Chapter VI: Part 6

Light is a lure for many creatures of land and sea and
sky. The moth and the bat whirl about a flame; the sea
bird dashes its body against the bright glass of the lonely
tower; wild deer come to see what has disturbed the dark 15
of the forest; and fish of different kinds leap at a torch.
Red Chicken put a match to ours when we were all in readiness.
The brilliant gleam cleft the darkness and sent
across the blackness of the water a beam that was a challenge
to the curiosity of the dozing fish. They hastened 20
towards us, and Red Chicken made meat of those that came
within the radius of his harpoon, so that within an hour or
two our canoe was heaped with half a dozen kinds.

Far off in the path of the flambeau rays I saw the swordfish
leaping as they pursued small fish or gamboled for 25
sheer joy in the luminous air. They seemed to be in pairs.
I watched them lazily, with academic interest in their
movements, until suddenly one rose a hundred feet away,
and in his idle caper in the air I saw a bulk so immense, and
a sword of such amazing size, that the thought of danger 30
struck me dumb.

He was twenty-five feet in length, and had a dorsal fin
that stood up like the sail of a small boat. But even these
dimensions cannot convey the feeling of alarm his presence
gave me. His next leap brought him within forty feet of
us. I recalled a score of accidents I had seen, read, and
heard of; fishermen stabbed, boats rent, steel-clad ships 5
pierced through and through.

Red Chicken held the torch to observe him better, and
shouted: "_Apau!_ Look out! Paddle fast away!"

I needed no urging. I dug into the glowing water
madly, and the sound of my paddle on the side of the canoe 10
might have been heard half a mile away. It served no
purpose. Suddenly half a dozen of the swordfish began
jumping about us, as if stirred to anger by our torch. I
called to Red Chicken to extinguish it.

He had seized it to obey when I heard a splash and the 15
canoe received a terrific shock. A tremendous bulk fell
upon it. With a sudden swing I was hurled into the air
and fell twenty feet away. In the water I heard a swish,
and glimpsed the giant espadon as he leaped again.

I was unhurt, but feared for Red Chicken. He had 20
cried out as the canoe went under, but I found him by the
outrigger, trying to right the craft. Together we succeeded,
and when I had ousted some of the water, Red Chicken
crawled in.

"_Papaoufaa!_ I am wounded slightly," he said, as I 25
assisted him. "The Spear of the Sea has thrust me
through."

The torch was lost, but I felt a big hole in the calf of his
right leg. Blood was pouring from the wound. I made a
tourniquet of a strip of my pareu and, with a small harpoon, 30
twisted it until the flow of blood was stopped. Then,
guided by him, I paddled as fast as I could to the beach,
on which there was little trouble in landing as the bay was
smooth.

Red Chicken did not utter a complaint from the moment
of his first outcry, and when I roused others and he was
carried to his house, he took the pipe handed him and 5
smoked quietly.

"The Aavehie was against him," said an old man.
Aavehie is the god of fishermen, who was always propitiated
by intending anglers in the polytheistic days and who still
has power. 10

There was no white doctor on the island, nor had there
been one for many years. There was nothing to do but
call the _tatihi_, or native doctor, an aged and shriveled
man whose whole body was an intricate pattern of tattooing
and wrinkles. He came at once, and with his clawlike 15
hands cleverly drew together the edges of Red Chicken's
wound and gummed them in place with the juice of the _ape_,
a bulbous plant like the edible taro. Red Chicken must
have suffered keenly, for the _ape_ juice is exceedingly caustic,
but he made no protest, continuing to puff the pipe. Over 20
the wound the _tatihi_ applied a leaf, and bound the whole
very carefully with a bandage of tapa cloth, folded in surgical
fashion.

--_White Shadows in the South Seas._

1. What were the author and Red Chicken doing at
the outset? Read the lines where the adventure
begins.

2. Like most real adventures this one was all over
in a moment. What happened? Why did it occur?

3. Spell, pronounce, and explain: phosphorescence,
lure, stationary, propitiated, polytheistic,
tattooing, caustic.

(Taken from O'Brien's _White Shadows in the South
Seas_ by permission of the publishers, The Century
Co.)

A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST

BY RUDYARD KIPLING

No man has written more stirring tales, in prose or
verse, in recent times than Rudyard Kipling. Born
(1865) in Bombay, India, the son of an Englishman
in the civil service, he became steeped in the ways
of the men of the East. Consequently his first
writings were sketches of Anglo-Indian life,
written for Indian newspapers with which he was
connected. Then followed a series of books on
Eastern themes, some in prose and others in verse.
Among these was _Departmental Ditties_ from which
the following narrative poem is taken. Read it
through first to get the story and the atmosphere
in mind.

Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border side,
And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the
Colonel's pride:
He has lifted her out of the stable door between the dawn
and the day, 5
And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far
away.

Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the
Guides:
"Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal 10
hides?"

Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the
Ressaldar,
"If ye know the track of the morning mist, ye know where
his pickets are. 15

"At dusk he harries the Abazai--at dawn he is in Bonair;
But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare
So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly,
By the favor of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the
Tongue of Jagai. 5
But if he be passed the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn
ye then,
For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain is sown
with Kamal's men.
There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low 10
lean thorn between,
And ye may hear a breech bolt snick where never a man is
seen."

The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw, rough dun
was he, 15
With the mouth of a bell, and the heart of Hell, and the
head of the gallows tree.
The Colonel's son to the fort has won, they bid him stay
to eat--
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at 20
his meat.

He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the
Tongue of Jagai;
Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her 25
back,
And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the
pistol crack.
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball
went wide. 30
"Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. "Show now if ye
can ride."

It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils
go,
The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren 5
doe.
The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head
above,
But the red mare played with the snaffle bars, as a maiden
plays with a glove. 10
There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low,
lean thorn between,
And thrice he heard a breech bolt snick tho' never a man
was seen.

They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs 15
drum up the dawn,
The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a
new-roused fawn.
The dun he fell at a watercourse--in a woeful heap fell he,
And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the 20
rider free.

He has knocked the pistol out of his hand--small room
was there to strive,
"'Twas only by favor of mine," quoth he, "ye rode so long
alive: 25
There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump
of tree,
But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on
his knee.

"If I had raised my bridle hand, as I have held it low,
The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row:
If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she
could not fly." 5

Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "Do good to bird and
beast,
But count who come for the broken meats before thou
makest a feast.
If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my 10
bones away,
Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief
could pay.

"They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men
on the garnered grain, 15
The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the
cattle are slain.
But if thou thinkest the price be fair,--thy brethren wait
to sup.
The hound is kin to the jackal spawn,--howl, dog, and 20
call them up!
And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and
stack,
Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way
back!" 25

Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his
feet.
"No talk shall be of dogs," said he, "when wolf and gray
wolf meet.
May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath;
What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn
with Death?"

Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "I hold by the blood
of my clan: 5
Take up the mare of my father's gift--by God, she has
carried a man!"
The red mare ran to the Colonel's son and nuzzled against
his breast,
"We be two strong men," said Kamal then, "but she loveth 10
the younger best.
So she shall go with the lifter's dower, my turquoise-studded
rein,
My broidered saddle and saddlecloth, and silver stirrups
twain." 15

The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it muzzle end,
"Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he; "will ye take
the mate from a friend?"

"A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight; "a limb for the
risk of a limb. 20
Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my son to him!"
With that he whistled his only son, that dropped from a
mountain crest--
He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked like
a lance in rest. 25
"Now here is thy master," Kamal said, "who leads a troop
of the Guides,
And thou must ride at his left side as shield on shoulder
rides.

"Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and
bed.
Thy life is his--thy fate it is to guard him with thy head.
So thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all her foes
are thine, 5
And thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace of the
Border line,
And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to
power--
Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am hanged 10
in Peshawar."

They have looked each other between the eyes and there
they found no fault,
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on
leavened bread and salt; 15
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire
and fresh-cut sod,
On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the
wondrous Names of God.

The Colonel's son he rides the mare and Kamal's boy the 20
dun,
And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went
forth but one.
And when they drew to the Quarter Guard, full twenty
swords flew clear-- 25
There was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of
the mountaineer.
"Ha' done! ha' done!" said the Colonel's son. "Put up
the steel at your sides!
Last night ye had struck at a Border thief--to-night 'tis a 30
man of the Guides!"

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain
shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment
Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor 5
Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come
from the ends of the earth!

--_Departmental Ditties._

1. What do you think Kipling means by "East is
East, and West is West"? Who in the poem
represented the East? Who the West? Where is the
scene of the poem laid?

2. What incident gave rise to the ride? Interpret
the advice given by Mahommed Khan. What did he mean
in lines 14-15, page 168, and lines 12-13, page
169?

3. What happened in the first lap of the ride? In
the second? How was Mahommed Khan's advice shown to
be true? What was the climax of the chase?

4. What happened when the two chief characters met
face to face? What kind of man was Kamal? Prove
your comments from the poem.

5. How did the whole affair turn out?

6. You doubtless have read Kipling's _Jungle
Books_, and you will wish to read _Captains
Courageous_, and some of his short stories like
"Wee Willie Winkie."

Kipling married an American woman and lived for a
time at Brattleboro, Vt. He now resides in England.

_UNDER THE OPEN SKY_

_Love had he found in huts where poor men lie;
His daily teachers had been woods and rills,
The silence that is in the starry sky,
The sleep that is among the lonely hills._

--WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

(_See following page_)]

A NIGHT AMONG THE PINES

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

This is an account of one night's camping-out
experience in the mountains of southeastern France.
Stevenson's only companion was Modestine, a donkey
"not much bigger than a dog, the color of a mouse,
with a kindly eye and a determined jaw." The
selection is especially fine in its interpretation
of night out of doors. Read it to gather the
impressions that the sights and sounds made upon
the author. Then read it to discover what you would
have listened for (and probably heard) had you been
in the same position.

