Various - Modern Prose And Poetry; For Secondary Schools

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NOTES

=Kaweah=:--A river in California, which runs through the Sequoia
National Park.

=Brownie=:--A small donkey which Mr. Muir had brought along to carry his
pack of blankets and provisions. (See pp. 285, 286 of _Our National
Parks_.)

=humus=:--Vegetable mold.

SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY

In 1875, Mr. Muir spent some weeks in the Sequoia forests, learning what
he could of the life and death of the giant trees. This selection is
from his account of his experiences. How does the author make you feel
the fierceness of the fire? Why does it become calmer when it enters the
forest? Would most people care to linger in a burning forest? What is
shown by Mr. Muir's willingness to stay? Note the vividness of the
passage beginning "Though the day was best": How does the author manage
to make it so clear? Might this passage be differently punctuated, with
advantage? What is the value of the figure "like colossal iron bars"?
Note the vivid words in the passage beginning "The thick" and ending
with "half a ton." What do you think of the expressions _onlooking
trees_, and _childlike Sequoias_? Explain why the burned trees fall up
hill. Go through the selection and pick out the words that show action;
color; sound. Try to state clearly the reasons why this selection is
clear and picturesque.

THEME SUBJECTS

The Forest Fire
A Group of Large Trees
Felling a Tree
A Fire in the Country
A Fire in the City
Alone in the Woods
The Woodsman
In the Woods
Camping Out for the Night
By-products of the Forest
A Tree Struck by Lightning
A Famous Student of Nature
Planting Trees
The Duties of a Forest Ranger
The Lumber Camp
A Fire at Night
Learning to Observe
The Conservation of the Forests
The Pine
Ravages of the Paper Mill

SUGGESTIONS FOR WRITING

=A Fire at Night=:--If possible, found this theme on actual observation
and experience. Tell of your first knowledge of the fire--the smoke and
the flame, or the ringing of bells and the shouting. From what point of
view did you see the fire? Tell how it looked when you first saw it. Use
words of color and action, as Mr. Muir does. Perhaps you can make your
description vivid by means of sound-words. Tell what people did and what
they said. Did you hear anything said by the owners of the property that
was burning? Go on and trace the progress of the fire, describing its
change in volume and color. Try at all times to make your reader see the
beauty and fierceness and destructiveness of the fire. You might close
your theme with the putting out of the fire, or perhaps you will prefer
to speak of the appearance of the ruins by daylight. When you have
finished your theme, read it over, and see where you can touch it up to
make it clearer and more impressive. Read again some of the most
brilliant passages in Mr. Muir's description, and see how you can profit
by the devices he uses.

=In the Woods=:--Give an account of a long or a short trip in the woods,
and tell what you observed. It might be well to plan this theme a number
of days before writing it, and in the interim to take a walk in the
woods to get mental notes. In writing the theme, give your chief
attention to the trees--their situation, appearance, height, manner of
growth from the seedling up, peculiarities. Make clear the differences
between the kinds of trees, especially between varieties of the same
species. You can make good use of color-words in your descriptions of
leaves, flowers, seed-receptacles (cones, keys, wings, etc.), and
berries. Keep your work simple, almost as if you were talking to some
one who wishes information about the forest trees.

COLLATERAL READINGS

Our National Parks John Muir
My First Summer in the Sierra " "
The Mountains of California " "
The Story of my Boyhood and Youth " "
Stickeen: The Story of a Dog " "
The Yosemite John Muir
The Giant Forest (chapter 18 of _The Mountains_) Stewart Edward White
The Pines (chapter 8 of _The Mountains_) " " "
The Blazed Trail " " "
The Forest " " "
The Heart of the Ancient Wood C.G.D. Roberts
The Story of a Thousand-year Pine
(in _Wild Life on the Rockies_) Enos A. Mills
The Lodge-pole Pine
(in _Wild Life on the Rockies_) " "
Rocky Mountain Forests
(in _Wild Life on the Rockies_) " "
The Spell of the Rockies " "
Under the Sky in California C.F. Saunders
Field Days in California Bradford Torrey
The Snowing of the Pines (poem) T.W. Higginson
A Young Fir Wood (poem) D.G. Rossetti
The Spirit of the Pine (poem) Bayard Taylor
To a Pine Tree J.R. Lowell
Silverado Squatters Robert Louis Stevenson
Travels with a Donkey " " "
A Forest Fire (in _The Old Pacific Capital_) " " "
The Two Matches (in _Fables_) " " "
In the Maine Woods Henry D. Thoreau
Yosemite Trails J.S. Chase
The Conservation of Natural Resources Charles R. Van Hise
Getting Acquainted with the Trees J.H. McFarland
The Trees (poem) Josephine Preston Peabody

