Various - Modern Prose And Poetry; For Secondary Schools

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With these five at my heels I strode up to the dying fire and to those
who had sprung to their feet at our approach. "Sparrow," I said easily,
"luck being with us as usual, I have fallen in with a party of rovers. I
have told them who I am,--that Kirby, to wit, whom an injurious world
calls the blackest pirate unhanged,--and I have recounted to them how
the great galleon which I took some months ago went down yesterday with
all on board, you and I with these others being the sole survivors. By
dint of a little persuasion they have elected me their captain, and we
will go on board directly and set sail for the Indies, a hunting ground
which we never should have left. You need not look so blank; you shall
be my mate and right hand still." I turned to the five who formed my
escort. "This, gentlemen, is my mate, Jeremy Sparrow by name, who hath a
taste for divinity that in no wise interferes with his taste for a
galleon or a guarda costa. This man, Diccon Demon by name, was of my
crew. The gentleman without a sword is my prisoner, taken by me from the
last ship I sunk. How he, an Englishman, came to be upon a Spanish bark
I have not found leisure to inquire. The lady is my prisoner, also."

"Sure by rights she should be gaoler and hold all men's hearts in ward,"
said Paradise, with a low bow to my unfortunate captive.

While he spoke a most remarkable transformation was going on. The
minister's grave, rugged, and deeply lined face smoothed itself and shed
ten years at least; in the eyes that I had seen wet with noble tears a
laughing devil now lurked, while his strong mouth became a loose-lipped,
devil-may-care one. His head with its aureole of bushy, grizzled hair
set itself jauntily upon one side, and from it and from his face and his
whole great frame breathed a wicked jollity quite indescribable.

"Odsbodikins, captain!" he cried. "Kirby's luck!--'twill pass into a
saw! Adzooks! and so you're captain once more, and I'm mate once more,
and we've a ship once more, and we're off once more

To sail the Spanish Main,
And give the Spaniard pain,
Heave ho, bully boy, heave ho!

By 'r lakin! I'm too dry to sing. It will take all the wine of Xeres in
the next galleon to unparch my tongue!"

NOTES

=the grave=:--This refers to the latter part of chapter 21 of _To Have
and to Hold_; the hero, Ralph Percy, who has been shipwrecked with his
companions, discovers a group of pirates burying their dead captain.

=pezos and pieces of eight=:--_peso_ is the Spanish word for dollar;
_pieces of eight_ are dollars also, each dollar containing eight
_reals_.

=the man in black and silver=:--Paradise, an Englishman.

=frails=:--Baskets made of rushes.

=Kirby=:--A renowned pirate mentioned in chapter 21.

=Maracaibo=:--The city or the gulf of that name in Venezuela.

=galleasses=:--Heavy, low-built vessels having sails as well as oars.

=Lucayas=:--An old name for the Bahama Islands.

=de Leon=:--Ponce de Leon discovered Florida in 1513; he searched long
for a fountain which would restore youth.

=aqua vitae=:--Latin for _water of life_.

=Summer Isles=:--Another name for the Bermuda Islands.

=Cartagena=:--A city in Spain.

=Lima=:--A city in Peru.

=Toledo=:--A "Toledo blade"--a sword of the very finest temper, made in
Toledo, Spain.

=the Low Countries=:--Holland and Belgium.

=senor=:--The Spanish word for _sir_.

=Weyanoke=:--The home of the hero, near Jamestown, Virginia.

=Sparrow=:--A minister, one of the hero's companions; see chapter 3 of
_To Have and to Hold_.

=guarda costa=:--Coast guard.

=Diccon=:--Ralph Percy's servant.

=the gentleman without a sword=:--Lord Carnal, an enemy of Percy.

=the lady=:--She is really Percy's wife.

=Odsbodikins=; =Adzooks=:--Oaths much used two centuries ago.

=By 'r lakin=:--By our ladykin (little lady); an oath by the Virgin
Mary.

=Xeres=:--The Spanish town after which sherry wine is named.

SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY

This selection is easily understood. Ralph Percy, his wife, and several
others (see notes) are cast on a desert shore after the sinking of their
boat. Percy leaves his companions for a time and falls among pirates; he
pretends to be a "sea-rover" himself. Why does he allude to the pirate
ship as a "cockboat"? Why are the pirates impressed by his remarks? Why
does Percy emphasize the riches of the sunken ship? Is what he says
true? (See chapter 19 of _To Have and to Hold_.) If not, is he
justified in telling a falsehood? Is he really Kirby? Is he fortunate in
his assertion that he is? How does he explain his lack of resemblance to
Kirby? What kind of person is the hero? Why does he wish to become the
leader of the pirates? Is it possible that the pirate crew should change
their attitude so suddenly? Is it a good plan in a story to make a hero
tell of his own successes? Characterize the man in black and silver. How
does the author make us feel the action and peril of the struggle? How
does she make us feel the long duration of the fight with Paradise? Do
you like the hero's behavior with the defeated pirates? Why is he so
careful to repeat to the minister what he has told the pirates? Why does
the minister appear to change his character?

Can you make this piece into a little play?

THEME SUBJECTS

The Real Pirates
Spanish Gold
A Fight for Life
A Famous Duel
Buried Treasure
Playing Pirates
Sea Stories that I Like
Captain Kidd
Ponce de Leon
The Search for Gold
Story-book Heroes
Along the Sea Shore
A Barren Island
The Rivals
Land Pirates
The Pirates in _Peter Pan_
A Struggle for Leadership
Our High School Play

SUGGESTIONS FOR WRITING

Try to make a fragment of a play out of this selection. In this process,
all the class may work together under the direction of the teacher, or
each pupil may make his own attempt to dramatize the piece.

In writing the drama, tell first what the setting is. In doing so, you
had better look up some modern play and see how the setting is explained
to the reader or the actors. Now show the pirates at work, and give a
few lines of their conversation; then have the hero come upon the scene.
Indicate the speech of each person, and put in all necessary stage
directions. Perhaps you will want to add more dialogue than there is
here. Some of the onlookers may have something to say. Perhaps you will
wish to leave something out. It might be well, while the fighting is
going on, to bring in remarks from the combatants and the other pirates.
You might look up the duel scene in _Hamlet_ for this point. You can end
your play with the departure of the group; or you can write a second
scene, in which the hero's companions appear, including the lady.
Considerable dialogue could be invented here, and a new episode added--a
quarrel, a plan for organization, or a merry-making.

When your play is finished, you may possibly wish to have it acted
before the class. A few turbans, sashes, and weapons will be sufficient
to give an air of piracy to the group of players. Some grim black
mustaches would complete the effect.

=A Pirate Story=:--Tell an old-fashioned "yarn" of adventure, in which a
modest hero relates his own experiences. Give your imagination a good
deal of liberty. Do not waste much time in getting started, but plunge
very soon into the actual story. Let your hero tell how he fell among
the pirates. Then go on with the conversation that ensued--the threats,
the boasting, and the bravado. Make the hero report his struggles, or
the tricks that he resorted to in order to outwit the sea-rovers.
Perhaps he failed at first and got into still greater dangers. Follow
out his adventures to the moment of his escape. Make your descriptions
short and vivid; put in as much direct conversation as possible; keep
the action brisk and spirited. Try to write a lively tale that would
interest a group of younger boys.

COLLATERAL READINGS

To Have and to Hold Mary Johnston
Prisoners of Hope " "
The Long Roll " "
Cease Firing " "
Audrey " "
The Virginians W.M. Thackeray
White Aprons Maude Wilder Goodwin
The Gold Bug Edgar Allan Poe
Treasure Island R.L. Stevenson
Kidnapped " "
Ebb Tide " "
Buccaneers and Pirates of our Coast Frank R. Stockton
Kate Bonnett " "
Drake Julian Corbett
Drake and his Yeomen James Barnes
Drake, the Sea-king of Devon G.M. Towle
Raleigh " "
Red Rover J.F. Cooper
The Pirate Walter Scott
Robinson Crusoe Daniel Defoe
Two Years before the Mast R.H. Dana
Tales of a Traveller (Part IV) Washington Irving
Nonsense Novels (chapter 8) Stephen Leacock
The Duel (in _The Master of Ballantrae_,
chapter 4) R.L. Stevenson
The Lost Galleon (poem) Bret Harte
Stolen Treasure Howard Pyle
Jack Ballister's Fortunes " "
Buried Treasure R.B. Paine
The Last Buccaneer (poem) Charles Kingsley
The Book of the Ocean Ernest Ingersoll
Ocean Life in the Old Sailing-Ship Days J.D. Whidden

For Portraits of Miss Johnston, see Bookman, 20:402; 28:193.

