machine, enjoying it as much as any -one. A new record had been put on, the needle adjusted, and the music -issued forth from that mysterious box. It was one of those college -songs, a “laughing” piece. And soon old Job was doubled over, with -his enjoyment of it. The squaws drew closer together. At first they -scowled, for they thought that the queer creature in the polished case -was laughing at _them_. Then one began to giggle, and soon another and -finally the store was filled with hysterical merriment. Sometimes it -would stop for a moment, and then, as the sounds from the phonograph -could be heard, it would break forth again. - -Ellie stood for hours, playing every record four or five times, and -when she finally shut up the box, as a sign that the concert was over, -the taciturn Indians filed silently out of the store and went home -without a word. - -But the girl knew that they would return. She had won! - -Another triumph was hers when the springtime came again. One day her -uncle approached her and hesitatingly said, “Ellie, we're going to be -awfully cramped when our new summer goods arrive. Guess I'd better have -Hoan ride over and give me an estimate on an addition to the store.” - -Ellie suppressed the desire to cry out, “I told you so!” Instead she -said very calmly: “Why, that's a fine idea, Uncle. Business _is_ -picking up, and it would be nice to have more room. I'm glad you -thought of it.” - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Why does the story begin so abruptly? - - 2. What is the character of Job Lansing? - - 3. What is the character of Ellie? - - 4. How does the author explain that Ellie has views that do not - harmonize with her uncle's views? - - 5. What advantage does the author gain from the setting of the - story? - - 6. How does the author make the story seem real? - - 7. Why did the author introduce subordinate characters? - - 8. Divide the story into its component incidents. - - 9. At what point is the reader's interest greatest? - - 10. At what point is Ellie's success certain? - - 11. Which incident has the greatest emphasis? - - 12. How does the author make Ellie the principal character? - - 13. What is the effect of the quick conclusion? - - 14. How does the author make use of conversation as a means of - telling events? - - 15. On what one idea is the story founded? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Re-Arranging the House 11. Our Piazza - 2. Fixing Up the Office 12. The Flower Garden - 3. Increasing Sales 13. Selling Hats - 4. The New Clerk 14. Building Up Trade - 5. The Old Store Made New 15. Father's Desk - 6. Our Dooryard 16. Making Study Easy - 7. A Back-Yard Garden 17. Making a Happy Kitchen - 8. Making Over the Library 18. A Successful Charity Fair - 9. Father's Stable 19. The Window Dresser - 10. Decorating the School Room 20. A Good Advertisement - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Write about a subject with which you are familiar, and with -which your readers are familiar. Make your principal character a -young person. Make your story concern the contrast of two -methods of accomplishment, one of which will represent the old -and least successful method; the other, the new and more successful. -Write a series of three or four briefly told incidents that will lead -to a climax. Make free use of conversation. Notice that the author -of _Getting Up to Date_ has left out much that might have been said, -and has thereby made the story crisp and emphatic. Make your -own story condensed and to the point. Pay particular attention to -writing a strong ending. - - - - - THE LION AND THE MOUSE - By JOSEPH B. AMES - - _(1878-). An American engineer and author. After his graduation - from Stevens Institute Mr. Ames at first devoted himself entirely - to engineering. He has been prominent in promoting the work of the - Boy Scouts. Among his books are the following:_ The Mystery of Ram - Island; Curly of the Circle Bar; Curly and the Aztec Gold; Pete the - Cowpuncher; Under Boy Scout Colors; Shoe-Bar Stratton; The Emerald - Buddha. - - =Realism and romance may be combined in a story of school life as - well as in a story of any other kind. _The Lion and the Mouse_ - tells, in part, of ordinary, everyday events, and in part, of - events that are distinctly out of the ordinary. The characters are - the characters of school life,--two boys of entirely different - natures but, after all, one at heart,--and subordinate characters - who belong in the realm of real life. Many of the events of the - story are commonplace enough. On this basis of reality there has - been founded a story of quick event, a story of the unusual, - entirely probable, centering around character and character - development.= - - -Big Bill Hedges scowled out of the locker-room window and groaned -softly. There was something about that wide, unbroken sweep of snow -which affected him disagreeably. If only it had been crisscrossed by -footprints, or the tracks of snow-shoes or toboggans, he wouldn't have -minded it nearly so much. But there it lay, flat, white, untrodden, -drifting over low walls and turning the clumps of shrubbery into -shapeless mounds. And of a sudden he found himself hating it almost as -much as the dead silence of the endless, empty rooms about him. For it -was the fourth day of the Christmas vacation, and, save the kitchen -staff, there were only two other human beings in this whole great -barracks of a place. - -“And neither of them is really human,” grunted Hedges, turning -restlessly from the window. - -With a disgusted snort he recalled the behavior of those two, whom so -far he had met only at meal-time. Mr. Wilson, the tutor left in charge -of the school, consumed his food in a preoccupied sort of daze, rousing -himself at rare intervals to make some plainly perfunctory remark. He -was writing some article or other for the magazines, and it was all too -evident that the subject filled his waking hours. And “Plug” Seabury, -with his everlasting book propped up against a tumbler, was even worse. -But then Hedges had never expected anything from him. - -Crossing to his locker, the boy pulled out a heavy sweater, stared at -it dubiously for a moment, and then let it dangle from his relaxed -fingers. For once the thought of violent physical exertion in the -open failed to arouse the least enthusiasm. Ever since the departure -of the fellows, he had skeed and snow-shoed and tramped through the -drifts--alone; and now the monotony was getting on his nerves. He flung -the sweater back, and, slamming the locker door, strolled aimlessly out -of the room. - -One peep into the cold, lofty, empty “gym” effectually quelled his -half-formed notion of putting in an hour or two on the parallel bars. -“I'm lonesome!” he growled; “just--plumb--lonesome! It's the first time -I've ever wished I didn't live in Arizona.” - -But the thought of home and Christmas cheer and all the other vanished -holiday delights was not one to dwell on now; he tried instead to -appreciate how absurd it would have been to spend eight of his twelve -holidays on the train. - -A little further dawdling ended in his turning toward the library. -He was not in the least fond of reading. Life ordinarily, with its -constant succession of outdoor and indoor sports and games, was much -too full to think of wasting time with a book unless one had to. But -the thought occurred to him that to-day it might be a shade better than -doing absolutely nothing. - -Opening the door of the long, low-ceiled, book-lined room, which he -had expected to find as desolately empty as the rest, he paused in -surprise. On the brick hearth a log fire burned cheerfully, and curled -up in an easy chair close to the hearth, was the slight figure of Paul -Seabury. - -“Hello!” said Hedges, gruffly, when he had recovered from his surprise. -“You've sure made yourself comfortable.” - -Seabury gave a start and raised his head. For a moment his look was -veiled, abstracted, as if his mind still lingered on the book lying -open in his lap. Then recognition slowly dawned, and a faint flush -crept into his face. - -“The--the wood was here, and I--I didn't think there'd be any harm in -lighting it,” he said, thrusting back a straggling lock of brown hair. - -“I don't s'pose there is,” returned Hedges, shortly. Unconsciously, -he was a little annoyed that Seabury should seem so comfortable and -content. “I thought you were upstairs.” - -He dragged a chair to the other side of the hearth and plumped down in -it. “What you reading?” he asked. - -Seabury's eyes brightened. “Treasure Island,” he answered eagerly. -“It's awfully exciting. I've just got to the place where--” - -“Never read it,” interrupted the big fellow, indifferently. Lounging -back against the leather cushions, he surveyed the slim, brown-eyed, -rather pale-faced boy with a sort of contemptuous curiosity. “Do you -read _all_ the time?” he asked. - -Again the blood crept up into Seabury's thin face and his lids drooped. -“Why, no--not all the time,” he answered slowly. “But--but just now -there's nothing else to do.” - -Hedges grunted. “Nothing else to do! Gee-whiz! Don't you ever feel like -going for a tramp or something? I s'pose you can't snow-shoe, or skee, -but I shouldn't think you'd want to stay cooped up in the house all the -time.” - -A faint, nervous smile curved the boy's sensitive lips. “Oh, I can skee -and snow-shoe all right, but--” He paused, noticing the incredulous -expression which Hedges was at no pains to hide. “Everybody does, where -I live in Canada,” he explained, “often it's the only way to get about.” - -“Oh, I see.” Hedges' tone was no longer curt, and a sudden look of -interest had flashed into his eyes. “But don't you _like_ it? Doesn't -this snow make you want to go out and try some stunts?” - -Seabury glanced sidewise through the casement windows at the sloping, -drifted field beyond. “N--no, I can't say it does,” he confessed -hesitatingly; “it's such a beastly, rotten day.” - -His interest in Plug's unexpected accomplishments made Hedges forbear -to comment scornfully on such weakness. - -“Rotten!” he repeated. “Why, it's not bad at all. It's stopped snowing.” - -“I know; but it looks as if it would start in again any minute.” - -“Shucks!” sniffed Hedges. “A little snow won't hurt you. Come ahead out -and let's see what you can do.” - -Seabury hesitated, glancing with a shiver at the cold, white field -outside and back to the cheerful fire. He did not feel at all inclined -to leave his comfortable chair and this enthralling book. On the other -hand, he was curiously unwilling to merit Bill Hedges' disapproval. -From the first he had regarded this big, strong, dominating fellow with -a secret admiration and shy liking which held in it no touch of envy or -desire for emulation. It was the sort of admiration he felt for certain -heroes in his favorite books. When Hedges made some spectacular play -on the gridiron or pulled off an especially thrilling stunt on the -hockey-rink, Seabury, watching inconspicuously from the side-lines, got -all hot and cold and breathlessly excited. But he was quite content -that Hedges should be doing it and not himself. Sometimes, to be -sure, he wondered what it would be like to have such a person for a -friend. But until this moment Hedges had scarcely seemed aware of his -existence, and Seabury was much too shy to make advances, even when the -common misfortune of too-distant homes had thrown them together in the -isolation of the empty school. - -“I--I haven't any skees,” he said at length. - -Hedges sprang briskly to his feet. “That's nothing. I'll fix you up. We -can borrow Marston's. Come ahead.” - -Swept along by his enthusiasm, Seabury closed his book and followed him -out into the corridor and down to the locker room. Here they got out -sweaters, woolen gloves and caps, and Hedges calmly appropriated the -absent Marston's skees. - -Emerging finally into the open, Seabury shivered a little as the keen, -searching wind struck him. It came from the northeast, and there was a -chill, penetrating quality about it which promised more snow, and that -soon. By the time Seabury had adjusted the leather harness to his feet -and resumed his gloves, his fingers were blue and he needed no urging -to set off at a swift pace. - -In saying that he could skee, the boy had not exaggerated. He was, in -fact, so perfectly at home upon the long, smooth, curved-up strips -of ash, that he moved with the effortless ease and grace of one -scarcely conscious of his means of locomotion. Watching him closely, -Hedges' expression of critical appraisement changed swiftly to one of -unqualified approval. - -“You're not _much_ good on them, are you?” he commented. “I suppose you -can jump any old distance and do all sorts of fancy stunts.” - -Seabury laughed. He was warm again and beginning to find an unwonted -pleasure in the swift, gliding motion and the tingling rush of frosty -air against his face. - -“Nothing like that at all,” he answered. “I can jump some, of course, -but I'm really not much good at anything except just straight-away -going.” - -“Huh!” grunted Hedges, sceptically. “I'll bet you could run circles -around any of the fellows here. Well, what do you say to taking a -little tramp. I've knocked around the grounds till I'm sick of them. -Let's go up Hogan Hill,” he added, with a burst of inspiration. - -Seabury promptly agreed, though inwardly he was not altogether thrilled -at the prospect of such a climb. Hogan Hill rose steeply back of the -school. A few hay-fields ranged along its lower level, but above them -the timber growth was fairly thick, and Paul knew from experience that -skeeing on a wooded slope was far from easy. - -As it turned out, Hedges had no intention of tackling the steep slope -directly. He knew of an old wood-road which led nearly to the summit by -more leisurely twists and curves, and it was his idea that they take -this as far as it went and then skee down its open, winding length. - -By the time they were half-way up, Seabury was pretty well blown. It -was the first time he had been on skees in nearly a year, and his -muscles were soft from general lack of exercise. He made no complaint, -however, and presently Hedges himself proposed a rest. - -“I wish I could handle the things as easily as you do,” he commented. -“I work so almighty hard that I get all in a sweat, while you just -glide along as if you were on skates.” - -“I may glide, but I haven't any wind left,” confessed Seabury. “It's -only practice you know. I've used them ever since I was a little kid, -and compared to some of the fellows up home, I'm nowhere. Do you think -we ought to go any farther? I felt some snow on my face just then.” - -“Oh, sure!” said Hedges, bluffly. “A little snow won't hurt us, anyhow, -and we can skee down in no time at all. Let's not go back just yet.” - -Presently they started on again, and though Seabury kept silent, he was -far from comfortable in his mind. He had had more than one unpleasant -experience with sudden winter storms. It seemed to him wiser to turn -back at once, but he was afraid of suggesting it again lest Hedges -think him a quitter. - -A little later, still mounting the narrow, winding trail, they came -upon a rough log hut, aged and deserted, with a sagging, half-open -door; but the two boys, unwilling to take