For biographical material relating to John Muir, consult: With John o'
Birds and John o' Mountains, Century, 80:521 (Portraits); At Home with
Muir, Overland Monthly (New Series), 52:125, August, 1908; Craftsman,
7:665 (page 637 for portrait), March, 1905; Craftsman, 23:324
(Portrait); Outlook, 80:303, January 3, 1905; Bookman, 26:593,
February, 1908; World's Work, 17:11355, March, 1909; 19:12529,
February, 1910.

WAITING

JOHN BURROUGHS

Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.

I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face.

Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray
Nor change the tide of destiny.

What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it has sown,
And garner up its fruit of tears.

The law of love binds every heart
And knits it to its utmost kin,
Nor can our lives flow long apart
From souls our secret souls would win.

The stars come nightly to the sky,
The tidal wave comes to the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high
Can keep my own away from me.

SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY

This poem is so easy that it needs little explanation. It shows the
calmness and confidence of one who feels that the universe is right, and
that everything comes out well sooner or later. Read the poem through
slowly. _Its utmost kin_ means its most distant relations or
connections. _The tidal wave_ means the regular and usual flow of the
tide. _Nor time nor space_:--Perhaps Mr. Burroughs was thinking of the
Bible, Romans 8:38, 39.

Does the poem mean to encourage mere waiting, without action? Does it
discourage effort? Just how much is it intended to convey? Is the theory
expressed here a good one? Do you believe it to be true? Read the verses
again, slowly and carefully, thinking what they mean. If you like them,
take time to learn them.

COLLATERAL READINGS

For a list of Mr. Burrough's books, see page 177.

Song: The year's at the spring Robert Browning
The Building of the Chimney Richard Watson Gilder

With John o'Birds and John o'Mountains (Century Magazine, 80:521)

A Day at Slabsides (Outlook, 66:351) Washington Gladden

Century, 86:884, October, 1915 (Portrait); Outlook, 78:878, December 3,
1904.

EXERCISES

Try writing a stanza or two in the meter and with the rhyme that Mr.
Burroughs uses. Below are given lines that may prove suggestive:--

1. One night when all the sky was clear
2. The plum tree near the garden wall
3. I watched the children at their play
4. The wind swept down across the plain
5. The yellow leaves are drifting down
6. Along the dusty way we sped (In an Automobile)
7. I looked about my garden plot (In my Garden)
8. The sky was red with sudden flame
9. I walked among the forest trees
10. He runs to meet me every day (My Dog)

THE PONT DU GARD

HENRY JAMES

(Chapter XXVI of _A Little Tour in France_)