THE GRASSHOPPER

EDITH M. THOMAS

Shuttle of the sunburnt grass,
Fifer in the dun cuirass,
Fifing shrilly in the morn,
Shrilly still at eve unworn;
Now to rear, now in the van,
Gayest of the elfin clan:
Though I watch their rustling flight,
I can never guess aright
Where their lodging-places are;
'Mid some daisy's golden star,
Or beneath a roofing leaf,
Or in fringes of a sheaf,
Tenanted as soon as bound!
Loud thy reveille doth sound,
When the earth is laid asleep,
And her dreams are passing deep,
On mid-August afternoons;
And through all the harvest moons,
Nights brimmed up with honeyed peace,
Thy gainsaying doth not cease.
When the frost comes, thou art dead;
We along the stubble tread,
On blue, frozen morns, and note
No least murmur is afloat:
Wondrous still our fields are then,
Fifer of the elfin men!

SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY

Why is the grasshopper called a "shuttle"? What does the word _still_
mean here? Who are the "elfin clan"? By whom is the sheaf tenanted? What
is a _reveille_? Does the grasshopper chirp at night? Why is its cry
called "gainsaying"?

See how simple the meter (measure) is in this little poem. Ask your
teacher to explain how it is represented by these characters:

-u-u-u-
-u-u-u-

[Transcriber's note: The u's represent breve marks in the text]

Note which signs indicate the accented syllables. See whether or not the
accent comes at the end of the line. The rhyme-scheme is called a
_couplet_, because of the way in which two lines are linked together.
This kind of rhyme is represented by _aa_, _bb_, _cc_, etc.

EXERCISES

Find some other poem that has the same meter and rhyme that this one
has. Try to write a short poem of five or six couplets, using this meter
and rhyme. You do not need to choose a highly poetic subject: Try
something very simple.

Perhaps you can "get a start" from one of the lines given below:--

1. Glowing, darting dragon-fly.
2. Voyager on dusty wings (A Moth).
3. Buzzing through the fragrant air (A Bee).
4. Trembling lurker in the gloom (A Mouse).
5. Gay red-throated epicure (A humming-bird).
6. Stealthy vagrant of the night (An Owl).
7. Flashing through your crystal room (A Gold-fish).
8. Fairyland is all awake.
9. Once when all the woods were green.
10. In the forest is a pool.

COLLATERAL READINGS

On the Grasshopper and Cricket John Keats
To the Grasshopper and the Cricket Leigh Hunt
Little Brother of the Ground Edwin Markham
The Humble Bee R.W. Emerson
The Cricket Percy Mackaye
The Katydid " "
A Glow Worm (in _Little Folk Lyrics_) F.D. Sherman
Bees " " " " " "

MOLY

EDITH M. THOMAS

The root is hard to loose
From hold of earth by mortals, but Gods' power
Can all things do. 'Tis black, but bears a flower
As white as milk. (Chapman's Homer.)

Traveller, pluck a stem of moly,
If thou touch at Circe's isle,--
Hermes' moly, growing solely
To undo enchanter's wile.
When she proffers thee her chalice,--
Wine and spices mixed with malice,--
When she smites thee with her staff
To transform thee, do thou laugh!
Safe thou art if thou but bear
The least leaf of moly rare.
Close it grows beside her portal,
Springing from a stock immortal,--
Yes, and often has the Witch
Sought to tear it from its niche;
But to thwart her cruel will
The wise God renews it still.
Though it grows in soil perverse,
Heaven hath been its jealous nurse,
And a flower of snowy mark
Springs from root and sheathing dark;
Kingly safeguard, only herb
That can brutish passion curb!
Some do think its name should be
Shield-heart, White Integrity.

Traveller, pluck a stem of moly,
If thou touch at Circe's isle,--
Hermes' moly, growing solely
To undo enchanter's wile!

NOTES

=Chapman's Homer=:--George Chapman (1559?-1634) was an English poet. He
translated Homer from the Greek into English verse.

=moly=:--An herb with a black root and a white flower, which Hermes gave
to Odysseus in order to help him withstand the spell of the witch Circe.

=Circe=:--A witch who charmed her victims with a drink that she prepared
for them, and then changed them into the animals they in character most
resembled.

=Hermes=:--The messenger of the other Greek gods; he was crafty and
eloquent.

=The wise God=:--Hermes, or Mercury.

SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY

Before you try to study this poem carefully, find out something of the
story of Ulysses and Circe: when you have this information, the poem
will become clear. Notice how the author applies the old Greek tale to
the experiences of everyday life. This would be a good poem to memorize.

