Various - Modern Prose And Poetry; For Secondary Schools

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THEME SUBJECTS

My Summer on a Farm
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 required 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.

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