A Garden on the Roof
The Truck Garden
My First Attempt at Gardening
Raspberrying
Planting Time
The Watermelon Patch
Weeding the Garden
Visiting in the Country
Getting Rid of the Insects
School Gardens
A Window-box Garden
Some Weeds of our Vicinity
The Scarecrow
Going to Market
"Votes for Women"
How Women Rule
A Suffrage Meeting
Why I Believe [or do not Believe] in Woman's Suffrage
The "Militants"
SUGGESTIONS FOR WRITING
=My First Attempt at Gardening=:--Tell how you came to make the garden.
Was there any talk about it before it was begun? What were your plans
concerning it? Did you spend any time in consulting seed catalogues?
Tell about buying (or otherwise securing) the seeds. If you got them
from some more experienced gardener than yourself, report the talk about
them. Tell how you made the ground ready; how you planted the seeds.
Take the reader into your confidence as to your hopes and uncertainties
when the sprouts began to appear. Did the garden suffer any misfortunes
from the frost, or the drought, or the depredations of the hens? Can you
remember any conversation about it? Tell about the weeding, and what was
said when it became necessary. Trace the progress of the garden; tell of
its success or failure as time went on. What did you do with the
products? Did any one praise or make fun of you? How did you feel? Did
you want to have another garden?
=The Scarecrow=:--You might speak first about the garden--its prosperity
and beauty, and the fruit or vegetables that it was producing. Then
speak about the birds, and tell how they acted and what they did. Did
you try driving them away? What was said about them? Now tell about the
plans for the scarecrow. Give an account of how it was set up, and what
clothes were put on it. How did it look? What was said about it? Give
one or two incidents (real or imaginary) in which it was concerned. Was
it of any use? How long did it remain in its place?
=Votes for Women=:--There are several ways in which you could deal with
this subject:--
(_a_) If you have seen a suffrage parade, you might describe it and tell
how it impressed you. (_b_) Perhaps you could write of some particular
person who was interested in votes for women: How did she [or he] look,
and what did she say? (_c_) Report a lecture on suffrage. (_d_) Give two
or three arguments for or against woman's suffrage; do not try to take
up too many, but deal with each rather completely. (_e_) Imagine two
people talking together about suffrage--for instance, two old men; a man
and a woman; a young woman and an old one; a child and a grown person;
two children. (_f_) Imagine the author of the selection and his wife
Polly talking about suffrage at the dinner table.
COLLATERAL READINGS
My Summer in a Garden Charles Dudley Warner
Being a Boy " " "
In the Wilderness " " "
My Winter on the Nile " " "
On Horseback " " "
Back-log Studies " " "
A Journey to Nature A.C. Wheeler
The Making of a Country Home " "
A Self-supporting Home Kate V. St. Maur
Folks back Home Eugene Wood
Adventures in Contentment David Grayson
Adventures in Friendship " "
The Friendly Road " "
New Lives for Old William Carleton
A Living without a Boss Anonymous
The Fat of the Land J.W. Streeter
The Jonathan Papers Elizabeth Woodbridge
Adopting an Abandoned Farm Kate Sanborn
Out-door Studies T.W. Higginson
The Women of America Elizabeth McCracken
The Country Home E.P. Powell
Blessing the Cornfields (in _Hiawatha_) H.W. Longfellow
The Corn Song (in _The Huskers_) J.G. Whittier
Charles Dudley Warner
(in _American Writers of To-day_, pp. 89-103) H.C. Vedder
THE SINGING MAN
JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY
I
He sang above the vineyards of the world.
And after him the vines with woven hands
Clambered and clung, and everywhere unfurled
Triumphing green above the barren lands;
Till high as gardens grow, he climbed, he stood,
Sun-crowned with life and strength, and singing toil,
And looked upon his work; and it was good:
The corn, the wine, the oil.
He sang above the noon. The topmost cleft
That grudged him footing on the mountain scars
He planted and despaired not; till he left
His vines soft breathing to the host of stars.
He wrought, he tilled; and even as he sang,
The creatures of his planting laughed to scorn
The ancient threat of deserts where there sprang
The wine, the oil, the corn!
He sang not for abundance.--Over-lords
Took of his tilth. Yet was there still to reap,
The portion of his labor; dear rewards
Of sunlit day, and bread, and human sleep.
He sang for strength; for glory of the light.
He dreamed above the furrows, 'They are mine!'
When all he wrought stood fair before his sight
With corn, and oil, and wine.
_Truly, the light is sweet_
_Yea, and a pleasant thing_
_It is to see the Sun._
_And that a man should eat_
_His bread that he hath won_;--
(_So is it sung and said_),
_That he should take and keep_,
_After his laboring_,
_The portion of his labor in his bread_,
_His bread that he hath won_;
_Yea, and in quiet sleep_,
_When all is done._
He sang; above the burden and the heat,
Above all seasons with their fitful grace;
Above the chance and change that led his feet
To this last ambush of the Market-place.
'Enough for him,' they said--and still they say--
'A crust, with air to breathe, and sun to shine;
He asks no more!'--Before they took away
The corn, the oil, the wine.
He sang. No more he sings now, anywhere.
Light was enough, before he was undone.
They knew it well, who took away the air,
--Who took away the sun;
Who took, to serve their soul-devouring greed,
Himself, his breath, his bread--the goad of toil;--
Who have and hold, before the eyes of Need,
The corn, the wine,--the oil!
_Truly, one thing is sweet_
_Of things beneath the Sun_;
_This, that a man should earn his bread and eat_,
_Rejoicing in his work which he hath done._
_What shall be sung or said_
_Of desolate deceit_,
_When others take his bread_;
_His and his children's bread?_--
_And the laborer hath none._
_This, for his portion now, of all that he hath done._
_He earns; and others eat._
_He starves;--they sit at meat_
_Who have taken away the Sun._
II
Seek him now, that singing Man.
Look for him,
Look for him
In the mills,
In the mines;
Where the very daylight pines,--
He, who once did walk the hills!
You shall find him, if you scan
Shapes all unbefitting Man,
Bodies warped, and faces dim.
In the mines; in the mills
Where the ceaseless thunder fills
Spaces of the human brain
Till all thought is turned to pain.
Where the skirl of wheel on wheel,
Grinding him who is their tool,
Makes the shattered senses reel
To the numbness of the fool.
Perisht thought, and halting tongue--
(Once it spoke;--once it sung!)
Live to hunger, dead to song.
Only heart-beats loud with wrong
Hammer on,--_How long?_
... _How long?_--_How long?_
Search for him;
Search for him;
Where the crazy atoms swim
Up the fiery furnace-blast.
You shall find him, at the last,--
He whose forehead braved the sun,--
Wreckt and tortured and undone.
Where no breath across the heat
Whispers him that life was sweet;
But the sparkles mock and flare,
Scattering up the crooked air.
(Blackened with that bitter mirk,--
Would God know His handiwork?)
Thought is not for such as he;
Naught but strength, and misery;
Since, for just the bite and sup,
Life must needs be swallowed up.
Only, reeling up the sky,
Hurtling flames that hurry by,
Gasp and flare, with _Why_--_Why_,
... _Why?_...
Why the human mind of him
Shrinks, and falters and is dim
When he tries to make it out:
What the torture is about.--
Why he breathes, a fugitive
Whom the World forbids to live.
Why he earned for his abode,
Habitation of the toad!
Why his fevered day by day
Will not serve to drive away
Horror that must always haunt:--
... _Want_ ... _Want!_
Nightmare shot with waking pangs;--
Tightening coil, and certain fangs,
Close and closer, always nigh ...
... _Why?_... _Why?_
Why he labors under ban
That denies him for a man.
Why his utmost drop of blood
Buys for him no human good;
Why his utmost urge of strength
Only lets Them starve at length;--
Will not let him starve alone;
He must watch, and see his own
Fade and fail, and starve, and die.
. . . . . . .
... _Why?_... _Why?_
. . . . . . .
Heart-beats, in a hammering song,
Heavy as an ox may plod,
Goaded--goaded--faint with wrong,
Cry unto some ghost of God
... _How long_?... _How long?_
... _How long?_
III
Seek him yet. Search for him!
You shall find him, spent and grim;
In the prisons, where we pen
These unsightly shards of men.
Sheltered fast;
Housed at length;
Clothed and fed, no matter how!--
Where the householders, aghast,
Measure in his broken strength
Nought but power for evil, now.
Beast-of-burden drudgeries
Could not earn him what was his:
He who heard the world applaud
Glories seized by force and fraud,
He must break,--he must take!--
Both for hate and hunger's sake.
He must seize by fraud and force;
He must strike, without remorse!