COLLATERAL READINGS

On First Looking into Chapman's Homer John Keats
The Strayed Reveller Matthew Arnold
The Wine of Circe Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Tanglewood Tales (Circe's Palace) Nathaniel Hawthorne
Greek Story and Song, pp. 214-225 A.J. Church
The Odyssey, pp. 151-164 (School Ed.) G.H. Palmer (Trans.)
Classic Myths, chapter 24 C.M. Gayley
The Age of Fable, p. 295 Thomas Bulfinch
The Prayer of the Swine to Circe Austin Dobson

PICTURES

The Wine of Circe Sir Edward Burne-Jones
Circe and the Companions of Ulysses Briton Riviere

THE PROMISED LAND

MARY ANTIN

(From Chapter IX of _The Promised Land_)

During his three years of probation, my father had made a number of
false starts in business. His history for that period is the history of
thousands who come to America, like him, with pockets empty, hands
untrained to the use of tools, minds cramped by centuries of repression
in their native land. Dozens of these men pass under your eyes every
day, my American friend, too absorbed in their honest affairs to notice
the looks of suspicion which you cast at them, the repugnance with which
you shrink from their touch. You see them shuffle from door to door with
a basket of spools and buttons, or bending over the sizzling irons in a
basement tailor shop, or rummaging in your ash can, or moving a pushcart
from curb to curb, at the command of the burly policeman. "The Jew
peddler!" you say, and dismiss him from your premises and from your
thoughts, never dreaming that the sordid drama of his days may have a
moral that concerns you. What if the creature with the untidy beard
carries in his bosom his citizenship papers? What if the cross-legged
tailor is supporting a boy in college who is one day going to mend your
state constitution for you? What if the ragpicker's daughters are
hastening over the ocean to teach your children in the public schools?
Think, every time you pass the greasy alien on the street, that he was
born thousands of years before the oldest native American; and he may
have something to communicate to you, when you two shall have learned a
common language. Remember that his very physiognomy is a cipher the key
to which it behooves you to search for most diligently.

* * * * *

By the time we joined my father, he had surveyed many avenues of
approach toward the coveted citadel of fortune. One of these, heretofore
untried, he now proposed to essay, armed with new courage, and cheered
on by the presence of his family. In partnership with an energetic
little man who had an English chapter in his history, he prepared to set
up a refreshment booth on Crescent Beach. But while he was completing
arrangements at the beach, we remained in town, where we enjoyed the
educational advantages of a thickly populated neighborhood; namely, Wall
Street, in the West End of Boston.

Anybody who knows Boston knows that the West and North Ends are the
wrong ends of that city. They form the tenement district, or, in the
newer phrase, the slums of Boston. Anybody who is acquainted with the
slums of any American metropolis knows that that is the quarter where
poor immigrants foregather, to live, for the most part, as unkempt,
half-washed, toiling, unaspiring foreigners; pitiful in the eyes of
social missionaries, the despair of boards of health, the hope of ward
politicians, the touchstone of American democracy. The well-versed
metropolitan knows the slums as a sort of house of detention for poor
aliens, where they live on probation till they can show a certificate of
good citizenship.

He may know all this and yet not guess how Wall Street, in the West End,
appears in the eyes of a little immigrant from Polotzk. What would the
sophisticated sight-seer say about Union Place, off Wall Street, where
my new home waited for me? He would say that it is no place at all, but
a short box of an alley. Two rows of three-story tenements are its
sides, a stingy strip of sky is its lid, a littered pavement is the
floor, and a narrow mouth its exit.

But I saw a very different picture on my introduction to Union Place. I
saw two imposing rows of brick buildings, loftier than any dwelling I
had ever lived in. Brick was even on the ground for me to tread on,
instead of common earth or boards. Many friendly windows stood open,
filled with uncovered heads of women and children. I thought the people
were interested in us, which was very neighborly. I looked up to the
topmost row of windows, and my eyes were filled with the May blue of an
American sky!

In our days of affluence in Russia we had been accustomed to upholstered
parlors, embroidered linen, silver spoons and candlesticks, goblets of
gold, kitchen shelves shining with copper and brass. We had feather-beds
heaped halfway to the ceiling; we had clothes presses dusky with velvet
and silk and fine woolen. The three small rooms into which my father now
ushered us, up one flight of stairs, contained only the necessary beds,
with lean mattresses; a few wooden chairs; a table or two; a mysterious
iron structure, which later turned out to be a stove; a couple of
unornamental kerosene lamps; and a scanty array of cooking-utensils and
crockery. And yet we were all impressed with our new home and its
furniture. It was not only because we had just passed through our seven
lean years, cooking in earthern vessels, eating black bread on holidays
and wearing cotton; it was chiefly because these wooden chairs and tin
pans were American chairs and pans that they shone glorious in our
eyes. And if there was anything lacking for comfort or decoration we
expected it to be presently supplied--at least, we children did. Perhaps
my mother alone, of us newcomers, appreciated the shabbiness of the
little apartment, and realized that for her there was as yet no laying
down of the burden of poverty.