From Bleymard after dinner, although it was already
late, I set out to scale a portion of the Lozère. An
ill-marked stony droveroad guided me forward; and I met
nearly half a dozen bullock carts descending from the woods,
each laden with a whole pine tree for the winter's firing. 5
At the top of the woods, which do not climb very high upon
this cold ridge, I struck leftward by a path among the
pines, until I hit on a dell of green turf, where a streamlet
made a little spout over some stones to serve me for a water
tap. "In a more sacred or sequestered bower . . . nor 10
nymph, nor faunus, haunted." The trees were not old,
but they grew thickly round the glade; there was no outlook,
except northeastward upon distant hilltops or straight
upward to the sky; and the encampment felt secure and
private like a room. By the time I had made my arrangements 15
and fed Modestine, the day was already beginning
to decline. I buckled myself to the knees into my sack and
made a hearty meal; and as soon as the sun went down, I
pulled my cap over my eyes and fell asleep.

Night is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but
in the open world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews
and perfumes, and the hours are marked by changes in the
face of Nature. What seems a kind of temporal death to
people choked between walls and curtains, is only a light 5
and living slumber to the man who sleeps afield. All night
long he can hear Nature breathing deeply and freely; even
as she takes her rest, she turns and smiles; and there is
one stirring hour unknown to those who dwell in houses,
when a wakeful influence goes abroad over the sleeping 10
hemisphere, and all the outdoor world are on their feet.
It is then that the cock first crows, not this time to announce
the dawn, but like a cheerful watchman speeding the course
of the night. Cattle awake on the meadows; sheep break
their fast on dewy hillsides, and change to a new lair among 15
the ferns; and houseless men, who have lain down with
the fowls, open their dim eyes and behold the beauty of
the night.

At what inaudible summons, at what gentle touch of
Nature, are all these sleepers thus recalled in the same hour 20
to life? Do the stars rain down an influence, or do we
share some thrill of mother earth below our resting bodies?
Even shepherds and old country folk, who are the deepest
read in these arcana, have not a guess as to the means or
purpose of this nightly resurrection. Towards two in the 25
morning, they declare the thing takes place; and neither
know nor inquire further. And at least it is a pleasant
incident. We are disturbed in our slumber only, like the
luxurious Montaigne, "that we may the better and more
sensibly relish it." We have a moment to look upon the 30
stars, and there is a special pleasure for some minds in
the reflection that we share the impulse with all outdoor
creatures in our neighborhood, that we have escaped out
of the Bastille of civilization, and are become, for the time
being, a mere kindly animal and a sheep of Nature's flock.

When that hour came to me among the pines, I wakened
thirsty. My tin was standing by me, half full of water. 5
I emptied it at a draft. The stars were clear, colored and
jewellike, but not frosty. A faint silvery vapor stood for
the Milky Way. All around me the black fir points stood
upright and stock-still. By the whiteness of the packsaddle,
I could see Modestine walking round and round at the 10
length of the tether; I could hear her steadily munching
at the sward; but there was not another sound, save the
indescribable quiet talk of the runnel over the stones. I
lay lazily smoking and studying the color of the sky, as
we call the void of space, from where it showed a reddish 15
gray behind the pines to where it showed a glossy blue-black
between the stars.

A faint wind, more like a moving coolness than a stream
of air, passed down the glade from time to time; so that
even in my great chamber the air was being renewed all 20
night long. I have not often enjoyed a more serene possession
of myself, nor felt more independent of material aids.
The outer world, from which we cower into our houses, seemed
after all a gentle, habitable place; and night after night a
man's bed, it seemed, was laid and waiting for him in the 25
fields, where God keeps an open house. I thought I had
rediscovered one of those truths which are revealed to
savages and hid from political economists: at the least, I
had discovered a new pleasure for myself. And yet even
while I was exulting in my solitude I became aware of a 30
strange lack. I wished a companion to lie near me in the
starlight, silent and not moving, but ever within touch.
For there is a fellowship more quiet even than solitude,
and which, rightly understood, is solitude made perfect.

As I thus lay, between content and longing, a faint
noise stole towards me through the pines. I thought, at
first, it was the crowing of cocks or the barking of dogs at 5
some very distant farm; but steadily and gradually it took
articulate shape in my ears, until I became aware that a
passenger was going by upon the highroad of the valley
and singing loudly as he went. There was more of good will
than grace in his performance; but he trolled with ample 10
lungs; and the sound of his voice took hold upon the hillside
and set the air shaking in the leafy glens. I have
heard people passing by night in sleeping cities; some of
them sang; one, I remember, played loudly on the bagpipes.
I have heard the rattle of a cart or carriage spring 15
up suddenly after hours of stillness and pass, for some
minutes, within the range of my hearing as I lay abed.
There is a romance about all who are abroad in the black
hours, and with something of a thrill we try to guess their
business. But here the romance was double: first, this 20
glad passenger, who sent up his voice in music through the
night; and then I, on the other hand, buckled into my
sack, and smoking alone in the pine woods between four
and five thousand feet towards the stars.

