Chapter I: Front Matter

JOURNEYS THROUGH BOOKLAND

A New and Original Plan For Reading Applied To The World's Best Literature For Children

BY

CHARLES H. SYLVESTER Author of English and American Literature

VOLUME FOUR

CONTENTS

BETTER THAN GOLD ......................................... Father Ryan

My HEART LEAPS UP.................................. William Wordsworth

THE BAREFOOT BOY ............................. John Greenleaf Whittier

RAIN ON THE ROOF ....................................... Coates Kinney

CID CAMPEADOR

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG ..................... Oliver Goldsmith

MOTHER'S WAY ............................................. Father Ryan

SONG OF THE BROOK .................................... Alfred Tennyson

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ........................... Grace E. Sellon

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS ....................... Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

To H. W. L. ..................................... James Russell Lowell

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH .................... Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS ................. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A DOG OF FLANDERS ................................. Louise de la Ramee

ALICE AND PHOEBE CARY ................................... Anna McCaleb

NEARER HOME .............................................. Phoebe Cary

PICTURES OF MEMORY ........................................ Alice Cary

THE ESCAPE FROM PRISON ........................... Sir Samuel W. Baker

STORIES OF THE CREATION

THE DEFINITION OF A GENTLEMAN ........................ Cardinal Newman

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER .................................. Alexander Pope

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP .......................... Robert Browning

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE .................................. Grace E. Sellon

THE PINE-TREE SHILLINGS........................... Nathaniel Hawthorne

LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND .. Felicia Browne Hemans

THE SUNKEN TREASURE .............................. Nathaniel Hawthorne

THE HUTCHINSON MOB ............................... Nathaniel Hawthorne

THE BOSTON MASSACRE .............................. Nathaniel Hawthorne

SHERIDAN'S RIDE ................................. Thomas Buchanan Read

JOAN OF ARC ........................................ Thomas de Quincey

PANCRATIUS .......................................... Cardinal Wiseman

ALFRED THE GREAT ..................................... Charles Dickens

THE BURIAL OF MOSES .......................... Cecil Frances Alexander

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO ................................... Felicia Hemans

DAVID

CHEVY-CHASE ........................................... Richard Sheale

THE ATTACK ON THE CASTLE ............................ Sir Walter Scott

THE DEATH OF HECTOR ............................... From Homer's Iliad

THE WOODEN HORSE ................................ From Vergil's Aeneid

JOHN BUNYAN

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS ................................... John Bunyan

AWAY ............................................ James Whitcomb Riley

LITTLE GIFFIN OF TENNESSEE

LITTLE BREECHES ............................................. John Hay

THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL" ........................... W. S. Gilbert

KATEY'S LETTER ......................................... Lady Dufferin

THE ARICKARA INDIANS ............................... Washington Irving

ILLUSTRATIONS

REBECCA AT THE WINDOW (Color Plate) Louis Grell

THE BAREFOOT BOY Iris Weddell White

RAIN ON THE ROOF Lucille Enders

RODRIGO AND THE LEPER Donn P. Crane

MARTIN PELAEZ SLEW A GOOD KNIGHT Donn P. Crane

ALVAR FANEZ WENT His WAY TO CASTILL Donn P. Crane

THE DEFEAT OF ALMOFALEZ Donn P. Crane

THEY WENT OUT FROM VALENCIA AT MIDNIGHT Donn P. Crane

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (Halftone)

HOME OF LONGFELLOW AT CAMBRIDGE (Halftone)

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH Herbert N. Rudeen

HE BOUND HER TO THE MAST G. H. Mitchell

RESCUE OF PATRASCHE Holling Clancy

NELLO AND PATRASCHE Holling Clancy

NELLO LEFT HIS PICTURE AT THE DOOR Holling Clancy

ALICE CARY (Halftone)

IN THAT DIM OLD FOREST Mildred Lyon

ANCHOR Louis Grell

HE SLIPPED A GUINEA INTO HER HAND Louis Grell

HE WRENCHED THE BAR ASUNDER Louis Grell

LEONTINE Louis Grell

"WE'VE GOT YOU RATISBON!" Herbert N. Rudeen

HAWTHORNE'S WAYSIDE (Halftone)

HANDFUL AFTER HANDFUL WAS THROWN IN Mildred Lyon

UP CAME TREASURE IN ABUNDANCE Herbert N. Rudeen

"FATHER, DO YOU NOT HEAR?" Herbert N. Rudeen

THE RIOTERS BROKE INTO THE HOUSE Herbert N. Rudeen

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE (Halftone)

THE SOLDIERS FIRED Herbert N. Rudeen

THE STEED SWEPT ON Herbert N. Rudeen

JOAN OF ARC (Halftone)

ALFRED ALLOWS THE CAKES TO BURN Louis Grell

DAVID MEETS GOLIATH Louis Grell

SAUL SOUGHT TO SMITE DAVID Louis Grell

JONATHAN SHOOTS THE ARROWS Louis Grell

DAVID AND JONATHAN Louis Grell

THE MAN RUNNETH ALONE Louis Grell

"IS THE YOUNG MAN, ABSALOM, SAFE?" Louis Grell

IVANHOE WAS IMPATIENT AT HIS INACTIVITY Louis Grell

THE BLACK KNIGHT AT THE GATE OF THE CASTLE Louis Grell

ULRICA LOCKS THE DOOR Louis Grell

BEFORE HIS BREAST THE FLAMING SHIELD HE BEARS Roy Appel

THE WOODEN HORSE Roy Appel

LAOCOÖN (Halftone)