Seize he might; but never keep.
Strike, his once!--Behold him here.
(Human life we buy so cheap,
Who should know we held it dear?)
No denial,--no defence
From a brain bereft of sense,
Any more than penitence.
But the heart-beats now, that plod
Goaded--goaded--dumb with wrong,
Ask not even a ghost of God
... _How long_?
_When the Sea gives up its dead,_
_Prison caverns, yield instead_
_This, rejected and despised;_
_This, the Soiled and Sacrificed!_
_Without form or comeliness;_
_Shamed for us that did transgress_
_Bruised, for our iniquities,_
_With the stripes that are all his!_
_Face that wreckage, you who can._
_It was once the Singing Man._
IV
Must it be?--Must we then
Render back to God again
This His broken work, this thing,
For His man that once did sing?
Will not all our wonders do?
Gifts we stored the ages through,
(Trusting that He had forgot)--
Gifts the Lord requirèd not?
Would the all-but-human serve!
Monsters made of stone and nerve;
Towers to threaten and defy
Curse or blessing of the sky;
Shafts that blot the stars with smoke;
Lightnings harnessed under yoke;
Sea-things, air-things, wrought with steel,
That may smite, and fly, and feel!
Oceans calling each to each;
Hostile hearts, with kindred speech.
Every work that Titans can;
Every marvel: save a man,
Who might rule without a sword.--
Is a man more precious, Lord?
Can it be?--Must we then
Render back to Thee again
Million, million wasted men?
Men, of flickering human breath,
Only made for life and death?
Ah, but see the sovereign Few,
Highly favored, that remain!
These, the glorious residue,
Of the cherished race of Cain.
These, the magnates of the age,
High above the human wage,
Who have numbered and possesst
All the portion of the rest!
What are all despairs and shames,
What the mean, forgotten names
Of the thousand more or less,
For one surfeit of success?
For those dullest lives we spent,
Take these Few magnificent!
For that host of blotted ones,
Take these glittering central suns.
Few;--but how their lustre thrives
On the million broken lives!
Splendid, over dark and doubt,
For a million souls gone out!
These, the holders of our hoard,--
Wilt thou not accept them, Lord?
V
Oh in the wakening thunders of the heart,
--The small lost Eden, troubled through the night,
Sounds there not now,--forboded and apart,
Some voice and sword of light?
Some voice and portent of a dawn to break?--
Searching like God, the ruinous human shard
Of that lost Brother-man Himself did make,
And Man himself hath marred?
It sounds!--And may the anguish of that birth
Seize on the world; and may all shelters fail,
Till we behold new Heaven and new Earth
Through the rent Temple-vail!
When the high-tides that threaten near and far
To sweep away our guilt before the sky,--
Flooding the waste of this dishonored Star,
Cleanse, and o'ewhelm, and cry!
Cry, from the deep of world-accusing waves,
With longing more than all since Light began,
Above the nations,--underneath the graves,--
'Give back the Singing Man!'
NOTES
=and it was good=:--Genesis, 1:31: "And God saw all that he had made,
and, behold, it was very good."
=the ancient threat of deserts=:--Isaiah, 35:1-2: "The desert shall
rejoice and blossom as the rose."
=after his laboring=:--Luke, 10:7, and 1st Timothy, 5:18: "The laborer
is worthy of his hire."
=portion of his labor=:--Ecclesiastes, 2:10: "For my heart rejoiced in
my labor; and this was my portion of all my labor."
=the light is sweet=:--Ecclesiastes, 11:7: "Truly the light is sweet,
and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun."
=How long=:--Revelation, 6:10: "How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost
thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?"
=when the sea=:--Revelation, 20:13: "And the sea gave up the dead which
were in it."
=rejected and despised=:--For this and the remainder of the stanza, see
Isaiah, 53.
=Titans=:--In Greek mythology, powerful and troublesome giants.
=Cain=:--See the story of Cain, Genesis, 4:2-16.
=searching like God=:--Genesis, 4:9: "And the Lord said unto Cain, Where
is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not! Am I my brother's keeper?"
=Temple-vail=:--At the death of Christ, the vail of the temple was rent;
see Matthew, 27:51.
SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY[15]
Read the poem slowly and thoughtfully. The "singing man" is the laborer
who, in days gone by, was happy in his work. People were not crowded
into great cities, and there was more simple out-door labor than there
is now, and less strife for wealth.
_Above the vineyards_: In Europe, vineyards are often planted on the
slopes of hills and mountains. What ancient country do you think of in
connection with "the corn [grain], the oil, the wine"? Were the laborers
happy in that country? What were the "creatures" of man's planting
(second stanza)? What was the "ancient threat" of deserts? Of what kind
of deserts, as described here? Of what deserts would this be true after
the rainy season? _Laughed to scorn_: Does this mean "outdid"? Mentally
insert the word _something_ after _still_ in the second line of the
third stanza. If the laborer in times gone by did not sing for
abundance, what did he sing for (stanza three)? The verses in italics
are a kind of refrain, as if the laborer were singing to himself. _So is
it said and sung_ refers to the fact that these lines are adapted from
passages in the Bible. _This last ambush_: What does the author mean
here by suggesting that the laborer has been entrapped? Who are "they"
in the line "'Enough for him,' they said"? How did they take away "the
corn, the oil, the wine"? How did they take away "the air and the sun"?
Who now has the product of the workman's toil? What are "the eyes of
Need"? Is it true that one may work hard and still be in need? If it is
true, who is to blame? What are "dim" faces? Why does the author begin
the word _Man_ with a capital? What effect does too much hard work have
upon the laborer? What is "the crooked air"? Who is represented as
saying _Why_? How does the world forbid the laborer to live? Why are
there dotted lines before and after _Why_ and _What_ and _How long_? Who
are meant by _Them_ in the line beginning "Only lets"? Why does the
author say that the prisons are filled with ill-used laborers? What does
she mean by saying that the prisoners are "bruised for our iniquities"?
What is gained here by using the language of the Bible? _The
all-but-human_ means "almost intelligent"--referring to machinery. Does
the author mean to praise the "sovereign Few"? Who are these "Few
magnificent"? Are they really to blame for the sufferings of the poor?
_Himself_ in the line beginning "Of that lost," refers to God. What is
meant here by "a new Heaven and a new Earth"? What is "this dishonored
Star"? What conditions does the author think will bring back the singing
man? Are they possible conditions?
Re-read the poem, thinking of the author's protest against the
sufferings of the poor and the selfishness of the rich. What do you
think of the poem?
COLLATERAL READINGS
The Singing Man and Other Poems Josephine Preston Peabody
The Piper " " "
The Singing Leaves " " "
Fortune and Men's Eyes " " "
The Wolf of Gubbio " " "
The Man with the Hoe Edwin Markham
THE DANCE OF THE BON-ODORI
LAFCADIO HEARN
(From _Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan_, Volume I, Chapter VI)
I
At last, from the verge of an enormous ridge, the roadway suddenly
slopes down into a vista of high peaked roofs of thatch and green-mossed
eaves--into a village like a colored print out of old Hiroshige's
picture-books, a village with all its tints and colors precisely like
the tints and colors of the landscape in which it lies. This is
Kami-Ichi, in the land of Hoki.
We halt before a quiet, dingy little inn, whose host, a very aged man,
comes forth to salute me; while a silent, gentle crowd of villagers,
mostly children and women, gather about the kuruma to see the stranger,
to wonder at him, even to touch his clothes with timid smiling
curiosity. One glance at the face of the old inn-keeper decides me to
accept his invitation. I must remain here until to-morrow: my runners
are too wearied to go farther to-night.
Weather-worn as the little inn seemed without, it is delightful within.
Its polished stairway and balconies are speckless, reflecting like
mirror-surfaces the bare feet of the maid-servants; its luminous rooms
are fresh and sweet-smelling as when their soft mattings were first laid
down. The carven pillars of the alcove (toko) in my chamber, leaves and
flowers chiseled in some black rich wood, are wonders; and the kakemono
or scroll-picture hanging there is an idyl, Hotei, God of Happiness,
drifting in a bark down some shadowy stream into evening mysteries of
vapory purple. Far as this hamlet is from all art-centres, there is no
object visible in the house which does not reveal the Japanese sense of
beauty in form. The old gold-flowered lacquer-ware, the astonishing box
in which sweetmeats (kwashi) are kept, the diaphanous porcelain
wine-cups dashed with a single tiny gold figure of a leaping shrimp, the
tea-cup holders which are curled lotus-leaves of bronze, even the iron
kettle with its figurings of dragons and clouds, and the brazen hibachi
whose handles are heads of Buddhist lions, delight the eye and surprise
the fancy. Indeed, wherever to-day in Japan one sees something totally
uninteresting in porcelain or metal, something commonplace and ugly, one
may be almost sure that detestable something has been shaped under
foreign influence. But here I am in ancient Japan; probably no European
eyes ever looked upon these things before.
