Chapter VIII: Part 8

When I was eight years old, I traveled from central
Massachusetts to western New York, crossing the river at
Albany and going by canal from Schenectady to Syracuse.
On the canal boat, a kindly gentleman was talking to me 15
one day, and I remarked that I had crossed the Connecticut
River at Albany. How I got it into my head that it was
the Connecticut River I do not know, for I knew my
geography very well then, but in some unaccountable way
I had it fixed in my mind that the river at Albany was the 20
Connecticut, and I called it so.

"Why," said the gentleman, "that is the Hudson River."

"Oh, no, sir!" I replied politely, but firmly. "You're
mistaken. That is the Connecticut River."

The gentleman smiled and said no more. I was not 25
much in the habit, I think, of contradicting my elders;
but in this matter I was perfectly sure that I was right and
so I thought it my duty to correct the gentleman's geography.
I felt rather sorry for him that he should be so
ignorant. One day, after I reached home, I was looking
over my route on the map, and lo! there was Albany standing 5
on the Hudson River, a hundred miles from the Connecticut.

Then I did not feel so sorry for the gentleman's ignorance
as I did for my own. I never told anybody that story
until I wrote it down on these pages the other day; but I
have thought of it a thousand times and always with a 10
blush for my boldness. Nor was it the only time that I
was perfectly sure of things that really were not so. It is
hard for a boy to learn that he may be mistaken; but unless
he is a fool, he learns it after a while. The sooner he finds
it out, the better for him. 15

If I were a boy, I would not think that I and the boys of
my times were an exception to the general rule--a new
kind of boys, unlike all who have lived before, having
different feelings and different ways. To be honest, I
must own that I used to think so myself. I was quite inclined 20
to reject the counsel of my elders by saying to myself,
"That may have been well enough for boys thirty or
fifty years ago, but it isn't the thing for me and my set of
boys." Of course that was nonsense. The boys of one
generation are not very different from the boys of any 25
other generation.

If we say that boyhood lasts fifteen or sixteen years, I
have known three generations of boys, some of them city
boys and some of them country boys, and they are all
substantially alike--so nearly alike that the old rules of 30
industry and patience and perseverance and self-control
are as applicable to one generation as to another. The
fact is, that what your fathers and teachers have found by
experience to be good for boys will be good for you; and
what their experience has taught them is bad for boys will
be bad for you. You are just boys, nothing more nor less.

1. Why would a boy of fifteen be more likely to
"think he knew all about it" than an equally honest
and intelligent man of fifty? Apply to your answer
the preceding story about the two knights. What is
the value of experience?

2. Retell the story of the boy's mistake about the
river. Why was he so ashamed?

3. What is meant by saying that all boys are
substantially alike? What four rules does the
author say are always applicable? Compare the
training of a boy in ancient Sparta and of a page
in medieval times with that of a modern schoolboy.

THE LESSON OF THE WATER MILL

BY SARAH DOUDNEY

Listen to the water mill;
Through the livelong day,
How the clicking of its wheel
Wears the hours away!
Languidly the autumn wind 5
Stirs the forest leaves,
From the field the reapers sing,
Binding up their sheaves;
And a proverb haunts my mind
As a spell is cast, 10
"The mill cannot grind
With the water that is past."

Autumn winds revive no more
Leaves that once are shed,
And the sickle cannot reap
Corn once gatherèd;
Flows the ruffled streamlet on, 5
Tranquil, deep, and still,
Never gliding back again
To the water mill;
Truly speaks the proverb old,
With a meaning vast-- 10
"The mill cannot grind
With the water that is past."

Take the lesson to thyself,
True and loving heart!
Golden youth is fleeting by, 15
Summer hours depart;
Learn to make the most of life,
Lose no happy day,
Time will never bring thee back
Chances swept away! 20
Leave no tender word unsaid,
Love while love shall last;
"The mill cannot grind
With the water that is past."

Work while yet the daylight shines, 25
Man of strength and will!
Never does the streamlet glide
Useless by the mill;
Wait not till to-morrow's sun
Beams upon thy way, 30

All that thou canst call thine own
Lies in thy to-day;
Power and intellect and health
May not always last;
"The mill cannot grind 5
With the water that is past."

Oh, the wasted hours of life
That have drifted by!
Oh, the good that might have been--
Lost, without a sigh! 10
Love that we might once have saved
By a single word;
Thoughts conceived but never penned,
Perishing unheard;
Take the proverb to thine heart, 15
Take, and hold it fast--
"The mill cannot grind
With the water that is past."

1. How does a water mill work? Find a picture of
one. What was this mill probably used to grind? Why
is it appropriate to have the reapers in the
picture in the first stanza?

2. What other proverbs with the same meaning as
this one can you find?

A MOTTO OF OXFORD

This stanza is engraved over one of the old
colleges of Oxford University, a great seat of
learning in England.

He who reads and reads
And does not what he knows,
Is he who plows and plows
And never sows.

SAILING AND FAILING

BY HAMILTON W. MABIE

There are two kinds of men in the world: those who
sail and those who drift; those who choose the ports
to which they will go and skillfully and boldly shape their
course across the seas, with the wind or against it, and those
who let winds and tides carry them where they will. The 5
men who sail, in due time arrive; those who drift, often
cover greater distances but they never make port.