off their skees, did not stop -to investigate it. - -Every now and then during the next half mile trifling little gusts of -stinging snowflakes whirled down from the leaden sky, beat against -their faces, and scurried on. Seabury's feeling of nervous apprehension -increased, but Hedges, in his careless, self-confident manner merely -laughed and said that the trip home would be all the more interesting -for little diversions of that sort. - -The words were scarcely spoken when, from the distance, there came a -curious, thin wailing of the wind, rising swiftly to a dull, ominous -roar. Startled, both boys stopped abruptly, and stared up the slope. -And as they did so, something like a vast, white, opaque curtain -surged over the crest of the hill and swept swiftly toward them. - -Almost before they could draw a breath it was upon them, a dense, -blinding mass of snow, which whirled about them in choking masses and -blotted out the landscape in a flash. - -“Wough!” gasped Hedges. “Some speed to that! I guess we'd better beat -it, kid, while the going's good.” - -But even Hedges, with his easy, careless confidence, was swiftly forced -to the realization that the going was very far from good even then. -It was impossible to see more than a dozen yards ahead of them. As a -matter of course, the older fellow took the lead, but he had not gone -far before he ran off the track and only saved himself from a spill by -grabbing a small tree. - -“Have to take it easy,” he commented, recovering his balance. “This -storm will let up soon; it can't possibly last long this way.” - -Seabury made no answer. Shaking with nervousness, he could not trust -himself to speak. - -Regaining the trail, Hedges started off again, cautiously enough at -first. But a little success seemed to restore his confidence, and he -began to use his staff as a brake with less and less frequency. They -had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile when a sudden heavier gust of -stinging flakes momentarily blinded them both. Seabury instantly put -on the brake and almost stopped. When he was able to clear his eyes, -Hedges was out of sight. An instant later there came a sudden crash, a -startled, muffled cry, and then--silence! - -Horrified, Seabury instantly jerked his staff out of the snow and sped -forward. At first, he could barely see the tracks of his companion's -skees, but presently the storm lightened a trifle and of a sudden he -realized what had happened. Hedges had misjudged a sharp curve in the -trail and, instead of following it, had plunged off to one side and -down a steep declivity thickly grown with trees. At the foot of this -little slope Seabury found him lying motionless, a twisted heap, face -downward in the snow. - -Sick with horror, the boy bent over that silent figure. “Bill!” he -cried, “what has--” - -His voice died in a choking sob, but a moment later his heart leaped as -Hedges stirred, tried to rise, and fell back with a stifled groan. - -“It's--my ankle,” he mumbled, “I--I've--turned it. See if you can't--” - -With shaking fingers, Seabury jerked at the buckles of his skees and -stepped out of them. Hedges' left foot was twisted under him, and the -front part of his skee was broken off. As Paul freed the other's feet -from their encumbering straps, Bill made a second effort to rise, but -his face turned quite white and he sank back with a grunt of pain. - -“Thunder!” he muttered. “I--I believe it's sprained.” - -For a moment or two he sat there, face screwed up, arms gripping his -knees. Then, as his head cleared, he looked up at the frightened -Seabury, a wry smile twisting the corners of his mouth. - -“I'm an awful nut, kid,” he said. “I forgot that curve and was going -too fast to pull up. Reckon I deserve that crack on the head and all -the rest of it for being so awfully cocky. Looks as if we were in -rather a mess, doesn't it?” - -Seabury nodded, still unable to trust himself to speak. But Hedges' -coolness soothed his jangled nerves, and presently a thought struck him. - -“That cabin back there!” he exclaimed. “If we could only manage to get -that far--” - -He paused and the other nodded. “Good idea,” he agreed promptly. “I'm -afraid I can't walk it, but I might be able to crawl.” - -“Oh, I didn't mean that. If we only had some way of fastening my skees -together, you could lie down on them and I could pull you.” - -A gleam of admiration came into the older chap's dark eyes. “You've got -your nerve with you, old man,” he said. “Do you know how much I weigh?” - -“That doesn't matter,” protested Seabury. “It's all down hill; it -wouldn't be so hard. Besides, we can't stay here or--or we'll freeze.” - -“Now you've said something,” agreed Hedges. - -And it was true. Already Seabury's teeth were chattering, and even -the warmer blooded Hedges could feel the cold penetrating his thick -sweater. He tried to think of some other way out of their predicament, -but finally agreed to try the plan. His heavy, high shoes were laced -with rawhide thongs, which sufficed roughly to bind the two skees -together. There was no possibility, however, of pulling them. The only -way they could manage was for Hedges to seat himself on the improvised -toboggan while Seabury trudged behind and pushed. - -It was a toilsome and painful method of progress for them both and -often jolted Hedges' ankle, which was already badly swollen, bringing -on a constant succession of sharp, keen stabs. Seabury, wading -knee-deep in the snow, was soon breathless, and by the time they -reached the cabin, he felt utterly done up. - -“Couldn't have kept that up much longer,” grunted Hedges, when they -were inside the shelter with the door closed against the storm. - -His alert gaze traveled swiftly around the bare interior. There was a -rough stone chimney at one end, a shuttered window at the back, and -that was all. Snow lay piled up on the cold hearth, and here and there -made little ridges on the logs where it had filtered through the many -cracks and crevices. Without the means of making fire, it was not much -better than the out-of-doors, and Hedges' heart sank as he glanced at -his companion, leaning exhausted against the wall. - -“It's sure to stop pretty soon,” he said presently, with a confidence -he did not feel. “When it lets up a little, we might--” - -“I don't believe it's going to let up.” Seabury straightened with an -odd, unwonted air of decision. “I was caught in a storm like this two -years ago and it lasted over two days. We've got to do something, and -do it pretty quick.” - -Hedges stared at him, amazed at the sudden transformation. He did not -understand that a long-continued nervous strain will sometimes bring -about strange reactions. - -“You're not thinking of pushing me all the way down the road, are you?” -he protested. “I don't believe you could do it.” - -“I don't believe I could, either,” agreed the other, frankly. “But I -could go down alone and bring back help.” - -“Gee-whiz! You--you mean skee down that road? Why, it's over three -miles, and you'd miss the trail a dozen times.” - -“I shouldn't try the road,” said Seabury, quietly. His face was pale, -but there was a determined set to the delicate chin. “If I went -straight down the hill back of this cabin, I'd land close to the -school, and I don't believe the whole distance is over half a mile.” - -Hedges gasped. “You're crazy, man! Why, you'd kill yourself in the -first hundred feet trying to skee through those trees.” - -“I don't think so. I've done it before--some. Besides, most of the -slope is open fields. I noticed that when we started out.” - -“But they're steep as the dickens, with stone walls, and--” - -Seabury cut short his protests by buttoning his collar tightly about -his throat and testing the laces of his shoes. He was afraid to delay -lest his resolution should break down. - -“I'm going,” he stated stubbornly; “and the sooner I get off, the -better.” - -And go he did, with a curt farewell which astonished and bewildered his -companion who had no means of knowing that it was a manner assumed to -hide a desperate fear and nervousness. As the door closed between them, -Seabury's lips began to tremble; and his hands shook so that he could -scarcely tighten up the straps of his skees. - -Back of the cabin, poised at the top of the slope, with the snow -whirling around him and the unknown in front, he had one horrible -moment of indecision when his heart lay like lead within him and he was -on the verge of turning back. But with a tremendous effort he crushed -down that almost irresistible impulse. He could not bear the thought of -facing Hedges, an acknowledged coward and a quitter. An instant later -a thrust of his staff sent him over the edge, to glide downward through -the trees with swiftly increasing momentum. - -Strangely enough, he felt somehow that the worst was over. To begin -with, he was much too occupied to think of danger, and after he had -successfully steered through the first hundred feet or so of woods, -a growing confidence in himself helped to bolster up his shrinking -spirit. After all, save for the blinding snow, this was no worse than -some of the descents he had made of wooded slopes back there at home. -If the storm did not increase, he believed that he could make it. - -At first he managed, by a skilful use of his staff, to hold himself -back a little and keep his speed within a reasonable limit. But just -before he left the woods, the necessity for a sudden side-turn to avoid -a clump of trees through which he could not pass nearly flung him off -his balance. In struggling to recover it, the end of his staff struck -against another tree and was torn instantly from his grasp. - -His heart leaped, then sank sickeningly, but there was no stopping now. -A moment later he flashed out into the open, swerved through a gap in -the rough, snow-covered wall, and shot down the steep incline with -swiftly increasing speed. - -His body tense and bent slightly forward, his straining gaze set -unwaveringly ahead, striving to pierce the whirling, beating snow, -Seabury felt as if he were flying through the clouds. On a clear day, -with the ability to see what lay before him, there would have been -a rather delightful exhilaration in that descent. But the perilous -uncertainty of it all kept the boy's heart in his throat and chained -him in a rigid grip of cold fear. - -Long before he expected it, the rounded, snow-covered bulk of a second -wall seemed to leap out of the blinding snow-curtain and rush toward -him. Almost too late, he jumped, and, soaring through the air, struck -the declining slope again a good thirty feet beyond. - -In the lightning passage of that second field, he tried to figure -where he was coming out and what obstacles he might encounter, but -the effort was fruitless. He knew that the high-road, bordered by a -third stone wall, ran along the foot of the hill, with the school -grounds on the other side. But the speed at which he was traveling made -consecutive thought almost impossible. - -Again, with that same appalling swiftness, the final barrier loomed -ahead. He leaped, and, at the very take-off, a gasp of horror was -jolted from his lips by the sight of a two-horse sledge moving along -the road directly in his path! - -It was all over in a flash. Helpless to avoid the collision, Seabury -nevertheless twisted his body instinctively to the left. He was vaguely -conscious of a monstrous looming bulk; of a startled snort which sent a -wave of hot breath against his face, and the equally startled yell of a -human voice. The next instant he landed badly, his feet shot out from -under him, and he fell backward with a stunning crash. - -His first conscious observation was of two strange faces bending over -him and of hands lifting him from where he lay half buried in the snow. -For a moment he was too dazed to speak or even to remember. Then, with -a surging rush of immense relief, he realized what had happened, and -gaining speech, he poured out a hurried but fairly coherent account of -the situation. - -His rescuers proved to be woodsmen, perfectly familiar with the Hogan -Hill trail and the old log-cabin. Seabury's skees were taken off and he -was helped into the sledge and driven to the near-by school. Stiff and -sore, but otherwise unhurt, he wanted to go with them, but his request -was firmly refused; and pausing only long enough to get some rugs -and a heavy coat, the pair set off. Little more than two hours later -they returned with the injured Hedges, who was carried at once to the -infirmary to be treated for exposure and a badly sprained ankle. - -His rugged constitution responded readily to the former, but the ankle -proved more stubborn, and he was ordered by the doctor not to attempt -even to hobble around on it for at least a week. As a result, Christmas -dinner had to be eaten in bed. But somehow Hedges did not mind that - -[Illustration: =“At the very take-off, a gasp of horror was jolted from - his lips.”=] (_page 264_) - -very much, for Paul Seabury shared it, sitting on the other side of a -folding table drawn up beside the couch. - -Having consumed everything in sight and reached that state of repletion -without which no Christmas dinner may be considered really perfect, -the two boys relapsed for a space into a comfortable, friendly sort of -silence. - -“Not _much_ on skees, are you?” commented Hedges, presently, glancing -quizzically at his companion. - -Seabury flushed a little. “I wish you wouldn't,” he protested. “If you -had any idea how scared I was, and--and--Why, the whole thing was just -pure luck.” - -Hedges snorted. “Bosh! You go tell that to your grandmother. There's -one thing,” he added; “as soon as I'm around again, you've got to come -out and give me some points. I thought I was fairly decent on skees, -but I guess after all I'm pretty punk.” - -“I'll show you anything I can, of course,” agreed Seabury, readily. -He paused an instant and then went on hesitatingly: “I--I'm going to -do a lot more of that sort of thing from now on. It--it was simply -disgusting the way I got winded so soon and all tired out.” - -“Sure,” nodded Hedges, promptly. “That's what I've always said. You -ought to take more exercise and not mope around by yourself so much. -But we'll fix that up all right from now on.” He paused. “Aren't you -going to read some more in 'Treasure Island'?” he asked expectantly. -“That's some book, believe me! What with you and that and everything, -I'm not going to mind being laid up at all.” - -Seabury made no comment, but as he reached for the book and found -their place, the corners of his mouth curved with the beginnings of a -contented, happy smile. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. What is the character of Bill Hedges? - - 2. What is the character of “Plug” Seabury? - - 3. Why are both boys at the school in vacation time? - - 4. What had been the past life of each boy? - - 5. What had been their feeling for each other? - - 6. What change does the story make in their feeling for each other? - - 7. How does the author make the story seem probable? - - 8. Show how the author leads to the climax of the story. - - 9. Divide the story into its most important incidents. - - 10. Show that the author is consistent in character presentation. - - 11. How does the author make the climax powerful in effect? - - 12. What makes the conclusion effective? - - 13. What use does the author make of conversation? - - 14. What is the proportion of description and explanation in the - story? - - 15. What are the good characteristics of the story? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - - 1. A Summer Adventure 11. The Fire in School - 2. At Easter Time 12. An Unexpected Hero - 3. The Swimming Match 13. Tony's Brother - 4. A Cross Country Adventure 14. Skating on the River - 5. The Lost Books 15. The Bicycle Meet - 6. The School Bully 16. At the Sea Shore - 7. The Hiding Place 17. The Trip to the Woods - 8. An Excursion 18. The Surprise of the Day - 9. The Little Freshman 19. The Best Batter - 10. Our Election Day 20. How We Found a Captain - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Write a story that will be closely connected with school life. Use -the ordinary characters that are to be found in your school, but use -typical characters that will sum up well-recognized characteristics. -Base your story upon any sharp contrast in characters. Begin -your story by telling of everyday events, but make those events lead -quickly to events that are out of the ordinary. In like manner begin -with familiar surroundings and then lead your readers into surroundings -that will be less familiar and that will be an appropriate -setting for unusual action. Make the climax of your story powerful -by using suspense. Indicate that your hero is likely to be overcome. -Make his final success depend upon his resolution or good -spirit,--upon his character. Use much conversation. Omit everything -that will not contribute to the effect of the climax. - - - - - THE CRITICAL ESSAY - - - - - CODDLING IN EDUCATION - By HENRY SEIDEL CANBY - - _(1878). Editor of The Literary Review; Assistant Editor of The - Yale Review, and Assistant Professor of English in the Sheffield - Scientific School. He is author and co-author of many books on - English, among which are:_ The Short Story; Facts, Thought and - Imagination; _and_ Good English. - - =The critical essay comments on a fault,--but it does no more: it - makes no searching analysis and it points to no specific remedy.= - - =_Coddling in Education_ is a critical essay. It points at what its - author believes is a serious fault in American education. Like all - critical essays it aims at reform, but it merely suggests the means - of reform.= - - =Many of the editorial articles in newspapers are examples of the - critical essay.= - - -American minds have been coddled in school and college for at least -a generation. There are two kinds of mental coddling. The first -belongs to the public schools, and is one of the defects of our -educational system that we abuse privately and largely keep out of -print. It is democratic coddling. I mean, of course, the failure to -hold up standards, the willingness to let youth wobble upward, knowing -little and that inaccurately, passing nothing well, graduating with -an education that hits and misses like an old type-writer with a -torn ribbon. America is full of “sloppy thinking,” of inaccuracy, -of half-baked misinformation, of sentimentalism, especially -sentimentalism, as a result of coddling by schools that cater to an -easy-going democracy. Only fifty-six per cent. of a group of girls, -graduates of the public schools, whose records I once examined, could -do simple addition, only twenty-nine per cent. simple multiplication -correctly; a deplorable percentage had a very inaccurate knowledge of -elementary American geography. - -A dozen causes are responsible for this condition, and among them, I -suspect, one, which if not major, at least deserves careful pondering. -The teacher and the taught have somehow drifted apart. His function -in the large has been to teach an ideal, a tradition. He is content, -he has to be content, with partial results. It is not for life as it -is, it is for what life ought to be, that he is preparing even in -arithmetic; he has allowed the faint unreality of a priestcraft to numb -him. In the mind of the student a dim conception has entered, that this -education--all education--is a garment merely, to be doffed for the -struggle with realities. The will is dulled. Interest slackens. - -But it is in aristocratic coddling that the effects of our educational -attitude gleam out to the least observant understanding. This is the -coddling of the preparatory schools and the colleges, and it is more -serious for it is a defect that cannot be explained away by the hundred -difficulties that beset good teaching in a public-school system, -nation-wide, and conducted for the young of every race in the American -menagerie. The teaching in the best American preparatory schools and -colleges is as careful and as conscientious as any in the world. That -one gladly asserts. Indeed, an American boy in a good boarding-school -is handled like a rare microbe in a research laboratory. He is -ticketed; every instant of his time is planned and scrutinized; he is -dieted with brain food, predigested, and weighed before application. I -sometimes wonder if a moron could not be made into an Abraham Lincoln -by such a system--if the system were sound. - -It is not sound. The boys and girls, especially the boys, are coddled -for entrance examinations, coddled through freshman year, coddled -oftentimes for graduation. And they too frequently go out into the -world fireproof against anything but intellectual coddling. Such -men and women can read only writing especially prepared for brains -that will take only selected ideas, simply put. They can think only -on simple lines, not too far extended. They can live happily only -in a life where ideas never exceed the college sixty per cent. of -complexity, and where no intellectual or esthetic experience lies too -far outside the range of their curriculum. A world where one reads the -news and skips the editorials; goes to musical comedies, but omits -the plays; looks at illustrated magazines, but seldom at books; talks -business, sports, and politics, but never economics, social welfare, -and statesmanship--that is the world for which we coddle the best of -our youth. Many indeed escape the evil effects by their own innate -originality; more bear the marks to the grave. - -The process is simple, and one can see it in the English public -school (where it is being attacked vivaciously) quite as commonly as -here. You take your boy out of his family and his world. You isolate -him except for companionship with other nursery transplantings and -teachers themselves isolated. And then you feed him, nay, you cram -him, with good traditional education, filling up the odd hours with -the excellent, but negative, passion of sport. Then you subject him to -a special cramming and send him to college, where sometimes he breaks -through the net of convention woven about him, and sees the real world -as it should appear to the student before he becomes part of it; but -more frequently wraps himself deep and more deeply in conventional -opinion, conventional practice, until, the limbs of his intellectual -being bound tightly, he stumbles into the outer world. - -And there, in the swirl and the vivid practicalities of American life, -is the net loosened? I think not. I think rather that the youth learns -to swim clumsily despite his encumbrances of lethargic thinking and -tangled idealism. But if they are cut? If he goes on the sharp rocks -of experience, finds that hardness, shrewdness, selfish individualism -pay best in American life, what has he in his spirit to meet this -disillusion? Of what use has been his education in the liberal, -idealistic traditions of America? Of some use, undoubtedly, for habit, -even a dull habit, is strong; but whether useful enough, whether -powerful enough, to save America, to keep us “white” in the newer and -more colloquial sense, the future will test and test quickly. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Explain what the writer means by “coddling.” - 2. Define “democratic coddling.” - 3. Define aristocratic “coddling.” - 4. What are the results of “coddling”? - 5. What are the causes of “coddling”? - 6. What is the writer's ideal of education? - 7. What criticism of American life does the essay present? - 8. Point out effective phrasing. - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. The Best Kind of Teacher 11. Thinking for One's Self - 2. The Most Helpful Subjects 12. 60% or 100% - 3. The Value of Marks 13. Serious Reading - 4. Study and Play 14. Pleasure Seeking - 5. What Promotion Means 15. Character Training - 6. Mistaken Kindness 16. The Value of Hard Work - 7. The Passing Mark 17. Discipline - 8. Scholarship in My School 18. Faithfulness in Work - 9. The Purposes of Study 19. Real Success in Life - 10. The School Course 20. “Cramming.” - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Plan to emphasize some original phrasing like “Coddling in School -and College.” Use familiar words that every one will understand -but use them in some new relation. - -Make your essay point at a really serious fault that will be worthy of -attack. Do not go into details, but make your writing represent your -honest opinion. - -Use expressions that will represent you, and that will make your essay -personal in nature. Notice how Mr. Canby makes use of such words as -“wobble,” “sloppy,” “half-baked,” “coddle,” “cram” and “white.” Notice, -too, how many conversational short sentences Mr. Canby uses. His essay -is like a vigorous talk. Make your own essay equally personal and -equally vigorous. - - - - - A SUCCESSFUL FAILURE - By GLENN FRANK - - _(1887-). Editor of_ The Century Magazine. _He is a member of - many important associations, and was one of ex-President Taft's - associates in suggesting a covenant for the League of Nations. His - magazine articles are notable for constructive thought._ - - =Any subject is appropriate material for the essayist, and any - method of treatment is satisfactory so long as the writer gives us - his personal reaction on some province of human thought.= - - =The following critical essay begins with the writer's account of a - series of papers that he once read. To this he adds his own serious - comment, and he concludes his work by suggesting an ideal. In doing - all this he makes free use of the pronoun “I,” and writes in an - informal style.= - - =The work is therefore not hard and fast logic, but mature and - serious comment on life.= - - -Several years ago there appeared a series of papers that purported to -be the confessions of a successful man who was under no delusion as to -the essential quality of his attainments. The papers are not before me -as I write, and I must trust to memory and a few penciled notes made -at the time of their appearance, but it will be interesting to recall -his confessions regarding his education. I think they paint a fairly -faithful picture of the mind of the average college graduate. - -He stated that he came from a family that prided itself on its culture -and intellectuality and that had always been a family of professional -folk. His grandfather was a clergyman; among his uncles were a lawyer, -a physician, and a professor; his sisters married professional men. -He received a fairly good primary and secondary education, and was -graduated from his university with honors. He was, he stated, of a -distinctly literary turn of mind, and during his four years at college -imbibed some slight information concerning the English classics -as well as modern history and metaphysics, so that he could talk -quite glibly about Chaucer,[136] Beaumont, and Fletcher,[137] Thomas -Love Peacock,[138] and Ann Radcliffe,[139] and speak with apparent -familiarity about Kant[140] and Schopenhauer.[141] - -But, in turning to self-analysis, he stated that he later saw that his -smattering of culture was neither broad nor deep; that he acquired no -definite knowledge of the underlying principles of general history, of -economics, of languages, of mathematics, of physics, or of chemistry; -that to biology and its allies he paid scarcely any attention at -all, except to take a few snap courses; that he really secured only -a surface acquaintance with polite English literature, mostly very -modern, the main part of his time having been spent in reading -Stevenson[142] and Kipling.[143] He did well in English composition, -he said, and pronounced his words neatly and in a refined manner. He -concluded the description of his college days by saying that at the end -of his course, twenty-three years of age, he was handed an imitation -parchment degree and proclaimed by the president of the college as -belonging to the brotherhood of educated men. On this he commented: - - I did not. I was an imitation educated man; but though spurious, - I was a sufficiently good counterfeit to pass current for what - I was declared to be. Apart from a little Latin, considerable - training in writing the English language, and a great deal of - miscellaneous reading of an extremely light variety, I really - had no culture at all. I could not speak an idiomatic sentence - in French or German. I had only the vaguest ideas about applied - science or mechanics and no thorough knowledge about anything; but - I was supposed to be an educated man, and on this stock in trade I - have done business ever since, with the added capital of a degree - of LL.B. Now, since graduation, twenty-seven years ago, I have - given no time to the systematic study of any subject except law. I - have read no serious works dealing with either history, sociology, - economics, art, or philosophy. I have rarely read over again any of - the masterpieces of English literature with which I had at least - a bowing acquaintance when at college. Even this last sentence I - must qualify to the extent of admitting that now I see that this - acquaintance was largely vicarious, and that I frequently read more - criticism than literature. - - I was taught about Shakespeare, but not Shakespeare. I was - instructed in the history of literature, but not in literature - itself. I knew the names of the works of numerous English authors - and knew what Taine[144] and others thought about them, but I knew - comparatively little of what was between the covers of the books - themselves. I was, I find, a student of letters by proxy. As time - went on I gradually forgot that I had not in fact actually perused - these volumes, and to-day I am accustomed to refer familiarly to - works I have never read at all. - - I frankly confess that my own ignorance is abysmal. In the last - twenty-seven years what information I have acquired has been picked - up principally from newspapers and magazines; yet my library table - is littered with books on modern art and philosophy and with essays - on literary and historical subjects. I do not read them. They are - my intellectual window-dressings. I talk about them with others - who, I suspect, have not read them either, and we confine ourselves - to generalities, with careful qualifications of all expressed - opinions, no matter how vague or elusive. - -This quotation is made from slightly abbreviated notes and may be -guilty of some verbal variation from the text, but it is entirely -accurate as to content. As I remember the paper, the writer went on -to catalogue his educational shortcomings in