A window shaped like a heart peeps out upon the garden, a wonderful
little garden with a tiny pond and miniature bridges and dwarf trees,
like the landscape of a tea-cup; also some shapely stones of course, and
some graceful stone lanterns, or t[=o]r[=o], such as are placed in the
courts of temples. And beyond these, through the warm dusk, I see
lights, colored lights, the lanterns of the Bonku, suspended before each
home to welcome the coming of beloved ghosts; for by the antique
calendar, according to which in this antique place the reckoning of time
is still made, this is the first night of the Festival of the Dead.
As in all other little country villages where I have been stopping, I
find the people here kind to me with a kindness and a courtesy
unimaginable, indescribable, unknown in any other country, and even in
Japan itself only in the interior. Their simple politeness is not an
art; their goodness is absolutely unconscious goodness; both come
straight from the heart. And before I have been two hours among these
people, their treatment of me, coupled with the sense of my utter
inability to repay such kindness, causes a wicked wish to come into my
mind. I wish these charming folk would do me some unexpected wrong,
something surprisingly evil, something atrociously unkind, so that I
should not be obliged to regret them, which I feel sure I must begin to
do as soon as I go away.
While the aged landlord conducts me to the bath, the wife prepares for
us a charming little repast of rice, eggs, vegetables, and sweetmeats.
She is painfully in doubt about her ability to please me, even after I
have eaten enough for two men, and apologizes too much for not being
able to offer me more.
"There is no fish," she says, "for to-day is the first day of the Bonku,
the Festival of the Dead; being the thirteenth day of the month. On the
thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth of the month nobody may eat fish.
But on the morning of the sixteenth day, the fishermen go out to catch
fish; and everybody who has both parents living may eat of it. But if
one has lost one's father or mother then one must not eat fish, even
upon the sixteenth day."
While the good soul is thus explaining I become aware of a strange
remote sound from without, a sound I recognize through memory of
tropical dances, a measured clapping of hands. But this clapping is very
soft and at long intervals. And at still longer intervals there comes to
us a heavy muffled booming, the tap of a great drum, a temple drum.
"Oh! we must go to see it," cries Akira; "it is the Bon-odori, the
Dance of the Festival of the Dead. And you will see the Bon-odori danced
here as it is never danced in cities--the Bon-odori of ancient days. For
customs have not changed here; but in the cities all is changed."
So I hasten out, wearing only, like the people about me, one of those
light wide-sleeved summer robes--yukata--which are furnished to male
guests at all Japanese hotels; but the air is so warm that even thus
lightly clad, I find myself slightly perspiring. And the night is
divine,--still, clear, vaster than the nights of Europe, with a big
white moon flinging down queer shadows of tilted eaves and horned
gables, and delightful silhouettes of robed Japanese. A little boy, the
grandson of our host, leads the way with a crimson paper lantern; and
the sonorous echoing of geta, the _koro-koro_ of wooden sandals, fills
all the street, for many are going whither we are going, to see the
dance.
A little while we proceed along the main street; then, traversing a
narrow passage between two houses, we find ourselves in a great open
space flooded by moonlight. This is the dancing-place; but the dance has
ceased for a time. Looking about me, I perceive that we are in the court
of an ancient Buddhist temple. The temple building itself remains
intact, a low, long peaked silhouette against the starlight; but it is
void and dark and unhallowed now; it has been turned, they tell me, into
a schoolhouse. The priests are gone; the great bell is gone; the Buddhas
and the Bodhisattvas have vanished, all save one,--a broken-handed Jizo
of stone, smiling with eyelids closed, under the moon.
In the centre of the court is a framework of bamboo supporting a great
drum; and about it benches have been arranged, benches from the
schoolhouse, on which the villagers are resting. There is a hum of
voices, voices of people speaking very low, as if expecting something
solemn; and cries of children betimes, and soft laughter of girls. And
far behind the court, beyond a low hedge of sombre evergreen shrubs, I
see soft white lights and a host of tall gray shapes throwing long
shadows; and I know that the lights are the _white_ lanterns of the dead
(those hung in cemeteries only), and that the gray shapes are the shapes
of tombs.
Suddenly a girl rises from her seat, and taps the huge drum once. It is
the signal for the Dance of Souls.
II
Out of the shadow of the temple a professional line of dancers files
into the moonlight and as suddenly halts,--all young women or girls,
clad in their choicest attire; the tallest leads; her comrades follow in
order of stature. Little maids of ten or twelve years compose the end of
the procession. Figures lightly poised as birds,--figures that somehow
recall the dreams of shapes circling about certain antique vases; those
charming Japanese robes, close-clinging about the knees, might seem, but
for the great fantastic drooping sleeves, and the curious broad girdles
confining them, designed after the drawing of some Greek or Etruscan
artist. And, at another tap of the drum, there begins a performance
impossible to picture in words, something unimaginable, phantasmal,--a
dance, an astonishment.
All together glide the right foot forward one pace, without lifting the
sandal from the ground, and extend both hands to the right, with a
strange floating motion and a smiling, mysterious obeisance. Then the
right foot is drawn back, with a repetition of the waving of hands and
the mysterious bow. Then all advance the left foot and repeat the
previous movements, half-turning to the left. Then all take two gliding
paces forward, with a single simultaneous soft clap of the hands, and
the first performance is reiterated, alternately to the right and left;
all the sandaled feet gliding together, all the supple hands waving
together, all the pliant bodies bowing and swaying together. And so
slowly, weirdly, the processional movement changes into a great round,
circling about the moon-lit court and around the voiceless crowd of
spectators.
And always the white hands sinuously wave together, as if weaving
spells, alternately without and within the round, now with palms upward,
now with palms downward; and all the elfish sleeves hover duskily
together, with a shadowing as of wings; and all the feet poise together
with such a rhythm of complex motion, that, in watching it, one feels a
sensation of hypnotism--as while striving to watch a flowing and
shimmering of water.
And this soporous allurement is intensified by a dead hush. No one
speaks, not even a spectator. And, in the long intervals between the
soft clapping of hands, one hears only the shrilling of the crickets in
the trees, and the _shu-shu_ of sandals, lightly stirring the dust. Unto
what, I ask myself, may this be likened? Unto nothing; yet it suggests
some fancy of somnambulism,--dreamers, who dream themselves flying,
dreaming upon their feet.
And there comes to me the thought that I am looking at something
immemorially old, something belonging to the unrecorded beginning of
this Oriental life, perhaps to the crepuscular Kamiyo itself, to the
magical Age of the Gods; a symbolism of motion whereof the meaning has
been forgotten for innumerable years. Yet more and more unreal the
spectacle appears, with silent smilings, with its silent bowings, as if
obeisance to watchers invisible; and I find myself wondering whether,
were I to utter but a whisper, all would not vanish forever, save the
gray mouldering court and the desolate temple, and the broken statue of
Jizo, smiling always the same mysterious smile I see upon the faces of
the dancers.
Under the wheeling moon, in the midst of the round, I feel as one within
the circle of a charm. And verily, this is enchantment; I am bewitched,
by the ghostly weaving of hands, by the rhythmic gliding of feet, above
all by the flittering of the marvellous sleeves--apparitional,
soundless, velvety as a flitting of great tropical bats. No; nothing I
ever dreamed of could be likened to this. And with the consciousness of
the ancient hakaba behind me, and the weird invitation of its lanterns,
and the ghostly beliefs of the hour and the place, there creeps upon me
a nameless, tingling sense of being haunted. But no! these gracious,
silent, waving, weaving shapes are not of the Shadowy Folk, for whose
coming the white fires were kindled: a strain of song, full of sweet,
clear quavering, like the call of a bird, gushes from some girlish
mouth, and fifty soft voices join the chant:--
_Sorota soroimashita odorikoga sorota,
Soroikita, kita hare yukata._
"Uniform to view [as ears of young rice ripening in the field] all clad
alike in summer festal robes, the company of dancers have assembled."
Again only the shrilling of the crickets, the _shu-shu_ of feet, the
gentle clapping; and the wavering hovering measure proceeds in silence,
with mesmeric lentor,--with a strange grace, which by its very naïveté,
seems as old as the encircling hills.
Those who sleep the sleep of centuries out there, under the gray stones
where the white lanterns are, and their fathers, and the fathers of
their fathers' fathers, and the unknown generations behind them, buried
in cemeteries of which the place has been forgotten for a thousand
years, doubtless looked upon a scene like this. Nay! the dust stirred by
those young feet was human life, and so smiled and so sang under this
self-same moon, "with woven paces and with waving hands."