Our initiation into American ways began with the first step on the new
soil. My father found occasion to instruct or correct us even on the way
from the pier to Wall Street, which journey we made crowded together in
a rickety cab. He told us not to lean out of the windows, not to point,
and explained the word "greenhorn." We did not want to be "greenhorns,"
and gave the strictest attention to my father's instructions. I do not
know when my parents found opportunity to review together the history of
Polotzk in the three years past, for we children had no patience with
the subject; my mother's narrative was constantly interrupted by
irrelevant questions, interjections, and explanations.

The first meal was an object lesson of much variety. My father produced
several kinds of food, ready to eat, without any cooking, from little
tin cans that had printing all over them. He attempted to introduce us
to a queer, slippery kind of fruit, which he called "banana," but had to
give it up for the time being. After the meal, he had better luck with a
curious piece of furniture on runners, which he called "rocking-chair."
There were five of us newcomers, and we found five different ways of
getting into the American machine of perpetual motion, and as many ways
of getting out of it. One born and bred to the use of a rocking-chair
cannot imagine how ludicrous people can make themselves when attempting
to use it for the first time. We laughed immoderately over our various
experiments with the novelty, which was a wholesome way of letting off
steam after the unusual excitement of the day.

In our flat we did not think of such a thing as storing the coal in the
bathtub. There was no bathtub. So in the evening of the first day my
father conducted us to the public baths. As we moved along in a little
procession, I was delighted with the illumination of the streets. So
many lamps, and they burned until morning, my father said, and so people
did not need to carry lanterns. In America, then, everything was free,
as we had heard in Russia. Light was free; the streets were as bright as
a synagogue on a holy day. Music was free; we had been serenaded, to our
gaping delight, by a brass band of many pieces, soon after our
installation on Union Place.

Education was free. That subject my father had written about repeatedly,
as comprising his chief hope for us children, the essence of American
opportunity, the treasure that no thief could touch, not even misfortune
or poverty. It was the one thing that he was able to promise us when he
sent for us; surer, safer than bread or shelter. On our second day I was
thrilled with the realization of what this freedom of education meant. A
little girl from across the alley came and offered to conduct us to
school. My father was out, but we five between us had a few words of
English by this time. We knew the word school. We understood. This
child, who had never seen us till yesterday, who could not pronounce our
names, who was not much better dressed than we, was able to offer us the
freedom of the schools of Boston! No application made, no questions
asked, no examinations, rulings, exclusions; no machinations, no fees.
The doors stood open for every one of us. The smallest child could show
us the way.

This incident impressed me more than anything I had heard in advance of
the freedom of education in America. It was a concrete proof--almost the
thing itself. One had to experience it to understand it.

It was a great disappointment to be told by my father that we were not
to enter upon our school career at once. It was too near the end of the
term, he said, and we were going to move to Crescent Beach in a week or
so. We had to wait until the opening of the schools in September. What a
loss of precious time--from May till September!

Not that the time was really lost. Even the interval on Union Place was
crowded with lessons and experiences. We had to visit the stores and be
dressed from head to foot in American clothing; we had to learn the
mysteries of the iron stove, the washboard, and the speaking-tube; we
had to learn to trade with the fruit peddler through the window, and not
to be afraid of the policeman; and, above all, we had to learn English.

The kind people who assisted us in these important matters form a group
by themselves in the gallery of my friends. If I had never seen them
from those early days till now, I should still have remembered them with
gratitude. When I enumerate the long list of American teachers, I must
begin with those who came to us on Wall Street and taught us our first
steps. To my mother, in her perplexity over the cookstove, the woman who
showed her how to make the fire was an angel of deliverance. A fairy
godmother to us children was she who led us to a wonderful country
called "uptown," where in a dazzlingly beautiful palace called a
"department store," we exchanged our hateful homemade European costumes,
which pointed us out as "greenhorns" to the children on the street, for
real American machine-made garments, and issued forth glorified in each
other's eyes.

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