The men who sail know where they want to go and
what they want to do; they do not wait on luck or fortune
or favorable currents; they depend on themselves and 10
expect no help from circumstances. Success of the real
kind is always in the man who wins it, not in conditions.
No man becomes great by accident; great things are never
done by chance; a man gets what he pays for it, in character,
in work, and in energy. A boy would better put 15
luck out of his mind if he means to accomplish anything.
There are few really fine things which he cannot get if he
is willing to pay the price.

Keep ahead of your work, and your work will push your
fortunes for you. Our employers do not decide whether we 20
shall stay where we are or go on and up; we decide that
matter ourselves. We can drift along, doing our work
fairly well; or we can set our faces to the front and do our
work so well that we cannot be kept back. In this way we
make or mar our own fortunes. Success or failure is not 25
chosen for us; we choose for ourselves.

USE AND ABUSE OF TIME

BY ARCHER BROWN

Time is the stuff life is made of, says Benjamin Franklin.
Every man has exactly the same amount of
it in a year. One improves it and reaps great results.
Another wastes it and reaps failure. The first class, they
call lucky; the second, unfortunate. 5

To use time aright, have a system. Shape everything
to it. Divide the twenty-four hours between work, recreation,
sleep, and mental culture according to a scheme
that suits your judgment and circumstances. Then make
things go that way. The scheme will quickly go to pieces 10
unless backed by persistent purpose.

When you work, work. Put the whole mind and heart
in it. Know nothing else. Do everything the very best.
Distance everybody about you. This will not be hard, for
the other fellows are not trying much. Master details and 15
difficulties. Be always ready for the next step up. If a
bookkeeper, be an expert. If a machinist, know more than
the boss. If an office boy, surprise the employer by model
work. If in school, go to the head and stay there. All this
is easy when the habit of conquering takes possession. 20

It is wholesome in this connection to read what men
have accomplished who have once learned the art of redeeming
time. Study the causes of the success of Benjamin
Franklin, of Lincoln, of McKinley, of Sir Michael
Faraday, of Agassiz, of Edison. Learn the might of minutes. 25
"Every day is a little life, and our whole life is a
day repeated. Those that dare lose a day are dangerously
prodigal; those that dare misspend it, desperate." Emerson
says, "The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn."

Sound and wholesome recreation is important in our
scheme; but in this age of athletic frenzy the danger of 5
neglect on that line is not excessive. The real fact is that
athletic sports are educating the muscles too often at the
expense of the brain.

It is the mind work that differentiates you from the herd.
Mental culture calls for study--carefully planned, regular, 10
persistent. One or two hours a day, aiming at some distinct
object, mastering what you learn, adding little by
little, like a miser to his store, will in a few years make of
you a broad, educated man, no matter what your schooling.

To abuse time, have no system. Chance everything. 15
Do your work indifferently. Growl if too much is asked.
Hunt for an easy job. Change often. Dodge obstacles.
Always come a little short of the standard. Fritter away
in silly things the few golden moments left for self-culture.
Then you will not crowd anybody very hard in the contest 20
for leadership.

Time abused is bad luck.

1. What great men do you know of who divided up
their day in the way suggested here? Make out a
timetable for yourself and see how you can improve
it and how long you can stick to its use.

2. In what did the "success" of each of the men
mentioned in the fourth paragraph consist? Make one
of the studies suggested and report your findings
to the class.

3. What out-of-door exercises educate both brain
and muscles? What is the special value of games
played by a team? What great people of ancient
times trained the body as well as the mind?

4. Which paragraphs define bad luck? What is it?

HIDDEN TREASURE

BY CHARLES READE

Charles Reade (1814-1884) was born at Ipsden,
England, and educated at Oxford. He wrote plays and
novels, the latter usually with some purpose of
reform. Compare this story with "Ali Hafed's Quest"
(page 13) as to setting, characters, ending, and
moral.

Once upon a time there was an old farmer that had
heard or read about treasures being found in odd
places--a potful of gold pieces or something of the sort--and
it took root in his heart till nothing would satisfy
him but he must find a potful of gold pieces too. He spent 5
all his time hunting in this place and in that for buried
treasures. He poked about all the old ruins in the neighborhood
and even wished to take up the floor of the church.

One morning he arose with a bright face and said to his
wife, "It's all right, Mary. I've found the treasure." 10

"No! Have you, though?" said she.

"Yes!" he answered; "at least it's as good as found.
It's only waiting till I've had my breakfast, and then I'll
go out and fetch it in."

"Oh, John! How did you find it?" 15

"It was revealed to me in a dream," said he, as grave
as a judge.

"Oh! and where is it?"

"Under a tree in our orchard--no farther than that."

"Oh, how long you are at your breakfast, John! Let's 20
hurry out and get it."

They went out together into the orchard.

"Now which tree is it under?" asked the wife.

John scratched his head and looked very sheepish. "I'm
blessed if I know!"

"Oh, you foolish fellow," said the wife. "Why didn't
you take the trouble to notice?" 5

"I did notice," said he. "I saw the exact tree in my
dream, but now there's so many of them, they muddle
it all."

"Well, I think you're stupid," said the wife angrily.
"You ought to have cut a nick in the right one while you 10
were there."