Suddenly a deep male chant breaks the hush. Two giants have joined the
round, and now lead it, two superb young mountain peasants nearly nude,
towering head and shoulders above the whole of the assembly. Their
kimono are rolled about their waists like girdles, leaving their bronzed
limbs and torsos naked to the warm air; they wear nothing else save
their immense straw hats, and white tabi, donned expressly for the
festival. Never before among these people saw I such men, such thews;
but their smiling beardless faces are comely and kindly as those of
Japanese boys. They seem brothers, so like in frame, in movement, in the
timbre of their voices, as they intone the same song:--
_No demo yama demo ko wa umiokeyo,
Sen ryo kura yori ko ga takara._
"Whether brought forth upon the mountain or in the field, it matters
nothing: more than a treasure of one thousand ryo, a baby precious is."
And Jizo, the lover of children's ghosts, smiles across the silence.
Souls close to nature's Soul are these; artless and touching their
thought, like the worship of that Kishibojin to whom wives pray. And
after the silence, the sweet thin voices of the women answer:--
_Oomu otoko ni sowa sanu oya wa,
Oyade gozaranu ko no kataki._
"The parents who will not allow their girl to be united with her lover;
they are not the parents, but the enemies of their child."
And song follows song; and the round ever becomes larger; and the hours
pass unfelt, unheard, while the moon wheels slowly down the blue steeps
of the night.
A deep low boom rolls suddenly across the court, the rich tone of some
temple bell telling the twelfth hour. Instantly the witchcraft ends,
like the wonder of some dream broken by a sound; the chanting ceases;
the round dissolves in an outburst of happy laughter, and chatting, and
softly-voweled callings of flower-names which are names of girls, and
farewell cries of "Sayonara!" as dancers and spectators alike betake
themselves homeward, with a great _koro-koro_ of getas.
And I, moving with the throng, in the bewildered manner of one suddenly
roused from sleep, know myself ungrateful. These silvery-laughing folk
who now toddle along beside me upon their noisy little clogs, stepping
very fast to get a peep at my foreign face, these but a moment ago were
visions of archaic grace, illusions of necromancy, delightful phantoms;
and I feel a vague resentment against them for thus materializing into
simple country-girls.
NOTES
Lafcadio Hearn, the author of this selection, took a four days' journey
in a jinrikisha to the remote country district which he describes. He is
almost the only foreigner who has ever entered the village.
=Bon-odori=:--The dance in honor of the dead.
=Hiroshige=:--A Japanese landscape painter of an early date.
=kuruma=:--A jinrikisha; a two-wheeled cart drawn by a man.
=hibachi=:--(hi bä' chi) A brazier.
=Bonku=:--The Festival of the Dead.
=The memory of tropical dances=:--Lafcadio Hearn had previously spent
some years in the West Indies.
=Akira=:--The name of the guide who has drawn the kuruma in which the
foreigner has come to the village. (See page 18 of _Glimpses of
Unfamiliar Japan_.)
=yukata=:--Pronounced _yu kä' ta._
=geta=:--Pronounced _g[=e][=e]' ta_, not _j[=e][=e]' ta;_ high noisy
wooden clogs. (See page 10 of _Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan_.)
=Buddhist=:--One who believes in the doctrines of Gautama Siddartha, a
religious teacher of the sixth century before Christ.
=Buddha=:--A statue representing the Buddha Siddartha in a very calm
position, usually sitting cross-legged.
=Bodhisattvas=:--Pronounced _b[=o] di säht' vas;_ gods who have almost
attained the perfection of Buddha (Gautama Siddartha).
=Jizo=:--A Japanese God. See page 297.
=Etruscan=:--Relating to Etruria, a division of ancient Italy. Etruscan
vases have graceful figures upon them.
=soporous=:--Drowsy; sleep-producing.
=crepuscular=:--Relating to twilight.
=Kamiyo=:--The Age of the Gods in Japan.
=hakaba=:--Cemetery.
=lentor=:--Slowness.
="with woven paces,"= etc. See Tennyson's _Idylls of the King_: "With
woven paces and with waving arms."
=tabi=:--White stockings with a division for the great toe.
=ryo=:--About fifty cents.
=Kishibojin=:--Pronounced _ki shi b[=o]' jin._ (See page 96 of _Glimpses
of Unfamiliar Japan_.)
=Sayonara=:--Good-bye.
SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY
Read the selection through rather slowly. Do not be alarmed at the
Japanese names: they are usually pronounced as they are spelled. Perhaps
your teacher will be able to show you a Japanese print; at least you can
see on a Japanese fan quaint villages such as are here described. What
sort of face has the host? How does this Japanese inn differ from the
American hotel? Does there seem to be much furniture? If the Americans
had the same sense of beauty that the Japanese have, what changes would
be made in most houses? Why does the foreign influence make the Japanese
manufactures "uninteresting" and "detestable"? If you have been in a
shop where Japanese wares are sold, tell what seemed most striking about
the objects and their decoration. What is meant by "the landscape of a
tea-cup"? Why does the author say so much about the remoteness of the
village? See how the author uses picture-words and sound-words to make
his description vivid. Note his use of contrasts. Why does he preface
his account of the dance by the remark that it cannot be described in
words? Is this a good method? How does the author make you feel the
swing and rhythm of the dance? Do not try to pronounce the Japanese
verses: Notice that they are translated. Why are the Japanese lines put
in at all? Why does the author say that he is ungrateful at the last?
Try to tell in a few sentences what are the good qualities of this
selection. Make a little list of the devices that the author has used in
order to make his descriptions vivid and his narration lively. Can you
apply some of his methods to a short description of your own?
THEME SUBJECTS
A Flower Festival
A Pageant
The May Fête
Dancing out of Doors
A Lawn Social
The Old Settlers' Picnic
The Russian Dancers
A Moonlight Picnic
Children's Games in the Yard
Some Japanese People that I have Seen
Japanese Students in our Schools
Japanese Furniture
An Oriental Store in our Town
My Idea of Japan
Japanese Pictures
A Street Carnival
An Old-fashioned Square Dance
The Revival of Folk-Dancing
The Girls' Drill
A Walk in the Village at Night
Why We have Ugly Things in our Houses
Do we have too much Furniture in our Houses?
What we can Learn from the Japanese
SUGGESTIONS FOR WRITING
=An Evening Walk in the Village=:--Imagine yourself taking a walk
through the village at nightfall. Tell of the time of day, the season,
and the weather. Make your reader feel the approach of darkness, and the
heat, or the coolness, or the chill of the air. What signs do you see
about you, of the close of day? Can you make the reader feel the
contrast of the lights and the surrounding darkness? As you walk along,
what sounds do you hear? What activities are going on? Can you catch any
glimpses, through the windows, of the family life inside the houses? Do
you see people eating or drinking? Do you see any children? Are the
scenes about you quiet and restful, or are they confused and irritating?
Make use of any incidents that you can to complete your description of
the village as you see it in your walk. Perhaps you will wish to close
your theme with your entering a house, or your advance into the dark
open country beyond the village.
=My Idea of Japan=:--Suppose that you were suddenly transported to a
small town in Japan: What would be your first impression? Tell what you
would expect to see. Speak of the houses, the gardens, and the temples.
Tell about the shops, and booths, and the wares that are for sale.
Describe the dress and appearance of the Japanese men; of the women; the
children. Speak of the coolies, or working-people; the foreigners.
Perhaps you can imagine yourself taking a ride in a _jinrikisha_. Tell
of the amusing or extraordinary things that you see, and make use of
incidents and conversation. Bring out the contrasts between Japan and
your own country.
=A Dance or Drill=:--Think of some drill or dance or complicated game
that you have seen, which lends itself to the kind of description in the
selection. In your work, try to emphasize the contrast between the
background and the moving figures; the effects of light and darkness;
the sound of music and voices; the sway and rhythm of the action.
Re-read parts of _The Dance of the Bon-odori_, to see what devices the
author has used in order to bring out effects of sound and rhythm.