ULYSSES OUTWITTED THE CYCLOPS Arthur Henderson

ULYSSES GAVE THE ARROW WING Arthur Henderson

JOHN BUNYAN (Halftone)

HE LOOKED NOT BEHIND HIM Donn P. Crane

IN THE SLOUGH OR DESPOND Donn P. Crane

THE FIGHT WITH APOLLYON Donn P. Crane

IN DOUBTING CASTLE Donn P. Crane

THE CELESTIAL CITY Donn P. Crane

WENT TEAM, LITTLE BREECHES, AND ALL Herbert N. Rudeen

"FOR DON'T YOU SEE THAT YOU CAN'T COOK ME?" Herbert N. Rudeen

TRADING FOR HORSES R. F. Babcock

RETURN OF THE WARRIORS R. F. Babcock

BETTER THAN GOLD

Better than grandeur, better than gold,
Than rank and titles a thousand fold,
Is a healthy body, a mind at ease,
And simple pleasures' that always please.
A heart that can feel for another's woe,
And share his joys with a genial glow,
With sympathies large enough to enfold
All men as brothers, is better than gold.

Better than gold is a conscience clear,
Though toiling for bread in an humble sphere,
Doubly blessed with content and health,
Untried by the lusts and cares of wealth,
Lowly living and lofty thought
Adorn and ennoble a poor man's cot;
For mind and morals in nature's plan
Are the genuine tests of a gentleman.

Better than gold is the sweet repose
Of the sons of toil when the labors close;
Better than gold is the poor man's sleep,
And the balm that drops on his slumbers deep.
Bring sleeping draughts to the downy bed,
Where luxury pillows its aching head,
The toiler simple opiate deems
A shorter route to the land of dreams.

Better than gold is a thinking mind,
That in the realm of books can find
A treasure surpassing Australian ore,
And live with the great and good of yore.
The sage's lore and the poet's lay,
The glories of empires passed away;
The world's great drama will thus unfold
And yield a pleasure better than gold.

Better than gold is a peaceful home
Where all the fireside characters come,
The shrine of love, the heaven of life,
Hallowed by mother, or sister, or wife.
However humble the home may be,
Or tried with sorrow by heaven's decree,
The blessings that never were bought or sold,
And center there, are better than gold.

MY HEART LEAPS UP

_By_ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

THE BAREFOOT BOY

_By_ JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; From my heart I give thee joy,-- I was once a barefoot boy! Prince thou art,--the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride! Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye,-- Outward sunshine, inward joy; Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase, Of the wild flower's time and place, Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well; How the robin feeds her young, How the oriole's nest is hung; Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries blow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans! For, eschewing books and tasks Nature answers all he asks;

Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy,-- Blessings on the barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for. I was rich in flowers and trees, Humming-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade; For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone; Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night,-- Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine, on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides! Still as my horizon grew, Larger grew my riches too; All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

O for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread; Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rude! O'er me, like a regal tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-swung fold; While for music came the play Of the pied frogs' orchestra; And, to light the noisy choir, Lit the fly his lamp of fire. I was monarch: pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man, Live and laugh, as boyhood can! Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew; Every evening from they feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat; All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt's for work be shod, Made to tread the mills of toil Up and down in ceaseless moil: Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground; Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

RAIN ON THE ROOF [Footnote: Coates Kinney, born in New York in 1826, gives this account of the way in which the song came to be written: "The verses were written when I was about twenty years of age, as nearly as I can remember. They were inspired close to the rafters of a little story- and-a-half frame house. The language, as first published, was not composed, it came. I had just a little more to do with it than I had to do with the coming of the rain. This poem, in its entirety, came to me and asked me to put it down, the next afternoon, in the course of a solitary and aimless wandering through a summer wood."]

When the humid showers hover
Over all the starry spheres
And the melancholy darkness
Gently weeps in rainy tears,
What a bliss to press the pillow
Of a cottage-chamber bed,
And to listen to the patter
Of the soft rain overhead!

Every tinkle on the shingles.
Has an echo in the heart:
And a thousand dreamy fancies
Into busy being start,
And a thousand recollections
Weave their air-threads into woof,
As I listen to the patter
Of the rain upon the roof.

Now in memory comes my mother,
As she was long years agone,
To regard the darling dreamers
Ere she left them till the dawn:
O! I see her leaning o'er me,
As I list to this refrain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.

Then my little seraph sister,
With her wings and waving hair,
And her star-eyed cherub brother--
A serene, angelic pair!--
Glide around my wakeful pillow,
With their praise or mild reproof,
As I listen to the murmur
Of the soft rain on the roof.

Art hath naught of tone or cadence
That can work with such a spell
In the soul's mysterious fountains,
Whence the tears of rapture well,
As that melody of Nature,
That subdued, subduing strain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.

CID CAMPEADOR