"That may be," answered John; "but now I see that I'll
have to begin with the first tree and keep on digging till I
come to the one with the treasure under it."

This made the wife lose all hope; for there were eighty 15
apple trees and a score of cherry trees. She heaved a sigh
and said: "Well, I guess if you must, you must. But
mind you don't cut any of the roots."

John was in no good humor. He abused the trees with
all the bad words he could think of. 20

"What difference does it make if I cut all the roots?
The old fagots aren't worth a penny apiece. The whole
lot of them don't bear a bushel of good apples. In father's
time they used to bear wagonloads of choice fruit. I wish
they were every one dead!" 25

"Well, John," said the woman, trying to soothe his
anger, "you know that father always gave them a good deal
of attention."

"Attention? Nonsense!" he answered spitefully.
"They don't need attention. They've got old, like ourselves. 30
They're good for nothing but firewood."

Then, muttering to himself, he brought out pickax and
spade and began his work. He dug three feet deep all
around the first tree, and finding nothing but earth and
stones went on to the next. He heaped up a mound half
as high as his head--but no pot of gold did he strike.

He had dug round three or four trees before his neighbors 5
began to notice him. Then their curiosity was awakened,
and each one told another about his queer actions. After
that there was scarcely an hour in the day that seven or
eight were not sitting on the fence and passing sly jokes.
Then it became the fashion for the boys to fling a stone or 10
two or a clod of dry earth at John.

To defend himself, John brought out his gun, loaded with
fine shot, and the next time a stone was thrown he fired
sharp in the direction it came from. The boys took the
hint, and John dug on in peace till the fourth Sunday, when 15
the parson alluded to him in church. "People ought not
to heap up to themselves treasures on earth."

But it seemed that John was only heaping up dirt; for
when he had dug the fivescore holes, no pot of gold came
to light. Then the neighbors called the orchard "Jacobs's 20
folly"; his name was Jacobs--John Jacobs.

"Now then, Mary," said he, "you and I will have to
find some other village to live in, for the jokes and gibes
of these people are more than I can bear."

Mary began to cry. 25

"Oh, John, we have been here so long!" she said. "You
brought me here when we were first married. I was just
a lass then, and you were the smartest young man I ever
saw--at least I thought so."

"Well, Mary," answered John, "I guess we'll try to stay. 30
Perhaps it will all blow over some time."

"Yes, John, it will be like everything else by and by.
But if I were you, I'd fill those holes. The people come
from far and wide on Sundays to see them."

"Mary, I haven't the heart to do that," said the disappointed
man. "You see, when I was digging for treasure
I felt sure I was going to find it, and that kept my heart up. 5
But take a shovel and fill all those holes? I'd rather do
without eggs every Sunday!"

So for six months the heaps of earth stood in the heat and
the frost. Then in the spring the old man took heart and
filled the holes, smoothing the ground until it was as level 10
as before. And soon everybody forgot "Jacobs's folly"
because it was out of sight.

The month of April was warm, and out burst the trees.
"Mary," said John, "the bloom is richer than I've seen
it for many a year; it's a good deal richer than in any of 15
our neighbors' orchards."

The bloom died, and then out came a million little green
things, quite hard. Summer passed. Autumn followed,
and the old trees staggered under their weight of fruit.

The trees were old and needed attention. John's 20
letting in the air to them and turning the soil up to the
frost and sun had renewed their youth. And so, in that
way, he learned that tillage is the way to get treasure
from the earth.

1. What other stories about buried treasure have
you read? What is fascinating about the theme
besides the get-rich-quick idea?

2. In what country is the scene of this story laid?
At about what time? Give evidence in support of
your answer.

3. Do apple trees bear better when the ground is
cultivated around them? Where do you get your first
hint of the end of the story? Is the conclusion
satisfying to you? Was it to John?

THE SOLITARY REAPER

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

A friend of Wordsworth's, while traveling in the
Highlands of Scotland, was impressed by the
beautiful singing voice of a girl whom he saw
working alone in a field; he wrote in his
diary--"the sweetest human voice I ever heard. The
strains felt delicious long after they were heard
no more." Wordsworth had traveled through the same
country, and from the note and his own impressions
he built up this poem. The first stanza gives the
real picture, the second offers two
comparisons--the nightingale and the cuckoo--one
sad, the other happy, both associated with solitude
and open spaces. The third stanza relates the girl
and her song to the background of history and human
experience that belongs to the scene; and the last
refers to Wordsworth's delight in recalling
beautiful things.

Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 5
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No nightingale did ever chant
More welcome notes to weary bands 10
Of travelers in some shady haunt
Among Arabian sands;
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In springtime from the cuckoo bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas 15
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago;
Or is it some more humble lay, 5
Familiar matter of to-day--
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending; 10
I saw her singing at her work
And o'er the sickle bending;
I listened, motionless and still,
And as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore 15
Long after it was heard no more.

1. Describe what is seen and heard. To what bird
songs is the girl's voice compared? Have you ever
heard the song of the nightingale? What widely
different places are thought of in the second
stanza? What have the desert and the sea in common?
Where are the Hebrides?

2. Explain: numbers, lay, sickle, lass, vale,
profound.

3. What in this poem reminds you of "The
Daffodils?" How is the theme identical with
Longfellow's "The Arrow and the Song?"