COLLATERAL READINGS
Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan Lafcadio Hearn
Out of the East " "
Kokoro " "
Kwaidan " "
A Japanese Miscellany " "
Two Years in the French West Indies " "
Japanese Life in Town and Country G.W. Knox
Our Neighbors the Japanese J.K. Goodrich
When I Was Young Yoshio Markino
Miss John Bull " "
When I Was a Boy in Japan Sakae Shioya
Japanese Girls and Women Alice M. Bacon
A Japanese Interior " "
Japonica Sir Edwin Arnold
Japan W.E. Griffis
Human Bullets Tadayoshy Sukurai
The Story of Japan R. Van Bergen
A Boy in Old Japan " "
Letters from Japan Mrs. Hugh Frazer
Unbeaten Tracks in Japan Isabella Bird (Bishop)
The Lady of the Decoration Frances Little
Little Sister Snow " "
Japan in Pictures Douglas Sladen
Old and New Japan (good illustrations in color) Clive Holland
Nogi Stanley Washburn
Japan, the Eastern Wonderland D.C. Angus
Peeps at Many Lands: Japan John Finnemore
Japan Described by Great Writers Esther Singleton
The Flower of Old Japan [verse] Alfred Noyes
Dancing and Dancers of To-day Caroline and Chas. H.
Coffin
The Healthful Art of Dancing L.H. Gulick
The Festival Book J.E.C. Lincoln
Folk Dances Caroline Crawford
Lafcadio Hearn Nina H. Kennard
Lafcadio Hearn (Portrait) Edward Thomas
The Life and Letters of Lafcadio Hearn Elizabeth Bisland
The Japanese Letters of Lafcadio Hearn " "
Lafcadio Hearn in Japan Yone Noguchi
Lafcadio Hearn (Portraits) Current Literature 42:50
LETTERS
THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
PONKAPOG, MASS., Dec. 13, 1875.
DEAR HOWELLS,--We had so charming a visit at your house that I
have about made up my mind to reside with you permanently. I am tired of
writing. I would like to settle down in just such a comfortable home as
yours, with a man who can work regularly four or five hours a day,
thereby relieving one of all painful apprehensions in respect to clothes
and pocket-money. I am easy to get along with. I have few unreasonable
wants and never complain when they are constantly supplied. I think I
could depend on you.
Ever yours,
T.B.A.
P.S.--I should want to bring my two mothers, my two boys (I seem to have
everything in twos), my wife, and her sister.
THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO E.S. MORSE
DEAR MR. MORSE:
It was very pleasant to me to get a letter from you the other day.
Perhaps I should have found it pleasanter if I had been able to decipher
it. I don't think that I mastered anything beyond the date (which I
knew) and the signature (at which I guessed).
There's a singular and perpetual charm in a letter of yours--it never
grows old; it never loses its novelty. One can say to one's self every
morning: "There's that letter of Morse's. I haven't read it yet. I think
I'll take another shy at it to-day, and maybe I shall be able in the
course of a few days to make out what he means by those _t_'s that look
like _w_'s, and those _i_'s that haven't any eyebrows."
Other letters are read, and thrown away, and forgotten; but yours are
kept forever--unread. One of them will last a reasonable man a lifetime.
Admiringly yours,
T.B. ALDRICH.
WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY TO JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY
THE QUADRANGLE CLUB,
CHICAGO, September 30, '99.
Your generous praise makes me rather shamefaced: you ought to keep it
for something that counts. At least other people ought: you would find a
bright ringing word, and the proportion of things would be kept. As for
me, I am doing my best to keep the proportion of things, in the midst of
no-standards and a dreary dingy fog-expanse of darkened counsel. Bah!
here I am whining in my third sentence, and the purpose of this note was
not to whine, but to thank you for heart new-taken. I take the friendly
words (for I need them cruelly) and forget the inadequate occasion of
them. I am looking forward with almost feverish pleasure to the new
year, when I shall be among friendships which time and absence and
half-estrangements have only made to shine with a more inward light; and
when, so accompanied, I can make shift to think and live a little. Do
not wait till then to say Welcome.
W.V.M.
BRET HARTE TO HIS WIFE
LAWRENCE, KANSAS,
October 24, 1873.
MY DEAR ANNA,--
I left Topeka--which sounds like a name Franky might have
invented--early yesterday morning, but did not reach Atchison, only
sixty miles distant, until seven o'clock at night--an hour before the
lecture. The engine as usual had broken down, and left me at four
o'clock fifteen miles from Atchison, on the edge of a bleak prairie with
only one house in sight. But I got a saddle-horse--there was no vehicle
to be had--and strapping my lecture and blanket to my back I gave my
valise to a little yellow boy--who looked like a dirty terra-cotta
figure--with orders to follow me on another horse, and so tore off
towards Atchison. I got there in time; the boy reached there two hours
after.
I make no comment; you can imagine the half-sick, utterly disgusted man
who glared at that audience over his desk that night.... And yet it was
a good audience, thoroughly refined and appreciative, and very glad to
see me. I was very anxious about this lecture, for it was a venture of
my own, and I had been told that Atchison was a rough place--energetic
but coarse. I think I wrote you from St. Louis that I had found there
were only three actual engagements in Kansas, and that my list which
gave Kansas City twice was a mistake. So I decided to take Atchison. I
made a hundred dollars by the lecture, and it is yours, for yourself,
Nan, to buy "Minxes" with, if you want, for it is over and above the
amount Eliza and I footed up on my lecture list. I shall send it to you
as soon as the bulk of the pressing claims are settled.
Everything thus far has gone well; besides my lecture of to-night I have
one more to close Kansas, and then I go on to St. Joseph. I've been
greatly touched with the very honest and sincere liking which these
Western people seem to have for me. They seem to have read everything I
have written--and appear to appreciate the best. Think of a rough fellow
in a bearskin coat and blue shirt repeating to me _Concepcion de
Arguello_! Their strange good taste and refinement under that rough
exterior--even their tact--are wonderful to me. They are "Kentucks" and
"Dick Bullens" with twice the refinement and tenderness of their
California brethren....
I've seen but one [woman] that interested me--an old negro wench. She
was talking and laughing outside my door the other evening, but her
laugh was so sweet and unctuous and musical--so full of breadth and
goodness that I went outside and talked to her while she was scrubbing
the stones. She laughed as a canary bird sings--because she couldn't
help it. It did me a world of good, for it was before the lecture, at
twilight, when I am very blue and low-toned. She had been a slave.
I expected to have heard from you here. I've nothing from you or Eliza
since last Friday, when I got yours of the 12th. I shall direct this to
Eliza's care, as I do not even know where you are.
Your affectionate
FRANK.
LAFCADIO HEARN TO BASIL HALL CHAMBERLAIN
[KUMAMOTO, JAPAN]
January 17, 1893.
DEAR CHAMBERLAIN,--
I'm writing just because I feel lonesome; isn't that selfish? However,
if I can amuse you at all, you will forgive me. You have been away a
whole year,--so perhaps you would like to hear some impressions of mine
during that time. Here goes.
The illusions are forever over; but the memory of many pleasant things
remains. I know much more about the Japanese than I did a year ago; and
still I am far from understanding them well. Even my own little wife is
somewhat mysterious still to me, though always in a lovable way. Of
course a man and woman know each other's hearts; but outside of personal
knowledge, there are race tendencies difficult to understand. Let me
tell one. In Oki we fell in love with a little Samurai boy, who was
having a hard time of it, and we took him with us. He is now like an
adopted son,--goes to school and all that. Well, I wished at first to
pet him a little, but I found that was not in accordance with custom,
and that even the boy did not understand it. At home, I therefore
scarcely spoke to him at all; he remained under the control of the women
of the house. They treated him kindly,--though I thought coldly. The
relationship I could not quite understand. He was never praised and
rarely scolded. A perfect code of etiquette was established between him
and all the other persons in the house, according to degree and rank. He
seemed extremely cold-mannered, and perhaps not even grateful, that was,
so far as I could see. Nothing seemed to move his young
placidity,--whether happy or unhappy his mien was exactly that of a
stone Jizo. One day he let fall a little cup and broke it. According to
custom, no one noticed the mistake, for fear of giving him pain.
Suddenly I saw tears streaming down his face. The muscles of the face
remained quite smilingly placid as usual, but even the will could not
control tears. They came freely. Then everybody laughed, and said kind
things to him, till he began to laugh too. Yet that delicate
sensitiveness no one like me could have guessed the existence of.
But what followed surprised me more. As I said, he had been (in my idea)
distantly treated. One day he did not return from school for three hours
after the usual time. Then to my great surprise, the women began to
cry,--to cry passionately. I had never been able to imagine alarm for
the boy could have affected them so. And the servants ran over town in
real, not pretended, anxiety to find him. He had been taken to a
teacher's house for something relating to school matters. As soon as his
voice was heard at the door, everything was quiet, cold, and amiably
polite again. And I marvelled exceedingly.
Sensitiveness exists in the Japanese to an extent never supposed by the
foreigners who treat them harshly at the open ports.... The Japanese
master is never brutal or cruel. How Japanese can serve a certain class
of foreigners at all, I can't understand....