It was a pleasure to feel one's self in Provence again,--the land where
the silver-gray earth is impregnated with the light of the sky. To
celebrate the event, as soon as I arrived at Nimes I engaged a caleche
to convey me to the Pont du Gard. The day was yet young, and it was
perfectly fair; it appeared well, for a longish drive, to take
advantage, without delay, of such security. After I had left the town I
became more intimate with that Provencal charm which I had already
enjoyed from the window of the train, and which glowed in the sweet
sunshine and the white rocks, and lurked in the smoke-puffs of the
little olives. The olive-trees in Provence are half the landscape. They
are neither so tall, so stout, nor so richly contorted as I have seen
them beyond the Alps; but this mild colorless bloom seems the very
texture of the country. The road from Nimes, for a distance of fifteen
miles, is superb; broad enough for an army, and as white and firm as a
dinner-table. It stretches away over undulations which suggest a kind of
harmony; and in the curves it makes through the wide, free country,
where there is never a hedge or a wall, and the detail is always
exquisite, there is something majestic, almost processional. Some twenty
minutes before I reached the little inn that marks the termination of
the drive, my vehicle met with an accident which just missed being
serious, and which engaged the attention of a gentleman, who, followed
by his groom and mounted on a strikingly handsome horse, happened to
ride up at the moment. This young man, who, with his good looks and
charming manner, might have stepped out of a novel of Octave Feuillet,
gave me some very intelligent advice in reference to one of my horses
that had been injured, and was so good as to accompany me to the inn,
with the resources of which he was acquainted, to see that his
recommendations were carried out. The result of our interview was that
he invited me to come and look at a small but ancient chateau in the
neighborhood, which he had the happiness--not the greatest in the world,
he intimated--to inhabit, and at which I engaged to present myself after
I should have spent an hour at the Pont du Gard. For the moment, when we
separated, I gave all my attention to that great structure. You are very
near it before you see it; the ravine it spans suddenly opens and
exhibits the picture. The scene at this point grows extremely beautiful.
The ravine is the valley of the Gardon, which the road from Nimes has
followed some time without taking account of it, but which, exactly at
the right distance from the aqueduct, deepens and expands, and puts on
those characteristics which are best suited to give it effect. The gorge
becomes romantic, still, and solitary, and, with its white rocks and
wild shrubbery, hangs over the clear, colored river, in whose slow
course there is here and there a deeper pool. Over the valley, from side
to side, and ever so high in the air, stretch the three tiers of the
tremendous bridge. They are unspeakably imposing, and nothing could well
be more Roman. The hugeness, the solidity, the unexpectedness, the
monumental rectitude of the whole thing leave you nothing to say--at the
time--and make you stand gazing. You simply feel that it is noble and
perfect, that it has the quality of greatness. A road, branching from
the highway, descends to the level of the river and passes under one of
the arches. This road has a wide margin of grass and loose stones, which
slopes upward into the bank of the ravine. You may sit here as long as
you please, staring up at the light, strong piers; the spot is extremely
natural, though two or three stone benches have been erected on it. I
remained there an hour and got a complete impression; the place was
perfectly soundless, and for the time, at least, lonely; the splendid
afternoon had begun to fade, and there was a fascination in the object I
had come to see. It came to pass that at the same time I discovered in
it a certain stupidity, a vague brutality. That element is rarely absent
from great Roman work, which is wanting in the nice adaptation of the
means to the end. The means are always exaggerated; the end is so much
more than attained. The Roman rigidity was apt to overshoot the mark,
and I suppose a race which could do nothing small is as defective as a
race that can do nothing great. Of this Roman rigidity the Pont du Gard
is an admirable example. It would be a great injustice, however, not to
insist upon its beauty,--a kind of manly beauty, that of an object
constructed not to please but to serve, and impressive simply from the
scale on which it carries out this intention. The number of arches in
each tier is different; they are smaller and more numerous as they
ascend. The preservation of the thing is extraordinary; nothing has
crumbled or collapsed; every feature remains; and the huge blocks of
stone, of a brownish-yellow (as if they had been baked by the Provencal
sun for eighteen centuries), pile themselves, without mortar or cement,
as evenly as the day they were laid together. All this to carry the
water of a couple of springs to a little provincial city! The conduit on
the top has retained its shape and traces of the cement with which it
was lined. When the vague twilight began to gather, the lonely valley
seemed to fill itself with the shadow of the Roman name, as if the
mighty empire were still as erect as the supports of the aqueduct; and
it was open to a solitary tourist, sitting there sentimental, to believe
that no people has ever been, or will ever be, as great as that,
measured, as we measure the greatness of an individual, by the push they
gave to what they undertook. The Pont du Gard is one of the three or
four deepest impressions they have left; it speaks of them in a manner
with which they might have been satisfied.