* * * * *

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful,
we must carry it with us or we find it not.

--_Ralph Waldo Emerson._

_IN GOOD HUMOR_

_He is twice blessed who has a sense of humor; he
is saved from taking too seriously the shortcomings
of his fellows; and he makes glad the hearts of his
friends. For it has been wisely said that humor is
the measure of a gentleman, even as its possession
distinguishes civilized from savage man._

(_See opposite page_)]

THE STAGECOACH

BY MARK TWAIN

Before the days of the railroad, the lumbering,
horse-drawn stagecoach was the general vehicle used
for cross-country passenger travel. Following the
Civil War, the brother of Mark Twain (Samuel L.
Clemens) was appointed Territorial Secretary of
Nevada. Samuel accompanied his brother as private
secretary. The journey was made largely in a
stagecoach, the inconveniences of which are
whimsically set forth in the following extract from
Twain's _Roughing It_.

As the sun went down and the evening chill came on,
we made preparation for bed. We stirred up the
hard leather letter sacks, and the knotty canvas bags of
printed matter (knotty and uneven because of projecting
ends and corners of magazines, boxes, and books). We 5
stirred them up and redisposed them in such a way as to
make our bed as level as possible. And we did improve
it, too, though after all our work it had an upheaved
and billowy look about it, like a little piece of a stormy
sea. Next we hunted up our boots from odd nooks among 10
the mail bags where they had settled, and put them on.

Then we got down our coats, vests, pantaloons, and heavy
woolen shirts, from the arm loops where they had been
swinging all day, and clothed ourselves in them--for,
there being no ladies either at the stations or in the coach, 15
and the weather being hot, we had looked to our comfort
by stripping to our underclothing at nine o'clock in the
morning. All things being now ready, we stowed the uneasy
Dictionary where it would lie as quiet as possible and
placed the water canteen and pistols where we could find 20
them in the dark. Then we smoked a final pipe and
swapped a final yarn; after which we put the pipes, tobacco,
and bag of coin in snug holes and caves among the mail
bags, and then fastened down the coach curtains all around,
and made the place as "dark as the inside of a cow," as 5
the conductor phrased it in his picturesque way. It was
certainly as dark as any place could be--nothing was even
dimly visible in it. And finally we rolled ourselves up like
silkworms, each person in his own blanket, and sank peacefully
to sleep. 10

Whenever the stage stopped to change horses we would
wake up, and try to recollect where we were---and succeed--and
in a minute or two the stage would be off again,
and we likewise. We began to get into country now,
threaded here and there with little streams. These had 15
high, steep banks on each side, and every time we flew
down one bank and scrambled up the other, our party
inside got mixed somewhat. First we would all be down
in a pile at the forward end of the stage, nearly in a sitting
posture, and in a second we would shoot to the other end 20
and stand on our heads. And we would sprawl and kick,
too, and ward off ends and corners of mail bags that came
lumbering over us and about us; and as the dust rose
from the tumult, we would all sneeze in chorus, and the
majority of us would grumble, and probably say some hasty 25
thing, like, "Take your elbow out of my ribs!--can't you
quit crowding?"

Every time we avalanched from one end of the stage to
the other, the Unabridged Dictionary would come too;
and every time it came it damaged somebody. One trip 30
it "barked" the Secretary's elbow; the next trip it hurt
me in the stomach; and the third it tilted Bemis's nose
up till he could look down his nostrils--he said. The
pistols and coin soon settled to the bottom, but the pipes,
pipestems, tobacco, and canteens clattered and floundered
after the Dictionary every time it made an assault on us,
and aided and abetted the book by spilling tobacco in 5
our eyes and water down our backs.

Still, all things considered, it was a very comfortable
night. It wore gradually away, and when at last a cold,
gray light was visible through the puckers and chinks in
the curtains, we yawned and stretched with satisfaction, 10
shed our cocoons, and felt that we had slept as much as was
necessary. By and by, as the sun rose up and warmed the
world, we pulled off our clothes and got ready for breakfast.
We were just pleasantly in time, for five minutes afterward
the driver sent the weird music of his bugle winding over 15
the grassy solitudes, and presently we detected a low hut
or two in the distance. Then the rattling of the coach, the
clatter of our six horses' hoofs, and the driver's crisp commands,
awoke to a louder and stronger emphasis, and we
went sweeping down on the station at our smartest speed. 20
It was fascinating--that old Overland stagecoaching.

We jumped out in undress uniform. The driver tossed
his gathered reins out on the ground, gaped and stretched
complacently, drew off his heavy buckskin gloves with
great deliberation and insufferable dignity--taking not 25
the slightest notice of a dozen solicitous inquiries after his
health, and humbly facetious and flattering accostings, and
obsequious tenders of service, from five or six hairy and
half-civilized station keepers and hostlers who were nimbly
unhitching our steeds and bringing the fresh team out of the 30
stables--for in the eyes of the stage driver of that day,
station keepers and hostlers were a sort of good-enough low
creatures, useful in their place and helping to make up a
world, but not the kind of beings which a person of distinction
could afford to concern himself with; while on the
contrary, in the eyes of the station keeper and the hostler,
the stage driver was a hero--a great and shining dignitary; 5
the world's favorite son, the envy of the people, the observed
of the nations.