the various fields of -interest, confessing fundamental ignorance, save for superficial -smatterings of information, of art, history, biography, music, poetry, -politics, science, and economics. He painted an amusing picture of -the hollow pretense of culture with which the average man of his type -covers his intellectual poverty. Men of his type speak casually, he -said, of Henry of Navarre,[145] Beatrice d'Este,[146] or Charles the -Fifth,[147] without knowing within two hundred years when any of them -lived or what was their rôle. His lack of knowledge goes deeper than -mere names and dates; it goes, he said, to the significance of events -themselves. For an illustration at random, he knew nothing about what -happened on the Italian peninsula until Garibaldi,[148] and really -never knew just who Garibaldi was until he read Trevelyan's[149] three -books on the Risorgimento, the only serious books he had read in years, -and he read them because he had taken a motor trip through Italy the -summer before. He knew virtually nothing of Spain, Russia, Poland, -Turkey, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Holland, or Belgium. He described his -type going to the Metropolitan Opera House, hearing the best music at -big prices, content to murmur vague ecstasies over Caruso, in ignorance -of who wrote the opera or what it is all about, lacking enough virile -intellectual curiosity even to spend an hour reading about the opera in -one of the many available hand-books. - -Coming to the vital matters of public affairs, he confessed that, -although holding a prominent place on the citizens' committee at -election-time, he knew nothing definite about the city's departments or -its fiscal administration. He could not direct a poor man to the place -where he might obtain relief. He knew the city hall by sight, but had -never been in it. He had never visited the Tombs[150] or the criminal -courts, never entered a police station, a fire-house, or prison of -the city. He did not know whether police magistrates were appointed or -elected, nor in what congressional district he resided. He did not know -the name of his alderman, assemblyman, state senator, or representative -in Congress. He did not know who was head of the street-cleaning, -health, fire, park, or water departments of his city. He could name -only five of the members of the Supreme Court, three of the secretaries -in the President's cabinet, and only one of the congressmen from -his State. He had never studied save in the most superficial manner -the single tax, minimum wage, free trade, protection, income tax, -inheritance tax, the referendum, the recall, and other vital questions. - -Of the authorship of these anonymous confessions I know nothing. They -may have been fiction instead of biography, for all I know. But their -content would still be true were their form fiction. I have recalled -these confessions at length because in my judgment they present an -uncomfortably true analysis of the average American college graduate's -mind, his range of interests, and his grasp of those fundamentals which -underlie a citizen's worth in a democracy. It is from the college -graduates of this country that we must look for our leaders in the -complex and baffling years ahead, and it is a matter of the gravest -concern to the country if we are raising up a generation of men, into -whose hands leadership will pass, whose minds have been atrophied by -superficial study, whose imagination is unlit, who have an apathetic -indifference toward the supreme issues of our political, social, and -industrial life, who lack capacity and background for the analysis of -broad questions and for creative thinking. If these confessions of -“The Goldfish” papers tell a true story, if we are failing to produce -a leader class adequate to meet the needs of the present time, as it -seems to me there is sound evidence to prove, then it behooves us to -reëxamine, reconceive, and reorganize our colleges. - -If we are to raise up adequate leadership for the future, our colleges -must contrive to give to students a genuinely liberal education that -will make them intelligent citizens of the world; an education that -will make the student at home in the modern world, able to work in -harmony with the dominant forces of his age, not at cross-purposes to -them; an education that will acquaint him with the physical, social, -economic, and political aspects, laws, and forces of his world; an -education that will furnish to the student that adequate background -and primary information needed for the interpretation of current life; -an education that will help the student to plot out the larger world -beyond the campus; an education that will give the student an interest -in those events and issues in which people generally are concerned; an -education that will enable the student to give intelligent and informed -consideration to the significant political and economic problems of -American life; an education that will provide the student with a sort -of Baedeker's[151] guide to civilization; in short, an education that -will make for that spacious-minded type of citizen which alone can -bring adequate leadership to a democracy. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Apply the writer's criticism to work done in school. - - 2. What should be the purpose of public school education? - - 3. What advantage does the writer gain by quoting from the - “successful failure”? - - 4. Why does the writer give only a résumé of some of the words of - the “successful failure”? - - 5. What is real culture? - - 6. What is the difference between “passing” and “learning”? - - 7. What is an “imitation parchment degree”? - - 8. How long should a person pursue systematic study? - - 9. What principles should guide a person in reading books? - - 10. What is the difference between being “taught about Shakespeare” - and being “taught Shakespeare”? - - 11. What is the proper attitude toward newspaper reading? - - 12. What is “intellectual window-dressing”? - - 13. What should one know of history? - - 14. What should one know concerning various lands? - - 15. On what should real appreciation of music depend? - - 16. How should education contribute to political life? - - 17. What is the importance of education in the United States? - - 18. What is the basis of real leadership? - - 19. Make a list of the “vital matters of public affair” on which the - writer believes people should be informed. - - 20. On how many of these subjects are you informed? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. My Own Scholarship 11. Learning a Foreign Language - 2. My School Career 12. The Value of Science - 3. Public School Scholarship 13. Reading Shakespeare - 4. Real Study 14. Studying Music - 5. The Passing Mark 15. Newspaper Reading - 6. The Best Teachers 16. The Use of a Library - 7. The Study of History 17. A Real Student - 8. Good Reading 18. An Educated Citizen - 9. The Study of Governments 19. A Good School - 10. The Purpose of Education 20. Systematic Study - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -If you cannot quote from the words of written articles you can -at least quote from what people have said in conversation. You -can also make full use of your own experience. Begin your essay, -as Mr. Frank begins his, by making some statement of actual experience. -When you have done this add original comments that will -lead, in the end, to a wise suggestion for the future. Both by the -use of the pronoun “I,” and by a certain informality of style, make -your work personal. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[136] Geoffrey Chaucer (1340-1400). Author of _The Canterbury Tales_, a -series of realistic narratives in verse. - -[137] Francis Beaumont (1584-1616) and John Fletcher (1579-1625). Two -of the most celebrated of Shakespeare's contemporaries. They wrote in -collaboration, and produced at least 52 plays. - -[138] Thomas Love Peacock (1785-1866). Author of a number of highly -original and witty novels. - -[139] Ann Radcliffe (1764-1823). An English novelist who wrote chiefly -of the mysterious and terrible, as in _The Mysteries of Udolpho_, her -most famous book. - -[140] Immanuel Kant (1724-1804). A great German philosopher, one of the -most profound thinkers who ever lived. - -[141] Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860). A German philosopher noted for -his pessimistic beliefs. - -[142] Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894). Novelist, essayist, poet and -traveler, noted for his personal appeal and the charm of his style. - -[143] Rudyard Kipling (1865--). A popular present-day novelist, short -story writer and poet. - -[144] Hippolyte Adolphe Taine (1828-1893). A French critic, especially -noted for his _History of English Literature_. - -[145] Henry of Navarre (1553-1610). King of Navarre and later King of -France, author of the celebrated _Edict of Nantes_. - -[146] Beatrice d'Este (1475-1497). A beautiful and highly cultured -Duchess of Milan who, in spite of her early death, deeply influenced -the intellectual leaders of her time. - -[147] Charles the Fifth (1500-1558). A masterful and virile Emperor of -the Holy Roman Empire. - -[148] Giuseppe Garibaldi (1807-1882). A great Italian patriot who -aided in bringing about the unification of Italy. He was at one time a -citizen of the United States, and was employed in a candle factory on -Staten Island, New York. - -[149] George Macaulay Trevelyan (1876). An English historian, author of -important works on Garibaldi. - -[150] The Tombs. A New York City prison. - -[151] Karl Baedeker (1801-1859). The originator of Baedeker's _Guide -Books_ to various lands. - - - - - THE DROLLERIES OF CLOTHES - By AGNES REPPLIER - - - _(1858-). One of the most noted American essayists. Among her books - are:_ Essays in Miniature; Essays in Idleness; In the Dozy Hours; A - Happy Half Century; Americans and Others. - - =Miss Agnes Repplier for many years has kept her high place as one - of the most popular American essayists. She has written upon a - great variety of subjects, and always with charm and substantial - thought. The essay on _The Drolleries of Clothes_ shows with how - much good spirit one may write even a critical essay.= - - -In that engaging volume, “The Vanished Pomps of Yesterday,” Lord -Frederic Hamilton,[152] commenting on the beauty and grace of the -Austrian women, observes thoughtfully: “In the far-off seventies ladies -did not huddle themselves into a shapeless mass of abbreviated oddments -of material. They dressed, and their clothes fitted them. A woman upon -whom nature has bestowed a good figure was able to display her gifts to -the world.” - -That a woman to whom nature had been less kind was compelled to display -her deficiencies is a circumstance ignored by Hamilton, who, being a -man of the world and a man of fashion, regarded clothes as the insignia -of caste. The costly costumes, the rich and sweeping draperies in -which he delighted, were not easy of imitation. The French ladies who -followed the difficult lead of the Empress Eugenia[153] supported the -transparent whiteness of their billowy skirts with at least a dozen -fine, sheer petticoats. Now it is obvious that no woman of the working -classes (except a blanchisseuse de fin[154] who might presumably wear -her customers' laundry) could afford a dozen white petticoats. But when -it comes to stripping off a solitary petticoat, no one is too poor or -too plain to be in the fashion. When it comes to clipping a dress at -the knee, the factory girl is as fashionable as the banker's daughter, -and far more at her ease. Her “abbreviated oddments” are a convenience -in the limited spaces of the mill, and she is hardier to endure -exposure. She thanks the kindly gods who have fitted the fashions to -her following, and she takes a few more inches off her solitary garment -to make sure of being in the style. - -Not that women of any class regard heat or cold, comfort or discomfort, -as a controlling factor in dress. In this regard they are less highly -differentiated from the savage than are men, who, with advancing -civilization, have modified their attire into something like conformity -to climate and to season. The savage, even the savage who, like the -Tierra del Fuegian,[155] lives in a cold country, considers clothes -less as a covering than as an adornment. So also do women, who take -a simple primitive delight in garments devoid of utilitarianism. For -the past half-dozen years American women have worn furs during the -sweltering heat of American summers. Perhaps by the sea, or in the -mountains, a chill day may now and then warrant this costume; but on -the burning city streets the fur-clad females, red and panting, have -been pitiful objects to behold. They suffered, as does the Polar bear -in August in the zoo; but they suffered irrationally, and because they -lacked the wit to escape from self-inflicted torment. - -For the past two winters women have worn fur coats or capes which -swathed the upper part of their bodies in voluminous folds, and stopped -short at the knee. From that point down, the thinnest of silk stockings -have been all the covering permitted. The theory that, if one part -of the body be protected, another part may safely and judiciously be -exposed, has ever been dear to the female heart. It may be her back, -her bosom, or her legs which the woman selects to exhibit. In any case -she affirms that the uncovered portions of her anatomy never feel the -cold. If they do, she endures the discomfort with the stoicism of the -savage who keeps his ornamental scars open with irritants, and she is -nerved to endurance by the same impelling motive. - -This motive is not personal vanity. Vanity has had little to do with -savage, barbarous, and civilized customs. The ancient Peruvians who -deformed their heads, pressing them out of shape; the Chinese who -deform their feet, bandaging them into balls; the Africans who deform -their mouths, stretching them with wooden discs; the Borneans who -deform their ears, dragging the lobes below their shoulder blades; -the European and American women who deformed their bodies, tightening -their stays to produce the celebrated “hour-glass” waist, have all been -victims of something more powerful than vanity, the inexorable decrees -of fashion. - -As a matter of fact the female mind is singularly devoid of illusions. -Women do not think their layers of fat or their protruding collar bones -beautiful and seductive. They display them because fashion makes no -allowance for personal defects, and they have not yet reached that -stage of civilization which achieves artistic sensibility, which -ordains and preserves the eternal law of fitness. They know, for -example, that nuns, waitresses, and girls in semi-military uniforms -look handsomer than they are, because of straight lines and adroit -concealment; but they fail to derive from this knowledge any practical -guidance. - -I can remember when “pull-back” skirts and bustles were in style. They -were uncomfortable, unsanitary, and unsightly. Their wearers looked -grotesquely deformed, and knew it. They submitted to fate, and prayed -for a speedy deliverance. The fluctuations of fashion are alternately a - -[Illustration: =“The fluctuations of fashion are alternately a grievance - and a solace.”