When I awoke again (Sunday, 29th September) many of 25
the stars had disappeared, only the stronger companions
of the night still burned visibly overhead; and away
towards the east I saw a faint haze of light upon the horizon,
such as had been the Milky Way when I was last awake.
Day was at hand. I lit my lantern, and by its glowworm 30
light put on my boots and gaiters; then I broke up some
bread for Modestine, filled my can at the water tap, and
lit my spirit lamp to boil myself some chocolate. The blue
darkness lay long in the glade where I had so sweetly
slumbered; but soon there was a broad streak of orange
melting into gold along the mountain top of Vivarais.
A solemn glee possessed my mind at this gradual and lovely 5
coming in of day. I heard the runnel with delight; I
looked round me for something beautiful and unexpected;
but the still black pine trees, the hollow glade, the munching
ass, remained unchanged in figure. Nothing had
altered but the light, and that, indeed, shed over all a 10
spirit of life and of breathing peace, and moved me to a
strange exhilaration.

I drank my water chocolate, which was hot if it was not
rich, and strolled here and there, and up and down about
the glade. While I was thus delaying, a gush of steady 15
wind, as long as a heavy sigh, poured direct out of the
quarter of the morning. It was cold and set me sneezing.
The trees near at hand tossed their black plumes in its
passage; and I could see the thin, distant spires of pines
along the edge of the hill, rock slightly to and fro against the 20
golden east. Ten minutes after, the sunlight spread at
a gallop along the hillside, scattering shadows and sparkles,
and the day had come completely.

I hastened to prepare my pack, and tackle the steep
ascent that lay before me; but I had something on my 25
mind. It was only a fancy; yet a fancy will sometimes be
importunate. I had been most hospitably received and
punctually served in my green caravansary. The room
was airy, the water excellent, and the dawn had called me
to a moment. I say nothing of the tapestries or the inimitable 30
ceiling, nor yet of the view which I commanded from
the windows; but I felt I was in some one's debt for all
this liberal entertainment. And so it pleased me, in a
half-laughing way, to leave pieces of money on the turf
as I went along, until I had left enough for my night's
lodging. I trust they did not fall to some rich and churlish
drover. 5

--_Travels with a Donkey._

1. What did Stevenson _see_ during the night? What
did he _hear_? How did he _feel_? The details are
not unlike those in _Robinson Crusoe_.

2. Re-read the first paragraph, page 178, and tell
what its chief idea is. Select the paragraph in
which the description is clearest to you. Read it
aloud. Observe how the simple words are arranged to
make pictures and to produce rhythm. Stevenson
rewrote many times to get this easy clearness.

3. If you have ever slept out of doors what
impressed you most? What sounds did Stevenson
probably fail to hear? Was he a naturalist?

4. Stevenson was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in
1850. He belonged to a family of civil engineers.
His health was always poor, so he traveled a great
deal. He went to France and to Switzerland. He came
to America and spent some time in the Adirondacks.
Finally he settled on an island far out in the
Pacific Ocean, where he lived till his death, in
1894. In spite of his poor health, he was a busy
writer of novels, essays, short stories, and verse.

AUTUMN ON THE FARM

BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

This is a poetic description of an old-fashioned
autumn scene on a England farm. The huskers in the
field merely jerked the ear of corn from its stalk,
leaving the husk on the ear. The husks were
afterwards removed in the barn at a big husking bee
or picnic, in which the neighbors took part. Read
the poem for its pictures.

It was late in mild October,
And the long autumnal rain
Had left the summer harvest fields
All green with grass again;
The first sharp frosts had fallen, 5
Leaving all the woodlands gay
With the hues of summer's rainbow
Or the meadow flowers of May.

Through a thin, dry mist, that morning,
The sun rose broad and red; 10
At first a rayless disk of fire,
He brightened as he sped;
Yet even his noontide glory
Fell chastened and subdued
On the cornfields and the orchards 15
And softly pictured wood.

And all that quiet afternoon,
Slow sloping to the night,
He wove with golden shuttle
The haze with yellow light; 20

Slanting through the painted beeches,
He glorified the hill;
And beneath it pond and meadow
Lay brighter, greener still.

And shouting boys in woodland haunts 5
Caught glimpses of that sky,
Flecked by many-tinted leaves,
And laughed, they knew not why;
And schoolgirls, gay with aster flowers,
Beside the meadow brooks, 10
Mingled the glow of autumn
With the sunshine of sweet looks.

From spire and barn, looked westerly
The patient weathercocks;
But even the birches on the hill 15
Stood motionless as rocks.
No sound was in the woodlands
Save the squirrel's dropping shell,
And the yellow leaves among the boughs,
Low rustling as they fell. 20

The summer grains were harvested;
The stubble fields lay dry,
Where June winds rolled, in light and shade,
The pale-green waves of rye;
But still on gentle hill slopes, 25
In valleys fringed with wood,
Ungathered, bleaching in the sun,
The heavy corn crop stood.