I feel as if it were scarcely discreet to indicate the whereabouts of
the chateau of the obliging young man I had met on the way from Nimes; I
must content myself with saying that it nestled in an enchanting
valley,--_dans le fond_, as they say in France,--and that I took my
course thither on foot, after leaving the Pont du Gard. I find it noted
in my journal as "an adorable little corner." The principal feature of
the place is a couple of very ancient towers, brownish-yellow in hue,
and mantled in scarlet Virginia-creeper. One of these towers, reputed to
be of Saracenic origin, is isolated, and is only the more effective; the
other is incorporated in the house, which is delightfully fragmentary
and irregular. It had got to be late by this time, and the lonely
_castel_ looked crepuscular and mysterious. An old housekeeper was sent
for, who showed me the rambling interior; and then the young man took me
into a dim old drawing-room, which had no less than four
chimney-pieces, all unlighted, and gave me a refection of fruit and
sweet wine. When I praised the wine and asked him what it was, he said
simply, "C'est du vin de ma mere!" Throughout my little journey I had
never yet felt myself so far from Paris; and this was a sensation I
enjoyed more than my host, who was an involuntary exile, consoling
himself with laying out a _manege_, which he showed me as I walked away.
His civility was great, and I was greatly touched by it. On my way back
to the little inn where I had left my vehicle, I passed the Pont du
Gard, and took another look at it. Its great arches made windows for the
evening sky, and the rocky ravine, with its dusky cedars and shining
river, was lonelier than before. At the inn I swallowed, or tried to
swallow, a glass of horrible wine with my coachman; after which, with my
reconstructed team, I drove back to Nimes in the moonlight. It only
added a more solitary whiteness to the constant sheen of the Provencal
landscape.

NOTES

=The Pont du Gard=:--A famous aqueduct built by the Romans many years
ago.

=Provence=:--One of the old provinces in southeast France.

=Nimes=:--(N[=e][=e]m) A town in southeast France, noted for its Roman
ruins.

=caleche=:--(ka l[=a]sh') The French term for a light covered carriage
with seats for four besides the driver.

=Octave Feuillet=:--A French writer, the author of _The Romance of a
Poor Young Man_; Feuillet's heroes are young, dark, good-looking, and
poetic.

=chateau=:--The country residence of a wealthy or titled person.

=Gardon=:--A river in France flowing into the Rhone.

=nice=:--Look up the meaning of this word.

=dans le fond=:--In the bottom.

=Saracenic=:--The Saracen invaders of France were vanquished at Tours in
732 A.D.

=castel=:--A castle.

=C'est=, etc.:--It is some of my mother's wine.

=manege=:--A place where horses are kept and trained.

QUESTIONS FOR STUDY

Can you find out anything about Provence and its history? By means of
what details does Mr. James give you an idea of the country? What is
meant by _processional_? Why is the episode of the young man
particularly pleasing at the point at which it is related? How does the
author show the character of the aqueduct? What does _monumental
rectitude_ mean? Why is it a good term? What is meant here by "a certain
stupidity, a vague brutality"? Can you think of any great Roman works of
which Mr. James's statement is true? What did the Romans most commonly
build? Can you find out something of their style of building? Are there
any reasons why the arches at the top should be smaller and lighter than
those below? What does this great aqueduct show of the Roman people and
the Roman government? Notice what Mr. James says of the way in which we
measure greatness: Is this a good way? Why would the Romans like the way
in which the Pont du Gard speaks of them? Why is it not "discreet" to
tell where the young man's chateau is? Why does the traveler feel so far
from Paris? Why does the young man treat the traveler with such
unnecessary friendliness? See how the author closes his chapter by
bringing the description round to the Pont du Gard again and ending with
the note struck in the first lines. Is this a good method?

THEME SUBJECTS

A Bridge
Country Roads
An Accident on the Road
A Remote Dwelling
The Stranger
At a Country Hotel
Roman Roads
A Moonlight Scene
A Picturesque Ravine
What I should Like to See in Europe
Traveling in Europe
Reading a Guide Book
The Baedeker
A Ruin
The Character of the Romans
The Romans in France
Level Country
A Sunny Day
The Parlor

SUGGESTIONS FOR WRITING

=At a Country Hotel=:--Tell how you happened to go to the hotel (this
part may be true or merely imagined). Describe your approach, on foot or
in some conveyance. Give your first general impression of the building
and its surroundings. What persons were visible when you reached the
entrance? What did they say and do? How did you feel? Describe the room
that you entered, noting any striking or amusing things. Tell of any
particularly interesting person, and what he (or she) said. Did you have
something to eat? If so, describe the dining-room, and tell about the
food. Perhaps you will have something to say about the waiter. How long
did you stay at the hotel? What incident was connected with your
departure? Were you glad or sorry to leave?