When they spoke to him they received his insolent
silence meekly and as being the natural and proper
conduct of so great a man; when he opened his lips 10
they all hung on his words with admiration (he never
honored a particular individual with a remark, but addressed
it with a broad generality to the horses, the stables,
the surrounding country, and the human underlings); when
he discharged a facetious insulting personality at a hostler, 15
that hostler was happy for the day; when he uttered his
one jest--old as the hills, coarse, profane, witless, and inflicted
on the same audience, in that same language, every
time his coach drove up there--the varlets roared, and
slapped their thighs, and swore it was the best thing they'd 20
ever heard in all their lives. And how they would fly
around when he wanted a basin of water, a gourd of the same,
or a light for his pipe!--but they would instantly insult
a passenger if he so far forgot himself as to crave a favor
at their hands. They could do that sort of insolence as 25
well as the driver they copied it from--for, let it be borne
in mind, the Overland driver had but little less contempt
for his passengers than he had for his hostlers.

The hostlers and station keepers treated the really
powerful conductor of the coach merely with the best 30
of what was their idea of civility, but the driver was the
only being they bowed down to and worshiped. How
admiringly they would gaze up at him in his high seat as
he gloved himself with lingering deliberation, while some
happy hostler held the bunch of reins aloft and waited
patiently for him to take it! And how they would bombard
him with glorifying ejaculations as he cracked his long whip 5
and went careering away.

The station buildings were long, low huts, made of sun-dried,
mud-colored bricks, laid up without mortar (_adobes_,
the Spaniards call these bricks, and Americans shorten it
to _'dobies_). The roofs, which had no slant to them worth 10
speaking of, were thatched and then sodded, or covered
with a thick layer of earth, and from this sprang a pretty
rank growth of weeds and grass. It was the first time we
had ever seen a man's front yard on top of his house. The
buildings consisted of barns, stable room for twelve or 15
fifteen horses, and a hut for an eating room for passengers.
This latter had bunks in it for the station keeper and a hostler
or two. You could rest your elbow on its eaves, and
you had to bend in order to get in at the door. In place
of a window there was a square hole about large enough 20
for a man to crawl through, but this had no glass in it.
There was no flooring, but the ground was packed hard.
There were no shelves, no cupboards, no closets. In a
corner stood an open sack of flour, and nestling against its
base were a couple of black and venerable tin coffeepots, 25
a tin teapot, a little bag of salt, and a side of bacon.

By the door of the station keeper's den, outside, was a
tin washbasin, on the ground. Near it was a pail of water
and a piece of yellow bar soap, and from the eaves hung a
hoary blue-woolen shirt, significantly--but this latter was 30
the station keeper's private towel, and only two persons
in all the party might venture to use it--the stage driver
and the conductor. The latter would not, from a sense of
decency; the former would not, because he did not choose
to encourage the advances of a station keeper. We had
towels--in the valise; they might as well have been in
Sodom and Gomorrah. 5

We (and the conductor) used our handkerchiefs, and
the driver his pantaloons and sleeves. By the door, inside,
was fastened a small old-fashioned looking-glass
frame, with two little fragments of the original mirror
lodged down in one corner of it. This arrangement afforded 10
a pleasant double-barreled portrait of you when you
looked into it, with one half of your head set up a couple
of inches above the other half. From the glass frame hung
the half a comb by a string--but if I had to describe that
patriarch or die, I believe I would order some sample 15
coffins. It had come down from Esau and Samson, and
had been accumulating hair ever since--along with
certain impurities. In one corner of the room stood three
or four rifles and muskets, together with horns and pouches
of ammunition. 20

The station men wore pantaloons of coarse country-woven
stuff, and into the seat and the inside of the
legs were sewed ample additions of buckskin to do duty
in place of leggings when the man rode horseback--so
the pants were half dull blue and half yellow, and 25
unspeakably picturesque. The pants were stuffed into
the tops of high boots, the heels whereof were armed with
great Spanish spurs whose little iron clogs and chains
jingled with every step. The man wore a huge beard and
mustachios, an old slouch hat, a blue-woolen shirt, no 30
suspenders, no vest, no coat; in a leathern sheath in his
belt, a great long "navy" revolver (slung on right side,
hammer to the front), and projecting from his boot a horn-handled
bowie knife. The furniture of the hut was neither
gorgeous nor much in the way. The rocking-chairs and
sofas were not present and never had been, but they were
represented by two three-legged stools, a pine-board bench 5
four feet long, and two empty candle boxes. The table
was a greasy board on stilts, and the tablecloth and napkins
had not come--and they were not looking for them, either.
A battered tin platter, a knife and fork, and a tin pint cup,
were at each man's place, and the driver had a queen's-ware 10
saucer that had seen better days. Of course this
duke sat at the head of the table.

There was one isolated piece of table furniture that bore
about it a touching air of grandeur in misfortune. This was
the caster. It was German silver and crippled and rusty, 15
but it was so preposterously out of place there that it
was suggestive of a tattered exiled king among barbarians,
and the majesty of its native position compelled respect
even in its degradation. There was only one cruet left,
and that was a stopperless, fly-specked, broken-necked 20
thing, with two inches of vinegar in it and a dozen preserved
flies with their heels up and looking sorry they
had invested there.