Bent low by autumn's wind and rain,
Through husks that, dry and sere,
Unfolded from their ripened charge,
Shone out the yellow ear;
Beneath, the turnip lay concealed 5
In many a verdant fold,
And glistened in the slanting light
The pumpkin's sphere of gold.

There wrought the busy harvesters;
And many a creaking wain 10
Bore slowly to the long barn floor
Its load of husk and grain;
Till, broad and red as when he rose,
The sun sank down at last,
And like a merry guest's farewell, 15
The day in brightness passed.

And lo! as through the western pines,
On meadow, stream, and pond,
Flamed the red radiance of a sky,
Set all afire beyond, 20
Slowly o'er the eastern sea bluffs
A milder glory shone,
And the sunset and the moonrise
Were mingled into one!

--_The Huskers._

1. What is Indian summer? Is this a description of
an Indian summer day? Sketch the field described,
or the sunset. Observe the color words in the last
stanza.

2. What was happening in the woods on that October
day? In the fields? Describe the scene in each.

GOLDENROD

BY ELAINE GOODALE EASTMAN

Most of our wild flowers that blossom in the fall
are of brilliant colors. In September the fields
and fence rows are a blaze of reds, yellows, buffs,
and browns. Conspicuous among these is the stately
yellow plume of the goldenrod, strikingly described
in the following poem. Read this selection slowly.
Every line adds to the picture--every word means
one more idea. Try to sense the entire meaning of
the author.

(Used by special permission of the author.)

When the wayside tangles blaze
In the low September sun,
When the flowers of summer days
Droop and wither, one by one,
Reaching up through bush and brier, 5
Sumptuous brow and heart of fire,
Flaunting high its wind-rocked plume,
Brave with wealth of native bloom--
Goldenrod!

When the meadow lately shorn, 10
Parched and languid, swoons with pain,
When her lifeblood, night and morn,
Shrinks in every throbbing vein,
Round her fallen, tarnished urn
Leaping watch fires brighter burn; 15
Royal arch o'er autumn's gate,
Bending low with lustrous weight--
Goldenrod!

In the pasture's rude embrace,
All o'errun with tangled vines,
Where the thistle claims its place,
And the straggling hedge confines,
Bearing still the sweet impress 5
Of unfettered loveliness,
In the field and by the wall,
Binding, clasping, crowning all--
Goldenrod!

Nature lies disheveled, pale, 10
With her feverish lips apart;
Day by day the pulses fail,
Nearer to her bounding heart;
Yet that slackened grasp doth hold
Store of pure and genuine gold; 15
Quick thou comest, strong and free,
Type of all the wealth to be--
Goldenrod!

1. Three of the stanzas definitely locate the
goldenrod. Read the lines that tell where it grows.

2. Which stanza makes the most vivid picture for
you? What descriptive words in the stanza help make
this picture?

3. Read the second stanza aloud, and tell in your
own words what you think each line means.

4. Find synonyms (words of similar meaning) for the
following: sumptuous, unfettered, disheveled,
lustrous. Substitute your synonym for each of these
words and read the line aloud.

5. Make a pencil sketch of a goldenrod as you
recall it. Color your sketch with crayon.

6. The goldenrod is sometimes called our national
flower. Why do you think it is so called? What is
your state flower?

THE PALISADES

BY JOHN MASEFIELD

(Used by permission of Dodd, Mead and Company, Publishers.)

On the west side of the Hudson River there is a cliff,
or crag of rock, all carved into queer shapes. It
stretches along the riverside for twenty or thirty miles,
as far as Tarrytown, or further, to the broad part where the
stream looks like a sea. The cliff rises up, as a rule very 5
boldly, to the height of several hundred feet. The top of
it (the Jersey shore) appears regular. It is like a well-laid
wall along the river, with trees and one or two white wooden
houses, instead of broken glass, at the top. This wall appearance
made the settlers call the crag the "Palisades." 10

Where the Palisades are the grandest is just as high up as
Yonkers. Hereabouts they are very stately, for they are
all marshaled along a river a mile or more broad, which
runs in a straight line past them, with a great tide. If you
take a boat and row across to the Palisades their beauty 15
makes you shiver. In the afternoon, when you are underneath
them, the sun is shut away from you; and there you
are, in the chill and the gloom, with the great cliff towering
up and the pinnacles and tall trees catching the sunlight
at the top. Then it is very still there. You will see no 20
one along that shore. A great eagle will go sailing out, or
a hawk will drop and splash after a fish, but you will see
no other living thing, except at the landing. There are
schooners in the river, of course, but they keep to the New
York shore to avoid being becalmed.