=] (_page 280_) - -grievance and a solace. John Evelyn,[156] commenting on the dress worn -by Englishmen in the time of Charles the First,[157] says that it was -“a comely and manly habit, too good to hold.” It did not hold because -the Puritans, who saw no reason why manliness should be comely, swept -it aside. The bustle was much too bad to hold. It grew beautifully less -every year, and then suddenly disappeared. Many dry eyes witnessed its -departure. - -If abhorrence of a fashion cannot keep women from slavishly following -it, they naturally remain unmoved by outside counsel and criticism. -For years the doctors exhausted themselves proclaiming the disastrous -consequences of tight-lacing, which must certainly be held responsible -for the obsolete custom of fainting. For years satirists and moralists -united in attacking the crinoline. In _Watson's Annals_, 1856, a -virtuous Philadelphian published a solemn protest against Christian -ladies wearing enormous hoops to church, thereby scandalizing and, what -was worse, inconveniencing the male congregation. When the Great War -started a wave of fatuous extravagance, it was solemnly reported that -Mrs. Lloyd George was endeavoring to dissuade the wives of workingmen -from buying silk stockings and fur coats. When the Great Peace let -loose upon us the most fantastic absurdities known for half a century, -the papers bristled with such hopeful headlines as these: “Club Women -Approve Sensible Styles of Dress,” “Social Leaders Condemn Indecorous -Fashions,” “Crusade in Churches Against Prevailing Scantiness of -Attire,” and so on, and so on indefinitely. - -And to what purpose? The unrest of a rapidly changing world broke down -the old supremacies, smashed all appreciable standards, and left us -only a vague clutter of impressions. When a woman's dress no longer -indicates her fortune, station, age, or honesty, we have reached the -twilight of taste; but such dim, confused periods are recurrent in -the history of sociology. The girl who works hard and decently for -daily bread, but who walks the streets with her little nose whitened -like concrete, and her little cheeks reddened like brick-dust, and -her little under-nourished body painfully evidenced to the crowd, is -tremulously imitating the woman of the town; but the most inexperienced -eye catalogues her at a glance. Let us be grateful for her sake if she -bobs her hair, for that is a cleanly custom, whereas the great knobs -which she formerly wore over her ears harbored nests of vermin. It is -one of the comedies of fashion that short hair, which half a century -ago indicated strongmindedness, now represents the utmost levity; just -as the bloomers of 1852 stood for stern reform, and the attempted -trousers of 1918 stood for lawlessness. Both were rejected by women -who have never been unaware that the skirt carries with it an infinite -variety of possibilities. - - A winning wave, deserving note, - In the tempestuous petticoat, - -wrote Evelyn's contemporary, Herrick,[158] who was more concerned with -the comeliness of Julia's clothes than with his own. - -There is still self-revelation in dress, but not personal -self-revelation. We may still apply the test of costume to people and -to periods, but not safely to individuals, who suffer from coercion. -Women's ready-made clothes are becoming more and more like liveries. A -dozen shop windows, a dozen establishments, display the same model over -and over again, the materials and prices varying, the gown always the -same. The lines may lack distinction, and the colors may lack serenity; -but then distinction and serenity are not the great underlying -qualities of our fretted age. The “abbreviated oddments,” with their -strange admixture of the bizarre and the commonplace, strike a purely -modern note. They are democratic. They are as appropriate, or, I might -say, as inappropriate, to one class of women as to another. They are -helping, more than we can know, to level the barriers of caste. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Summarize what the essay says in criticism of modern fashions. - - 2. What does the essay say concerning fashions in the past? - - 3. Summarize Miss Repplier's suggestions for ideal costumes. - - 4. Explain why the writer refers to the fashions of savages. - - 5. By what means does the writer give interest to her work? - - 6. How does the essay differ from an ordinary informational - article? - - 7. What advantage does the writer gain by referring to various - works of literature? - - 8. How does the writer avoid harshness of criticism? - - 9. What is the general plan of the essay? - - 10. What does the article show concerning Miss Repplier? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Fashions for Men 11. Children's Clothes - 2. Jewelry 12. Style in Shoes - 3. Good Manners 13. Social Customs - 4. Table Etiquette 14. Street Behavior - 5. Neckties 15. Ribbons - 6. Dancing 16. School Yells - 7. Spoken English 17. Slang - 8. Stockings 18. Hair Dressing - 9. Buttons 19. The Use of Mirrors - 10. Exercise 20. Walking - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Your object is to write, in a critical vein, about some modern -custom, and to write without bitterness. Embody your criticism in -mild humor. Find something good even in the midst of what is bad. -Above all, draw definite examples from literature and history, in -order to make your thought have weight. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[152] Lord Frederic Hamilton (1856--). An English diplomat and editor. -He has travelled in many lands. Among his works are: _The Holiday -Adventures of Mr. P. J. Davenant_; _Lady Eleanor_; _The Vanished Pomps -of Yesterday_. - -[153] Empress Eugenia (1826-1920). A Spanish Countess who in 1853 -became the wife of Napoleon III of France and the natural leader of -French society. - -[154] Blanchisseuse de fin. A laundress. - -[155] Tierra del Fuegian. An inhabitant of the archipelago at the -extreme southern end of South America. - -[156] John Evelyn (1620-1706). The author of a diary kept from -1624-1706 in which he gives a wealth of information concerning life in -his period. - -[157] Charles I (1600-1649). King of England from 1625 to 1649. He -was overthrown and beheaded by the adherents of the parliamentary, or -Puritan, forces. - -[158] Robert Herrick (1591-1674). An English poet, author of many -charming poems, one of which is _Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May_. - - - - - POETIC PROSE - - - - - CHILDREN - By YUKIO OZAKI - - - _Madame Ozaki is the wife of a former mayor of Tokyo and former - Minister of Justice in the Okuma Cabinet. She writes for many - magazines. Among her books are:_ Warriors of Old Japan; The - Japanese Fairy Book; Romances of Old Japan. - - =The essay is so natural an expression of the writer's personality - that it has much in common with lyric poetry. Both the essay and - the lyric, at their best, are ardent expressions of self. When - the emotion in either is deep and genuine the language takes on - richness of rhythm, and the effect becomes entirely poetic. Many of - the best essays contain passages that in all except meter and rime - are poems,--prose poems.= - - =_Children_ is an example of highly poetic prose.= - - -Let us love our children serenely, devotedly, even passionately. Surely -in their innocence and angelic simplicity they play on the threshold -of heaven. Let us hush our noisy activities and stale anxieties, and -under the trees and in the open that they love listen to the words of -refreshing wisdom dropping like jewels from their naïve lips. - -Let us be willing to sit at their dainty little feet, so unused to the -dusty roads of this world, and learn from them divinest lessons. Let us -with uplifted hearts realize our responsibility when with unconscious -humility they accept us as their guides in the sweet, fresh morning of -their lives. - -O sister-mothers in the world, let us awaken to a deeper sense of this -sublime trust, our high charge in the care of these immortal treasures, -only for a little while, such a little while, given into our keeping! -Let us make our hearts, our minds, our consciences worthy of these -transcendent marvels of life! - -Oh, joy of joys! Oh, purest wonder! How often my children lift the -invisible veils that hide undreamed-of casements opening out on -luminous vistas of the mystical world in which they wander, roaming -fancy-free with keen and wondering delight! - -Take me with you, oh, take me with you, children mine, when with -bright eyes and with kindled imagination, all spirit, fire and dew, -you sally forth on these highroads of discovery, to the elysiums of -your day-dreams, peopled by the souls of birds, animals, flowers and -pictures in happy communion! - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Point out examples of rhythmical sentences. - - 2. Point out figures of speech. - - 3. Point out words that have been chosen because of their charm, or - their suggestive power. - - 4. Show how the selection rises in emotion. - - 5. How do children “play on the threshold of heaven”? - - 6. What “refreshing wisdom” do children express? - - 7. What “divinest lessons” may we learn from children? - - 8. What “undreamed of casements” do children open? - - 9. Explain the last paragraph. - - 10. Point out all the respects in which this selection is like a - poem. - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. The Baby 11. Dreams - 2. The Helpless 12. Beautiful Views - 3. The Old 13. The Sunshine - 4. Father and Mother 14. Summer - 5. Grandmother 15. Favorite Flowers - 6. Home 16. Birds - 7. Playmates 17. My Dog - 8. Memories 18. The Garden - 9. Holidays 19. Snow - 10. Ambitions 20. Sunrise - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -In order to write poetic prose you must write from genuine -emotion. Write about something that you really love. Choose your -words so that they will most clearly reveal your feelings. Think -of the deeper meanings and of the greater values of your subject. -Make your essay increase steadily in power until the very end. -Make it, like a good lyric poem, reveal the writer's best self in one -of his noblest moments. - - - - - SHIPS THAT LIFT TALL SPIRES OF CANVAS[159] - By RALPH D. PAINE - - - _(1871--). An American author and journalist, especially noted - for excellent work as a war correspondent. Among his many books - concerning the sea are the following:_ The Praying Skipper, and - Other Stories; The Ships and Sailors of Old Salem; The Judgments of - the Sea; The Adventures of Captain O'Shea; The Fighting Fleets; The - Fight for a Free Sea. He is a frequent contributor to magazines. - - =_Ships That Lift Tall Spires of Canvas_ is practically a poem, - although it is written in prose. It is an emotional expression - of admiration for the sailing vessels of the past, and for the - gallant sailors who manned them. It is evident that the author is - familiar with many stories of romantic voyages and grim adventure - on the deep, and that his emotion springs from his knowledge. That - genuineness of feeling did much to lead him to choose suggestive - words and to write in balanced and rhythmical sentences. All good - style comes in large part from earnestness of thought or depth of - emotion, and in smaller degree from knowledge of the rhetorical - means of conveying thought or emotion.= - - =Oh, night and day the ships come in, - The ships both great and small, - But never one among them brings - A word of him at all. - From Port o' Spain and Trinidad, - From Rio or Funchal, - And along the coast of Barbary.= - - -Steam has not banished from the deep sea the ships that lift tall -spires of canvas to win their way from port to port. The gleam of their -topsails recalls the centuries in which men wrought with stubborn -courage to fashion fabrics of wood and cordage that would survive the -enmity of the implacable ocean and make the winds obedient. Their -genius was unsung, their hard toil forgotten, but with each generation -the sailing ship became nobler and more enduring, until it was a -perfect thing. Its great days live in memory with a peculiar atmosphere -of romance. Its humming shrouds were vibrant with the eternal call of -the sea, and in a phantom fleet pass the towering East Indiaman, the -hard-driven Atlantic packet, and the gracious clipper that fled before -the Southern trades. - -A hundred years ago every bay and inlet of the New England coast were -building ships that fared bravely forth to the West Indies, to the -roadsteads of Europe, to the mysterious havens of the Far East. They -sailed in peril of pirate and privateer, and fought these rascals as -sturdily as they battled with wicked weather. Coasts were unlighted, -the seas uncharted, and navigation was mostly guesswork, but these -seamen were the flower of an American merchant marine whose deeds are -heroic in the nation's story. Great hearts in little ships, they dared -and suffered with simple, uncomplaining fortitude. Shipwreck was an -incident, and to be adrift in lonely seas or cast upon a barbarous -shore was sadly commonplace. They lived the stuff that made fiction -after they were gone. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Make a list of the most effective adjectives in the selection. - - 2. Make a list of the words that do most to suggest the sea. - - 3. Read aloud the most effective sentences. - - 4. Point out examples of balanced construction. - - 5. Show that the author has indicated the entire field of the - subject. - - 6. In what ways is the selection poetic? - - 7. What famous books tell stories of sailing vessels? - - 8. What books of the sea did Fenimore Cooper write? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Old Gardens 11. My Grandmother - 2. Farm Houses 12. Old Letters - 3. My Childhood Home 13. A Happy Day - 4. Mothers 14. The Old Soldier - 5. Flowers 15. A Relic - 6. Memories 16. A Familiar Street - 7. Old School-books 17. Changes - 8. Old Friends 18. Souvenirs - 9. Childhood Games 19. Skating - 10. Favorite Stories 20. Summer Days - - -[Illustration: =“Its humming shrouds were vibrant with the eternal call - of the sea.”=] (_page 287_) - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -The subject that you select must be one concerning which you -know a great deal. It must be one that exists not only in your -brain but also in your heart. - -When you have selected your subject make a list of the points that -appeal to you most, and that will represent every side of the subject. - -When you write, let your emotion guide your pen. At the same time make -every effort to select words that will be full of suggestive power. -Write easily and rhythmically, and let your work end, as Mr. Paine's -does, in an especially effective sentence. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[159] From “Lost Ships and Lonely Seas,” by Ralph D. Paine. Copyright -by the Century Co. - - - - - PERSONALITY IN CORRESPONDENCE - - - - - By THEODORE ROOSEVELT and AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS - - - _(1858-1919). Twenty-sixth President of the United States. One of - the most vigorous, courageous and picturesque figures in the public - life of his day. Soon after his graduation from Harvard, and from - Columbia Law School he entered public life, and gave invaluable - service in many positions, becoming President in 1901, and again - in 1904. His work as an organizer of the “Rough Riders,” his skill - in horsemanship, his courage as an explorer and hunter, and his - staunch patriotism and high ideals all made him both interesting - and beloved. His work as an author is alone sufficient to make - him great. Among his many books are_ The Winning of the West; The - Strenuous Life; African Game Trails; True Americanism. - - _(1848-1907). One of the greatest American sculptors. His statues - of Admiral Farragut, Abraham Lincoln, The Puritan, Peter Cooper, - and General Sherman are noble examples of his art. Many other works - of sculpture, including the beautiful “Diana” on Madison Square - Garden Tower, New York, attest his rare skill. He excelled in what - is called “relief.” His influence on American art was remarkably - great. His portrait-plaque of Robert Louis Stevenson is especially - interesting to lovers of literature._ - - =The essay and the friendly letter are closely related. It is - natural for one who writes a friendly letter to express himself - freely and intimately, to make wise or humorous comments on life, - to write meditatively of all the things that interest him,--in - fact, to reveal himself in full. To do all that, even within the - limited form of the letter, is to write an approach to an essay. - Almost any one of the essays in this book might have been written - as part of a friendly letter.= - - =The spirit of the essay, that of personality, should enter into all - letters except those that are purely formal in nature. In fact, the - amount of personality expressed in a letter is, often, a measure of - the success of the letter.= - - =The following letters written by Theodore Roosevelt and Augustus - Saint-Gaudens are, in a sense, business letters. In 1905 Mr. - Roosevelt was president of the United States. He believed that - the coins of the United States, like the coins of the ancient - Greeks, should be beautiful. That he had the highest respect for - the great sculptor, Augustus Saint-Gaudens, is shown by a letter - that he wrote in 1903 concerning the impressively beautiful - statue of General Sherman, that now stands at the 59th Street - entrance to Central Park, New York City. In 1905 Mr. Roosevelt met - Mr. Saint-Gaudens at a dinner in Washington and talked with him - concerning the coinage of the United States and the possibility - of improving it. The letters given in this book are part of the - correspondence that followed this conversation.= - - =Both men had serious purpose in writing and both were intensely - practical; yet each man wrote in a manner that is exceedingly - personal. The letters have something of the spirit of the essay.= - - - THE STATUE OF GENERAL SHERMAN - - - WHITE HOUSE - WASHINGTON - - OYSTER BAY, N. Y. - August 3, 1903. - - Personal - - _My dear Mr. Saint-Gaudens_: - -Your letter was a great relief and pleasure to me. I had been told -that it was you personally who had opposed ----. I have no claim to be -listened to about these matters, save such claim as a man of ordinary -cultivation has. But I do think that ----, like Proctor, has done -excellent work in his wild-beast figures. - -By the way, I was very glad that the Grant decision in Washington went -the way it did. The rejected figure, it seemed to me, fell between -two schools. It suggested allegory; and yet it did not show that high -quality of imagination which must be had when allegory is suggested. -The figure that was taken is the figure of the great general, the great -leader of men. It is not the greatest type of statue for the very -reason that there is nothing of the allegorical, nothing of the highest -type of the imaginative in it. But it is a good statue. Now to my mind -your Sherman is the greatest statue of a commander in existence. But I -can say with all sincerity that I know of no man--of course of no one -living--who could have done it. To take grim, homely, old Sherman, the -type and ideal of a democratic general, and put with him an allegorical -figure such as you did, could result in but one of two ways--a -ludicrous failure or striking the very highest note of the sculptor's -art. Thrice over for the good fortune of our countrymen, it was given -to you to strike this highest note. - - Always faithfully yours, - THEODORE ROOSEVELT. - - Mr. Augustus Saint-Gaudens, - Aspet, Windsor, Vermont. - - - The Roosevelt-Saint-Gaudens Correspondence Concerning Coinage - - THE WHITE HOUSE - WASHINGTON - - Nov. 6, 1905. - - _My dear Saint-Gaudens_: - -How is that old gold coinage design getting along? I want to make -a suggestion. It seems to me worth while to try for a really good -coinage; though I suppose there will be a revolt about it! I was -looking at some gold coins of Alexander the Great to-day, and I was -struck by their high relief. Would it not be well to have our coins in -high relief, and also to have the rims raised? The point of having the -rims raised would be, of course, to protect the figure on the coin; -and if we have the figures in high relief, like the figures on the old -Greek coins, they will surely last longer. What do you think of this? - -With warm regards. - - Faithfully yours, - THEODORE ROOSEVELT. - - Mr. Augustus Saint-Gaudens, - Windsor, Vermont. - - - - - WINDSOR, VERMONT, Nov. 11, 1905. - - _Dear Mr. President_: - -You have hit the nail on the head with regard to the coinage. Of course -the great coins (and you might almost say the only coins) are the Greek -ones you speak of, just as the great medals are those of the fifteenth -century by Pisanello and Sperandio. Nothing would please me more than - - [Illustration] [Illustration] - -Obverse of the ten-dollar gold Obverse of the ten-dollar gold -piece, in high relief, and before piece with the Roosevelt feather -the addition of the head-dress, head-dress. Before the relief was -on President Roosevelt's suggestion. radically lowered for minting. - - - [Illustration] [Illustration] - -Liberty obverse of the Liberty obverse of the -twenty-dollar gold piece as twenty-dollar gold piece. The -finally designed. The relief, head-dress, President Roosevelt's -however, was made lower before idea, was later eliminated on this -minting. figure as too small to be - effective on the actual coin. - -to make the attempt in the direction of the heads of Alexander, but -the authorities on modern monetary requirements would, I fear, “throw -fits,” to speak emphatically, if the thing was done now. It would be -great if it could be accomplished and I do not see what the objection -would be if the edges were high enough to prevent rubbing. Perhaps an -inquiry from you would not receive the antagonistic reply from those -who have the say in such matters that would certainly be made to me. - -Up to the present I have done no work on the actual models for the -coins, but have made sketches, and the matter is constantly in my mind. -I have about determined on the composition of one side, which would -contain an eagle very much like the one I placed on your medal with -a modification that would be advantageous. On the other side I would -place a (possibly winged) figure of liberty striding energetically -forward as if on a mountain top holding aloft on one arm a shield -bearing the Stars and Stripes with the word “Liberty” marked across the -field, in the other hand, perhaps, a flaming torch. The drapery would -be flowing in the breeze. My idea is to make it a _living_ thing and -typical of progress. - -Tell me frankly what you think of this and what your ideas may be. I -remember you spoke of the head of an Indian. Of course that is always -a superb thing to do, but would it be a sufficiently clear emblem of -Liberty as required by law? - -I send you an old book on coins which I am certain you will find of -interest while waiting for a copy that I have ordered from Europe. - - Faithfully yours, - AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS. - - - THE WHITE HOUSE - WASHINGTON - - Nov. 14, 1905. - - _My dear Mr. Saint-Gaudens_: - -I have your letter of the 11th instant and return herewith the book on -coins, which I think you should have until you get the other one. I -have summoned all the mint people, and I am going to see if I cannot -persuade them that coins of the Grecian type but with the raised rim -will meet the commercial needs of the day. Of course I want to avoid -too heavy an outbreak of the mercantile classes, because after all -it is they who do use the gold. If we can have an eagle like that on -the Inauguration Medal, only raised, I should feel that we would be -awfully fortunate. Don't you think that we might accomplish something -by raising the figures more than at present but not as much as in the -Greek coins? Probably the Greek coins would be so thick that modern -banking houses, where they have to pile up gold, would simply be unable -to do so. How would it do to have a design struck off in a tentative -fashion--that is, to have a model made? I think your Liberty idea is -all right. Is it possible to make a Liberty with that Indian feather -head-dress? Would people refuse to regard it as a Liberty? The figure -of Liberty as you suggest would be beautiful. If we get down to -bed-rock facts would the feather head-dress be any more out of keeping -with the rest of Liberty than the canonical Phrygian cap which never is -worn and never has been worn by any free people in the world? - - Faithfully yours, - THEODORE ROOSEVELT. - - - Mr. Augustus Saint-Gaudens, - Windsor, Vermont. - - WINDSOR, VERMONT, Nov. 22, 1905. - - _Dear Mr. President_: - -Thank you for your letter of the 14th and the return of the book on -coins. - -I can perfectly well use the Indian head-dress on the figure of -Liberty. It should be very handsome. I have been at work for the last -two days on the coins and feel quite enthusiastic about it. - -I enclose a copy of a letter to Secretary Shaw which explains itself. -If you are of my opinion and will help, I shall be greatly obliged. - - Faithfully yours, - AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS. - -[Hand-written postscript.] - -I think something between the high relief of the Greek coins and the -extreme low relief of the modern work is possible, and as you suggest, -I will make a model with that in view. - - - WINDSOR, VERMONT, Nov. 22, 1905. - - HON. L. M. SHAW, - Secretary of the Treasury, - Washington, D. C. - - _Dear Sir_: - -I am now engaged on the models for the coinage. The law calls for, -viz., “On one side there shall be an impression emblematic of liberty, -with an inscription of the word 'liberty' and the year of the coinage.” -It occurs to me that the addition on this side of the coins of the word -“Justice” (or “Law,” preferably the former) would add force as well as -elevation to the meaning of the composition. At one time the words “In -God we trust” were placed on the coins. I am not aware that there was -authorization for that, but I may be mistaken. - -Will you kindly inform me whether what I suggest is possible. - - Yours very truly, - AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS. - - - THE WHITE HOUSE - WASHINGTON - - Nov. 24, 1905. - - _My dear Mr. Saint-Gaudens_: - -This is first class. I have no doubt we can get permission to put on -the word “Justice,” and I firmly believe that you can evolve something -that will not only be beautiful from the artistic standpoint, but -that, between the very high relief of the Greek and the very low relief -of the modern coins, will be adapted both to the mechanical necessities -of our mint production and the needs of modern commerce, and yet will -be worthy of a civilized people--which is not true of our present coins. - - Faithfully yours, - THEODORE ROOSEVELT. - - Mr. Augustus Saint-Gaudens, - Windsor, Vermont. - - - THE WHITE HOUSE - WASHINGTON - - Jan. 6, 1906. - - _My dear Saint-Gaudens_: - -I have seen Shaw about that coinage and told him that it was my pet -baby. We will try it anyway, so you go ahead. Shaw was really very -nice about it. Of course he thinks I am a mere crack-brained lunatic -on the subject, but he said with great kindness that there was always -a certain number of gold coins that had to be stored up in vaults, and -that there was no earthly objection to having those coins as artistic -as the Greeks could desire. (I am paraphrasing his words, of course.) I -think it will seriously increase the mortality among the employees of -the mint at seeing such a desecration, but they will perish in a good -cause! - - Always yours, - THEODORE ROOSEVELT. - - Mr. Augustus Saint-Gaudens, - Windsor, Vermont. - - - THE WHITE HOUSE - WASHINGTON - - - October 1, 1906. - - Personal - - _My dear Mr. Saint-Gaudens_: - -The mint people have come down, as you can see from the enclosed letter -which is in answer to a rather dictatorial one I sent to the Secretary -of the Treasury. When can we get that design for the twenty-dollar -gold piece? I hate to have to put on the lettering, but under the law -I have no alternative; yet in spite of the lettering I think, my dear -sir, that you have given us a coin as wonderful as any of the old Greek -coins. I do not want to bother you, but do let me have it as quickly as -possible. I would like to have the coin well on the way to completion -by the time Congress meets. - -It was such a pleasure seeing your son the other day. - -Please return Director Roberts' letter to me when you have noted it. - - Sincerely yours, - THEODORE ROOSEVELT. - - Mr. Augustus Saint-Gaudens, - Windsor, Vermont. - - - THE WHITE HOUSE - WASHINGTON - - December 11, 1906. - - _My dear Mr. Saint-Gaudens_: - -I hate to trouble you, but it is very important that I should have the -models for those coins at once. How soon may I have them? - -With all good wishes, believe me, - Sincerely yours, - THEODORE ROOSEVELT. - - Mr. Augustus Saint-Gaudens, - Windsor, Vermont. - - - WINDSOR, VERMONT, December 19, 1906. - - _Dear Mr. President_: - -I am afraid from the letter sent you on the fourteenth with the models -for the Twenty-Dollar Gold piece that you will think the coin I sent -you was unfinished. This is not the case. It is the final and completed -model, but I hold myself in readiness to make any such modifications as -may be required in the reproduction of the coin. - -This will explain the words, “test model” on the back of each model. - - Faithfully yours, - AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS. - - - THE WHITE HOUSE - WASHINGTON - - December 20, 1906. - - _My dear Saint-Gaudens_: - -Those models are simply immense--if such a slang way of talking is -permissible in reference to giving a modern nation one coinage at least -which shall be as good as that of the ancient Greeks. I have instructed -the Director of the Mint that these dies are to be reproduced just as -quickly as possible and just as they are. It is simply splendid. I -suppose I shall be impeached for it in Congress; but I shall regard -that as a very cheap payment! - -With heartiest regards, - Faithfully yours, - THEODORE ROOSEVELT. - - Mr. Augustus Saint-Gaudens, - Windsor, Vermont. - - - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Why should a great statue have in it something of the - allegorical? - - 2. Describe Mr. Saint-Gaudens' statue of General Sherman. - - 3. What does