The station keeper upended a disk of last week's bread,
of the shape and size of an old-time cheese, and carved some 25
slabs from it which were as good as Nicholson pavement,
and tenderer.

He sliced off a piece of bacon for each man, but only the
experienced old hands made out to eat it, for it was condemned
army bacon which the United States would not feed 30
to its soldiers in the forts, and the stage company had
bought it cheap for the sustenance of their passengers and
employees. We may have found this condemned army
bacon further out on the plains than the section I am locating
it in, but we _found_ it--there is no gainsaying that.

Then he poured for us a beverage which he called _slumgullion_
and it is hard to think he was not inspired when 5
he named it. It really pretended to be tea, but there was
too much dishrag, and sand, and old bacon rind in it to
deceive the intelligent traveler. He had no sugar and no
milk--not even a spoon to stir the ingredients with.

We could not eat the bread or the meat, or drink the 10
"slumgullion." And when I looked at that melancholy
vinegar cruet, I thought of the anecdote (a very, very old
one, even at that day) of the traveler who sat down at a
table which had nothing on it but a mackerel and a pot
of mustard. He asked the landlord if this was all. The 15
landlord said:

"_All!_ Why, thunder and lightning, I should think
there was mackerel enough there for six."

"But I don't like mackerel."

"Oh--then help yourself to the mustard." 20

--_Roughing It._

1. How much of this selection is given over to a
description of actual travel inside a stagecoach?
To what is the remainder devoted?

2. Re-read only the description of the night's
traveling and decide which parts of it are most
humorous. Why are they funny?

3. Describe the driver. Make a sketch of him.

4. How much of the central paragraph, page 257, is
serious description? What parts of it are humorous?
Test your answer by reading the paragraph with the
humor omitted.

5. Much of Twain's humor depends on an occasional
single sentence or a startling word. Prove or
disprove this statement.

6. Report fully on Samuel L. Clemens's life. If
possible, read his _Huckleberry Finn_ and _Tom
Sawyer_.

THE CHAMELEON

BY JAMES MERRICK

Two travelers of conceited cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talked of this and then of that,
Discoursed awhile 'mongst other matter 5
Of the chameleon's form and nature.

"A stranger animal," cries one,
"Sure never lived beneath the sun;
A lizard's body, lean and long;
A fish's head; a serpent's tongue; 10
Its foot with triple claw disjoined;
And what a length of tail behind!
How slow its pace! And then its hue!--
Who ever saw so fine a blue?"

"Hold, there!" the other quick replies; 15
"'Tis _green_--I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warmed it in the sunny ray;
Stretched at its ease, the beast I viewed,
And saw it eat the air for food." 20

"I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue.
At leisure I the beast surveyed,
Extended in the cooling shade."

"'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye."
"Green!" cries the other in a fury;
"Why, sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes?"
"'Twere no great loss," the friend replies,
"For if they always serve you thus, 5
You'll find them of but little use."

So high at last the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows;
When luckily came by a third--
To him the question they referred, 10
And begged he'd tell them, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green, or blue.

"Sirs," cries the umpire, "cease your pother!
The creature's neither one nor t'other.
I caught the animal last night, 15
And viewed it o'er by candle light;
I marked it well--'twas black as jet;
You stare--but, sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it." "Pray, sir, do;
I'll lay my life the thing is blue." 20
"And I'll engage that when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green."

"Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,"
Replies the man, "I'll turn him out;
And when before your eyes I've set him, 25
If you don't find him black, I'll eat him."
He said: then full before their sight
Produced the beast, and lo--'twas white!

Both stared; the man looked wondrous wise!--
"My children," the chameleon cries
(Then first the creature found a tongue),
"You all are right, and all are wrong,
When next you talk of what you view, 5
Think others see as well as you;
Nor wonder if you find that none
Prefers your eyesight to his own."

1. You should read with this poem Saxe's "The Blind
Men and the Elephant." Is it like any other
selection you have read?

2. Does the chameleon actually change color?
Wherein does the humor of the poem lie?

THE PICKWICK CLUB ON ICE

BY CHARLES DICKENS

"Now," said Wardle, after a substantial lunch had
been done ample justice to, "what say you to an
hour on the ice? We shall have plenty of time."

"Capital," said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

"Prime," ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer. 5

"You skate, of course, Winkle?" said Wardle.

"Ye--yes; oh, yes!" replied Mr. Winkle. "I--I--am
rather out of practice."

"Oh, do skate, Mr. Winkle," said Arabella. "I like to
see it so much." 10

"Oh, it is so graceful," said another young lady.

A third young lady said it was "elegant," and a fourth expressed
her opinion that it was "swanlike."

"I should be very happy, I'm sure," said Mr. Winkle,
reddening; "but I have no skates." 15

This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had a
couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that there were
half a dozen more in the house; whereat Mr. Winkle expressed
exquisite delight and looked exquisitely uncomfortable. 5

Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold,
forced a gimlet into the soles of his feet, put his skates on
with the points behind, and got the straps into a very
complicated and entangled state, with the assistance of
Mr. Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates than a 10
Hindu. At length, however, with the assistance of Mr.
Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed and
buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet.

"Now, then, sir," said Sam in an encouraging tone; "off
with you, and show 'em how to do it." 15

"Stop, Sam, stop," said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently
and clutching hold of Sam's arm with the grasp of a drowning
man. "How slippery it is, Sam."

"Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir," replied Mr.
Weller. "Hold up, sir." 20

This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a
demonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic
desire to throw his feet in the air and dash the back of his
head on the ice.

"These--these--are very awkward skates, ain't they, 25
Sam?" inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering.

"I'm afraid there's an awkward gentleman in 'em, sir,"
replied Sam.

"Now, Winkle," cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious
that there was anything the matter. "Come, the ladies 30
are all anxiety."

"Yes, yes!" replied Mr. Winkle with a ghastly smile.

"Just a goin' to begin," said Sam, endeavoring to disengage
himself. "Now, sir, start off."

"Stop an instant, Sam," gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging
most affectionately to Mr. Weller. "I find I've got a
couple of coats at home that I don't want, Sam. You may 5
have them, Sam."

"Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller.

"Never mind touching your hat, Sam," said Mr. Winkle
hastily. "You needn't take your hand away to do that.
I meant to have given you five shillings this morning for a 10
Christmas box, Sam; I'll give it to you this afternoon,
Sam."

"You're very good, sir," replied Mr. Weller.

"Just hold me at first, Sam, will you?" said Mr. Winkle.
"There--that's right. I shall soon get in the way of it, 15
Sam. Not too fast, Sam; not too fast."

Mr. Winkle, stooping forward with his body half doubled
up, was being assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller in a very
singular and unswanlike manner when Mr. Pickwick most
innocently shouted from the opposite bank, 20

"Sam!"

"Sir?" said Mr. Weller.

"Here. I want you."

"Let go, sir," said Sam. "Don't you hear the governor
a callin'? Let go, sir." 25

With a violent effort Mr. Weller disengaged himself from
the grasp of the agonized Pickwickian; and in so doing
administered a considerable impetus to the unhappy Mr.
Winkle. With an accuracy which no degree of dexterity or
practice could have insured, that gentleman bore swiftly 30
down into the center of a group at the very moment when
Mr. Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled
beauty. Mr. Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a
wild crash they fell heavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the
spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his feet, but Mr. Winkle
was far too wise to do anything of the kind in skates. He
was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile; 5
but anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance.

Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned
to Mr. Weller and said in a stern voice, "Take his skates
off." 10

"No; but really I had scarcely begun," remonstrated
Mr. Winkle.

"Take his skates off," repeated Mr. Pickwick firmly.

The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle
allowed Sam to obey it in silence. 15

"Lift him up," said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him
to rise.

Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders,
and beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a
searching look upon him and uttered in a low but distinct 20
and emphatic tone these remarkable words:

"You're a humbug, sir."

"A what?" said Mr. Winkle, starting.

"A humbug, sir. I will speak plainer if you wish it.
An impostor, sir." 25

With these words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his
heel and rejoined his friends.

While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment
just recorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having by
their joint endeavors cut out a slide, were exercising themselves 30
thereupon in a very masterly and brilliant manner.
Sam Weller, in particular, was displaying that beautiful
feat of fancy sliding which is currently denominated "knocking
at the cobbler's door," and which is achieved by skimming
over the ice on one foot and occasionally giving a two-penny
postman's knock upon it with the other. It was
a good long slide, and there was something in the motion 5
which Mr. Pickwick, who was very cold with standing still,
could not help envying.

"It looks a nice warm exercise, that, doesn't it?" he
inquired of Wardle, when that gentleman was thoroughly
out of breath by reason of the indefatigable manner in 10
which he had converted his legs into a pair of compasses
and drawn complicated problems on the ice.

"Ah, it does, indeed," replied Wardle. "Do you slide?"

"I used to do so, on the gutters, when I was a boy,"
replied Mr. Pickwick. 15

"Try it now," said Wardle.

Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his gloves
and put them in his hat, took two or three short runs,
balked himself as often, and at last took another run and
went slowly and gravely down the slide with his feet about 20
a yard and a quarter apart, amidst the gratified shouts of
all the spectators.

It was the most intensely interesting thing to observe
the manner in which Mr. Pickwick performed his share
in the ceremony; to watch the torture of anxiety with 25
which he viewed the person behind, gaining upon him at
the imminent hazard of tripping him up; to see him
gradually expend the painful force which he had put on
at first and turn slowly round on the slide, with his face
towards the point from which he had started; to contemplate 30
the playful smile which mantled on his face when he had
accomplished the distance and the eagerness with which he
turned round when he had done so and ran after his predecessor,
his black gaiters tripping pleasantly through
the snow and his eyes beaming cheerfulness and gladness
through his spectacles. And when he was knocked down
(which happened upon the average every third round), 5
it was the most invigorating sight that can possibly be
imagined to behold him gather up his hat, gloves, and
handkerchief with a glowing countenance, and resume
his station in the rank with an ardor and enthusiasm which
nothing could abate. 10

The sport was at its height, the sliding was at the quickest,
the laughter was at the loudest, when a sharp, smart
crack was heard. There was a quick rush towards the bank,
a wild scream from the ladies, and a shout from Mr. Tupman.
A large mass of ice disappeared, the water bubbled 15
up over it, and Mr. Pickwick's hat, gloves, and handkerchief
were floating on the surface; and this was all of Mr.
Pickwick that anybody could see.