You can lie there in your boat, in the slack water near
the crag foot, and hear nothing but the wind, the suck of
the water, or the tinkle of a scrap of stone falling from the
cliff face. It is like being in the wilds, in one of the desolate
places, to lie there in a boat watching the eagles. 5

--_A Tarpaulin Muster._

1. Put yourself in the author's place and try to
visualize this scene as he viewed it. Tell what you
see. From what position are you looking?

ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET

BY JOHN KEATS

The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the grasshopper's--he takes the lead 5
In summer luxury--he has never done
With his delights, for when tired out with fun,
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost 10
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The grasshopper's among the grassy hills.

1. What keeps the poetry of earth alive in the heat
of summer? In the cold of winter? What does Keats
mean by his first line?

TO A WATERFOWL

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

Bryant saw a solitary waterfowl winging its way
high up in the air in the twilight of evening. The
sight sets him thinking of the inborn sense of the
bird. Where was it going? How did it know it was on
the right way? Who gave it the power to direct its
flight? Then he imagines that the bird is bound for
its nesting place among its fellows. And he finally
gets for himself--and for us all--a fine lesson
from the flight of the waterfowl. Try to follow the
poet's thinking, step by step, as you read the
poem.

Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye 5
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As darkly painted on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 10
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?

There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast--
The desert and illimitable air-- 15
Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned
At that far height the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end; 5
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone; the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart 10
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.

He who from zone to zone
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone, 15
Will lead my steps aright.

1. What time of day is it when Bryant observes the
bird? Is it clear or cloudy weather? Prove both
answers.

2. In the third stanza, how many places does he
mention as the possible ends of the bird's flight?
Name each.

3. Has the waterfowl traveled far? Read the line
that answers this.

4. Explain line 5, page 190; the third stanza on
page 191.

5. What lesson does Bryant get from the bird?
Memorize the last stanza.

6. William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) was born at
Cummington, Massachusetts, where his father
practiced medicine. He attended the district school
and later studied law, but gave up his practice for
journalism. He was very successful and was for many
years editor of _The New York Evening Post_. This
poem was written when he was unsettled and
discouraged about his law practice.

A NIGHT IN THE TROPICS

BY RICHARD HENRY DANA, JR.

Those who have spent their lives on the ocean say
that we dwellers on land know nothing of life under
the open sky. The following extract is a bit of
night scenery aboard ship in the days of wooden
vessels with canvas wings.

One night while we were in the tropics, I went out to
the end of the flying jib boom upon some duty; and
having finished it, turned around and lay on the boom for
a long time, admiring the beauty of the sight below me.
Being so far out from the deck I could look at the ship 5
as at a separate vessel; and there rose up from the water,
supported only by the small black hull, a pyramid of canvas
spreading far out beyond the hull and towering up almost,
as it seemed in the indistinct night, into the clouds. The
sea was as still as an inland lake; the light trade wind was 10
gently and steadily breathing from astern; the dark-blue
sky was studded with the tropical stars; there was no
sound but the rippling of the water under the stem; and
the sails were spread out wide and high--the two lower
studding sails stretching out on either side far beyond the 15
deck; the topmost studding sails like wings to the topsails;
the topgallant studding sails spreading fearlessly out above
them; still higher the two royal studding sails, looking
like two kites flying from the same string; and highest
of all the little skysail, the apex of the pyramid, seeming 20
actually to touch the stars and to be out of reach of human
hand. So quiet, too, was the sea, and so steady the breeze,
that if these sails had been sculptured in marble they could
not have been more motionless--not a ripple on the
surface of the canvas, not even a quivering of the extreme
edges of the sail, so perfectly were they distended by the
breeze. I was so lost in the sight that I forgot the presence
of the man who came out with me, until he said (for he 5
too, rough old man-of-war's man that he was, had been
gazing at the show) half to himself, still looking at the
marble sails: "How quietly they do their work!"

--_Two Years Before the Mast._

1. This is a painting in words. From what position
did Mr. Dana view the scene? What impressed him
most?

A WINTER RIDE

BY AMY LOWELL

Who shall declare the joy of the running!
Who shall tell of the pleasures of flight!
Springing and spurning the tufts of wild heather,
Sweeping, wide winged, through the blue dome of light.
Everything mortal has moments immortal, 5
Swift and God-gifted, immeasurably bright.

So with the stretch of the white road before me,
Shining snow crystals rainbowed by the sun,
Fields that are white, stained with long, cool, blue shadows,
Strong with the strength of my horse as we run. 10
Joy in the touch of the wind and the sunlight!
Joy! With the vigorous earth I am one.

1. What was the author doing? How did the ride
affect her? What does she mean in line 5? In line
12? If you have ever coasted or had a swift sleigh
ride tell the thrills you experienced.

THE SNOWSTORM

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON

The following selection is an artistic description
of a winter storm. Read it carefully to get the
successive pictures that are presented. Try to
determine, as you read, when the snow fell, whether
the scenes are in the country or in town; if the
author was an actual observer of the storm or if he
wrote the poem out of imagination.