This Orient knows not our deeper pains, nor can it even rise to our
larger joys; but it has its pains. Its life is not so sunny as might be
fancied from its happy aspect. Under the smile of its toiling millions
there is suffering bravely hidden and unselfishly borne; and a lower
intellectual range is counterbalanced by a childish sensitiveness to
make the suffering balance evenly in the eternal order of things.
Therefore I love the people very much, more and more, the more I know
them....
And with this, I say good-night.
Ever most truly,
LAFCADIO HEARN.
CHARLES ELIOT NORTON TO WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
SHADY HILL, 2 May, 1902.
"The Kentons" have been a great comfort to me. I have been in my
chamber, with a slight attack of illness, for two or three weeks, and I
received them one morning. I could not have had kinder or more
entertaining visitors, and I was sorry when, after two or three days, I
had to say Good-bye to them. They are very "natural" people, "just
Western." I am grateful to you for making me acquainted with them.
"Just Western" is the acme of praise. I think I once told you what
pleasure it gave me as a compliment. Several years ago at the end of one
of our Christmas Eve receptions, a young fellow from the West, taking my
hand and bidding me Good-night, said with great cordiality, "Mr. Norton,
I've had a delightful time; it's been _just Western_"!
"The Kentons" is really, my dear Howells, an admirable study of life,
and as it was read to me my chief pleasure in listening was in your
sympathetic, creative imagination, your insight, your humour, and all
your other gifts, which make your stories, I believe, the most faithful
representations of actual life that were ever written. Other stories
seem unreal after them, and so when we had finished "The Kentons,"
nothing would do for entertainment but another of your books: so now we
are almost at the end of "Silas Lapham," which I find as good as I found
it fifteen or sixteen years ago. As Gray's idea of pleasure was to lie
on a sofa and have an endless succession of stories by Crébillon,--mine
is to have no end of Howells!...
NOTES
Letter from William Vaughn Moody:--
=darkened counsel=:--See Job, 38:2. Moody seems to be referring here to
the uncertainty of his plans for the future.
Letter from Bret Harte:--
=Franky=:--Francis King Harte, Bret Harte's second son, who was eight
years old at this time.
=Concepcion de Arguello=:--One of Bret Harte's longer poems.
=Kentuck=:--A rough but kindly character in Harte's _The Luck of Roaring
Camp_.
=Dick Bullen=:--The chief character in _How Santa Claus Came to
Simpson's Bar_.
=Frank=:--Bret Harte's name was Francis Brett Hart(e), and his family
usually called him Frank.
Letter from Lafcadio Hearn:·--
=Chamberlain=:--Professor Chamberlain had lived for some years in Japan,
when Hearn, in 1890, wrote to him, asking assistance in securing a
position as teacher in the Japanese Government Schools. The friendship
between the two men continued until Hearn's death.
=Samurai=:--Pronounced _sä' m[)oo] r[=i]_; a member of the lesser
nobility of Japan.
=Jizo=:--A Japanese god, said to be the playmate of the ghosts of
children. Stone images of Jizo are common in Japan. (See page 19 of _The
Japanese Letters of Lafcadio Hearn_.)
EXERCISES IN LETTER WRITING
You are planning a camping trip with several of your friends; write to a
friend who lives in another town, asking him or her to join the camping
party.
Write to a friend asking him, or her, to come to your house for dinner
and to go with you afterward to see the moving pictures.
Write a letter to accompany a borrowed book, which you are returning.
Speak of the contents of the book, and the parts that you have
particularly enjoyed. Express your thanks for the use of the volume.
Write a letter to an intimate friend, telling of the occurrences of the
last week. Do not hesitate to recount trifling events; but make your
letter as varied and lively and interesting as possible.
Write to a friend about the new house or apartment that your family has
lately moved into.
Write to a friend or a relative who is visiting in a large city, asking
him or her to purchase some especial article that you cannot get in your
home town. Explain exactly what you want and tell how much you are
willing to pay. Speak of enclosing the money, and do not fail to express
the gratitude that you will feel if your friend will make the purchase
for you.
You have been invited to spend the week-end in a town not far from your
home. Write explaining why you cannot accept the invitation. Make your
letter personal and pleasant.
Write to some member of your family explaining how you have altered your
room to make it more to your taste than it has been. If you have not
really changed the room, imagine that you have done so, and that it is
now exactly as you want it to be.
You have heard of a family that is in great need. Write to one of your
friends, telling the circumstances and asking her to help you in
providing food and clothing for the children in the family.
You have just heard some startling news about an old friend whom you
have not seen for some time. Write to another friend who you know will
be interested, and relate the news that you have heard.
Write to one of your teachers explaining why you are late in handing in
a piece of work.
Your uncle has made you a present of a sum of money. Thank him for the
money and tell him what you think you will do with it.
A schoolmate is kept at home by illness. Write, offering your sympathy
and services, and telling the school news.
You have had an argument with a friend on a subject of interest to you
both. Since seeing this friend, you have run across an article in a
magazine, which supports your view of the question. Write to your friend
and tell him about the substance of the article.
Your mother has hurt her hand and cannot write; she has asked you to
write to a friend of hers about some business connected with the Woman's
Club.
You have arrived at home after a week's visit with a friend. Write your
friend's mother, expressing the pleasure that the visit has given you.
Speak particularly of the incidents of the visit, and show a lively
appreciation of the kindness of your friends.
A friend whom you have invited to visit you has written saying that she
(or he) is unable to accept your invitation. Write expressing your
regret. You might speak of the plans you had made in anticipation of the
visit; you might also make a more or less definite suggestion regarding
a later date for the arrival of your friend.
You are trying to secure a position. Write to some one for whom you have
worked, or some one who knows you well, asking for a recommendation that
you can use in applying for a position.
Write to your brother (or some other near relative), telling about a
trip that you have recently taken.
Write to one of your friends who is away at school, telling of the
athletic situation in the high school you are attending. Assume that
your friend is acquainted with many of the students in the high school.
You are sending some kodak films to be developed by a professional
photographer. Explain to him what you are sending and what you want
done. Speak of the price that he asks for his work, and the money that
you are enclosing.
Write a letter applying for a position. If possible, tell how you have
heard of the vacancy. State your qualifications, especially the
education and training that you have had; if you have had any
experience, tell definitely what it has been. Mention the
recommendations that you are enclosing, or give references to several
persons who will write concerning your character and ability. Do not
urge your qualifications, or make any promises, but tell about yourself
as simply and impersonally as possible. Close your letter without any
elaborate expressions of "hoping" or "trusting" or "thanking." "Very
truly yours," or "Very respectfully yours," will be sufficient.
You have secured the position for which you applied. Write expressing
your pleasure in obtaining the situation. Ask for information as to the
date on which you are to begin work.
Write to a friend or a relative, telling about your new position: how
you secured it; what your work will be; what you hope will come of it.
Write a brief respectful letter asking for money that is owed you.
Write to a friend considerably older than yourself, asking for advice as
to the appropriate college or training school for you to enter when you
have finished the high school course.
BOOKS FOR READING AND STUDY
Letters and Letter-writing Charity Dye
Success in Letter-writing Sherwin Cody
How to do Business by Letter " "
Charm and Courtesy in Letter-writing Frances B. Callaway
Studies for Letters " " "
The Gentlest Art E.V. Lucas
The Second Post " " "
The Friendly Craft F.D. Hanscom
Life and Letters of Miss Alcott E.D. Cheney (Ed.)
Vailima Letters R.L. Stevenson
Letters of William Vaughn Moody Daniel Mason (Ed.)
Letters from Colonial Children Eva March Tappan
Woman as Letter-writers A.M. Ingpen.
The Etiquette of Correspondence Helen E. Gavit
EXERCISES IN DRAMATIC COMPOSITION
I. Write a conversation suggested by one of the following situations.
Wherever it seems desirable to do so, give, in parentheses, directions
for the action, and indicate the gestures and the facial expressions of
the speakers.
1. Tom has had trouble at school; he is questioned at home
about the matter.
2. Two girls discuss a party that has taken place the night
before.
3. A child and his mother are talking about Christmas.
4. Clayton Wells is running for the presidency of the Senior
class in the high school; he talks with some of his
schoolmates, and is talked about.
5. There has been a fire at the factory; some of the men talk
about its origin.
6. A girl borrows her sister's pearl pin and loses it.
7. Unexpected guests have arrived; while they are removing
their wraps in the hall, a conversation takes place in the
kitchen.
8. Anna wishes to go on a boating expedition, but her father
and mother object.
9. The crops in a certain district have failed; two young
farmers talk over the situation.