Dismay and anguish were depicted on every countenance;
the males turned pale, and the females fainted; Mr. Snodgrass 20
and Mr. Winkle grasped each other by the hand and
gazed at the spot where their leader had gone down, with
frenzied eagerness; while Mr. Tupman, by way of rendering
the promptest assistance and at the same time conveying
to any persons who might be within hearing the clearest 25
possible notion of the catastrophe, ran off across the country
at his utmost speed, screaming "Fire!" with all his
might and main.

It was at this very moment--when old Wardle and Sam
Weller were approaching the hole with cautious steps and 30
Mr. Benjamin Allen was holding a hurried consultation
with Mr. Bob Sawyer on the advisability of bleeding the
company generally, as an improving little bit of professional
practice--it was at this very moment that a head, face,
and shoulders emerged from beneath the water, and disclosed
the features and spectacles of Mr. Pickwick.

"Do you feel the bottom there, old fellow?" said Wardle. 5

"Yes, certainly," replied Mr. Pickwick, wringing the
water from his head and face and gasping for breath. "I
fell upon my back. I couldn't get on my feet at first."

The clay upon so much of Mr. Pickwick's coat as was yet
visible bore testimony to the accuracy of this statement; 10
and as the fears of the spectators were still further relieved
by the fat boy's suddenly recollecting that the water was
nowhere more than five feet deep, prodigies of valor were
performed to get him out. After a vast quantity of splashing,
and cracking, and struggling, Mr. Pickwick was at 15
length fairly extricated from his unpleasant position and
once more stood on dry land.

--_Pickwick Papers._

1. The members of the Pickwick Club herein
presented are Mr. Pickwick, a heavy, pompous,
dignified gentleman, and three friends, Messrs.
Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman. Characterize each.
Weller is a guide-valet. _Pickwick Papers_ records
the experiences of the Club during a series of
tours.

2. How many episodes are related?

3. Why didn't Winkle admit his inability to skate?
What do you consider the funniest part of the
Winkle story?

4. What is ludicrous about Pickwick's sliding? When
he fell into the water, why was there so little
assistance offered at first, and so much later?

5. If you have had a funny experience of your own
on ice, tell it to the class.

DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING MACHINE

BY JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE

If ever there lived a Yankee lad,
Wise or otherwise, good or bad,
Who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump
With flapping arms from stake or stump,
Or spreading the tail 5
Of his coat for a sail,
Take a soaring leap from post or rail,
And wonder why
_He_ couldn't fly,
And flap and flutter and wish and try-- 10
If ever you knew a country dunce
Who didn't try that as often as once--
All I can say is, that's a sign
He never would do for a hero of mine.

An aspiring genius was D. Green: 15
The son of a farmer--age fourteen;
His body was long and lank and lean--
Just right for flying, as will be seen;
He had two eyes as bright as a bean,
And a freckled nose that grew between, 20
A little awry;--for I must mention
That he had riveted his attention
Upon his wonderful invention,
Twisting his tongue as he twisted the strings,
And working his face as he worked the wings, 25
And with every turn of gimlet and screw
Turning and screwing his mouth round too,
Till his nose seemed bent
To catch the scent,
Around some corner, of new-baked pies,
And his wrinkled cheeks and squinting eyes 5
Grew puckered into a queer grimace,
That made him look very droll in the face,
And also very wise.

And wise he must have been, to do more
Than ever a genius did before, 10
Excepting Dædalus of yore,
And his son Icarus, who wore
Upon their backs
Those wings of wax
He had read of in the old almanacs. 15
Darius was clearly of the opinion,
That the air was also man's dominion,
And that, with paddle or fin or pinion,
We soon or late
Shall navigate 20
The azure as now we sail the sea.
The thing looks simple enough to me;
And if you doubt it,
Hear how Darius reasoned about it:

"The birds can fly, 25
An' why can't I?
Must we give in,"
Says he with a grin,
"That the bluebird an' phoebe
Are smarter 'n we be? 30
Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller
An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler?
Does the leetle chatterin', sassy wren,
No bigger'n my thumb, know more than men?
Jest show me that 5
Er prove 't the bat
Hez got more brains than's in my hat,
An' I'll back down, an' not till then!"

He argued further: "Ner I can't see
What's th' use o' wings to a bumblebee 10
Fer to git a livin' with, more'n to me;
Ain't my business
Importanter'n his'n is?
That Icarus
Made a perty muss-- 15
Him an' his daddy Daedalus.
They might 'a' knowed wings made o' wax
Wouldn't stan' sun heat an' hard whacks:
I'll make mine o' luther,
Er suthin' er other." 20

And he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned:
"But I ain't goin' to show my hand
To nummies that never can understand
The fust idee that's big an' grand."
So he kept his secret from all the rest, 25
Safely buttoned within his vest;
And in the loft above the shed
Himself he locks, with thimble and thread
And wax and hammer and buckles and screws,
And all such things as geniuses use: 30
Two bats for patterns, curious fellows!
A charcoal pot and a pair of bellows;
An old hoop skirt or two, as well as
Some wire and several old umbrellas;
A carriage cover for tail and wings; 5
A piece of harness; and straps and strings;
And a big, strong box,
In which he locks
These and a hundred other things.