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. 5
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, inclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come see the north wind's masonry! 10
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 15
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swanlike form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, 20
Mauger the farmer's sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work;
And when his hours are numbered and the world
Is all his own, retiring as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art 5
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night work--
The frolic architecture of the snow.

1. The first stanza describes the effect of the
storm on people. Who are some of those
inconvenienced?

2. In the remainder of the poem, the storm is
thought of as an architect. What words describe him
and his work? Why is he "myriad-handed?" Explain
windward; mauger; "Parian wreaths." Why is the
storm said to use the last mockingly? What other
fanciful or mischievous things does the storm do?

3. Express in your own words the idea in lines 3-8,
page 195. Compare the work of human builders with
the work of the storm.

4. Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) was an American
essayist, poet, and philosopher. He lived at
Concord, Massachusetts.

SNOW-BOUND

BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky 5
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
A chill no coat, however stout,
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out-- 10

A hard, dull bitterness of cold,
That checked, midvein, the circling race
Of lifeblood in the sharpened face--
The coming of the snowstorm told.
The wind blew east; we heard the roar 5
Of ocean on his wintry shore,
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there
Beat with low rhythm our inland air.

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores:
Brought in the wood from out of doors, 10
Littered the stalls, and from the mows
Raked down the herd's grass for the cows;
Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;
And sharply clashing horn on horn,
Impatient down the stanchion rows, 15
The cattle shake their walnut bows;
While peering from his early perch
Upon the scaffold's pole of birch,
The cock his crested helmet bent
And down his querulous challenge sent. 20

Unwarmed by any sunset light
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm
And whirl dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag, wavering to and fro, 25
Crossed and recrossed the wingèd snow;
And ere the early bedtime came
The white drift piled the window frame,
And through the glass the clothesline posts
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 30

So all night long the storm roared on:
The morning broke without a sun;
In tiny spherule traced with lines
Of nature's geometric signs,
In starry flake and pellicle, 5
All day the hoary meteor fell;
And when the second morning shone,
We looked upon a world unknown,
On nothing we could call our own.
Around the glistening wonder bent 10
The blue walls of the firmament,
No cloud above, no earth below--
A universe of sky and snow!

The old familiar sights of ours
Took marvelous shapes: strange domes and towers 15
Rose up where sty or corncrib stood,
Or garden wall, or belt of wood;
A smooth white mound the brush pile showed,
A fenceless drift what once was road;
The bridle post an old man sat, 20
With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;
The well curb had a Chinese roof;
And even the long sweep, high aloof,
In its slant splendor, seemed to tell
Of Pisa's leaning miracle. 25

All day the gusty north wind bore
The loosening drift its breath before;
Low circling round its southern zone,
The sun through dazzling snow mist shone.
No church bell lent its Christian tone 30
To the savage air; no social smoke

Curled over woods of snow-hung oak;
A solitude made more intense
By dreary-voicèd elements--
The shrieking of the mindless wind,
The moaning tree boughs swaying blind, 5
And on the glass the unmeaning beat
Of ghostly finger tips of sleet.

--_Snow-Bound._

1. Outline, stanza by stanza, the story told. Who
tells it? Where is the scene laid? How many days
and nights are covered?

2. Compare this with the previous poem for
clearness, pleasant sound, pictures shown, new
ideas. Which do you like better? The last line of
"The Snowstorm" interprets lines 14-25, page 197.
How?

3. John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892) was born at
Haverhill, Massachusetts. _Snow-bound_, from which
this extract is taken, gives a good description of
his home and family. A great deal of his writing
was done while editor of various magazines and
newspapers. He was for a long time connected with
the _Atlantic Monthly_. Many of his poems describe
country life in New England; others retell old
stories of pioneer days. He died at Amesbury,
Massachusetts.

TOM PINCH'S RIDE

BY CHARLES DICKENS

It was a charming evening, mild and bright. The four
grays skimmed along, as if they liked it quite as well
as Tom did; the bugle was in as high spirits as the grays;
the coachman chimed in sometimes with his voice; the
wheels hummed cheerfully in unison; the brass work on 5
the harness was an orchestra of little bells; and thus as they
went clinking, jingling, rattling smoothly on, the whole
concern, from the buckles of the leaders' coupling reins to
the handle of the boot, was one great instrument of music.

Yo-ho! Past hedges, gates, and trees; past cottages, and
barns, and people going home from work. Yo-ho! Past
donkey chaises drawn aside into the ditch, and empty
carts with rampant horses whipped up at a bound upon the
little watercourse and held by struggling carters close to 5
the five-barred gate until the coach had passed the narrow
turning in the road. Yo-ho! By churches dropped down
by themselves in quiet nooks, with rustic burial grounds
about them, where the graves are green and daisies sleep--for
it is evening--on the bosoms of the dead. 10

Yo-ho! Past streams in which the cattle cool their feet,
and where the rushes grow; past paddock fences, farms,
and rickyards; past last year's stacks, cut slice by slice
away, and showing in the waning light like ruined gables,
old and brown. Yo-ho! Down the pebbly dip, and through 15
the merry water splash, and up at a canter to the level
road again. Yo-ho! Yo-ho!