10. Two girls are getting dinner; their mother is away, and
they are obliged to plan and do everything themselves.
11. A boy has won a prize, and two or three other boys are
talking with him.
12. The prize-winning student has gone, and the other boys are
talking about him.
13. The furnace fire has gone out; various members of the
family express their annoyance, and the person who is to blame
defends himself.
14. Grandfather has lost his spectacles.
15. Laura has seen a beautiful hat in a shop window, and talks
with her mother about it.
16. Two men talk of the coming election of city officers.
17. A boy has been removed from the football team on account of
his low standings; members of the team discuss the situation.
18. Sylvia asks her younger brother to go on an errand for her;
he does not wish to go; the conversation becomes spirited.
19. Grandmother entertains another old lady at afternoon tea.
20. A working man is accused of stealing a dollar bill from the
cook in the house where he is temporarily employed.
21. Mary Sturgis talks with her mother about going away to
college.
22. A young man talks with his sister about woman's suffrage;
they become somewhat excited.
23. A middle-aged couple talk about adopting a child.
24. There is a strike at the mills; some of the employees
discuss it; the employers discuss it among themselves.
25. An aunt in the city has written asking Louise to visit her;
Louise talks with several members of her family about going.
26. Two boys talk about the ways in which they earn money, and
what they do with it.
27. Albert Gleason has had a run-away; his neighbors talk about
it.
28. Two brothers quarrel over a horse.
29. Ruth's new dress does not satisfy her.
30. The storekeeper discusses neighborhood news with some of
his customers.
31. Will has had a present of a five-dollar gold-piece; his
sisters tell him what he ought to do with it; his ideas on the
subject are not the same as theirs.
32. An old house, in which a well-to-do family have lived for
many years, is to be torn down; a group of neighbors talk about
the house and the family.
33. A young man talks with a business man about a position.
34. Harold buys a canoe; he converses with the boy who sells it
to him, and also with some of the members of his own family.
35. Two old men talk about the pranks they played when they
were boys.
36. Several young men talk about a recent baseball game.
37. Several young men talk about a coming League game.
38. Breakfast is late.
39. A mysterious stranger has appeared in the village; a group
of people talk about him.
40. Herbert Elliott takes out his father's automobile without
permission, and damages it seriously; he tries to explain.
41. Jerome Connor has just "made" the high school football
team.
42. Two boys plan a camping trip.
43. Several boys are camping, and one of the number does not
seem willing to do his share of the work.
44. Several young people consider what they are going to do
when they have finished school.
45. Two women talk about the spring fashions.
II. Choose some familiar fairy-tale or well known children's story, and
put it into the form of a little play for children. Find a story that is
rather short, and that has a good deal of dialogue in it. In writing the
play, try to make the conversation simple and lively.
III. In a story book for children, find a short story and put it into
dialogue form. It will be wise to select a story that already contains a
large proportion of conversation.
IV. From a magazine or a book of short stories (not for children),
select a very brief piece of narration, and put it into dramatic form.
After you have finished, write out directions for the setting of the
stage, if you have not already done so, and give your idea of what the
costuming ought to be.
MODERN BOOKS FOR HOME READING
Not included in the lists of Collateral Readings
BOOKS OF FICTION
Two Gentlemen of Kentucky James Lane Allen
Standish of Standish Jane G. Austin
D'ri and I Irving Bacheller
Eben Holden " "
The Halfback R.H. Barbour
For King or Country James Barnes
A Loyal Traitor " "
A Bow of Orange Ribbon Amelia E. Barr
Jan Vedder's Wife " " "
Remember the Alamo " " "
The Little Minister J.M. Barrie
The Little White Bird " " "
Sentimental Tommy " " "
Wee MacGregor J.J. Bell.
Looking Backward Edward Bellamy
Master Skylark John Bennett
A Princess of Thule William Black
Lorne Doone R.D. Blackmore
Mary Cary K.L. Bosher
Miss Gibbie Gault " " "
Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë
Villette " "
Meadow Grass Alice Brown
Tiverton Tales " "
The Story of a Ploughboy James Bryce
My Robin F.H. Burnett
The Secret Garden " " "
T. Tembarom " " "
The Jackknife Man Ellis Parker Butler
The Begum's Daughter E.L. Bynner
Bonaventure G.W. Cable
Dr. Sevier " " "
The Golden Rule Dollivers Margaret Cameron
The Lady of Fort St. John Mary Hartwell Catherwood
Lazarre " " "
Old Kaskaskia " " "
The Romance of Dollard " " "
The Story of Tonty " " "
The White Islander " " "
Richard Carvel Winston Churchill
A Connecticut Yankee in King
Arthur's Court Samuel L. Clemens (Mark Twain)
Pudd'nhead Wilson " " "
The Prince and the Pauper " " "
Tom Sawyer " " "
John Halifax, Gentleman D.M. Craik (Miss Mulock)
The Red Badge of Courage Stephen Crane
Whilomville Stories " "
A Roman Singer F.M. Crawford
Saracinesca " " "
Zoroaster " " "
The Lilac Sunbonnet S.R. Crockett
The Stickit Minister " " "
Smith College Stories J.D. Daskam [Bacon]
Gallegher R.H. Davis
The Princess Aline " " "
Soldiers of Fortune " " "
Old Chester Tales Margaret Deland
The Story of a Child " "
Hugh Gwyeth B.M. Dix
Soldier Rigdale " " "
Rebecca Mary Annie Hamilton Donnell
The Very Small Person " " "
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes A. Conan Doyle
Micah Clarke " " "
The Refugees " " "
Uncle Bernac " " "
The Black Tulip Alexander Dumas
The Three Musketeers " "
Doctor Luke of the Labrador Norman Duncan
The Story of Sonny Sahib Sara J. Duncan
The Hoosier Schoolboy Edward Eggleston
The Hoosier Schoolmaster " "
The Honorable Peter Stirling P.L. Ford
Janice Meredith " "
In the Valley Harold Frederic
A New England Nun M.E. Wilkins Freeman
The Portion of Labor " " "
Six Trees " " "
Friendship Village Zona Gale
Boy Life on the Prairie Hamlin Garland
Prairie Folks " "
Toby: The Story of a Dog Elizabeth Goldsmith
College Girls Abby Carter Goodloe
Glengarry School Days Charles W. Gordon (Ralph Connor)
The Man from Glengarry " " "
The Prospector " " "
The Sky Pilot " " "
The Man Without a Country E.E. Hale
Nights with Uncle Remus J.C. Harris
The Log of a Sea Angler C.F. Holder
Phroso Anthony Hope [Hawkins]
The Prisoner of Zenda " " "
Rupert of Hentzau " " "
One Summer B.W. Howard
The Flight of Pony Baker W.D. Howells
Tom Brown at Oxford Thomas Hughes
Tom Brown's School Days " "
The Lady of the Barge W.W. Jacobs
Odd Craft " "
Ramona H.H. Jackson
Little Citizens Myra Kelly
Wards of Liberty " "
Horseshoe Robinson J.P. Kennedy
The Brushwood Boy Rudyard Kipling
Captains Courageous " "
The Jungle Book " "
Kim " "
Puck of Pook's Hill " "
Tales of the Fish Patrol Jack London
The Slowcoach E.V. Lucas
Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush Ian Maclaren (John Watson)
A Doctor of the Old School " " " "
Peg o' my Heart J.H. Manners
Emmy Lou G.M. Martin
Tilly: A Mennonite Maid H.R. Martin
Jim Davis John Masefield
Four Feathers A.E.W. Mason
The Adventures of François S.W. Mitchell
Hugh Wynne " "
Anne of Avonlea L.M. Montgomery
Anne of Green Gables " "
The Chronicles of Avonlea " "
Down the Ravine Mary N. Murfree
(Charles Egbert Craddock)
In the Tennessee Mountains Mary N. Murfree
The Mystery of Witch-Face Mountain " " "
The Prophet of the Great Smoky
Mountains " " "
The House of a Thousand Candles Meredith Nicholson
Mother Kathleen Norris
Peanut A.B. Paine