the first letter show concerning Mr. Roosevelt's - opinion of the art of sculpture? - - 4. In what ways are the old Greek coins beautiful? - - 5. Point out essay-like freedom in the use of English. - - 6. Point out passages that are notably personal. - - 7. What were Mr. Roosevelt's plans for the making of United States - coins? - - 8. What were Mr. Saint-Gaudens' plans? - - 9. Draw from the letters material for an essay on coinage. - - 10. Show in what respects the letters have something of the spirit - of the essay. - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. A letter suggesting an inter-school debate. - - 2. A letter inviting a graduate of the school to act as judge at a - debate. - - 3. A letter inviting a prominent citizen to address a society of - which you are a member. - - 4. A letter telling of your experiences in a place that you are - visiting for the first time. - - 5. A letter giving your opinion of a book that you have read - recently. - - 6. A letter telling your plans for the coming vacation. - - 7. A letter concerning the use of an athletic field. - - 8. A letter inviting the graduates of your school to come to a - school festival or entertainment. - - 9. A letter concerning music in your school. - - 10. A letter giving an excuse for absence. - - 11. A letter concerning work in photography. - - 12. A letter concerning the work of prominent athletes. - - 13. A letter concerning arrangements for class day exercises. - - 14. A letter concerning graduation week. - - 15. A letter to a teacher who has left the school. - - 16. A letter to a person much older than you. - - 17. A letter to a school in a foreign country. - - 18. A letter to a school in another State. - - 19. A letter written, in the name of your class, for publication in - the school annual. - - 20. A letter of congratulation. - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -Write your letter so that it will express a definite and practical -proposal. Express your own individual opinion modestly and tactfully. -Use language that will thoroughly represent yourself. Try, in all -ways possible, to avoid making your letter heavy, “cut-and-dried,” -conventional, and purely formal. - - - - - THE SYMBOLIC STORY - - - - - HI-BRASIL - By RALPH DURAND - - - _An English traveller, soldier and author, who is still young and - who has “followed the Sea Maid” over every ocean. Like the English - poet, John Masefield, he served for a time as a sailor before - the mast. He has seen life intimately in various out-of-the-way - places, such as the South Sea Islands, Central Africa, and the - Arctic Regions. In the World War he performed patriotic duty in the - trenches and on Intelligence Staffs._ - - =_Hi-Brasil_ is a charming and fascinating story, a symbolic - narrative that most artistically combines realism and fancy, and - appeals to the unfulfilled longings that every reader possesses.= - - =What is Hi-Brasil? It is the “Never-Never-Land,” the land of - dreams, the land of longings. In this story it is specifically - the land where the lost ships go. Who is the Sea Maid? She is the - Spirit of Adventure, the love of whom calls men ever restlessly - on. In this story she is the Spirit of the Sea. How skilfully - Mr. Durand describes her in sea-words: “With sea-blue eyes” and - “Wind-blown” hair; her laugh “Like the ripple of a stream that runs - over a pebbly beach”; her song “Like the surge of breakers on a - distant reef”; herself “As old as the sea, and a little older than - the hills.”= - - =No one but a lover of the sea, and a lover also of bold enterprise - and high deeds, could have written such a story, emphasizing as it - does somewhat of the theme of Longfellow's _Excelsior_ and Poe's - _Eldorado_--= - - =“Over the mountains - Of the moon, - Down the Valley of the Shadow, - Ride! Boldly ride!... - If you seek for Eldorado!”= - - =“I've never sailed the Amazon, - I've never reached Brazil; - But the _Don_ and _Magdalena_, - They can go there when they will!”= - - -Peter Luscombe was the dullest man that ever audited an account. -Once when his neighbor at a dinner-party, having heard that he was -an authority on marine insurance, quoted Longfellow about “the -beauty and the mystery of the ships and the magic of the sea,” Peter -looked embarrassed and turned the conversation to the subject of -charter-parties. - -His life was as carefully regulated as Big Ben. He caught the same -train every morning, dined at the same hour every evening, indexed his -private correspondence, and for recreation read Price's “Calculations.” -On Saturday afternoons he played golf. - -One Summer a business matter took Peter to St. Mawes, and on his way -there he met the Sea Maid. To get to St. Mawes he had to cross Falmouth -Harbor by the public ferry. - -Though till then he had had no more direct personal experience of the -sea than can be obtained from the Promenade at Hove, Peter was so -little interested in his surroundings that he spent the first part -of the ferry journey making notes of his personal expenditure since -leaving London, including tips, on the last page of his pocket-diary. -Midway across the harbor he chanced to look up and saw a yawl-rigged -fishing-boat--subconsciously he noticed the name _Maeldune_ painted on -her bows--running before the wind in the direction of Falmouth Quay. -An old, white-haired man, whose cheeks were the color of an Autumn -leaf, was sitting amidships tending the sheets, and at the tiller sat a -girl--a girl with sea-blue eyes and untidy, wind-blown, dark-brown hair. - -She was bending forward, peering under the arched foot of the mainsail, -when Peter first caught sight of her. Their eyes met; the girl -smiled--and Peter dropped his pocket-diary into the dirty water that -washed about the ferryman's boots and stared after the _Maeldune_ till -he could no longer distinguish her among the other small craft in the -harbor. - -When the ferry-boat reached St. Mawes and discharged her other -passengers Peter remained in her, and on the return journey sat in the -bows straining his eyes to pick out the _Maeldune_ among the other -fishing-boats. Falmouth Harbor is two and a half miles wide, and the -ferryman refused to be hurried; but at last the quay came in sight, and -Peter's heart leaped, for the _Maeldune_ was lying at the steps, and -the girl was still on board of her. As soon as the ferry-boat reached -the steps Peter jumped ashore and faced the girl. Then he hesitated, -embarrassed. He had nothing to say to her, or, rather, no excuse for -speaking to her. “I--I--I saw you--as you came up the harbor,” he -faltered. - -But the girl showed no sign of embarrassment. She smiled at him again, -and her smile was brighter than sunlight shining through the curl of a -breaking wave. - -“I'm just going out for a sail again,” she said, “and I've room for a -passenger. Old John has just gone to have a yarn with the sailmaker. -Would you care to come?” - -Peter jumped onto the _Maeldune's_ thwart, and the girl cast off and -hoisted the sail. “I'm afraid I don't know anything about sailing,” -said Peter. - -The girl laughed, and her laugh sounded like the ripple of a stream -that runs over a pebbly beach. - -“That doesn't matter,” she said; “I can manage the old _Maeldune_ -single-handed.” - -They beat down the harbor, rounded the Loze, and stood out in the -direction of mid-channel. Peter was entirely happy. The wind was -blowing fresh from the southwest, and the _Maeldune_ danced lightly -over the waves like a thing alive, her thwarts aslant and her lee-rail -just clear of the water. - -“This is glorious,” said Peter. “Do you know, this is the first time I -have ever been on the sea.” - -“It won't be the last,” said the girl. - -For a long while neither spoke again. Peter did not want to talk. He -was content to watch the Sea Maid as she sat at the tiller, looking -toward the horizon with dreamy eyes and crooning to herself a wordless -song that sounded like the surge of breakers on a distant reef. - -“What song is that?” he asked after a long silence. - -“That is the song that Orpheus sang to the _Argo_ when she lay on the -stocks and all the strength of the heroes could not launch her. Then -Orpheus struck his lyre and sang of the open sea and all the wonders -that are beyond the farthest horizon, till the _Argo_ so yearned to be -afloat with a fair wind behind her that she spread her sails of her own -accord and glided down the beach into the water.” - -“I hadn't heard about it,” said Peter. The story was so fantastically -impossible that he supposed that the girl was chaffing him. - -“You are young, surely, to handle a boat by yourself,” he said. “Don't -think me rude. How old are you?” - -“As old as the sea, and a little older than the hills.” - -Now Peter was sure that the girl was chaffing him. - -Neither spoke again. Occasionally the girl looked at him and smiled, -and her smile was the most beautiful thing that Peter had ever known. -Toward evening they turned and sailed back, right in the golden path of -the sinking sun. Slowly the old town of Falmouth took shape; the houses -became distinct, then the people on the quay. Peter sighed because he -was coming back to the shore again, and because for the first time in -his life he had tasted absolute happiness. - -Close to the quay the girl threw the boat up in the wind, ran forward -and lowered the head-sails, and then ran back to the tiller. The -_Maeldune_ came gently up to the landing-stage. Peter jumped ashore and -turned, expecting that the girl would follow, but she pushed off and -began to hoist the head-sails again. - -“May I--may I see you again?” said Peter, as the gap widened between -the boat and the shore. - -The Sea Maid laughed. - -“If you come to Hi-Brasil,” she said. - -Peter walked slowly in the direction of Fore Street, then realized -that he needed some more definite address if he were to see the girl -again. He hurried back to the landing-stage and looked eagerly for the -_Maeldune_. She was nowhere in sight. - -“Did you see a little sailing-boat leave the steps about five minutes -ago?” he asked a man who was lounging on the quay. “Which way did she -go?” - -“What rig?” - -“I don't know what you call it--one big mast and one little one.” - -“A yawl. There's been no yawls in here this afternoon.” - -Peter inwardly cursed the man's stupidity and walked dejectedly -away. He dreamed of the Sea Maid that night, and in the morning told -himself that he was a fool. He had had an hour or so of happiness with -a jolly girl who evidently did not wish to continue the acquaintance. -Obviously, the sensible thing to do was to forget all about her. But -he could not forget. Work became impossible. When he tried to write -the laughing face of the Sea Maid danced before his eyes, and when -clients talked to him he could not listen, for the song she had sung -rang in his ears. He went back to Falmouth determined to see her again, -and not till he reached the Cornish port did he realize the futility -of his search. How was he to make inquiries as to the whereabouts of -two people of whom he knew nothing more definite than that the man was -white-haired and bronzed, and that the girl, when last seen, had worn a -white jersey and a blue-serge skirt? - - * * * * * - -A month later he was an unwilling guest at a reception given by a -famous London hostess. The rooms were packed with a well-dressed crowd -who walked about rather aimlessly, talking on the stairs or listening -to music in one or other of the reception-rooms. Suddenly Peter's heart -stood still for a moment. Clear above the chatter he heard the Sea -Girl's voice. He was standing at the head of the stairs and she was -singing in one of the adjoining rooms, - - I've never sailed the Amazon, - I've never reached Brazil; - But the _Don_ and _Magdalena_, - They can go there when they will! - - Yes, weekly from Southampton, - Great steamers, white and gold, - Go rolling down to Rio - (Roll down--roll down to Rio!), - And I'd like to roll to Rio - Some day before I'm old! - -The doorway into the room from which he could hear the Sea Maid's voice -was so crowded with people that it was some minutes before Peter could -edge his way into the room. By that time the song was over and the -singer had gone. Peter made inquiries from a man standing near, and -was told that she had left the room by another door. He sought out -his hostess and asked her to introduce him to the lady who had sung -“Rolling down to Rio.” But his hostess could not help him. She admitted -reluctantly that she knew no more of the singer than that she was a -professional entertainer engaged through the medium of a concert agent -and that she had probably already left the house. Peter followed up the -clue. Next morning, after inquiry from the agent, he rang the bell of -a tiny flat in Maida Vale and stood with beating heart waiting for the -door to open. - -Five minutes later he was out in the street again, bitterly -disappointed. The lady he had seen was able to prove indisputably that -it was she who had sung “Rolling down to Rio,” but she bore not the -slightest resemblance to the Sea Maiden. To cover his confusion and -excuse his visit, Peter had engaged her to sing at a charity concert -that he had invented on the spur of the moment, had insisted on paying -her fee in advance, and had left the flat, promising to send details of -the place and date of the engagement by post. - - * * * * * - -That evening, brooding in his lonely chambers, Peter, who till -then had prided himself on believing nothing that is not based on -the fundamental fact that two and two make four, became obsessed -by the idea that the Sea Maid had sent him a spirit-message, using -the unconscious professional entertainer as her medium. He tried -to shake off the idea, telling himself that it was fantastic and -ridiculous, but gradually it overmastered him. At eleven o'clock he -rose from his chair, picked up the _Times_, and consulted the shipping -advertisements. Five minutes later he rang for his man servant. - -“Buck up and pack, Higgins,” he said. “I'm off to Brazil. You haven't -too much time. Boat-train leaves Waterloo at midday to-morrow.” - -“To Brazil, sir? Isn't that one of those foreign places?” - -“Yes. Why? What are you staring at? Why shouldn't I go to Brazil?” - -“Shall you want me, sir?” - -“You can come if you like.” - -“If it's all the same to you, sir, I'd rather----” - -“Man alive! I thought you'd have jumped at the chance. Don't you want -to go rolling down to Rio? Can't you feel the magic of it--even in the -mere words? Wouldn't you like to see the armadillo dilloing in his -armor----?” - -“I'd better get on with the packing, sir.” - -Higgins was convinced that his master had suddenly “gone balmy.” - -Before sunset next evening Peter again saw the Sea Maid. - -The _R. M. S. Maranhão_, outward bound for Rio de Janeiro, had just -left St. Alban's Head abeam when she passed a full-rigged ship bound -down-channel so closely that Peter could see the men on board of her. -Her tug had just left her and she was setting all sails. One by one the -sails fluttered free and swelled to the soft breeze. Men were lying out -on the upper topsail-yards casting loose the gaskets, and others on -deck were running up the royals to the tune of a chantey, - - Sing a song of Ranzo, boys, - Ranzo, boys, Ranzo. - -A