=The Bridge=:--Choose a large bridge that you have seen. Where is it,
and what stream or ravine does it span? When was it built? Clearly
indicate the point of view of your description. If you change the point
of view, let the reader know of your doing so. Give a general idea of
the size of the bridge: You need not give measurements; try rather to
make the reader feel the size from the comparisons that you use.
Describe the banks at each end of the bridge, and the effect of the
water or the abyss between. How is the bridge supported? Try to make the
reader feel its solidity and safety. Is it clumsy or graceful? Why? Give
any interesting details in its appearance. What conveyances or persons
are passing over it? How does the bridge make you feel?

COLLATERAL READINGS

A Little Tour in France Henry James
A Small Boy and Others " "
Portraits of Places " "
Travels with a Donkey R.L. Stevenson
An Inland Voyage " "
Along French Byways Clifton Johnson
Seeing France with Uncle John Anne Warner
The Story of France Mary Macgregor
The Reds of the Midi Felix Gras
A Wanderer in Paris E.V. Lucas
An American in Europe (poem) Henry Van Dyke
Home Thoughts from Abroad Robert Browning
In and Out of Three Normandy Inns Anna Bowman Dodd
Cathedral Days " " "
From Ponkapog to Pesth T.B. Aldrich
Our Hundred Days in Europe O.W. Holmes
One Year Abroad Blanche Willis Howard
Well-worn Roads F.H. Smith
Gondola Days " "
Saunterings C.D. Warner
By Oak and Thorn Alice Brown
Fresh Fields John Burroughs
Our Old Home Nathaniel Hawthorne
Penelope's Progress Kate Douglas Wiggin
Penelope's Experiences " " "
A Cathedral Courtship " " "
Ten Days in Spain Kate Fields
Russian Rambles Isabel F. Hapgood

For biography and criticism of Mr. James, see: American Writers of
To-day, pp. 68-86, H.C. Vedder; American Prose Masters, pp. 337-400,
W.C. Brownell; and (for the teacher), Century, 84:108 (Portrait) and
87:150 (Portrait); Scribners, 48:670 (Portrait); Chautauquan, 64:146
(Portrait).

THE YOUNGEST SON OF HIS FATHER'S HOUSE

ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH

The eldest son of his father's house,
His was the right to have and hold;
He took the chair before the hearth,
And he was master of all the gold.

The second son of his father's house,
He took the wheatfields broad and fair,
He took the meadows beside the brook,
And the white flocks that pastured there.

"_Pipe high--pipe low! Along the way
From dawn till eve I needs must sing!
Who has a song throughout the day,
He has no need of anything!_"

The youngest son of his father's house
Had neither gold nor flocks for meed.
He went to the brook at break of day,
And made a pipe out of a reed.

"_Pipe high--pipe low! Each wind that blows
Is comrade to my wandering.
Who has a song wherever he goes,
He has no need of anything!_"

His brother's wife threw open the door.
"Piper, come in for a while," she said.
"Thou shalt sit at my hearth since thou art so poor
And thou shalt give me a song instead!"

Pipe high--pipe low--all over the wold!
"Lad, wilt thou not come in?" asked she.
"Who has a song, he feels no cold!
My brother's hearth is mine own," quoth he.

"_Pipe high--pipe low! For what care I
Though there be no hearth on the wide gray plain?
I have set my face to the open sky,
And have cloaked myself in the thick gray rain._"

Over the hills where the white clouds are,
He piped to the sheep till they needs must come.
They fed in pastures strange and far,
But at fall of night he brought them home.

They followed him, bleating, wherever he led:
He called his brother out to see.
"I have brought thee my flocks for a gift," he said,
"For thou seest that they are mine," quoth he.

"_Pipe high--pipe low! wherever I go
The wide grain presses to hear me sing.
Who has a song, though his state be low,
He has no need of anything._"

"Ye have taken my house," he said, "and my sheep,
But ye had no heart to take me in.
I will give ye my right for your own to keep,
But ye be not my kin.

"To the kind fields my steps are led.
My people rush across the plain.
My bare feet shall not fear to tread
With the cold white feet of the rain.

"My father's house is wherever I pass;
My brothers are each stock and stone;
My mother's bosom in the grass
Yields a sweet slumber to her son.

"Ye are rich in house and flocks," said he,
"Though ye have no heart to take me in.
There was only a reed that was left for me,
And ye be not my kin."

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