Yo-ho! Among the gathering shades, making of no
account the reflection of the trees, but scampering on
through light and darkness, all the same, as if the light of 20
London fifty miles away were quite enough to travel by,
and some to spare. Now, with a clattering of hoofs and
striking out of fiery sparks, across the old stone bridge,
and down again into the shadowy road, and through the
open gate, and far away, into the world. Yo-ho! 25

See the bright moon! High up before we know it,
making the earth reflect the objects on its breast like water--hedges,
trees, low cottages, church steeples, blighted stumps,
and flourishing young slips, have all grown vain upon a
sudden, and mean to contemplate their own fair images till 30
morning. The poplars yonder rustle, that their quivering
leaves may see themselves upon the ground. Not so the
oak; trembling does not become him; and he watches
himself in his stout old burly steadfastness without the
motion of a twig.

The moss-grown gate, ill-poised upon its creaking hinges,
crippled and decayed, swings to and fro before its glass 5
like some fantastic dowager: while our own ghostly likeness
travels on, through ditch and brake, upon the plowed land
and the smooth, along the steep hillside and steeper wall,
as if it were a phantom hunter.

Yo-ho! Why, now we travel like the moon herself. 10
Hiding this minute in a grove of trees; next minute in a
patch of vapor; emerging now upon our broad, clear course;
withdrawing now, but always dashing on, our journey is a
counterpart of hers. Yo-ho! A match against the moon.

The beauty of the night is hardly felt when day comes 15
leaping up. Two stages, and the country roads are almost
changed to a continuous street. Yo-ho! Past market
gardens, rows of houses, villas, crescents, terraces, and
squares, and in among the rattling pavements. Yo-ho!
Down countless turnings, and through countless mazy 20
ways, until an old innyard is gained, and Tom Pinch, getting
down quite stunned and giddy, is in London.

"Five minutes before the time, too!" said the driver, as
he received his fee from Tom.

--_Martin Chuzzlewit._

1. Tom Pinch traveled by the fast night coach to
London, in the days before railroads. Tell what he
saw, and make sketches.

2. Explain: grays, boot, yo-ho, chaises, paddock,
dowager, rickyards, brake, crescents.

3. Charles Dickens (1812-1870), an English
novelist, is famous for his humor and for the
marvelous characters he has created. Many of his
books attack or laugh at abuses and prejudices of
his time.

ODE TO A BUTTERFLY

BY THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON

The poet watches the butterfly and speaks to it,
guessing in a fanciful way at its origin,
commenting on its way of life, and thinking of the
symbolic meaning that people in all ages have
associated with it.

Thou spark of life that wavest wings of gold,
Thou songless wanderer mid the songful birds,
With nature's secrets in thy tints unrolled
Through gorgeous cipher, past the reach of words,
Yet dear to every child 5
In glad pursuit beguiled,
Living his unspoiled days mid flowers and flocks and herds!

Thou wingèd blossom, liberated thing,
What secret tie binds thee to other flowers,
Still held within the garden's fostering? 10
Will they too soar with the completed hours,
Take flight, and be like thee
Irrevocably free,
Hovering at will o'er their parental bowers?

Or is thy luster drawn from heavenly hues-- 15
A sumptuous drifting fragment of the sky,
Caught when the sunset its last glance imbues
With sudden splendor, and the treetops high
Grasp that swift blazonry,
Then lend those tints to thee, 20
On thee to float a few short hours, and die?

Birds have their nests; they rear their eager young,
And flit on errands all the livelong day;
Each field mouse keeps the homestead whence it sprung;
But thou art nature's freeman--free to stray
Unfettered through the wood, 5
Seeking thine airy food,
The sweetness spiced on every blossomed spray.

The garden one wide banquet spreads for thee,
O daintiest reveler of the joyous earth!
One drop of honey gives satiety; 10
A second draft would drug thee past all mirth.
Thy feast no orgy shows;
Thy calm eyes never close,
Thou soberest sprite to which the sun gives birth.

And yet the soul of man upon thy wings 15
Forever soars in aspiration; thou
His emblem of the new career that springs
When death's arrest bids all his spirit bow.
He seeks his hope in thee
Of immortality. 20
Symbol of life, me with such faith endow!

1. What color was the butterfly that the poet
watched? What does he imagine it to be in the
second stanza? In the third? What does he say about
its habits in the fourth stanza? In the fifth?

2. What are the four stages in the life of a
butterfly? The Greeks represented Psyche, the soul,
with butterfly wings. Why? Express the meaning of
the last stanza in your own words.

3. Use these words in sentences of your own:
cipher, fostering, imbues, blazonry, satiety, orgy,
sprite, arrest, symbol.

4. Thomas Wentworth Higginson (1823-1911) was an
American writer of essays and biography.

IN THE DESERT

BY A. W. KINGLAKE