crisp wave curled from her bows, a long wake of gleaming foam -streamed astern of her, and she curtsied gracefully on the swell as if -gravely saluting the larger, newer vessel. The _Maranhão_ passed under -her stern, and as she passed Peter, looking down on her poop, saw the -Sea Maid. And the Sea Maid saw him and waved her hand as the great -mail-steamer surged past. - -“D'you know that vessel?” asked Peter eagerly of a ship's officer who -was standing near him. - -“She's the _Sea Sprite_. Cleared from Southampton early this morning. -Bound for Rio in ballast for hides.” - -“Bound for Rio? Splendid!” said Peter. “How long will it take her to -get there? I know some one on board.” - -“A month--more or less. Who's your pal?” - -“That girl that waved her hand to me.” - -The ship's officer focused his binoculars on the _Sea Sprite_. - -“There's no girl on her deck. Girls very seldom travel on wind-jammers -nowadays. Look for yourself.” - -Peter took the glasses, and again saw the Sea Maid quite -distinctly--but he did not care to argue about it. - -While waiting at Rio de Janeiro Peter took care to make friends with -the port authorities, and arranged with them to let him have the first -news that they had of the _Sea Sprite_. - -At last one morning found him in the customs launch, steaming out to -the roadstead where the _Sea Sprite_, her anchor down, was stowing -her canvas. As soon as the quarantine doctor gave permission Peter -scrambled up the ship's side and looked eagerly round her deck. The Sea -Maid was not there. He could hardly contain himself until he could find -an opportunity to ask for her. - -“I passed you in the Channel, Captain,” he said, “and I saw a lady -on your deck who is an old friend of mine. May I speak to her?” The -captain shook his head. - -“Must have been some other ship,” he said. “We've got no ladies aboard.” - -Peter's heart sank. - -“I suppose you dropped her at some port on the way.” - -“We haven't smelled harbor mud since we left Southampton Water,” said -the skipper. “You're making a mistake, mister. Why, you look as if you -thought I was lying. Take a look at the ship's articles, then, if you -don't believe me. Stands to reason, doesn't it, that if I had a woman -aboard her name would be on the articles?” - -Peter returned to the shore, bitterly disappointed and hardly -convinced that he had been mistaken. He booked a passage on the next -homeward-bound steamer. On the homeward voyage he fell in love with an -old lady, one of those women whose personality is so magnetic that they -can draw the innermost secrets out of a young man's heart. One evening, -when the sea was ablaze with splendor under the moon, he told her of -the Sea Maid, and found it eased his longing to talk of her. The old -lady understood. - -“You'll see your Sea Maid again,” she said. “I'm sure of it. But -perhaps not in this life.” - -But Peter refused to give up hope of seeing the Sea Maid in the flesh. -When he got back to London he sought an interview with one of the most -eminent members of the Royal Geographical Society. - -“I want you to tell me where Hi-Brasil is,” he said. “I want to go -there.” - -“Then you'll have to wait till you die,” said the geographer with a -laugh. - -“What do you mean?” - - * * * * * - -“Hi-Brasil is a purely mythical island, like St. Brendan's, The -Fortunate Islands, Avalon, and Lyonnesse, that ancient and medieval -geographers supposed to be somewhere out in the Atlantic. They've -served their purpose. If nobody had ever believed in them it is -probable that America would not have been discovered yet. The myth of -Hi-Brasil's existence took a long time to die. Venetian geographers -of the Middle Ages supposed it to be somewhere near the Azores, and -until 1830 Purdy's chart of the Atlantic marked 'Brasil Rock (High)' -in latitude fifty-one degrees ten minutes north, and longitude fifteen -degrees fifty minutes west--that is, about two hundred miles westward -of the Irish coast.” - -“But isn't it possible that there really is such an island?” persisted -Peter. “The sea is a big place, you know.” - -“Absolutely impossible,” said the geographer. “Why, the spot indicated -by Purdy is right in the track of steamers going from England to -Newfoundland. If you want to read about Hi-Brasil you must read old -books, published before geography was an exact science.” - -Though he knew it was useless Peter followed the advice given him and -eagerly read every book he could find that had any bearing on the -subject--Rubruquis, Hakluyt, Linschoten, and many others--and to his -delight he found that his reading brought him nearer to his Sea Maiden. -After an evening spent in imagination exploring the coast of Vinland -with Leif Ericsson, or rounding North Cape with Othere, or groping -blindly in the unknown Atlantic with Malacello, he almost invariably -dreamed that he and the Sea Maiden were once more sailing together in -the little _Maeldune_. - -It was after reading, first in Longfellow and afterward in Hakluyt, -about Othere's voyage to the Northern Seas, that Peter saw an -advertisement of a holiday cruise through the Norwegian fiords to -Spitzbergen. He booked a passage, saw the bleak, storm-harried point -that Othere was the first to round, and, on his way home, saw the Sea -Girl again. Just south of the Dogger Bank the tourist-steamer passed -a disreputable-looking tramp steamer. Half of her plates were painted -a crude red; others were brown with rust; the awning stanchions on -her bridge were twisted and bent; she had a heavy list to starboard, -and she was staggering southward under a heavy deck-cargo of timber. -On the bridge, leaning against the tattered starboard-dodger, the Sea -Maid stood and waved her hand to him. Peter eagerly sought out a ship's -officer. - -“Where's that steamer bound for?” he asked. - -“Goodness knows!” was the answer. “South Wales, most likely, as she's -carrying pit-props.” - -Hope of seeing the Sea Girl in the flesh again returned, and Peter -wasted the next few weeks vainly searching all the South Wales -coal ports. He had given up the search, and was returning to his -much-neglected business when the South Wales-London express stopped for -a moment on the bridge over the Wye near Newport. Peter looked idly -out of the window at the dirty river flowing sluggishly between banks -of greasy mud. Then his heart leaped again. Lying embedded in the mud -far below were the rotting remains of a derelict barge, and on her deck -were some ragged children hauling lustily on a scrap of rope that they -had fastened to one of the barge's bollards and singing what, no doubt, -they supposed to be a chantey. Standing on the barge's rotting deck was -the Sea Maid. This time she not only waved her hand but called to him, -“We are bound for the Spanish Main.” Peter leaned far out of the window -of the railway-carriage. - -“Where can I find you?” he shouted. - -“In Hi-Brasil,” was the answer, and the train moved on. - -Peter was now convinced that the eminent geographer whom he had -consulted as to the whereabouts of Hi-Brasil had not known what he -was talking about. It must, he decided, be some little Cornish fishing -village, too insignificant to be worth the great man's notice. - -In pursuit of this idea he went at once to Falmouth and began to -make inquiries, first at the police stations and post-offices, and -afterward among the fishermen. At Falmouth no one could answer his -questions, till at last an old gray-beard told him that he'd heard of -the place and believed it was somewhere farther west. At Penzance and -Newlyn Peter could hear nothing, and he walked westward to Mousehole, -determined that if he heard nothing there he would go on to the Scilly -Islands. At Mousehole people laughed at him. One man to whom he spoke -was so amused that he called out to a group of fishermen standing on -the quay waiting for the tide to float their boats. - -“Gen'elman wants to know where Hi-Brasil is.” - -“Then he'll have to go farther west,” said one. - -“To the Scillies?” asked Peter. - -“Aye, and farther than that.” - -“A long way farther than that,” said another. “It's an old wives' tale, -mister. Stout ships that sail westward and never come back to port -again have their last moorings at Hi-Brasil, so the saying goes. You -ask Old John there. He's the only man that talks about Hi-Brasil, and -he's daft.” - -An old man whose broad back was bent with the weight of many years was -hobbling toward him, and Peter knew that at last he was on the right -track. The old fisherman who was coming down the quay was none other -than the man he had seen sailing in the _Maeldune_ with the Sea Girl. - -“Hi-Brasil?” asked Old John. “What d'you want with Hi-Brasil?” - -“I want to go there.” - -“Then I'm the man to take 'ee. But mark 'ee, mister, I can't bring 'ee -back.” - -“Never mind about that,” said Peter. “You take me. I'll pay you well.” - -“Time enough to talk about payment when we get there,” said the old -man. “When do 'ee want to start?” - -“At once, if possible.” - -“If 'ee really want to go us can start at half-flood.” - -Peter assured the old man that he was in earnest, and the latter -hobbled away over the cobbles, promising to be back in an hour's time. - - * * * * * - -“You're never going to sea with Old John, are you, mister?” said one -of the fishermen anxiously. “He was a rare bold seaman in his day, but -his day has passed this many a year. He was old when we were boys. Old -John says he'll last as long as a deep-sea wind-jammer remains afloat. -But he's daft. You oughtn't to listen to him. It's all old wives' -foolishness about Hi-Brasil.” - -But Peter would not be dissuaded, and an hour later, when the -pilchard-boats jostled each other between the Mousehole pier-heads, and -spread across Mount's Bay for sea-room, Peter and John, in a crazy old -mackerel-boat, went with them. The setting sun gleamed on the brown -sails of the pilchard fleet, and Peter drew a deep breath of delight. -He knew that he would soon see the Sea Maid again. - -At midnight the pilchard fleet was a line of riding lights on the -horizon behind them. When the sun rose the Scillies lay to the north of -them. Passing under the lofty Head of Peninnis, they exchanged hails -with a fisherman of St. Mary's who was hauling his lobster-pots. - -“Going far?” asked the fisherman. - -“Aye, far enough,” answered John. - -“Looks like it's coming on to blow from the east,” said the fisherman. - -“Like enough,” answered John, and they passed out of hearing. - -By midday a fresh wind was blowing. The mackerel-boat's faded, -much-patched sails tugged at her mast, and she groaned as she leaped -from the tops of the waves. - -“Afeard, be 'ee?” asked Old John. - -“Not I,” said Peter. - -“The harder it blows, the quicker we'll get there,” said John, and not -another word was said. - -By night-time it was blowing a gale. A driving, following sea hustled -and banged the boat from wave to wave, and the night fell so dark that -Peter could not see the old man sitting motionless at the tiller, -except when a wave broke in foam and formed a great white background -behind him. Peter felt no fear. He knew with the certainty that admits -of no argument that he was on his way at last to his beloved. - -The wind hummed in the boat's rigging with a droning note like that -of the Sea Maid's song. The waves washed along her counter, flinging -aboard stinging showers of spray that drenched Peter as he sat on the -midship thwart. The jib flapped and tugged at its sheet when her stern -rose on a wave and groaned with the strain as her bow lifted. Each -time she strained streams of water gushed through her crazy seams. At -last a fierce gust of wind drove her nose so deep into the water that -it poured in a cascade over her bows, and then a great, curving comber -broke over them. Peter was washed from his seat and jammed between the -mast and the leech of the mainsail as the water rose over his head. - - * * * * * - -When Peter recovered consciousness the sun was shining, the air was -warm, the sea still, and the mackerel-boat, with Old John still at the -tiller, was entering the mouth of a great land-locked harbor. Cliffs, -gay with heather and golden gorse, sheltered it from the wind. The -lazy, offshore breeze was fragrant with the smell of thyme. Shoals of -fish played in the clear water, and on the far side a stream of fresh -water rippled over golden sand. - -Peter rubbed his eyes and looked around him with amazement. The harbor -was thronged with shipping of every size, shape, and rig: yachts and -smacks, schooners and ketches, tramp steamers and ocean-liners, barks -and full-rigged ships, galleys and galleons, cogs and caracks, dromons -and balingers, aphracts and cataphracts. - -“See that vessel?” said Old John, as they passed under the stern of a -stoutly built brig. “That's Franklin's ship, the _Terror_--crushed in -the ice, she was, off Beechey Island in the Arctic. And that little -craft alongside of her is the _Revenge_. She sank in the Azores after -fighting fifty-three Spaniards for a day and a night. Away over there -is what they used to call a trireme. Cleared from the Port of Tyre, she -did, when I was young, and foundered off Marazion, just where we left -the pilchard fleet.” - -But Peter was not listening. He was eagerly watching a yawl that was -scudding toward them; for the yawl was the _Maeldune_, and under the -arched foot of her mainsail the Sea Maid was smiling a greeting. - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS - - 1. Why did the author make his hero “the dullest man that ever - audited an account”? - - 2. Point out, and explain, all the classical and literary - allusions. - - 3. Why did the author make his story so largely realistic? - - 4. What is the effect of the songs? - - 5. How does the author make his story clear? - - 6. Comment on the author's use of conversation. - - 7. In what respects is the story poetic? - - 8. What effect does Old John contribute to the story? - - 9. What is the effect of the abrupt ending? - - 10. What makes the story unusually artistic? - - - SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN IMITATION - - 1. Utopia 11. The World of Puck and - Oberon - 2. Castles in Spain 12. The Summit of Olympus - 3. The Fountain of Youth 13. Eldorado - 4. Arcadia 14. St. Brendan's Isle - 5. The Garden of the 15. Lyonesse - Hesperides - 6. Over the Mountains 16. The Fortunate Islands - 7. The Happy Valley 17. The Land of the Lotus - 8. The Land of Dreams 18. The Lost Atlantis - 9. The Isle of Avalon 19. At Camelot - 10. The Enchanted World 20. The Land of Heart's Delight - - - DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING - -It is not easy to write, even with only a small degree of success, -so happily suggestive a story as _Hi-Brasil_. Such a story is the -product both of experience and of art. - -The best that you can do is to think of some longing that has -possessed you, as the longing for the sea possessed the author of -_Hi-Brasil_. Take some prosaic character, not usually moved by -such longings as your own, and show him brought strongly under -the influence of a great desire. Make your story so realistic that it -will seem true, and so symbolic that it will be at once poetic and -capable of conveying a strong idea. 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