Judgments of the Sea Ralph D. Paine
The Man with the Iron Hand John C. Parish
Pierre and his People Gilbert Parker
Seats of the Mighty " "
When Valmond Came to Pontiac " "
A Madonna of the Tubs E.S. Phelps [Ward]
A Singular Life E.S. Phelps [Ward]
Freckles G.S. Porter
Ezekiel Lucy Pratt
Ezekiel Expands " "
November Joe Hesketh Prichard
Men of Iron Howard Pyle
The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood " "
The Splendid Spur A.T. Quiller-Couch
Lovey Mary Alice Hegan Rice
Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch " " "
Sandy " " "
The Feet of the Furtive C.G.D. Roberts
The Heart of an Ancient Wood C.G.D. Roberts
The Wreck of the Grosvenor W.C. Russell
Two Girls of Old New Jersey Agnes C. Sage
Little Jarvis Molly Elliot Seawell
A Virginia Cavalier " " "
The Quest of the Fish-Dog Skin J.W. Schultz
The Black Arrow Robert Louis Stevenson
David Balfour " " "
The Master of Ballantrae " " "
St. Ives " " "
The Fugitive Blacksmith C.D. Stewart
The Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks
and Mrs. Aleshine Frank R. Stockton
The Dusantes " " "
The Lady or the Tiger " " "
The Merry Chanter " " "
Rudder Grange " " "
Napoleon Jackson Ruth McE. Stuart
Sonny " " "
Monsieur Beaucaire Booth Tarkington
Expiation Octave Thanet (Alice French)
Stories of a Western Town " " " "
The Golden Book of Venice F.L. Turnbull
W.A.G.'s Tale Margaret Turnbull
Ben Hur Lew Wallace
A Fair God " "
My Rag Picker Mary E. Waller
The Wood Carver of 'Lympus " " "
The Story of Ab Stanley Waterloo
Daddy Long-Legs Jean Webster
A Gentleman of France Stanley J. Weyman
Under the Red Robe " " "
The Blazed Trail Stewart Edward White
The Conjuror's House " " "
The Silent Places " " "
The Westerners " " "
A Certain Rich Man William Allen White
The Court of Boyville " " "
Stratagems and Spoils " " "
The Gayworthys A.D.T. Whitney
Mother Carey's Chickens K.D. Wiggin [Riggs]
Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm " "
The Chronicles of Rebecca " "
The Story of Waitstill Baxter " "
Princeton Stories J.L. Williams
Philosophy Four Owen Wister
The Virginian " "
Bootles' Baby John Strange Winter (H.E. Stannard)
The Widow O'Callaghan's Boys Gulielma Zollinger (W.Z. Gladwin)
NON-FICTION BOOKS
The Klondike Stampede E.T. Adney
The Land of Little Rain Mary Austin
Camps in the Rockies W.A. Baillie-Grohman
The Boys' Book of Inventions R.S. Baker
A Second Book of Inventions " "
My Book of Little Dogs F.T. Barton
The Lighter Side of Irish Life G.A. Birmingham (J.O. Hannay)
Wonderful Escapes by Americans W.S. Booth
The Training of Wild Animals Frank Bostock
Confederate Portraits Gamaliel Bradford
American Fights and Fighters Cyrus T. Brady
Commodore Paul Jones " "
The Conquest of the Southwest " "
The Every-Day Life of Abraham Lincoln F.F. Browne
The Boyhood and Youth of Napoleon Oscar Browning
The New North Agnes Cameron
The Boys' Book of Modern Marvels C.L.J. Clarke
The Boys' Book of Airships " "
Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc Samuel L. Clemens
The Wireless Man F.A. Collins
Old Boston Days and Ways M.C. Crawford
Romantic Days in Old Boston " "
Harriet Beecher Stowe M.F. Crowe
Wild Animals and the Camera W.P. Dando
Football P.H. Davis
Stories of Inventors Russell Doubleday
Navigating the Air Doubleday Page and Co.
Mr. Dooley's Opinions F.P. Dunne
Mr. Dooley's Philosophy " "
Edison: His Life and Inventions Dyer and Martin
Child Life in Colonial Days Alice Morse Earle
Colonial Days in Old New York " " "
Stage Coach and Tavern Days " " "
Two Centuries of Costume in America " " "
Old Indian Days Charles Eastman
The Life of the Fly J.H. Fabre
The Life of the Spider " "
The Wonders of the Heavens Camille Flammarion
Boys and Girls: A Book of Verse J.W. Foley
Following the Sun Flag John Fox, Jr.
Four Months Afoot in Spain Harry A. Franck
A Vagabond Journey around the World " " "
Zone Policeman 88 " " "
The Trail of the Gold Seeker Hamlin Garland
In Eastern Wonder Lands C.E. Gibson
The Hearth of Youth: Poems for Young People Jeannette Gilder (Ed.)
Heroes of the Elizabethan Ago Edward Gilliat
Camping on Western Trails E.R. Gregor
Camping in the Winter Woods " "
American Big Game G.B. Grinnell (Ed.)
Trail and Camp Fire Grinnell and Roosevelt (Ed.)
Life at West Point H.I. Hancock
Camp Kits and Camp Life C.S. Hanks
The Boys' Parkman L.S. Hasbrouck (Ed.)
Historic Adventures R.S. Holland
Camp Fires in the Canadian Rockies W.T. Hornaday
Our Vanishing Wild Life " "
Taxidermy and Zoölogical Collecting " "
Two Years in the Jungle " "
My Mark Twain W.D. Howells
A Woman's Way through Unknown Labrador Mrs. Leonidas Hubbard
Animal Competitors Ernest Ingersoll
My Lady of the Chimney Corner Alexander Irvine
The Indians of the Painted Desert Region G.W. James
The Boys' Book of Explorations Tudor Jenks
Through the South Sea with Jack London Martin Johnson
A Wayfarer in China Elizabeth Kendall
The Tragedy of Pelee George Kennan
Recollections of a Drummer Boy H.M. Kieffer
The Story of the Trapper A.C. Laut
Animals of the Past F.A. Lucas
Marjorie Fleming L. Macbean (Ed.)
From Sail to Steam A.T. Mahan
Æegean Days and Other Sojourns J. Irving Manatt
The Story of a Piece of Coal E.A. Martin
The Friendly Stars Martha E. Martin
The Boys' Life of Edison W.H. Meadowcroft
Serving the Republic Nelson A. Miles
In Beaver World Enos A. Mills
Mosquito Life E.G. Mitchell
The Childhood of Animals P.C. Mitchell
The Youth of Washington S.W. Mitchell
Lewis Carroll Belle Moses
Charles Dickens " "
Louisa M. Alcott " "
The Country of Sir Walter Scott C.S. Olcott
Storytelling Poems F.J. Olcott (Ed.)
Mark Twain: A Biography A.B. Paine
The Man with the Iron Hand John C. Parish
Nearest the Pole Robert E. Peary
A Book of Famous Verse Agnes Repplier (Ed.)
Florence Nightingale Laura E. Richards
Children of the Tenements Jacob A. Riis
The Wilderness Hunter Theodore Roosevelt
American Big Game Hunting Roosevelt and Grinnell (Ed.)
Hunting in Many Lands " " " "
My Air Ships Alberto Santos-Dumont
Paul Jones Molly Elliott Seawell
With the Indians in the Rockies J.W. Schultz
Curiosities of the Sky Garrett P. Serviss
Where Rolls the Oregon Dallas Lore Sharp
Nature in a City Yard C.M. Skinner
The Wild White Woods Russell D. Smith
The Story of the New England Whalers J.R. Spears
Camping on the Great Lakes R.S. Spears
My Life with the Eskimos Vilhjalmar Stefansson
With Kitchener to Khartum G.W. Stevens
Across the Plains R.L. Stevenson
Letters of a Woman Homesteader Elinore P. Stewart
Hunting the Elephant in Africa C.H. Stigand
The Black Bear W.H. Wright
The Grizzly Bear " "
George Washington Woodrow Wilson
The Workers: The East W.A. Wyckoff
The Workers: The West " "
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See Bleyer, W.G.: Introduction to _Prose Literature for Secondary
Schools._
[2] See also _American Magazine_, 63:339.
[3] See _Scribner's Magazine_, 40:17.
[4] See _Harper's Monthly Magazine_, 116:3.
[5] In: _The Little Book of Modern Verse_, edited by J.B. Rittenhouse.
[6] See page 41 for magazine reference.
[7] See _Collier's Magazine_, 42:11.
[8] Additional suggestions for dramatic work are given on page 316.
[9] If a copy of _The Promised Land_ is available, some of the students
might look up material on this subject.
[10] See references for _Moly_, on p. 84.
[11] In Alden's _English Verse_.
[12] In _The Little Book of Modern Verse_, edited by J.B. Rittenhouse.
[13] If this is thought too difficult, some of the exercises on pages
316-318 may be used.
[14] Note: The teacher might read aloud a part of the _Ode in Time of
Hesitation_, by Moody. In its entirety it is almost too difficult for
the pupils to get much out of; but it has some vigorous things to say
about the war in the Philippines.
[15] TO THE TEACHER: It will probably be better for the pupils to study
this poem in class than to begin it by themselves.